❝that's why when major badasses greet each other in movies, they don't say anything, they just nod. the nod means, 'i am a badass, and i recognize that you, too, are a badass,' but they don't say anything because they're wolverine and magneto and it would mess up their vibe to explain.❞

-simon lewis, the mortal instruments

♛

I FEEL LIKE ICE is filling my veins as my hand moves across the page at lightning speed. It's been a while since I've written in my notebook, but finding the right words to match my feelings has always come naturally to me. I'm not aiming for anything in particular, only explaining my thoughts and emotions in a whirlwind manner that fills up two pages with rushed handwriting and smudged ink.

It doesn't help my mood at all that we're walking to the crash site. A heavy weight rests in my heart and I haven't looked up in fear that I'd find my mother's leg in front of me.

"Might wanna watch out, Amazon," Bellamy advises from behind me. "You could trip."

"Worried about me, King of the Jungle?" I fire back absentmindedly. A strange wave of nostalgia hits me at the familiarity of speaking those words again. Back when I first said them, things were much simpler. Wells was still alive.

I slide my notebook and pen into my pocket and look up in spite of myself. The charred remains of the Exodus Ship are everywhere, sending residing wisps of grey smoke into the clouded sky, and the acrid smell of gasoline and ash burns my nose. The impact of the ship has created craters in the dirt, making for uneven, rocky ground that's easy to trip on. Thanks, Bellamy.

Despite my brave face, I still feel like throwing up as I step onto a piece of metal and survey my surroundings. The crisp air hits me and causes the stray strands of hair from my ponytail to tickle my face as they move. If it hadn't been for the destruction of the ship, the scenery would have been beautiful. The outline of mountains line the horizon and a few birds soar through the sky.

"You didn't have to come."

I open my eyes - when had I closed them? - and turn to see Bellamy standing beside me. With me standing on the piece of metal, we're about the same height. He has his trusty rifle in his hand as expected. The lack of sun causes him to appear washed-out, like an oil painting.

I shrug. "I'm fine."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bellamy give me a disapproving look. "You're not fine."

"I am."

"No you aren't."

I sigh and hop down from the piece of metal. It's no use arguing with Bellamy- he'll win either way, and I'm too tired to induce the effort.

Tired. It's a word I've been using to describe myself a lot more often than I should be. I'm always tired. Whether it's emotionally or physically, I'm never a hundred percent okay, and it worries me. The girl who excitedly jumped off the Ark so long ago is already gone, worn away by the harsh edges of survival.

My fingers find my handmade bracelet absentmindedly. The green stone with my initials carved into it is cold from the wind. The twine I had used to fix the leather is rough against my wrist. My eyes find Clarke, and I notice hers peeking through the sleeve of her jacket. At least she hasn't taken hers off. I don't know what I'd do if she had.

"We need to clear the area," Raven announces clearly, causing my attention to snap to her. She stands on a chunk of higher ground next to Clarke, who looks exactly how I feel- mildly sick and despondent. They're right beside a large piece of the ship and what looks like an open control panel with red liquid dripping from it.

"Okay, then," Bellamy responds gruffly. He turns his head back to the others who stand behind us. "We move in formation, no straggling, weapons hot. We got to get back before dark."

Secretly, I'm grateful that we have an excuse to leave. I can feel the ghosts from this crash site nipping at the exposed skin of my neck and hands. Something horrible prods at my brain that I can't figure out. The terrain gives me the creeps.

"Murphy's back!" Is the first thing to grace our ears when we return from camp. It causes us all to go on high alert instantly- backs get straighter, my jaw drops open, and Bellamy's eyes fill with a fiery anger that not even an extinguisher could put out.

"In the dropship," someone mumbles to me when I pass. I nod in thanks to them, then quicken my pace and throw the cloth open. Bellamy is hot on my heels.

"Where is he?" he demands loudly and harshly, leaving no time for anyone to say anything. A circle of people opens up to reveal John Murphy seated on the ground near the ladder to the second floor. Except he doesn't look anything like John Murphy.

Almost every inch of skin is covered with blood, both dry and fresh. Strangled breaths escape his split lips every so often. His hands are trembling badly and his shirt has been torn in several places. One of his eyes is swollen to the point where he can barely open it.

There's one thing that catches my eye- his fingertips are pouring blood. When I move to take a step closer, Bellamy's hand grabs my wrist faster than I could blink.

"Careful, Fallon," he warns, not taking his eyes off of the boy we banished.

"It's okay," I assure him gently. His grip loosens until he eventually releases me. I hesitantly take a step forward, and Murphy doesn't look like he's going to attack me, so I slowly move closer until I'm crouched down in front of him. I softly take hold of one of his shaking hands with my own and examine it. Each one of his fingernails has been torn off, and the result makes me want to gag as the metallic scent of blood fills my nose.

"Everyone but Connor and Derek out, now!" Bellamy orders. The dropship empties with the sound of heavy footsteps and quiet whispers.

"He claims he was with the Grounders," Derek informs. He's a tall and pale boy with fair ginger hair tucked into a beanie. The gun he's holding seems to interest him far more than the situation at hand, and he's picking at something on the weapon that probably shouldn't be picked at.

"We caught him trying to sneak back into camp," Connor adds from where he stands right beside Murphy.

"I wasn't sneaking," Murphy mumbles weakly in defense of himself. He swallows before continuing. "I was running from the Grounders."

"Anyone see Grounders?" Bellamy questions, clearly unconvinced with Murphy's story. Connor shakes his head. Bellamy aims his gun at Murphy, causing me to drop his bloody hand and widen my eyes. "Fallon, get out of the way."

"We can't just shoot him!" I exclaim as Finn slaps the barrel of the gun down. "Look, Bellamy, I know what we said, but can we at least hear him out?"

"We hanged him, we banished him, and now we're gonna kill him," Bellamy says, making his threat loud and clear. Finn now stands in front of him so he can't shoot. "Get the hell out of my way."

"No," Clarke objects, speaking for the first time in hours. "Finn and Fallon are right."

Bellamy lowers his gun in outrage. "Like hell they are!"

Clarke steps forward and joins me in front of Murphy. I hold up his hand to her. Her eyebrows pinch together as she takes the injury in, and she shares a knowing glance with me. I turn toward the others.

"No, Bellamy, you don't understand," I tell him, holding Murphy's hand up higher for him to see. "His fingernails have been ripped off. They tortured him."

"You and the Grounders should compare notes," Finn sneers at Bellamy. I find myself unable to keep from rolling my eyes. I heard the story from Clarke, about how each of them had to torture information out of Lincoln to save Finn, and while it was terribly wrong - especially now that we know Lincoln's on our side - it had to be done. If they hadn't carried out with it, Finn might not be here.

"The Grounders know we're at war," Bellamy retorts, then addresses Murphy in a sharp tone that's almost a yell. "What did you tell them about us?"

Murphy's mouth is red with blood when he answers. "Everything."

My blood goes cold. I find myself unable to move from my spot, but I drop his hand as if his touch could burn through my skin. His blood is on my fingers, sticky and unpleasant. A shiver goes down my spine.

Clarke stands and looks up at Bellamy. "Once he's better, we find out what he knows, and then he's out of here, okay?"

I turn my head just in time to see her push past him and head toward the door.

"What if he refuses to leave?" Bellamy questions. "What do we do with him then?"

Clarke's face grows hard as stone; her lips turn down into a cruel frown as she stares down at Murphy with hatred in her eyes. "Then we kill him."

--

I've been keeping it inside for far too long. The dam is cracking, cracking, ready to break, but I'm still not ready for it. All this time I've kept up hope that maybe Mom is alive and well and still figuring out how to get down to us. But the realistic part of me knows that she's never coming back and I won't see her smile again. Gone. My fault. Just like Dad.

Both of my parent's deaths are my fault. When I was twelve, I was caught stealing and my dad took the blame, floated so I wouldn't be imprisoned. And then I was caught again, and I didn't have Dad to protect me anymore. Mom came down early to surprise me. If I could have spoken to her via the radio and told her to wait until she knew she'd be absolutely safe, maybe she'd still be here.

I furiously scribble out the last line in my notebook and blink away the tears in my eyes. My chin tilts up toward the sky in hope that maybe seeing the clouds will cause the swirling void inside of me to close up. Earth. The thing Mom will never get to see the beauty of.

I nearly smack myself. Thinking about her is only making it worse, but I can't seem to stop. She's everywhere- in the trees, the flowers, the wind as gentle as a feather as it blows onto my face.

"Amazon?"

Bellamy is always around. Why can't he just leave me alone, especially in a time like this? I don't want to break down in front of him. It's not that I'm embarrassed - I'm somewhere way past feeling embarrassment - but I've been known to be the messiest crier, especially when I'm just lost. I break things, I throw tantrums, I sink into a pit that it takes hours to get me out of.

"Amazon, get up."

He's right above me now with a stricken expression on his face like the life has been sucked out of him. He looks paler than the clouds behind him.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. "Go away."

My hands are clammy and slide on my pen as I slip it into the metal rungs of my notebook and stuff it into my back pocket. I can feel a headache coming on from all of the events that have been circulating lately.

I stand and brush myself off, about to walk away, when Bellamy grabs my wrist again. I yank, trying to push him away because he can't see me like this, a bomb that's close to exploding, but he holds on stubbornly. I finally face him with a defeated expression. Instead of a command or question being fired at me, though, Bellamy leans closer and rests his hand on the side of my face. He wipes away the single tear that has fallen down my cheek so gently that it hardly seems like him.

And when he pulls away, his thumb is streaked with blood.

My breath hitches in my throat. I turn my head to see Derek near a fire, doubled over and violently coughing up blood. Derek. One of the boys who brought Murphy in.

This time, I'm able to rip myself from Bellamy's grasp and run into the dropship before he can stop me. Clarke is already there. She's hunched next to Murphy, probably questioning him. I've arrived just in time to hear her say, "They let you go."

Another red tear streaks down my face. I furiously wipe it away with the side of my hand. I can feel my stomach starting to churn, my insides turning to mush. I wonder how long it'll be until I start throwing up blood as well.

Quickly, I join Clarke at her side and notice the red stains of blood from her eyes as well. A moment of grief passes between us- she'd been thinking about her mother, too.

Bellamy bursts in with his gun in hand. He starts to walk closer, but Clarke holds out a hand to stop him. "Bellamy, stay back."

He pauses and examines the scene before asking, "Did he do something to you?"

Clarke shakes her head. I rub at the red beneath my eyes with clammy hands, leaning against the wall of the dropship. My stomach is beginning to feel worse.

Bellamy's widened eyes flicker between the pool of blood beside Murphy, to Clarke, to me. "What the hell is this?"

"Biological warfare," Clarke answers. My nerves shoot to high alert. "You were waiting for the Grounders to retaliate for the bridge? This is it. Murphy is the weapon."

Even though me being arrested had put a halt on my education, History of Wars had always been my favorite class. It was one of three options for a history course that the schooling program offered for Walden. The tactics and battle techniques had always fascinated me, and biological warfare was high on my list of favorite topics. But now that I'm on the receiving end of it, it has lost its favoritism.

"Is this your revenge?" Bellamy asks Murphy. "Helping the Grounders kill us?"

"I didn't know about this, okay, I swear," Murphy promises. One of his guards hands Clarke and I each a wet cloth. While she starts cleaning the blood from his face, I work on his hands and arms.

"Stop lying!" Bellamy shouts the two words like separate sentences. It's enough to cause Clarke to turn around and raise her eyebrows at him. "When are they coming?"

"Murphy, think, all right?" Clarke commands much more softly than Bellamy had. "What can you tell us that's useful? Did you hear anything?"

Murphy slowly shakes his head. "They are vicious. Cruel."

"You wanna see vicious?" Bellamy demands, stepping forward with an angered crease between his eyebrows.

"Don't," I say, holding out a stern hand to stop him. "Back up. The last thing we need is you getting sick, too."

"Clarke?"

Finn swoops in to save the day, as usual. My expression turns sour and I go back to cleaning Murphy's hands, careful around his raw fingertips. He winces when I get too close to them.

"Finn, you shouldn't be in here," Clarke tells him with her voice wavering slightly. Her face is growing increasingly pale. "No one should."

"I heard you were sick," Finn comments, completely ignoring Clarke's statement. He takes a look around the dropship to where Connor and Derek lie almost motionless. A deep breath is sucked into his lungs. "Clarke, what is this?"

"We don't know," I answer with my teeth gritted together. He hadn't been talking to me, almost as if I wasn't there at all, and I decided to shove it in his face for it. "The Grounders let Murphy go with some sort of disease - a Hemorrhagic fever - to weaken our forces before they strike."

Clarke nods, seemingly oblivious to my icy tone. "We just need to contain it before--"

A horrible retching sound causes her to trail off. Derek is convulsing on the ground with choked coughs coming from his mouth- a seizure.

"Fallon, stay here and keep helping him," Clarke says. "I got this."

I nod and continue to clean the blood off of Murphy's fingers, trying to ignore the horrible sounds coming from Derek. The sticky, crimson liquid stuck to Murphy's hands doesn't wash off completely. A smear of light red still shows on his skin, but it's better than nothing. Once I'm done with his fingers, I move on to his face and cover my mouth when a cough builds up in my chest. The cloth is quickly covered in red.

Eventually, I find myself having to turn around to see what's going on. Derek's erratic coughs haven't stopped, and blood spews from his mouth and onto the floor. He collapses, lying completely still. Clarke bends down and hesitantly turns his head to check for a pulse.

"Is he--" Bellamy finds himself unable to finish his sentence. He swallows thickly.

Clarke looks up at him. "He's dead."

-------

me: *sighs because this chapter is only like 12 mins of the show*

my first chapter of 2016!!! here's to the year that fallamy becomes canon

-kristyn