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.*･｡. HOOD! .*･｡.
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028.
APATE LOXELY.
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Robin was never supposed to have a gun. Guns were illegal, just as most other things were on the ark, especially for a kid. Weapons weren't allowed in possession of youth. Not unless you were in the guard, or a criminal.

Lucky for her, she was the latter.

   She supposed being a criminal didn't mean you were allowed the access to weaponry, but it was easier to get it. People knew people.

   Being a criminal on the ark gave you connections. To criminals that usually wanted something and offered something in return. It was all about who had the goods. If you had the goods, everybody wanted a piece of them. Robin had seldom been that person. That was the beauty being the hood. No one knew who she really was. She had committed minimal crimes as Robin Loxely. Either it was with the hood, or not at all. She was safe that way. No one knew and as offences were made, Robin got out scot-free. At least, until she had aimed a gun at Clarke Griffin's head and been knocked out cold by Wells Jaha. But, in order to get to that story, it entailed figuring out where, and how, Robin Loxely had even got a gun. And the answer to that was simple enough. Incredibly simple, actually,

Apate Loxely.

Her mother.

"This changes everything!"

Robin shook her head to clear her thoughts and rolled her eyes; he wasn't wrong, but Bellamy still annoyed her.

She looked down at the gun in hand with an unreadable look, an odd feeling creeping up her spine. Opting to place it down, she put it on a barrel and grabbed her open packet of rations from her top pocket. Robin grabbed another nut and threw it into the air, tilting her head back, catching it in her mouth with pristine precision. He turned as she did so, having finished their target of material, and it provoked an eye roll. Robin scoffed and threw a nut at his face and, like Jace had earlier that morning, he parted his lips and scored, as if he had been prepared.

He grinned wolfishly when she glared at him, earning a strange smugness for it. Bellamy proceeded back to where she stood while eating his own rations. Man these things were tastier than usual.

    "You ready to be badass, birdy?" Bellamy smirked.

    "Are you saying I'm not?" She quirked a brow.

   Robin had a point.

   Bellamy tilted his head and debated it. Honestly, although he'd never admit it, Robin Loxely was pretty badass. She was the hood for goodness sake! An ark legend, he had learned. Stealing from a rich station and giving it to the poorer ones was badass, very much so, and he had to give her some credit.

   Actually, Robin had been nothing but badass since coming down to the ground. From throwing metal at him when they first met, to shooting his gun, and making knifes, and stories of holding Clarke Griffin as temporary hostage. She had nearly died multiple times on earth but survived each of them, and always got back up when she had fallen. Robin was also one of the only people who told him to back off.

   Plus, slicing Wells Jaha with a knife? Bellamy wasn't gonna lie, it was totally hot. Wait— his brows pulled together in thought, what?

   Shaking it off, the man popped another nut between his lips and chewed. Bellamy watched her smirk at his sudden silence and gave her a disgruntled look, "Shut up."

    "You think I'm badass!"

    "I said, shut up."

    "Why?" She taunted, quirking a brow at him with a slick smirk, one that she was born to wear. Robin placed her rations back into her pocket and picked up the gun, tilting her head to the side. Her tongue ran over her lip, "Does it make ya insecure?"

   Quite the opposite, actually.

    "Whatever helps you sleep," he smiled at her, tightly.

    "C'mon, Blake." Robin raised her brows, "We both know you're obsessed with me."

   For a reason he couldn't decipher at the time, Bellamy could feel the tips of his ears burn, as well as his matching crimson cheeks. It must have been frustration. Regardless, he was glad the depot gave no light that could expose his scorched complexion. Bellamy didn't want her to catch onto it. He wasn't the type to blush — not that it was a blush, not at all — and he knew she wouldn't shut up with it.

    "Keep dreaming."

She sent him a smile, an oddly sweet spread on her cheeks, and a wink. Bellamy shook his head and turned back to the target, giving it a small grin that he didn't dare give her.

"Let's see what you got," Bellamy said.

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes. Robin turned herself to look at the target, squinting in challenge. She felt better with the guns and new forces, both for camp and for the two in the depot. If someone came for Bellamy, they had some good defence. Of course, she did not want to kill anyone, but killing him wasn't happening. At least, it wasn't happening on her watch. Not that she cared for his life, nor could she blame whoever agreed to kill him — he wasn't likeable, and he had jacked the radio. Robin knew she had felt like she could kill him — but she knew he deserved to live. Everything he did, every  mistake he made, was for his sister. Sure, he was selfish, and he did a lot to benefit himself, but it always stemmed back to Octavia. He couldn't be blamed for that. Well, not by death.

Robin sighed — he still didn't know.

"Blondie won't be happy giving guns to kids."

"Blondie's never happy," he hummed in agreement. "She'll deal with it. We're lucky the rifles were packed in grease. The fact they survived means we're not sitting ducks anymore. She needs to learn how to do this, Finn too."

"Something we agree on," Robin mused, hoisting the gun onto her shoulder. She'd never used anything but a handgun.

"That's a first."

"I agree with you on things."

"You hate me," he corrected her.

"I don't hate you, Blake." She rolled her eyes.

"I probably killed your father," Bellamy was blunt with it. Those words came with a hostility towards himself, still riddled with guilt for what he had done. He could hear her sobs, see the pain all over her face when she finally let it break through. "It's hardly likely we'll see eye to eye. You should hate me."

"Yeah— well, my dad's not dead." She didn't look at him, but it was clear enough through the silence that he was shocked. "So, if I wanna hate you, I'm just gonna have to think of another excuse."

He was silent.

"I'm still sorry."

"You should be," Robin nodded. His actions had still resulted in the unnecessary death of three hundred people. He wasn't the one who killed them, but he could have prevented it. Sighing, she ran a palm over her face and adjusted her hold on the gun. It was rather uncomfortable due to her achey shoulder, but she managed, taking in a deep breath and peering through the scope. It was different to a handgun, much different; she felt awkward. "I hold it like this—?"

"Yeah," Bellamy nodded. He took a step closer and moved her hand for better grip, "Ya don't think Clarke'll faint, when she sees you with a gun?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Right," he rolled his eyes. "Just a lil' higher..." Bellamy placed his hand on her hip, the other tilting the barrel upwards. The hair from her ponytail tickled his cheek when she tilted her head to the left, and his eyes flickered to her face.

Bellamy's drank her in, all of her he could see in the lowlight. It illuminated her plump cheeks and the corner of her eyes. Her skin was smooth, aside from the scab on her temple and the scar above the bridge of her nose. His eyes fell upon her lips, the top bigger in size, especially when she tugged it between her teeth. Suddenly, he was aware of the placements of his hand, and felt a burn at the tip of his fingers, and his nose scrunched up like he had smelt a putrid scent. Blinking wildly, Bellamy cleared his throat and stepped back by an inch; "Yeah— yeah," he stumbled. "Watch and learn."

"I saved you from a panther," she pointed out.

"Just shut up, and watch."

   She huffed but slipped the rifle from her shoulder, tilting herself so she could watch.

   Bellamy sailed through the process of holding rifle and aligning it with the target as easily as one would toe their shoelace. He was smooth and precise, and painfully over-confident.

   He took in a breath and shut one eye, then pulled on the trigger with a click! Then again, and again, again. Click! Click! Click! Brows drawn together, Bellamy pulled the gun away and shook it, sighing heavily when he realised it was the bullets. It was embarrassing, to be honest, and he could hear Robin snort.

    "Still watching..." she drawled, "Not learning..."

    "Mine are duds," he said.

"No shit," Robin stepped forward.

She mimicked the hold that he had shown her, peering through the scope until her cross aligned with their target. Robin inhaled.

Robin shuffled on her feet and tried to distribute her weight on both, while trying to keep her bad leg free of pain. As she exhaled, she pulled back trigger and was pleasantly surprised when the gun jolted and a bullet drove through the target, just shy of her mark, a bang! of satisfaction airing throughout the depot.

"Cool," she breathed with a silvery giggle. "Good enough for ya, hot shot?"

"It'll do," Bellamy nodded.

   He slipped the gun from her hands and hoisted it up, leaning to the scope and pulling the trigger back.

   It hit the bullseye.

   Robin ignored his smirk and crossed her arms.

    "What's with the face, sweetheart?" Bellamy arched a brow, his grin falling when she didn't lighten up. "Clarke'll deal with all this, alright? She has no choice. I'm not running from spears, anymore."

    "Or knives..." she mumbled.

   His jaw clenched, "Or knives." His words held edge, spat with a grimace and grit teeth. Bellamy straightened his back, "Only those trusted will get access. Everyone will learn but we'll set up a patrol starting with Miller."

    "Miller?" Her eyes widened, "As in, Much the Miller's son? That Miller?" When he nodded, Robin scoffed. "You wanna trust Miller with a gun?"

    "He helped save your life," Bellamy said.

    "He's a health and safety violation!"

    "I trust him," Bellamy confessed. He'd known Miller a long time, and he always did right by Bellamy. Quite hasty, and admittedly a clumsier kid, but he was good. Miller was trustworthy. They would be needing that. "You should keep him close, alright?"

   She frowned.

    "Keep him close?"

    "Robin—"

    "Why the hell would I...?"

   A noise of realisation came from the back of her throat when he pursed his lips. She looked from him, to the pack at his feet, then it clicked: the rations. Robin's lips parted, forming an O, and she felt as he shuffled uncomfortably under he stare. He was leaving. Planning to leave camp, make a break for it into the woods, avoiding Jaha as well as any punishment he received when the ark came down. And it would probably work too. Even if it meant being killed by all the grounders. Robin let out a breathy laugh.

    "You're leaving," she squinted.

   His face twisted, "I don't have a choice. The ark are coming."

    "You're gonna leave your sister?" Robin's voice wasn't quite as accusatory as expected. More like she was trying to suss him out.

    "Octavia hates me: she'll be fine. You know I shot the chancellor. They're gonna kill me, Robin. Best-case scenario: they lock me up with the grounder for the rest of my life, and there's no way in hell I'm giving Jaha the satisfaction."

    "We can—"

    "I'm a deadman."

    "You can't... you can't just leave," her words sounded stiff, like it wasn't as bad an idea as she was claiming. And maybe it wasn't. He already had someone out to kill him, perhaps it would clear him of Jaha and the guard that wanted him dead. Maybe leaving was a means of getting him off the hook for all his wrong doings. Maybe it was best. Robin wanted to believe that, but it made her stomach knot. He wiped his nose and drifted towards the exit, and she held out a hand to stop him. If Bellamy went out there, whoever had a deal to kill him could be waiting to right him off whenever they had their chance. Robin and Bellamy were seen leaving the camp. Robin had to stop him from going out there, she had to tell him. It was unavoidable now. "Bellamy, I have to—"

    "I need some air," he said gruffly.

    "But—"

   Bellamy pushed her off and made for the exist, bounding up the steps with a gun slung over his shoulder. She groaned and tugged a hand across her face.

   Robin went to follow him, but stumbled with only a step. Vision blurry, she clamped her eyes shut and shuddered.

   It panicked her, slightly. The last time her vision was hazy was as a result of the poison in her system, before she started seizing. This was eerily similar — one of those symptoms before her death, they were what Clarke has warned her to be careful of. She opened her eyes again but forced them closed when they hadn't cleared even a fraction. Robin's breaths grew heavy and alarmed. Was she having another seizure? Bellamy was gone— what if she died? What if she died, all on her own? What happened, then? If she died, so did he; he had no idea someone was going to murder him. They were both dead; goners.

   Slowly, Robin sank down to her bottom.

   She placed her palms against the floor, trying to ground herself, taking in deeper breaths. When she opened her eyes, Robin wasn't in the depot. Instead, she was in the ark, tucked behind the wall in her living quarters. She was home.

    "She looks like him,"

    "Apate—"

    "More and more, everyday."

   Robin leaned out from behind the wall, poking her head around the corner.

    "People are going to notice," a familiar voice said.

   Strange, Robin frowned, it sounded just like her mother. Robin peered down at her hands and was shocked to see them so small, her eyes wide when she noticed she wore her favourite childhood dress. Her mother had made it for her, and she was very fond of it. Returning her stare to her living room, she watched a woman and a man give each other knowing stares. Wait— that was her mother.

    "People are only gonna notice if you make them notice," the man said. It was her father, she could tell. He looked the same, perhaps slightly younger. "We'll let her hair grow, dress her in different colours. It'll be fine."

    "What if it's not enough?"

    "It has to be."

    "We don't have a choice," she nodded.

   The whole conversation was familiar. Robin could have sworn it was one she had heard, before.

    "We don't have a choice," her father echoed. Robin resisted all the overwhelming urges to jump up and hug them both. She missed it when they were around. She hadn't seen her mother in years, and the relationship with her father was broken. To be this little again, it would be a dream.

    "I can't let her get hurt," her mother's voice was strained, pushing against her throat as a lump grew. "Not because of what I did. She will never forgive me, when she finds out. I don't want my baby to hate me. I can't go knowing she—"

    "She wouldn't hate you."

    "I would hate me."

    "Robin could never hate you, Apate."

   Robin leaned in closer, trying to see them up close, but went too far and slipped. She landed on her side with a light yelp, sounding younger and more childish when she did.

   They flung around.

   She offered them a sheepish smile.

    "Robin," her father played it off. "Come on over, sport."

   Robin didn't hesitate. She scrambled off the floor and raced over to him, flinging her arms around him, as he lifted her off the floor.

   It felt good to be in his arms, again. Wholesome. Right. He gave her a squeeze before letting her down, and Robin turned to look at the woman behind her. The woman she hadn't seen in so long, the one that some days she could hardly remember. Tears stung at her eyes and, for a moment, Robin wondered if she would faint. What was going on? How was she there? How was Robin there? None of it made sense. She knew it wasn't real; it was some kind of memory, and at some point it would be over, but she didn't want to think of that, right now. As Robin lurched herself into her mother's arms, a wet laugh passing her lips, she wanted this moment to last forever.

    "Hi, baby."

    "Hi, mom."

    "You need to wake up, Robbie."

    "What?" Robin pulled away from the hug, and suddenly it was the two of them back in the depot.

    "This isn't real, my darling girl." Apate cupped her face and ran a thumb to wipe her teary eyes, smiling softly. "It was so good to see you again, but it's time to go."

    "I don't wanna go," she cried. "Not, yet."

    "I know..." the woman sighed. She peered down at Robin, with her held arms length. "You're so grown up," she smiled. Fingers light, she stroked Robin's arms and her eyes brightened with recognition at the material. "You still have it," Apate laughed. "I knew you would. I always knew you were special; you were so blessedly good."

    "I'm not good, mom. I've done bad things," Robin sniffled.

    "Bad actions don't make you a bad person." Apate placed a kiss upon her forehead, "Remember that, Robbie. Remember that you're a good one."

    "I'll try..." she whispered.

    "That's my girl."

   Robin shut her eyes, savouring the feeling of her mother's warm touch and comforting embrace. When she opened them again, her mother was gone. It was only her in the depot, and she resisted the need to cry.

   Footsteps came from behind her and she flew around, looking up at the steps to see someone walk down them. A sigh passed her lips when she recognised who it was. He was all in one piece, quite the opposite to what she had expected he would be, and Robin waited to say anything until he made it to the bottom. He no longer had a gun on his shoulder but she hardly noticed the fleeting details. He had more important things to hear from her than an odd question about where his gun had gotten to.

    "Bellamy," she breathed. "I have to tell you something. When I went to talk to my dad, it wasn't him. It was some guard," Robin's words were jumbled , "He— he wanted me to kill you! He said he wanted you dead! I don't know him, but— but I think he got some other kid involved... you've gotta— what are you doing?"

   Bellamy walked over to the pile of guns and picked one up.

    "Bellamy, I don't—"

    "Sorry, hood."

   Robin frowned, trying to figure out why a girl's voice had passed his lips, but she didn't have to the chance to ask. Bellamy raised up the gun, his face morphing into a very different one. Alula Heathers.

   Then, Robin hit the ground.

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