Just in case I don't get the chance, happy holidays everyone! I love you all, and I'm so thankful for each and every one of you!

Clarke and Autumn ambled out of Ezra's office. Autumn had recently been more aware of the pain in her side than she had been beforehand. Autumn had pleaded with Clarke to take her to Ezra and Autumn also had begged Clarke not to say a word to Tate. It had been almost a week since she'd been attacked and Autumn hadn't seen Tate at all.

She didn't want to burden him with more of her problems. He'd clearly had enough of her already. Autumn concealed the pill bottle Ezra had given her in her back pocket.

"Thank you." Autumn broke the usual silence between them.

"Mhm," Clarke commented. Autumn had to accept this as a suitable answer since Clarke ignored her more times than not. Autumn also learned that her new babysitter did not believe in saying 'thank you' or 'you're welcome'. "I think Ezra's using you as his personal lab rat," Clarke murmured.

"What?" Autumn was completely caught off guard. Clarke habitually said less than three words to her a day. "Why?"

"He had no interest in learning about humans, you came along, and all of a sudden he's a genius."

"Is that a bad thing?" Autumn wasn't sure exactly what Clarke was trying to say. She was characteristically very blunt and unafraid to hold anything back. So, her cryptic language was unnerving. They stopped outside of her room, facing each other.

"Not exactly. You could say you gave him a purpose." She initiated her typical Clarke stance: arms crossed over her chest.

"Purpose?" Autumn wondered.

"Think about it," Clarke already sounded frustrated. "For years, Ezra just hung around fixing bloody noses and cut lips. Now he has something to do with his life. New things to discover. You gave that to him." Autumn couldn't help but smile. The fact that Clarke was actually talking to her, not yelling or insulting, was inviting.

"That . . . that almost sounded like a compliment." Clarke lifted the corner of her lip, Autumn believing it was the closet she was ever going to get to a smile.

"Good, it was meant too." Autumn unfastened the door and trudged inside. Clarke drifted in the doorway.

"I've got to get some files from Cade and turn them in. Just hang out here for a few, I'll come back for you." With that Clarke banged the door behind her.

Autumn reflected back to her dark day; the day she had lost hope.

Things gradually started to piece themselves together and everything seemed to be improving. She had gotten her revenge, enjoyed her time with Cade, and Clarke's icy exterior seemed to be starting to melt. She was getting extremely close to feeling at ease.

Of course, the attack last week and the lack of Tate kept her from fully achieving the peace of mind she had been accustomed too.

Autumn spent most of her time wondering why. Why was Tate avoiding her? Why did it bother her so much?

Sick of being trapped in her mind, she decided to examine her side. Lifting her shirt, she unearthed a mesh of gloomy purple bruises. Ezra was unsure as to why the bruise was bothering her. He provided Autumn with some pain medicine and promised he'd further investigate the issue.

Besides this, there wasn't much more anyone could do.

Someone knocked on the door and, before Autumn could cover her side completely with her shirt, someone marched inside.

"Hey." Tate announced as he shut the door, gaze never breaking from her.

"Hey." Autumn mirrored his bland tone. It was odd to feel tension between them. Nonetheless, Autumn had some questions she deserved answers for.

"Are . . . are you alright?" His eyes traveled down the length of her body and ended on her side.

"Yeah of course." She attempted to play it off, more curious as to why Tate had been so absent. Tate, on the other hand, wasn't having it. He stomped across the room, looming over her. The expression plastered on his face was one Autumn had never seen before.

For the first time, she was afraid of him.

"Let me see," he commanded. She didn't understand why Tate was so mad.

"See what?" His nostrils flared as he jabbed his finger in the direction of her web of bruises. "Tate-"

"Let. Me. See." Autumn froze; she didn't want to. She feared he would blame himself for it and she was also frightened by the idea of him getting angrier. "Autumn!" She caved in. Raising the side of her shirt, she revealed the network of bruises.

Tate plunged down a couple shades, his face paler than she'd ever seen it. He extended his hand, the tips of his finger sliding across it. Autumn hissed and Tate threw his hand down.

"I'm so sorry," he shook his head. The pain in his face was unmissable. "I should have been right by your side. I shouldn't-"

"Tate, please. It wasn't your fault." Tate shook his head, unsatisfied that the blame hadn't been placed upon him. He evolved for the door. Autumn allowed her shirt to fall back into place and she dove forward in order to grip his wrist and prevent him from leaving.

"What!?" He tore away from her grasp and faced her. "Don't try to make me feel any better by lying to me!" Autumn didn't respond to his outburst because she needed to show him the true source of his pain: her.

She stared at his wrapped arm.

"No," he sneered. He knew exactly what she wanted.

"Why not? Huh? You get to feel guilty and I don't?" She analyzed him. Tate tensed, running a hand roughly over the back of his neck. "All of this is my fault. Everything, including that." Autumn reached out to him.

This time, he didn't back away.

He permitted her to take his wrist, straighten his arm, and unwrap the tape. As she begun the process of unveiling what she'd done to him, she realized she couldn't breathe. However, when the horror was divulged, she wheezed. This atrocious lump formed in her throat and all she desired to do was break down and cry for days.

Someone had carved a picture into his arm and they hadn't used a paint brush. They had used a knife. Multiple gashes ran along his arm, creating an image. The picture was that of a snake with an arrow piercing through its belly.

Autumn was in shock. Why would someone do this to another person? How could someone do this, and then live with themselves?

"This is my fault isn't it? This . . . it's what you got because of me being here! It was your punishment for saving me!" Autumn was fuming. Her anger was not directed at Tate, or even whoever did this to him. She was furious with herself.

"Autumn," was all he could say. Tate was perplexed, the situation one he was not ready to confront.

"I need to go! Just . . . take me home, drop me off on the side of the road I don't care!" A few warm tears trickled down her cheeks.

"I'm not going to do that-" Tate paused when Autumn began to sob. She broke down. Plopping onto the floor, back against her bed, she buried her face in her hands. Autumn was experiencing a mixture of feelings. She was terrified, ashamed, revolted and enraged with herself.

Autumn was so sick of crying but, in this case, it was precisely what she merited. She deserved to feel this pain and this guilt. Tate was dismayed. He had expected her to punch or shove him for abandoning her not only during the attack, but over the past week. He waddled around on the balls of his feet for a moment before the agony of her cries got to him.

"Autumn, you had nothing to do with his." He became aware of the lump forming in his own throat.

"Why would they do that to you?" Autumn conjectured, taking away her hands from her face. Her head still hung low in shame, but she dared to look at him.

"It's a . . . It's a picture for an old story. The snake is supposed to be a symbol for a traitor and the arrow for justice. No matter how quick or sneaky you are, justice always wins." He explained. "It's a way to mark you for your wrongdoing so everyone knows what you did but . . . I uh . . . I just don't see it that way."

"What do you mean?" Autumn wasn't sure how an image such as that could be misinterpreted. Tate stayed quiet for a while, just staring at his mark.

"I see it as a sign of strength." He looked to her. "You know, life down here it's . . . empty. It's just work, eat, and sleep. I'm lucky enough to get out every so often but," he inhaled deeply.

Autumn had felt empty and alone the entire time she'd been there. She couldn't imagine how Tate, someone who lived there for years, felt.

"Anyway," he picked back up with his explanation. "To me, it's so much more than that. It means that I fought for something, for someone . . . I fought for you." He smiled when he said this. "And I-I wouldn't undo that, I wouldn't go back on that decision. I don't regret it. Not for a second."

"All its caused you is pain," she blinked, a single tear racing down her rosy red cheeks.

"Sometimes, you need a little pain."