Remember Me

there’s never been anything like what emotions soar through octavia as his hand stops her assault. what should bring fear or frustration, feels somehow like those long forgotten pieces of her breathe new life. staring at him is like seeing a thousand lives in colours she never even knew existed.  “ you… ”

everything about this is wrong. he’s a target that she’s meant to murder in cold blood. she’s meant to handle him before he has any chance to make matters worse for her organization and yet ; just a glance in his eyes causes it all to stop. causes her to question just about everything ( what if she got the files and left him alive? ). until his second, holy shit hits her ears and she remembers what the hell she’s supposed to be doing. grip tightens around her blade again.

just because she lost her element of surprise, doesn’t mean she could simply walk out of here to wait for another chance, let alone leave him alive. there’d be consequences if she let him go, with or without the files she needed. octavia’s movements are quick, using a pressure point in his wrist that held her own to free herself from him before she launches onto his bed for another attack. except everything inside of her screams to not fight this fight. she’s supposed to kill. always kill but octavia moves to subdue him in a way that doesn’t leave her vulnerable but doesn’t bring him any harm either. she’s so fucking fired or worse.  “ don’t. don’t fight me. ”  she says forcefully, although acutely aware of where she hovers her blade near his skin. “ you have something i want, get it for me— and maybe i don’t have to kill you. ”

He’s not the only one going through an entire three-act play, it seems. Lincoln’s never seen this woman before in his life, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to notice the multitude of emotions playing across her face the same way he’s sure they’re playing across his. He can feel a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, a thought of finally flitting through his mind. Until, that is, he can feel the flex of her forearm beneath his fingers as she fixes her grip on her blade. Clearly the emotions flitting through her mind aren’t quite the same as his.

Lincoln barely has time for the thought of I’m bigger than her to cross his mind before a shooting pain goes up his arm. “Ow, fuck,” he mutters, dropping her wrist in surprise. By the time he’s got the numbness shaken out of his hand she’s got him pinned in a way that he can’t use his size against her. He tries to shove against her, dislodge her position, but its no use. “How in the world?” he grunts, exertion evident in his voice. “You’re like half my size. Less than,” his brow furrows, stunned and finally ceasing his struggle as he eyes the blade once more.

he’s a target, just like all the others that have come before him. a task. a place to direct her attention that drowns out all the noise and that’s what octavia focuses on as she silently breaks into his home. not the fact that this target, lincoln, resembled a past version of herself too closely, knocking on a part of herself she didn’t consider to exist anymore. 

tonight octavia moves about in a rehearsed way, knowing where to step that doesn’t creak from the handful of times when she’d been in here before to study his routines. there are files she needs but they could wait until her poisoned dagger went through his heart. she moves in the shadows towards his bedroom, pulling her weapon from her holster before crossing the threshold into his room. it’s easiest this way, to kill while they sleep. but for him ; someone who’s only after the truth it seems a cruel fate. 

but it’s not her job to ask questions or to feel anything about what must be done with her targets so she stands at the edge of his bed, orders in mind. hues drift over the sleeping form before her grip tightens around the dagger, pulling back the covers in a swift motion to plunge her dagger into his chest when his eyes snap open & meet hers. octavia freezes in an instant, knife hovering above him. hesitation takes over her body as something unexplainable happens. warmth. undeniable happiness. light. a life time of love flashes before her very eyes awakening a quiet voice inside of her that expresses it all ; soulmates.  / assassin soulmates au starter !! @trikrulinkon

The life of a photojournalist was far from glamorous. Or, at least, that was the case for Lincoln Woods. While others his age might still be hitting the downtown nightclubs, Lincoln had fallen asleep while going through notes for his latest article. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d woken up, journal still wrapped around his thumb where his arm had fallen by his side, pen on the floor after falling from his fingertips, and neck jacked up from falling asleep at the oddest angle. It also, without a doubt, wouldn’t be the last time either. Right?

It isn’t the footsteps that wake him (chalk it up to years of sleeping in locations where there was a lot of hustle and bustle around). It isn’t even the slight draft he feels as the covers are pulled back. No, it’s the click that sounds when the pen hits the floor, sent tumbling from the bed spread as the covers were peeled away. 

@trikrulinkon​ sent : “you die, i die.” / the best part about me is i save your memes for years thinking eventually you’ll come back and LOOK WHO WAS RIGHT! / ask clear out

knife against her throat, octavia can hardly move anymore without feeding the blade deeper into her skin but she would if it meant she’d get to lincoln. although it doesn’t come to that as she’s forced into the dim room, eyes finding him immediately before chains are looped through zip ties. they’re left there in the silence, unable to move from the old style heat register as the door locked shut behind their assailants. “ lincoln, ” she breathes a shaky sigh of relief to see him still alive as she scoots towards him as close as her chains will allow. the room smells of death making her stomach flip with anxiety. the two chairs near them with blood stains on the concrete floor do nothing to ease it. “ we have to move, you need to get away from here… ” octavia pushes and pulls tightly against the zip ties, tearing at the skin around her wrists with a sharp intake of breath. she pulls again in frustration, feet pushing against the register with no luck. fuck! they’re not getting out of here and her blood boils at the thought. “ you die, i die. ” 

“ stop it. ” she snaps towards him with a grave seriousness leaking into her features as she shakes her head. “ don’t, okay, don’t make any of this worse… ”  her voice trails off, eyes shifting away from him because he’s someone the cartel can use to inflict their message to tree nation’s president easily. he’s family, beyond just the ties to the club like octavia. they should have never voted yes at church. should have never gotten themselves involved with a bloody cartel and this is exactly why. they don’t fuck around or give many second chances. they don’t have mercy for runs that go wrong. they want their money, their drugs to be distributed and to remain a horrid nightmare to everyone who fears their name. “ you don’t get to say that shit… ” he doesn’t get to make her love him and then leave her. not like this. “ indra will realize, nyko, penn, they’ll realize we’re gone and get this shit figured out with the cartel, ” she holds tight to that idea, even if it’s not the most realistic. “ please lincoln, don’t do anything stupid before they have the chance to come for us. ”

He doesn’t look up at the sound of someone entering, no longer impressed with the revolving door of people who have been through to take a crack at him. It is the sound of shuffling feet as someone is forced into the room. He can feel the knot forming in his stomach, knowing it must one of his people if they aren’t here willingly. It is so much worse, though. Every muscle in his body tightens as he watches Octavia get chained to the pipes, the raw skin in his wrists flaring in pain once more as tries to jerk his hands free. 

Hearing his voice from her lips is a whole new form of torture. How these assholes got her of all people.... He shakes his head at her, jaw clenched. She doesn’t get it. He’s tried. He’s been trying until it felt like he was going to dislocate a shoulder trying to pull free. And for damn sure he isn’t going to get himself free without getting her a way out first.

“You die, I die,” he tells her, shaking his head again. Doesn’t she get that by now? It isn’t just because she’s part of the family now and it’s his duty to protect them. She has to know that he’d put her above them. 

“Me?” he breathes in disbelief. “How’d they get you? Why didn’t you run?” He’s angry at her, in a way he doesn’t think has ever happened before. Him being here is just a message. He isn’t going to leave this place in a body bag, of that he’s sure. Tree Nation’s work for the cartel would take a huge hit without him. Not to mention the chances of righting the mistake their newbies made grew even slimmer if Lincoln was completely out of the picture. He was too engrained in the business, too knowledgeable, too much of a figurehead, too much of a deterrent to others fucking up. But if they roughed him up, of all people...well, that sent a message. Octavia on the other hand....

The exact time of his employment with the Blakes escaped him at the moment. Was he still counting in months? After what felt like a long and grueling trial, should he start counting in years? What he did know is that he could measure his life in the before and after Bellamy had hired him. In the before, he was a discharged Navy SEAL who clearly had some lingering PTSD. Every moment of his life seemed dictated by an event that had happened during his deployments. He no longer knew how to judge the real world. But in the after? They had taught him how to be a civilian again. He knew how to be protective and capable without being paranoid. He knew how to get enjoyment out of life instead of just existing. Now he was on the precipice of a new kind of after and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. 

With the trial ending, the reason for Lincoln’s initial employment was over. The band no longer needed someone of his expertise at the head on a daily basis. They could go back to using venue security coupled with their own small team for touring. Nothing had been decided as of yet, but Bellamy had asked him if he knew what was next. Could he go back to Kane? Go back to some security guard gig? Should he look for another bodyguard detail? Navigating the civilian job market was not something they taught him before his discharge.

——–

If the damn hound had just followed one of the others instead of her, she’d have been able to duck into different brush, small enough to disguise herself pretty easily. it’s her best move usually. but as luck has it, the hound follows after her and she knows hiding isn’t going to magically rid the animal of her scent. 

Brows furrow as she dashes through the trees, not as familiar with this forest as the ones closest to her home. He wants to stop and chat? There’s almost a smirk at that. Perhaps that could work in her favor, if his hound and him are the only ones on her trail, Octavia’s been known to pull a disappearing act or two after getting close enough to her possible enemy, all courtesy of echo. But she doesn’t have another moment to think when her foot tangles with the roots on the forest floor. 

Octavia tumbles to the ground and the hound is close behind her. Frustratedly, her face shows a scowl as she turns on the forest ground and faces the animal that appeared before her. She hates losing. By the time the man on the horse comes into view however, she’s jumping back to her feet, stance ready to dart again if he gets too close. “ nice hound. ”  she glared.

Lincoln’s not overly surprised when he sees the one he’s chasing tumble to the ground. Being pursued could make a person anxious. That, coupled with likely fatigue, made staying 100% alert difficult. Did he feel bad, though? Not a chance. He’d asked the fellow to stop and explain themselves.

He lets the horse trot into the clearing, halting its movement as the other hops to their feet. And he finds it’s a girl he’s been chasing. It’s rare to find a woman running about with what could only be a pack of thieves in the forest. 

     The last time Octavia had roamed forests using thick brush to hide her presence, she’d been a child, tarnishing another pretty dress as she played a seeking game with Bellamy. They’d only been capable of doing it a handful of times before some of the king’s knights found their prince unprotected beyond the walls. His father had been displeased in the childish antics of his heir who would eventually lead the royal army into battles. But even as a young girl, Octavia understood that the bigger crime was that Bellamy had brought her outside the castle walls where she could be seen. A place she was forbidden once the truth of their mother’s treason came to light. 

     Eventually she’d be able to return to the kingdom. Once Bellamy’s reign began ( if he lived to see it ), theoretically she could create a life in and outside the walls. For now, her freedom came along with being a runaway and traitor. A bandit along with a group of others, outcasts from all different kingdoms across the realms. 

      They’ve made it a habit of wandering the different lands, in search of the richest to rob. Trading their goods was one of the most proven ways to survive out here but as Octavia and the others stalked towards the sounds of horse hooves, emerald hues quickly searched for a royal crest as the winds changed. That caused them all to halt in their place as their scents shifted towards the hounds with the men. All except one. Murphy, an Irishmen from the north-western lands had taken a few too many steps as everyone else fell silent causing a few twigs to snap beneath his weight.

    Wide eyes only caught sight of her friends for a second before they were all rushing in different directions to confuse the men like they’d been taught to do. No use starting a fight with knights on their horses when the element of surprise was lost. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the scent the hounds had picked up wasn’t their boar. The sudden rush of sound and the stampede of footsteps in differing directions was a dead giveaway. As was the fact that the hound at Lincoln’s side did little more thank cock his head.

Team up and give chase! Lincoln looked to his side, eyebrows lifted in Nyko’s direction. They’ve come too close to the grounds. That was all the response he received before his friend set his horse after the sound of footfalls. Lincoln slipped the lead off the dog by his side, gave him the command to follow, and dug his own heels into his horse to set it moving.

Even as agile as his mount was, the dog was far more capable of moving through the trees. He could hear him barking ahead, giving chase to one of the runners. Lincoln knew the dog wouldn’t attack, its job to tire out their prey, not kill. It made it far easier for him to keep chase without getting stick in the forest.

Besides, Lincoln knew just how lucky he was to be out with hunting party. When Nyko had taken him as a page, and now a squire, in his youth, he’d been beyond excited. For generation his family had been porters and stewards to the nobles of the area. He had grown up looking to Nyko as a mentor and friend and the older man had taken him under his wing to teach him how to hunt and protect those around them. It wasn’t every day a lad got a chance to move his family up the social ladder.

With Nyko as the huntmaster, Lincoln rode beside him, the main hound on a lead in his grasp. The other hounds were trailing nearby waiting for a command. Unfortunately, despite all their training, the pack started to veer outside the path that they were setting forth. No amount of whistling brought them back in line, either. 

Must have caught scent of something, he heard Nyko mutter as he called the group to a halt. Their lead hound still hadn’t moved off the path, telling them the boar they were after was not nearby. Give it a look then, Nyko nodded toward Gustus and his squire and Lincoln held steady as he watched the men lead their horses through the trees.

@trikrulinkon​ asked :  [ swat ] your muse swatting mine’s hand away from something they’re not supposed to touch |  memes

     there had been a calm. an eerie calm that lulled most into a safe routine before the storm hit. this time, in the form of a lost member. a job gone wrong. a set up. at this point, it was too soon to tell. all they knew is there was blood. blood everywhere and a tree nation member not coming home. 

      octavia found him in his dorm room at the club house. feet hesitated at the door way, hues taking in the blood stained clothes he still wore. this was new to her. the death of a brother while being patched and as she had wandered through the club house, she could tell it hit differently. but, death…that wasn’t so new to her. she understood that. 

    after a moment, feet cautiously entered the bedroom, letting the door click behind her before sitting at the end of the bed near him. his mind seemed miles away and so instead of filling the silence with a mindless chatter, octavia simply said nothing. only slowly reached her hands towards the edge of his cut to help him rid himself of the stained leather except he stopped her. hand pushing hers away. again, she understood. but again, she reached forward. this time his hand caught hers and as eyes locked with his, she slowly covered his hand with her own instead. “it’s okay.” her words barely above a whisper.

    his head shook, but hers nodded slowly. “it’s okay,” she repeated, slowly pulling him towards her until he was almost resting with his head in her lap. her arm came to wrap around him, with fingers ghosting along the side of his face, trying to sooth the hole felt throughout the club house.

Over the years, Lincoln had been part of missions with outcomes across the board. He’d been in charge of things that had run perfectly. He had the scars from tasks that had scared him enough to think it’d be his last. He’d also been out and made it back with his boys after having to go to a Plan B, or C or D. Physically, they were taxing, but mentally he had learned to expect the unexpected. When one of their prospects gets put into a mission that ends up a mess? That’s a different story.

Hearing someone enter, Lincoln lifts his eyes only long enough to check the identity of the intruder. He doesn’t even acknowledge her presence before dropping his gaze back to the hands hanging between his knees. If he’d wanted company, he wouldn’t have sought the privacy of the dorm. She doesn’t seem to get that. No matter how many times he brushes her hand off him or tries to tell him otherwise, this is not okay. 

“He was a kid,” he muttered, angry at everyone. He’s mad that Artigas got shot. He’s pissed that they put a cut in that kid’s hands and brought him along for the mission. Run-of-the-mill, they’d said. Good for experience. What could go wrong? He’s angry that Nyko couldn’t save him. That Artigas’s dad stared at the two of them when they gave him the news like they’d betrayed him. It’s not even Lincoln’s job - protection in the field - and yet he feels responsible. 

It’d been a long day, but one that was a relief after over a year that could only be described as taxing. While that prospect rocker had resided on Octavia’s back, they had both agreed that discretion was of the utmost importance. It wasn’t a secret, their whatever it was called. Lexa and Indra as well as others at the top of the club certainly knew that he only ever went home with one woman anymore. They also knew that he wouldn’t baby Octavia, that he was far too fond of watching the younger woman pave her own way and stand up for herself. So much so that he hadn’t been able to do anything but shrug as their VP had teased him about his brand of foreplay.

“Damn that looks good on you,” he muttered as he traced a finger along the newly added colors upon her back. He’d found her at the bar and it didn’t take him long to motion to the worker on duty to bring them a set of shots. The celebration had been ongoing for hours now. Ever since they’d brought her to the table that afternoon and had her swap out her patches. The bar was packed with club members celebrating, and getting any of the new patches on their own was a feat in and of itself.

Talk to me. Talk to me. Talk to him. With her face buried against him, she shook her head, taking a moment. Octavia had the drive here to think of what to say, to calm the boiling rage that she had as she fled the Blake apartment but there’s so much. Where does she start? At the beginning where she stuck her nose in business that now she’s wishing she’d stayed out of? The volatile confrontation while she packed her bag, desperate to get as far away from big brother as possible. For half a second as she started her bike, the thought of leaving to Canada where Ontari and Caed would be turned over in her mind. But Ontari and Caed typically led to drug use which, in hindsight, brought forward the realization of how she’d ended up at the doctor’s outside of DC. 

After another deep breath to level herself, she pulled away and left her gym bag on the floor by the door. Time to talk. “I can’t stay in Alexandria for now.” She barely lifts her shoulders, pushing her tongue against the back of her teeth until it briefly hurt as she moved into the apartment. Bell would try Murphy’s first. Then Fox. Then Louis’ crash pad. If he was angry enough and unwilling to understand she didn’t want to see him, he might try coming to DC but she doubted it. As she sat down on the couch, she pulled her vibrating phone from her back pocket to toss on a different cushion, silencing it’s sounds. “That’s gotta be the tenth call in thirty minutes.” A hand went to her forehead, rubbing at her temple to fight back the pounding headache. Another breath. Another glance Lincoln’s way. “I haven’t taken anything.” But she might and that’s what scared her. She really. Actually. Might. But she’s fucking trying. Trying to fight the instincts that scream to protect herself with a haze.

“Bellamy lied.” Again and again and again. “Those rumors that’ve been circling since I patched in, jokes on me—not rumors.” 

Lincoln felt the movement of her head as she denied his request for information. He deflated, letting out a sigh and his shoulders sagged slightly, the tightness of his arms around her alleviating somewhat. It would be easy to fall back on his rage, it’s right there beneath the surface. But without knowing who deserved his ire, he just felt defeated. Two years of work undone. That’s what this amounted to. Two years of getting to know this woman and falling under her damn spell and one fuckhead could erase all that they had accomplished. Okay, all she had accomplished.

Hands went to his pockets as his eyes tracked her across the room. It was obvious they both shared the same weight on their shoulders now. “You know you’re welcome here. Always,” he emphasized. He may not be one for grand gestures but he’d be just as happy if home wasn’t a different city. A different anything if he’s being 100% honest. If he’s also being completely honest, he was disgusted with himself at the relief he felt when she said she hadn’t taken anything. He should have trusted her. She had come for help instead of falling down the rabbit hole she would have in her past.

Lincoln had just finished cleaning up after dinner when the knock sounded. The only thing keeping the groan from escaping was thankfulness that he at least got to have a meal in peace. One thing about his so-called job with Tree Nation was that it had no hours. While he set his schedule at the tattoo shop, his crew required him to always be on-call.

The woman on the other side of the door is a welcome interruption. Or would be if she hadn’t knocked. His brow furrows as he tries to make sense of why she’s being so formal instead of waltzing right in like he she normally did. Something he had most definitely encouraged as of late. The wrinkle in his brow smooths as he listens and he’s stunned. if he’s honest he’s also hurt. He’d told her at the beginning if she relapsed after he pulled her back to the land of the sober he’d take it personally. So now he has to look away from her, jaw clenching as his eyes settle on the wall over her head. Is tomorrow 686 or 1? That’s what he wants to ask but he manages to bite the reply back. In the end, does it matter? Would he turn her away? Maybe if she’d relapsed initially he could have scoffed and sent her packing. Not now, though. Not when they’ve been them for so long now. 

    “Don’t mock my questions,” Her smirk grew, head shaking. “You can learn a lot about someone from their tattoos.” After all, Octavia’s were practically a road map of her entire history. If anyone knew that…it was the artist in front of her. While he’d answered yes, letting her know that all of his art work had reasons behind them, he left it at that. “Wow,” A light chuckle came from her lips. “Lincoln, you’ve really painted a picture, no really, it feels I was there.” She mocked, though she had to admit in his defense—he wasn’t half out of his mind on drugs or coming down from them like she’d been the many times that had led to her babbling on about her life. He knew so much about her, not because she’d let him exactly but because he’d been the one there, again and again when she was less than herself. Absentmindedly she wondered when he had become that person for her? And more importantly, how had she let that happen without really noticing?

     But then she realized he was telling her more and she forced herself to pay attention. Her eyebrows raised briefly at the statement. Ouch. A chest tattoo as his first? And he’d looked at her like she was crazy when she’d come into his shop at eighteen asking for the tattoo of Bellamy that was her favorite on the back of her arm. And that one wasn’t even her first. “Painful first.” She commented, fingers reaching for the beer she’d collected from the fridge. “Something to prove or pure enjoyment?” Octavia asked before bringing the bottle back up to her lips to finish it off. 

    It wasn’t like she’d thought the Sergeant had been lying to her in the beginning about treatment within Tree Nation, if she had—she wouldn’t be in his bed now but she never really gave it much thought regarding Lincoln. He was Lincoln Woods for god sake. His families name had had a hand in building the entire Grounders organization and to think they’d have kept him out if he proved unworthy. Maybe her own club had skewed her judgement. Knowing that he had to have worked just as hard as every other person that had the pleasure of calling themselves Tree Nation made her respect his club all the more. Not that she’d admit it out loud, especially not to her own brother but in some ways, Tree Nation seemed almost superior to her brother’s club. Octavia couldn’t say every member had worked exactly hard to get in. Now that they were in? Of course. But to get in?? The Sky gods had a habit of taking in most delinquents who’d follow some orders.

    “Must have been something—prospecting for your family and all.” Octavia could only imagine from what she’d seen of his club, what she knew of about Lexa it wouldn’t have been some walk in the park. Now that she thought about it, regardless of his blood, she imagined there were tests. After placing the empty bottle on his side table, emerald hues lifted to his. “I couldn’t imagine prospecting with my dad around still—let alone my brother.” It never stopped her from wanting it of course. Octavia simply chose not to focus on how big brother might react if she ever did weasel her way into Sky Gods.

“Oh, I’m quite aware,” he smirked, knowing he wouldn’t know this woman at all if it weren’t for her tattoos and the time surrounding them. Of course, his shop also saw its fair share of folks just wanting something visually appealing with no story behind it whatsoever. That’s not what he wanted, though. If he was going to use his body as a canvas, there damn well better be a reason for each and every piece of ink he wore. 

“Not as bad as you think,” he shook his head and gave a slight shrug. While the reaction was a slight overstatement, the only part that had caused extreme discomfort was atop his collarbone. “It’s all about nerve endings. How thin is the skin?” He circled his fingers around her wrist to pull her hand toward him. “People that do things on their hands and feet?” he shook his head as a finger traced the veins on the back. “Batshit,” he grinned before letting go of her wrist. “They were inevitable, though. These are like a family coat of arms now. Tree Nation or not..”

You can. Her eyes narrowed then, confused by his intentions. He seems to be about the only person she’s come in contact with that’s saying there’s any option in the matter at hand but even then could she trust that? Did she want to? The list of people she trusted was extremely short, would there even be a chance she could trust him? History tells her differently, perhaps it’s a trap. That’s what her worlds taught her. Search for the hidden meaning. Search for the danger. Either way, it didn’t matter and it was irrelevant because she’s doing this job. 

Octavia reached forward, pulling out the papers placed neatly in the glove box, fingers combing through it to ensure everything that might be needed is there. Tickets. Passports. Well, she opens hers and a fake passport at least. Her first name’s the same though the last is foreign. Her picture had been taken at the compound earlier and as she brushed her thumb over the document she realized that sooner or later, she was going to really need one of these. One for her and one for Bellamy. A fake passport would take time and access, she’d have to make a lot of friends or at least not make anymore enemies to gain two of those. Hues flickered to Lincoln briefly before back down at the papers in her hand. Guess she already had her next quiet job as soon as this one at hand was successful.

As soon as he stops, she’s out of the car with the correct papers in hand staring at the airport. All she had to do now was make it through security then find a utility closet or some place that would allow her to rid herself of the balloons in her stomach. Just make it through security and she’s another step closer to living. Eyes quickly glanced at the time on Lincoln’s phone; thirty five minutes remaining. A shaky breath left her lips then but almost instantly she shook it off, now wasn’t the time for her nerves or fears. She’s just a traveler. Just a regular girl in an airport. 

The moment she heard his car door shut, Octavia made her way towards him, handing off the phone. “Shall we miss a flight?” The small makings of a smile warmed her face for the first time since she’d been taken into this new organization because out here, she has to be normal and believable. Just imagine you’re off to really see the world, she thought to herself as they walked into the airport and immediately headed towards one of the kiosks to check in before they attempt to rush through security.

“Let’s go,” he prodded, brow furrowed for a moment when she halts outside the car instead of joining him immediately. Now wasn’t the time for second thoughts. If she hadn’t been sure about this, she had the entire drive over to have him pull over and put a halt to this. He wanted her to. Hell, Indra probably wanted her to. Any reason to get rid of a hot head, which is what he was beginning to think this Octavia Blake was. 

Their operation worked because everyone kept a level head and worked together. Instead of internal competition, they competed with outsiders. There were squabbles, sure, every family had them, but they also took care of their own. No matter what happened yesterday or what was t come tomorrow, today, Octavia was part of that family. Today, he had to take care of her.

His eyebrows lifted before he had a chance to hide the surprise at her sudden change in demeanor. He schooled his features quickly as he carried both bags into the airport, accompanying her to a kiosk and quickly navigating the on-screen prompts. He motions to the passes in her hand and waiting on her to scan them to finalize their check-in.

Step one done, Lincoln nods toward the escalators back the way they came. Concourses are upstairs and they need to get through security at the top of the escalators before they can do anything else. He refrains from asking how she feels as he steps onto the moving stairway, knowing there’s little they can do at this point. At the same time, they should talk if they’re together.