Chapter Text
Raven can barely handle the shot of whiskey Echo smuggles in for her and she attempts a hospital cheeseburger—at least it looks like a cheeseburger—before she collapses again.
She dozes with her face turned away from the sealed windows, midday light too bright outside, the air in the room was spartan, stale with linoleum floors and she felt dehydrated. When she blinks awake, it’s dark, and the TV is on low. A hand rests lightly on her heart, and one in her hair, and she feels safe. Raven drifts, the pain at the edge of her consciousness, not quite awake.
Much later. “Hurts,” she manages.
The hand on her chest, still there after what must have been hours tightens reflexively, pulling at her shirt.
“Raven,” Abby murmurs.
Raven startles, sits up, and instantly thinks better of it. Abby watches her steadily, trying to gauge which way Raven is going to move, waiting, with her half-smile and the amused, fond expression that always makes Raven’s heart stop, like she understood her, like Abby actually sees her.
Everything hurts.
“I really did a number on myself, huh,” she says.
“Mm. You really don’t half-ass things, do you?” Abby hums with a hint of irritable concern that means someone she cares for will be okay. Raven has heard it before, for Clarke, for Jackson, others, but never about her. It’s new, and not unwelcome.
“It was a big car, maybe a big… truck, it was bigger than me,” Raven says, and gingerly looks around for her pants, her shirt. She wants to leave, something feels very off. “Major… huge thing. Hurts.” She closes her eyes at Abby’s low, affectionate laugh.
“The whole night's been pretty operatic, actually,” Abby muses. Tired, raw. Too intimate. She's clearly exhausted, whatever happened. Raven meets Abby’s eyes, and her throat constricts.
“Lie back down, honey. Come back to bed.”
Raven starts to say no and stops. Because God does she want to say yes. She's wanted to say yes since she met Abby once or twice at her house, dragged there to parties by Bellamy and Echo. It had been fine. Sinclair was there. Jaha. All the nerd engineering and zero-G mechanical crew Jake gathered together. Finn made broad introductions and then disappeared into any room Clarke Griffin was in. She never belonged there, but figured if Bellamy, Echo, and Octavia were with her and none of them were in the same caste as anyone else present she was allowed a free drink as well. At least.
Finn, what an asshole.
The class issues are front and center. Her insane crush on a (married) Council Member is… not possible. Come back to bed. But Abby doesn't mean she'll press Raven down and kiss her senseless, she doesn’t mean I'm yours, she means rest. Come back to bed, Raven. Rest.
When Raven was a child, she wondered what her soulmate would be like, if she even had one. She loved stories of Alexander the Great. He’d kept a copy of the Iliad under his pillow, along with a knife.
She dreamed of going up to space. She used to joke that her person was going to be the janitor with the least social skills and the best access to old mechanical parts. He was going to have blue eyes and a pretty rad grasp of physics. Then she’d met Finn, and he was enough of a weirdo for her to love. He kept her safe, had her over for dinner when he knew she was living off potato chips and cereal. He made her laugh. He carved birds for her and kept her away from the hard drugs her mother kept in the house. She loved him enough, but she loved training for the spacewalks better.
She loved how silent it was right at the Kármán line, how dark. Black, the creative spark of the cosmos. The place where Earth ends, and outer space begins.
Astrophysics, Astronomy, Computer Science, Coding. Building things and fixing things in zero-G. Science was real. Soulmates were not. It was a fairytale.
She was 24 and her injury would end her career before it really started. So, she works.
She bites down on a strap of leather, holding a blowtorch under the metal head of a mallet, shirt pulled away from her hip, flashes of pain behind her wet stinging eyes, and shame caught in her throat. She's building her own brace, because the hospital couldn’t do it for her, no matter how hard Abby and Jackson fought for it.
Abby is 40, maybe 41, and Raven gazes at a childhood hero, and wonders for the hundredth time how Abby Griffith survived the death of her husband. She knows the story, everybody did. Jake died on Abby’s operating table. Abby blamed herself. Clarke blamed her. Jake Griffith died from almost the exact same injuries Raven sustained. They had loved each other. If that was a kind of love that wasn’t really going to be for Raven in this lifetime… well. She had Finn. She’d had Bellamy once before Echo had found him in all his technicolor glory.
Abby brings her a slightly burnt grilled cheese. “Sorry,” she's adorably perplexed. “Jake was better at the Bunsen burner than I ever was.”
Raven flips up her visor, starving.
“I’ll stick to the stove next time, promise. You did your PT for today? Did you need any help with anything?”
Raven isn’t clear how much Abby really had to do with wiping her medical debts, but the entirely innocent questions about her possibly needing help, about fulfilling her daily physical therapy, and casually making her lunch feels a little too much like things she's incapable of doing herself anymore, and something else she owes Abby Griffin.
Abby tilts her head and assesses the frown line forming between Raven’s brows, “Don’t you dare.” and she leans down and takes a bite of the sandwich. She clearly isn’t talking about the food, “I almost killed myself making this. It’s good. Eat. You’re too thin.”
“You’re not my mom,” Raven murmurs. It’s overwhelming. It just was... and the stupidest shit is flying out of her mouth. She may be thrown out of the program. She might be thrown out of this house after that idiot pronouncement. She might be earth-bound her entire life. There’s just—it's going to be every day of her life, trying not to wish for another reality.
“No. God, no. I’m not your mother.” Abby agrees mildly. And then more quietly, “I am certainly not. But I knew her, and I loved her. She was a colleague before she was an addict. She was brilliant, like you.”
Raven made a stupid mistake, agreeing to live here while she recovered—it's humiliating. And she definitely should never have invited Echo over for a conversation about it.
“Abby Griffith knew your mom?” Echo is exhausted and unwilling to hide it, her voice is way too loud, and Raven cringes. Raven doesn’t blame her. She feels like yelling, too.
“Hi, not really the point, but yes. They were best friends. Maybe that’s why— where are you going. Don’t go that way. The problem’s on the roof, Echo.”
“Not actually my area of expertise, hon. Why don’t you get Finn—wait, so Abby knew you, like, when you were a baby?”
“Wow, no. You’re not listening. I don’t know Abby, but she apparently knows me, and she really knew my mom, which makes sense I think. Okay, you know what? As my best friend, you’re extremely terrible at paying attention when I just need to talk. One of the transformers in Jake’s old lab is blown, it’s a manual fix. Don't go that way.”
“Ugh, you’re an idiot. Why don’t we just go for drinks? Why do you have to like, solder iron and everything while you process feelings,” Echo grabbed a toolbox, a blowtorch, and an extra fuse. “Where’s the break again?”
“For a baby assassin, you’re terrible at details. It's back there, moron. Come on,” Raven leaned on Echo harder than usual, making a point. Echo blew out a breath, instantly contrite.
“I’m—you know I’m pretty much—I can do anything, but I’m really much more comfortable being trained for covert operations. I don’t—”
“Echo.”
“Oh for fuck's sake, you’re a pain in the ass, fine. What do we need to figure out for you? What did Finn do this time?”
“It’s not Finn.”
“Oh, thank Christ,” Echo brightens considerably, “Who is it?”
“Why does it have to be anyone?”
Echo turns to stare at her, juggling the equipment, her expression softens, “Honey, have you seen your eyes lately?”
Raven, startled, pulls back and—
There’s a blurred bleed of pale grey light on the horizon, and a warm, steady rain falling. She hadn’t looked in a mirror in weeks, too hard. It hurt to see how busted she was, she’d only seen what she focused on—her grief, her anger. Maybe somewhere she knew. She knew it was happening.
Maybe when color starts seeping into a grey, bitter world, it’s slower and more secret than anyone had ever told her. Maybe the light finds you when you’re ready.
There's a very long few moments where neither of them moves.
“You’re wearing a… wow, a shirt,” Raven finally says stupidly, “Is that a color? What color is—"
Echo smiles at her, “Blue, babe,” she draws the word out as if speaking to a child, “my shirt is blue. With STRIPES. It’s cute, right?”
The next day she gets a text from Echo with her lunch.
“There is a secret place. A radiant sanctuary. As real as your own kitchen. More real than that. Constructed of the purest elements. Overflowing with the ten thousand beautiful things. Worlds within worlds. Forests, rivers…"
It goes on.
She sends back some nonsensical emojis. Too much mysticism to deal with while munching on salt and vinegar chips.
Raven climbs the stairs and pushes through the door into the mudroom. When she rounds the corner out of the hall, Abby is at the stove, some vegetarian thing in one pan, some steaks in another.
Raven gives her a small, tentative smile, “You’re going to cook all day, huh? Is that relaxing?” She looks at Abby, and then after a few moments, gnaws her lip, glancing down at the floor, and pushes through, “The doctors tell me that being angry and bitter is normal after… what happened. I mean, I’m usually pretty great. Not really stupid. Coherent. Jesus.”
“I never asked if you have a particular diet?”
There are also eggs still sizzling in another pan. Then, almost without looking, Abby flips them expertly and reaches over again without looking to turn off the stove. “I mean, I don’t know. Are you vegan? Well, shit. We could just order in?”
And Raven is really tired and wound up from her long talks and all night text sessions with Echo—really Echo just laughed her face off at her—but Raven’s still a genius, and right now at this moment she’s learning Abby’s eyes are light brown, flecked with green, too bright in the setting light of the yellow and red sun and the pink and coral clouds, and she’s a genius who has no idea what to do.
When she finally goes back to the hospital, her only intention is to actually talk to Abby and not seem intolerably random.
Echo and Bellamy drop her off, and after she’s strapped on her brace and she’s shifted herself comfortably enough into it, Echo gives her a bouquet of flowers and a bag of something and kisses her on the cheek.
“Good luck,” she says, “be nice.”
“It gets better,” Bellamy sings.
“Hey, WAIT.” Echo bellows.
“What?”
“If it gets overwhelming, all the kaleidoscopes and rainbows and colors and whatnot? Just remember that’s it’s really, really, really dark up in space. And you can always go up there forever and you never have to deal with anything ever again. We love you, have fun with your new hot-ass older woman doctor.” Echo turns to Bellamy, “Why aren’t you a doctor, baby? That’s some good shit right there. Working for it in the sack for a little prescription—"
Raven blushes furiously and flips them both off, ignoring Echo’s peel of laughter and stomps over to the entrance.
She’d thought about what she wanted to say for weeks, she’ll tell Abby:
It made more sense that I was born to a grey world, an in-between world. Buried in the liminal worlds, outside of Reality. You’re too beautiful for me.
She won’t ever say:
There are these two nightmares that I have. I need you in both of them. In the first one, I’m drifting through space, and the tether breaks and the oxygen line explodes. I don’t make it in time. I can’t reach you. Sometimes it feels like you’re holding me, while I find a way to breathe in a vacuum and you set me free—it’s a revelation. In the second one, you’re there with me and you kiss me, and we learn how to breathe in the void. And it’s another, entirely different revelation.
Both beautiful. But the second dream is terrifying I want it so much.
Raven actually can’t think of what to say, doesn’t know what to say, but she has to say something, because the silence is worse, so she says, “Fuck.” There. Perfect.
There’s a clatter—it’s Abby, throwing her stethoscope and credentials on her desk and taking off her lab coat. Well, that was impossibly hot of her.
“Okay,” Abby says. “Just listen—“
Raven swallows. She can’t look at Abby, doesn’t want to see disdain or worse, nothing, she didn’t want to feel that same gutting disappointment—the one that says no one stays—she just kept her eyes on the floor as Abby eases towards her, in scrub pants and a well-worn v-neck that… and—stop. Just. Stop. How can someone look that beautiful in scrubs, after a 36-hour shift? “You’ve always known. Since you woke up that day in the ICU.”
“I brought you some cookies.” I brought you some cookies?
“Thank you,” Abby takes the bag of baked goods from her and places it behind her.
Abby’s right there, too close for Raven to trust herself.
“You know what’s happening. Why didn’t you talk to me?” She hears Abby ask, and Abby sounds gentle, a little confused, a little hurt, and already, two seconds out of the gate, Raven feels defensive and off.
“Why would I ever do that?” Raven shakes her head. “What good would come out of—yes, hi, I’m nobody, I know you’ve already been in an epic love story with Jake Griffin. I’m nearly as young as Clarke. I don’t—“
”Thanks, Raven. That's not at all offensive.”
Abby’s fingers skim along her jaw, into her hair. She brushes her thumb across Raven’s cheek, at the same time Raven felt a hand on her waist, strong and warm. Abby sighs a little under her breath. “We don’t know each other at all, do we.”
She moves to step away and Raven inadvertently panics reaching for her, “If the age difference is an issue then—" Abby’s eyes are alight with humor.
“Abby, shut up. Have you seen yourself? You’d cause a riot—”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“What? Are you seeing someone?” Raven demands, so crabby it’s just kind of cute.
“None of your business… yet. And I’m not worried about the age difference.” Abby can't quite help the noise she makes.
Raven hesitates. "I don't know, Clarke might-"
Raven’s about to say some other bullshit that will get her buried pretty quickly, but then Abby smiles as she kisses her, swallowing Raven’s soft moan, backing her up gently but firmly against the wall.
“Just—are you nuts?” Raven gasps, “Do you really think I’m not—like, feeling this?” she said, gesturing between them. "My sight is—"
“I don’t know. Are you?”
Raven stares at her. “You saved my life. I mean, do you really think that… and, and think that you’re so far out of my—how can this be happening?”
Abby does move away then. “Raven, that’s—Okay, I’m flipped out, too. But guess what? I can perform surgeries that I was incapable of before because of you… us. So, you know what? Kiss me again. We can get to know each other. At the very least, I am now very invested in your happiness.”
Raven rolls her eyes at her and goes back to shutting up and letting Abby have her way with her. It's better for everyone.
It turns out Abby has markings, several. They’re small. They’re codes, constellations. Raven kisses each of them as she discovers them. And Abby has a geometric shape that looks an awful lot like the Polaris Station schema Raven has just above her hip. Two parts of the same equation. Echo is going to have a field day with this whole thing.
Raven places gentle kisses up her side and moves to her chest. “What’s this one?” her tongue traced against the minute indentations on Abby’s skin.
“Unity Day prayer.” Abby extracts her arm to look at her inner wrist, “I don’t know this one. Jake insisted I get it. But it's just appeared.”
“That’s the molecular structure of… oh, wow. That’s… we call it Jake’s Equation or if Sinclair is feeling like an adult Griffin’s Equation. Jake never told you about it?”
“I never asked. He just told me that someone would know what to do with it one day. Honestly, I forgot about it.”
Raven rolls over, so she can pull Abby against her. She brushes her fingers over Abby’s shoulder, while Abby shifts to look at her, trailing her hand through her dark hair, tantalizingly slow. “That’s your biometric signature. Everyone has one.”
“I never saw it before now. It was invisible to me.”
“And Jake said you would see it… when?”
“Yes. Look, you have one. It’s only visible… He said everything we can discern and everything we can imagine has a threshold—a lowest level above which you can and below which you can't—see what you’re born to see.”
Things went hazy a long while ago, but Raven fights to keep her excitement to a level that matches her arousal because she’s pretty sure what Jake knew. She’s absolutely sure that Abby has no illusions anymore about what’s happening and how momentous this really is.
Abby reaches out to stroke her jawline, cupping her face, and kisses her before pulling away, slowing them down—letting the sweat coating both of their skin cool in the early dawn air from a high open window, “This has something to do with those anomalies that are showing up in the last few years?”
“Yeah,” Raven says. “Alien artifacts. Other-worlds. Other dimensions, universes. Jake was—”
Abby’s arms tightens around her, and she presses a tender kiss to Raven’s shoulder, and the sky outside only kept lightening, a riot of gold and sun, spectrums and signs.
“I know what Jake was,” Abby says very quietly, “And I know what you are. We were never meant to stay in stasis. He knew. Do you?”
Raven takes a deep breath and then just says, “As above, so below.”
“Ouroboros.”