Kass Morgan - Homecoming

Despite the pain, he smiled. “I just wish I could take as much credit for your left hook as I can your surgical skills.”

The next few hours passed in a blur. Clarke hardly noticed the dawn breaking, except for the fact that it made suturing easier. By the time the sun was high in the sky, all the uninjured Colonists had been led to camp, and a good portion of the injured had been carried away as well. Throughout the morning, a few more members of the hundred came down to the lake to help and to search for their parents among the new arrivals. But the relatively small number of happy reunions had been disheartening. Apparently, the families of the hundred hadn’t been given priority on the dropships, never mind that their kids had been sent on an impossibly dangerous mission to Earth.

Clarke finished fashioning a splint for an elderly woman’s leg and then stood up to stretch quickly before moving on to her next patient. She noticed that the guards who’d been standing in a circle around their captain a few minutes earlier had dispersed to help carry the wounded up to the camp. She could only hope they remained more focused on helping their fellow Colonists than on hunting down the boy who had gotten the Chancellor shot.

Her eyes settled on a guard who looked uncomfortably familiar. Clarke stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out why she felt suddenly queasy. He was standing at the center of a slow-moving scrum of people, directing them with one good arm and cradling an injured hand to his chest.

Clarke turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see her, stalling for time by taking inventory of her bandages while she racked her mind for the guard’s name.

Scott.

Scott had often been assigned to medical center patrol during her apprenticeship, and Clarke had come to dread their frequent encounters. Although the guards typically didn’t interact with the doctors and apprentices unless there was a security issue, Scott had been an expert at making his presence known. He wasn’t much older than she was, and there was something snide and officious about him. He never looked at the patients when he was in the room—only at the doctors or other guards, like he was too good for anyone else. But what had really bothered Clarke was the way he acted when he was alone with her, and the lengths to which he seemed willing to go to make that happen.

Clarke had to force herself not to break into a jog as she walked swiftly down the corridor toward the medical center. She was nearly twenty minutes late for her rounds shadowing Dr. Lahiri, but the punishment for “hazardous behavior” was even harsher than that for tardiness. Being late meant that she was in trouble with her supervisor. Breaking one of the ship’s rules meant facing the Council. It was rare for guards to write someone up for running , but the boy who’d been patrolling the medical center recently had quickly gained a reputation for being a power-tripping bully.

Clarke turned the corner and groaned. She’d hoped to slip into the medical center unnoticed, but Scott was standing in front of the checkpoint. His back was to her, but she recognized his broad shoulders and slightly greasy blond hair that always looked to be longer than was typically allowed by guard regulations.

Clarke could tell he was in the middle of some kind of confrontation, but only as she drew closer did she realize he was holding a woman by her wrists. He had them pinched together behind her back. She was a sanitation worker from Arcadia, and based on the loud scolding Scott was doling out for everyone to hear, she had simply forgotten her pass. Most guards would have let her off with a warning, but not Scott, who was making a big show of slapping restraints on her wrists. The poor woman had tears in her eyes and could barely raise her head when Clarke slipped past.

Indignation and disgust curdled in Clarke’s stomach, but she didn’t dare look back. She stood to gain nothing by intervening. If she tried to get in the middle, Scott would probably threaten the woman with even more severe repercussions, just to prove his power to Clarke.

By the time Clarke started seeing patients, she’d pushed the incident out of her mind. That was one of the things she loved about being a medical apprentice, the way her mind could be one hundred percent focused on the task at hand, leaving no room to worry about anything else in her life. Not about her parents, or Lilly, or the terrible secret she was keeping from Wells.

However, later that day, while she was busy cleaning a five-year-old girl’s cut knee, there was no avoiding Scott when he strode unannounced into Clarke’s exam room.

“What do you want?” Clarke asked, not bothering to hide her irritation. It was one thing for him to strut down the halls like he was Chancellor of the corridors. It was another for him to barge into her exam room when she was with a patient.

He waved a bruised and swollen finger in front of Clarke’s face and smirked. “You won’t believe it, but that bitch actually bit me when I was cuffing her.”

“Watch your language, please,” Clarke hissed, shooting a glance at the little girl staring at Scott wide-eyed from the exam table.

He laughed unpleasantly. “I’m sure she’s heard worse. She looks like a Waldenite.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you a Waldenite?” she asked, doing her best impression of Glass and her snooty friends.

He ignored the jab and took a step closer. “I’m in need of your services, Doctor,” he said in a voice that somehow managed to be both mocking and vaguely threatening.

“If you’ll just take a seat outside, I can look at that for you after I’m done with Cressida here.”

“Well I’m sure little Cressida ”—he tilted his head in the girl’s direction—“would understand that a member of the guard suffered a painful injury while subduing a threat to the Gaia Doctrine this morning. And that I am in a hurry to get back to my work protecting this ship.”

Clarke fought the urge to roll her eyes. She just managed to keep her expression neutral while she sprayed a skin regenerator on Cressida’s knee, gently affixed a bandage over it, and patted the girl on the leg. “You’re all set. Just keep it clean and dry until tomorrow, okay?”

Cressida nodded and hopped down from the table, running out the door to her mom, who waited just outside.

Clarke turned to Scott and held out her hand. He placed his wrist in her palm and winced as she uncurled his swollen finger. “You’re going to need to see the actual doctor for this,” she said, releasing her hold and stepping back.

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a humorless smile. “Who? The old guy you follow around all day? No thank you.”

“Dr. Lahiri is the most respected doctor on the ship.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not who I want checking out my other injury.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That piece of Arcadian trash also tried to kick me. I knocked her down, but she managed to knee me in a rather sensitive area, if you know what I mean.”

Clarke sighed. “Is there bruising?”

“I haven’t had time to look,” Scott said with a smirk. “Don’t you want to do the honors?” He reached for his belt buckle as he stepped toward Clarke.

“I should call a nurse,” Clarke said, moving toward the intercom.

“Now, just hold on a second.” Scott grabbed Clarke’s arm with his good hand and pulled her back. “I don’t need a nurse. I just need you to do your job… Doctor .”

Before he could utter another word, the door behind him banged open, and Wells strode in, looking even taller than usual in his officer’s uniform. Scott snapped to attention, his gaze locking on the floor. Clarke couldn’t help but smile at Wells over Scott’s shoulder.