The corners of his mouth tighten as the shove comes. Where Lincoln expected anger, there is Octavia's typical reminder. They were meant to fight together. But he doesn't know that she would have lived. Pike needed to kill him to make a statement. Killing Octavia would have shown that he would do anything to advance his people's purpose, even in the face of someone like Bellamy. Lincoln couldn't risk it.
"Not all fights are good ones. Or wise ones." There's a pause, as a thought occurs to him. Lincoln smiles after a moment, but like all of his smiles, it's subtle and barely visible. It doesn't reach his eyes, but there's something to it that says it might soon enough. "I believe I've learned that, too."
He never thought he'd see her again. His people have various beliefs about what happens after a person dies, but most of those beliefs lie slowly with the Commander. He is no one, and so he expected to be no one. No matter how much he had relied upon the idea of himself as a symbol, he has no delusions about that now.
Lincoln's arm, stiff from lack of use, rises up so that the back of his fingers can brush over her cheek. The movement is gentle, yet swift, as it clears up some of the tear tracks down her face.
"I'm sorry." Lincoln is not the type of person to say much of anything without meaning it. That's especially true now. Where his smile didn't reach his eyes, his apology does.
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"Not all fights are good ones. Or wise ones." There's a pause, as a thought occurs to him. Lincoln smiles after a moment, but like all of his smiles, it's subtle and barely visible. It doesn't reach his eyes, but there's something to it that says it might soon enough. "I believe I've learned that, too."
He never thought he'd see her again. His people have various beliefs about what happens after a person dies, but most of those beliefs lie slowly with the Commander. He is no one, and so he expected to be no one. No matter how much he had relied upon the idea of himself as a symbol, he has no delusions about that now.
Lincoln's arm, stiff from lack of use, rises up so that the back of his fingers can brush over her cheek. The movement is gentle, yet swift, as it clears up some of the tear tracks down her face.
"I'm sorry." Lincoln is not the type of person to say much of anything without meaning it. That's especially true now. Where his smile didn't reach his eyes, his apology does.