More Late Nights and Half-Truths

Two weeks until the drop ship launches...

            Ronnie adjusted the clasp of the latest wristband prototype, the cool metal snug against her skin. The weight of it wasn't much, but the responsibility it carried felt immense. She flexed her wrist, watching the screen of her tablet come to life with live readings of her vitals. Heart rate: 74 BPM. Oxygen levels: Normal. Core temp: 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit.

            It was working. At least, for now.

            "Finally!" she exclaimed.

            "Don't celebrate just yet," her father's voice cut through the workshop. Sinclair stepped into her cubicle, settling in beside her. "These need to be precise, Ronnie. If the data's wrong, we won't know for sure if it will be safe for us to follow them down."

            Ronnie bristled but kept her focus. "I know," she said, tightening the clasp. "I calibrated the sensors against Ark baseline vitals and accounted for shifts in atmospheric pressure, oxygen levels, and temperature changes."

            Sinclair nodded, inspecting the array of components scattered across Ronnie's workbench. "And how stable is the connection? Any interference?"

            Ronnie exhaled. "Minimal. The signal transmits in pulses instead of a continuous stream- less power drain, same reliability."

            Before Sinclair could press further, another voice joined them.

            "That's not the only concern," Abby said, stepping into the workspace. Her eyes flicked to Ronnie's tablet, studying the biometric readout. "These need to do more than just transmit. If they're unreliable, we could get false readings. That means we might think a prisoner is stable when they're actually crashing."

            Ronnie nodded, adjusting the band's settings. "I ran multiple tests. The sensors are fine-tuned to detect rapid shifts- if someone's heart rate spikes, oxygen drops, or core temp shifts too fast, it'll flag as critical."

            Abby folded her arms, skeptical. "And what about injury response? Internal bleeding, infections, organ failure- these don't always show up as immediate vital spikes. If these bands can't detect early signs, we could miss the warning signs."

            Ronnie hesitated. She'd accounted for the basics, but injuries? That was Abby's domain.

            Sinclair exchanged a glance with Abby, then turned back to his daughter. "You'll work with Abby to refine the medical parameters."

            Ronnie slowly released a breath through her nose. She'd been avoiding Abby since she took Jake's journal, but if working with Abby meant giving the delinquents a fighting chance, she'd deal with it.

            Abby placed a hand on Ronnie's wrist, fingers grazing the metal band. "This is a good start," she admitted. "But people's lives depend on this data being right. Let's make sure it is."

            Ronnie exhaled, running a hand through her already-messy hair. "Yeah. Alright." She was hoping to sneak in a quick nap before working on the drop ship later tonight, but the 100s' lives were more important.

            Sinclair gave one last approving nod. "Get it done." With that, he walked off, leaving Ronnie and Abby to their work.

            Ronnie flexed her fingers, shaking out the tension in her shoulders before speaking. "You know... if they had just listened to Jake, maybe we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. Ronnie didn't notice, but Abby stilled at her words. The doctor's lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of guilt settling into the lines of her face.

            Ronnie scoffed bitterly and continued, "He tried to warn them. The Ark was dying, the systems failing, and what did they do? They silenced him. Called him a traitor." She exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "Executed him for treason when all he wanted was to save people."

            Abby's voice was quiet, but steady. "I know."

            Ronnie shook her head, frustration bubbling over. "If they had even considered his findings instead of burying them, we might've had more time to figure out a better plan. Instead, they waited until the last second and now-" she let out a bitter laugh, motioning vaguely toward the wristband, "-they're sending a hundred kids down there and expecting me to keep them alive."

            She exhaled sharply, jaw tight. "Me. An eighteen-year-old mechanic. That's their grand plan for survival?" She let out a hollow laugh. "They put the lives of a hundred underage delinquents in my hands and expect me to fix it all."

            Abby exhaled, looking away for a moment before meeting Ronnie's gaze again. There was no defensiveness, just understanding. "And now, we have to make sure they have a chance. That we all have a chance."

            Ronnie studied her, searching for any trace of the council's blind justification, but all she saw was someone who regretted it just as much as she did.

            She swallowed, looking back down at the wristband. "Yeah," she murmured. "Let's."

~*~

            Ronnie had lost track of time again. The dim glow of her work light cast long shadows across the metal walls of the drop ship, her only company being the quiet hum of machinery and the occasional chatter of engineers scratching through the radio hooked to her tool belt. She should have gone home hours ago, but the work never seemed to end. Every time she told herself just five more minutes, she found another issue to fix, another wire out of place, another reason to stay.

            This project was everything. One small flaw could very well be the deciding factor between life and death. She wiped the back of her hand across her tired eyes and reached for the next wire, her fingers working on autopilot. Almost done...

            "Ronnie?" Her father's voice rang through the drop ship, echoing off the metal walls and snapping her focus back to reality.

            "Just a second!" she called back, brow furrowed as she carefully twisted a black wire into place. Almost there... "I just need to-" A sharp snap of electricity jolted through her, sending a shock up her arm. "Shit!" The pliers slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the metal floor.

            Sinclair's chuckle followed. "Then I'd advise you to take a bathroom break."

            Ronnie shot a glare toward the hole in the floor, where her father's grinning face had just popped through. With a dramatic sigh, she stuck her burning finger in her mouth, trying to soothe the sting.

            "Shock yourself?" he asked, clearly amused.

            Ronnie shook her head, even through the answer was obvious.

            Sinclair smirked. "Right. Well, I'm heading to a meeting with the engineering team. When you're done here, go home and get some rest, please."

            Ronnie opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a knowing look.

            "There have been reports of a zombie wandering the hallways at night, and I think we both know who they're talking about."

            She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't argue. Between working on this project, covering her usual shifts, and making time for her friends to keep up appearances, sleep had been a luxury she couldn't afford. Three hours a night- if she was lucky. More often than not, she crashed right here on the cold metal floor of the drop ship.

            "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, finally pulling her reddened finger from her mouth in inspect the damage.

            Sinclair sighed, stepping forward to pull her into a quick hug. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm serious. Get some rest."

            Ronnie didn't answer, but she leaned into the embrace for just a second before he pulled away.

            Sinclair climbed back down through the hole, pausing just long enough to call out, "And put an ice pack on that!"

            A breathy chuckle escaped her as she shook her head, turning back to her work.

~*~

            Wells had a feeling Ronnie wouldn't show up on time. He sat on his bed, half-watching the opening credits of the film they'd picked out, half-glancing at the door, waiting for the inevitable. Every Monday night for as long as he could remember, he, Clarke, and Ronnie had spent the evening watching movies together. An unspoken tradition. But ever since Clarke had been locked up, it was just the two of them.

            And lately, even Ronnie had been slipping away.

            He wasn't sure when it started, but she had become obsessed with work, disappearing for hours, showing up late, making flimsy excuses. And Wells? He wasn't buying it.

            Just as the thought crossed his mind, the door finally slid open.

            "Wells Jaha, you started without me?" Ronnie strolled in, ice pack pressed against her finger, feigning offense as she caught sight of the paused movie on his screen.

            Wells didn't even flinch. "You know the movie starts on the dot at nine o'clock," he said, sitting up straighter. He glanced down at his watch, raising a brow. "It's half past nine. Why were you working late again?"

            Ronnie grunted. "I already told you, my dad has me picking up other people's assignments because I slacked off last month."

            It was the same excuse she had given him the last time- and the time before that. Maybe Ronnie thought he'd just drop it, but Wells wasn't stupid. Something was off, and he wasn't going to let it go forever.

            Still, Ronnie didn't give him the chance to push further. "Now let's watch the movie," she added, flopping onto the bed beside him like she hadn't just been avoiding the question.

            Wells sighed but didn't press play. "You can expect me to believe you were making house calls for maintenance problems up until three in the morning the other day. Only doctors and guards have a three-shift schedule system."

            Ronnie stiffened for half a second before recovering. "Not completely true. I'm on call through the nights for emergencies," she corrected, a little too quickly.

            There was some truth in it- Wells knew that much. But it was also a well-crafted distraction, buying herself more time. He could see the gears turning behind her sharp eyes.

            Then, just as he opened his mouth to argue, she hit him with, "But, if you really have to know- Wick and I were trying to spice things up a little bit, and we thought it would be fun to-"

            "Stop," Wells interrupted, slapping his hands over his ears. "I don't need to hear that."

            Ronnie smirked, victorious. It was the same every time- bring up Wick, and Wells would shut down immediately. She knew exactly how to make him drop a subject. And it worked.

            "Alright then," she said with a laugh, tugging the blanket up as she sank further into the mattress. "Turn the movie back on and shut up."

            Wells shook his head but relented, pressing play. He had another question ready, but before he could ask, he realized her eyes were already closed, soft snores slipping past her lips. His annoyance melted into quiet amusement.

            She's exhausted.

            Wells let out a sigh, reaching for the remote to shut the TV of completely. He wasn't going to get the truth out of her tonight, but at least she was finally getting some sleep. Pulling a blanket over himself, he settled in beside her, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder. Whatever she was hiding, whatever she was doing late at night, he'd figure it out eventually.

            For now, he'd just let her rest.