hey, i wouldn't clog up our communication channel asking about weird animals. you're thinking of jasper, and his obsession with finding the lucky four-headed deer.
which i think was a byproduct of the hallucinogenic nuts, but you know how he is.
[Being in Slytherin has always been a mixed bag for Clarke. It's not that she doesn't think she fits: anyone who crosses her knows how determined she can get, and how her brand of determination comes with a brand of wits and cunning that few others can match. They know that she's ambitious, with dreams of being a healer that have already granted her skills to help out in Hogwart's medical wing, but she just doesn't give too many damns about interhouse rivalries or any of these whispers about a rising figure by the name of Voldemort. It's not like she's some odd ball Slytherin: Clarke's a daughter of Purebloods, and the Griffin name has been around for a while.
(Of course, while Abby had been a Ravenclaw, Jake had been a Hufflepuff. Still, neither cared where their daughter had landed. She showed due diligence in handling herself well enough.)
She'll cheer for Slytherins during quidditch matches, and as a Prefect, she believes that it's her duty to look out for the Slytherins. Just as their reputation sometimes makes them cruel to others, some of the meeker children struggle in their early years. She's there for them, and she tries to keep them from getting mixed up with the older kids who draw back their sleeves and whisper in hushed voices. No one wants to get caught up in that, especially before they've even taken their OWLs.
It's being a Prefect that first makes her aware of Remus, but it's her new gig in the hospital wing that makes her aware of another side of him. She picks up on the pattern quickly. Truthfully, she thinks most people who cared enough would, but Remus had been lucky enough to end up with friends like Sirius Black and James Potter. They take the attention off of him, and he hopes that he can heal up quickly enough before someone becomes suspicious.
Despite her privileged upbringing, Clarke hasn't exactly been raised with a great deal of prejudices. She's not foolish enough to think werewolves are completely safe, but she knows that a boy like Remus probably didn't ask for this. At all. He's young. He's kind. He has a delicate way of speaking that shows that he's mastered the ability to both ask for something he needs while offending the least amount of people as possible. What it all says is simple: he wants to be invisible, and he knows his condition is one that needs to be invisible.
When she comes into the infirmary this November morning, she's not surprised to see him there. In fact, she had been hoping for him. She drags out her potions notes, and she carries them over, setting them down beside him.]
You seemed tired yesterday in class. I thought these might help. [Clarke knows that on top of his fatigue, Remus isn't the best at potions. But he trudges on because it's necessary. And she imagines that he wants to learn all the skills he can before he has to brave the big wide world outside of Hogwarts.]
[ he thinks that the dissonance between the houses, the discord between gryffindors and slytherins is foolish— after all a house, a castle divided is one that falls. and that should be a concern, for all of them, given the whisperings of voldemort, the word mudblood being thrown around more callously. though, never towards him. doing so would incite the wrath of the marauders, more typically known as his friends.
sometimes he looks at the younger slytherins, the one’s just sorted, with eyes like dinner plates as they take in the castle and finds himself sympathizing with them, wonders how they will take the suspicion cast their way from the other houses, and how eyes will drift to their sleeves. their covered forearms. he thinks that if anyone knew, if anyone caught on to what he was, he would be looked at with more than suspicion— the ensuing reaction would tred into animosity, and maybe that would bring the students to a common goal. band them together long enough to rid the halls of the resident werewolf.
it’s not a nice thought, but it’s one that reoccurs more often as of late, one that it’s hard not to return to without distraction. comes to him now in the infirmary, propped up on one of the beds with a pillow fluffed by madam pomfrey herself. there’s a wash of sunlight coming from the window beside him, crisp like the month itself, the edges of the glass lined with a creeping frost.
there is an increasing amount of activity in the hospital wing, as the days get colder, as rounds of sickness make their ways through the student body, leaving more than several of the unfortunate stricken laying in sickbeds moaning about a persistent nausea. an ache settled into their bones.
if anyone were to ask, he’d claim the same. say it was a fever that knocked him down, and fatigue that kept him here. the thing is no one does ask, he’s generally bustled around as students move to keep their respective friends company. play games of wizarding chess on medical trays. he’s staring at a group of them, first years he would guess, huddled around a girl with a bright red nose and a mountain of tissues at her side content to let his thoughts drift until clarke approaches. he shifts his gaze to her, the notes she sets down, and the smile he gives her is small but earnest. thankful for the consideration, but.
wary. always wary of someone who may notice the particular dates of when he falls ill, the reoccurrence of them. ]
Thank you, Clarke. You’ve saved me from having to ask Sirius for help. I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it, if I did.
[ a moment, a beat of hesitance, before the smile becomes something strained. ] I think I’ve caught the same as the rest of them. Don’t worry, you’ll have this bed back in a couple of hours.
[ and ready for the next, probably flu-afflicted individual. ]
[There are days when Clarke wishes that her hug beside the water had been enough. It dawns on her later that it's the first time that any of them had seen a real, open body of water. There were the smaller lakes and streams scattered throughout the woods, but they had never really had the opportunity to look out toward the horizon and be lost in it. She wonders if Bellamy had thought of that before she approached him, ready for his blunt words and callous remarks. She knew how he would react—knows how he reacts, especially when he's been hurt and he needs some way to feel as if he can make things better. Lashing out is not an uncommon thing for him, and after the past weeks, she's not surprised that he would do it to her again.
She hadn't minded then. She doesn't mind now.
But Clarke wishes that a hug had been enough. She wishes that coming back had been enough. She wishes that ending the City of Light had been enough. Once, Raven had told her that she wasn't allowed to give up. But she did. For a couple months there, she allowed her tracks to disappear into the woods, and she hid herself away. These days, she knows her mistake. Much like those who were desperate to remove the pain that had been inflicted upon them by the world down below (and even in the years prior up in the Ark), she had tried to do the same. She had tried—and failed. It had been foolish to believe that she could do anything else. Or want anything else. Clarke knows that she belongs among her people.
Building up her relationship with everyone again in a desperate attempt to earn their trust before they move forward is ... hard. To say the least. Clarke knows that with the clock ticking, they still have more time than they did when she had returned and began knowledgeably barking orders. And, to make it worse, she doesn't have a single idea of where to begin. How do they come back from this when even Alie made no attempts to fix the problem? If an AI couldn't do it with vast stores of knowledge inside of her, what could Clarke do?
The past few days have really made it so that she ... definitely feels that. A lot. She knows she's not the only one. When Bellamy stoically stood on the other side of the room and finally excused himself, she knew that he felt useless. Even Alie had been a force to fight in a way. These things ... were just things they hadn't considered as a problem. They had no contingency plans.
Just as everyone breaks (because Clarke knows better than to leave, even if she's offering little advice and just standing there awkwardly), she heads out after Bellamy, trotting quickly down to where he's undoubtedly positioned himself.]
Hey. [She considers mustering up some ... idea, something that can help. But the words don't come to her. Reassurance feels empty.
So, instead:] Hey, do you want to take a walk outside? It seems like a good time for that, and I know your next guard shift isn't for a while.
[ Bellamy dreams of rain sometimes. That first rainfall on the ground, soaking him to the skin like a baptism. He'd thought of that by the ocean, wishing for that kind of cleansing then. Looking out over the endless stretch of water, he'd thought back to those first moments on the ground; all the problems that had plagued them then seemed far more manageable in comparison. And he'd had less blood on his hands then. Two lives, he'd thought, instead of hundreds.
Holding Clarke by the ocean had been one of the last small, good things, uncomplicated comfort before they'd gone off to battle. All of them had thought that dismantling ALIE's hold on their people would be the end. Instead, Clarke had woken with news of something far worse looming in the future. He'd seen it in her face before she'd even spoken, dread building behind her eyes instead of the relief victory should have brought.
And now they have to do the impossible. Save their people again, somehow, when they're up against a phenomenon that's bigger than even ALIE had been. There are still ugly bruises on Bellamy's throat, the outline of Kane's fingers mottled purple, a vivid reminder of how close he came to death. (Part of Bellamy believes he'd have deserved it, quiet as it's kept.) He lingers, listening more than volunteering. Outside of their makeshift council room, reparations are underway. There's more to be rectified than the wreck of Polis, the abandoned skeleton of Arkadia, but it's easier to focus on the physical, rather than the strained relationships between their people. It's difficult to let Clarke out of his sight, or else he'd have left the room already, taken his helpless frustration to vent elsewhere. He doesn't trust his own contributions yet, even if he could see an angle to head off the destruction and death ALIE promised them.
But he reaches his breaking point anyway, helplessness building to something explosive and reckless in his chest. It's inevitable. He slips out the door rather than vent those emotions but can't push himself to leave. He walks right down to the doors, hanging haphazardly open, but no farther. If he's waiting for her, he's doing so unconsciously. His arms drop to his sides as she approaches, taking in her expression before nodding. ]
A break would be good, [ He agrees, hand straying to the gun at his hip, checking before he nods. ] You need to get anything before we go?
[ By which he means weapons, though anything they could find in the woods pales in comparison to what they've faced already, and will be facing soon. He can't summon the same anxieties about grounders (Ice Nation, though the correction always comes a beat late, even in his thoughts) as he had weeks ago. ]
[Above all else, returning home should be celebratory. Although Clarke has already been back to Arkadia numerous times since she first left, it finally feels like a homecoming. She doesn't come alone. Bellamy is at her back, gun in hand. Her mother's at her side. Kane is just ahead with haunted eyes, and Octavia leads the pack. Everyone is reluctant to let her trail behind after what she's done to Pike. It makes sense, really.
But Clarke wonders if she's really earned this return. Has she handled the burden of her people's lives well enough? Has she overcome her own pain well enough to face them? Can she continue on, knowing that they know that she's given up once? With what lies ahead, she doesn't know.
She's barely had the chance to talk to anyone. Her waterside chat with Bellamy had helped, but everyone else has been too muddled, too caught up, to really address what she's done before. Jasper had done a fair amount of it himself, and ALIE had picked up the pace there, too, using Raven's mouth as his own. Now that they have time to breathe before they have to make a plan, will things change?
(Does she want them to change? Guilt comes naturally to Clarke.)
But she knows—knows that she has returned. Knows that she's back. She watches as everyone passes through the gates of Arkadia to start their lives over yet again, and she does what she can to help.
After a while, she slips off to find Raven. Jasper has been admitted to medical care and Monty's been stitched up. Many of the people who are suffering the affects of losing the chip are all being placed under medical surveillance, but Clarke knows one person who isn't entering that care. It's been so long, and their lives have almost necessitated that they move on from one form of pain to the next. To the minds of many, Raven's help in stopping ALIE means that she's fine.
Clarke isn't so sure.
She eyes the makeshift chip controller as she passes by it, fingers dropping down over the blue chip in the center. Her fingers memorize how similar it is to the Flame (which she still holds in her jacket until a new round of Nightbloods are found). Her eyes lift from the chip to the back of Raven's neck, as well as the computer systems that she's slowly working on. Getting Arkadia back into functionality is important, especially due to the mapping systems that they likely have in their databases. It makes sense, even if it looks a little lonely.]
Hey, [Clarke begins, though she almost wonders if she's invading.
[ Whatever Raven had or hadn't said about it, taking down ALIE had been personal. Raven had felt used, furious with herself and furious with Jaha, with ALIE, with the entire world for what had happened.
Or more specifically, what Raven had nearly allowed to happen. She'd helped. She'd been an important part of the plan. Being a crucial part of helping end the entire threat and reverse the effects isn't enough to quell the guilt and shame that rise like bile every time she remembers what she'd done, what she'd said. Throwing herself entirely into work keeps everything at bay for the moment. The best thing about how rundown Arkadia is and how short-staffed their people are now is that there's no shortage of things that need Raven's attention.
(The newfound computer knowledge she's gained comes from ALIE. Raven's very carefully planning to consider that in the moments between projects. If such a moment ever presents itself.)
Harper tells Raven they're back. She doesn't extricate herself from the makeshift control room, but they filter in one by one. Abby, to check Raven's leg, wrists, and neck, Octavia, to talk around a goodbye, Bellamy, to do nothing more than touch her hand and vanish. Clarke appears last, and Raven's gaze lifts from the screens, blinking owlishly before she finally takes her hands from the keyboard. ]
Monty was sleeping here for a couple days, [ Raven tells her, fond exasperation in her voice. ] Pull up a chair, Clarke.
[ Seeing her is a relief. Raven knows that Clarke had been fine, had been told as much repeatedly, but seeing Clarke in front of her finally eases the last of Raven's worries. ]
Did you see Jasper and Monty yet?
[ The infirmary has to be overflowing. Raven likes to tell herself that fact is part of the reason why she's stalled out on heading down there herself. ]
[She remembers a lot of things. She remembers finding Wells bleeding out from the side of his neck in the woods before he fell unconscious. She remembers the hours after while she fled with Finn before Charlotte revealed her intentions behind the attempted murder. She remembers waking up in Mount Weather and finding out that Finn, Wells, and Bellamy hadn't made it in there. And she remembers hugging Wells and Bellamy after they reunited, moments before learning about where Finn was Murphy. And she remembers seeing Wells and her mom side by side on the camera, lined up to remind her of her mistake.
Leaving had been necessary, her mom's words an echo in her mind, mixing up with Dante's. Clarke has to bear the burden for her people, and after everything, it hasn't been enough. She hadn't felt wrong enough. If she wanted to make their lives better, she felt certain that leaving was somehow the right solution.
Somehow.
Getting dragged in to Polis by Lexa is frustrating. But knowing that she was brought in to convince her people to join up with Lexa is somehow worse. Knowing that her mother brought Wells, though? As if she might not come home? It feels like a betrayal. (To Clarke's mind, she's certain that that's the intention.)
Still, she asks that he be sent to her room, and she stands in the window as she has many times since she first arrived. When her door opens, she turns toward him.
Though she's rinsed her hair over the past week, she knows that there are still hints of pink that are visible. Otherwise, she looks like she's been treated well, the wear and tear of being dragged in mostly gone by now.
But what led her to taking off isn't gone. Clarke's eyes are haunted and uneasy, lips twisted downward. She had told Bellamy that she was leaving, not Wells, because she knew the latter would find a way to keep her. Her year of anger toward him is still something that she feels like she has to make good on, and if she had ... somehow made it better, somehow had been there for him, she feels as if he wouldn't have a scar on the side of his neck. She knows she kept him alive, and she knows he doesn't blame her, but—
Sometimes, Wells is just too noble for his own good.
More than that, he's so noble that she almost feels like he's too good for her. Like coming down here changed her and he's been untarnished by it all. Oh, he's fought. They've all fought. But there are days when she feels certain that she has blood caked on her hands.
Clarke narrows the distance between them, but doesn't continue the rest of the way. She wants to hug him, but she can't.]
I didn't—["expect you to come." The words feel unkind somehow.]
Wells, I'm sorry.
[In all of the imagined betrayals along the way, she's fairly certain she's the only one that's done a real one.]
[ too often does he feel rudderless. after stumbling through dead bodies at their feet, after helping the living find their balance, even securing an arm around harper to help her back to camp, he had been upset with clarke for leaving without a word. even now, he feels he understands her better than most do, that while she had wanted the best possible outcome for the others, she chooses to shoulder the full guilt of the decision to pull the lever. he doesn't need to talk to her to know that.
he doesn't need to talk to her but he wants to.
before the mountain, they had some time to reconvene, to try to be the friends they once were. even if there is a place for him among the others in the new arkadia, no one can be clarke. and at the moment, clarke is all the family he has while an invisible wall stays standing between himself and his father.
he wants to talk to her about the break, how frightened he is for his dad's mental state. it feels as if no reason can reach him now that he has backed himself into a corner. with him having disappeared on his religious excursion, he doesn't wish to burden anyone else with his worries.
and he continues to hold onto them as he takes a deep breath and resists the urge to hug her in greeting. ]
Could've said goodbye, that's all.
[ he had seen her, just seconds before she turned away and walked through the gates of camp. it doesn't make him clench his fists, his arms remaining hanging at his sides. his hands are calloused from holding guns and knives lately, and he's stronger after all those sparring sessions with lincoln and the others. he stands before her not in that old blue jacket from their early days on earth, but in a guard uniform instead. it wasn't his first choice, but he felt he should contribute best this way.
when abby asked him to accompany her, he agreed without question. ]
[In the end, it's a combination of solutions. They all alter their genetic makeup, but they also need to find a way to shut down the nuclear reactors around the world. The latter proves to be the most difficult, but they manage it. Or, to be more clear, they manage to buy another hundred years, certain that they can prevent this problem from happening again. In a hundred years, Clarke won't even be alive. In a hundred years, none of this will really matter.
It's odd to think of it that way. They're buying themselves time.
If there's anything that she can learn about human civilization, it's how much things will change. In the past few weeks, those changes have happened rapidly. Arkadia blew up, and with it went the last few remnants of her upbringing. Her people have begun to build new villages, new towns and hints of civilization that can grow. They begin to separate, free from the fear of their inevitable death and the need to be constrained by the space-born ideals of the Ark. Clarke doesn't know what to think of it. Some part of her knows it's good. Another part worries—if they separate, will they truly be able to call each other the same group of people? Will they all still be "Skaikru"?
Maybe it's not the most important question to ask. Or to worry about. She knows it isn't. And she knows even worrying about it makes her selfish. This is what they had always wanted to return to the ground for in the first place.
Before she decides where she's going—Roan has an open invitation for her to retake her room and place at Polis as an ambassador—she has chosen to sit outside of the ruins of Arkadia to help other people off in the direction that they might like to go. Some are, as previously stated, heading off to new villages. Others are leaving with Luna, to help her rebuild her society. And some are like Clarke, uncertain if they want to assimilate with the Grounders now that they're on equal footing.
Her arms rest on her knees, pulled back, and she sees a familiar face out of the corner of her eye. Murphy. Believe it or not, he's been with them through all of this.]
Are you headed off for good? [It's a question that doesn't come with an accusation, even if she wouldn't be surprised if he'd read that into her tone. Murphy's survival has always been at the forefront of his decision-making. Now that the terrain will prove to be a political landmine, she wouldn't be surprised if he chose to take off for ... just about anywhere that's safer than here.
After all, what would their people be like without war? There may be new civilizations blooming, but that only increases the chances.]
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season one !
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How's it going back there?
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which i think was a byproduct of the hallucinogenic nuts, but you know how he is.
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everything is fine.
[ ...........not. ]
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[Actually, considering Jasper ... it probably came from Jasper.]
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DONE
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(Of course, while Abby had been a Ravenclaw, Jake had been a Hufflepuff. Still, neither cared where their daughter had landed. She showed due diligence in handling herself well enough.)
She'll cheer for Slytherins during quidditch matches, and as a Prefect, she believes that it's her duty to look out for the Slytherins. Just as their reputation sometimes makes them cruel to others, some of the meeker children struggle in their early years. She's there for them, and she tries to keep them from getting mixed up with the older kids who draw back their sleeves and whisper in hushed voices. No one wants to get caught up in that, especially before they've even taken their OWLs.
It's being a Prefect that first makes her aware of Remus, but it's her new gig in the hospital wing that makes her aware of another side of him. She picks up on the pattern quickly. Truthfully, she thinks most people who cared enough would, but Remus had been lucky enough to end up with friends like Sirius Black and James Potter. They take the attention off of him, and he hopes that he can heal up quickly enough before someone becomes suspicious.
Despite her privileged upbringing, Clarke hasn't exactly been raised with a great deal of prejudices. She's not foolish enough to think werewolves are completely safe, but she knows that a boy like Remus probably didn't ask for this. At all. He's young. He's kind. He has a delicate way of speaking that shows that he's mastered the ability to both ask for something he needs while offending the least amount of people as possible. What it all says is simple: he wants to be invisible, and he knows his condition is one that needs to be invisible.
When she comes into the infirmary this November morning, she's not surprised to see him there. In fact, she had been hoping for him. She drags out her potions notes, and she carries them over, setting them down beside him.]
You seemed tired yesterday in class. I thought these might help. [Clarke knows that on top of his fatigue, Remus isn't the best at potions. But he trudges on because it's necessary. And she imagines that he wants to learn all the skills he can before he has to brave the big wide world outside of Hogwarts.]
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sometimes he looks at the younger slytherins, the one’s just sorted, with eyes like dinner plates as they take in the castle and finds himself sympathizing with them, wonders how they will take the suspicion cast their way from the other houses, and how eyes will drift to their sleeves. their covered forearms. he thinks that if anyone knew, if anyone caught on to what he was, he would be looked at with more than suspicion— the ensuing reaction would tred into animosity, and maybe that would bring the students to a common goal. band them together long enough to rid the halls of the resident werewolf.
it’s not a nice thought, but it’s one that reoccurs more often as of late, one that it’s hard not to return to without distraction. comes to him now in the infirmary, propped up on one of the beds with a pillow fluffed by madam pomfrey herself. there’s a wash of sunlight coming from the window beside him, crisp like the month itself, the edges of the glass lined with a creeping frost.
there is an increasing amount of activity in the hospital wing, as the days get colder, as rounds of sickness make their ways through the student body, leaving more than several of the unfortunate stricken laying in sickbeds moaning about a persistent nausea. an ache settled into their bones.
if anyone were to ask, he’d claim the same. say it was a fever that knocked him down, and fatigue that kept him here. the thing is no one does ask, he’s generally bustled around as students move to keep their respective friends company. play games of wizarding chess on medical trays. he’s staring at a group of them, first years he would guess, huddled around a girl with a bright red nose and a mountain of tissues at her side content to let his thoughts drift until clarke approaches. he shifts his gaze to her, the notes she sets down, and the smile he gives her is small but earnest. thankful for the consideration, but.
wary. always wary of someone who may notice the particular dates of when he falls ill, the reoccurrence of them. ]
Thank you, Clarke. You’ve saved me from having to ask Sirius for help. I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it, if I did.
[ a moment, a beat of hesitance, before the smile becomes something strained. ] I think I’ve caught the same as the rest of them. Don’t worry, you’ll have this bed back in a couple of hours.
[ and ready for the next, probably flu-afflicted individual. ]
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She hadn't minded then. She doesn't mind now.
But Clarke wishes that a hug had been enough. She wishes that coming back had been enough. She wishes that ending the City of Light had been enough. Once, Raven had told her that she wasn't allowed to give up. But she did. For a couple months there, she allowed her tracks to disappear into the woods, and she hid herself away. These days, she knows her mistake. Much like those who were desperate to remove the pain that had been inflicted upon them by the world down below (and even in the years prior up in the Ark), she had tried to do the same. She had tried—and failed. It had been foolish to believe that she could do anything else. Or want anything else. Clarke knows that she belongs among her people.
Building up her relationship with everyone again in a desperate attempt to earn their trust before they move forward is ... hard. To say the least. Clarke knows that with the clock ticking, they still have more time than they did when she had returned and began knowledgeably barking orders. And, to make it worse, she doesn't have a single idea of where to begin. How do they come back from this when even Alie made no attempts to fix the problem? If an AI couldn't do it with vast stores of knowledge inside of her, what could Clarke do?
The past few days have really made it so that she ... definitely feels that. A lot. She knows she's not the only one. When Bellamy stoically stood on the other side of the room and finally excused himself, she knew that he felt useless. Even Alie had been a force to fight in a way. These things ... were just things they hadn't considered as a problem. They had no contingency plans.
Just as everyone breaks (because Clarke knows better than to leave, even if she's offering little advice and just standing there awkwardly), she heads out after Bellamy, trotting quickly down to where he's undoubtedly positioned himself.]
Hey. [She considers mustering up some ... idea, something that can help. But the words don't come to her. Reassurance feels empty.
So, instead:] Hey, do you want to take a walk outside? It seems like a good time for that, and I know your next guard shift isn't for a while.
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Holding Clarke by the ocean had been one of the last small, good things, uncomplicated comfort before they'd gone off to battle. All of them had thought that dismantling ALIE's hold on their people would be the end. Instead, Clarke had woken with news of something far worse looming in the future. He'd seen it in her face before she'd even spoken, dread building behind her eyes instead of the relief victory should have brought.
And now they have to do the impossible. Save their people again, somehow, when they're up against a phenomenon that's bigger than even ALIE had been. There are still ugly bruises on Bellamy's throat, the outline of Kane's fingers mottled purple, a vivid reminder of how close he came to death. (Part of Bellamy believes he'd have deserved it, quiet as it's kept.) He lingers, listening more than volunteering. Outside of their makeshift council room, reparations are underway. There's more to be rectified than the wreck of Polis, the abandoned skeleton of Arkadia, but it's easier to focus on the physical, rather than the strained relationships between their people. It's difficult to let Clarke out of his sight, or else he'd have left the room already, taken his helpless frustration to vent elsewhere. He doesn't trust his own contributions yet, even if he could see an angle to head off the destruction and death ALIE promised them.
But he reaches his breaking point anyway, helplessness building to something explosive and reckless in his chest. It's inevitable. He slips out the door rather than vent those emotions but can't push himself to leave. He walks right down to the doors, hanging haphazardly open, but no farther. If he's waiting for her, he's doing so unconsciously. His arms drop to his sides as she approaches, taking in her expression before nodding. ]
A break would be good, [ He agrees, hand straying to the gun at his hip, checking before he nods. ] You need to get anything before we go?
[ By which he means weapons, though anything they could find in the woods pales in comparison to what they've faced already, and will be facing soon. He can't summon the same anxieties about grounders (Ice Nation, though the correction always comes a beat late, even in his thoughts) as he had weeks ago. ]
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voicetesting be gentle with me
me too, me too
But Clarke wonders if she's really earned this return. Has she handled the burden of her people's lives well enough? Has she overcome her own pain well enough to face them? Can she continue on, knowing that they know that she's given up once? With what lies ahead, she doesn't know.
She's barely had the chance to talk to anyone. Her waterside chat with Bellamy had helped, but everyone else has been too muddled, too caught up, to really address what she's done before. Jasper had done a fair amount of it himself, and ALIE had picked up the pace there, too, using Raven's mouth as his own. Now that they have time to breathe before they have to make a plan, will things change?
(Does she want them to change? Guilt comes naturally to Clarke.)
But she knows—knows that she has returned. Knows that she's back. She watches as everyone passes through the gates of Arkadia to start their lives over yet again, and she does what she can to help.
After a while, she slips off to find Raven. Jasper has been admitted to medical care and Monty's been stitched up. Many of the people who are suffering the affects of losing the chip are all being placed under medical surveillance, but Clarke knows one person who isn't entering that care. It's been so long, and their lives have almost necessitated that they move on from one form of pain to the next. To the minds of many, Raven's help in stopping ALIE means that she's fine.
Clarke isn't so sure.
She eyes the makeshift chip controller as she passes by it, fingers dropping down over the blue chip in the center. Her fingers memorize how similar it is to the Flame (which she still holds in her jacket until a new round of Nightbloods are found). Her eyes lift from the chip to the back of Raven's neck, as well as the computer systems that she's slowly working on. Getting Arkadia back into functionality is important, especially due to the mapping systems that they likely have in their databases. It makes sense, even if it looks a little lonely.]
Hey, [Clarke begins, though she almost wonders if she's invading.
Is she invading?]
I thought you could use some company.
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Or more specifically, what Raven had nearly allowed to happen. She'd helped. She'd been an important part of the plan. Being a crucial part of helping end the entire threat and reverse the effects isn't enough to quell the guilt and shame that rise like bile every time she remembers what she'd done, what she'd said. Throwing herself entirely into work keeps everything at bay for the moment. The best thing about how rundown Arkadia is and how short-staffed their people are now is that there's no shortage of things that need Raven's attention.
(The newfound computer knowledge she's gained comes from ALIE. Raven's very carefully planning to consider that in the moments between projects. If such a moment ever presents itself.)
Harper tells Raven they're back. She doesn't extricate herself from the makeshift control room, but they filter in one by one. Abby, to check Raven's leg, wrists, and neck, Octavia, to talk around a goodbye, Bellamy, to do nothing more than touch her hand and vanish. Clarke appears last, and Raven's gaze lifts from the screens, blinking owlishly before she finally takes her hands from the keyboard. ]
Monty was sleeping here for a couple days, [ Raven tells her, fond exasperation in her voice. ] Pull up a chair, Clarke.
[ Seeing her is a relief. Raven knows that Clarke had been fine, had been told as much repeatedly, but seeing Clarke in front of her finally eases the last of Raven's worries. ]
Did you see Jasper and Monty yet?
[ The infirmary has to be overflowing. Raven likes to tell herself that fact is part of the reason why she's stalled out on heading down there herself. ]
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Leaving had been necessary, her mom's words an echo in her mind, mixing up with Dante's. Clarke has to bear the burden for her people, and after everything, it hasn't been enough. She hadn't felt wrong enough. If she wanted to make their lives better, she felt certain that leaving was somehow the right solution.
Somehow.
Getting dragged in to Polis by Lexa is frustrating. But knowing that she was brought in to convince her people to join up with Lexa is somehow worse. Knowing that her mother brought Wells, though? As if she might not come home? It feels like a betrayal. (To Clarke's mind, she's certain that that's the intention.)
Still, she asks that he be sent to her room, and she stands in the window as she has many times since she first arrived. When her door opens, she turns toward him.
Though she's rinsed her hair over the past week, she knows that there are still hints of pink that are visible. Otherwise, she looks like she's been treated well, the wear and tear of being dragged in mostly gone by now.
But what led her to taking off isn't gone. Clarke's eyes are haunted and uneasy, lips twisted downward. She had told Bellamy that she was leaving, not Wells, because she knew the latter would find a way to keep her. Her year of anger toward him is still something that she feels like she has to make good on, and if she had ... somehow made it better, somehow had been there for him, she feels as if he wouldn't have a scar on the side of his neck. She knows she kept him alive, and she knows he doesn't blame her, but—
Sometimes, Wells is just too noble for his own good.
More than that, he's so noble that she almost feels like he's too good for her. Like coming down here changed her and he's been untarnished by it all. Oh, he's fought. They've all fought. But there are days when she feels certain that she has blood caked on her hands.
Clarke narrows the distance between them, but doesn't continue the rest of the way. She wants to hug him, but she can't.]
I didn't—["expect you to come." The words feel unkind somehow.]
Wells, I'm sorry.
[In all of the imagined betrayals along the way, she's fairly certain she's the only one that's done a real one.]
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he doesn't need to talk to her but he wants to.
before the mountain, they had some time to reconvene, to try to be the friends they once were. even if there is a place for him among the others in the new arkadia, no one can be clarke. and at the moment, clarke is all the family he has while an invisible wall stays standing between himself and his father.
he wants to talk to her about the break, how frightened he is for his dad's mental state. it feels as if no reason can reach him now that he has backed himself into a corner. with him having disappeared on his religious excursion, he doesn't wish to burden anyone else with his worries.
and he continues to hold onto them as he takes a deep breath and resists the urge to hug her in greeting. ]
Could've said goodbye, that's all.
[ he had seen her, just seconds before she turned away and walked through the gates of camp. it doesn't make him clench his fists, his arms remaining hanging at his sides. his hands are calloused from holding guns and knives lately, and he's stronger after all those sparring sessions with lincoln and the others. he stands before her not in that old blue jacket from their early days on earth, but in a guard uniform instead. it wasn't his first choice, but he felt he should contribute best this way.
when abby asked him to accompany her, he agreed without question. ]
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[Obviously, this is the right place to begin.
The natural place to begin.]
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I got up in arms about the movies' treatment of Ron and Hermione again.
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I have the feeling that your floor's been through worse.
Just like he's probably had worse cuts. We all have. That makes me wonder if it's "just" a cut.
[They may all have some difficulty gauging scale at this point.]
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[Or he might be projecting. But he veers defensive, even (or maybe especially) when he's unsure.]
Head wounds always bleed like a bitch, Clarke. That's something else we all know.
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Just to be clear: to the cat part. Not to where you think I'm accusing you of anything.
How do the cats factor into a head wound?
[Clarke doesn't know if that's enough to disarm the defensiveness, but it's worth a shot.]
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It's odd to think of it that way. They're buying themselves time.
If there's anything that she can learn about human civilization, it's how much things will change. In the past few weeks, those changes have happened rapidly. Arkadia blew up, and with it went the last few remnants of her upbringing. Her people have begun to build new villages, new towns and hints of civilization that can grow. They begin to separate, free from the fear of their inevitable death and the need to be constrained by the space-born ideals of the Ark. Clarke doesn't know what to think of it. Some part of her knows it's good. Another part worries—if they separate, will they truly be able to call each other the same group of people? Will they all still be "Skaikru"?
Maybe it's not the most important question to ask. Or to worry about. She knows it isn't. And she knows even worrying about it makes her selfish. This is what they had always wanted to return to the ground for in the first place.
Before she decides where she's going—Roan has an open invitation for her to retake her room and place at Polis as an ambassador—she has chosen to sit outside of the ruins of Arkadia to help other people off in the direction that they might like to go. Some are, as previously stated, heading off to new villages. Others are leaving with Luna, to help her rebuild her society. And some are like Clarke, uncertain if they want to assimilate with the Grounders now that they're on equal footing.
Her arms rest on her knees, pulled back, and she sees a familiar face out of the corner of her eye. Murphy. Believe it or not, he's been with them through all of this.]
Are you headed off for good? [It's a question that doesn't come with an accusation, even if she wouldn't be surprised if he'd read that into her tone. Murphy's survival has always been at the forefront of his decision-making. Now that the terrain will prove to be a political landmine, she wouldn't be surprised if he chose to take off for ... just about anywhere that's safer than here.
After all, what would their people be like without war? There may be new civilizations blooming, but that only increases the chances.]