[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.]
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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.]