[It's odd seeing Wells in this particular uniform. Clarke knows that a lot has likely changed. Arkadia has a different name now, as they've moved on from their initial worship of Jaha into realizing that all things change. They no longer have to be the people that they were up in the Ark. They no longer have to be the people they were when they just arrived on the ground, either. She recalls learning about the scars on her mother's back days after she returned to camp. Abby had brushed it off, but Clarke knew that was the adults' version of what many of the hundred had gone through.
If it were Bellamy standing across from her, she knows it would be different. Wells and Bellamy have always been different. Where Wells is grounded and silent, rarely if ever quick to words, Bellamy is loud, emotional, and abrasive. She loves them both, and in the time they've been on the ground, Bellamy has grown into her second best friend. Wells will always be the first to her, the truly even-handed person in her life (because she doesn't really count herself, not anymore).
They both mean a lot. But she is still selfishly glad that it's Wells and not Bellamy.]
I should have. [The three words are a concession that she knows she'd make to no one else (even Bellamy—especially Bellamy). She has to hold on to some of the denial she has for her actions, even if she knows they were wrong. How long can she drown in her guilt? And where does the guilt begin? Does it begin with when she offered Lexa a way to cure the Reapers in exchange for an alliance? Does it begin with Finn's blood hot and warm on her hands? Does it begin in the moments before they were about to bust into Mount Weather, and Clarke allowed herself to be shielded from attacks? Emerson knew that Lexa would come alone. He knew.
Everything about her is haunted, and she never wanted that to be a burden for her people.
Or Wells.
Clarke realizes she was foolish to think it would be anything else.]
I'd like to say I'd go back and change what I did, but I don't think I would. And I don't think I'd have said good-bye. [He'd let her go. She knows that. And yet—] I don't think I could ask you to let me say good-bye.
[It would be unfair to him. Wells gives her so much, and she imagines he'd give her that. He shouldered the pain from her father's death, knowing that it would be too difficult for her to realize that it had been her mother's fault. She couldn't do that to him in any other way.]
no subject
If it were Bellamy standing across from her, she knows it would be different. Wells and Bellamy have always been different. Where Wells is grounded and silent, rarely if ever quick to words, Bellamy is loud, emotional, and abrasive. She loves them both, and in the time they've been on the ground, Bellamy has grown into her second best friend. Wells will always be the first to her, the truly even-handed person in her life (because she doesn't really count herself, not anymore).
They both mean a lot. But she is still selfishly glad that it's Wells and not Bellamy.]
I should have. [The three words are a concession that she knows she'd make to no one else (even Bellamy—especially Bellamy). She has to hold on to some of the denial she has for her actions, even if she knows they were wrong. How long can she drown in her guilt? And where does the guilt begin? Does it begin with when she offered Lexa a way to cure the Reapers in exchange for an alliance? Does it begin with Finn's blood hot and warm on her hands? Does it begin in the moments before they were about to bust into Mount Weather, and Clarke allowed herself to be shielded from attacks? Emerson knew that Lexa would come alone. He knew.
Everything about her is haunted, and she never wanted that to be a burden for her people.
Or Wells.
Clarke realizes she was foolish to think it would be anything else.]
I'd like to say I'd go back and change what I did, but I don't think I would. And I don't think I'd have said good-bye. [He'd let her go. She knows that. And yet—] I don't think I could ask you to let me say good-bye.
[It would be unfair to him. Wells gives her so much, and she imagines he'd give her that. He shouldered the pain from her father's death, knowing that it would be too difficult for her to realize that it had been her mother's fault. She couldn't do that to him in any other way.]