[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. ]
[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.]
[ every day he feels that his moral compass is askew, wanting to cling to the person he used to be. the world has never been black and white but constantly treading into that grey area still makes him nervous and uncertain about which direction he should take. he would have once rejected the notion that he would one day have to keep his weapons close and often visible, that he would have to learn different ways of fighting.
there are different ways of survival and coping, of reacting to fresh wounds in the process of healing. the memories from mount weather still stay with them, from the horror of watching them drill into raven to that uncertain feeling after their struggles came to an end. he often sees those blistered bodies scattered all over the bunker when he closes his eyes. no one's hands were clean after that day.
for a long while, he remains quiet, simply keeping his eyes fixed on clarke's face as she speaks to him. he unclenches his jaw. ] You didn't have to go at this alone. You have me, and you have everyone else. [ as steady as he would like to be, there is a very small tremor in his voice near the end of his sentence and he suddenly looks away from her, clenching his fists.
a deep breath. ] I'm just glad to see you in one piece, Clarke.
[ it isn't difficult to smile when he says that and he takes the smallest step forward as an attempt to close the distance between them. he does nothing further. ]
[Clarke knows that no excuse exists for why she left. At the time, it seemed like the most logical, sensible thing to do. With her gone, her people could move on, and she would take their pain and suffering with her. Once she hit the line of trees, the weight of it began to settle over her, but she refused to let herself turn back. Her mind began going through the motions. Too controlled, too steady in her ways at times, she knew exactly how to plan the means to protect herself and prevent her return. She knew exactly where to hide, how to live her life, and what to do for herself. Alongside Lexa and her people, she learned about the various people in Trikru who were warriors but mostly fended for themselves, living alone much like Lincoln did.
Sometimes, it was better that they were spread out. It helped them maintain their claim over their land.
But still, the plans she developed make it difficult for her to deny her culpability. Then again, would she?
Clarke knows she wouldn't.]
I don't really have an explanation for it. But I'm—I am okay. I promise.
[It feels important to make him believe this before she steps forward, closing the distance between him and her so that her arms can wrap around him in a familiar embrace.
The moment her fingers cling to the back of his jacket, she presses her face close to his neck and whispers through a strained voice,] I'm so sorry.
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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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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.]
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there are different ways of survival and coping, of reacting to fresh wounds in the process of healing. the memories from mount weather still stay with them, from the horror of watching them drill into raven to that uncertain feeling after their struggles came to an end. he often sees those blistered bodies scattered all over the bunker when he closes his eyes. no one's hands were clean after that day.
for a long while, he remains quiet, simply keeping his eyes fixed on clarke's face as she speaks to him. he unclenches his jaw. ] You didn't have to go at this alone. You have me, and you have everyone else. [ as steady as he would like to be, there is a very small tremor in his voice near the end of his sentence and he suddenly looks away from her, clenching his fists.
a deep breath. ] I'm just glad to see you in one piece, Clarke.
[ it isn't difficult to smile when he says that and he takes the smallest step forward as an attempt to close the distance between them. he does nothing further. ]
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Sometimes, it was better that they were spread out. It helped them maintain their claim over their land.
But still, the plans she developed make it difficult for her to deny her culpability. Then again, would she?
Clarke knows she wouldn't.]
I don't really have an explanation for it. But I'm—I am okay. I promise.
[It feels important to make him believe this before she steps forward, closing the distance between him and her so that her arms can wrap around him in a familiar embrace.
The moment her fingers cling to the back of his jacket, she presses her face close to his neck and whispers through a strained voice,] I'm so sorry.