Chapter Text
PART I — THE ARK
The first time she saw him, Clarke was sitting in her cell and tracing the outline of a river into the ground, hunched over, fingers pale and caked with chalk.
She saw him from the corner of her eye, a figure suddenly sitting on her cot when he wasn’t a second earlier. Before she could look up, startled, he was gone. It took her a few hours to stop thinking about it, even though she probably should’ve felt more frightened at the idea of a mysterious man somehow appearing inside her extremely well-locked cell, but she eventually managed to convince herself she’d imagined it. Surely, the long days of isolation with nothing but her walls and the little window were getting to her. It was to be expected; she knew the effects isolation could have on a person. Especially when she knew there was no end to this situation—the only possible escape would be her death once she turned eighteen, and she was well aware of it.
The next time he appeared, a couple days later, he stayed longer. She didn’t panic when she made out the shape of his shoes on her right, and quietly looked up from her drawing.
He was young, not that much older than herself, and wore a guard’s uniform. Why she’d imagine a guard as her imaginary friend, she didn’t know—so far guards had been nothing but rough hands and barked orders when they led her to her cell, and then they just slipped her food through the crack in the door without a word. But this one was definitely not real; he was too young to be allowed inside the Skybox, they only allowed older guards inside to keep the delinquents in check; and even if she’d somehow gotten his age wrong, he’d just appeared. The door hadn’t opened—in fact it was still solidly locked, as far as she could tell.
He was handsome, with his black curly hair, his tall posture and his brown freckled skin—when she looked up and her eyes met his, she was surprised to find how expressive and a little confused the big brown eyes were.
“Hi,” he said, which startled her, again. Somehow, she hadn’t really expected him to speak. Then again, if he really was an isolation-induced hallucination, she didn’t see why he wouldn’t be able to talk.
“Hello,” she said, slowly standing up, as if afraid that he’d disappear again upon her moving. He didn’t disappear, in fact he just kept looking at her, a little lost.
“What, um—“ he spoke again. She liked his voice, it was oddly soft. “What are you doing in my room?”
Her eyebrows shot up, and she looked around, a little amused. “Your room?” Suddenly a chilling thought occurred to her, and as sceptical as she generally was, her situation made her blurt out, a little panicked: “Oh, God. Are you—are you the one who was in this cell before me? Did they kill you? Are you a ghost?”
“Woah, wait, wait,” he said, baffled, looking around as if seeking someone’s support on this. “I’m not—I’m not a ghost. Wait, are you?”
“No,” she said, already calming down as she realized her questions were absurd—even if ghosts in themselves weren’t an insane thought, they wouldn’t allow a guard to keep his uniform in solitary—they’d give him regulatory Skybox clothes. “I’m not a ghost. I’m, um, I’m alive. We both are, I mean, I think—what year is it?”
“Uh, 2149,” said the man, a little confused, and she nodded. Great. Not ghosts or time travel or whatever then. He was probably an hallucination, as she’s assumed. That probably meant she was losing her mind, but at least it was somewhat rational. She sat down on her cot, wiping her stained hands on her pants.
“I’m Bellamy,” he said, and as the word came out of his mouth she felt that sensation she often got when she knew a word but couldn’t remember it for the life of her, and someone said it just as it was on the tip of her tongue. Like she couldn’t have named him without his help, yet she’d still known before he said it.
“I’m Clarke,” she said, and reached out a hand to shake his. He did so, and they both looked down at their hands in quiet fascination. It felt so real. She could feel his calloused hands against hers, more delicate, and the rough outline of his bruised knuckles against her thumb.
She stroked the scars there with her thumb, and suddenly he was gone. Her hand closed aimlessly around nothing, and she found herself staring silently at the window, and the immensity of space behind it.
A few days later, she woke up in a familiar room.
It wasn’t her own, but it might as well have been, given how well she knew these walls. The bed was soft, the pillow a pretty blue she’d helped pick from the piles of fabric at Trade. There were pictures on the desk next to the bed—she was on several of them.
She closed her eyes again. This was a lovely dream, but she didn’t want it. As much as she wanted to be back there, she didn’t want to see the one who surely would meet her in her dream if she allowed herself to continue.
“Clarke?” called out a surprised, familiar voice. Wake up, wake up, she ordered herself. When she opened her eyes again, she was back in her cold cell, on her hard cot, and the walls and table were bare of any picture frames. She sighed quietly.
“Well hello there,” said a voice from behind her. She turned around, surprised. There, laying on her cot like it was his own, looking confused but like he was trying to hide it, sat a boy her age, with a skinny, shark-like face and sharp eyes. She squinted at him, a bit startled.
“Not that I’m complaining about finding a pretty girl in my cell, but how the hell did you get in?” he asked.
“Float you, asshole, I’m trying to sleep,” whined a voice from behind Clarke. She jumped and turned around, and suddenly she wasn’t in her cell anymore. It was still the Skybox, for sure, but it seemed to be a regular cell, far from Solitary. There were two beds here, on both sides of the room; on one was a boy she’d never seen before, burrowing his face on his pillow, and on the other bed was the boy that was on her cot a second ago.
“Murphy, who is this?” she asked without even stopping to wonder why she knew his name. He didn’t seem too surprised, either, just rolled his eyes, amused.
“That’s my cellmate, Nate. Don’t mind him.”
“It’s Miller for you, dickhead, and who the fuck are you talking to?” groaned Nate—Miller—from the other bed. She squinted at him. “Miller—Nathan Miller? Isn’t he from Alpha Station? I think I might’ve seen him around.”
“Maybe,” said Murphy. “Either way he’s gonna peel my skin off if I keep talking to you.”
“Damn right he will,” mumbled Miller into his pillow.
“I’m in Solitary, it won’t bother anyone if I talk in there,” said Clarke and in the blink of an eye they were back in her cell.
“Clarke, right?” said Murphy. She nodded. “Mmh. Convenient, this Solitary stuff. God, you have so much space to yourself! I wish I was in one of these.”
“You don’t mean that,” scoffed Clarke. “I haven’t talked to anyone since they locked me up, it’s maddening.”
“Pff, I’d give anything to be away from all the assholes back in the Skybox,” he groaned. “They’re so annoying, you have no idea.”
“Better that than being alone.”
“I don’t know about that, man. Plus, you’re not really alone, are you? There’s Bellamy. And me, obviously.”
“You’ve seen Bellamy, too?”
“Yeah, a couple times. He made me go say hi to his sister for him.”
“Octavia,” said Clarke, nodding. She couldn’t quite picture her face, but she had the vague image of a bright smile and dark hair floating on the back of her mind, as well as the imperative to keep her safe. She could tell it came from Bellamy’s mind, but it didn’t bother her. Any walls that might’ve existed between their consciousnesses were already eroding, feeling increasingly obsolete as time went by.
“Anyone else?” she asked. “Besides Bellamy and I, I mean.”
“No, not me,” he said, shaking his head. “But Bellamy said he saw another girl. Raven, I think he said she was called. What about you?”
She thought of the blue pillow, the pictures, and the sleepy, familiar voice calling her name. “No,” she said, while feeling Murphy’s scepticism as strongly as if it was her own. “Just you and Bell. How many of us do you think there are?” asked Clarke. Murphy shrugged.
“No clue. I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” His grin was sharp and felt dangerous, but she didn’t mind, just nodded, pensive.
“That’s pretty,” said Bellamy, sitting down next to her to look at her drawings. “Is it supposed to be the sun? ‘Cause it looks like the sun.”
“Yeah,” she smiled. “And these are trees, here, see?”
“Trees,” he said slowly. “You really like the Ground, huh?”
“Don’t you?” she traced the outline of an animal under the trees—something big with thin legs, and antlers—a deer, offered Bellamy’s mind helpfully. She looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “See? You know Ground stuff!” He scoffed, shook his head. “I don’t know shit about animals, it’s just—it’s Artemis’s symbol,” he explained. “The stag, I mean.”
“And Artemis is your favourite Greek goddess,” she said, somehow knowing, and he nodded in confirmation. Clarke grinned. “Nerd.”
“Oh, shut up,” he mumbled. “O always says her favourite is Ares, but I like Artemis better. What about you?”
“Never gave it much thought,” said Clarke, pensive. She found a bunch of old mythology knowledge she didn’t have before, suddenly at her disposition. “Mmh. I like Athena.”
“Of course you do,” said Bellamy with a bright grin. She rolled her eyes, amused.
“Oh, shut up,” she said again, and he mocked a salute.
“Yes princess,” he answered solemnly. She scoffed.
“Shit, Jasper!” yelped a voice, waking up Clarke, and she jumped to her feet, surprised. She was suddenly in one of the farms she’d visited with her class once as a kid—she hadn’t been to Farm Station in years, yet as she ran down the plants, she knew instinctively where to go. Someone giggled behind her, clutching her arm and running along with her, and she heard a voice that wasn’t hers, yet came from her mouth, curse quietly. “Fuck, fuck. They’re gonna get us.”
“No, they’re not,” said Murphy, and Clarke looked over—behind the instalment on her right, he was running along with them, looking focused. “Turn off the lights.”
“What?” yelped the same voice that had cursed a second earlier, and Clarke realized she was no longer him—like Murphy, she was running along at his side. “If I turn off the lights, the plants’ll die!”
“Who the fuck are you talking to, Monty?” panted the boy who was still clutching his arm—his name was Jasper, Monty’s mind offered helpfully.
“The plants don’t matter, you need to make sure you don’t get caught,” admonished Murphy.
“Don’t worry,” said Clarke when she saw Monty’s panic at the idea of killing the plantations. “The guards are not too far behind. They’ll just rush to the switch to turn the lights back on instead of going after you. The plants’ll survive a little darkness, and you’ll be free to go.” Monty hesitated a beat longer, but when both Clarke and Murphy gave him a curt, encouraging nod, he obliged and ran to the closest switch.
“Where you going, man!” yelped Jasper, and then he let out a surprise shout when they found themselves in the dark. Guards started yelling from behind, panicked at the idea of the crops dying and completely forgetting the two weed thieves they were supposed to be catching. “Shit! Fuck! Okay, smart, Monty, but how do we find the door?”
“Uh,” said Monty, looking around. Clarke couldn’t see anything, either, but she heard a feminine voice call from upfront, and she grabbed Monty’s hand, leading him towards the voice.
“Here! Over here!” said the voice, pressing. She led them to the door, and as soon as he opened it and was out of the farm, Monty pulled Jasper along with him, closed the door behind them and turned the light on. They were in a small storage room—from Jasper’s perspective, it must’ve been just him and Monty, but Clarke could also see Murphy, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed in quiet triumph at his plan having worked, and a girl with long blonde hair and brown eyes.
“Thanks, guys,” panted Monty as he and Jasper caught their breath.
“What?” gasped Jasper.
“You two should run,” said Clarke. “They’ll find the switch soon enough.”
Monty nodded, and he grabbed Jasper’s arm, against his complaints, to forcefully pull him away from the storage room.
Clarke, Murphy and the girl followed them until they reached Monty’s place, and after checking that his parents weren’t there he and Jasper locked themselves in.
Clarke found herself in a place she didn’t know, a small room, much smaller than the ones from Alpha Station—probably Factory Station, as far as she could tell. The room was messy, clothes everywhere and bed undone, but there was a certain charm to it.
“God, fold your laundry, Harper,” said Murphy, looking around with a sneer. Once again, as it had with Bellamy before, the name just clicked into place naturally—of course her name was Harper.
“Shut up, Murphy,” she snapped back, blushing. “Your place isn’t much better,” she added, and they were suddenly in Murphy’s cell—Clarke looked around, but there was no trace of Miller. Harper was right, though; the bed was a mess and the pillow was thrown on the floor.
“Stop fighting, you two,” she admonished. “Someone keep an eye on Monty, make sure the guards don’t suspect him.”
“Yes, princess,” scoffed Murphy. She glared at him, and he grinned.
“Damn Bellamy,” she mumbled. “That one’s gonna stick.”
The next day she woke up and once again felt the soft blue pillow under her cheek. She breathed in, and felt tears prickle her eyes as she took in the smell of Alpha Station, and the familiar smell of cotton she associated with her best friend.
“Clarke?” whispered the voice again. She could tell it came from the desk she was turned away from.
“We’re gonna have to talk eventually, Clarke,” said the voice gently. She stared at the wall, refusing to answer, and forced herself to go back to her cell in Solitary. Then she sobbed quietly into her white, thin pillow that smelled like metal and hand sanitizer, the sickening smell of the Skybox.
The room was once again quiet, and she was picking at her shapeless, tasteless food, when someone let out an unimpressed little whistling sound. “Well, that looks nasty.” She looked up, expecting Bellamy or Murphy, and instead found herself facing a boy with longer, brown hair, covered by a stupid grey beanie. From the clothes he wore and his worn out face, she could tell he was in the Skybox too, although probably not in Solitary.
“It is,” she answered, poking at it. “Is your food any better?”
“I’d say so, but there’s less,” he answered, and she nodded.
“I’m Clarke.”
“Finn Collins,” he answered. “So you’re the famous Clarke Griffin, huh? Me and Raven were wondering when we’d meet you. Wells talks about you a lot.”
She looked up sharply, hands tightening around her fork.
“You’re as pretty as he said,” teased Finn.
“Fuck off,” she spat out. “I don’t wanna hear about Wells.”
“You can’t keep ignoring him,” he said, frowning.
“I’ve been managing just fine,” she bit back. “Now go away.”
When she looked back up, he was gone.
“They got Monty”, said Harper, suddenly sitting next to her on her cot.
“I know,” sighed Clarke. She’d tried helping him get away from the guards, but there’d been nothing to be done, even with Bellamy’s intel from inside the Guard. Even if she hadn’t felt his calls for help across their bond, she’d have been able to feel the oppressing panic of being caught.
“Jasper, too,” added Harper, looking tired.
“I know.”
“At least Murphy and Finn will be there for him when they lock him up,” said Bellamy from behind Clarke. She leaned back against the wall to look at him properly. His hair was stupidly slicked back, which was how he generally styled it. She thought it was dumb, especially after having seen how prettily it curled that first time, but apparently that’d just been because she’d caught him fresh out of bed, barely dressed for work. He said the Guard thought he looked more professional with it pushed back. From Clarke’s perspective, it just looked dumb.
“There’s four of us in here,” she sighed.
“And Octavia and Jasper too,” added Harper. “Is it me, or are they being harsher on the arrests?”
Bellamy looked over at Clarke. She stared back, tired. The knowledge Clarke had shared with Bellamy one day when she was bored and angry and he was there, listening intently, seemed to seep into the bond and she saw Harper’s eyes widen.
“Fuck,” she gasped. “That’s insane. That’s why they locked you up in Solitary?”
“I was trying to warn the Ark,” said Clarke tiredly. “Clearly, it didn’t work.”
“We could—“
“Already offered,” interrupted Bellamy. “We all did. The Princess won’t let us.”
“My dad got killed trying to get the truth out, and in two months I’ll turn eighteen and they’ll kill me for it too. I won’t have anyone else executed for it.”
“What about Finn and Murphy?” said Harper. “And Monty, now? They’re already locked up. They can’t be arrested again. And this way you’ll be let out of Solitary.”
“We had that talk too,” sighed Bellamy as Clarke shook her head.
“If they do, it won’t go beyond the Skybox. It’ll never reach the Stations, so it’ll be useless anyway. And I wouldn’t put it past Jaha to decide to execute whoever started the rumour early, and I won’t let Finn, Monty or Murphy be killed because of me.”
“Fuck,” sighed Harper, burrowing her face in her hands and taking a deep breath. Bellamy patted her back gently.
“Any news from the others?” asked Clarke.
“Just talked to Monty,” said Bellamy, still comforting Harper. “He’s holding up pretty well—Raven’s with him. You still haven’t met Raven, right?”
“No,” she answered. “Am I the only one?”
“I think Monty hadn’t met her either. And several of the others don’t know each other yet.”
“Yeah,” said Clarke, rubbing her forehead. “Okay. Listen, there’s something I wanted to say.”
They both looked up at her. She took a deep breath. “Monty’s got another two years. Murphy and Finn have four and eight months. But me—“
“Clarke,” said Bellamy quietly, voice pained.
“Me, I’ll be dead in two months. I’ll be the first to go. So I need you, Bell, to take care of the others, okay? It’s gonna hurt them, I can feel it, so please, just, just make sure everyone’s alright for me, yeah?”
He took a deep breath, and she could feel his pain and grief through their bond at the idea of all four of them—as well as Octavia—being bound to death, but he nodded quietly. She smiled gently at him, reaching out, and he took her hand, holding it firmly in his own.
Harper’s arrest was hard on all of them. Clarke still didn’t see Raven, ignored the few attempts from Wells to talk, and rarely saw Finn at all—most of the time she got visits from Bellamy and Murphy, who seemed to take turns popping up in her cell and keep her company at least a couple times a day. She’d accompany them in their daily activities too, enjoying the freedom of being away from Solitary for a bit; sometimes she saw Harper and Monty, too.
She was there when they reunited upon the doors of the Skybox opening to spit out a new batch of prisoners—standing next to Finn, Murphy and Monty who were waiting near the stairs, knowing Harper was on her way. People had started viewing them a bit oddly, as they tended to know things others didn’t, talked to themselves and were all around a tad weird to the general public. Octavia didn’t seem to mind, mostly because she had a crush on Finn and because Murphy had told her he had a secret way to get messages from her brother and she used him to communicate. Miller hung out with Murphy—it was a love-hate kind of relationship those two had—and of course Jasper stuck with Monty, but outside of them they tended to stay between themselves.
Harper appeared at the door, and walked down the stairs, stuck between two guards. When they finally let her go alone, she ran to the little group. It was bittersweet to see her rush into Monty’s arms and sob quietly into his chest. On one hand, Clarke felt bad for her and the awful knowledge she had joined them on the list of people who were inevitably going to be killed, on the other she envied her the ability to hug one of the others, talk to them, hang out with them at all times. Plus, she had two years to live, still.
As much as she’d have wanted to have more time with them all, though, Clarke was grateful that she wouldn’t have to feel any of their deaths. She could only imagine the pain she’d feel if she had to lose any of them.
God, five of them were going to die. It was jarring to think of, that they’d be only three of them left in the end. She may not know Raven very well, but she knew how much she loved Finn; and although she didn’t want to think of Wells, she did think of Bellamy. He’d lose the five of them and Octavia, one by one, over the next three years. He’d already lost his mom—she couldn’t even imagine his pain.
“They’re sending you to the Ground,” said Bellamy.
“What?” Clarke barely looked up from her drawings. What he said made no sense anyway—maybe he was going to tell her a story, as he often did—he’d had practice from telling fables and fairytales to Octavia, and was an excellent storyteller. Although generally his stories were just Greek myths, but she didn’t mind.
“Clarke, look at me.” Finally the panic emanating from him hit her through their bond, and she looked up, surprised. He looked frantic, hair a mess—she felt a pinch of triumph at seeing the curls—and forehead sweaty. “Wells—no, don’t, there’s no time to be mad at him right now, come on—Wells overheard his father and your mom talking. He said they’re sending you all to the Ground in a Dropship. There’s ninety-nine prisoners. You’re all being shipped down tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” she gasped, jumping to her feet. “No—No, they can’t. The air is toxic, they’ll kill us all.”
“I know,” said Bellamy. “But your mom thinks maybe it’s survivable, somehow. I don’t know. Regardless, if you don’t go they’ll kill you to make more air for the rest of the population anyway. It’s our best chance.”
“Do you—wait, our?”
“Raven and I, we’re trying to find a way to get on the Dropship with you.”
“That’s—shit, Bellamy,” she said, staring at him, baffled. “You’d be killing yourself. That’s a death sentence.”
“So is staying here. The air’s running out, and even if they do go down Factory Station will be the last to get a ship. If I have to die, I’d rather do it on Earth with the seven of you and O, than here alone.” He walked up to her, and reached out to touch her hair, running his fingers through the loose strands that were escaping her braid already, then gently tucking them behind her ear. “It’s okay, Clarke. It’s what I want. Raven too.”
“How are you gonna—“
“I don’t know. We can’t just get ourselves arrested, we’re older than eighteen. They won’t send us down, they’ll just kill us. But it’s alright, we’ll find something. When there’s a will, there’s a way, all that.”
She frowned. There was something in the way he’d emphasized the ‘we’, like he was separating himself and Raven from someone else. It didn’t take long for the realization to hit.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. He sighed.
“Yeah. Finn tried talking to him, me too, even Murphy, but he won’t listen.”
“Oh, God.”
“Maybe he’ll listen to you—“ he barely had the time to finish that sentence before he was disappearing, Clarke already finding the thread she’d so strongly been trying to cut off, and pulling on it as hard as she could. The bond tensed, and suddenly she was once again in the familiar Alpha Station room. The blue pillow was on the floor, and Wells was going through his things, so busy and frantic that he didn’t seem to notice her until she spoke up.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she spat out. He looked up, and the mere sight of that face—the face of her best friend, the person she’d trusted the most in the entire world until these new bonds were formed—was enough to fill her with a vivid, sharp hatred.
“You piece of shit.” She could see the way those words hurt him—saw the shock and pain on his face and felt them through their bond—but she didn’t stop. “You got my father floated for trying to tell the people and now you want to take air from them too?”
“Clarke,” he started.
“How fucking selfish do you have to be?”
“It’s the only thing my dad won’t be able to ignore,” he said. “Anything else and he’ll manage to get me cleared. I have to be arrested, and they have to send me down with you.”
“No they don’t. What makes you think I’d want you to come with me after what you did?”
“Clarke, please.”
“Don’t! Wells, you were my best friend, I fucking trusted you, and you, and you—“ she hadn’t meant to let it all out, she’d meant to convince him not to and then leave as quickly as possible, but now it was all coming back, and she felt like she was choking, like she couldn’t breathe—the words kept coming out, quick and strangled, as she tried to keep herself from sobbing. “You broke my trust and got my dad floated. I’ll never fucking forgive you for that.”
He looked at her, eyes sad and lips trembling, and suddenly something hit her. She’d always been pretty good at reading him, ever since they were kids, but now she could feel what he felt, too. And there was sadness there, of course, and a heavy, painful weight, but there was something missing.
There wasn’t the smallest spark of guilt.
She stopped, and looked at him sharply. She knew Wells—as angry as she was, as betrayed as she felt, she knew her best friend. Even more so with the bond connecting them now.
If he’d had any involvement whatsoever with her father’s death, he’s be overwhelmed by guilt.
And that weight—it was tinged with something familiar, something so very Wells. Righteousness. And love—impossible, unbearable love for her.
“Oh, God,” she breathed out, and crumbled, right there and then.
She fell to her knees, shaking, and Wells didn’t miss a beat, immediately rushing to her side and falling to his knees too, holding out his arms to comfort her but then stopping himself a second before he touched her shoulder. She sat there, baffled, the heavy, horrifying realization forming itself in her head, slowly, inevitably. She almost didn’t want it to. She didn’t want to know. Resentment was less unbearable than this. “Oh, God,” she sobbed, and broke down in tears. “Oh God, Wells, Wells, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry—“ this time he gave up all restraint and pulled her into his arms, holding her shaking, sobbing form against his chest and rubbing gentle circles between her shoulder blades.
“How could she,” she cried, clutching at his chest. “How could she—she loved him, she—Wells, I’m so sorry. I’m so—“ he shushed her, not unkindly, and held her a little tighter.
“It’s okay, Clarke. It’s going to be okay.”
“I’m so sorry. How will you—how will you ever forgive me? Shit, Wells, I’m so sorry—“
“You’re already forgiven,” he promised, and he sounded so sincere, so certain, that she almost broke into tears again. Before she knew it, there were people around her—someone holding her hand, another gently, comfortingly petting her hair. Finn and Bellamy, she was pretty sure, although she wouldn’t be surprised if there were others. They probably could all feel her pain through their bond.
She let them hold her until she calmed down a bit, and then they began planning.
Wells got himself arrested without affecting the air supply, instead just tumbling over the Sacred Tree, and soon he was in the Skybox with Monty, Harper, Murphy and Finn. They all slipped as many supplies as they could into their pockets, shoes, underwear—food from lunch, shivs, whatever they could find. Clarke sat in Solitary and did her best to put aside her anger in light of the recent revelations. She couldn’t think of her mother, or she’d break down again. Instead she tried to strategize as best as she could.
Raven and Bellamy were working their ass off to try and find a way into the Dropship, but they weren’t getting any results. Time was running out, yet Clarke refused to accept the idea of leaving them behind; now that the idea was in her head, she just wanted for them all to go down to Earth together.
They didn’t know at what time exactly they’d be leaving, but roughly a day after Wells told them what awaited them, she felt something stir. She understood through the bond that the guards were guiding Finn, Murphy, Monty and Harper out of the Skybox and towards the Dropship. She was about to join them to make sure they were alright when she felt a pull calling her, specifically, from somewhere else on the Ark. Following the tug, she found herself walking alongside Bellamy in what looked like Orchid Station. He seemed on his way to the Exodus ships. “Did you find something?” she asked. He looked around quickly, and answered, quietly;
“The launch is in twenty minutes. This guard, Shumway—“
“Shumway? Isn’t he the one who—“ floated your mother was left unsaid, but he just nodded.
“He said he could get me on the Dropship. Just me, he outright refused to even consider taking Raven.”
“Better than nothing,” said Clarke. “Raven’ll find a way. Take his offer. Whatever he wants—you can take money from my mother, or—“
“He wants me to kill Jaha,” he said, voice wavering slightly.
Clarke stopped, and had to rush after him to catch up. She looked up at his face as they walked side by side—his face was set, serious, but she could feel through the bond, as well as see in his eyes, that he was terrified. She only now noticed the gun at his hip. “Are you going to?”
“It’s Wells’ dad,” he said.
“What did Wells say?”
“He told me to do it,” whispered Bellamy, now visibly shaking. “He said—he said I’m more important. He said to try and avoid any lethal shots if I could, but if I couldn’t—“
“Aim somewhere serious enough Shumway will think Jaha’s dead, but benign enough that there’s still some chances he’ll survive.”
“Clarke, I have no idea how to do that,” he said, still shaking.
“Are you almost there?” He nodded—they’d reached a door at the end of the alleyway.
“He should be in there, giving a speech. I—Shumway said—the deal is, I shoot, then run out back, and he’ll get me with the guards leading the delinquents inside—I’ll just have to stay in with them.”
“Okay. Okay, fuck. Can you shoot?”
“I can shoot, I just don’t know where—“
“I’ll guide you. Go, now, hurry. If they’re taking the others already, they’re coming for me next.” Just as she said those words, she heard a noise—not in the alleyway but back in her cell. Someone was fumbling with keys outside her door.
Hearing it too and understanding the urgency, Bellamy opened the door and walked in. As predicted, Jaha was giving a speech in front of a group of Arkadians—most likely to distract them from noticing the launch.
The door of Clarke’s cell opened. “Prisoner 319, face the wall,” said a voice, and at the same time Monty appeared in her cell.
“Clarke, we’re going down the hall. Your mom is heading your way, but she won’t make it for another two minutes. If you want to be able to say goodbye, stall a little and you’ll see her.” She cursed under her breath. She didn’t want to see her mother, she didn’t want to have to face her betrayal. She had to hurry if she wanted to avoid that. Monty disappeared again, and just as she made her body in the cell face the wall, she also pulled herself back by Bellamy’s side.
“Shit! You were gone,” he said under his breath, eyes wide and panicked. They were in the middle of the crowd now, and he was clutching the gun. “I wasn’t sure if—“
“Do it, now,” she ordered. “Hurry.”
They acted in a split second, with perfect synchronization—she slipped behind him, he raised the gun, she took control of his body long enough to adjust the aim slightly, and then he shot.
She jumped at the sound, and only noticed she was back in the cell when one of the guards barked an order at her, clearly startled by her reaction to a gunshot they couldn’t hear. “Sorry,” she said. “Let’s go. Quick.” The two guards looked at each other. Clearly they were expecting a lot more questions and protests. Eventually they just shrugged, and led her outside.
She rushed down the stairs a little too fast and almost fell, but she caught herself on the ramp and kept going. By the time she heard her mother calling her name, far behind, she’d already split from the guards and joined the long procession of delinquents walking down the corridor.
She looked around for the others, and when she didn’t find them she let her mind reach further, until it caught a familiar mind. She rushed to the front of the line, which everyone let her do—clearly they didn’t want to go first, and given the looks they threw her way they thought her crazy.
She finally spotted Murphy and Finn upfront, with who she immediately recognized as Octavia. She hadn’t seen the others on her way here—maybe they’d been at the back of the file or she’d missed them—but she didn’t feel distress from Harper, Wells or Monty, so they were probably fine.
She rushed at Murphy and Finn’s side, intending to talk and strategize, but when she met their eyes the entire world seemed to come to a halt. They stopped—slowing the procession of delinquents—and just looked at each other in quiet, amazed bafflement for a second. Then Finn reached out for her and she threw herself against them, an arm around Finn’s shoulders and the other around Murphy to pull hold them tight against her. She heard some mumbled protests from Murphy, but he hugged her back just as strongly. Finn burrowed his face in her hair. This was the first time she’d actually ever seen one of them since these bonds were formed, and it was overwhelming. It felt like belonging, like coming home.
“Hey, you!” barked out a guard. “Hurry it up!”
They split apart, and grinned at each other brightly. Clarke had to wipe some tears away from her eyes. The guard yelled at them again about how they were blocking the way for everyone, and so they started walking again, standing close to each other.
“Raven?” she asked. Finn’s grin faded and his face fell. Murphy just shook his head.
“Bellamy?” he asked in return.
“On his way. He shot Jaha,” she said. “I hope he gets here okay. The others?”
“Back of the line. They’re alright.”
They reached the ladder at last, a frightening cold thing leading them up into the gaping metallic door of what could very well be their coffin. Everyone stopped when they reached the ladder, looking up in quiet terror. Even when a guard barked out orders and urged them to climb it, they still were paralyzed by the knowledge of where this ship was taking them.
Suddenly Clarke heard it—behind her, desperate and almost begging, the voice of her mother calling her name. That snapped her out of her shock. She took a deep breath.
And she took a step forward. Reached out. Touched the ladder, gently, like she’d pet a startled animal. It was cold.
She took another breath, and felt Murphy and Finn’s strength behind her—as well as the others’ further behind—all encouraging, loving, telling her, promising her, we’re right behind you. You’re not alone.
As her mother’s voice got closer, she climbed.