Chapter Text
Chapter 1
She crouched atop the cathedral’s bell tower watching over the city, perched like a statue. A silent guardian. Her long black coat and signature red sash billowed in the wind around her. Her keen, war paint covered eyes watched the tiny people on the street below bustle to and fro rushing from one place to another. She found solace in watching the city from this height. She could see all of Polis stretched out before her. Her city. The city she had sworn to protect, to make a better place. Ever since donning her vigilante persona as The Commander, crime in Polis had dropped significantly. She was hailed as a hero by most. Street art and graffiti depicting her signature look could be found all over the alley ways, bridges, and buildings. She was making a difference, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough as long as criminals plagued the streets and endangered the innocents. Innocents like Costia. Images flooded into her mind. Blood. Pale, cold skin. She tried to stop the thoughts from running through her head, but failed. The corners of her mouth turned down and she let out a strangled sigh at the thought of the love she had lost. She touched the small pendant that hung from her neck.
“I may have failed you, my love, but I will not fail this city. I will not fail our people,” she mumbled aloud as she once again locked her feelings away in a dark corner of her heart that she kept buried. She couldn’t afford to let her feelings interfere with her duty. Not when the work she did was so important. She forced her mind back into the present and let the sounds of the city permeate her senses. She listened to the honking of horns, the wailing of sirens, and the shouting of street vendors plying their wares. It had been a calm night. The air was warm and slightly humid signaling the approach of summer. All of a sudden her ears picked up the distinct sound of a struggle in the alleyway behind the cathedral. “I should have known there was no such thing as a peaceful night in Polis,” she said as she rose from her position.
………..
Clarke Griffin weaved her way through the crowded street, trying to get home after a long, grueling day at the hospital. She was coming off a 24 hour shift spent mostly elbow deep in the chest of some stranger either piecing them back together or cutting them apart. She was the head trauma surgeon at Ark Memorial Hospital, a position that she loved, but that didn’t seem to love her back. The hospital was underfunded and understaffed which wasn’t uncommon for a hospital located on the outskirts of the slums. She worked double the hours a normal surgeon would trying to make up for the lack of help. There was never a shortage of patients in a city this large regardless of whether the hospital was underfunded or not, and she had become a surgeon to make a difference.
She stopped by a hot dog vendor on her way back to her apartment. She planned to pass out as soon as she reached the threshold, so she decided that eating on her way home would be the best course of action. Usually, she took the long way home to avoid the more dangerous parts of Polis, but tonight she was just too tired. By cutting through the slums area known as Ton D.C. she would shave 20 minutes off of the time it would take her to get home. She had taken some self-defense classes and knew how to pack a punch, and she always kept her trusty Taser on her at all times. She felt relatively confident that she could make it home in one piece. Besides, crime rate had dropped significantly since the mysterious vigilante had started patrolling the streets. Clarke wasn’t sure she believed in a masked do-gooder beating up bad guys, but her friend Octavia, a detective for Polis P.D., had confirmed the drop in crime. With these rationalizations in mind, Clarke decided to take the more dangerous short cut if it meant getting to her bed that much sooner.
She had been walking for 15 minutes and was nearly out of Ton D.C. without incident when he stepped out from behind the dumpster. She tensed immediately in seeing his large form fill her view. He was just a figure at first, covered by the dark shadows of the alleyway. When he stepped into the light of the street lamp, her blood ran cold. He stood at least six and a half feet tall and was as thick as a tree trunk. His icy blue eyes were filled with nothing but malice that was accentuated by the sinister snare of his lip. A large tattoo ran the length of the side of his bald head.
“Now what is a pretty little thing like you doing in this part of town this late at night?” he snarled at her.
“I’m just trying to get home. I don’t want any trouble,” she stated trying not to sound intimidated. She fished her hand into the bag at her side searching for her Taser.
“Well, darling, trouble wants you,” he stated with a sinister chuckle. He began to stalk towards her taking long, determined strides. She quickly began backing up as she tried to free the Taser from her bag, but he was on her too fast. She let out a startled yelp as he grabbed her fore arms and forced her to drop the hold on her bag. He pulled her closer, and she could smell the distinct stench of alcohol on his breath.
“You don’t want to do this,” she tried reasoning with him as she flinched away from him.
“I don’t think you know me very well,” he sneered. Clarke’s heart was ready to beat out of her chest. She struggled to keep the fear at bay. She knew she had to act quickly if she was going to get out of this mess. With all the strength in her leg she reared back and jammed her knee into his groin as hard as she could. He let out a pained howl and dropped his grasp on her. “You little bitch! You’ll pay for that.”
As soon as she felt his hands release her, she turned to run, but he caught her by the wrist and dragged her back to him. She swung a punch with her free arm, but this time he was on alert and caught the incoming blow in his giant hand. He lifted her slightly off the ground, his eyes furious. He threw her down with considerable force, knocking the air from her lungs. She began scooting back as quickly as possible, gasping for air. He kept advancing on her. He raised a meaty paw to knock her into oblivion, and she slammed her eyes shut not wanting to see the blow coming. She heard a faint thump followed by what sounded like a short scuffle. She dared to open her eyes and gasped at the scene before her.
The large form of her attacker lay prone on the ground, a large gash on his head seeping blood onto the pavement. A tall, dark, lean form loomed threateningly over him. She was dressed in a long dark coat that came down to about mid-calf. A bright red sash attached to a shoulder pauldron that strapped across her chest blew in the wind behind her making her look almost regal. She sheathed her sword at her hip and turned to face Clarke. Clarke noticed blood on the handle of the sword where the figure had struck her attacker with the blunt end. She walked over to Clarke and crouched down in front of her.
“Are you hurt?” came the deep, sultry voice. Clarke took in the features before her. A long, slender face, a defined jaw line, and gorgeous green eyes made even more intense by the dramatic war paint masking her savior’s identity. Long, chestnut hair was kept out of her face by braids that were expertly placed. The vigilante. Clarke was stunned. She had heard that the woman was beautiful, but truth be told she hardly believed in the vigilante. She had seen the drawings and graffiti around town, but nothing compared to the Commander that crouched before her. Clarke thought she heard her speak, but she was distracted by the emerald eyes staring down at her. “I said, are you hurt?” the vigilante repeated as she placed a hand gently on Clarke’s shoulder.
This seemed to jolt Clarke from her stupor. She jumped at the touch and flinched away, “What? Uh, yeah….I think I’m ok…I’m just…..” she stammered unable to form a coherent thought. The vigilante pulled her hand away almost shyly.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the woman said with a frown and Clarke noticed her full pink lips, “you’re safe now.” Clarke blinked a few times trying to get her bearings. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head as she tried to make sense of what just happened.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she glanced back at the man lying on the pavement. She absently rubbed her wrist where he had grabbed her.
“No need to worry about him,” the vigilante said as she rose from her crouch and offered a hand down to Clarke. Clarke reached up and took the assistance offered to her. The hand she grabbed was warm and strong yet somehow gentle as it helped her to her feet. “I don’t think he will be bothering anyone from a jail cell. You don’t look like you belong in this part of town.” The last sentence was not meant as an insult, but Clarke took offense none-the-less. Whatever thrall she had been under was broken by the condescending statement.
“What is that supposed to mean? I can take care of myself,” she stated matter-of-factly. She didn’t want to look at the impressive figure anymore, so she busied herself with dusting off her clothes.
The other woman frowned again realizing she had offended Clarke before stating, “I just mean you don’t look like you belong here. It’s dangerous in this part of the city. You shouldn’t have come here alone.” Her tone was harsher than she intended, but she straightened her spine and peered down at the other woman.
Clarke’s cheeks lit up with embarrassment and anger at the obvious scolding, “You don’t know where I belong! You don’t know anything about me!” she huffed, “I can take care of myself.” She snatched her bag from the pavement and rushed past the scowling vigilante. She didn’t need a lecture from a brooding super-hero-wannabe. She stomped off further down the alley; her anger growing with every step.
“Be more careful next time,” she heard the masked stranger shout in a voice that somehow managed to be commanding and attractive all at the same time. She whirled around to retort, but the alley was empty. She scanned the buildings and shadows quickly, but found no sign of the vigilante. Gone as quickly as she had appeared. Clarke huffed out of annoyance and exhaustion then turned and dashed off in the direction of home determined never to cut through the slums again.