Title: "My Tears are Becoming a Sea"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Clarke, most of Camp Jaha in supporting roles
Spoiler: "Spacewalker"
Length: one-shot
Summary: In the aftermath of Finn's death, Clarke confronts her monster.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Author's Note: My way of working out mixed feelings on the mid-season finale. On the one hand, I'm glad the writers had the guts to kill Finn; on the other, I really dislike how all the characters justified his actions. He killed eighteen people. His guilt was never the issue, but rather how to deal with it. I'm both relieved that he's gone and annoyed that everyone tried to hand wave a massacre. So I wrote this, which makes me feel a bit better about the whole thing. Also, I have no issue with Mel, but she's about the only redshirt with a name, so she gets a cameo in this fic. Title courtesy of M83. Enjoy.
"We've all got a monster inside of us, Clarke, and we're all responsible for what it does when we let it out."
Finn dies and takes a piece of Clarke with him.
It's too much and nothing at all, the chill in the air and the slick slide of Finn's blood, but mostly the hardness of the earth as Clarke sinks to her knees. She sinks even lower under the weight of their gazes, the stares of a thousand sets of eyes.
They surround her, scores of Grounders as numerous as the stars in the sky. Their eyes glitter brightly in the torchlight. Clarke reads their thoughts, sees all the things they want to say: hero, princess, rebel, warrior.
Lexa extends a hand and Clarke takes it, rises shakily to her feet. If Lexa notices, she doesn't mention it. Her people are still staring, but Clarke doesn't notice because all she sees is the chalky smear of blood staining Lexa's skin. To her credit, she doesn't brush it away, not when she starts for Camp Jaha or beckons Clarke to follow.
"It's never easy," Lexa says softly as they approach the gate. Clarke can barely see her in the dim light of the torches, but she sees it all the same. Lexa's expression doesn't change but her eyes tell their own story. There's strength there, guilt and regret; for a fraction of a second, Clarke doesn't feel so alone.
"When can we have his body?" Clarke asks tiredly. She might have killed a man, but there are always things to do.
"That's not possible."
"You can't be serious," Clarke says, ignores the desperate note in her voice. She's already given so much; she can't believe they want more.
Lexa's mouth tightens. "He killed eighteen of my people. Murdered them." She glances back at the clearing where Finn is still bound to the post. Clarke keeps her eyes fixed on the gate so she doesn't have to see the drip of Finn's blood falling into the dirt. "We'll burn him," Lexa says. "We don't leave memorials for murderers." Clarke watches mutely as Indra's men cut Finn loose. "He will be safe," Lexa says firmly and Clarke finally meets her gaze. Her eyes are soft, her smile sad, and Clarke realizes the promise she's making: Lexa's people won't desecrate Finn's body in death the way they would have destroyed it in life.
"Thank you," Clarke manages to say and continues to the gate. There's more to do – there's always more to do – but just this time it needs to wait.
Lexa catches her before she reaches the gate, fingers locking around Clarke's wrist. She tugs lightly and Clarke turns, all those torches burning her eyes. Lexa opens Clarke's hand and places a cool object into her palm. "We found it on him," she says and Clarke glances down, gasps at how the two-headed deer glimmers in the moonlight. "You should have something to remember him by."
She releases Clarke's wrist and starts for her people. Clarke's fingers close around the tiny statue and she ignores how the sharp edges cut into her skin. There's already so much blood on her hands – what's the harm in a little more? Clarke takes a deep breath before crossing the final steps to the gate, tucks the figurine into her pocket.
As if she could ever forget what happened this night.
They're on her the moment she walks through the gate, her mother and Kane and half the survivors, crowding in and breathing her air. She thinks Bellamy would have joined them too if he wasn't holding Raven back.
"Clarke, wait!" Abby calls as her daughter pushes through the crowd, but Clarke ignores her and heads for the wreckage of the Ark. There's a low murmur of voices behind her, and then Abby's grabbing her shoulder. "At least let me examine your hand."
Clarke glances down at the bloody mess of her hand. It's drying, cracking into the lines of her palm, and she makes a fist to hide the evidence. "It's not my blood," she says and doesn't recognize the flat tone of her voice. It's the voice of a stranger, the voice of the person she's become.
"You shouldn't be alone right now," Abby pleads.
Clarke scans the crowd, so many familiar faces and each one of them makes it harder to breathe. "Murphy can come," she says and watches the collective widening of eyes as Murphy takes a step forward. Bellamy stops him for a moment, whispers something into his ear, and Clarke can't hear him but the set of his jaw is telling enough. Murphy scowls as he walks to Clarke's side.
"After you, princess," he says, makes a sweeping gesture with his arm.
The word sinks inside her, slices open every wound, but she just hardens her expression and glares daggers at Murphy. "Don't call me that," she says sharply and stalks towards the fallen wheel.
"Touché," she hears Murphy whisper under his breath as he follows, but he doesn't repeat the nickname as they settle side by side in the shadow of the once mighty Ark. "Why did you bring me?"
Clarke laces her fingers and rests them on her knees. "Right now, I don't want to be around anyone I actually like."
Murphy sighs as he rests his head against the thin metal skin. "I should be used to that by now."
"You shot Raven," Clarke reminds him. "You tried to hang Bellamy. We hate you for a reason."
"But they don't hate you," Murphy says. "That's why you really asked for me, right? You think we're the same, but we're not. No one will ever blame you for what happened to Finn."
Clarke knows he's right, but it doesn't absolve the blame she holds against herself, any of the guilt she carries in her heart. "She's on me," she says softly. "Connor, Myles, they're on you, but Charlotte's on me. I've learned to live with that. I'll live with this too."
Murphy's silent for a long while, but his voice is firm when he finally speaks. "I'm sorry for what I said before. No one's to blame but Finn. Maybe I could have tried harder, but he's the one who pulled the trigger. That's on him, not us."
"Maybe, but it doesn't excuse what I did."
There's another stretch of silence, then Murphy's hand brushes over Clarke's for the smallest of seconds. "You saved me, saved all of us. Focus on that."
Clarke contemplates the sky. It's the same as before she stuck a knife between Finn's ribs, same as the night a little girl threw herself over a cliff. She knows it will be the same long after she's paid for the things that she's done.
Clarke opens her eyes to muted light seeping through the dirty fabric of her tent. She has a vague memory of walking back with Murphy the night before, his fingers a loose vise around her elbow as he guided her home. She's tempted to pull the blanket over her head, hide away from all the things lurking outside.
Someone clears her throat and without looking Clarke knows it's Raven, knows the sharp, pained noises that echoed through her head the night before.
Raven's sitting in the lone chair, arms crossed and her feet tapping an incessant rhythm against the hard ground. She meets Clarke's gaze as she swings herself out of bed, traitor flashing clearly in her dark eyes.
"We had a deal," she hisses, arms wrapped so tightly across her chest that Clarke wonders how she's able to breathe.
"I know," is all Clarke can manage to say. She remembers, the vow she made and Raven's scream when she broke that promise.
"I trusted you," Raven says, swipes angrily at her cheeks to brush away her tears. "You were supposed to save him and you killed him instead."
"I know," Clarke repeats. She'll never forget that moment, the heavy weight of Finn's head slumping into her shoulder, his blood seeping through her shirt all the way to her skin.
Raven pushes to her feet, takes a menacing step closer. "Is that all you're going to say?"
"I had to," Clarke defends herself. "There was no other way."
Raven glares at her, bright tears gleaming in her eyes. She doesn't brush them away this time, lets Clarke see her pain. "Don't you ever get tired of doing the right thing?"
She's gone before Clarke can respond and leaves a cloud of anger and regret in her wake. Clarke breathes it in, all the things she deserves, all the things she's become. The sun is rising higher in the sky and she can hear the thunder of hooves at the gate. Lexa is here and there's more work to do.
She takes a breath and steps out into the sunshine.
Raven's words stay with her through the day.
The meeting is mostly a formality and they make official declarations of collaboration. Clarke's free by the afternoon and buries herself in medical work. The camp is prepping for winter and there's a constant stream of minor injuries. She binds wounds and rubs salve on blisters and mostly marvels at how easily these people can go about their days. Twenty-four hours ago, they were calling for a boy's death and now they're gathering water and building cabins like they didn't watch him die in half that time.
They watch her with wary eyes, and she notices more than one choose Abby's line even though it's twice as long. Mel shows up needing a splint and smiles sympathetically as Clarke winds tape around her ring finger.
"It was really brave what you did."
Clarke nods, tears away the tape with a snap. If she's hurt her, Mel doesn't let it show.
"Thank you," Mel says as she pushes to her feet and it's that same smile again. It makes Clarke wants to slam her fist into Mel's kind face. She might have saved her people but she doesn't want their pity.
"I hope you never have to make the same choice."
Mel's face falls but Clarke keeps expression neutral, her eyes hard. The girl flees and doesn't look back. She keeps the same look on her face as she turns to the waiting patients and her line dissipates without her saying a word.
It's the same as she steps into the growing darkness and she keeps her back straight against the eyes pressing in around her. She's done with always doing what's right.
Bellamy's already there when she pushes into his tent, throws aside the flap and doesn't announce her arrival.
She finds him cleaning his gun and he puts it down slowly as she steps inside, the same wary expression in his eyes. It makes her hate him just the tiniest bit.
"How are you feeling?" he asks softly, eyes never leaving her face.
If she looked closer she might have seen more than sympathy in his eyes, respect and awe there too, but she doesn't look into his eyes as she throws herself against his hard chest.
Bellamy's lips are softer than Finn's but his jaw is scratchier, and she ignores how different he feels. She didn't come here to remember; she came here to forget.
For half a minute, Bellamy responds, his mouth fluttering under hers, but then he's pulling away, hands pressing firmly into her shoulders. His chest heaves slightly; he can't hide that.
"Clarke, what are you doing?" He's got that look in his eye, the one she's seen a hundred times before, and she knows there's no changing his mind.
It doesn't stop her from reaching for him again, a burst of anger blooming through her chest when he takes a step back. "What is your problem?" she hisses, runs frustrated fingers through her hair. She remembers the different girls leaving his tent each morning, two at the same time the night Raven fell to earth – she can't believe he's turning her down.
"What's yours?" he demands. He crosses his arms over his chest, dares her to try again.
She contemplates it, but the fight quickly goes out. She came here for things to be easy. "Never mind," she says. "Forget this ever happened." She tries to slip past him but he's faster, quick and assured as ever, and his fingers wrap around her arm. He quirks her chin with his other hand and forces her to meet his eyes. All she sees is curiosity and she stops struggling against him.
"I'm tired of doing the right thing," she confesses and something hard flickers in his eyes.
"So you came to me." It's not a question and he keeps his voice flat, but Clarke knows it bothers him.
"You've never discriminated before." Anger flares in his eyes this time and his fingers tighten around her arm. "Don't you want me?"
His mouth relaxes and his hands drop to his sides. "Clarke," he says softly, that deep voice washing over her. "It shouldn't be like this."
"You don't get to tell me what to do," she snaps. She's so tired of living by the rules, doing what she knows needs to be done. She just wanted this one thing for herself.
Bellamy changes his tactic. "It's not about you," he snaps back. "It's about me and what I want. I get why you're here." He pauses, and some of the malice leaves his voice. "I've been here too and I learned something from it. You should want me when you're happy, not just when you're sad."
She stares at him, wonders which alternate reality he's living in. "Look around," she says and gestures wildly at what they're calling home, flimsy tents and muddy earth and the enemy creeping in from all corners. "There's no such thing as happy in this place."
Bellamy just smiles at her, reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "You taught me something, Princess. One day, there will be more than this."
It's that nickname again, the last word Finn ever said coming from Bellamy's mouth, and it's what does her in, and despite her efforts, her chin wobbles and she feels tears pooling in her eyes. He silently gathers her in his arms and she crumbles against his chest.
He doesn't tell her that it will be okay or that she did the right thing, just rubs slow circles across her back and lets his shirt catch her tears. She loses herself a bit in the muscled planes of his chest and the gentle motions of his hands; for a fraction of a second, she forgets why she's there.
She takes it even though it's more than she deserves.
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