Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all
Where you invest your love, you invest your life
-Mumford & Sons, Awake My Soul
"Clarke Griffin?"
Her cell door slides open with a bang, but Clarke does not move from her corner position on the floor. She looks up from her feet to see a kind faced guard shuffling his feet awkwardly by the door. She guesses it's his first day on the job, and he hasn't yet grown to be cruel as the other guards are.
The guard, whose name tag read 'N. Miller', seemed to be waiting for a response from Clarke. When she said nothing, he cleared his throat to continue. "Your mother posted bail for you. She's in the front office and we gave her the items removed from your person upon arrest. I'm going to take you to a room where you can change into your own clothes and then you're free to go."
With a sigh, Clarke stood up to follow the guard out. She thanked him with all the kindness she could muster, not because she was grateful to be leaving her cell (though she certainly wouldn't miss the place), but because he was the first person in days who had taken the time to explain to her what was going on. She made a silent wish that he would not lose his kindness as he continued to work here.
He led her to a small room where a red haired female guard was waiting to watch her change. The woman handed her a t-shirt and jeans that Clarke assumed her mother brought, because they were not the same blood stained clothes that she was arrested in. While she undressed, and redressed in front of the guard, Clarke wondered how furious her mother would be at what she had done. Let her be mad she thought, she deserves it.
Clarke rejoined the male guard outside the room, relieved to be out of the ugly grey sweats she had been provided with. The guard led her down around a corner to the end of a long hallway and into the main room, where her mother would be waiting.
It turns out, Abby was much more disappointed in Clarke than she was angry. This of course was also disappointing for Clarke, because it was much easier to deal with her mother's rage than her anything but subtle guilt trips. Abby stood on the opposite end of the office, near the building's entrance with her arms crossed, sporting her best we-have-a-lot-to-talk-about-young-lady expression. She held a clear plastic bag with Clarke's belongings and a envelope likely packed with government paperwork in one hand.
Miller stopped in the hallway, wished Clarke luck and let her on her way. She walked up to her mother, stopped two feet away crossed her arms in imitation, and smirked. "I don't suppose they gave you back my softball bat?" Never the person to create a scene, Abby simply handed Clarke the bag of her things, and turned to walk out the door with a sigh.
The 20 minute car ride home was filled with a sickening silence that made Clarke want to jump out of her skin. Not even the radio was playing, and when Clarke reached forward to turn it on, Abby raised her hand to signal that that was not acceptable.
Neither of them had spoken until the were pulling into the garage, and much to Clarke's satisfaction, her mother was the first to break the silence. After parking the car and removing her seat belt, Abby turned to face her daughter.
"Based on your actions last night, I assume you know."
Clarke didn't answer and though the engine was now off, neither woman made a move to get out of the car. Abby was trying to make eye contact, but Clarke refused.
"About Marcus and me?" her mother supplied.
There was another pause that Clarke used to calm herself before responding. "Yes. I found out two days ago."
Abby looked resigned. She knew there was no fixing what she had done, and in part, she knew that her actions triggered her daughter's defiance.
"I'm sorry Clarke." The words carried the weight of Abby's world. It would be impossible to put into words how deeply she wished things had gone differently for her family. Given the opportunity to change it, she would take it in a heartbeat, no matter the consequences.
"Did Dad know?" Clarke spat. She never planned to ask it, but the question had been burning at the back of her mind since her discovery of the affair. Turns out, 13 sleepless hours in solitary confinement allows for certain thoughts to resonate in your mind, leaving no room for anything else.
"No." Her shame forced her to look away. "No, I never told him."
Unsure whether she was glad to know her father was blind to the affair, and therefore could not be hurt by it, or livid that Abby never had the decency to be honest in her marriage, Clarke wordlessly left the car and locked herself in her bedroom to get some much needed sleep.
…
A week has past since Clarke's arrest, and she has officially been suspended from school. There was a hearing held today, and Abby of course had done everything in her power to protect Clarke from permanent expulsion. Apparently having a mother that is both an alumni of the school and a head surgeon of its affiliated hospital gets you a lot of pull. Not to mention Abby likely played on the sympathies of the school board by reminding them of her father's tragic death.
The discussion consisted mostly of Clarke's superiors telling her how disappointed they were with her deplorable behavior. The phrases "we saw so much potential in you" and "Clarke dear, you are better than this" were spoken more times than a person could count.
It took an hour of admonishment and lectures on morality for the board to come to an agreement. Because of Clarke's unfortunate circumstances and previously outstanding conduct with the university, she would be dropped from all her current classes and allowed to resume school the following semester, permitted that she had written endorsement from a psychologist that her grieving will no longer evoke violent outbursts. The word "suspension" was never used, but the Griffin women both knew it would go on her record as such, along with the five F's she would receive for dropping her classes this late in the semester.
…
It didn't start out as a bad day. In fact, the weather today was extraordinarily beautiful. It had been raining the day before, leaving Los Angeles smelling cleaner than usual, and almost sweet. Fresh air filled Clarke's lungs as she stepped onto the back porch. She felt the sun on her face and looked up to see light filtering through the clouds, bathing the yard in it's warmth. It was the perfect day for soccer.
Clarke and her father had a long standing tradition with Wells and his father Thelonious. It started when Clarke and Wells were both in elementary school, and both played on the same coed soccer team. The two instantly became best friends and insisted on watching Major League Championships together. One year turned into two, and now ten years later, the two families still gathered to watch the games.
If the weather permitted, as it did today, the group would even compete against each other in a quick scrimmage. Clarke and her father werealways teamed up against Wells and his father. Despite the japes about Clarke playing like a girl, more often than not, her and Jake prevailed. The group never played fair, and injuries were not uncommon. When she was fourteen, Clarke took a particularly hard hit from Wells, fell back, and fractured her wrist. He apologized profusely, and despite Clarke's insistence that it barely hurt (which was true) they didn't play again for an entire year. Wimps.
Luckily enough time had passed that the group was back to their old ways of rough housing and unsportsmanlike tactics. Days like these are what Clarke lived for. This is when she felt most happy, most at home. Playing soccer with her father, whether they won or lost was never disappointing.
After an hour of exhaustingly cheerful play that left the group covered in fresh mud and bruises, they went inside to catch their breath and clean up to watch the game. Abby, who typically did not participate in such activities, but was usually around to provide sustenance and teasing jokes, was still at the hospital due to an exceptionally difficult surgery. Because she wasn't home to cook her world famous lasagna, Jake called for a pizza while the other three sat on the couch and turned on the TV.
Houston had won the conference championships against DC United, which meant that they were going to finals, but the game everybody cared about was LA Galaxy against the Seattle Sounders.
Jake walked back into the living room just as the Sounders made a goal. "Serve it up... YEAH!" he shouted as pained cries of "oh" echoed from the Jahas.
"Right here kid" Jake cheered, high fiving his daughter.
"Prepare for crushing defeat." Clarke smirked at Wells.
"It's not over yet." He reminded her, smiling. "Besides, it doesn't matter if you win this game. The Sounders need three goals on us to go to finals. It's just not gonna happen."
"You know Jake, you are a terrible LA citizen. You're a disgrace to the city and I should have you ostracized!" Thelonious jested.
"Just because you're the mayor Jaha, doesn't mean I have to agree with the terrible teams you support!"
Wells took personal offense to the insult and jumped into the action. "We have DAVID FREAKING BECKHAM!" He exclaimed, "nobody beats Beckham!"
"Oooh" Clarke mocked him, in a sing song voice, "Wells has cruuuuuuuush"
"Oh shut up! You're just mad because the pathetic Sounders don't have a soccer god on their team."
The doorbell rang, and Jake stood up to answer it. "Must be the pizza. I'll be right back."
"You're going down Mr. G!" Wells shouted over his shoulder.
When they heard the first bang, she almost wasn't sure what it was. Wells and Thelonious had been shouting "DEFENSE!" at the screen while Clarke was chanting "c'mon, c'mon" under her breath. They all fell silent when it happened and Thelonious reached his hand out in front of the teenagers to block them from getting up. There was a second bang and Clarke jumped in her seat.
Thelonious stood up and whispered urgently to Wells that he take Clarke upstairs. She was shaking her head no and tears were streaming down her face, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her away. She saw Thelonious inch around the corner when she heard the third gunshot. This time she screamed.
Wells put his hand over her mouth and kept pulling her away. She fought with everything she had left but it was no use. Wells' grip on her was tight and all she could do was crumple to the floor as she prayed that her father was still alive. Sobs wracked her body, and Wells repeatedly whispered in her ear "It's going to be okay, shhh, shhh Clarke, they're going to be okay."
There was a fourth bang and they heard a man scream "WHERE IS SHE?"
Clarke tried to silence her cries so that she could listen as Thelonious attempted to calm the man down. "Sir there's nobody here but Jake and me."
"DON'T LIE!" The man must've been crazy, his voiced sounded hoarse as if he was screaming all day. "ABIGAIL GRIFFIN. WHERE. IS. SHE."
Dread filled Clarke. Whoever this man was, and for whatever reason, he wanted her mom dead, and he would kill anybody who got in his way.
"Please sir," the mayor begged. "She isn't here."
There was another shot and Thelonious screamed.
Wells ran into the foyer at the sound of his father screams. Clarke heard a sixth shot and a thud.
Without a second thought, she followed. The scene before her was something directly out of a horror movie. The front door was still open and her father lay next to it in a pool of his own blood. Thelonious was still on the carpet of the living room, laying face down in a much smaller puddle of red. Wells was closest to her, facing up with a bullet wound straight through his forehead.
Clarke screamed.
For the first time since entering the room, she looked up at the man holding the gun. He was tall and lanky, with grey tinted hair, and the enraged eyes of a man mad.
"Where is she?" He demanded.
Clarke couldn't reply, instead sobs escaped her body.
He raised the gun and repeated "Where. Is. She."
"I- I d-don't know." Clarke choked out. "I don't know!"
The man cocked the gun, and pulled the trigger.
There was an empty click.
Momentarily relieved, Clarke ran to her fathers body and collapsed on top of him. She pushed him onto his back and searched for the bullet wound.
"I'll find her." The man threatened, and he walked out the front door, calm as ever.
Clarke pushed her hands onto her father's chest and did everything she could to stop him from bleeding out.
"Dad" she cried, begging for a response.
"Dad?" he didn't answer.
"DAD!"
Clarke woke with a start, her body covered in a cold sheen of sweat.
Her memories were her nightmares these days, and there was little she could do to stop them.
...
Apparently one tortuous hearing hadn't been enough, because today Clarke was to appear at court for a preliminary hearing. Her mother forced her into a pink pastel colored dress, girlish shoes, and pulled her hair into a high ponytail.
"The idea," she told Clarke, between pulls of the brush "is to make you look innocent. We're lucky you're still 17 or they could convict you as an adult."
"I'm pleading guilty anyways" she huffed. "What's the point?"
"Well, I convinced Kane to drop the charges against you. Oh don't give me that look. And you know Thelonious pulled all the strings he could, but the judge could still give you harsh probation terms. We want the lightest sentence possible. Now chin up, it'll be okay. Even worst case scenario can't be anything too bad."
The hearing was much easier than Clarke expected. The judge read forth the crimes Clarke was being accused of including trespassing, disorderly conduct, and property damage. Clarke was asked how she plead, and she answered "guilty" to all accounts.
"Now," the judge began, picking up her glasses and putting them on to read off of the paper in front of her. "Because of your connections to Mayor Jaha, your sentence is very light. You will face no jail time and only 6 months probation. We are not putting you on house arrest, but if you break any terms of your probation you will be.
"You are to complete 100 hours of community service before your probation is up, and you are to participate in the new ARK program for juveniles that the mayor has recently instated. Your probation officer is Mr. Bellamy Blake and you will report to him twice a month for mandatory drug testing.
"Officer Blake has the right to check in on you anytime he sees fit, without any warning whatsoever. Do you understand?" She looked up from her papers to make eye contact with Clarke. It was intimidating to say the least.
"Yes your honor." Clarke answered.
AN: This is my first "real" fic, so please be kind!
Special thanks to FirstmateSwan who helped me get up the courage to post this.
I don't know much about sports or the LA juvenile corrections system, so I'm sorry if there were any mistakes (please tell me!)
Thank you for reading; the next chapter will be up within two weeks.