AN: I do not own the 100. I have not caught up on the last season so nothing from that season will be included. I have kind of been obsessed with the pairing in this story but only one person ever seems to write about them, so I did it myself.
One part of the story may seem to have a lot of Octavia hate. To be clear, I don't hate Octavia. I think her character has been going down a dark path, however, and like Jasper she is losing herself. She also reminds me a friend a great deal. In the fact that she is like tornado. Her personality eclipses everyone around her and it can be difficult to deal with at times.
If you wish to comment please do. I would like to know if the story is too wordy. If it is I may have to reevaluate. Currently it is almost done but that is also because it does not have a clear resolution at the moment.
Italics are trigedasleng. I'm not good at it and I don't pretend to be, so don't be expecting a great deal in that area.
Summary: Will contain some flashbacks but mainly takes place seven years after the events of mount weather. Clarke leaves Arcadia to find herself and this time is not alone. Overtime she is able to settle down and create a life for herself. But when her old life comes knocking on her door she fears losing everything she has created, including a loving family.
A Different Path
Clarke stood outside the gates of Arcadia. She had told Bellamy she couldn't stay, couldn't look at the faces of those she'd saved without remembering all the lives she'd sacrificed to get them there. He and Monty didn't feel the weight like she did, she had the final say, she made the decision, and now she had to live with the consequences. She turned away from the village then, away from the bustling sounds of her people preparing to start their new lives on the ground.
With each crunch of the ground beneath her feet, she got further and further away. And with each step she felt a pressure ease off her. The guilt remained but she no longer felt the burden of leadership weighing her down. That was the other reason she had to leave. She simply could not lead them anymore. It was too much, too great a responsibility for her to handle. It was hard to remember that she was only a nineteen-year-old girl, too young to have to make life or death decisions that affected hundreds. But she had chosen to take up the helm, had made the choice with Bellamy to lead their people when no one else could or would.
Here on the ground it wasn't unusual for the young to lead. Lexa was barely older than she was and she had lead her people for many years already. Clarke couldn't imagine the strain she must feel.
Stopping she took a relaxing breath, what felt like the first one she'd taken since she'd landed here on earth. She looked up into the lush green canopy, the twilight casting soft shadows around her. She itched to draw it, to paint it, to in some way capture it. It had been so long since she'd let her artistic side free. She sighed sadly, knowing that it still wasn't the time for it. But maybe one day soon.
She looked up at the sky once again, this time with a practical eye. She had a few hours before the sun set, she could get a couple miles of walking out of that before she had to make camp. She wouldn't reach her destination tonight, not even tomorrow night, but soon enough. With a weary sigh, Clarke trudged on at a brisk pace. She had work to do. And then maybe after that she could find some semblance of peace.
…..
7 Years Later…
Clarke's eyes drifted slowly open. She always woke before the sun. She could never seem to make her body sleep later, even if she wanted to, even though she knew she should. But she had always had trouble sleeping late. How could she sleep when there was so much she could be doing? Her mom had been the same way, she wondered if she was still like that or if that had changed in the years since they'd been apart.
Clarke stretched, her joints popping with the strain. It felt good. She had been stuck with a very limited range of movement and even just doing simple things like stretching helped to scratch the restless itch that had settled under her skin. The restless was not completely abated, however.
It didn't help that she hadn't been sleeping well. She never sleeps well when her husband's away, she couldn't help it. It was even worse this time though, her husband having taken their son with him this time. She'd never thought she'd be one of those women who needed another to sleep soundly at night but she did. She needed their soft breathing, their sleep twitches, and even their warm scent. She missed them terribly. She consoled herself with the fact that they would be returning in three days' time. She could suck it up. Clarke sat up then rubbing her stomach comfortingly, letting out a big yawn.
She left her room, going into the main living area of the cabin, giving her small home an appraising look as she did. It was clean, abnormally so, another thing that happened while her husband and son were away. She could never stop herself from tiding up but then when no one messed it up within the hour she found herself downhearted. She knew it was a ridiculous reaction, she raged all day long at their inability to straighten up after themselves. It wasn't that they were pigs, but her son would forget to pick up his toys and her husband would litter the table with art supplies when he got too involved in a painting. When they were gone it was one of the things she missed the most
Something that wasn't exactly important but was definitely on the list, was her husband's cooking. She was no slouch in the kitchen but he, he made art. Her mouth began to water just thinking about some of the meals he had cooked. The simple breakfast Clarke had made for herself was unsatisfying after that.
Finishing up her morning routine, she washed her face. Drying it off she stared at her reflection in a roughly hewn mirror. In the seven years since she had left Arcadia, her appearance had not had changed much. She often forgot how young she was supposed to be, when in reality she felt like she had lived decades beyond what she had. Her eyes held a few more wrinkles around them, her joints protested a little bit more, and her hair had a few more greys. But no one who had known her could mistake her, the only real difference was the long-jagged scar that ran from the middle of her throat up to where her neck met her jaw. She shook her head, avoiding the memory.
What pleased her most about her current appearance was her blonde locks. A few years ago, she decided that it was safe enough for her to return to her true hair color. Before that she had been dying it crudely with crushed up beetles. She had remembered reading once that the method had once been used to create ink for tattoos by certain cultures. The result was bluer then she would've liked but it did the trick. Now though she could look at her reflection and see herself, which most days was a blessing and a curse.
By the time she finished, the sun was now shinning into her two-bedroom home warming the rooms up. Leaving her musings behind, she left the house, moving slower than she'd like. Many of her neighbors were up as well and waved to her in greeting. It constantly surprised her how well liked she was here. She believed it was because of her medical knowledge, but her husband assured her it had nothing to do with that. He said she cared about them and in return they cared about her, she was valued for who she was, not what she could offer them. Most days she believed him.
Clarke stopped at the hut next to hers to check in on her elderly neighbor, Tybe. He lived with his daughter and grandson, but they were currently away. They, like her husband and son, along with many others' husbands, wives, and children were away on the springa. It was an annual month-long trip. The hunters and protectors of the tribe would take the children who were ready and go into the woods to learn to live off the land. To appreciate what they had and what the world had to offer.
Clarke had gone once. It had been fairly easy for her. After she had left her people she had lived in the wild for months, most of that time she had been alone. So being with a group of experienced grounders had been a walk in the park. She hadn't gone again because she had set up her clinic and leaving for extended periods of time was difficult.
Knocking, she entered the cabin. She had told Talynn, Tybe's daughter, that she would look in on him while she was away. Tybe was one of the few members of the village who had never warmed up to her. It was no secret that Clarke was skaikru, but it was rarely discussed. Only the children asked her questions about where she had come from, what her life had been like. Most of the villagers had come to accept her but there were some, like Tybe, who harbored grudges. At least he was not openly hostile towards her, he was just rude. In return Clarke was professional towards him. Her husband on the other hand returned his discourtesy, but kept it civil at the very least for peace's sake.
Tybe excited his room as Clarke placed some vegetables, that she had traded for him yesterday, on the kitchen table. She could just make out Tybe's slight grumblings that sounded along the lines of 'skaikru bitch thinks she owns everything. Barging into my house unwelcome.' Clarke rolled her eyes, her back being turned to him so he would not see, not that she cared much anymore if he did.
"I brought you some vegetables, I know you still have some meat left over from last week. Do you need me to pick you up anything today?" Clarke said politely addressing him in trigedasleng.
"I do not need a minder," was his only reply.
Clarke knew he was correct to an extent. He was older but he was still capable. He could make it to the town market and pick up his own food but he wouldn't. He rarely left the house since his wife's passing, the only time he did was to go hunting. But a person could not live on meat alone. So, she made sure he had well rounded meals.
"Talynn and Marx will be back in three days." He scoffed at her and she finally turned to look at him offering a tight smile. He stood tall, almost 6'4, his hair was cropped to his scalp, and he carried the scars of a seasoned warrior. "As always if you need anything I will be at the clinic."
"A woman in your condition should not be around the sick." He said it not out of concern but as a criticism. He thought to shame her.
"Thank you for your concern, but I am very careful." She answered with a steely glare at the man. He stared back at her but glanced away first. Clarke would not insult him but she would not stand idly by either. "Have a good day." She called over her shoulder as she left his home.
When she was clear of the hut she let out a frustrated huff. This was not turning out to be a good day. She was growing increasingly more agitated. She hoped things would take a turn when she got to the clinic.
Her clinic, because privately she thought of it as hers, was the largest structure in the village. It was the size of three huts and fit ten beds comfortably, along with one small rustic operating room. She was very proud of it. When she had arrived at the village their medical hut was barely the size of one small hut. Their healer, Atha, had been wonderful but she lacked the support needed to build it up. Atha had been Clarke's first friend here. She was the one who made Clarke believe she could have a home here, start a new life here, free from the sins of her past. Atha had passed on just last year. It had simply been her time to go, her fight was over and there was simply nothing to be done about it. But Clarke still missed her dearly. She had taught Clarke invaluable lessons. Clarke was schooled in the clinical side of medicine, but lacked the medicinal side. That had much to do with the fact that she had been generally unfamiliar with earth's vegetation and it's healing qualities. Atha had corrected that quickly. She had taught her what herbs and plants around her could be used to treat illness, how much to administer, how to prepare them, and so much more.
Together they had built the clinic to what it was today. Healers from other villages often came to work and learn with her as well. She would teach them her surgical knowledge in exchange they would teach her anything they could. Even patients who could not be healed by their own healers would travel to be treated by her on occasion. Some would travel weeks to get here. Sometimes they could be helped, but others could not and all they could do was make them comfortable.
A few years ago, the ten spaced out beds turned into twenty-five cramped ones, when an illness had befallen the village. They had lost many that winter, but she and Atha had been able to develop a medicine that eased the symptoms enough to greatly increase the chances of the affected survival. They had been fortunate to not have suffered such a sickness again. Clarke wasn't sure she could handle one without Atha.
She entered the clinic and smiled. Fire pits lined the middle of the room to be lite during the winter months, while the walls were lined with windows to let fresh air and sunlight in. The walls were littered with art from villagers, patients, herself, and her husband. She felt that it could have a beneficial impact on a patient's physical improvement. At the very least, the artist that had been buried deep inside her for many years, loved to look at them.
Clarke waved a greeting to Bray, one of her apprentices. Bray had slept in the clinic last night staying on call. Being in such a small village it wasn't strictly necessary but the girl liked to do it. Clarke had a feeling it was more to do with escaping her overcrowded home. She had eight brothers and sisters and she was the oldest. She knew Bray loved her family but everyone needed their own space from time to time. Clarke had trekked into the wilderness alone for five months to get hers, she figured sleeping in the clinic was a better option for the young girl.
Clarke smiled when she spied the other reason Bray stayed in the clinic last night. Her favorite patient was still sleeping in one of the beds. Ember, was a ten-year old girl with severe asthma. Every few months she had to come in for a treatment. They would burn a mixture of herbs and have her inhale the smoke. It took a long time and often left her exhausted so she would often stay here rather than make the short journey home. Clarke loved her because she was inquisitive, kindhearted, and plain spoken. She had curly black hair, mocha skin, and wide grey eyes.
Clarke approached her quietly as not to wake her. She was sleeping upside down in the bed. She knew it was so she could stare at the painting that hung above her bed as she fell asleep. It was Ember's favorite. Clarke had never told her but she had painted it herself. It was a painting of the stars Clarke had been able to see from her window on the Ark. The sky swirled with black and an array of blues and purples. The stars glowing faintly. The picture always made her homesick which was strange. She did not want to return to the Ark, she loved her life here on earth. She had made mistakes, lost loved ones, made hard decisions, but she wouldn't choose to go back.
Clarke sat down on the stool that had been left beside the bed and brushed the curls away from the young girl's face. She yawned, her eyes tiredly opening. She blinked a few times, whipping the sleep from her eyes and stared up at Clarke, a small smile curving her lips.
"Morning," Ember said, a loud yawn cutting off the last half of the word causing Clarke to giggle.
"Morning."
"You look like crap," Clarke's giggle turned into a hard laugh. She loved the young girl's bluntness. "The baby keeping you up at night?" She asked as she reached out to rub Clarke's protruding stomach. She was eight months pregnant and couldn't wait to be done with it. Not only was she sick of being tired, morning sickness, limited movement, and the endless kicking. She desperately wanted to meet the life growing inside her. Ember's hand rested on the spot the baby was pushing against. She giggled when she felt the baby's toes wiggle under her skin. During her first pregnancy, this had deeply disturbed her, now she was unfortunately used to it.
"Yes, but it's also hard to sleep while they're away," the girl gave a hum of understanding. Her father and oldest sister were away as well. She had never been permitted to go on springa due to her asthma. She knew the girl badly wanted to go, to prove herself to the village but her parents were not willing to take the risk. Clarke felt guilty knowing that her opinion as her doctor had a significant impact on their decision. Clarke knew that Ember's asthma would most likely led her to an early death. Ember would hopefully grow out of the worst of it, but it was more likely that it would exasperate, stunting her growth further and making it so she wouldn't be able to breath with even the simplest of movements. She often wondered if she should change her stance and suggest Ember be allowed to go so that she could experience as much as she could while she could. She just wasn't sure.
"They'll be home soon," the young girl consoled her.
Bray approached and sat down on the floor next to Clarke, leaning onto Ember's bed.
"Has he stopped kicking at all," Bray questioned her. Many had taken to referring to the baby as he even though they were unsure of to the baby's real gender. Her husband was steadfastly convinced it was a girl, however.
"No, he only ever stops moving for his father." Ember removed her hand then with a smile.
"Oh, so that's the real reason why you miss him," Bray joked. "Do you think you'll be able to teach the class today?" she asked turning serious.
Clarke must look more tired than she thought. Two years after opening the clinic Clarke had developed a sort seminar or class. It was simple first aid techniques that could be employed by anyone. She also started more advanced classes. Many of the grounders were not unfamiliar with applying field tactics to injuries. These classes just assured they were doing them correctly. She taught them how to stitch, how to sterilize their instruments, how to set bones, and how to cauterize wounds.
Her husband had even taken the classes. Before the classes he had been adapt with healing but after their son had been born he had feared he was unprepared. She smiled at the memory, he had been so serious. He often was, but he had been more so than usual saying he wanted to be ready in case anything happened. Thankfully, he had only needed the skills she taught him once. Their son had an affinity for climbing and he had fallen from the large oak that stood outside their home and hit his head on a branch on the way down. Clarke had been away treating a patient and returned home to a smiling puffy eyed four-year old with a large bandage wrapped around his head. She had been pleased to see the skill in which the four stitches had been applied. He now had a scar that intersected his eyebrow, but he was no worse for the wear, climbing the tree again the very next day.
Clarke considered Bray's question, "Actually, if you're up for it you could teach it." Bray looked surprised for a moment. She was still learning and had never taught the class by herself before. Either having Clarke or her other student, Samuel, with her. "You can handle it," Clarke assured her.
Bray smiled and nodded her head in acceptance.
The girls then descended into less serious topics, the clinic being empty for the moment, allowed them such freedom. Clarke was enlightened as too which young villagers were the pick of the litter, who was sleeping together, and who was stealing what and from who. She loved that town gossip was now part of her life.
An hour later Clarke heard someone enter the clinic and turned to find Ember's older brother, Cyril, coming towards them. She smiled at him as he joined the gossiping woman. Plopping right down on his sister's bed and squishing her, she cried out in indignation.
"So, fisa, what's the diagnosis, will she live?" he said it in jest, his smile splitting his face as his sister shoved at him.
"She will, she's reacting better and better to the treatments, that's a very good sign," Clarke hoped she continued to respond positively to them.
He shook his head like he had just been given the worst news in the world. "You couldn't have given me some good news, fisa?"
Ember cried out in outrage, jumping on top of him. "You are the worst brother in the world. Next time you need me to cover for you after sneaking off to Benji's you can just forget it."
He blushed at his sister's exclamation and quickly stood pulling her onto his back and walking quickly from the room all while she and Bray cackled. "See you around, fisa. Bray."
Ember turned as well as she could, plastered to her brother's back, and called back to her. "Don't worry, Clarke. Lincoln will be home soon and then the baby will finally let you sleep," she gave her one last toothy grin as she left the hut.
Clarke rubbed her stomach still smiling slightly. Lincoln would be home in three days and then maybe that knowing feeling in her stomach would go away. The sense that she had that something was coming. Lincoln would come home and put her at ease. She would curl up, her son in her arms, resting her head against Lincoln's shoulder and everything would be alright. Just three more days.