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Breaking

CLARKE

"You don't look like someone who just saved the world." Bellamy said with a small smile, an even smaller chuckle. Clarke knew he was trying to comfort her. He wanted her to laugh too. He wanted her to smile. But Bellamy could not make her laugh. Bellamy could not make her smile.

"I didn't." Was all that she said in reply. He frowned, his eyebrows furrowing, looking confused at her words. Red and black lines divided his forehead where dried blood and grime collected in the creases of his skin. She considered him, a sad frown crossing her own face. She could elaborate. She could tell him what ALIE had just told her. How the world was falling apart again. How everything was going to shit again. But she didn't want to. Not now. The world around her was always going to shit and she couldn't deal with it right now.

The world could wait. It could fall apart later. Because right now, it was HER turn. It was HER goddamn turn to fall apart. Hadn't she earned that right? She was always the one fixing the mess. Now, she just wanted to be the mess.

She took a deep breath, her entire body aching with the effort, and let out a long, tired sigh. Everything ached. She felt weak, drained. She felt nauseous. Her stomach churned and her head pounded like she had downed an entire vat of Jasper and Monty's Unity Day "punch." Her hands were still trembling slightly. Black blood still trickled slowly from her nose. She couldn't blame her body for rejecting Ontari's blood. She wondered if Ontari's body had always felt this shitty. It would explain why she had been such a bitch.

But as much as her body throbbed, as much as her organs and muscles and bones and flesh hurt, there was an ache deeper inside Clarke that was far, far worse.

She was not the only one hurting. All around her, moans and groans pierced the air as people returned to their rightful selves, as if awaking from a dream. And it seemed, at least for the moment, that they were not Grounders and Sky People. They were just people. People awash in pain.

Clarke looked around the room, watching as the others helped each other up off the stone floor. She watched as they comforted each other, embraced each other. Kane was draped gently around her mother's shoulders like a blanket. Miller and Bryan held hands so tightly that it seemed neither boy would ever dare let go. Even Murphy, who Clarke had once thought was only capable of hatred and malice, was wrapped around a girl, clutching her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded, keeping him on his feet.

Like Clarke, everyone around her was hurting, most of them feeling the pain wrack their bodies for the first time in days or even weeks. But Clarke knew that the pain was part of what made them human. It was part of life. And, looking around the room now, Clarke also knew that it was the ability to share your pain, to help bear it for one another, that made life worth living. Without pain there would be no compassion, no understanding, no forgiveness, no grace, no sacrifice, no love.

Clarke wanted to feel happy for the people around her. She would do anything for the people in this room. Hadn't she already done everything for them? But at this moment all she could feel was her own pain. Because pain was designed to be shared. And she was in a room full of people. And she was alone.

But she was not the only one who was alone. Across the chamber, Octavia stepped up to Pike, a hollowness in her hazel eyes. He stared at her, neither backing away nor moving forward. His face was expressionless, like he was patiently waiting for her to act. But there was something in his eyes. It wasn't fear. It wasn't remorse. It was understanding. It was resignation.

In a flash, Octavia plunged her sword into Pike's chest. Shocked silence filled the room as everyone's eyes fell on her. But her hollow eyes remained only on Pike as she slowly, wordlessly drove the blade deeper into him. Then she pulled the sword free of his flesh, turned, and walked away as Pike crumpled to the floor behind her.

Beside Clarke, Bellamy called out to Octavia. She ignored him and Clarke grabbed his wrist as he started after his sister.

"Let her go." She said as Bellamy once again frowned at her in confusion.

Bellamy still did not understand. He still thought he could talk to his sister. He still thought he could make things right. But Clarke knew that was impossible. Things between them could get better. But they would never be right again.

Clarke knew that Lincoln had been Octavia's sanctuary. In a world where she had never quite fit in anywhere, never quite belonged anywhere, he had been her home. He had been her safety, her comfort, and above all, her hope. And all of that had been ripped forever from her hands by a single bullet. And Bellamy could never understand that kind of loss.

Clarke had not known Gina. Perhaps she had no right to doubt the depth of the relationship between Bellamy and Gina. After all, Bellamy's grief at losing her had been the reason behind his blindly following Pike, right? But whatever Bellamy had had with Gina, Clarke knew it could not compare to what Octavia had found in Lincoln. Bellamy's eyes were not hollow. He was not broken.

Lincoln had been the only one who had truly understood Octavia. The only one who had made her feel wanted. The only one who had seen who she was, who she truly was deep down. He hadn't looked at her and seen the mistake that was kept hidden beneath the floorboards for years. He hadn't seen a silly teenage girl playing at being a warrior. He hadn't seen a naive little girl in need of constant guidance or protection. He had looked at her and seen her strength. He had seen the potential of the person that she could be. He had seen the value and the beauty of the person that she already was. Clarke had witnessed the way Lincoln had looked at Octavia... As if she held all the light and beauty of the stars and all the warmth and power of the sun and all the mystery and wonder of the moon inside of her. And Lincoln had gazed at her long enough that Octavia had started to believe what he saw in her and she, too, had started to see the light in herself.

And now that Lincoln was gone, Octavia's light had gone out. She was empty. She was drowning. She was lost. And Bellamy could never understand that. But Clarke could. Yes, Clarke could.

Because Clarke knew what it was like to be seen, truly seen by another. Because the way Lincoln had looked at Octavia was exactly the way Lexa had looked at her. And as much as Lincoln had been Octavia's home, Lexa had been hers. And now SHE was empty too. And SHE was drowning. And SHE was lost.

And she knew that killing Pike would bring Octavia no peace, just as destroying ALIE had brought Clarke no peace. Because Lincoln was gone. And Lexa was gone. And no amount of revenge could ever fill the gaping holes they had left behind.

Bellamy pulled his wrist free of Clarke's grip and followed his sister from the chamber. And Clarke shook her head as she watched him go. Because Bellamy would never understand.

Clarke pulled her eyes from the chamber door and let her gaze fall on Pike. He still writhed on the ground in the crowded chamber, his blood spilling from him and collecting in red puddles on the stone floor. No one moved to help him and within moments he grew still, becoming just another fallen body, just another casualty of this cruel world.

Clarke did not relish his death. But she didn't mourn it either. Pike had died with blood on his hands. Grounder blood. Lincoln's blood. Even, in a way, Lexa's blood. He was not innocent. He was not to be pitied.

Clarke pulled her eyes from his lifeless body and looked down at her own hands. She was not innocent either. She had blood on her hands too. And no amount of water or time could ever wash them clean. She stared at her hands, remembering how she had watched these very fingers trace the lines on Lexa's back. How at that moment, lying beside Lexa, she had let herself hope, let herself believe, that maybe she could repair all the damage her hands had done. That just maybe she could turn them back into the hands of a healer. That maybe someday she could use them to save, to build, to create, to comfort... To love.

But within moments her hands had gone from tracing Lexa's spine and stroking her arm and weaving through the tangles in her hair to pressing against the fleshy hole in her stomach. And once again she had found herself with blood on her hands. And her hands could not bring healing, because all they ever brought was death.

Clarke stared at the dried blood and grime beneath her fingernails and caked in the grooves of her palm. Red and black mingled on her skin so that she could not even say whether it was Ontari's blood or her own. It didn't matter. Her hands were stained. Finn's blood... Lexa's blood... The blood of warriors and murderers and civilians and soldiers and children and the innocent and the guilty. The blood of the mountain and of the city, and now, maybe of the whole damn world. It all washed off. It all left a stain.

Clarke dug absentmindedly into the depths of her cloak and pulled out the flame from the safety of its inner pocket. She wrapped her fingers around the flame, cradling it in her palm as she had done countless times in the past few days. But for the first time it brought her no comfort. The small piece of plastic was cold, rigid, lifeless in her hand. It was not soft and warm. It was not flesh and blood. No matter how tightly she held it, it could never hold her back.

"I will always be with you." Lexa's last words to her still rang in her ears. They reverberated in her chest. The words were hollow, empty. And so was she. Because Lexa was NOT with her. She never would be again. Lexa was gone now. Truly gone. And Clarke was hurting. And Clarke was alone.

She opened her hand and stared down at the chip that had once brought her solace, once brought her hope. Suddenly she felt hot anger building inside of her, burning the back of her eyes, the back of her throat, threatening to spill out of her. The throne, solid and cold beneath her... The flickering candles scattered about her... The stone floor where Lexa had knelt before her... The bed where Lexa had once lain beside her... Everything in this room, in this building, in this whole damn city, reminded Clarke of Lexa. Everything around her made Lexa's absence that more evident. And Clarke couldn't stay here a moment longer. She would suffocate.

She rose from the throne and stepped onto the balcony. The cold air hit her like a slap in the face, but it was nothing compared to the coldness inside of her. She stepped to the edge of the balcony, clutching the flame in her hand so tightly that its grooves dug into her flesh. She reared her arm back and swung it as hard as she could. She wanted to send the flame flying into the void. She wanted to watch it plummet to the earth below. She wanted to watch it fall from the sky as she had done so many months ago. She wanted to watch it shatter into pieces on the pavement. She wanted the ground to break it as mercilessly as it had broken her. She wanted to let it go.

Clarke's arm fell limply at her side. She looked out at the city below her, at the forest surrounding it, at the mountains in the distance, at the endless, indifferent sky above her. She felt so small. She felt so lost.

A single tear broke free of her lashes and trickled down her grimy cheek. She wiped it away bitterly. But soon the tears were welling, one after another, and she was powerless to stop them. So she let them fall. And she felt herself breaking inside. And for the first time since she had watched the light leave Lexa's green eyes, she did not try to hold herself together. She fell to her knees and sobbed. And she allowed herself to break.

And the pain, pure, raw and powerful, exploded from somewhere deep inside of her. A place so deep that she could never reach it. The pain was in her stomach and her chest and in her heart and her lungs and in that part of her that was more soul than flesh. And the pain wracked over her until she was cradling her knees to her chest, rocking herself back and forth, struggling to breathe. And the pain was all around her, crushing her. And the pain was inside of her. And she pulled her knees more tightly against her chest, afraid that she might shatter into a billion pieces. And she was like a star exploding and then caving in on itself and consuming its own flames. And soon she would be nothing but an empty black hole.

And the thought entered her mind that she could end it all. She could leap from this tower and it would all be over in an instant. The pain... The ache... The emptiness... It would all be gone. She would be gone. It would be quick. It would be easy. All she had to do was stand. All she had to do was jump.

But she just wrapped her arms even more tightly around herself. Because deep inside of her, even deeper than the ache, lied the part of herself that she most hated. It was the most stubborn part of herself. It was the part of herself that told her to keep on breathing. It was the part of herself that, despite everything, still clung to life... still clung to hope... As tightly as her fist still clung to the flame.