What makes a family?
Clarke Griffin is almost certain that this is the question that sent her mother searching just before her thirtieth birthday.
Clarke had been young, barely four, when her father had died.
So, she only remembered the idea of him, not anything of him.
But her mother, Abby, had been fresh into her residency program and they'd been married for almost five years at that point. So, she'd understandably took it hard.
When he died, they drifted around a bit, fulfilling the epitome of a single-parent household.
Looking for answers in an ocean full of questions.
And somewhere along the line, her mother decided that opening their home to foster children seemed to be the only way to answer the unanswerable.
Atone for a past full of mistakes or some wishy-washy bullshit like that.
Searching for a way to fulfill her calling and to affect the world.
Searching for a way to give her, Clarke suspected, what she never had. Siblings. A family.
She remembered not being too enthused at the time, used to being the apple of her mother's eye at that point.
But she also remembers being excited, because the idea of having siblings was too interesting to pass itself up.
Either way her mother's mind had been made up, even when the process itself became long and tedious due to her mother's busy schedule.
What should have been arduous months and was crossing into the painstaking year territory.
But it never bothered Clarke who ceased the opportunity to continue being the apple of her mother's eye
Then, between all the classes and safety measures and licensing procedures, her mother had met Marcus Kane.
He had been a professor at the local community college across the ways and had been just as excited about the prospect of helping others.
He was warm and nice and intelligent and when they started dating, he was loving towards her mother.
Marcus was also kind towards her, treated her the way she wanted to be treated, took her seriously, and could always be counted on for decent advice.
And as much as Clarke wanted to hate him, he became the father she never had.
So when he proposed, Clarke of course was ecstatic.
The first placement their budding family had was short term.
Very short term.
Their names were Roan and Anya.
A boy and a girl. Nine and ten, just two years older than she was at the time.
A pair of spritely siblings from a kind of rough part of town.
It was a only for two weeks. Just until their biological mother got out of the hospital.
Something about a mental illness or a difficult pregnancy, it was never fully explained to her.
But the excitement of those fourteen days left an impact on her.
And when they left, true to their word, two weeks later, it was only then that Clarke completely warmed up to the idea of having other kids in the house.
Their home was, more or less, a matter of revolving doors after that.
A girl named Harper, whose dad had willingly relinquished his custody.
Jasper, a junkie, whose parents overdosed when he was just nine years old.
Aden, a three-year-old, whose parents were serving prison sentences for dog fighting.
Illian, Monroe, Jones and countless others had all stayed in their home at some point or another.
She was sure her mother kept a scrapbook of them all somewhere.
Clarke was fourteen, when one of the longer placements moved in.
Raven Reyes.
Raven's parents had been killed in a car accident when she was fourteen and she'd been bouncing around foster homes until she finally landed at the Griffins shortly after her seventeenth birthday.
She'd hurt her leg badly in the accident, so much so that she needed a cane to get around, then eventually a prosthetic, but she refused to let it slow her down.
Even when the wounds were somewhat been fresh when they first met, Raven had already figured it out by then that it paid off to be resilient, and had found it somewhere within herself to power through.
They'd hit it off immediately. Became close friends.
And Raven was always keen to help and give advice whenever she had to chance.
Eagerly helping her with her homework and Marcus and Abby out with any odd jobs that they needed.
Raven stayed around for an entire year, then a little more after that, until she decided to 'pull herself up by the bootstraps' and go make something of herself.
She was a genius in her own right, but never ended up going college.
Instead, she opened a mechanic shop on the other side of Arcadia.
And even though Raven was twenty-one now, the fiery Latina makes it a point to drop in every weekend and say hi.
Now though, the house was empty.
It had been empty since Zoran, a sweet little six-year-old with a peculiar name and a just as peculiar list of disabilities, had been sent back to his biological family five weeks ago.
So, empty.
Until now apparently.
"I'm sorry to be on your doorstep at such late notice, but you understand I wouldn't be here if the case wasn't urgent."
A muffled voice is saying to her mother and Clarke strains to listen from her bedroom door.
There's a storm raging outside and the harsh patter of summer rain against her window makes it difficult to hear anything clearly.
But still…
It sounds like… Indra.
Indra was a social worker.
She had been Anya's and Roan's social workers through their albeit short stints here, Harper's too.
Indra had even been Raven's for a while, until the mechanic had aged out the system.
"It appears that abuse was prevalent in their previous foster home, and it was missed by the previous social worker. The police are dealing with the matter now… but until then I'm trying very hard to keep them together."
And it still shocks Clarke that people can be so cruel.
That people can beat children within an inch of their lives and still claim to love them.
"Of course, of course, Indra, we understand."
Her mother is saying and the worry and the subtle anger is audible in her tone.
Clarke can picture them in her mind now.
Her mother standing with her arms crossed, hand on her chin.
Marcus with his steadying hand on her shoulder, standing just behind her.
More words like trauma and malnutrition and neglect and sexual assault are thrown around, coloring the mystery of their stories with more and more horrifying detail.
From what she can gather the duo are sisters.
Seventeen and thirteen.
That the placement before this had been their longest.
Two years.
And all Clarke can think is how could no one know about the abuse for two whole years.
The conversation continues for several moments, until Indra is finally saying she's going to get them, and her parents are calling her down.
They explain everything in quick succession and Clarke nods, used to this and how things go.
The doorbell rings moments later and it's Indra again, but this time she has two people behind her.
"Hello, Clarke it's nice to see you again."
Indra says warmly, but the blonde can see how tired and stressed she is.
"It's nice to see you too."
And it really is, even under these circumstances.
The rain is falling harder outside. Pouring down with a vendetta.
And it's obvious by the trios soaked appearances, that none of them had even considered bringing an umbrella.
The first girl, the taller and older of the two, stands just behind Indra, lurking in the front door, but not quite stepping in.
Something is militaristic about the way she carries herself.
Shoulders back, head held high, feet spread slightly apart.
Her olive skin is dirty, marred with a few mottled scars that leave more questions than answers, but she's very pretty in an unconventional type of way.
Long, greasy ringlets of her dirty brown hair pull loosely into a pony tail as if she made some kind of effort to protect it from the rain, then gave up halfway through.
Her dark, soulful, eyes hold a distinct edge to them as they sweep over everything in the room.
Shuttered and sharp as they move from Indra to Marcus to her mother, then finally her.
The girl crosses her arms as their eyes meet, folding them in faux outward intimidation.
Stands a tiny bit taller as if she has something to prove.
Until she stands at full height one, no two, inches above her.
And Clarke can feel the anger and defiance peeling off the girl in waves.
But she can also feel the fragility.
It's barely there, smothered underneath the tough exterior, but it's there.
She's sure of it.
"This is Alexandra."
Indra says vaguely.
"Lexa."
The older and taller of the two rebuts gruffly.
Her voice is huskier and lower than Clarke would have initially assumed and it's also heavy.
Almost strained.
And it's hard not to imagine why.
The blonde offers a half wave that isn't returned.
So, she plays it off, then tries to look around the olive-skinned girl to see the shorter of the two.
Because if that is Lexa, then this must be the sister, Octavia.
The younger girl is a wisp of a thing.
She's a head, a head and a half, shorter than her sister.
With stringy, muscular arms that disappear like sticks into a faded ivy green t-shirt that's at least two sizes to big.
And long, black hair that's just as tangled, just as greasy as her sister's hangs loosely in front of her eyes.
But it's the way she stands, shoulders hunched, eyes averted towards the ground, jaw clenched, that make it seems like she's trying to disappear into the floor.
As if the only thing anchoring her here to this world is the finger that curves around one of Lexa's belt loops.
It makes Clarke want to put her at somewhere around nine or ten, instead of the twelve-year-old she supposedly is.
Clarke's line of sight skirts back towards Lexa.
Lexa, who's staring at her with such intensity, as if she's daring her to say something, anything about Octavia that will give her excuse to lash out.
And when Clarke doesn't, the silent battle of wills continues as the adults continue to talk over them.
"Clarke? Clarke, why don't you show Lexa and Octavia their rooms?'
Marcus asks her and she notices how deliberate he is being with his words and wonders how he can make everything sound so easy.
Also knows that he's most likely only saying this to get the kids out of the room so the adults can sign the required paperwork.
Clarke swallows dryly as the relentless stare is finally broken.
Then she forces a smile.
"Do you need help with any your stuff?"
The look of incredulousness from Lexa answers the question for her.
Clarke leans aside a little and sees their belongings still sitting on the porch behind them.
Sees the two black plastic bags lay at their feet.
Something in her heart twists when she sees them.
These are make shift suitcases that every foster kid that's ever entered the Griffin home carried. Carried and guarded as if their lives depended on them.
And Clarke curses silently as she eats her words. She shouldn't be so flustered.
She's done this tons of times.
But Lexa doesn't seem to be too bothered by this as she effortlessly grabs both of the bags.
Maneuvering around the younger girl, with such ease, that Clarke realizes she must have done this before.
And that makes painful sense.
Both sisters move into the home.
Slow and unsure.
And it's hard to miss how they both stand with their backs facing the wall.
How Lexa has very deliberately put herself in front of Octavia.
They all pretend not to notice anyway.
"Make yourselves at home. Clarke will show you where the bathroom is too. So you can change into warmer clothes if you want."
Abby calls as Clarke beckons them towards the stairs.
"And girls? When you're done, why don't you come back downstairs? I'm sure your hands must hurt, Lexa. And if you want I can look at your sister too."
So, her mother had picked up on the fierce protectiveness that the olive-skinned girl was exuding too.
And Clarke notices for the first time the swollen red of Lexa's knuckles.
How the skin is broken and torn and misshapen and discolored on the edges.
She also notices the nasty red welts twisting up and down Octavia's legs.
And how she's wearing two different shoes. Different sizes and different colors.
Clarke swallows hard as Marcus closes the door behind them.
"Yeah… yeah that would be nice."
Lexa is saying, short and clipped.
Octavia doesn't say anything.
She hasn't even looked at any of them since this conversation was initiated.
It dawns on Clarke, that she doesn't even know what color her eyes are.
Then Lexa is stepping in front of her, blocking the younger girl from her view.
So Clarke keeps moving, leads them up stairs and shows them the rooms they'll be staying in, brings them the extra towels, then says where she'll be if they need them.
And it's clear that despite, wherever they had come from, that someone had definitely done a number on these girls.
Authors Note: Trying my hand at a foster care AU. Playing with the idea of Clexa, not sure yet. But if it is, it will be an extremely slow burn (cuz it's awkward for them to be foster siblings and dating). All characters from the main 100 will be making an appearance. And before it's asked, yes Bellamy exists and yes he is Octavia's brother in this story. What do you think? Should I continue?