I was blown away by the response to this story and managed to write more than I expected to in a short amount of time because of that inspiration. Don't expect all of my updates to be this quick! I'm hoping to shoot for once a week normally.
That being said, thank you to everyone for your reviews, favorites, and follows! You're awesome! I'm trying to respond directly to any direct questions in PMs or reviews, and you give me strength with how excited and supportive you are. If there's anything you're hoping to see, let me know. I can't promise to include everything, but I'm loving exploring this world and seeing how these soulmates affect our favorite post-apocalyptic survivors.
A shout out to my awesome beta, Mon, and to the original fangirl, Ash.
A week and a half after her tattoo showed up, Clarke's parents finally started thawing towards each other. Dinners had been awkward, evenings had been quiet, and there was barely an hour that passed that Abby Griffin didn't send an anxious look towards Clarke's arm.
Not that Abby could see anything there, except maybe her own phantom terror of the mark. All Clarke wore now were long-sleeved shirts, and that was all Clarke was ever going to wear again as far as she knew. Long sleeves were the only thing in her dresser anymore; her mom had literally gone through and taken away anything and everything that might show her upper arms. She already missed her favorite tank top with the purple stripes, but with how serious her mom looked all the time now, Clarke barely even fought it.
Maybe this tattoo meant something bad and Clarke should be worried, but she really, really wasn't. Not at all. Instead, Clarke spent as much time as she could looking at it.
And, well, now that she knew that her soulmate was out there somewhere, she spent as much time as she could trying to find a way to write back.
They didn't have coloring day in school any longer. Those had stopped when she was eight. Clarke had asked about getting some markers one day during school, trying to be sly about it, but all she'd gotten for her trouble were confused looks and a suspicious eye anytime she was even near the cabinets where they were kept. It kinda sucked that there were only a few teachers to go around, because she never could pretend that she had to do work for some other project. They all knew what the students were up to.
As for other sources, she could get her hands on some pencils since no one used those anymore anyway, but they weren't very good for writing on skin. All they did was leave angry red lines that faded away. On the bright side, Clarke found out that she really liked drawing in pencil- on paper- and her dad had spoiled her with a notebook full of paper to draw on. She knew he felt bad for her mom's reaction. Clarke couldn't find it in herself to feel bad for taking advantage of his guilt.
If only people didn't spend so much time on computers and still wrote with pens.
Clarke rested her chin on her palm, elbow propped up on the table as she watched Wells contemplate the board in front of him. Normally, Clarke was all about their chess games. It was fun to figure out strategy and try to one up Wells, figuring out new ways to surprise him and watch him shake his head while smiling with begrudging respect. She was glad that he was her best friend, because she didn't know who else would be able to sit still and actually pay attention to their games for as long as they did.
Today, however, Clarke was the one who couldn't concentrate.
Her fingers danced carefully along the tops of her back row of remaining pieces. Castle, knight, king, queen. She paused, absently twirling along the edge of the queen's crown, and sighed without even realizing she was doing it. Wells gave her a confused look, but didn't rush his move, still trying to focus on the layout. He reached out for a pawn, nudged it forward a centimeter, then changed his mind, putting it back. Clarke looked at the wall, imagining someone on another part of the station with a tattoo like her own.
"Okay, what's wrong?"
Clarke blinked, finger accidentally pushing her queen forward and toppling it over. Instinct had her scrambling to put it back upright, nearly knocking over her king as well, and by the time that was done Wells was staring at her and not even pretending to study the table. Clarke flushed lightly, realizing that if she'd had any hope of pretending like nothing was wrong it was now gone. Still, she opened her mouth and then closed it again before she finally groaned softly and looked around them.
"Is your dad around?" Clarke hadn't seen him all day, and he was usually busy with council stuff, but she didn't want to take the chance. She was pretty sure that since she wasn't supposed to tell anyone about her tattoo, that included Mr. Jaha. If word got out that she told Wells, though, that would probably be okay. Probably. She trusted him.
Wells looked even more curious, but he just shook his head slowly. "No, he's not gonna be home until way later. Seriously, what's up?"
Clarke should probably think through this more, but once Wells gave the all clear it took less than a second before she was pulling up her sleeve as well as she could, hands fumbling in her enthusiasm as it bunched up in unexpected ways. She couldn't help it. As much as she hated how upset her parents- her mom- had gotten, she was still way too excited about her mark. Wells, as her best friend in the whole world, was definitely someone she could share that excitement with.
The sleeve finally pulled up enough to reveal the bottom of her tattoo, and Wells' "What are you doin-" turned into a "Holy crap, is that what I think it is?" Clarke beamed, still pulling up her sleeve the last few inches as Wells slipped out of his chair and came closer to see the tattoo for himself.
"I got it last week," Clarke said, voice excited but still almost a whisper. Just in case. Wells looked up at her face, and there was something in his eyes that she couldn't place, something that made her pause, before he was reaching out and gently touching it. Was he upset like her parents? Was this a mistake? But the look passed, and then he was grinning in that infectious way that he had and Clarke was happy to let the moment go and grin back.
"Last week? And you're telling me now? Look at this thing! That's epic." Clarke didn't mind at all as Wells traced the design with his fingers before finally letting go. She felt so much better now that she had someone to gush about it with.
"I know! But I'm not supposed to tell anyone. It's so pretty, but I can't even show it off."
"What? Why?" Even as he said it, Clarke could tell that Wells knew exactly why. She just shrugged, trying to keep her grin on her face instead of going down that path. He didn't make her respond to it anyway, just shook his head. "That's way cooler than anyone else has, I bet. Not just straight lines. I doubt you get tired looking at it."
That was all Clarke needed before she couldn't hold any of it in any longer. She talked about the way it felt, about the pain that wasn't really pain, how it felt so warm, and what it was like to watch it appear in slow motion, like she was really there while they were getting it done. Wells looked genuinely interested, like he had that time he'd told her all about the boy on Agro station, and before she could even think better of something that could possibly cause her friend to get in trouble she was blurting out, "And I just want to be able to write back. Somehow. I mean, I know I can't get my own tattoo, but I can't get any markers from school and all we have at home are pencils and those don't work at all. What's so important about ink, anyway? I don't get why we can't use it."
Clarke huffed, leaning back in her chair and letting her shoulders droop, all of the excitement leaving her with the reminder that all she wanted to do was let her soulmate know that she'd seen it. That she liked it a lot.
Wells looked at her, clearly considering something. Clarke eventually went back to staring at the wall. She wasn't hopeless, because she knew that there had to be some way to get a message back to her soulmate, but she had run out of obvious options and maybe it would be better to just stop trying. Clarke bit her lip and tried not to snort at that thought. Stop trying? Yeah, right.
"My dad probably has something." Wells didn't even sound hesitant when he said it, and that probably threw Clarke most of all. Her gaze snapped back up at him and her jaw managed to drop in the process. Wells was still giving her that grin, but there was something soft in his eyes. He shrugged. "He's got a lot of stuff he never uses, you know? I bet he's got something that would stick." He must have seen the flare of excitement in her eyes even as she tried to shake her head, not wanting him to get in trouble for her, because he laughed a little and finally reached down to move his piece on the chessboard. "Hey, I'm not making any promises, but I'll make sure I don't get in trouble, okay? I'll let you know what I find."
Clarke's chest felt tight as she looked at her friend, but she couldn't help the way her smile grew from ear to ear. "That would be so floating amazing!" Clarke felt a little naughty swearing, but Wells was being a little naughty so maybe this was exactly the time to do it. "But really, don't get in trouble. Promise me that, at least."
"I promise," Wells said, his tone solemn even though he was still grinning. "This is worth it, though. I mean, it is your soulmate we're talking about."
The reminder made Clarke sigh softly in agreement, reaching up on instinct to rub against her arm tattoo. It also sparked another thought, and Clarke tilted her head, giving her friend a curious look. "Hey, what about you, though? Have you seen any marks?" She'd never asked before, both because she was sure he would have told her, and because she wasn't sure she wanted to know, but things were different now. Technically, she hadn't told him right away either. If he did, though, now Clarke could share that happiness with him and not feel bad at all.
Wells gave a shrug, trying way too hard to look like he didn't care, and looked away. "Nah," he said, his voice doing a better job at being convincing now that he wasn't looking at her. "But that's cool. I don't need a soulmate or anything." He was doing that grin of his when he looked back, and Clarke wasn't sure what to think of it, but he clearly didn't want her to question him. "My dad doesn't have one and he's good. And I've already got the best best friend anyone could ask for." The way his eyes twinkled at that made Clarke blush lightly, but like usual, she couldn't help but return the smile.
"You've got a point. What could a soulmate have that's better than that?" Clarke looked back down at the chess board again, feeling better about everything now. Wells was the best friend she could imagine, and he was gonna help her. Having him and her soulmate sounded like the best idea ever.
It took some time, but Wells came through. Not that Clarke had ever doubted him. Even though Wells usually followed the rules to the letter and was what Abby called "a good influence" on Clarke, he was a better friend than anything. Which meant that eventually Clarke had a few small pieces of charcoal.
"My dad has a whole box of these. He won't miss them," Wells told her, pressing a small cloth-wrapped bundle in her hands before they started up a new game of chess. She'd peeked in- how could she not?- and marveled at the dark slivers leaving a mess on the inside of the cloth. Did this count as ink? What kinds of things could soulmates actually see? She wished she knew more about it, but since things were rationed so tightly people tended not to talk about it except in private. She didn't even know a soulmate pair on the Ark. Not two who had found each other, anyway. Before all these weird markings started showing up, people were starting to think they were extinct.
Still, Clarke looked at the charcoal pieces, a wild hope in her eyes, for a long minute. Then she'd carefully wrapped them back up and slipped them into her pocket, making sure they didn't really make much of a bulge. Wells had given her an amused but understanding look, and they'd played two matches. If Clarke was less than on top of her game, they both ignored it, and when Clarke left that day, Wells whispered that she'd better let him know what happened.
She made it through dinner, leg bouncing underneath the table. She made it through a round of cards that her dad insisted they play, talking about how they really hadn't had any family time lately. The cards were a good idea, she would later admit, no matter how desperate she was to have some time to herself and unsupervised access to the bathroom mirror. Her mom didn't laugh that often anymore, and they'd all been cracking up as they'd tried to beat each other. This was what she missed, what she wanted to come back. Her dad slapping a card down on the table and her mom playfully slapping at his shoulder in retaliation. That sparkle in their eyes and the sight of her dad winking at her to make her feel like she was part of the joke.
This was her family. They were perfect. And maybe they could stay this way. If Clarke just never talked to her her mom about her soulmate anymore. Then she wouldn't have to worry about it and Clarke could be happy about it, and everything would be okay.
After cards, Clarke was in such a good mood as she stood in the bathroom, holding the charcoal piece between her rapidly darkening fingers, that the first thing she thought to draw was a smiley face. It was on her wrist, staring up at her, and she was sure that her soulmate would have to see it. There was no immediate response, not that Clarke had expected them to have something readily available to write back with, but it was still a disappointment. She stared at the face on her wrist, then up at her face in the mirror, and tried to be as patient as she could be.
That didn't last long. She was only almost 11, after all. So she drew a little bit more, writing a slightly shaky "Hi" and careful not to smudge the dark black too much. She'd never used charcoal before, though, and the sooty black wasn't hard to accidentally get everywhere.
Clarke focused on the mess instead of the fact that there wasn't any response back. This would not work out if she got black all over her sleeves. She didn't need her mom asking her what that was from. That would defeat the purpose of her decision not to talk to her mom about this. So Clarke put the charcoal piece carefully away and washed her hands. She made sure the sink wasn't covered in black, tried to wash carefully enough that she didn't need to stain a washcloth.
Clarke cleaned everything but her wrist. Waiting. Ready for the warmth that came with new designs on her body. Ready to see swirls appear. Ready for everything. She waited. Until she grew tired and sad and then she washed her wrist as well, watching the dark water swirl down the drain and determined to try again tomorrow.
