She raised her rifle and aimed at the bewildered men and women as they scrambled. Some stood in shock, while others ran into the ship.
"Grounder! Grounder!" they shouted, tripping over themselves.
Their commander stood solid, glaring at Clarke, no sense of surprise on his face.
"Don't move," Clarke instructed, aiming at their leader.
The man only smirked and held up a hand, signaling for his followers to cease their actions.
They slowed, staring at their commander as if he was mad.
For a moment, the Earth was as silent as it had been for the past six years.
"Told you so," Murphy broke the silence, shrugging in his normal nonchalant way. It made Clarke smile, tears of happiness brimming on her eyelids despite the situation. He hadn't changed, after all this time. It gave her hope.
"Shut up," the commander said simply, looking at Clarke expectantly. He was a stocky man, short but stuffed with hard muscle. His head was shaved down to the skin, and his brown eyes were so dark that Clarke couldn't decipher where the iris began and the pupil ended.
Bellamy stood rigid, as if holding his breath. He starred at her, and his gaze bore into her bones. A look wasn't supposed to do that. A look wasn't supposed to make her knees weak or her heart stop.
"Who are you?" she commanded, upholding her mask of confidence as she always did.
"Jarvis," the man said simply. Eloquently, even.
"Jarvis," she repeated, convincing herself not to glance at Bellamy or the other delinquents. "Where do you come from?" she asked, keeping her scope trained on him, even though she already knew.
The man, whose arms were crossed tightly around his chest, lifted a finger towards the sky. "Up there," he said, smirking.
Clarke flicked her eyes to the ship behind him. "Obviously." She clenched her jaw. It was hard to remember to breath, knowing Bellamy was so close, knowing her past was still alive. It had been so long ago, and she had been alone for so many years... there were nights she wondered if she was even alive at all, if any of it had actually happened.
She tightened her grip on her rifle and repositioned her feet, hoping her show of confidence would encourage the foreign man to speak more.
It did.
"Eligius," he paused. "A penal mining colony, before your time, dearling."
Clarke felt the knot in her stomach tighten. Clearly, this man knew about Skaikru. She allowed herself to glance at the delinquents, but not before scanning the colonists that stood silently around them.
Her friends looked relaxed, she could tell by their posture. They had been with these captors for awhile. Murphy whispered into Emori's ear, as Raven's gaze bore into Clarke. She glanced at Echo, who's eyes railed into the commander, and then to Monty and Harper, who stood close, with crossed brows as they looked at Clarke in concern.
Then she let her gaze fall on Bellamy, and her heart broke.
That look. The one he had given to hear so many times before. That look: of caring, of concern, of love. He starred at Clarke as if she was a ghost come back from the dead, but there was such grief in his eyes, such pain, such empathy.
And then she realized what it was.
Regret.
Clarke switched her gaze back to the commander, refusing to acknowledge the previous thought. "Obviously, you know where I'm from. Why are you here and why do you have prisoners?" she asked flatly.
She didn't want to reveal that she knew them, not if the commander didn't know their connection. She had to gauge how much he knew. She didn't want to risk these criminals using her friends as collateral. Or worse. She didn't want these criminals to know she cared about those they had in their grasp.
After all, love can be weakness.
The commander nonchalantly glanced back at his followers and the prisoners. His relaxation warned Clarke that he knew much more than he was letting on.
"Well, we wanted to come home. Happened to pick up these stragglers on the way. Our ship needed some repairs before we made it here, sorry it took so long." He turned his eyes back to Clarke, testing her. It was all a test, she knew, then.
She took a breath and let her weapon fall limp on her side, leaving a hand on it in warning. She needed to keep him talking.
"The ground lost contact with the penal colony long before the bombs," she said. "I always wondered why..." she made a show of glancing around at the criminals.
The commander smirked. "Mutiny, as it were, decided we wanted to come back to Earth. Didn't expect to find it so..." he glanced around, "changed. Last time we were here, there was 8 billion more people," he cracked a smile.
So there it was, just as she predicted. The penal colony had overthrown their leaders. She tried not to think of the wives and children that had gone along with the guards. Obviously, the prisoners had gained access to the cryochambers and had been in hypersleep. It was the only explanation as to how they could have lived so long.
"The ground has been taken," she warned. "The Ark already laid claim."
The commander smiled now, a full, knowing smile. "Indeed. That would be expected, as we have been gone for so long." The commander lifted a hand and curled his fingers in an order.
Two dozen and women spilled from the belly of the ship, weapons in hand.
Clarke could only watch as they filed into two lines, rifles all pointing at her.
"I am surprised to see you here, I must admit," the commander went on. "When I heard the earth had faced not one, but two apocalypses, I didn't believe that anyone could have survived."
Clarke stood firm, unfazed by the guns pointed at her. She wasn't sure all that the delinquents had told him, but they clearly didn't know about the bunker, otherwise they would have come down with guns blazing. They didn't know that she wasn't the only one left. She thanked her lucky stars that her friends hadn't told them about the others.
She was valuable. She was their key to the ground. They couldn't kill her now.
She hoped.
"I'm a survivor," she said, cheekily, glancing at Murphy, who had his cuffed hands wrapped around Emori's wrist.
The commander took a few steps towards her, believing he was entirely in control.
Good.
That's exactly what she wanted.
"And how is it, that after two apocalypses, you, alone, survived?" he asked.
Clarke rubbed her thumb over the names engraved on her rifle.
"I was lucky," she breathed, acting. This man needed to think she was not a threat. He needed to think she was a victim.
She glanced at Bellamy again, knowing she would find strength in his gaze, just as she used to, just as she always had.
And there it was, behind his dark eyes. His brows were crossed in worry, but he stood rigid. The look of concern on his face nearly made her knees buckle.
The commander cocked his head, "lucky? I know you were lucky enough to miss the first round, but the second?" the man nearly scoffed. "You're the last living human on this earth, and I want to know how."
He really didn't know. They hadn't told him. They must have convinced him he was coming home to an earth that was dead and vacant, hoping that the people from the bunker would be able to defeat the prisoners and help them, free them.
The thought of her friends being prisoners again made her heart clench. After all the time they spent in those small cells on the Ark, after all the time not being in control, after all the time hoping and waiting...
"How?" she repeated cheekily, finding a new confidence in remembering how far she had come and all they were capable of when they were together. "The world may try to kill us, but there is always a way."
The commander was unamused. "Us?" he asked.
Clarke played coy. "'Us' as in humanity," she corrected. "Clearly you're still alive."
"I'm not interested in that," he said shortly. "I want to know how you are still alive after a wave of radiation." He waved his hand toward her friends, "they told me all about it."
Not all, she thought.
"Yes, I should be dead, like everyone else," she lied, "but I found a bunker from before the first death wave. It allowed me to survive and had provisions that were able to sustain me."
The commander nearly scoffed, "how would a bunker over 107 years old have provisions that would last long enough for you to survive, as you say."
"Isn't that the point of a bunker?" Clarke retorted.
The commander nearly smiled, "I suppose. Yet, unlikely."
Clarke only tapped a finger on her rifle in mock annoyance, "it does seem unlikely, doesn't it?" and she locked eyes with Bellamy.
She could feel the pieces of her heart as they broke.
Suddenly a shot rang out from the trees, striking a guard in the chest as he stood with his gun.
He crumbled as Clarke ran for the trees.