"You won't have to go back to the Sky box," Abby assured her as they walked through the rooms of their home. It was just like Clarke remembered it being before her father died. She swore the chairs had even been left in their place from the night Wells and his dad had come over to watch the game. Clarke ran her fingers over the dining table. "In light of the mechanics miracle, you've all been pardoned, all one hundred of you."

There it was again the cold knot in her stomach that seemed to surface when the other kids were mentioned. It made her head spin, probably just another side effect from the drugs that had been keeping her asleep for so long. Abby had said that they'd used different mixtures on groups of people to maximize the number of civilians that could sleep. Not all of them were clinically tested, but it was better than floating a section full of people in order to reserve oxygen. It did mean that the side effects the sleepers experienced were highly individualized. Clarke wasn't sure what she'd feel next, but it did explain why groups of people had similar hallucinations while under the influence.

"They converted some of the other gathering spaces into temporary mess halls. The other kids have been meeting in one. It's sort of a support group for them. Maybe you should go."

"I don't know," she sighed. Her head began to pound again. She tried not to think about the wall in her mind, but the thought of the others made her want to remember the time being pulled out of solitary. She wanted to remember their faces, but nothing came except the pain. She sat down at the table and held her head.

"Wells has been going," Abby told her, sitting down beside her and passing her a bottle of some pain pills. Clarke couldn't help wondering if everyone with spinning heads got them, or just the ones with mothers on the council. The thought made the cold feeling resurface. "He's been asking every day if you've woken up yet. When you did yesterday, he wanted to see you."

"What?" Clarke asked, though she wasn't sure why. She knew exactly who Wells was. She could even picture his face, but thinking about him still made her head hurt, her head and her heart. She popped a few pills and looked at her mom. Abby took one of her daughter's hands.

"Clarke, your father made a mistake," she said slowly. Her gaze held steadily on Clarke's, but she couldn't hide the shaking in her voice. "I hate it too, but after all of this, can't you forgive him? Wells didn't do anything wrong. Your father or you could have caused a panic we didn't need. We got it fixed. The Ark is alright. Now you can be too."

Clarke stared at her mother. Something was wrong, or it was more like something wasn't. The last thing she could remember she would've never forgiven Wells for not keeping her secret, but now all that pain was gone. The cold feeling in her stomach and the roaring pain in her head had replaced it. That, and an overwhelming desire to see her best friend.

Clarke was still braiding her hair back when she walked d out into the hall. Something about the strands of hair between her fingers felt wrong. Twisting and tying it back in the ordinary way was strange. Even as she walked around the corner and let the rope of hair fall against her back, the way it hit her neck all tied together surprised her. But what was more unexpected, was the voice that followed her around the bend in the hallway.

"Clarke!" his deep, but shaky voice called out to her. Clarke flipped around, sending her new braid whipping toward the side of her neck.

"Wells," she breathed. There was a momentary pause of her headache and chill as her eyes burned and began to tear.

"Abby told me you were awake," he muttered shaking his head as he rubbed his hand on his neck like always. "How are you feeling?"

He wasn't through asking the question by the time Clarke had slammed her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tight enough to link her fingers together behind his back. Wells's hands found their way around her waist as he hugged her back.

"So, I take it you're not mad at me anymore," he asked. She buried her face in his shirt and sucked in a breath to try and answer him, but it sounded more like a whimper through her tears.

"Clarke, are you crying?"

"Yeah, I don't even know why," she muttered, pulling back from the hug to wipe her nose. "I do forgive you. I don't know what changed, but I want to be friends again. Wells, I need to be friends again."

Her voice cracked and she lost control of whatever she'd been hanging onto to hold back tears.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, we can be friends again," he told her, looking at her like she was exactly as crazy as she felt. She was crying for no reason. She forgave him for no reason. He got her dad floated and all she wanted was another hug.

"Okay," she told him and went in for the extra hug. She pushed her nose against his shirt again. "Okay."

"Where were you headed?"

"The old games room. There's a group there. . . "

"You mean the one hundred."

Clarke's tears stopped and the cold in her stomach resurfaced immediately. She brushed away what was left on her wet cheeks and nodded.