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NOTE: a flashback and some other shit. Lexa soon I promise.
CHAPTER 3 – A LITTLE COZY
She knew this world would hurt. Even at seven, when she woke one morning remembering so much of her rocky past, she knew this life would leave a scar; she would not remember it. The world was in turmoil. Tensions had been on the high since a private defense company had started to create a robot; a machine, to oversee their operations.
She met her past and future in the form of a middle school bully; a dark haired cheerleader. Green eyes stared with as much venom as the mouth spat. In seventh grade Clarke was pushed down a flight of stairs. Alicia, a common name for when green eyes see through a female body, had pushed her. Nobody visited in her hospital. On the day Clarke returned to school, she forgave her.
At the start of ninth grade, their parents become friends. They spent that Christmas together. Alicia humiliated her with a mistletoe photo. Clarke forgave her.
Halfway through tenth grade, Alicia's father died. Clarke held her as she cried. She stayed with her for three days. On the fourth day, Alicia apologized in a fit of tears. Clarke forgave her.
In eleventh grade during a track meet, Clarke sat in the cold stands to cheer her on. She contracted the flu. Alicia fretted over her for a week following. When Clarke ended in hospital with severe dehydration, Alicia blamed herself. Clarke kissed her forehead in forgiveness.
After their graduation, they spent the night at Clarke's house. They fell asleep curled around each other. Clarke rather fancied being the little spoon.
At nineteen, they had gone to the same college. They drunkenly made out at a frat party. Alicia said it was a joke. Clarke said she regretted none of it. They didn't talk for a month. Their families met for a picnic that year. They kissed again – sober and aware. Neither regretted it. That night Clarke was the big spoon.
They moved-in together at twenty-one. At twenty-two they came out to their families. Their mothers deflated. Clarke's father puffed up like a proud bird. A bet had been running for years.
At twenty-six the computer program that the defense company had created, nicknamed A.L.I.E, went rogue. The world went mad. 400 people managed to escape through the clouds. Clarke and Alicia tried to escape underground. Their car rolled into a ditch. Their bodies wedged in the rubble. She watched the bombs fall from the broken window. Alicia kissed her and made an empty promise to find her in the next world – Clarke knew she wouldn't.
The explosion hurt for the brief moment in time between when Clarke died to when she woke up. It takes thirty lives until she's returned to this line of time. She does not remember it. A part of her is glad.
When Clarke wakes from her dream, she is significantly warmer than the night before. Heavy eyes and groggy brain do not register this as strange. She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. It takes another thirty minutes of flitting in and out sleep before she realizes; she did not fall asleep with a blanket.
Her first instinct is to jump up. She knocks her knee on the desk and cries out in pain, crumbling again back into the chair. The heavy blanket falls back on her. She is clutching at her leg while looking at the fur. It's the same color of the beast they killed days prior. It's magnificent.
Nothing else in the room has been touched. Clarke looks to the outside. The door has been cracked open. She can hear a fire; a smell akin to the roasted beast wafting in. When she walks outside she is greeted by nobody. The fire has nearly dwindled. There is a bird roasting over the flames. It is the only sign someone else had been here; unless she was really good at sleep-hunting.
She looks to the sky to check the time of day. A black bird circles overhead before departing. Part of her recognizes the roast might be tampered with. Another part is the one that pushes her forward to burn her fingers on the hot meat as she tries to shovel it into her mouth. The blanket is still tied around her shoulders like a security cape.
A grunt stops her mid mouthful. When she looks up she's met with a very large, very gruff man. A bird the size of a small dog perches on his shoulder. He is dressed in furs and dark armor. She screams. It echoes through damn near the entire forest. The man winces and moves forward to quiet her. She yells more and scrambles back to the bunker, dropping the meat stick in the process. The heavy door squeals as its shut behind her.
He is speaking in a language she doesn't understand beyond the steel. It is too muffled to hear properly. She is panicking looking for a weapon. The man stops his babbling as yelling is the heard in the distance. The sound of heavy footsteps. Octavia is banging on the door asking if Clarke is okay. They heard the cry for help.
When she opens it and stares at them there is no trace of the man. A glance to the sky to the circling bird overhead tells her the man is still close. A part of her deep down feels safer for it. Closer to the surface she is frazzled and confused.
She calms her friends, talking of a large grub like creature. The raised eyebrow on Octavia screams suspicion. Everyone else buys the story. Finn says he's pretty sure he saw one like it the other day too. The rotisserie has long gone cold, not that she felt like eating much more anyway.
The bird follows them back to camp. She keeps an eye on it. Octavia sees her watching and watches too. She is not a stupid girl and knows something is not right. When they are again tucked safely behind the scrap walls, Clarke takes her aside and begs her not to say a word. The bird has perched itself in a tree high above the camp, head twitching side to side as it spies the people below; she knows the man is not far.
Octavia, true to her word, says nothing. She watches the bird as often as Clarke does. At night she stays awake past anyone else and watches Clarke feed the bird scraps of that night's dinner. It never approaches close enough to touch, but swoops low to collect.
Two weeks pass. Octavia and Clarke have befriended the giant bird, it stays close whenever they leave the safety of their walls. She tells Octavia a week in that the bird belongs to one of the men she suspects had shot Jasper. Octavia can't be mad. They're as curious as each other. Clarke thinks that's probably a terrible match.
As the last day of the second week rolls past, a fireball falls from the sky. The bird does not return that night. Clarke, Octavia, and Bellamy search for the wreckage. Finn trails along uninvited. The crash site turns out to be a ship, and a very much worse for wear Raven. Octavia flings herself at the girl and Clarke is scooped into a crushing side hug too. Finn is ignored.
The mechanic, bleeding head aside, works on getting her ship pulled apart. The crushing darkness of the night sky doesn't help. When Clarke dares to look into the dense overgrowth before them she knows she's looking straight into someone else's eyes. Her hairs stand on the back of her neck. She busies herself to forget.
Their journey back is laborious. They are all carrying half their weight in materials or supplies. Clarke hears the familiar chatter of the bird overhead. Her stomach settles again. Raven is talking non-stop about the Ark, how everyone up there believed the Hundred to be dead. She admonishes them for removing their bracelets, but in the same sentence smiles knowing the kids have found a home here.
When they walk back into camp, dawn is spilling over the horizon. The Hundred wake to see their leaders assembling bits and pieces from the crash site. They welcome Raven with open arms. That day is spent tirelessly working on building a functioning radio station in the dropship. The rest of the crash site is quickly salvaged for extra wall plating and materials.
The bird returns that night and sits by Clarke preening its feathers. When she looks around the camp and takes in the small farm patch, the roasting deer, the drying fish, the kids learning to stitch their clothes, she feels a sense of pride well up in her chest. These hundred were sentenced to death and they have risen far above it.
"A working farm and a pet? Getting a little cozy, Clarke?"
Raven stands off a few feet, Octavia to her left. Clarke smiles as an answer. It feels forced, they accept it anyway and leave her a serving of that night's meal. She continues to stare silently out into the forest. She hasn't slept in over a day. Her eyes feel heavy. The bird picks at her shirt before flying off back into the darkness. She lays propped up against the edge of the ship, her food untouched.
Yes she thinks. She has gotten a little cozy. She feels at home here. Feet planted on the ground. Green surrounding every inch of her. Very much at home.