A/N: I know it's been forever and I'm sorry. For those of you still reading this, or anyone who left positive comments while I was away, I've written something for you in the end notes after the chapter. 3
The rosy afterglow she'd been basking in since the party faded into nonexistence the moment Clarke stepped out of her car and into the prison parking lot. Everything was gray and bleak, even the sky overhead, and it felt strangely like an omen. Nothing good had every happened to her here, she realized as she walked slowly toward the door. For a long time now, she'd been telling herself that the pleasure she derived from serving the community and those less fortunate, outweighed all of the negative things inside this place, but after recent events, she was seriously reconsidering all of her choices.
It wasn't like she was contemplating leaving. It would be extremely ungrateful of her considering that they'd let her off with no charges after her near fatal disaster with Murphy, but it got her to thinking about what she really wanted for her future. Not even the lure of working with Wells could overshadow all of the negative feelings she had about TonDC these days. Negative feelings lead to stress and stress leads to drinking and nightmares. As she walked, snippets of her conversation with Wells about not sleeping played on repeat in her mind, bringing with them tiny frown lines on her forehead.
The receptionist smiled warmly when she entered, just like she always did, and Clarke made an effort to pull herself out of her maudlin thoughts to return the smile. Focusing on negative things that she couldn't change right now was a bad idea, so instead Clarke tried to remember exactly how blissful she'd felt last night at the party. Unfortunately, that brought it's own kind of discomfort and she found herself blushing furiously as the guard on the opposite side of the body scanner stared at her curiously.
Clarke never glanced up from her feet, willing the sudden rush of blood to leave her cheeks, as he ran his wand up and down her sides and then handed her back her keys and purse. As soon as the cool metal fell into her open palm, she took off like a rocket, speed walking towards her office like her life depended on it. Whoever was monitoring the camera's was probably getting a good laugh, but the prospect of hiding behind her closed office door pushed her onward regardless of the spectacle she was making. A fluttering near her navel let her know that she was still nervous about meeting Raven unexpectedly in a random hallway and she put on an extra burst of speed as the locked medical wing doors came into view.
Rather than coming face to face with Raven as she was buzzed through the door, she found herself directly in front of an equally unpleasant person. Bellamy. He was staring at her strangely, looking from her eyes to her still slightly pink cheeks, and for a moment she thought he was going to smile, but then his face smoothed out and he glanced away. The exchange was so awkward that she'd stopped in her tracks to stare at him, that was until someone from the guard booth cleared their throat, effectively snapping her back to the present, and she scurried off down the hall and into her office like the timid little mouse she'd become.
"Pathetic," she mumbled as she dropped her purse onto her desk and reached for her lab coat. There was no reason for her to be acting so weird around everyone and if she didn't get her shit together soon, like yesterday, she was going to end up on Thelonious' radar again.
Wells poked his head in almost as soon as she'd settled into her chair to fire up her computer and she glanced at him with a concerned frown, noting the tired lines around his eyes. He must have worked another night shift for someone. Wells was like that, always picking up the slack when they needed it and it made her feel guilty knowing that he might have been working over time because of her small leave.
"You look tired," she said motioning him in. He nodded and sank slowly into his preferred chair on the other side of her desk. It was where he always sat when he was in her office and she found herself wondering if it was more comfortable than the other chair or if he just always preferred to be seated on the right side. She'd never had much cause to sit in either of those chairs so it could very well be that, that one was more comfortable, but she suspected it was just a quirk of his. He'd be on the right side even if he was wrong, she thought and smiled.
"What's so funny about me being a feeble old man?" he asked and groaned a little as he messaged the back of his neck.
"Nothing, and you aren't old so stop," she said firmly. If Wells was old she was old too and that was unacceptable. They weren't even in their thirties yet for Christ sake, but oddly enough she knew what he meant. It wasn't just physical years aging you, but life experiences as well. The more things life threw at you, the more weight you added to your shoulders and eventually, if you didn't find a way to balance things out, that weight crushed you.
"How was the ball?" he asked, changing the subject quickly.
She'd spent almost two days yammering his ear off about it over the phone, but now that it was over, she didn't really know what to say. Sure, she could tell him about how great the costume was or show him a few of the picture she'd taken with Lincoln and Octavia, but that would only be skimming the most shallow of surfaces regarding how she felt about last night. It would probably be a good idea to tell him about Finn and Raven that way he could help her be on the look out for Finn's feisty fiance, but she didn't really want to relive her unpleasant exchange with the couple from hell right then… possibly ever.
Her time spent dancing, laughing, kissing, and just in general enjoying life, stood in brilliant contrast to those few small moments with Finn and she didn't want to tarnish any part of it by thinking about him. Finn wasn't worth that. Also, if she started talking about Finn she'd start talking about how upset she was for Raven and then Wells would want to talk about feelings and conflict resolution because out of every one in her life, he was the only one that thought it would be a good idea to confront Raven about what Clarke had come to think of as "the incident." Clearing the air, Wells had called it when he'd broached the subject to her on the phone over the weekend.
Regardless of Wells' advice, the only clearing she was planning on doing was clearing the hell out if she ever spotted Raven again! No matter how sorry for her she was, Clarke had no interest in getting another black eye. It wasn't that she was afraid necessarily, more that she just didn't want to have to deal with it. Emotionally unstable people reminded her uncomfortably of her own short comings in that department so she tended to avoid them whenever possible. Wells knew that and she wondered if it was part of the reason he was being so insistent about making up with Raven even though Clarke had clearly expressed her opinions on the matter. It would be just like him to use this opportunity with Raven to make her self reflect. Wells was sneaky that way.
"It was actually kind of great," she said, deciding that honesty was usually the best policy. The last time she'd glossed over the little details while talking to Wells, she'd ended up getting herself into a whole world of mess and she wasn't exactly anxious to have a repeat performance. "I met someone, and before you start in, I don't know anything about him. We aren't dating. I didn't get his number and we won't see each other again. It was just a nice thing that happened and now it's over," she rushed out before Wells could get a word in and then flushed when he raised an eyebrow at her.
"Okay," he said nonchalantly, but she could almost see the wheels turning inside his head. "But if it was that great, why are you hyperventilating over there?"
And there it was. That too perceptive brain of his was on overdrive trying to figure out what was going on inside her head. It was sort of exhausting, this whole trying to outsmart the smartest person she knew thing, but it was a game that she was still willing to play from time to time, if her need was great enough.
"I'm not," she said trying for an unconcerned shrug. "I just don't want you reading into something that isn't going to be a thing," she added and he nodded like he understood perfectly, but she knew before he even spoke that he wasn't totally buying it.
"Great, so what parts of it are something that's going to be a thing?" he asked and got that sly look in his eyes, the one he always got when he'd finally worked out the strategy he wanted to use. She'd seen it, or variations of it at least, in his eyes ever since they were kids. Wells was a brilliant strategist, had been since he was little, be it with board games like back then, or with complex puzzles of the human mind like he dealt with in his adult life. All those years of fitting puzzle pieces together, locked inside his stuffy, book filled bedroom, had left him with an almost inexhaustible fount of knowledge to draw on when he had a problem to solve. A problem, like what Clarke was trying to hide about her mystery date, was exactly the kind of challenge that appealed to him.
She'd never been able to outsmart him then and she doubted she would now. Rather than draw out what was bound to be a lengthy battle of words, with him trying to coax information out of her without her realizing it, she chose to cave almost immediately.
In less than five minutes, she'd told him everything, from the meeting with Finn and Lincoln's weird reaction to her mystery man, to how she'd felt dancing for the first time since her dad passed away. She even managed to squeeze in her excitement over being able to stand right in front of Lincoln without him noticing that her face was all messed up.
Make up and Octavia's surprising ability to keep a secret when it meant keeping Lincoln from strangling her brother, were amazing things. With any luck, the bruise would fade and Lincoln would never be the wiser.
All the while, Wells sat silent and still, thoughts spinning behind his warm brown eyes, but left unspoken as he allowed her to finish her story.
"So," Clarke said taking a deep breath, "aren't you off work yet? You need to get home and get some rest. You look tired," she stated again for good measure. Wells almost definitely had more questions and she doubted that he'd wait another day to ask them, but it was worth a shot.
"I'm off work, yes," he stated blandly. "Why do you think that Lincoln was acting strange around this masked savior? He's always seemed to be very perceptive in the past." Wells' face puckered as he said the words, but his discomfort didn't stop the question. Clarke knew how much it must have cost him to say something complimentary about Lincoln, so she strove to give as honest an answer as she could in recognition of his sacrifice.
"I think maybe he just didn't like the idea of me getting friendly with someone I barely knew. Really, I'm a little surprised at myself," she said frowning. "Maybe I'm just acting out because of everything that happened with Finn?"
"Maybe," Wells agreed with a nod. "Or maybe you just had a connection. There's nothing wrong with liking people or enjoying yourself Clarke. As long as you are doing it safely," he added.
"Well, like I said before, I'm not ever going to see him again so it doesn't really matter." Saying it out loud made it more real and each time the words passed her lips, a tiny bit of the magic was stolen away. Soon all she'd be left with were memories of another ordinary night, no mystery man, no stolen kisses, just another random charity event. It made her sad and it must have shown on her face, because when she looked back up, Wells was looking at her with concern evident in his gaze.
"Never say never," he said seriously as he rose from his chair with a groan. "I've got to get home to Callie and you sound like you need some time to think and regroup." He came around to drop a brotherly kiss on the top of her head and then he headed for the door. "Try not to get into anymore fights while I'm gone," he said with a smile. "That bruise still looks pretty bad ass so you don't really need anymore battle scars for a while."
She flipped him off and he laughed as he stepped into the hallway and pulled her door closed behind him. With a sigh, Clarke pulled her compact out of her purse and held it up so she could study her face. It was true, her face still looked pretty rough, but only if you knew what you were looking for. The sickly green and pale yellow of her bruise was much more easily hidden with concealer than it's black and purple predecessor. She was wearing her thick framed glasses again too, so that helped. Not that it mattered. Everyone in the prison probably knew about Raven's little visit about five minutes after it happened so there was very little use hiding it. Gossip traveled like wildfire when it was juicy enough, and with a story like hers, she'd probably be the talk to of the prison for the next five years!
With a heavy sigh, Clarke snapped the compact shut and put it away. Don't focus on the negative, don't focus on the negative. Somewhere along the way, that had become her personal motto even though most days it didn't do a damn bit of good. Not looking at a problem didn't mean you didn't have one. It was a little like hiding your face in your hands as a child and assuming because you couldn't see them, no one could see you. That is to say, it is comforting, but not very smart.
Just as Clarke was about to start rifling through files so she could get on with her day, her cell phone rang shrilly, startling her. Fishing it out of her purse, she glanced at the caller ID and smiled. Of course it was Octavia, it wasn't like she had a lot of other friends desperate to call her this early in the morning. Well, aside from Wells, but she'd just talked to him.
"What's up buttercup?" she answered with a grin.
"Oh my god Clarke! You'll never believe what happened last night," Octavia screeched.
"What happened?" Clarke prompted, shifting papers around on her desk as she waited for Octavia to spill the beans. She knew from experience that while Octavia's exuberance generally led to over sharing, which was usually entertaining, all that meandering also meant that you might have to wait quite a while before she got to the point.
"Lincoln popped the question!" Octavia squealed. If they were face timing, Clarke was positive she'd be witnessing Octavia jump up and down while trying not to explode. Clarke could almost hear Octavia's body vibrating with excitement through the phone, and she laughed.
"Congratulations!" Clarke said and genuinely meant it. Gushing wasn't really something Clarke did and she knew for a certainty that she'd never reach Octavia levels of excitement about anything, but she hoped Octavia could sense how truly pleased she was. She may not have known Octavia for long, but she'd known Lincoln for years and knew that he'd never be able to find a more perfect match. "Should I be saving a date?"
"Not yet. I haven't even told Bellamy, so please don't say anything to anyone," Octavia pleaded.
"Of course not," Clarke said quickly. She'd rather eat her own tongue than break that news! "But when are you going to announce it? Do Linc's parents know?"
"We are going to tell them tonight at dinner," Octavia said happily.
"You must have made quite an impression last night for them to already be inviting you back for dinner," Clarke said jokingly and laughed when Octavia told her to shut it.
"I'll have you know," Octavia replied haughtily, "I am fantastic." Clarke snorted, but Octavia ignored her. "I mean honestly, they are the ones that should feel privileged."
"Well you be sure to tell them that tonight at dinner," Clarke said smothering laughter. "Listen, I've got to get to work, but why don't we meet tomorrow for dinner or something?"
"That would be great because we really need to get started on your bridesmaid dress," Octavia chirped and Clarke rolled her eyes.
"Bridesmaid dress huh? I guess that means I'm for sure invited to the wedding?"
"Bitch you're going to be the maid of honor," Octavia said and Clarke outright laughed.
"If you want," Clarke agreed still laughing.
"Good, I'll text you the dinner details as soon as I get them," Octavia said quickly. "Toodles!"
Still grinning, Clarke said goodbye and slipped her phone back into her purse, making sure it was on silent this time around. Locking the drawer she kept her valuables in, she scooped up a report and headed out the door with a small smile still on her face. Octavia's news had completely turned her sour mood around and she was excited for her friend. Both of her friends, she thought with another grin as she headed down to the nurses station and asked for patient follow up files.
The morning was going okay. Patients were routine, Maya was working so there weren't any unpleasant interactions at the nurse's station, even the break room hadn't been so bad when she'd went to grab a cup of coffee. Clarke should probably have known that since things seemed to be going so well, it was inevitable that everything was about to go very wrong.
Enter Cage Wallace, a cocky, married guard who had more inmate complaints than most of the other guards combined. How he was even still working at TonDC was beyond Clarke, but apparently most of the incidents were never investigated, or if they were investigated, they were dismissed as groundless. Surprise, surprise. Clarke didn't like to think about corruption in the prison system. They were all aware that it happened, you'd have to be an idiot to miss all of it, but truthfully there wasn't much that anyone could reasonably do about it, so she preferred not think about it.
Changes would have to come from the top down not from the bottom up and she was very aware that while she wasn't at the bottom, she was also nowhere near the top. Not like Thelonious and his golf cronies.
With some change in legislation lots of things could be different, but getting a politician to care about inmates, or anything to do with inmates, was nearly impossible. Politicians cared about constituents and constituents didn't care about inmates either. It didn't matter that they were human beings, most of whom had made one terrible mistake and were paying for it with their lives. It didn't matter that overcrowding and deplorable conditions amounted to horrendous personal suffering among prison populations. The only thing that mattered to most people was the knowledge that the "bad guys" were locked up nice and tight while they sat on their suburban lawns and congratulated themselves on how clever they were for solving the crime problem in their neighborhood.
Who cared about the thousands of criminals released every year with inadequate mental health evaluations who were almost guaranteed to re-offend within the first year of their release? Why bother setting up gainful employment for ex felons when they were just going to end up right back in the system anyway? No one bothered to think about the fact that having zero prospects after prison is what turned the vast majority of inmates back to their criminal ways.
It was a never ending exercise in futility and thinking about it would give anyone a headache, and Clarke didn't need anymore headaches. All she could do was try her best to minimize human suffering while she was here and hope for change. Not that it did much good.
Regardless of how much you tried to help, there was always someone like Cage that would come in and erase months, maybe years of positive progress with one stupid, careless gesture and not give a damn about the consequences. He didn't care if the inmates hated him, because he was a guard and thought that his uniform made him invincible. Clarke had a feeling that one day he'd figure out the error in that assumption the hard way, but trying to convince someone like that of anything was nearly impossible.
Most of the staff didn't like Cage any better than the inmates, but on the same hand, who likes to complain about a coworker only to have them find out and hate you for it? No one was getting fired, especially not Cage, so people tended to keep their mouths shut. If only Clarke could do the same, but unfortunately she wasn't that type of girl.
Charlotte was having her last breathing treatment before switching to antibiotics only and Clarke was headed to an exam room to give her one final check up. On the way there, she was reading all of the latest case notes while holding the file directly in front of her face, because of course she was, when she walked right into a wall of flesh. Glancing up, she already had an apologetic smile on her lips, but it wilted the instant her eyes met his.
"Excuse me," she said, trying for polite indifference as she stepped to the side to let him pass.
"No problem little lady," Cage said with an exaggerated southern drawl.
While she wasn't positive, because she avoided speaking to Cage whenever possible, Clarke was pretty damn sure that he wasn't from anywhere in the south. His accent sounded entirely fake, almost as fake as his charm in fact, and Clarke hated it every time she heard it. Gritting her teeth, she forced a smile and nodded her head, acknowledging him and dismissing him in one movement.
Apparently being so easily dismissed pissed him off because Clarke watched with some apprehension as his face settled into a frown, not quite a glare, but damn close. His brown eyes turned hateful even though she could see he was working not to show it, and then he smirked and walked past her.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Clarke started once again toward the exam room and Charlotte, but then she heard him mutter something that sounded a lot like slut and she just couldn't ignore it.
"Excuse me, I didn't quite catch that," she said coldly, spinning on her heel to confront him. He walked all the way to the guard booth before he bothered to stop and acknowledge her and by then she was fuming.
"Don't worry about it sweetheart," he said with a sickly sweet smile that made her skin crawl.
"You better watch your mouth," she said glaring at him.
"Oh don't worry, I know all about how you handle things and I don't want any part of it," he said and smirked. Other guards were spilling out of the booth and leaning over the counter to get a good look at the excitement and Clarke could feel her cheeks flush hotter with each new set of eyes.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she gritted out, trying to remain calm.
"I think you know," he replied slyly.
"Actually I have no clue what you are talking about. What I do know is that if you don't watch your mouth, I'll be reporting you," Clarke huffed in frustration. They both knew that even if she did, it was unlikely he'd get anything more than a slap on the wrist, but it was really her only recourse. Unless she wanted to slug him.
"Well don't you just fuck your way out of problems?" he asked with a nasty sneer. "Too bad for you my wife doesn't swing that way although I'd be happy to take you in hand, teach you a thing or two if you're looking," he said and smiled as the idiots around him laughed.
Only a few, Miller and Green for sure, looked as pissed as she felt, but no one said anything in her defense. It hurt, but she understood their hesitation. It wasn't like they were friends or anything even if she had been making progress in getting to know them. They were probably just pissed on Cage's wife's behalf anyway. No one deserved to be married to a pig like him.
When Clarke's anger hazed brain finally caught up with the rest of his comment, she realized that he had implied, probably intentionally, that she'd slept her way out of the incident with Murphy. Or at least that's what she assumed he was referring to. Did that mean that everyone assumed she was sleeping with Thelonious and that's why she was allowed to stay on at the prison?
As disgusting as that was, it was even more disturbing to think they might assume she'd slept with the entire review panel! The idea of having any of those crusty old men touch her was nauseating, but apparently the idea wasn't so far outside the realm of possibility that people easily dismissed it because here this asshole was implying that very thing like it was common knowledge! No one looked shocked by the accusation, so she could only assume it had already been discussed, probably at great length.
Thinking about her coworkers sitting around gossiping about how many times she'd had to blow someone to keep her job was enough to take the wind out of her sails and all of the fight went out of her in a rush. It didn't matter that they were wrong about her, or that she'd never done anything like that in her life, all that mattered was that it was a good story. Suddenly, Clarke felt about a million years old, but she'd started this conversation and now pride demanded that she finish it. Mustering up every last bit of dignity in her body, she squared her shoulders and met every single pair of eyes in the hallway before finally coming back to Cage's cold glare.
"Unfortunately for you, I don't sleep with losers," she said, trying to sound as indifferent as possible so they wouldn't know just how much his implied accusations bothered her. The hallway was deathly silent in the wake of her jab at Cage and she turned, intending to leave it at that, but she didn't get away fast enough to keep Cage from getting in the last word.
"That's not what Raven said," he called after her and again his words were followed by laughter.
And there it was, the darkest secret she'd ever had, carelessly blurted out by a scumbag guard that didn't know a thing about her or her life, like that was totally okay. It made her want to scream, or cry. Maybe both. Clarke's emotions were rioting as she stalked away from the tittering assholes behind her. This place was worse than being back in high school!
Clarke tried to ignore the looks from the nurses station as she stormed past, they'd probably heard everything too. Their stares nibbled at her skin like thousands of tiny insects trying to burrow their way inside, but she ignored them, stiffening her spine and walking as sedately as she could manage. The distance between the guard booth and Charlotte's exam room had never seemed so long, but she managed to get there without having any kind of outburst. Before opening the door, Clarke stopped to take a deep breath and try to calm her temper. It didn't work as well as she wanted, but by the time she pushed into the room at least her face wasn't as red as a cherry tomato.
Charlotte jumped about a foot when she entered, and the scared look on her face startled Clarke. What did Charlotte have to fear inside an exam room? Clarke's mind kicked into overdrive as she took a moment to read the rest of Charlotte's body language.
The girl was pale and shaking like a leaf, but trying to hide it. Her eyes, which had flown to Clarke in a panic as soon as she opened the door, were now trained determinedly on her feet, which dangled over the edge of the exam table reminding Clarke uncomfortably of the little girl she actually was. Not even old enough to vote and already chewed up by the system. It was disgusting, disheartening, and wrong, especially considering her actual crime, but it wasn't in Clarke's power to change her situation.
Clarke couldn't reduce her sentence, she couldn't absolve her of her crimes or even choose which prison she served her time in, but she could make her stay at TonDC a little less miserable and Clarke was determined to do everything in her power to make that happen. That meant figuring out what was wrong right now. The Charlotte on her table today was completely different than the first time they'd met.
Something had happened, and since the only change in her routine that Clarke was aware of were the breathing treatments she'd ordered, that meant that whatever was bothering her had probably happened in the medical wing. Perhaps it was a little bit of a leap, but Clarke's gut was warning her that something was very wrong in this room and it made her uneasy.
"How are you Charlotte?" Clarke asked cautiously as she stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind her. Perhaps being alone would make it easier for them to talk. Not for the first time, she wished she had Wells' super human ability to ferret out what was on people's minds.
"Good," Charlotte replied, but her shoulders remained slumped and her eyes never left the floor.
"I'm glad to hear it. The nurses tell me that the breathing treatments went really well. Your O2 levels are back within normal bounds and you no longer have a cough?" Clarke asked. She already knew the answer, Charlotte's chart told her everything she needed to know about Charlotte's physical condition, but she was hoping that perhaps if she got the girl talking, she might let slip what was really bothering her.
"Yes, ma'am." Two words, that's all she got. Two words and no eye contact. Something was definitely wrong.
"How are you getting along with your cell mates?" Clarke asked taking a seat on the stool next to the exam table which put her a little below Charlotte's eye level. She was familiar with the group of women Charlotte bunked with, they weren't the kind to bully or make trouble for people, but Clarke felt it was probably best to cover all her bases before she asked any difficult questions.
"Fine," Charlotte said in a monotone, but her back was less rigid, her voice just slightly warmer, and Clarke knew she was relaxing just a little.
"No more problems with them smoking around you?" Clarke asked, making sure to pretend to be reading something in her chart so that Charlotte wouldn't feel threatened by the question. Don't mind me, I'm just asking you to rat out your cell mates, nothing to be afraid of, Clarke thought while she waited to see if Charlotte would again deny her cell mates had contraband.
"No," she said quickly, and when Clarke glanced up, she saw the girl had a small smile on her lips. That was interesting. "As soon as they found out about my breathing treatments, they all banded together to make sure no one got within thirty feet of me with anything that they thought might aggravate my condition," she said using air quotes around aggravating and condition.
"It's nice that they are looking out for you. Friends can be a valuable asset, in here especially," Clarke said thinking of Wells.
"Yeah," Charlotte agreed shyly, ducking her head as soon as Clarke met her eyes.
"So if you are feeling better and getting along with the other inmates, what's going on?" Clarke asked. She knew that if Wells were here, he'd roll his eyes and berate her for being too direct or too impatient, maybe both, but that was all she could think of to do. As much as she might like to sit in this room and talk to Charlotte for the rest of the day while slowly weeding out the problem, the prison would never allow it. She wasn't a counselor or part of the psyche team, so in the administration's eyes, she had no business asking Charlotte about her emotional well being. Like it was somehow separate from her physical health, Clarke thought frustrated, not for the first time, that they refused to consider that someone's emotions could very much effect them physically.
Charlotte's smile dropped off her face as soon as the question was out of Clarke's mouth and she felt a little bad for it, but they didn't have time to beat around the bush. If she wanted help, Charlotte needed to spill the beans sooner rather than later. Charlotte's eyes brimmed with tears and then, damning prison policy to the darkest pits of hell, Clarke reached out and wrapped the girl in her arms.
"It's okay," she murmured as she felt Charlotte's body tremble. "Whatever it is, if you tell me, I will try my best to help you," Clarke added fiercely.
"I… I can't," Charlotte whispered. She sounded so young and so scared that it nearly broke Clarke's heart.
"You can," Clarke whispered back, stroking her soft blond hair. "We'll figure it out together," she said and squeezed her tightly.
After one tense moment, where Clarke thought she was going to have to let go without an answer, Charlotte hiccuped and a sob escaped her chest. After that it was like a tidal wave. More tears than Clarke thought possible for such a small girl to hold, came pouring out of Charlotte along with a stuttering confession that made Clarke's heart stop beating inside her chest.
Dark thoughts of violence and retribution wormed their way into Clarke's brain as she listened to Charlotte's halting story of what had happened to her, and it was a physical effort not to start screaming, but Clarke kept calm and quite, knowing that wasn't what Charlotte needed. Now wasn't the time for wrath, it was the time for compassion, understanding, and most of all, listening.
It wasn't a new story. In fact, Clarke had heard this particular one more times than she ever wished to count, but there was something about Charlotte's rendition that blackened a piece of Clarke's soul, one she hadn't realized had been left untarnished. But that didn't matter, none of what Clarke was feeling mattered, because this story was about Charlotte's pain. No one's feelings mattered except Charlotte's, so Clarke pushed her anger away and offered a young girl, who deserved so much better from life, the only thing she could, her support.
As the minutes ticked by, Charlotte's tears stopped flowing and eventually she trailed off. Silence followed, with both of them knowing there was little else that could be said, but all the while Clarke's mind spun on and on behind her carefully controlled expression.
Someone had raped her. Some monster, she wouldn't say who, had used her child's body for their own sick pleasure and it made Clarke's stomach churn. After it was over, Charlotte took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, which Clarke recognized as the weight of a secret being lifted. No matter how bad someone's story, there was a certain amount of liberty and comfort to be found in sharing your burden with another and Clarke hoped that at least in that respect, Charlotte felt a little better.
Rather than pester her for details about who and how, which she was almost positive that Charlotte was unable or unwilling to share, Clarke hugged her tight one last time and then switched on the practical, detached part of her brain where all of her training as a doctor lived.
"We need to do an examination," she told Charlotte quietly, trying to be as soft as possible while her mind spun with questions. Too her relief, Charlotte only nodded.
After that, Clarke's observations turned clinical. She couldn't look at the finger shaped bruises on Charlotte's hips or the bite marks on her shoulder like a normal human being or she would fall apart, and that wasn't acceptable. It wouldn't help Charlotte for her doctor to be an emotional mess, so she called in a nurse and set about documenting the tale her injuries told.
Fading bruises whispered that this hadn't been the first time. Scabbed over lacerations on her arms, scraped knees, and broken finger nails shouted that she'd fought back, that she hadn't submitted meekly. But it was the damage seen during the most intimate of exams that screamed the true violence of her encounter and it made Clarke sick.
When she was done, Charlotte was quiet. The entire room was quiet. Maya was scribbling notes and labeling specimens tubes, but her face was sad, her shoulders slumped. Even Clarke, who'd seen dozens of similar injuries in the years she'd been working for TonDC, was finding it hard to think of something to say. Nothing would make it better for Charlotte. Words couldn't take away what had happened to her or give back what she'd lost. The best they could do was offer her pain killers and make sure that she didn't have any venereal diseases. Days like this made Clarke hate her job, actually, they made her hate the whole damn world.
Charlotte never said who had done it, so Clarke was left with little option but to assume that she could be pregnant and ask her if she wanted a dose of levonorgestrel, which she explained was an emergency contraceptive most effective in the first 72 hours after unprotected sex.
Clarke could see from the confused look in her eyes, that Charlotte had not considered the possibility that she might be pregnant. One of two things could be inferred from this. One, she could have been raped by a female inmate using an implement for the actual penetration and was therefore not going to get pregnant. Or two, the option that seemed most likely after examining her injuries, Charlotte was so traumatized by the incident and focused only on ways to stop it from happening again, that she had not stopped to consider the long term effects of her assault.
It made Clarke's heart squeeze painfully as Charlotte shakily asked if it would kill a baby if one was already conceived, confirming without saying that there was a possibility that she could in fact be pregnant and therefore was raped by a man.
While Clarke explained that no, the medicine would not kill an already forming fetus, Clarke's mind was on auto pilot. Years of medical training was carrying her through the explanation and different options Charlotte had, while the rest of her brain tumbled through lists of men that would have had access to Charlotte and could potentially be her rapist.
The easiest solution would be for Charlotte to tell them who had done this, but right now, she was too frightened to tell them much of anything. Most people didn't understand it, but not wanting to identify your attacker after being raped was actually far more common than most people thought. Something about admitting that it happened made it more real, not to mention the social stigma of declaring yourself a victim in a society where rape culture ruled and crude jokes about how bad you must have actually wanted it were not only unpunished, but expected.
Recommending her to Wells and increased surveillance were really the only things that Clarke could officially offer her in the way of reparation, but she knew exactly where she was headed as soon as the official business was taken care of. Bellamy may be an asshole, but he was good at his job and she had a feeling that something like this happening to Charlotte right under his nose, was going to really get under his skin, which was good. It would push him to find answers and then Charlotte could seek justice.
"Maya will give you something for the pain and we will set you up for additional exams," Clarke said as they finished up. "If a pregnancy test comes back positive, we will discuss your options then," Clarke said quietly and then laid a soft hand on her shoulder. She could feel Charlotte shaking through the thin material of her standard, prison issue t-shirt and wished, not for the first time, that she could do more.
No one should have to go through something like this alone, but Clarke knew that she wouldn't be able to check up on Charlotte as much as she would like. The guards didn't let her just wander up and down the hallways at her leisure and unless Charlotte had medical complications, it was unlikely that Clarke would have further contact with her in the near future. All she could do was hope that her cell mates would band together to support her. They may only be inmates to some, but to Charlotte they could be friends, friends that would get her through this. They, in addition to Wells, were Charlotte's lifeline now.
"Thank you Dr. Griffin," Charlotte said quietly as Clarke prepared to leave the room. She turned just as her hand reached the door handle and gave the girl a small smile. The raw amount of emotion Clarke saw in Charlotte's eyes was almost too hard to look at, but nothing could have made her turn away. She owed Charlotte that, to look into her eyes and tell her without speaking that she wasn't alone even if Clarke couldn't physically be there, and to assure her that she would do everything in her power to see justice done.
All of that, conveyed in one look and a single nod, and then Clarke was closing the door behind her. For a moment she stood in the hallway, taking deep breaths and blinking back tears, and then she was power walking away, towards the guard booth.
It didn't matter what Cage had said, or that the other guards had laughed. Any lingering embarrassment was the furthest thing from Clarke's mind. Only finding out where exactly in the prison Bellamy was mattered now.
"I need to speak with Captain Blake," Clarke said to the nearest guard as she stepped up to the booth. She could see several men staring at her from the rear room where multiple computer screens were set up to monitor various parts of the prison and she gave them a hard stare until they turned back around.
"Ma'am," the young guard in front of her said cautiously, almost as if he could sense how on edge she was, "Captain Blake is taking his lunch in the break room with the other guys."
"Thank you," Clarke said and started to walk away, but not before she heard someone catcall from the back. By tomorrow morning, half the prison staff would probably be starting rumors about her and the Captain, but none of that seemed significant in light of the situation with Charlotte, so she gritted her teeth and continued to walk.
The break room was mostly empty, but when she stepped inside every pair of eyes shot up. Glancing around quickly, she located Bellamy in the back corner, eating a sandwich at a table with a few other guards. They looked to have been in the middle of a conversation when she barged in, and after a moment, two of them resumed, but Bellamy's dark brown eyes were trained on her, no longer interested in what they were saying.
"Captain, I need to speak with you," she said and once again the conversation stopped. Miller froze with a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth, something that would have been comical under different circumstances, but today just wasn't.
"Okay," Bellamy said cautiously, but he didn't make a move to get up.
"In my office if you don't mind," she said firmly. Curious pairs of eyes flicked between her and their Captain, and she met every one, daring any man in the room to make a joke about the situation. For a moment nothing happened. Clarke's irritation immediately manifested into a frown which only garnered her more curious stares, but it got Bellamy moving at least.
He rose silently from his table, scooped his lunch into the trash and walked resolutely toward the door. Clarke didn't bother waiting for him once she knew he was coming. She simply turned her back and walked away, down the hall toward her office. There were no audible footfalls behind her, but that wasn't unusual for the Captain, so she didn't bother turning to check if he was following. She trusted that he knew she wouldn't invite him to her office to talk without a very great need and would therefore take the situation seriously.
Just as she suspected, he entered her office not five seconds behind her. For a moment she didn't speak, or turn towards him, she simply walked around her desk and sat down heavily. Her glasses landed on her blotter with a thump and she massaged her eyes with a sigh.
"Have a seat please," she said quietly.
Bellamy took the left chair, settling himself in with silent grace as she watched and then he raised one questioning eyebrow in her direction. From her vantage, she could see that he was gripping the arm rests tightly and that a muscle was twitching in his jaw, but nothing else betrayed what he was feeling at that moment.
"There is a situation with one of the female inmates that I need to speak with you about. Before I begin, I want to just say that I've already filled out the necessary paperwork and I will be making a call to Kane as soon as you leave my office. This isn't a secret or something that needs to be looked into clandestinely and I'm sure you will be notified again once the report filters through the appropriate chain of command, but I wanted to talk to you about it myself first," she said and raised her eyes to his.
He was looking at her strangely and she briefly wandered if she'd smeared off the concealer around her eye, but then decided she didn't really give a damn how she looked. Bellamy wouldn't care anyway and Charlotte's safety was a hell of a lot more important than her appearance.
"I wanted to talk to you first," she started again and then stopped, trying to express her feelings in the least awkward way possible, "because I knew that you would do everything you could to help her," she finished with a huff of frustration. Perhaps it wasn't the most elegant way to ask someone for help, but she felt like Bellamy would appreciate her concession for the major feat it was.
"Just tell me Clarke," he said quietly, but his tone was as serious as she'd ever heard it.
"Charlotte, one of the younger female inmates from cell block F," she said sliding the file across the desk at him as she spoke, "was attacked… she … she was raped," Clarke added, stumbling over the word. "Her physical examination showed evidence that this was not an isolated incident. It," again she paused, as her voice caught. Clarke could feel her eyes filling with useless tears and she blinked rapidly, dropping her gaze and willing them away before she continued. "It looks like it has been happening for at least a few weeks based on the fading bruises and partially healed lacerations."
Bellamy's hands, which had at first been resting flat on the arms of his chair, were now clenched into fists and his face looked like murder. Clarke stared at him while his eyes were turned away, and gave him a moment to gather himself before she continued.
"She would not, or could not," she amended quickly, "identify her attacker. I have surmised, via her emotional reaction to the possibility of pregnancy as well as her internal injuries, that she was not raped using an implement." Hopefully Bellamy would comprehend what she was saying without her having to actually say it.
"Are you thinking inmate or staff?" he asked, immediately understanding her meaning.
"I don't know, and that's why I came to you," she said staring at him across her desk. He looked grim, but determined. It was a look she was happy to see. "You know this prison inside and out, probably better than anyone here. You know who could have had access to her and I trust that you will do everything you can to see this…," she paused as she felt bile rise in her throat, "this monster… brought to justice. I can't even imagine how hard it was for her, dealing with something like this by herself all this time. I know you will make sure it doesn't happen again."
"I will do everything I can, Clarke," he said and rose from the chair. Her eyes followed him up and stayed locked with his as he prepared to leave her office. Everything about his posture spoke of years of military training, reserved, cautious, and above all, disciplined.
"I knew you would, Captain," she said and nodded her dismissal. For a moment he looked like he might say more, like he might offer a word of comfort or some reassurance like most people would, but then he turned on his heal and left. The door clicked shut behind him and Clarke let out a shaky breath.
Speaking with Captain Blake was never easy, but the call that she was about to make to Assistant Warden Kane would be more difficult still and she was trying to mentally prepare herself when a knock sounded on her door.
"Come in," she called quickly, thankful for the reprieve.
"Dr. Griffin," Maya said as she hesitantly entered the room. "I have the pictures that the forensic team took after you left," she said, passing a folder across the desk to Clarke's waiting hand.
"Maya why are you giving these to me? Shouldn't they be going to Captain Blake or into evidence or something?" Clarke questioned, not flipping the folder open as she stared up into Maya's nervous eyes.
"These are copies Dr. Griffin," Maya said wringing her hands and glancing anywhere, but at Clarke. "I thought that maybe you might see something in the pictures that you missed in the examination," Maya said and then quickly escaped the room.
Staring after her for a few seconds, Clarke set the folder down on her desk and picked up her phone. There was no more putting it off. If someone informed Kane before she did, her ass was grass, so without further ado, she placed one of the more difficult calls of her career knowing that when all was said and done, nothing might ever come of the investigation she was duty bound to initiate.
Kane thanked her for the call, expressed his commitment to finding the culprit, and then hung up before she could say more. Clarke was relieved that on the whole, her part in this drama was finished even though it made her feel guilty for feeling that way. The folder Maya dropped off caught her eye as she was stuffing papers back into Charlotte's medical file and she let her fingers skim across it's surface apprehensively before taking a deep breath, steeling her nerves, and flipping it open.
There were hand written notes and diagrams detailing specific injury locations, as well as pictures, many of them close ups of Charlotte's injuries, that were all clinical and disconnected. Nothing as personal as the victims face would ever be recorded in these cases unless the damage was to that specific area and even then they tried to make them as anonymous as possible which bothered Clarke more than she wanted to admit.
There was something about staring at those impersonal images that further dehumanized Charlotte and Clarke hated it, but what really caught her attention was the small yellow sticky note attached to the very last photo.
It was stuck to an image of one of the several bite marks dotting Charlotte's shoulders and had a message so simple and yet so stunning, that Clarke stopped breathing for a moment. She read it once, and then again, before her brain could fully process it's meaning.
Cage Wallace has been the accompanying guard for all of Charlotte's breathing treatments including the ones that required overnight stays. She has become increasingly distressed after each treatment and until today I didn't understand why. Please help her like I should have weeks ago.
The note was not signed, but there was little question in Clarke's mind as to who had written it. Maya was more observant than most of the nurses, but she was also quiet, preferring to keep her opinions to herself and Clarke had always respected that. Now, her sharp perception had made a leap that Clarke's less informed brain probably never would have and everything started clicking into place.
This afternoon when she was on her way to Charlotte's exam room, Cage had been walking down the same hall, away from the room Charlotte was in. He could very easily have been in the room with her, perhaps warning her to stay quiet, and no one would have even thought it was odd. There was nothing unusual about guards being present during exams when dealing with difficult inmates and even though Charlotte wasn't a difficult case, Clarke doubted anyone would question his being extra careful.
More and more, small pieces of the puzzle fitted themselves together in Clarke's mind. The scared look on Charlotte's face and obvious discomfort when Clarke entered the room. Cage's cocky demeanor and purposeful attempt to work her up could have been nothing more than a distraction. He may have just been trying to make her stop thinking about what exactly he'd been doing in that hallway. It made sense. Cage certainly had the creep factor down and with as many harassment complaints as he'd had throughout his career, there was enough evidence for a circumstantial case already, but that wasn't good enough.
Even if they matched dental records to the bite marks and came back with a positive match for Cage, it wasn't a guaranteed stick. Nothing short of a full confession or matching DNA samples would ensure that he spent as many years behind bars as he deserved if he actually was the man who raped Charlotte.
Clarke didn't have enough to take to Kane. A sticky note from some anonymous tipper wasn't going to impress anybody, but deep in her heart, Clarke knew that it was Cage. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to confront him, to let the whole world know what kind of monster he was, but the logical part of her brain stopped her. Just like breaking down during the exam, an emotional confrontation would not help Charlotte. In fact, it would probably hurt her case, so Clarke slipped the sticky note into her paper shredder, shut the folder full of picture and then stuffed it into Charlotte's medical file.
Standing, Clarke did the only thing she could for the moment, she picked up her keys and walked out the door of her office with her expression firmly under control. Her next patient, a woman with an unknown fungal infection on her hands and feet, probably from the showers, was waiting for her in exam room six and that was where she went.
At the end of the day, nothing had been solved, no evidence had been collected, no justice had been served. Wells hadn't even been there to help. However, Clarke had called him and made him aware of the situation that way if Charlotte refused to speak to the crisis counselors, he'd already have a back up plan.
It wasn't enough, but it was all she could do for the night so she hung up her lab coat, gathered her things, and headed for the door. She was exhausted, both her head and feet were throbbing with every step and all she really wanted to do was go home, take a bubble bath, and sleep for a solid ten hours before she had to get back up and do it all over again.
There was a group of people standing in a clump just outside the main entrance and out of the corner of her eye, Clarke noticed Bellamy peel away as she walked passed.
"Dr. Griffin," he said quietly and she stopped, turning to face him with a sigh.
She didn't want anymore from today. No more snickering over who she talked to or curious eyes marking her every move. No more avoiding people so she didn't accidentally walk in on someone talking about her. No more crushing stories of pain and horror. Today had given enough. She just wanted to go home, but after Bellamy had agreed so willingly to help her, she couldn't very well blow him off.
"What can I do for you Captain?" she asked in a defeated voice.
"I was just going to let you know that I went over patient logs and…" he paused, taking in her appearance. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice pitched low enough that no one else could hear it.
To Clarke's surprise, her eyes filled up with tears and she felt something dark and painful well up in her chest. There was a split second where she was worried that she was about to have some sort of mental break down in the prison parking lot with a bunch of Bellamy's buddies watching, but then she felt a firm pressure at her elbow. It wasn't a lot, but that small touch from one human being to another was enough to help her pull it back together long enough to get to her car and get the hell out of there.
"I'm fine, Captain," she said pulling her arm gently out of his grasp, but not before she noticed that he had angled his body so that no one could see what he had just done. "I'm… I'm so sorry, but I have to go."
"Clarke…" Bellamy said reaching for her again, but she was already spinning away, walking quickly toward her car and freedom. He didn't follow, but as she drove out of the lot, she could see him in her rear view mirror, standing alone where she'd left him and staring after her.
It was such and odd occurrence, so different from their usual encounters, that she almost couldn't believe that it had actually happened. Then again, this whole day had been full of strange, and mostly painful encounters, so maybe it was just something in the atmosphere. One thing was for certain; she couldn't dwell on it. There wasn't anymore space left inside her head at the moment, so she turned on the radio and spent the rest of the drive into the city alternately crying and singing to make herself feel better.
By the time she arrived at the loft, her eyes were red and puffy and she was certain that her makeup was a mess, so she was thankful that she managed to make it inside without anyone seeing her, but just as she was about to pour herself a glass of wine and run a bath, her cell phone rang.
Clarke thought about letting it go to voice mail, but in the end, she glanced at the caller ID, saw that it was Octavia, and couldn't bring herself to ignore it.
"Hey," Clarke said, plopping down on a bar stool and filling a wine glass to the brim. "How did telling Linc's parents go?"
"It went great!" Octavia said with a little squeal. "We just got back actually and I couldn't wait to tell someone about it…" she said, embarking on a fifteen minute conversation about how beautiful dinner was and how nice Lincoln's parents were to her before she stopped long enough for Clarke to speak again.
"That's wonderful," Clarke said as she sipped at her glass. In truth she was a little surprised that Lincoln's parents had been so accepting of the situation. They weren't exactly known for being open minded, or at least not from the way Lincoln always spoke about them. But then again, people often perceive their parents much differently than they actually are.
Sometimes it's hard to see that your parents are people too after years of seeing them only as authority figures. Not that she thought Lincoln was wrong either. You could see just from the Senator's politics and his wife's charity work that they were very conservative in their views.
It seemed unlikely that they would have so quickly capitulated to their only son, whom they'd always been very protective of, marrying someone who's background would be deemed "colorful" by people like Linc's parents, or her own mother. Clarke was happy that Octavia was so happy, but a part of her mind, the suspicious part, began to wonder why things had gone so smoothly.
"Yeah it was great!" Octavia said again with so much enthusiasm that Clarke couldn't help but smile. "We'll tell you all about it at dinner tomorrow."
"Oh okay. I have to work until seven," she reminded Octavia as she rinsed her glass and walked toward the bathroom.
"That's cool. So does Bellamy."
"Bellamy?" Clarke stuttered as she stopped dead in her tracks. She played back their conversation in her head and tried to figure out how to make any kind of sense out of the sudden insertion of Bellamy, but she couldn't. Clearly she'd missed something along the way.
"Yeah…" Octavia said awkwardly, and Clarke could hear Lincoln's voice in the background before she rushed on. "I invited Bellamy too because, well we need to tell him and I thought he might take it better if we did it over dinner. In public," she clarified before falling silent.
"Right, well as it turns out I have to have my spleen removed tomorrow after work so I'm not going to be able to make it." Clarke dead panned.
"Oh come on Clarke. Please," she said drawing out her plea like little kid. Clarke pictured her stamping her foot and almost laughed… almost.
"Octavia I really feel like you should tell your brother about this on your own," Clarke said with a sigh. "I mean, if you think he's not going to take it well," and that was the understatement of the century, Clarke thought, "you should probably do it at home… where he can only break his own things," she finished with a half hearted laugh.
"No, Lincoln wants to do this together. Bellamy already knows we're dating. It's going to be fine," Octavia said, but Clarke could hear the uneasiness in her voice.
"Well if it's going to be fine why do you need me there? Couldn't we just have dinner together on another night? You guys aren't eloping to Vegas or anything so we have plenty of time to talk about the wedding later." Clarke desperately didn't want to get in the middle of whatever blow out Bellamy and Octavia were about to have, and while she loved Lincoln and wanted the best for both of them, she couldn't see their announcement going over well with Octavia's insanely overprotective brother.
"We just thought," again she heard Lincoln in the background. "Okay I just thought," obviously clarifying that Lincoln wanted no part in this, "that Bellamy wouldn't act like such an idiot if you were there because of how the two of you are."
"What do you mean how we are? We literally never get along or agree on anything," Clarke said, trying to push memories of Bellamy's warm fingers grasping her elbow out of her head. There was something familiar about his touch that had unsettled her, and she desperately didn't want to think about it at the moment.
"Well I think he might be embarrassed to act like a lunatic in front of you."
"I can assure you that Bellamy will act exactly like Bellamy regardless of whether I'm there or not." Clarke said in exasperation. Her already frayed nerves couldn't take a dinner date from hell with Bellamy. Not today, not tomorrow, preferably not ever!
"Oh Clarke, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even asked you to do this," Octavia said and sighed.
The melancholy in her voice was in such contrast to her earlier jubilation that Clarke felt her heart squeeze painfully with regret. As a friend she should be doing all she could to make Lincoln and Octavia's announcement as joyous as possible and if that meant sitting at a table with Bellamy while they broke the news, it was really the least she could do. That realization did nothing to quell her nervousness, nor did it change her opinion of how Bellamy would react regardless of her being there, but it gave her the courage to bite the bullet and commit the dinner.
"I will come," Clarke said in defeat, "but if things get really bad I'm leaving!"
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Octavia squealed.
"Tell me when and where," Clarke said with a sigh.
When she was finished with the details, Octavia ended the call and Clarke realized that she was still standing in the hallway where she'd stopped in the middle of heading for the bath. Rather than continuing on, she turned around and headed straight back to the kitchen for another glass of wine. One was definitely not going to be enough to push thoughts of tomorrow's impending disaster out of her mind long enough for her to fall asleep!
END NOTES:
So, after the last chapter I was pretty discouraged with this story as you might have been able to tell from the angry A/N at the end. In hindsight, I regret leaving that note and will probably edit it in the future. Taking a break seemed like a good idea at that time, however, I had no intention of fully abandoning this story. Unfortunately, life had other plans for me.
Lets just suffice to say that I had a significant medical event. I spent the better part of a month in the hospital shortly following my last post, and I have wasted the last year and a half recovering. During that time, I had no interest in writing, I had no interest in a lot of things to be honest, but a few months ago I was finally released to go back to work and I'm trying to get back into the groove of things. I would like to return to as much normality as I can and I hope this story, however silly it might seem, can help me do that.
That being said, it has been a long time and I am legitimately worried about the continuity of this fic. In addition, I'm also concerned about the tone changing, as I myself have changed. I had written a little ahead before everything happened, as I am used to doing in all of my work, so hopefully there won't be an abrupt change between last chapter and the rest of the story, but I can't promise anything.
If I'm being truthful, I didn't watch the latest season of The 100 for a long time (for a multitude of reasons) and when I did finally see it, I was more interest in the relationship between Roan and Clarke than Bellamy and Clarke. I know, I know! Please don't hate me! I haven't left the Bellarke fandom, I promise, although I might write a separate fic for all of my King Roan ideas! Not now though. For now, I am going to try to finish this one. The only reason that I mention the TV series at all with this being a strictly AU fic, is that I do draw inspiration from the show (obviously) and I'm not sure how this new development will flavor my writing. I don't want to say that I've fallen out of love with Bellarke, but I've certainly flirted with other fandoms!
I'm sure many of you have figured out by now that this is a beast of a story and while I've mapped out the broad strokes, I still have a ways to go before we reach the end. If any of you are wondering what to expect from this fic or trying to figure out if you should still be here, I have only one thing to say. Slow burn. I can't say it enough. There will be hit and miss romantic encounters, and I've never exactly shied away from smut, but you should not be reading this expecting to dive right into bed with them. Most of you probably know that by now, but for those of you who are new, I very much enjoy relationship dynamics between my characters and have no immediate plans to turn this into lemon city. Also, be aware that there are small time jumps in our future and several flashback style scenes that may be different than you are used to reading in my particular writing. Most of these things have been planned from the beginning. I very rarely write anything without a clear idea of where I'm going, but just know that they will be happening and try not to over think it.
As for what you can expect from me... I don't really know. I still do physical therapy four times a week and have a lot of things left to overcome. I still have a job and a family and I can't be certain that my writing speed will be what it was before all of this happened, but I'm hopeful about what progress I can make. A lot of where we go from here will depend on feedback from you. This story is a labor of love and I originally set out writing it as a way to improve myself, so I doubt I will every stop writing it completely, but there is no reason to update a dead fic on this, or any other website.
Again, if the tone of this story changes abruptly or there is far more angst that you remember, I am sorry. I've been to some pretty dark places in the past year and I'm sure that the on and off writing I've done since my last update will reflect that. I hope that the story will evolve naturally, as there was always going to be a darker side to this tale, but I am worried that I may lose some people along the way if we travel too deep inside what the human brain can be like when you are depressed. So... it's going to bleak for a bit, that was always part of the plan, but I will try to bring as much levity as possible when the story allows for it.
Thank you for reading this, thank you for staying with me and prepare yourself for turbulence!
