Wow. Most of you know how long it has been, but I won't get into that. Instead, I want to thank everyone who has continued to tell me how much they love this story and has been patiently (mostly, but I don't blame you) waiting for me to continue.
Rest assured, this is going to continue.
For anyone who is screaming at me "They haven't even met yet!", this chapter ends Act 1. Next chapter begins where the Pilot begins. And we're going down to Earth. Hell yeah!
Again, thank you so much to everyone who has commented and sent me your messages. You have no idea how much I love each and every one. And special thanks goes out to my girlfriend, without whom this either would have been written faster or not at all, but who without a doubt made it a better chapter.
Clarke was early, and there were already people who were clearly intoxicated. She didn't need to be in the medical program to see it, but she found herself studying the more obvious drunks with an almost clinical eye. Either they came from rich families – which, judging by the clothes, she didn't think was the case—or this was the product of a very illegal still.
One scrawny boy, who didn't look more than 13, stumbled into her, laughing at a joke only he could hear. He put his hand on her shoulder to steady himself, and Clarke fought the urge to push him off.
"Hey, hey, welcome! I don't think I've seen you this way before." The boy smiled widely, and Clarke wondered where his aviator goggles had come from, and why he thought they would make a good mask for a masquerade.
"No, I'm… from another station." The boy nodded mindlessly, his body moving with the force of his bobbing head. Clarke discretely tried to take a step away but stopped when he leaned with her and looked like he was going to topple over. "Are you okay?"
"What? Yeah, I'm great!" He nodded again. Clarke looked around them, searching for some sort of escape. An even shorter boy caught sight of them from across the room and widened his eyes. Clarke sighed softly in relief as he started towards them. "So hey, how would you like some of the best refresher-mints you've ever had in your life?"
Clarke winced as he leaned in further, the strength of whatever he'd been drinking hitting her in the face. "I'm good, thanks."
"Mmm, you sure?" Clarke nodded. "That's cool, that's cool. I'm Jasper, by the way." He puffed out his chest, then jumped a little as a hand hit his shoulder. Clarke smiled gratefully at the newcomer, taking the opportunity to duck out from under Jasper's hold.
"Jas, hey, maybe we should sit down?" Jasper turned to the other boy, his grin widening as he threw his arms out in gleeful welcome.
"Monty! My man, my bro, my buddy old pal." Monty laughed a little at the welcome, then shook his head, trying to guide his friend a few steps from Clarke.
"Yeah, right," Monty muttered softly. "I hope we didn't make a bad batch." He bit his lip, then gave an apologetic smile to Clarke. "Um… you're okay, right? Could you maybe pretend you didn't see this?"
Clarke hesitated. This was a little much even for her to look the other way, but it wasn't like she didn't have her own secrets. She nodded slowly, feeling better about it with the obvious relief on Monty's face. Jasper threw his arm over his friend's shoulder, leaning heavily into him. "Hey, don't be so rude to the pretty girl. We were just getting to know each other."
Clarke shared a look with Monty, and they both smiled at their similar expressions. "It's nice to meet you," Monty said, helping Jasper to take a step back. "Maybe we'll run into each other some other time?"
That was… probably not going to happen. Especially if this sort of thing was normal for these two. She had enough to worry about. Clarke hesitated, then saw Bellamy Blake appear cautiously from around the corner and immediately her entire focus shifted. "Yeah… maybe." She said, distractedly. "Nice to meet you too."
It didn't take much for Clarke to completely forget about those boys. Not when Bellamy was looking around, head down, and Clarke could see him motioning behind him carefully. For someone who was so interested in not looking suspicious, he wasn't exactly doing a good job.
She wound her way through the now bigger crowd of teens who had taken the chance to let go and dance, never losing sight of the older teen. From behind him stepped a younger girl, arms covered in sleeves frayed at the cuffs and a mask on her face. Clarke stopped walking as she saw the hint of grey peek out from her collarbone, but neither of them seemed to notice. The girl was too in awe of everything, wide-eyes clear even from this distance and with the mask. And Bellamy… he was looking at her like he was experiencing the world anew through her eyes.
Clarke was frozen in the middle of the dance floor, watching the two. It felt like she was intruding on a private moment, even just witnessing this. After a moment, though, Bellamy's eyes lifted and caught hers, expression immediately changing into something more serious. He reached out for the younger girl's arm, holding her back a little. When the girl turned, he leaned in to whisper something to her and nodded towards Clarke.
That was all that Clarke needed to shake out of her stupor. This was what she'd come for, after all, but as she took her first step, a hand grabbed her arm from behind.
Clarke whirled, mind racing between fight and flight, only to find Wells standing there. His hands reached up in apologetic surrender at the fury on her face.
"Whoa, hey, it's just me," he said. Clarke rested a hand over her chest, calming herself, and chanced a glance back towards the people she'd actually come to meet. Bellamy had pulled the girl even closer to him and was watching Clarke carefully. He tilted his head and gave her a look, clearly questioning. When her eyes widened in helpless apology, he made a motion for her to get rid of this new obstacle, and Clarke swallowed as she turned back to Wells. "You didn't show and your mom told me you'd come here instead."
Biting her lip, Clarke fought the urge to fidget. "Yeah, I was getting sick of the usual play and thought I'd see what other kids usually do instead." Wells stared at her as if he knew she was up to something, but couldn't figure it out yet. Clarke loved Wells, she really did, but he would not approve of what she was actually here for. "Hey," she said, seizing upon something to distract him, "you didn't wear a mask."
Wells blinked, reaching up to his face. "Oh, yeah. I didn't really think about it."
"Well, you've got to get one," Clarke insisted. She waggled her finger at him. "Can't be at a masquerade without a mask." She reached for his shoulder and gently turned him around, urging him to go back to his quarters. Wells looked over his shoulder at her and gaped. "Then it would just be an… err… raid."
Even Clarke winced at that one.
Wells let himself be pushed a couple steps forward out of sheer confusion before he managed to plant his feet. Clarke pushed up against his immobile back and sighed quietly, then put on as innocent a smile as she could muster when he turned around. "Now wait a minute. Why are you trying to get rid of me? First you didn't invite me and now you don't want me here."
Clarke's face fell. "No, Wells, it's not that I don't…"
"You're meeting someone, aren't you?" Clarke felt her heart seize in her chest, her face freezing as she tried desperately not to look guilty. Wells brow furrowed. "Is it your…" His voice lowered, and he leaned in close to talk to Clarke quietly over the music. "Are they here? Your soul mate?"
Clarke froze again, this time for another reason. Wells looked excited now, and he looked around them as if he could spot this mysterious soul mate somewhere among the dancers. "Isn't that dangerous? Out here in the open?" Wells didn't seem to notice that Clarke wasn't responding at all. "But everyone has masks. This would be the perfect time."
A glance to the other side of the room and Bellamy Blake was scowling at the back of Well's head like he would burn a hole through it if he could. He saw Clarke looking and gave her an impatient glare of her own. Clarke sighed softly, trying to calm her racing heart. The girl Bellamy had come with didn't seem bothered, at least. She had pulled away from the older teen in order to join in on the dancing.
"Clarke," Wells called her name and Clarke shook her head, trying to refocus.
"Wells, it's not… no," she tried to come up with some sort of explanation but fell short. "It's not like that."
The way Wells' face fell made her chest hurt again. "So you really just didn't want me here."
"No!" Clarke reached forward for his arm, but he pulled away and took a half step back. He shrugged, clearly dejected.
"You could have just told me, Clarke."
"Wells, I swear, it's not like that."
"Looks like that to me," he said. He turned to go, and Clarke struggled with herself. On the one hand, she didn't want to hurt her oldest friend like this, but on the other, with him gone she would be able to actually go meet Bellamy and that girl like she'd been planning to.
Clarke opened her mouth, still uncertain of her response, but was saved from making a decision by the sudden clang of warning sirens.
"Solar event. Please head to designated safety zones."
The teens around them murmured in disappointed tones, although no one was particularly worried. This sort of thing did happen. Apparently no one was moving fast enough, though, because Clarke watched as the guards assigned to this little party suddenly moved in through the crowd.
"Everyone present your chips for scanning and get to the nearest safety zone!"
Someone cut the music.
Wells had stopped moving and had turned back to Clarke again. There was still that look of hurt bordering on anger, but even that would never match how much Wells cared about her. Clarke felt even worse.
"Come on. If we hurry we can probably get back to Alpha station."
"Please present your chip for—hey, what's this?" A guard's voice rose above the din of the crowd, followed quickly by the voice of Bellamy Blake, sounding on the verge of frantic. Clarke whirled to face them, standing on tiptoes when she couldn't see the boy over the crowds.
"Sir, I'll take care of this and find out what's going on."
Some people shifted and now Clarke could see an older guard with one hand on the wrist of the younger girl that Bellamy had brought with him. The other hand roughly pushed at the neckline of her shirt, even as she struggled, wide-eyed and clearly terrified, to get away.
With the motion, though, Clarke was able to see as even more of that telltale gray was exposed, continuing towards the girl's shoulder.
"Clarke! We've gotta go!" Wells reached for her again, although he stopped short of actually grabbing her this time.
"Wells, she…"
"You," the guard said gruffly, sparing a brief glance to Bellamy before focusing on the girl again. "Go get the guard captain." Clarke watched as Bellamy's hand tightened on the shock baton at his waist, his entire body taut. "Well, what are you waiting for, cadet?"
"Sir, please. She's clearly been working in mechanical or agro. I don't think this is a case that needs to be brought to the Captain's attention."
"What's going…" Clarke jumped as Wells appeared right next to her. She hadn't realized that she'd taken steps forward until he was suddenly right next to her. "Oh wow. Oh man, she's got one too."
"Cadet, that isn't your call to make. Go get the Captain. Or do I have to write you up for insubordination?" The girl in the guard's hold had lost her fight and now just stared at Bellamy, terror in her face as she pleaded silently for him to help her. Bellamy looked like he was contemplating doing something incredibly stupid, like threatening a member of the guard.
Clarke took another step forward, but was stopped as Wells put an arm in front of her. "Clarke, what are you doing?" He whispered into her ear.
"Wells, we have to do something."
"Do something?" Wells urged Clarke back a step. "Clarke, what do you think they're going to do to her?"
Clarke took her wide eyes off of the scene in front of her in order to turn her face towards Wells. "Wells, do you know what they do to other people like me?"
Wells blinked, then slowly shook his head. "What? But you're…"
Clarke grimaced. Wells trailed off.
"Michaels," the guard's voice called above the crowd. A guard who had been scanning chips to account for the teens who hadn't yet left the area turned and moved towards the scene, sensing the urgency. Clarke realized how few other people were still here, and was again aware of the sirens still going off around them, warning of the imminent solar flare. Wells didn't take his arm away from her, but he watched in confusion as well. "Please restrain Cadet Blake." There was more movement, and Clarke and Wells could see the beginnings of true fear on Bellamy's face.
"No, please," he begged. It was clear he couldn't decide whether to advance or run away at this point, but the decision was made for him as the other guard pulled his hand back and away from the baton he'd still been clutching at his hip. "She didn't do anything."
"Bellamy…" The girl finally spoke, her voice a terrified whisper.
"Please!" Bellamy pulled against the other guard's hold. Clarke watched it all and felt a heart-wrenching dread settle in her chest. Another guard stepped into the room, drawn by the commotion, and Clarke suddenly realized how few people were left out here in the open.
Wells tugged at her again. "Clarke, we have to go."
The girl in the mask looked up and met Clarke's gaze. Clarke sucked in a breath at the emotion there and felt the full weight of just how helpless they all really were. Wells pulled her back a few steps and Clarke stumbled with him, not tearing her gaze away. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, just loud enough for her own ears to hear. The girl seemed to understand, though, her eyes filling with tears. Then their connection was cut as the new guard stepped between them.
Clarke felt her chest heave with the emotion, but she had no time to process as Wells pulled her away. "We have to go now."
She didn't fight him this time. One more glance, and Clarke watched as the third guard took out his shock baton in the face of a now almost wild Bellamy Blake. She turned away. She didn't let herself think about it as Wells guided her away. Didn't let herself think about anything at all.
"Did you know her?"
"No."
"What are they going to do with her?"
"…"
"Clarke?"
"What they do with all of us. Make the problem go away."
Pain. She'd never felt pain in a dream before, but there was no other word for it. She clutched her side, knowing that the ribs were bruised. A split lip stung when she licked at it. When she stood up straight, an effort when it felt like it would be so much easier to just buckle to the ground, her knees and shins ached.
But she did stand, proud and tall. Defiant.
The tall blonde girl in front of her laughed at her from across the ring where she leaned against her staff, eyeing her up and down as if she expected her to fall face first into the dirt at any time. So much dirt. Dirt and grass and trees in all directions. Clarke took a deep breath, the smell of pine, earth, and the coppery smell of blood strong.
"You still haven't landed a hit on me," the blonde said, speaking in that strange but familiar language. Trigedasleng, her brain supplied. "Maybe you should just stay down next time. It's not like you'd ever win the Conclave anyway, not with those sticks you call arms."
Clarke bared her gritted teeth, lips pulling back into a grimace that stung even more. She clutched tightly to her own staff, feeling the worn wood in her palms. Without saying a word, she pulled it in front of her to get back into a ready stance. The blonde raised a brow, lazily straightening herself and twirling her staff in a slow circle.
"I see. You just like the pain." The blonde set herself into her own ready stance and then lifted her chin, inviting her to begin.
Her body moved on instinct, and Clarke could feel an awareness of her surroundings that she'd never experienced in her waking hours. She stepped lightly to the side, beginning a slow circle that the other girl matched. The breeze blew through her hair, throwing wisps of brown hair into her face that had escaped from her braid, but she paid them no mind. Nothing would distract her from her goal.
She lashed out with her staff in a testing first move, hearing the satisfying crack of wood on wood and feeling the way the shockwave reverberated through her hands and arms. The other girl hit hard, even on the defense, but it was a familiar sensation. She barely even paused before she was testing lower, a feint towards her leg. The blonde stepped out of the way, clearly anticipating the move, but Clarke switched direction without hesitation. She swept up with the staff, wincing at the pain in her shoulder from a previous hit, and managed to smack the tail end of her opponent's braid as she twirled out of the way.
Quickly, she twirled herself, knowing the attack was coming from the other side. She struggled not to panic, trusting her own reflexes to get control of the staff again and bring it exactly where she needed it to hear that crack of the wood as the other girl went for a punishing attempt at her side. Grunting as her feet struggled to maintain their purchase in the dirt, she pushed back against the staff and then retreated just out of the other girl's reach.
The blonde didn't even look winded, but Clarke struggled not to limp with the pain in one of her legs. It hurt enough that Clarke was sure she would be curled up on the floor under any other circumstances, but in this dream she just grit her teeth, showing the other girl only a hint of her agony.
There was the barest hint of approval in the taller girl's face, but it filled her chest with warmth nonetheless. Until suddenly she was the one on the defense, just barely avoiding a flurry of attacks and scrambling to get her guard up. A swipe to her head nearly knocked her out, but the way the sound echoed in her ear and the resulting deafness didn't leave her unscathed. She ducked under the staff, desperately trying to get her staff up in time to get her opponent from behind, only to feel the sharp pain of a literal boot to her ass. Then she was sprawled out in the dirt again, clenching her teeth against the pain in her nose as she felt it now gushing into the dirt.
She couldn't tell if it was broken or not. All she knew was that everything hurt.
Yet somehow, incredibly, she reached out with trembling arms and pushed herself up yet again, ignoring the pool of black growing beneath her. She straightened up slower this time, and did her best to keep from wobbling as she turned to meet her opponent face to face once more.
The blonde was leaning against her staff again, but there was a hint of a smile. Clarke's grip tightened on her staff and she set herself back into position.
"Soulon, you're about to fall over." Clarke's spine stiffened, the grimace settling onto her face again. Lonely one. The title caused a chill to run through her, and she found herself struggling against nausea on top of everything else. "Even if you somehow managed not to die, you know the people would never accept you anyway. Give up."
"Never," she found herself responding, the conviction in her voice evident despite the unfortunate way her nose injury warped her voice. "I'm strong. I deserve this chance just as much as any of them. Even if I have to do it alone." She lifted her jaw. "Again."
The blonde stood still, thumb rubbing at the wood of her staff as she continued to study Clarke.
"Anya, again!" Clarke took a deep breath, then shook her staff once in emphasis, expression determined. She still ached, but by sheer force of will, she remained steady.
Anya smiled. The sight of it completely changed her usually severe face. "Yes. There it is. Hold onto this. Remember it." She stood, fingers flexing their grip on her staff and readying herself again. "When there are those who would call you broken, remember that you are the one who is whole."
Clarke's eyes widened, stance faltering the slightest bit before training took over and she was steel once again. Whole.
"Again, Lexa."
"Again."
"Clarke?"
Clarke startled awake. She groaned, her whole body aching for one long moment. Then she reached up, rubbing at her face as her muscles relaxed one by one.
"What are you doing out here on the couch, kiddo?"
The stillness of the forest was replaced with the hum of machinery, and when Clarke opened her eyes, she squinted uncomfortably in the harsh fluorescent lighting. The face of her father slowly swam into view.
"Dad?" Clarke looked around, then at her hand. She was initially struck by how different it looked. No callouses, no black, just soft, pale skin. Black? Then she blinked again at the grit that covered her fingers. Dirt?
"You smudged your make-up there." Jake laughed softly, then stood up from where he'd crouched down to wake her up. "Let me find a rag."
Clarke stared at the hand, dumbfounded for a second, before her awareness returned. She'd fallen asleep on the couch after talking to Wells about the Masquerade. He'd been upset, and Clarke had been pale and exhausted.
Symptoms of shock, her medical training whispered. She probably shouldn't have been left alone.
Once he'd left, she'd dropped down onto the couch, too emotionally drained to do much more than stare at the wall. Apparently, she'd fallen asleep.
Her dad came back into the room and handed her one of the rags he used when he tinkered with his electronics. "Is your bed getting lumpy again? This old couch can't be much better."
"No, I…" Clarke wiped at her hand, blinking. Her body was sore now, but only the kind of sore that came with sleeping in strange positions. She couldn't shake the strange feeling of being in two different places at once, though. "I was tired after the dance. I guess I didn't make it to bed."
"Did you hear? They discovered a second."
Clarke slowly lowered her fork to her tray, her chewing slowing as she caught the snippet of conversation from the table next to her.
"I did. Aurora Blake. Did you know her? I always thought there was something off about her."
"I didn't, although my husband used her for his mending. We'll have to find someone else now."
It'd only been two days since the masquerade, but sitting here and listening to this, knowing what she did, Clarke felt like she'd aged ten years. They were talking about a woman's death like this sort of thing was normal, to be expected. Like a family hadn't been torn apart.
Clarke could still see the pleading look on that girl's face. Her grip on her fork tightened.
"That isn't even the worst of it, though. Julie's son was at the party where they found her. He said…" Clarke turned to watch the woman lean in closer to her friend, voice lowering dramatically. "You've heard about the rebels, right?"
Clarke's knee almost hit the underside of the table. She quickly turned back to her food, putting a forkful of tasteless… something in her mouth and chewing mechanically.
The other made a soft sound of noncommittal agreement. It wasn't something usually discussed in public. That didn't deter the gossiper, though.
"This girl was one of them." She sounded almost delighted at the news, the particular kind of cruelty that was enjoying other peoples' misfortune and scandal. Clarke felt sick. "Covered in tattoos, he said."
The room had gotten quieter. Or maybe that was just Clarke's imagination, but she could clearly hear the sharp intake of breath from the other woman. Clarke chewed more, swallowed painfully. Something cold and sharp clutched her chest.
"I wouldn't be surprised if Aurora was the ringleader." The woman continued, oblivious to the tension in the room. "She already proved she didn't care about the laws, hiding a second. And for so long? What was she going to do when she was full grown?"
"Bianca…"
"Stage a coup, maybe?" The woman didn't even pause at her friend's quiet cautious warning. "She already got her first in with the guard cadets."
Clarke inhaled slowly through her nose. The pressure in her chest was getting more painful. The woman's words were reminding her of all those days spent in her quarters, confined. Of looking at those jars of beige, knowing that this was her future. Or all the children that were in solitary, of however many adults might have been floated, just for this.
Of a girl on the ground, hiding in the trees as she watched someone glowing with pride at her tattoos. Of the way she stood her ground, got back up, demanded the right to exist and thrive. Clarke let go of her fork to rub at the back of her neck, feeling it burn with that same cold fury.
"I'm sure the council is considering every angle. If these rebels really do exist…"
"There aren't any rebels."
If the cafeteria hadn't been silent before, it was now. Clarke didn't even realize that that low, almost growl had been her, until she looked up and saw the scandalized faces of two middle-aged woman focused on her.
"Excuse me?"
Maybe Clarke would have backed down in any other circumstances, but she was just so angry. Sometimes she still thought that maybe these dreams were just wishful thinking and there really were rebels. Maybe her soulmate was planning on a coup, on changing life on the station forever. But right now, in this moment, she was suddenly completely sure.
"There aren't any rebels," she repeated. "The council is just… scared."
There was shuffling on the edge of Clarke's vision, but she was focused on these women. These representations of everything that Clarke was fed up with.
The loud one, Bianca, scoffed at Clarke's words. "And who exactly are you?"
The other woman narrowed her eyes. "You're Dr. Griffin's daughter. Does she know you're talking like this?"
"You're lucky you are her daughter," Bianca said, lips pursed in disapproval. "Talk like that could get you in trouble."
"Like your conspiracy theories?" Clarke clenched her jaw. "Talking about rebels and a coup. If there are any rebels, why haven't they been found?" Bianca looked completely taken aback. Clarke stood up, her chair scraping against the floor loudly. She leaned over the table towards her, hands splayed against the worn metal and nostrils flaring. "Where are they?"
"Sit down, dear," the other woman said, tone soft. She looked between Clarke and the open door nervously, but all Clarke could hear was patronizing.
"That girl wasn't a rebel. I doubt she was even 14. She was just scared, like all of them are. She didn't ask for the markings." Clarke could feel herself getting louder, but at this point she didn't care. "None of them did. And now they're criminals? Isn't having a soulmate supposed to be a good thing?"
"What they are doing is illegal," Bianca said. "Whether it's them or their… soulmate. It's illegal, and they know it. Just the fact that they have them is proof of that." Clarke shook her head, then picked up a napkin from the table in a sudden fit of inspiration.
"They haven't found any rebels because there aren't any rebels," Clarke said, and held up the napkin. She took a deep breath and wiped at her face, smearing off some of her concealer. It wasn't until the second swipe that there were gasps from around the room, and Clarke took that as an indication to step up onto her seat and continue.
Bianca and the other woman, apparently terrified of this small girl on a chair, scrambled back out of their seats and put some distance between them. "The Chief's daughter…"
Clarke continued to furiously wipe at her face, folding the napkin to find more clean fabric to work with. "We didn't ask for this, but this isn't a bad thing. Think about it! We can't find any rebels, but here are the markings. Look at it!" She opened her arms, the streaks of dark gray standing out starkly on her face, even if she hadn't done a perfect job of cleaning it. They must have been in full splendor today, because Clarke could see the way people recoiled. She swallowed, but continued. "If we can't find them, out here where literally no one can escape, then they're not here. So where are they?"
There were low voices from the doorway, and Clarke turned to watch as a trio of guards pushed their way through the frozen bystanders. For the first time, a frisson of fear swept down her spine, but Clarke didn't stand down. There was no going back from this.
"They're on Earth," she said, finally saying out loud what she felt in her heart of hearts. The guards came closer, and Clarke could hear the crackle of a shock baton as one cautiously readied it. "They're on Earth," she continued, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks as she desperately tried to make someone hear her. She met the eyes in the crowd, watching one by one as they either looked at her in shock or turned away. "They're waiting for us. And we can go home."
"Get down from the chair, Clarke," a low voice said from the doorway. Clarke looked up to see Thelonius Jaha, face like stone and every bit of the Chancellor he was. There was no trace of her best friend's father in his expression. "You've had your say. Get down."
Clarke trembled, suddenly feeling young and helpless again. A guard approached her, and for now, reached out as if to help her down. She slowly shook her head, standing up straight. A whisper in her mind. "Give up." "Never."
"Why don't you look to the ground? Are you afraid? We could go home."
The guard looked to Jaha, whose face had grown even colder. He nodded, and now the guard was not so gentle. He grabbed for Clarke's hand, pulling her down and ignoring her sharp cry as she toppled forward. She tried to fight, tried not to give in, but she wasn't built for this. She thrashed in their hold as they dragged her away, but quickly tired herself out despite her fury and desperation.
"We're not rebels! Let me go." Clarke tried to bite at a hand over her mouth. "Let me go!" But she was muffled. Just like all the others. She cried, making half-hearted efforts to escape, but knowing that she had lost.
"Go back about your business." The cool voice of Jaha addressed the crowd.
Clarke closed her eyes.
They put her in a cell. Solitary.
Clarke hadn't been expecting anything else. Jaha had said as much that day in their quarters, hadn't he? This is what they did to make the problem go away. They hid them in holes where no one could find them and didn't let them out.
For a prisoner in solitary, though, she had more than her fair share of visitors.
"What were you thinking, Clarke? I can't… they're calling you a rebel. As a member of the council, I can't be seen as playing favorites."
"…"
"Clarke? Baby. I can't get you out. Why did you do it?"
"Are they thinking about Earth at all?"
"What? Clarke, you know it's not safe."
"Go home, Mom."
"Clarke! We can't afford that sort of false hope to get out. You know what could happe—"
"Go home."
"Is it true? That there are people down there?"
"Who are you?"
"No one important. Have you talked to them? Do you know them?"
"I know they're there, and I think I… maybe. I could talk to them."
"I know someone in engineering. Maybe we could—"
"Hey, kid! What are you doing here?"
"Oh shit."
"Clarke, I… I got my dad to let me come see you."
"Oh Wells. I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but…"
"Yeah. Yeah, that kind of sucks."
"I know. I'm sorry. But I was… I was scared."
"… I get it. Look, um. I know you're probably bored. My dad won't tell me how long you're going to be here."
"Probably forever, until I'm old enough, to… you know."
"Hey, woah. My dad wouldn't let that happen. You'd get your trial."
"Yeah. Sorry, I'm just…"
"I got you some more charcoal. I figured you could use it now more than ever."
"… Thank you, Wells. I… thank you so much."
"You're still my best friend, Clarke. Even if you're a convict now."
"Making me cry and laugh? God, what am I gonna do without you?"
"Hey, you're not getting rid of me that easily."
"Hey kiddo."
"Dad! Oh dad, I'm so sorry."
"No, no. Don't be sorry, Clarke. Hey, no crying. You were doing what you felt was right. I know you were. That's how your mom and I raised you."
"But I didn't… Nothing's going to happen, Dad. Mom said they're not even thinking about Earth. But I know they're down there. I know it!"
"I believe you, kiddo."
"You… you do?"
"I do. And don't ever think that what you did didn't matter. You did what you thought was right, and now it's time that the rest of us start doing the same."
"… Dad?"
"Don't worry, kiddo. Just know that you are the bravest person I know. I love you, Clarke."
"I love you, too. Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Please don't leave me."
"I'll be here for a little while longer. As long as I can."
