Hi ho, hi ho, back to the Ark we go! This chap was super fun to write! :D

With Lexa safe and sound for the moment, Clarke decided it was past time to take action. As far as she was concerned, she should have been on Earth weeks ago, never mind the fact that she had only been released from her cell today. Rational thought wasn't part of the equation right now. She feared for Lexa's life (once again) and delusionally figured her real presence would be enough to save her. Well, that and guns. Lots and lots of guns. If the NRA still existed, she would be its shining beacon.

So the second her monitor left his post (as evidenced by a shadow flickering past the door) she began trying to wriggle her wrists free from her 'leather' restraints. She almost wished they used old fashioned handcuffs on the Ark, it might have been easier going. After all, she had some practice now. As it was, all she was accomplishing was rope burn.

Come on, goddamn you, I need to get out of here!

And then what, Clarke? said the small irritating voice in the back of her mind. What exactly do you plan to do? You're hundreds of miles from Earth and who knows how many more from Lexa, and no one is going to let you have a drop ship.

Well, of course no one is going to let me! she barked back. I wasn't exactly planning on asking!

You have no idea how to program and operate a drop ship, supplied the voice.

Then I'll find someone who does! At gun point if necessary!

You have no idea how to operate a firearm either.

I think I can figure it out, thank you very much!

Are you really so selfish as to steal one of only two drop ships just for yourself and your foolhardy plan?

Clarke didn't bother responding to the voice anymore and continued struggling against the restraints. Her vicious manoeuvres were sure to rub the skin raw and soon it would be bleeding. Just like Lexa's had. Just like Lexa's soon would again? The thought motivated her to tug on the straps with everything she had.

Don't you think it highly likely you will just die as soon as you breathe the toxic air?

"Shut up! Shut up Shut up!" she screamed as she finally managed to wrench one of her wrists free. And indeed it was raw and on the verge of bleeding, but no blood had stained her snow white skin yet. Though it was stinging painfully, she immediately began tearing at the clasp on her other wrist, successfully prying it loose in mere seconds.

Free now, she reached over to the heart monitor and entered the code that would turn it off without setting the alarm haywire. It was standard fare. Every model on the Ark was the same and she had been around plenty of these monitors in her day. Next she pulled off the pads on her upper chest, the irritation from this paling in comparison to her ravaged wrists.

They would notice soon enough that something was amiss, but doing things this way bought her a tiny bit of time. Unfortunately this was no typical Ark room. After her apparent 'raving' in the fMRI machine, they had her transferred to the 'observation' room reserved for psychotics. In the earlier, laxer years on the Ark, there had been a number of psychopaths and schizophrenics that doctors had tried to treat, most unsuccessfully.

'Spacemania' had been even more problematic. The first people aboard the thirteen nations' space stations had consisted mostly of scientists. Scientists who had been on Earth once upon a time. Knowing that all your loved ones were probably dead and that you were trapped in a tin can for the rest of your life wasn't exactly conducive to clear thought. Hence manic, cabin fever tendencies.

Nowadays they didn't bother with treatment, they simply floated you if you maimed or killed someone, regardless if you were mentally ill or not. She wasn't concerned about anything like that happening to her. Not with her dad as Chancellor. Not when she was underage. Not when she wasn't crazy.

As she threw back the blanket, the rough material whipped across a wrist and she hissed through clenched teeth. She pushed herself out of the bed, recoiled at the cool of the metal floor, and slunk towards the only door. Try as she might, it wouldn't budge. It was obviously locked from the outside.

What did you expect? said the voice. You're in a mental health observation room. Did you really think you were the first person to try and break free?

"Shut up!" she seethed, attempting to squeeze her fingers through the crack and pry it open that way. She couldn't get a good grasp and only managed to tear the skin off her fingertips. They began to throb along with her wrists and yet she ignored the pain as much as possible and tried again. After a second unsuccessful attempt, blood spotted the side of the door and she was in agony.

Clarke pounded her nemesis in frustration...only to have it swing inwards. She jumped out of the way as her monitor entered the room. She recognized the man from a multitude of surgeries. His name was Jackson and he adored her mother.

That makes one of us.

She knew she shouldn't have let her mother put her in here, but reacting at all would have alerted Lexa to her distress and she had had enough on her plate as it was. Clarke hadn't wanted her to be distracted from staying alive. Lexa would have felt obligated to come to her rescue...again. It was Clarke's turn to return the favour and no one was going to stand in her way.

"You've hurt yourself," said Jackson, eyeing her warily.

"How observant of you!" she spat back, clenching fists and nearly gasping at the contact.

"Take it easy now, Clarke," he replied, hands out placatingly, even as he pushed her further into the room. "You've been under a lot of mental stress lately. You don't want to aggravate your mind anymore than you already have. It could lead to permanent brain damage."

The only permanent damage will be my fist in your face!

That's not very nice, Clarke.

"Get out of my way, Jackson," she scowled as they neared the bed where he would almost certainly try to pin her down again.

"I can't do that, Clarke. Your mother and father are very concerned about you." Pleadingly, "Let us help you."

"I'm fine, but thanks for offering," she said sarcastically as she dodged his lunge and kneed him in the groin.

He groaned, clutching at himself and feebly reaching for her as she dashed past him and through the open door, slamming it shut and locking it for good measure. Thankfully the hallway was unoccupied. The clock in the room informed her it was just after seven in the 'evening'. Rush hour for the cafeteria.

Now where to? asked the annoying voice. The armoury?

Obviously!

Right. Because a person clothed in grey underwear with bloody hands won't raise their suspicions at all. I'm sure they'll let you waltz right into a highly secure area and take your pick.

Rather than tell the voice to shut up again, she instead grumbled to herself and raced towards her home, intent on bandaging up her aching fingers and then throwing on the first thing that fit. She would have to be quick about it because she was now sprinting past many startled people, drawing far too much attention to herself, not the least of which was the blood running down her closed fists and across her sensitive wrists.

The good news was no one was home. She rushed into the bathroom and fumbled around with the first aid kit until she managed to undue its clasp. Using her teeth as much as possible, she unscrewed the lid to the antiseptic, took a deep breath...and then hesitated. She told herself to stop being such a wuss, that this was nothing in comparison to what Lexa had gone through in the decontamination chamber.

I wouldn't be so sure about that, said the voice.

Without further ado she dumped it over the sensitive, ravaged fingertips of her left hand. She howled and gasped, nearly dropping the bottle in the sink, spilling its contents. Heart thundering, she willed herself to do the same to her other hand. It hurt like hell but it was over soon enough. She wrapped a bandage around the fingertips of the first hand, careful not to make it too tight. With a claw for a left hand, and a reduction in shocks at the slightest touch, the task on her right hand was easier and faster. For good measure she did up her burned wrists too and popped a pill for the mounting pain.

In her bedroom she opened her dresser and blindly yanked out a top and a pair of pants, dressing clumsily now that her hands were somewhat immobilized. She should have done each finger individually, but she hadn't wanted to waste the time. She pulled on her favourite pair of boots, the same ones Lexa had used to kick those guards asses, and then grabbed her blue 'leather' jacket before exiting her room.

She sat down in the same seat her father had to record his infamous message to Ark's inhabitants. She might never see her parents again and wanted to leave them something to remember her by. Clarke was careful to leave her hands out of frame, and did her best to keep her voice tremble free. The further she got into the message, the more impossible this became.

Everything changed when she heard a familiar voice speaking her name. She stopped mid sentence to find Wells in the doorway. Both were surprised to see the other and it was written all over their faces. For a second she forgot what her mission was and just stared, remembering the bad way they had left things over three weeks ago.

In an instant, the surprise morphed into confusion and worry when he saw her hands and wrists.

"What happened, Clarke?" he asked, frowning. He looked back to her face, searching for answers. "Are you okay?"

Somehow she knew he wasn't just talking about her hands anymore. She decided to take the time to say goodbye properly, even though most of her mind screamed for her to keep moving, that she had delayed too long as it was.

Clarke stood up and took his hands in her bandaged ones, bits of red starting to peak through. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you before, Wells. I should have realized you would never betray me like that. I've always cherished our friendship," she said, smiling softly, the fire in her eyes extinguished for the moment, "even if I didn't show it most of the time. Thank you for sticking by me for as long as you did." She leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek, something she had never done before.

His eyes widened anew. He wasn't stupid. He knew something was up even if she didn't say the 'may we meet again'.

"Clarke," he said anxiously, still blocking her way, "what's going on?" His kind eyes were pained. "Your parents said you had some sort of breakdown and wouldn't let me see you."

"Yeah, it probably looked like that to them," she muttered, glancing off to the side, "but it wasn't."

"I don't understand," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Please talk to me."

"I've got to go now, Wells, there's no time to waste."

He didn't stand aside. She didn't want to hurt him, but she would if she had to.

Wells gave her his determined look and she prepared to kick him. "Whatever you're up to, Clarke, I'm in."

For a second she was taken aback but then she just nodded and together they left her home, probably for the last time ever. She should have argued with him, told him he wasn't allowed to risk imprisonment (or worse) on her account but she knew there was no swaying his mind once it was made up. They were the same in that regard and it was a large part of why they sometimes didn't get along very well.

While they made their way to the armoury, she was almost glad he had come with her. She was going to need all the help she could get to break in and stock up. However, once they were there and he realized where they were, he became a big pain in the ass again.

"I'm not going to let you do this," he said sternly, grabbing her arm as she scouted out the vicinity. As far as she could tell, it was deserted.

She shrugged him off, glowering. "I thought you said you were in."

"I only said that to keep an eye on you. You're acting-"

"Crazy?" she snapped.

His non-response was answer enough. "Why do you think you need guns?"

She huffed in frustration at yet another delay. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Okay, I'll give it to you straight. See how you like that.

"I'm going to Earth to save the love of my life."

Wells was so flabbergasted by her answer that he just stood there in a dazed manner as she turned away from him and slunk closer to the armoury.

"Clarke!" he hissed when he came back to his senses. "Get back here!"

She didn't heed him and instead began puzzling over how to bypass the number pad like her dad had to gain entrance into the communications mainframe.

First things first. Pop this sucker open.

This was easier said than done now that she had claws for hands.

Wow, Clarke, said the voice, your plan has worked out brilliantly so far. I take it the self maiming was on purpose?

Still, she managed to pry it open somehow, a dull throb returning to her fingertips. Fiddling with the wires inside was another story altogether. Frantically, she tried to think back to what her dad had done. But the memory was all blurred. It had been a very hectic time for them (not unlike right now) and she had mostly kept lookout.

Say you do get in there, continued the voice. How do you plan on firing anything? You don't exactly have a trigger finger. Are you going to throw the guns at the bad grounders who might try to hurt Lexa?

Would you please just shut the fuck up for once!

Would you please use some common sense for once? it retaliated. This isn't going to work. You're just sentencing yourself to more Sky Box time. You do realize that, don't you? I'm sure your favourite guard will be more than happy to withhold shower time again. Smelling like the garbage disposal unit is so fun. Very enjoyable and sexy. That's why you kept Lexa at bay the last time, right?

Beyond irritated and harassed, she completely tore off the num pad, wires dangling freely. The door remained locked. It was then that she noticed Wells by her side, silently trying to steer her away before...

"What's going on here?" said a cold, whispery voice, breaking through the furious haze of her mind.

She groaned internally when she turned to find none other than Marcus Kane watching them, his dead, soulless eyes lighting up at the prospect of getting more revenge.

"I asked you a question, Clarke," he said, grinning slightly as he stepped closer, hand hovering over his baton.

Clarke was about to square off with him when Wells blocked her from view and said, "I was trying to break into the armoury."

"You?" muttered Kane, still smirking.

Wells nodded. "Clarke was trying to stop me, but I wouldn't listen."

"Why would you want to break into the armoury?" he asked sceptically.

When he hesitated, Clarke jumped in, pushing to the front. "He's lying. He had nothing to do with this. This was all me."

"Oh, I know," Kane said, smug look plastered. "We've been looking all over for you, Clarke. I should have known you would try to do something stupid. It's what you do best." He shook his head in amusement. "Well, come along then children, let's get this over with."

I'm sure this is going to go great.

Aaahhhh!

"You assaulted Jackson and tried to break into the armoury, Clarke?"

Kane leaned smugly against the wall of the council chambers as her father sighed, rubbing at his face. He got up from the Chancellor's seat at the head of the table and walked over to her, his weathered face looking equal parts sad and caring.

"What am I going to do with you, kiddo?" he said, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"A year in Sky Box should sort her out," said Kane, eyeing her evilly. "If I were Chancellor, repeat offenders would immediately be floated no matter their age."

Her father ignored him, eyes never leaving her own. "I need you to talk to me, Clarke. Tell me what's going on with you." Clarke didn't speak right away, not sure how to begin. Her dad sighed again. Then he glanced at Kane and said, "Please leave us."

Kane looked like he wanted to argue, wanted to stay and watch the punishment doled out, but he didn't and instead haughtily left the room. The hum of the Ark permeated the air in their continued silence.

He gently took her bandaged hands. "I can't let you hurt yourself again. If you don't tell me what's going on with you, I'll have no choice but to put you back in observation...heavily sedated." He stroked the side of her face, something she never thought she'd experience again...or at least, not for a very long time. Clarke leaned into the touch, her throat constricting, knowing she was causing him pain. That was the last thing she ever wanted to do.

Yes, because crash landing on Earth and dying right after wouldn't have pained him. You've got quite the level head on your shoulders, Clarke Griffin.

"It's hard to explain," she finally croaked out.

Her father held himself more rigidly, like he was physically preparing himself for a blow. "Take your time. Whenever you're ready...I'm all ears."

Attempting to steady the emotion threatening to pour forth, Clarke took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "You remember when the guards came to take you away, and I...did some crazy martial arts moves?"

"Vaguely," her dad said with a small wry smile. An effort to keep the mood light. The lightness didn't reach his eyes. They were now full of trepidation and uncertainty.

"Well, it wasn't...me who did them."

Her father blinked a few times, waiting for the punchline. He raised an eyebrow. "Keep going, Clarke."

"I was afraid I would never see you again," she said thickly, tears brimming at the traumatic memory. He squeezed her upper arms. "I tried to break free, but couldn't. And then I saw her."

"Her?"

"Lexa. We're connected somehow. I can experience everything she does. And she...took over my body and helped me save you. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it's the truth."

He was quiet for a long moment. "Is Lexa the girl you said you loved?" he said softly.

"Yes," she replied, even softer.

Silence. "Is she still in danger?"

Clarke nodded, throat too full for speech.

"You wanted the guns to save her?"

Another nod. Another lengthy lull filled with the ever present hum. Had it always been so loud?

Hesitatingly, as if he were afraid to ask, as if he had forgotten her desperate declaration, "Where is Lexa, Clarke?"

Unable to speak, she instead looked to the floor between them. He looked where she was looking and after several seconds he started on the spot, eyes wide like Wells had been. "You don't mean..." he trailed off slowly.

She nodded.

"The girl in the forest?"

She nodded again.

Her father ran a hand through his greying hair and then took the nearest seat. "Oh boy."

She knelt in front of him, placing her bandaged hands over top his own. Clarke cleared her throat and with increasing speed and excitement said, "Earth will be survivable for us too, Dad. I just know it. A hundred of us or so could take the smaller drop ship and set up camp, gather supplies. Then when the oxygen levels are depleted too much, the rest of us can come down too. We can make this work, it'll be-"

"You don't know yet, do you?" he interrupted, a strange mixture of incredulity and contriteness spread across his features.

"Know what?" she said, unconsciously holding her breath.

"Nothing," he muttered, hastily looking away, which immediately raised her suspicions and made it her mission to get down to the bottom of his reticence.

"Dad," she frowned, applying more pressure to his legs. If she had had fingernails on hand, they would definitely be digging in deep. "What aren't you telling me?"

"You aren't going to let this go, are you?" She just stared at him determinedly and he sighed loudly, rubbing at his tired eyes. Then he gazed at her, smiling sadly.

"Sweetie, we fixed the oxygen system three days ago."

Happy birthday, Clarke.

*cackles forever*

Did anyone see this coming?