Turning down the familiar street that led to her parents' home, Clarke was drawn back to the countless memories of returning home. From school, football games, parties, college, free weekends from work. Coming home tired or drunk. Pulling into the drive with the sun barely peeking over treetops as it set or the moon somewhere along its descent. Stepping over the threshold to the noise of an excited child and smells of dinner. Or sneaking into a sleeping house and praying no one would wake and catch her.

Memories more recent danced through her mind of coming home on weekends. Charlie, no longer a child, home just long enough to greet Clarke before she was gone to be with friends. Her father smiling and greeting her warmly before pulling her into the kitchen and feeding her. Abby home occasionally and getting drawn into her studies and whatever medical journal one of them had been reading. Only when Quinn was home, did the family try to be there because her presence was rare.

Except Quinn was home, and not everyone else was. Not their dad. Their dad, who was the one constant in their life. That no matter how busy he was, he was never too busy for his girls. He was there for every bruise, event, broken heart, milestone. He was their mediator. A sea of calm in the middle of four incredibly stubborn women. He was their jokester. He could disrupt the tensest of moments with some cheesy line and broker an agreement between any of them. He was the glue that held them together. And now he was gone.

A sob broke through Clarke's carefully constructed armor, and the tears that had been running down her face were now clouding her vision. She had been so lost in her memories; she hadn't even realized that they had already arrived. She hadn't realized that she'd somehow driven them safely to their destination.

The sound of a seatbelt unclicking didn't register as Clarke began to sob uncontrollably. Nor the sound or feeling of her own being removed. But the moment she felt arms pull her sideways, she responded. She turned and buried her head in Quinn's neck as arms wrapped around her protectively. Comforting her as she finally let the last of her armor fall.

Quinn just held Clarke as close as the center console would allow. Whispering soothing words into Clarke's hair as Clarke let go. It felt like hours until the ache began to ease in Clarke's chest, and her sobs trickled down to hiccups and sniffles. Quinn's strong arms and warmth covered her like a blanket, shielding her from the world.

With one last sniffle, Clarke felt like she could talk as she whispered, "Thank you," against Quinn's chest.

A rumbling chuckle vibrated through Quinn and into Clarke as she responded, "You're welcome. Is this the first time you've let it out?"

Clarke nodded against her chest, and she felt it fill with air, and Quinn's exhaling slow on her head. Quinn squeezed tighter before pulling back to look at Clarke. Clarke could see the sadness she felt reflected in Quinn's eyes. The slight brightening of blue that showed unshed tears. Seeing them, Clarke knew that Quinn wouldn't let them fall. Not now. Not when she had to remain the strong one. Not when danger lurked in the shadows surrounding their father's death. Maybe when it was all over and done with. Perhaps that's when Quinn would finally let her armor fall and allow her grief free. Whenever it was, Clarke vowed to be there for her. To be her rock in the storm.

Quinn's voice drew her back to the present, and Clarke looked at her a little confused, "Huh?"

Quinn gave her an understanding smile and repeated herself, "I asked if you were ready to go inside. Charlie's been staring out of the curtains for the last ten minutes."

Clarke shook herself a little, pulling back until she was more firmly in the driver's seat, "How long have we been out here?"

Quinn shrugged, "Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. It doesn't matter. What matters is you. If you need more time, we'll sit out here for as long as you need it. You want to be alone; I'll give you that too."

Clarke wiped at her face, cleared her throat, and shook her head, "No. No, I'm good. The memories just snuck up on me. All the times, I'd turn on the street heading here. Heading home."

Quinn sighed, leaned back in her seat, and looked out of the window, "Yeah. Dad was always here. He was always waiting. Ready to listen or admonish us. Our one constant in our busy lives. And now he's not."

"He's not," she sadly agreed but felt a new strength build. Determination filled her, and she said, "But we are. We're here. And we'll get through this like everything else. Together."

Quinn turned to look at her with a smirk, "You're right. We are here, and we will get through this. We are Griffins, after all. Some of the most stubborn bitches to ever walk this earth."

Clarke laughed, "Damn straight. Let's go inside."

"Alright," she replied and opened her door. She paused for a moment and looked at Clarke, "By the way, you're still an ugly crier."

Clarke scoffed and glared at the older blonde, "You look worse than I do when you cry."

"I don't cry," she retorted good-naturedly. "My eyes mist on occasion."

"Oh, whatever," Clarke snapped back as she stepped out of the car. "You may be some Navy badass, but you ball your eyes whenever you watch Space Jam."

Quinn glared at her over the car, "I do not!"

"Do too," she teased as she walked towards the house.

"Take it back," Quinn argued, following her.

"No," Clarke replied, throwing a smirk over her shoulder.

Quinn raised her hands like she wanted to choke Clarke and let out a loud groan. This only made Clarke laugh, and they continued to bicker back and forth into the house.

Charlie came out of the living room and looked at them, confusedly, "What are you two going on about now?"

"Oh, just that Quinn can't watch Space Jam without crying," Clarke replied with an amused grin on her face.

"Oh, yeah, like a waterfall," Charlie agreed, smiling.

"What," Quinn cried out indignantly. "I so do not cry watching that movie!"

Clarke threw an arm around Charlie's shoulders and smirked at Quinn, "Admit it, sis. Space Jam is your Bambi. You cry."

"Ugh, whatever," Quinn threw up her hands in surrender. "It's not fair when both of you gang up on me."

"Only because we're right," Clarke said, giving Charlie a quick hug before she released the younger girl. "I'm gonna go check on Mom and see if this paperwork will perk her up."

Quinn sighed, "I can't win. You up to a rematch on Smash Bros., Charlie?"

"Oh, I am gonna obliterate your ass, Q," Charlie replied gleefully. "I've been practicing."

"In your dreams, munchkin," Quinn said, throwing Charlie into a loose headlock and taking her into the living room. "You will never beat the master."

"Don't call me that," Charlie cried out, muffled by Quinn's body.

Clarke and Quinn laughed as they exchanged a significant look. Quinn's look was asking if Clarke was ready to hide the truth from their mother about the paperwork. Clarke returned a steady gaze and a slight nod. Quinn nodded back before focusing her attention again on distracting Charlie.

Clarke took a steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and began to ascend the stairs. She may not be able to disclose that she knew the truth about the drug and its origin, but she knew that the information from the hospital would be able to draw her mom out of her cocoon. At least, for a little while. And just maybe, in their own way, help Polis and Trikru without getting involved directly. Clarke could only hope.