LEXA | ALICIA

Looking up from the letter in my hands my eyes find Madi's.

"Where did you find this?" My voice is shaking, but I'm ignoring it and when Madi doesn't answer me right away I ask her again, with more urge. "Madi, where did you find this?"

All I get is some under the breath mumbling.

I squint at her intently, my eyes filled with impatience.

"I don't wanna say," she answers at last.

When her name bursts from my lips it sounds like a groan.

Heaving a deeply defeated sigh, Madi turns around and points towards the east side of the former settlement. "You see that pile of concrete over there? That's actually a collapsed building. I found a way in, managed to explore the hidden space underneath. The basement I think, or what's left of it." She looks at me again. "Please don't tell Clarke, she'll get mad for sure."

I hardly register her plea.

"What else did you find there?" I ask her instead.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

It's Clarke, joining us before Madi can speak up. I wordlessly hand her the letter as a way of explaining myself without taking my eyes off Madi, who by now looks even more wavering to answer me. But silence is no acceptable option.

"Tell me what you saw! Was there..." As the rest of the question fails to come out I take a deep breath to ground myself and try again. "Was there a body?"

"N- No," Madi stammers, "There was nothing like that. Just debris, dust and dirt. And some broken furniture. With that piece of scrabble hidden in some small cabinet." She nods towards the letter in Clarke's hands.

"There was nothing else or you didn't see anything else?" I go on, not able to control my desperation.

"I... I didn't see anything else."

"No corpse? No bones? No remains of... of..."

"No!" Her voice sounds a little louder this time. "Nothing like that. Just that note. And that can be from anyone, right?"

I sharply inhale again. "No, it can't. It's from her."

Clarke, drawing her eyes away from the paper, rests her hand on my back - strong and steady. I turn to her.

"How do you know?" she asks me. "The handwriting?"

I shake my head. "No. That actually looks quite different."

"What then? What in these similarities makes you so sure?"

"The story about the heavy rain before I was born. She did tell me about that, quite a few times actually. And that..." I move my hand towards the paper, my trembling finger underlining the last sentence, and swallow. "That's what my dad wrote to us in his goodbye letter."

"I love you both so much," Clarke quietly reads the line out loud, "but enough's enough."

I just nod.

Actually hearing those words out loud makes me feel like I suddenly can't move anymore. Like I can't talk, or even think clear any longer.

Mom. She was here. She was here, waiting for us... and then waiting for death. We are standing on a graveyard, and somewhere close we're gonna find her unnamed grave.

Unless things are even worse. Unless she turned... Unless she became-

"Lexa?"

Slowly, like it's coming from a hundred miles away, Clarke's voice reaches me.

"Lexa, what do you need? What can we do?"

"I- I... don't know."

Her hand finds my back again, then lowers to my waist as if she wants to protect me from falling. "Maybe you should sit down for a bit?"

I nod, almost in slow-motion, but still not remembering how to, I don't move. Clarke doesn't make me, but doesn't let go of me either. As I keep staring at the collapsed mess in the distance, almost like my eyes are glued to it, she turns to Madi.

"There was really nothing else there?"

This time it's Madi who shakes her head. "We can look again, though?" she carefully suggests. "Maybe lift some of those rocks? Strand can help with that, and..."

"Strand," I murmur at the mention of his name. I blink, forcing myself to focus again, then look from one to the other. "Where is he?"

"Good question." Clarke tip toes and looks around her, then back at us. "I thought he was keeping an eye on Madi. Clearly, I was wrong."

Averting her eyes, Madi keeps her mouth shut, which seems like a wise choice. Though just like before not one she gets away with.

"Madi?" Clarke questions her. She sounds stern and not amused, like she just found the empty cookie jar on the counter, and despite everything - or maybe because of it? - a soft chuckle escapes me.

Madi shrugs, her eyes still on the ground. "He went to check out the far edge. I told him I was right behind him."

"So you lied to him?"

"No, I was right behind him. I just... took a little detour."

"And?"

"Got distracted," Madi sighs. She looks up through her lashes. "I'm sorry."

For a moment they just stare at each other. Then Clarke takes a deep breath and shakes her head. "Let's just find him."

She turns to me, yet when she does I can still hear Madi mutter behind her back. "At least I found something..." she quietly grumbles to no one in particular. She's not wrong there.

Clarke ignores her, at least for now. Instead she gives me an examining once-over, her eyes narrow with worry.

"You're okay?"

I nod again, and we both know it's a lie.

She reaches for me, lifting her hand to touch my face in a sweet, soft caress.

"You wanna stay here?"

I lean into her touch, just for a second, then catch her hand in mine. Bringing it to my lips I gently kiss her fingertips.

"No," I answer her truthfully. "Let's go."

Without letting go of her hand I move towards the run-down settlement again, about to make my way to the other side of it until Clarke stops me with a light pull.

"Let's go around it," she says, reading the puzzlement in my eyes, "It's easier and a whole less dirty."

I know she's just making up excuses. She doesn't care about the dirt. By now we are all covered in mud, dust and God knows what else. Our hands are black from digging through piles of ashes and climbing over charred wood that's been blocking our way around every other corner. And none of us have even a slightly clean face; we are all painted with at least three dark smudges each.

She just doesn't want me there.

I agree with a weak smile, and together the three of us start following the outside border of the former town. Here and there the walls and fences are still up, but for the most part they are completely torn down - run over by too many Walkers to resist and keep out.

The sight reminds me of the stadium. And as always, the stadium makes me think of Mom again. Forcing myself to look away I fix my eyes on the sky. Beyond my control a shaky breath falls from my lips.

Clarke squeezes my hand, a tender gesture to tell me she's here. She breaks my silence by quietly speaking up.

"Even if she was really here..."

"There's no if," I cut her off, "She was here."

"Okay." She takes a second to reframe her words, then tries again. "The fact that she decided to stay here doesn't have to mean she actually did, does it? She could have changed her mind."

I look at her. "Mom was many things," I answer with a weary sniff, "but she was never someone to change her mind. When she decided on something she followed through. Always."

"I have no doubt about that. But as long as we don't have proof that she really..." She doesn't finish her sentence.

"We'll find proof," I tell her, my gaze straight ahead again. "First we'll find Strand and then we'll find... we'll find her."

As we keep going onward I can tell she's watching me, but except for another mumbled "okay" she doesn't say anything anymore. She knows like no other that I won't leave this place until I have turned every rock. Like I know just as well that she will be by my side when I do so, ready to catch me when I can finally fall.

Which is not just yet.

Drawing in a long breath I square my shoulders and cast her another glance.

The moment our eyes meet it hits me that looking at her is all I want to do. Not able to help myself I openly study her with overwhelming admiration. The feeling is so big, so indescribable, that I don't know how to express it. But I want to, I want her to know how she moves me, in every way.

The only words that come out though are, "Thank you."

She frowns, genuinely confused. "For what?"

I show her another smile, one that doesn't take any effort, despite my heavy heart. "For everything. Everything you ever did for me, and everything you will do in our days ahead."

Her lashes flutter when she turns away her gaze from me, suddenly looking shy. "Don't be silly."

"I could not be more serious," I tell her, and I mean every word of it.

Her eyes meet mine again. "You're making it sound like I'm doing something special."

"Because you do." I softly squeeze her hand. "And because you are. I saw that right when we met, and you haven't proved me wrong ever since. The only thing I don't get is what I ever did to deserve you. And how I can truly tell you what you mean to me. Which is so much more than thank you. Or even than I love you - which I do! But-"

Before I can say anything else she stops me by pressing her lips against mine, not just taking me by surprise but also unbalancing me. I quickly hold on to her, preventing the both of us from an embarrassing tumble. She uses the moment to deepen our kiss.

"I love you more than 'I love you' too," she whispers when our lips break apart, "And I don't want you to ever question anything you deserve. You deserve the world. One that doesn't keep taking from you."

I slowly shake my head. "That's not true."

"But it is."

I want to tell her wrong. Want to point out that I've taken what wasn't mine. Captured and destructed. That I've betrayed - her, and so many others. That I've hurt and destroyed innocent people, kids even. That I've got blood on my hands that will never dry.

But I can't. Because I actually believe her.

For the first time in my life I hear what she's saying... what she's been saying all along. That I was made into this. That I never got a chance. Conditioned, just like Aden, and all the other children. It doesn't justify every choice I made, but I see - I finally see - how I didn't deserve to be faced with those choices in the first place, yet how I keep punishing myself for it nonetheless. Over and over again.

Clarke already taught me the need to forgive myself. And I tried. I really did. I just hadn't realized until right now that I'd been doing it all wrong. That forgiveness isn't just words, isn't just pardoning yourself. True self-forgiveness is allowing yourself the exact same things, the exact same life as everybody else. Most of all, it's allowing yourself not just to love, but also to be loved.

As if she can read my thoughts Clarke pulls me into her arms, muffling into my hair as she gives me a tight hug, "You are worthy of it - of all of it! All the love and support this world can give you. I wish you could feel that without any doubt, or any guilt. You are no less than any of us. You hear me?"

Within the safety of her embrace I just nod.

"Tell me."

I swallow. "I'm no less than any of you."

"And?"

"And I'm worthy of it all."

She loosens her hold on me, just enough to meet my gaze. "You believe me?"

Wanting to give her an honest answer I stay quiet for a second, giving her question the thought it deserves. Then, with my lips tucked between my teeth, I slowly nod again. "I'm starting to," I answer truthfully, before pulling her close again. "Thank you."

I can feel her smile against my neck. "You said that already."

"Yeah, you're not taking that away from me." I gently press my forehead against hers. "If I need to learn to feel worthy, than you need to learn to deal with acknowledgement. Cause I will never not be grateful for you."

"Fair enough," she whispers, and then we both fall quiet for a bit, as we just stand there, together as one.

"Clarke?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm not okay."

"I know." She steps back, looking me in the eyes again. "But you don't have to be."

"I don't get it. She's not more dead now than she's been for the past so many years."

"Maybe, when you put it like that," she says with the lightest shrug, "But I don't think it's that black and white. There was a chance, and you knew it. You lost that chance. You can be upset about that."

I fumble with the letter in my pocket. "I wish we'd never came here," I sigh.

Clarke nods understandingly. "You had the best reason in the world though," she just says, and I know deep in my heart that she's right.

Reaching out, she lays her hand on my shoulder. "Come on, let's catch up with Madi, before she goes missing, too."

We continue our walk in silence and it doesn't take long before we spot Madi running towards us.

"I found him!" she calls from about forty yards away. After all this time I still haven't managed to keep her quiet.

When she reaches us she's panting, but it doesn't stop her. "He fell down in this pit, around that corner over there. Some kind of Walker trap, I think. He's alright, but he can't get out."

We quickly follow her. The man-made ditch looks indeed like a trap. Over time I've helped making many of these, or variants thereof. Strand can count himself lucky that this one comes without spikes!

"You're okay?" I greet him when looking over the edge, into the depth.

"I'm fine," Strand answers, looking up at us. "Just really eager to get out of here. Took you guys long enough."

"Keep talking like that and I'll leave you there," I counter, but of course I'm already on my knees to get him out.

Before I lie flat on my stomach, however, my eye falls on the three corpses in the pit.

"Wait, who are they? Were you attacked?"

Strand shakes his head. "No, they've been here for a while. They're Walkers."

"Walkers?" I frown. "A trap like this won't kill Walkers. Or did you?"

Looking down on them Strand crinkles his nose in disgust - for as long as I've known him he's never been willing to give them one more glance than absolutely necessary.

"Someone must have been down here to stab them in the head. There." He points at a deep, ugly cut right behind the Walker's ear. "Same with this one, and I assume..." He lifts his foot, pushing the dead body of the second guy to the side with it, revealing the dead woman underneath him. She's face down and layered in dirt, but the sight is enough to silence him abruptly and to make me gasp for air.

She's blonde, not much taller than me and somewhat broad shouldered. What strikes me most though is the fact that she has visible burn scars all over her left arm - the only part of her that's exposed.

"Turn her around."

"Alicia, no," Strand protests from at least six feet below me, "Please, not like this!"

I don't look at him, nor at Clarke, who's now kneeling beside me, her hand steadily on my back. I just look at the dead woman at my friend's feet.

"Do it," I tell him again. "Let's get this over with."

And then he gives in.

Crouching down next to her he reaches for her shoulders, cautiously, in a total different manner than a minute ago. I can hear how he takes the deepest breath possible, readying himself for whatever comes next, and I refuse to blink when he does what I asked him to do - when he finally turns her onto her back.

... ...