13.
In all the moments, in all the memories, the pleasant ones anyway, Wells Jaha's smile was vibrant. It was a spark of lightning in between dark clouds. It was all Clarke could do without crying when she thought of never seeing it again. Except, it wasn't as brightly lit as she recalled.
Witnessing his limp body, no longer beating along to this horrific world, she realized that behind that flash of teeth, that good heartedness in his eye, he was hiding his biggest fears, and his upmost concerns.
Being the Chancellor's son was difficult enough, and despite it all, he was still able to be himself.
Clarke had envied it more than she'd liked.
"Griffin," she heard, getting hauled up to her feet. A strong arm wrapped around her biceps dragging her out of the engineering room. Her vision blurry with tears but she wasn't able to make sense of anything other than the replaying image in her head.
There was a small crowd surrounding them on the main floor of the Dropship, and with a thunderous shout to get back to their posts, the crowd scattered about, making room for her out-of-mind body to be heaved up the stair steps.
She wasn't breathing. She wasn't gasping for air or trying to gulp down the pain that filled her veins, that taunted her soul. No, she didn't even pay much attention to the air circulating her. She focused on the tiles covering the floor beneath her. Beige and dirty, like sand in the dessert. Not that she'd ever know what that's like, what that felt like. The closest she's been, was the pearly white sand kissing the shore back near Luna's rig.
"Breath," he urged her, loosely placing his palm on the small of her back.
"I can't," she whimpered.
He paused, stopping her.
Her gaze still casted downward, and her body still not feeling like her own. She had experienced loss. She had done things. She had suffered.
This felt all too familiar, not in the same way, but close enough to make her fear going to sleep tonight. To make her fear the recurring terrors that would surely be awaiting her arrival once her head hits the pillow.
She shook her head leaving her messy and clingy curls to frame her face, "I just need to be alone," she croaked out.
Bellamy ducked his head low, attempting to meet her eyes but she was stubbornly avoiding him. If she let him see, those tears she swore she wouldn't shed again, she would no doubt start to cry, and she knew, with all her heart, that this time around she wouldn't be able to stop crying.
"I'm fin—"
"Don't," he sent tremors through her. She turned her head to the side, blonde crusty hair acting as her shield. He dipped his head lower, catching her chin with his forefinger and thumb, her skin soft and fragile under his calloused fingertips, he looked like he was going to say something but when cold air hit her chin, and the loss of his touch brought the sorrow back into her, she nudged by him.
Too exhausted and too lost in her childhood thoughts to care, she sprinted to the girl's restroom, locking the door behind her. Grappling for sanity, she forced all the terrible images out of her mind but to no advantage. It wasn't until she twisted the knob sending a stream of hot water out of the shower spout did she finally give in to them.
A sob caught in her throat.
A tear threatened to fall.
A piece of her heart being shaved off with the sharpest knife.
Clarke discarded all her clothes, her hair tickling the nape of her neck and sticking to the space between her shoulder blades.
It was there, under the burning water that she finally cried out. The tears getting lost, she didn't know where they began, where they fell off her jaw. Like she had intended.
The water slapped against her bare back creating a nice rose colour to cover her from shoulder to tail bone. She sat down, pulling her knees to her chest, with her forehead pressed against her kneecaps and inhaling the steam, secretly hoping it would suffocate all the pain away.
Except it didn't. It only reminded her of what a failure she had been.
It was foolish of her to think that she held any voice. That with her presence there, Lexa would fall back and Luna would accept. How arrogant was she to think that she held some sway with them? That her body count could do anything other than remind them of the enemy.
The night of her father's death she vowed to his dead corpse she would find a way to ensure that peace among them all was possible. That the people behind the wall, the people of Arkadia and anyone else in between would have freedom, would be able to have the self-determination those before them never even had a sniff of.
Three months ago, she swore to it. Swore she would fight until her dying breath to make sure her father's death wasn't in vain. Then after she was done, after, when it would all be over, she would run away. Her freedom calling to her. Not her mother, nor Jaha, nor Skicru would make her stay. The light at the end of the tunnel, the reason she was where she was.
On that very first night, her clothes seeped with light rain, the girl with the dark ponytail at her side, she had told Bellamy that all she had wanted was to help him. That she had wanted to see peace. Clarke never mentioned that the prize at the end of it all, was her freedom.
Finally, something that she had dreamed about, had wanted her whole life would soon be hers.
But she had lost her way, for sure.
She was blinded by her own condescending mind that let her believe that it would be easy. The sacrifices that would be made would be bearable. How could anything in this world be bearable after what she had done? After what she had witnessed?
She was blinded by feeling wanted, by the need to belong to something more than her own personal mission. Friendships, the past, the stories, and even what-could-have-beens taunted her. They all gave her hope that maybe this isn't just cut and dry. Maybe her mission didn't end with a coalition.
Though it had to. Because that bastard, that tyrant was vicious. His own son, her best friend, beaten, butchered to nothing more, because of that tyrant thirst of something he never even deserved. His power, all that power, should never have been that great. No one was enough, no one was good enough to possess such power and rule the world rightly.
Dark skin, wide eyes, and a tightness in her lower stomach kept the sobs, kept the silent screams coming. There was no way out of this. She left her only friend behind, and now he was gone.
Her fears were of those who feared neglect, scared of being shooed away for wanting to aid, despite their title. Her fears had come true. In a sense.
Skicru was reluctant at first. Lexa was. Luna was. But they eventually saw her. They allowed her to be one of them. And she took it, and it was the worst fucking thing she could have done.
No, no, no, no, no….
Mind shuttering pounds pulsed from her temples, to the top of her head, to the back of her neck. The spray coming down didn't do much to ease it.
Those were her fears at first. With more terrors coming their way, the boundless promise of war and death was starting to find a home in her mind.
All she could do now was sit, flesh against the cold, porcelain tub and for one minute, stop thinking.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Monty, for someone so fragile and innocent, spit out with a harshness no one has ever seen before. Jasper's eyes shifted from one figure to the next.
Raven ignored their glares and muttered to her keyboard, "She deserved to know,"
"Of course she needed to know, but not like this Reyes."
"How the fuck else? She could handle it."
"Yeah, because she didn't rush out of here in tears, choking on air," he snapped back.
Bellamy heard the exchange. He had an urge to slam their heads together but knew that the words needed to be said. Monty had to defend the girl he's been working side by side with and Raven needed to learn timing.
It would have surprised him how defensive Monty was, yet it hadn't. He noticed the friendship they shared, the way Clarke welcomed Monty like a younger brother was refreshing. All his life he had only Jasper.
He should have stopped them though.
"Fuck you—"
"Enough!" His thunderous voice echoed.
The room stilled. They all watched as he stayed planted in spot, looking up at the screen with arms crossed. Wells Jaha's blood was darker than night. It was strange. He never saw anything like it. Bodies rot, yes, not like this though. Blood is red, three days later it's still red, a week later it smells, but it's still burning red.
"Boss?" Jasper called out dragging his gaze from the haunting image.
Wick, Bryan and Miller were on one side of the room. Not daring to meet his eyes. Raven was still glaring down at the lettered keys while Monty was nowhere to be seen. He must have left while Bellamy was lost in his thoughts.
If Monty was trailing after Clarke, let him. She needed someone, no…she didn't need someone. Clarke was strong. She never would have needed anyone, that much she'd proved.
But, he wanted someone to be there with her. Someone she could trust and accept warmth from.
He worked hard to make sure that it was never him.
The blonde goddess. The one who came out of nowhere and into his life. Standing outside his room in the flimsy top he could see her cleavage from, and that barely there jacket that did nothing to shield her from the nipping cold air.
He worked hard to make sure that it will never be him.
"Boss?" Jasper whispered once more. Bellamy could see the fear in his eyes for disrupting their leader's brainstorming. Except he wasn't really brainstorming.
It was a petite, stubborn body that stormed his brain.
"Jasper, get back to work. All of you do the same. Reyes, you stay," he commanded.
Quickly, as if the room was on fire, they dispersed. Raven's loose ponytail hung low on her back. He knew she must have run her fingers through it, almost pulling out the strands as she was the first to see the news.
"She needed to know, okay? If we hid it from her she would have found out and it would have been a lot worse for us and you know it," she seemed to ramble on, grasping at anything that could justify her actions.
"I agree, she needed to know. There was no avoiding this. It's not what I want to talk to you about."
Raven lifted her head, palms at her side she raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong?"
Bellamy clenched his teeth. The muscles running along his forearms that much more defined as his whole body went ridged.
Everything was wrong.
"Luna agreed to donate supplies, but that's it. The numbers are stacked against us, and Wick showed me the surveillance videos, their training is complicated, lethal." He sighed, heavy and full of hate.
Arkadia's army is gearing up for the fight of their life, and Skicru was taking the blame for their shit, with lesser people than they started with. "We need to take the next step."
"You're fucking joking Blake, there's so much…" she trailed off, the weight of her tongue thick. Fear flashed in her amber eyes, he tried not to let his reflect the same. Bellamy was a mask. He spent his whole life refracting any sign of true emotions, keeping that blank canvas etched across him.
Raven stared at him with a beam so sharp. As if her eyes were lasers, she would have cut right through him. He didn't blame her but that final drop, Wells Jaha's death, that was it.
If that low, filthy, power hungry jackass was willing to spill his own blood just to prove a point, they were all doomed.
Bellamy tried not to think of what this meant for them. He tried not to mention that if they didn't go, now, their precious Dropship, the place that was a saving grace, but a curse, would go under with everyone in it. And, he tried not to think of that blue eyed princess sitting up in her room, wondering where she went wrong.
He found it insanely hard to believe that a council member's daughter wanted coexistence. He knew that wasn't what she came here to do. To fulfill her father's dying wish was merely a cover.
However, he let her have it. Bellamy plays along as she claimed and bragged about peace. He doesn't know why he does.
"It's time," was all he said.
He left with a slow, powerful stride. Leaving Raven, messy hair and all, staring after him.
After drowning herself in her endless stream of self-hate, the water grew colder and colder. She remained seated in the tub, until the goosebumps on her skin slowly accepted the freezing temperature.
Her entire body fell limp. She was so close to slipping onto the tile floors when she finally did get out, shutting the water with shaky hands.
What was the last thing she said to him? When was the last time she hugged him?
Clarke pressed her forehead against the bathroom wall, naked, hair dripping wet causing a line to flow down her shoulders, curves and the muscles of her back.
Another moment. Another beat, and she reached over to some abandoned and probably used towels. Not caring, she wrapped one around herself tightly, releasing the smoky, dull air clouding her when she ripped open the door.
Maybe she deserved this. She tried not to dwell in it, or mention it, but… while she was hanging around with the rebels, chasing a hopeless dream, her best friend was back there, with the ruthless, cruel traitors of their land.
He was calling out to her, begging her to come back. She didn't listen.
Clarke never listens.
Her blood called out, whispering that she'll always stay the same. She will constantly be the girl who thought she could run away and everything would fix itself. She was a fucking fool.
Her room was empty once she entered it. Sitting on the edge of her unmade bed, she peered at her surroundings. Nothing was out of place, nothing was touched.
How long had Raven known?
Wells died two days after the bombing attack. She was sitting in this very room, on that old piece of shit couch, drawing, avoiding everyone.
In that instant, something hit her. Hard.
Nothing was making sense. It's not because my judgement is impaired, she said coolly to herself. No, nothing had made sense for a long while.
What did Clarke really know?
She came to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere to join the world's notorious group of rebels. Desperation.
She survived a bombing only because a forgotten underground storage unit was made available to her. That Finn had one day stumbled upon. Luck.
She managed to persuade an exiled leader who praised her own ignorance to cooperate in some form. Her loose tongue and fiery temper.
But…
She found the Dropship easily.
When she had first arrived here, everyone was questioning her. Not only her presence but the fact that she was willing to come here, come to them. Then, they wondered how the hell this girl finds a place so well hidden? Bellamy had said they were wary of her for many reasons, one of which was her ability to locate the Dropship with little to no help.
Now that she's thinking about it, she never really did that much research. Clarke had found one of her father's old world maps, quite large actually. From there she…
Clarke sprang from her spot to the other side of her bed. Under her pillow, she pulled out one of the many notebooks she had packed all those nights ago. She flipped through the pages until she arrived at that map. The same map that guided her here. There, on the tiniest piece of land that was Arkadia was a line from her house to the Dropship. She had drawn it herself.
She had truly not known exactly where the Dropship was. From whispers on the streets, she gathered it had to be somewhere inside that large circle she'd drawn. So on the train that day, she was prepared to run around looking for it.
Somehow it had found her.
There was something else.
Jagged folds and bends creating deep creases on the paper covered the bodies of water on the map. There were no other ones except for the faint triangle in the middle of that circle she outlined in black marker. Those creases, those lines were not on any other piece of paper in that notebook. So they didn't come from her.
On the map though, inside that circle, those creases creating a vibrant triangle around the exact location of the Dropship was almost like someone had folded it that way.
How had she not seen it before?
There was not a single uncertainty in her. Someone had folded it; someone had purposely folded it.
Her heart began to beat louder and louder until her ears started to hurt. Fingers shakily attempting to keep the page from slipping off the sheets but to no avail. The only people who had ever seen that map were her and her father. Sinclair works with Skicru. Sinclair worked with her father. Skicru has been among them since before Clarke was born.
Marcus Kane ran it then. Marcus Kane knew Sinclair. Sinclair knew her father.
What about the bombing?
Arkadia bombed around the Dropship but not directly on it. The theory was that they had only meant to scare them off. Meant to blame the deaths on them. Meant to make it seem like they were trying to eliminate the barricade. Meant to cause a riot between them and the Grounders so that they could finish each other off while Thelonious Jaha sits on the sidelines twirling his thumbs, waiting with satisfaction.
There had to be more. Clarke wasn't convinced this was their only reason. Why go through all this trouble to blame them for a few explosives that had actually taken down more of their men than anyone else?
And just like that anger soar through her. Nothing like anything she's ever seen before, nothing like anything she's ever felt before.
Three-now four- months ago, after her father's death, she was visited by a raging wrath.
The smoke coming out of her could easily put that to shame.
She tossed the door open without a care, greeted by the faces of those walking in the skybox. Some looked at her like she was crazy, wide-eyed and fearful, some couldn't form any type of reaction because it was sudden. So sudden that she didn't realize or care that she was still in a feeble towel that barely covered the top half of her thighs.
Bare feet pounding, she stomped up the stairs, brushing, pushing and pulling past people. People who looked after her in bewilderment. She could have sworn she saw Octavia in the midst of them, jaw dropped. Clarke kept moving through, ignoring everything but the surge of fire emitting off her whole body.
The water that was latched onto her pale skin had dried leaving only her strands of gold cascading tiny, a beat far apart, droplets down her shoulders.
Blue eyes narrowed at the door in front of her when she reached the third floor. She cut the distance between them promptly, not bothering to knock, and flew right past the threshold.
"I want the truth, all of it, now!" she demanded, eyes blazing red, from crying or her fury, no one knew.
Tousled hair, like he was running his fingers through it, had her line of sight. If she looked down she might break and lose it all. She had to remain strong. This, right here, this moment, was all she had. From the minute she stepped foot into his world, she was left behind. Used like a puppet who was taken from place to place to do his bidding while he kept a tight lock on her, giving her nothing but emptiness and darkness to any and all her questions.
Fuck this. She was strong. She was powerful. She will receive all the answers to whatever fucking questions she wanted to ask. It was owed to her, and he'd be damned if he didn't deliver.
Her eyes found his, wide and lingering on her towel. Clarke stepped closer not before reaching behind and slamming the door with a force felt all the way down to the bottom floor.
"Speak," she demanded again, palms now in fists at her sides. She resisted the urge to curl her fingers into the edge of the soft towel, trying to cover up the flush that coated her legs, arms, working up to her neck and cheeks.
"Get out," he gritted finally coming to his senses.
Bellamy's stare went from surprise to irritation in a snap. Hers went from livid to being seconds away from throwing him off his balcony.
It was clear that before she intruded, he was welcomed by the crisp night air, a cigarette between his two fingers. The cold air caused the reformation of goosebumps along her exposed flesh. His cigarette, now put it, left a burning scent in its place.
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what you know. About me, my family, Arkadia, everything."
"Who the fuck do you think you are, coming in here and demanding things from me?"
"Cut the bullshit, you have deflected long enough," she took another step closer, "I deserve to know."
Bellamy chuckled, a very dark chuckle that sent an infinite amount of shivers up and down her spine, the cold air was nothing in comparison. "You think coming in here, in nothing but a towel will get me to tell you anything," he smiled wickedly, "didn't know you were this kind of girl, Princess."
Clarke collided with him. Throwing her body weight against him with a loud, irritated grunt, she sent punch after punch into his abdomen, his chest, his arms. He didn't flinch, didn't move. He didn't even pull back when she landed one on his jaw. He stood there, accepting them all.
"You're fucking pathetic Blake, this is all you are," she heaved but not daring to stop, no matter how loose the towel was getting, "a sad pathetic son of a bitch who would gladly bend over and let anyone take a shot at him for what?" she threw a punch to his side, "you let Marcus do it," a punch to his chest, smack center, "you let your sister do it," his shoulder, "and now you're letting me," she was a breath away from his cheek when he gripped her closed fists in his hand, sliding his foot around her ankle.
She fell with a bounce against his bed as he followed after her, his clothed chest to her toweled one, although at this point only the bottom half of her breasts were covered.
"Watch yourself," seething, he tightened his hold on her, crushing her under his weight.
"Pathetic," she spat at him.
The moments in Luna's rig so forgotten, the car ride a fragment of her imagination, still, the urge to close the space between them was shadowing, crawling in the back of her mind. It was only when his glare flicked to her lips that she realized this.
Her breasts rising and falling against him, her breath mixing with his. She prayed that he couldn't feel the hard peaks of her chest through the towel. With his hungry glare that frightened her and lit her up in flames, she watched him back, as he clenched his jaw.
"Tell me the truth," she whispered, lips nearly brushing the end of his chin.
"I've never lied." Hot breath crashed into her. He looked torn.
"Did you know my father?"
Bellamy didn't look as surprised as she had hoped. In fact, he didn't look the least bit worried that she fell onto this suspicion. With his eyes still on hers, he nodded.
"Did he work for you?"
Another nod.
"He knew Marcus Kane?"
He didn't move.
"What else do you know?"
Giving her a pointed look, she connected the dots that were lingering around her skull, refusing to fuse together. Tears prickling, threatening to spill, she felt his weight come off her.
"Explain," her lower lip trembled, the distance between them now much greater than it's ever been.
Bellamy lined his back against the far wall, facing her sitting form on his bed, for five minutes he didn't speak. Simply keeping that arrogant façade, that vicious glare right at her. Then, after another five minutes of nail biting silence, in which Clarke shifted, fixing her towel, he spoke.
"Jake was a big part of the operations," her breath hitched at the sound of her father's name but if he noticed, Bellamy didn't say a thing, just continued, "We knew about the Grounders for a long time. Those who didn't let themselves be tricked by the council, those who had lived to see the wall go up, knew the truth. Your father was one of them."
"He believed that this world can't be separated between us and them. It would only lead to worse living conditions, a life filled with rules that were hard to live by, punishments even harder to endure," there was a gruffness in his voice that came from tiredness, but as he explained she knew it was something else, "Jake and Marcus devised a plan, with the help of all those around them who trusted the same cause, they were able to gather enough information on the council. The longer we stay apart; the worse life will be for Arkadia."
"So it's his idea to go to war?"
"No."
"But you just said—"
"He wasn't the one who initiated it. If there was another option, he would have taken it."
"All along, you knew? You knew they would bomb us; you knew they would kill Wells?"
"Of course not. You think I wouldn't have prepared us if I knew? I wouldn't have warned you?"
"Explain it to me then!" she was caught between confusion, and anger, and pain so fucking strong it broke her more and more each time she sucked in a breath.
"It was Arkadia's plan. Think about it Griffin," he said, "They kill your father the minute he mentions them, they dropped a bomb wanting to end them, and then they killed their own just to keep their citizens useless, brainless puppets."
His words hit too close to the inner torment she was battling seconds before intruding his space. "Funny, were you not doing the same with me?"
Hurt flashed through his eyes then, just as quickly, vanished.
"I won't apologize for not telling you about this."
She figured as much. Not letting it go she narrowed her brows, "Fine, then how about apologize for giving me shit the first month I was here, where I practically swore on my father himself that my being here wasn't a ploy to gut you? Or for your never ending hurtful words? Or for using me to get Lexa and Luna and whoever else to participate in this game."
Ringing true, silence covered them once more. Both blazing eyes, angry threats and staggering gulps of air coming out of them. The balcony doors were still opened, she bit back the thought that the entire Dropship must have heard them.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
She froze, shocked that those words were actually in his vocabulary. His face was blank, as always. She saw it though; she saw his apology within those glowing brown spheres.
"Not as satisfying as I thought it would be."
It elicited a hint of a smile from him.
"If my dad was a part of this, then what about my mom?"
Bellamy shrugged, peeling himself off the wall. The thoughts coaxed her once more but as the rebel leader came nearer she found herself focusing on all those places she hit him.
"He never spoke of her, only of you."
"You knew him?"
A brief flash of teeth, and a slow nod, "Yeah, I did. Wouldn't shut up about his bratty daughter though,"
Clarke scoffed, "Looks like you need another punch or two."
"After Kane left, we met twice. Once to discuss the plan, and once to complete it."
"So both sides were plotting against the other?"
"Basically, except for the Grounders. Lexa is driven by revenge, wanting justice for the generations past."
Clarke peered up at him from beneath her lashes, he was an arm's length away, towering over her, "And you're not?"
He was watching her now, that same intent way he always does. This time around, it held something softer, something that bordered vulnerability she was accustomed to.
"No, Princess," he started, taking slow deliberate steps closer to her, "I'm only driven by two things. Keeping my sister safe, and getting as far away from this place as possible. If fighting in this war will get me there, then so be it."
"I told you to cut the bullshit Blake. Why spend all your time here, saving innocent children, plotting a revolution if you're truly the selfish bastard we both know you like to play?"
"Now that you know the truth," he mocked, "Get out."
"That's not even half of what you owe me."
"You got way more than what you were ever going to get."
The tension between them was thick again. Was it ever not? His calves now touching her knees, she felt the sadness seep into her, deeper and deeper.
"My best friend is dead," she whispered.
"I know."
A comforting stillness laid between them. His presence, much to her dismay, was calming. A part of her questioned her true motive to seek him out. In her heart she knew her father was involved in a lot more than what Bellamy told her.
He had plotted an entire revolution, a rebellion with Marcus Kane and Bellamy Blake. He was definitely the kind of man who would put an entire civilization before himself. A part of her soul shrieked as she recalled what she'd done.
Although, she can't deny taking those steps, her bare feet slamming against the cold concrete of the ground leading her to him, she wanted to be around him. Wanted to grieve in his presence. Since coming here he was the only one who didn't think of her as the scared, weak little girl from the horrible place that took away their freedom.
Even when he did bring her along with him to advance his own plans, he let her be her own person. She had a choice of whether to come or not in the first place. She spoke freely to Luna. Everything was on her own accord.
He never limited her abilities. The day the bombs were coming down, he let her lead them to safety with Finn, let her defy him. Despite his constant accusations of where her loyalties lie, he let her be.
This man standing in front of her, the one who her best friend would have without a shred of doubt teased her about then proceed to discuss strategies with, was something else entirely.
"He would have liked you," she tried but failed at giving him a soft smile. The pain of losing Wells still incredibly fresh. It was only two hours ago she learned that there was no one else that would understand her like he had. No one who knew their inside jokes, who shared with her parts of them they were afraid to show others.
A sound came from his throat, a mix of a scoff and a chuckle, "I made his best friend cry, and I'm out to kill his father."
"I would never cry over you."
"You're right. You'd just throw a temper tantrum in nothing but a towel."
"As if," leaning her head back in time to catch the twitch in his cheek.
"You climbed up the stairs like this?"
Clarke bit her lip, and the hunger zoomed past his eyes again. She nodded, and a curse flew out his lips. He shook his head, but this time it wasn't in anything other than amusement.
Taking a seat next to her, a thin line of space between them he said, "Wells told you that if I use the power I have for good, I could make a difference, right?"
Clarke willed herself with everything in her not to let her shock show. She had said that once to him, after her first trip to Polis. It felt like a lifetime ago. She really couldn't believe he remembered.
Sensing he was about to comment on it, she hurriedly said, "So my dad planned an uprising to save us all?"
As she spoke the words, they sounded even stupider. True, she didn't want to talk about Wells right now, the tears ticking her eyelids as a warning, but the ramming in her ribcage was from a lot more.
Still, she gave him a questioning look but he sighed, rubbing his large hand across the side of his face.
Along his jawline, just under the bruise he was sporting from Derrick was a new forming purple blotch that she was responsible for. She felt bad, however, not enough to take it back. She had a feeling he knew as much as he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes darting straight head.
"And he died before he could execute it," she said lowly, full of sorrow.
Bellamy's eyes shot to hers, "He died to execute it."
Kids of all ages and sizes gathered around.
Clarke couldn't believe there were really this many of them. She was really so arrogant, so unbelievably caught up in this whirlwind of information that she neglected to see there were a lot more people facilitating the Dropship.
At first, she believed there were only few adolescents, even fewer kids. Maybe there were. Looking at them now, knowing what was coming, where it would hit them and how fast it'll destroy their world, it felt like there were too many kids, too many people ready for the kill.
The main floor of the Dropship fit them all, nonetheless. Bright lights, the metal staircase to the right, the coolness seeping in from the weather outside, it was all to reminiscence of her very first time here.
Knowing what was coming, she pretending to be as confused and lost as the rest of them. Not wanting to think, worry or even acknowledge the little facts was becoming a habit. Hence, not realizing how many innocents actually lived with her.
She had rushed out of Bellamy's room. Before that however, it felt like the entire weight of the universe collapsed on her. His hand reached out to her but she shifted, tips of her hair dry, and face drained.
Fully clothed in her usual attire, she recalled how impulsive she was being. From the minute she had returned to Arkadian soil, she was running. From one room to another, she sprinted desperate to leave her thoughts lurking behind.
Even she knew it was getting old. She couldn't help it though.
Jake Griffin had died on purpose. He might as well have walked into the room filled with council members with their shifty judging eyes and firm olden traditions and admitted the truth about the Grounders.
He sparked the revolution with his own death. He sacrificed himself so that she, others like her could live in a world where there's nothing but air between them.
The worst part…she had helped him.
Did Bellamy know her dad was going to do that?
Bile rose once again, almost like emptying out her stomach ten minutes ago in her room wasn't enough. She hadn't even eaten anything since their journey back from Luna. Some logical sense, the infamous part of her told her to be proud of her father. That he is the kind of man, the kind of human being to have such hope, such dreams for a society so undeserving.
Even Monty would confirm that it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.
This world does not deserve a man like him. She did not deserve a father like him. If Clarke could die in this second, it would be too soon.
All the things she'd learned, in one day.
It wasn't the time for this.
No, she could dwell and promise to never cry again. She could recalculate and go over everything in her mind later. Because right now, she knew what was coming. And right now, she wasn't about to play pretend.
Clarke stood tall.
When the leader of Skicru walked up to the front, standing on one of the tables with Nathan Miller and John Murphy on either side of him, she awaited his earth shaking deep voice to guide them.
"This war is coming faster than we thought," his bluntness around the kids went unnoticed, as they themselves knew about war and fighting and pain. Fucking hell.
"This is our home, it will always be our home, but we have to leave. No one stays behind."
"Where would we go?" a distant voice in the crowd called out.
"You'll know soon enough. For now, we need to get to safety. Meet back here in an hour. Heads," Bellamy called to all responsible persons who are in charge of the various functions and skyboxes above, "Get your group ready to go. We do a head check before we leave."
A wave of shouts and questions chorused through.
"Shut the fuck up!" Murphy sneered at them. And like that, they silenced.
"Move. Now." Bellamy growled eyes scanning over them.
Clarke turned her head to the crowd on every side of her. Some were slow, and some ran for the hills as they all returned to their respective areas getting ready for their departure. She caught Finn's eye over a redhead's shoulder, he gave a grim nod, backing away as well.
Realizing that Finn was the only Skicru member she recognized, she subtly looked over her shoulder in search of the sassy Latina, or the two dorks, or even the fierce brunette with oceanic eyes. Not a single soul made an appearance.
She turned back around, only to meet three pairs of deep brown eyes.