14.
The ground was mucky and slick against their boots.
Skicru was knee deep in the woods. Trees loomed over them as the various members of Alpha Squad led the teams of smaller groups through the treacherous path with little to no light.
Clarke Griffin watched in silence. She stepped alongside the rest of her group members, carefully inspecting the trees, occasionally glancing up at the stars that were gazing back down on them from up above, wondering what a large group of boys and girls are doing trampling the grass and dirt so late at night.
As tempting as it was to join Raven and Octavia and their group, led by Bellamy, she thought of a hundred other people she would have preferred to accompany rather than be stuck with the bearer of all secrets and lies.
Turns out, her mother wasn't as bad as Clarke had made her out to be. Compared to this bunch, she might as well have been a saint.
Truly, ever so truly, Clarke didn't want to be angry anymore. It was taking up most of her energy. Energy she needed if she wanted to outrun this devastating fate.
She didn't even want to think anymore. It was the fragments in between, that awkward but hopeful time when you feel like things are beginning to click into place that you realize you picked up the wrong piece to a completely separate puzzle. Where before nothing made sense to her, now everything made sense in a way she wasn't ready for.
Her father had died. Three months ago.
He sacrificed himself to start a revolution. He was a part of Skicru, if not a leader himself. Aiding in giving them information. Planning a rebellion.
He was friends with Marcus Kane. A man that was repeated into their brains to fear.
The words had crashed into Clarke. So fast and so hard she was surprised, and thankful, she didn't plummet down the staircase running back to her room for that safety and comfort she never got it.
It took her hours before her eyelids finally shut and welcomed the deep slumber she had been craving since before her trip to Luna's rig. Unfortunately, she only managed a thirty-minute nap before being hauled up and away to the main floor where she and the innocents around her were told they had to run, to flee their home and disappear farther away than they had ever been. Far beyond the wall, far beyond their little illusion of peace and wellbeing.
Here they all were now, trekking in between the long trees, the branches out at odd angles, the leaves dangling low enough to graze her cheeks, she didn't want to let her mind move. She was not going to get caught up in the details. She was not going to think about Skicru, or how many others had known about her father's appearance and contribution to the "cause". She was not going to think of all the moments where Bellamy gave her shit, or Raven gave her sympathetic eyes but never once told her about how her own blood dripped for revenge, or how every fucking thing in her world had just burst into roaring flames too big to put out.
No, she was not going to lose herself to herself.
Not like this. Not ever again.
She would put on a face. She would be brave. She would make whatever crazy shit that happened before her time, worth it. Even if it wasn't. Even if Lexa is bloodthirsty for avenging her mother who was merely a victim. Her uncle, she never met. And her grandmother who was the sole purpose of their fight. A fight for life that was lacking. A fight for people who suffered at the hands of others who paved into their souls' morals and traditions that shouldn't exist. That have no real value compared to human life.
The pitter-patter of footsteps coming nearer pulled her out of her trance. Not having to look to see who it is, she held her shoulders up high, and put on that face.
"Clarke," Monty's gentle tone was like a knife through the throat. Still, her face remained motionless, she kept her stare before her at Harper's bouncing ponytail as she navigated the area, watching for suspicions up ahead.
"I'm sorry about Wells," Monty started up again, "He was your best friend, right?" he paused awaiting a response that would never come, "Uh well," he stammered bringing a hand to the back of his neck, he rubbed his skin slowly, "I can't imagine ever losing Jasper, so I'm sorry."
Clarke pushed back the saliva collecting in her mouth. She did feel bad for ignoring him, she felt even worse when he gave her his sympathy, but it didn't change the facts. And Clarke, well, she was all about the facts.
"It's fine."
It was barely an audible response, and Monty, being the genius that he is, sensed something off long before he approached her. But, like the kind friend he is, he put his neck on the line. She didn't deserve him.
Dodging any of his attempts to dissect her, Clarke pushed past, jogging lightly to reach Harper and lose herself in some meaningless small talk until they reached their unknown, mysterious destination.
"How much longer?" one of the sixteen-year-old girls with silver wild curls asked, pressing her palm to her thighs, heaving for air.
Besides Alpha Squad, no one was in shape to walk for an extended period of time. So, it took them about four hours to walk ten miles, not including breaks. It was what was expected really. These people haven't had to fight for their survival other than before they were transported to The Dropship.
Clarke's heart sank at the thought of that lone warehouse left behind. From where she stood, she knew it was extremely beyond the horizon. Lingering a couple miles south of the wall, a place she felt safe in. Despite the fact that none of her 'friends' bothered to mention the secret that now clawed at her feet.
"A long way," Harper replied coolly. She proceeded to take calculated steps, head still up high, like a hunter in the night.
They surfaced into a clear outing. Much smaller, and with the groups coming out from all directions, it felt like having smog and smoke cluster in her lungs.
The members in their group included mostly young preteens, and considering it is Skicru, there weren't very many of them. Yet, they all held their own, and hearing Harpers words, they all groaned in unison before scattering across the smaller glade where all the other groups were now emerging.
"Where are we going again?" The sixteen-year-old asked once more, lingering beside Clarke. Her hair was unique. Clarke knew it couldn't have been natural, which meant that she must have dyed it.
How much supplies, materials, knowledge did Skicru have if they can manage to smuggle some hair dye for a bunch of giggly girls?
How much power were they hiding beneath compared to the power Jaha is gloating in?
Harper gave them both a firm closed lip smile and if Clarke kept her eyes on Harper for a second long she would have seen her dirty blonde hair sway as she shrugged her shoulders in oblivion.
Except Clarke's blue eyes were somewhere else. On someone else.
Across the glade, illuminated by the torch of fire he was holding was the rebellious leader and his ever so charming smirk. As he barked orders, with Roma lingering around him basically feeding on his every word, he was in his element.
She had seen him compel a crowd before. She's pretty sure he's compelled her a couple of times too, just by the echo in his voice and the way he directed each word at her, for her. Like it all mattered. Like she was what made it matter.
How stupid was she to believe that? He's used that tone, that deep baritone that shook her spine senseless to others, he made them feel just as wanted. Then made them regret their will to live seconds after.
His eyes met hers. In the darkness, with the tiniest sparkles above them, his eyes found hers and if she wasn't so pissed, if she didn't feel so betrayed, she might have gone into shock at how hard her heart skipped that beat.
"Hey, we set up here. Start a fire." Harper called out to her group.
Peeking over her shoulder, Clarke noticed how the small glade couldn't accommodate all of Skicru. Some groups hung further in, by the trees, while others couldn't actually be seen.
In her bones, deep in her bones, Clarke recalled how she always had a feeling something terrible was waiting in the shadows. She sensed it the day they came for her father, she sensed it the day Jaha passed the rule of no more than two food portions per week, per family.
Yet, somehow she hadn't sensed the bombs, or Wells death, or the war coming.
Somehow, in the last three seconds, deep in her bones, she sensed something. Maybe the worst of it all. Maybe not even close to the worst of it all.
Strong senses evaded her. Closing in slowly and slowly making her realize the one solid piece of truth.
She sensed her unbecoming.
"What does it even matter?"
His head shot up in surprise, and she fought back the ever growing smile she always had when she knew the right buttons to push.
"What does it even—" he cut himself off with a scoff and a slight shake of the head causing a flutter of giggles to erupt from the pit of her stomach all the way to her head. Brain on overload of excitement and eagerness to learn, she fixed her shoulders and gave a playful glare.
Her father had been working on some kind of device, or something… she wasn't really sure. He was explaining the way certain mechanics work when she felt the boredom fill her up. She spent all day tinkering with his tools, wondering when he'll finish so they can finally, finally, go outside. Either to sit by the garden her mother worked tirelessly on, or to walk around City Hall with Wells.
"The lake is looking really pretty. I'm trying to make the blue lagoon colour with my paints but it's always either too green—"
"Or too blue." He finished off with a knowing smile.
Biting her lip, she asked, "I've told you this before?"
"A thousand times."
"Well then maybe we should get me some new paint,"
A contagious curve of the lip greeted her. And she fought, so hard to keep her annoyed façade up, but to no avail.
"Ok, fine." She sighed in defeat, walking over to the other side of the room where the door was wide open, awaiting her departure.
Last second, just before she exited the threshold, she turned on the spot and took another good look at what her father was building.
"What is that thing again?"
Jake Griffin paused. There was a debate going on in his head. She knew because her eyes moved the same way when she was trying to decide something, trying to figure out if she should follow her gut or not.
Something flicker in his blue eyes. The blue eyes he gave her.
"It's a special device," he began and when she rolled her eyes, he chuckled, "Easy now, it's not just any device. It's…" he trailed off.
Bringing a hand to the bridge of his nose, it was Clarke's turn to pause. She knew her father only did that when he was truly in distraught about something.
"It's something that will help us, help all of us."
"What does it do?"
"It's not about what it does Clarke, it's about what it represents."
A cool shudder whipped past Clarke's loose curls, bringing her out of her slumber and pulling her away from the hazy image of her father. She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, wishing that the dream would return, that the memory will replay as if it never stopped.
She felt something heavy drop on her. The coldness disappeared, but the scent of cigarettes, mahogany wood, and something else she knew all too well invaded her nostrils.
Her eyes flickered open, finding him in an instant.
"You didn't have to…" she started, gesturing to his jacket that now covered her like a blanket, except that he was already walking away. His silhouette getting further away until the image of his broad back stretching the thin t-shirt that was fraying and flapping gently against the icy breeze was locked in her mind.
Clarke scanned her surroundings. In the far side Jasper, Finn, and Monty sat in a half circle, facing towards her but their heads were low, deep in conversation. Past them Raven and Wick had worried looks etched on their faces, and if she wasn't so hazy with sleep she would've thought Raven, fiery and fierce Raven, was about to shed a tear.
It's really in these moments that she realized how easy it is to forget who they are. They had travelled all day, escaping their home, the place they grew up and got to know so well because of a fight that happened long before they took their first breath. One by one, they took turns saying goodbye. One by one they let the fear of what would happen next sink in and eat away at them.
Had her father known this?
When he took his life to spare hers? Or when she did what she had to in order to save him, did he know?
Did he know he left his eighteen-year-old daughter, with enough demons to scare away the average man, an impossible battle to fight? A war that wasn't hers?
She wanted to be mad at him. Jake Griffin was the embodiment of goodness. She fucking hated it. In fact, she hated it so much, she was beginning to hate herself for praising it all those years ago.
Kindness, in its simplest form, is a lie. It's a person's ability to make you believe this fantasized beauty that you can't really see or grasp but you know is there. Because how could someone so nice, so sweet, have a full, big, heart hold onto the darkest and scariest secrets of the world?
Like smoke, in that old farmhouse, in her haunting nightmares, and now playing in the wind around her, it was suffocating.
They're all going to die in a matter of days.
Lexa and her clans are preparing their blood for the spilling, Arkadia is preparing to spill said blood, and Bellamy Blake is finally running away like the
"Coward you are," a sneer made the blonde hairs on the back of her neck rise.
"What?"
Murphy made a scoff like sound at the back of his throat before coming around until they were facing each other, almost facing each other. She had to peer upwards slightly as he loomed over her.
"Got all the beauty sleep you needed, Princess?" he mocked, snarky grin never leaving his face.
"What were you saying before?" she asked him, ignoring his stupid jab.
He raised an eyebrow, his crooked nose seeming suddenly straight before jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "I was telling those idiots to stop scaring the kids."
"Didn't know you had such a maternal instinct." A dry chuckle, on her part. It was met with a sly grin and hooded eyes.
"We wouldn't even be here anyway if it wasn't for you."
"What the hell are you talking about Murphy?"
This time, he gave the humorless disturbing chuckle that made her entire body stand on edge, "The princess says jump and the king asks how high?"
She bit back the urge to ram his dirty brown mop of hair right against the tree bark calling out to her. She knew who he meant, she didn't however know what he meant.
"I don't understand whatever it is you're going on about, but I had nothing to do with this. In case you haven't notice, the king says jump and you guys try to beat each other out on who jumped the highest. Surprised you're not sucking his dick yet Murphy."
If this conversation wasn't doing it, then the bubbling rage was definitely spurring up to the surface because of the lanky boy's calm and collected exterior front that Clarke was beginning to notice as not a front at all.
Her words didn't effect Murphy. Not the way she wanted them to. It made her wonder just how much this guy had suffered in his lifetime.
He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in amusement, his eyes mirroring that of a Cheshire cat she read about in an old book. If she remembered correctly it was still hidden between her bedframe and the wall. She used to read it all the time as a child.
"In case you haven't notice, the king only said jump because the princess said it first."
"You really think Bellamy would ever do what I say? Or what I wanted? If that's the case," she shot him a threatening look, "then he would have listened to me when I told him we should just get Lexa and the council together, form some kind of treaty and be done with it."
"You're an idiot if you think a treaty would have done shit."
"Thanks Murphy."
"Seriously Clarke, even you had to know that they were planning this for a long time. Arkadia cares about no one, not even its own fucking citizens. They care about themselves, your mother cares about herself."
He was touching dangerous territory. At this point, it didn't matter. Both her parents weren't who they said they were. She should have known better than to trust it, to trust them.
"I know. It still doesn't mean that I caused this," she gestured around absently to the members of Skicru all around her. They were falling in and out of sleep, falling in and out of conversations, and slowly, ever so slowly, forgetting they had fears only to be reminded by the wilderness around them, and the stars up high calling out war cries, and silent warnings.
When Murphy let out a laugh this time, it wasn't dry or cold. It was full of wonder and genuine glee. Another shiver ran up her spine, if she was being honest, this was way worse than snarky, hurtful and rude Murphy.
"You seriously," his laugh echoed in the distance, turning every conscious head over to them, "you'll figure it out, Princess." He huffed out after finally catching his breath. He eyed the thick material in her lap, scrutinizing just enough to make her cheeks heat up.
She sat quietly for a second. Inhaling that scent of mahogany, wood, and something else that made her heart stutter, she took a final glance up at the scrawny, rebellious, yet so misunderstood boy in front of her.
"How'd you figure it out?" she asked in a voice just above a whisper.
"Who do you think told me to stay behind on Grationem Dan to make sure you got to Polis okay in case you changed your mind?"
Like that, he walked away.
Knowing how dangerous her question was before she asked it was one thing. She didn't consider how dangerous his response would be. Those words tossed and turned in her mind. They tasted sweet, like honey and she wanted to indulge in it. Then just as soon, she'd remember how easy it was to lie to her. To her face. About everything. About knowing who her father was, what he had done, why he had done it.
He kept it all from her. And even when she felt her lowest, her weakest, the secrets were still kept under lock and key, far away from her.
She couldn't forgive that.
Her actions betrayed her thoughts when she found herself tugging the warm coat closer to her chest. She clutched it tightly right over her heart, shaking her head at her foolishness, she got up and stretched her legs.
Vaguely recalling the direction that strong silhouette took, she followed with fox-like ease and quietness, curving with the trail as it bent and broke between a cluster of fallen branches, bushes and tree stumps.
The spider-web like vision of the brown bark branches interlacing blocked her view, and with the dark night surrounding her and lack of fire lighting up the path, she felt an uneasiness fluttering into her soul. She was just about to take another step when a firm grasp on her wrist snatched her close, pressing her up the wooden pricks that pierced into the skin covering her spine.
"Octavia?" she whisper-yelled, half in confusion, half in pain.
"Shh," the brunette hushed placing her palm against Clarke's mouth and jerking her head in the direction of muffled voices.
What the hell is going on? Clarke thought angrily. She would have voiced it too if there wasn't a hand smothering her lips, or intruders frolicking about in the woods.
"Follow me, stay down, and for the love of God shut up."
The brassiness wasn't appreciated, and Clarke was slightly shocked at how Octavia was behaving. If she thought about it, Octavia hasn't spoken to her in days, possibly weeks. The last positive, remotely pleasant, interaction was that night laying on her bed staring up at the ceiling and wondering how they ended up here. Raven's bitter retorts still vivid in her mind.
Like the feeling of being wanted, which just as quickly disappeared for the aftermath of that conversation that was followed by a deceitful event that played at the hands of her best friend's death, she was starting to question more than just disloyalty.
Silently, she nodded and pressed her lips together when Octavia's fingers released her. They took careful steps in the direction of the deep voices, Clarke figured it was two males, and she was willing to bet anything that it was the older Blake talking to the younger Blake's boyfriend.
Gently, ever so gently, the two girls crouched down. Shifting away a couple of fallen leaves, they peered at the two men from behind the cluster of bushes, branches, and darkness.
"…through thick and thin, you need to know that." She was able to catch the last of Lincoln's words as he strutted forward with such purpose that she felt instantly envious.
Not wanting her brain to move faster than her heart, she stopped herself from wondering what it would be like if she carried herself with such determination. She always believed she was that kind of empowered, and powerful woman. These days, it seems like the world is pushing her so far down that laughing at her little misconception wouldn't come close to describing her misery.
No, she needed something far worse than laughter at her pain.
She needed a fucking war that is going to wipe out an innocent civilization and corrupt the place she grew up in further than it already is.
To abuse power, she smirked to her inner self, to abuse power that shouldn't have ever be theirs.
"Why?" came the thick, laced with so much grief and tiredness, voice.
Lincoln looked Bellamy dead on, fingers clenched tight forming fists, he said so clearly, so crisp, "Because I love her."
Bellamy didn't look the slightest bit surprised. Giving one swift nod, he tucked his fingers into his pockets and sat down on the abandoned, wide, log where the grass blades were crushed by the black boots he wore, and the midnight blue blanket above him shined brighter than ever before.
"But you already knew that," Lincoln claimed. When Bellamy shrugged his shoulders, Lincoln stepped closer until he too was sitting on the other side of the log, leaving a respectful distance between himself, and his, no doubt, future brother-in-law. If they ever made it out of this alive.
"Doesn't matter what I know." He paused. Then, as if the sky was suddenly on fire, his gaze lifted up. The column of his throat, tan and glistening with sweat, was all Clarke could see. She didn't bother look at what captured his attention. Right now, he was in control of hers.
"Octavia knows how I feel, she's always known." Lincoln admitted softly. Clarke gave in to the urge that tugged at her to look to the side, at the girl a few breaths away from her.
What she saw almost brought tears to her eyes. The young girl, who all her life knew not a single soul other than her mother and brother, was now fighting back a giant grin as watery eyes were appearing.
"I held the door open." Bellamy said. Looks of confusion met him, both from the hidden girls and the muscular man at his side. Lincoln waited patiently for the rebel leader to elaborate. A beat later, he continued, "Whenever there was a surprise inspection, which weren't much of a surprise because our mother knew every single time one was due, I held the door open to the cellar where she crouched down, and hid from them."
"All her life, it wasn't measured by time, or age, or anything more than the minutes between the last inspection and the next one." He sighed deeply, his gaze still fixed on a spot in the sky.
Lincoln parted his lips, ready to say something but maybe thought better of it, because he shut them tightly. Probably trying hard not to imagine the girl he loved so isolated and scared.
Clarke's own mouth opened. Her breathing became hitched and she felt terribly for every person wronged by the devilish ruler.
Bellamy removed one hand from his pocket, bringing those lean fingers up and over his face, rubbing at the pain and exhaustion that latched at him.
"She deserves someone who will treat her better. Someone who wouldn't hold open the door, but keep it closed and tell those fuckers to go to hell."
"You all would have died," Lincoln tried arguing but Bellamy's next words didn't only hit the three eagerly listening lost souls, but managed to elicit a gasp from his sister as well.
"Would've been better than this life right here."
The two men now stared at each other. One of them wondering how someone could have such thoughts but seeming to understand completely, and the other looking so torn she wanted to go over there, with his sister in tow and tell him he's being stupid.
Even if she felt that way sometimes. Even if she hoped for that same thing most times. It didn't matter. Because these people relied on him. If he had spoken up all those years ago, if he had died. Then they would have never come close to this.
It hit her. Like a shit ton of bricks. They weren't running away. Bellamy Blake would never cower away like she always did. She didn't know where they were going, not exactly but she had an idea.
"Fall down," Lincoln's husky voice was so much deeper now. He carried such strength in it, provoking his companion to listen.
"Get back up."
Clarke heard it twice. Once from the guy across her view, and the other, a soft breathy whisper right by her neck. Their simultaneous response echoed in her mind, all through the night.
"Get back up," Lincoln nodded encouragingly. A small smirk trickling at the corner of Bellamy's lip gripped her.
She turned to Octavia, watching that same smirk smile appear on her face. She brushed her head lower, and in a small voice asked, "Why do I get the feeling you do this often?"
"Not often," Octavia answered back, "Just enough times where I have indestructible confidence that the man I love, loves me."
A smile threatened its way across Clarke's lips. She had enough power and wits to push it back down.
"Bellamy's guilt filled tales are a rare occurrence," she admitted softly. "I hated it. So fucking much. Watching him run off to school, or work, or talk to his friends when they called the house. I never knew he hated it just as much."
"He didn't hate it," Clarke started, "He hated what it made him do."
Octavia's face broke her heart. This was the same reason why she didn't want to get too close, know too much. But it was too late now.
"I know he loves me, but what I caused, I wouldn't forgive that."
"You did nothing. You were a victim of a stupid fucking rule that governed our entire being. Jaha was selfish and crude, it was never about enough food rations. We had technology for fucks sake. It was a rule made up long ago, a rule that carried enough strength and power to manifest example after example to prove his worth."
"So I was just a ploy in his fucked up game. A way to show he's in charge?"
Clarke's whisper was greeted by a thick rush of air. "We all were."
Where it was picking up pieces to the wrong puzzle before, it was now making her own puzzle up with whatever pieces she managed to scavenge.
If it wasn't clear all those weeks ago, Jaha had to die. Not before he suffered like he made them all suffer.
"Are you going to tell her?" Lincoln's voice brought them back.
"No."
"She needs to know."
"That's what they keep telling me," Bellamy's tone was dry. Clarke had a feeling Octavia wasn't the topic of discussion anymore.
"You do realize that the longer you go without telling her, the harder it will be to win this war?"
Bellamy remained silent.
"You came all this way for her, why?"
"I didn't do this for her, I did this for them."
"Could've fooled me."
"You're starting to sound like Murphy," Bellamy grunted in disapproval.
Lincoln sighed, "Maybe the idiot knows a lot more than you give him credit for."
"She just lost her best friend and found out her father was a founding member of Skicru. This could kill her."
She bit back the sharp gasp that would have escaped. If either of those two caught them, they would be done for. Not to mention the obscure amount of embarrassment it would cause all four of them.
Nevertheless, they were talking about her.
"I thought you could care less about what happens to her."
Clarke tried to ignore the blow of pain that rammed into her. She still had a weird sense that there was something more in the Grounders voice, something that moved Clarke in a completely different frame of mind.
"Unless you do?" Lincoln's question held more comfort and genuine curiosity then it did teasing and mocking.
Brown eyes shifted in her direction. She held her breath, scared and wondering if he spotted her through torn greeneries, and broken twigs. Ignoring that feeling and the aquatic eyes burning a hole into the side of her head. She remained motionless, listening carefully to his next words.
"Doesn't matter," he finally said after a long pause.
"The longer you think that Blake," Lincoln got up from his spot, "the more you'll lose your way."
That being the final goodbye, Lincoln walked away at a leisurely pace. Like he knew he was being watched. Like he knew his girlfriend and the girl who may have caused this entire mess were watching him.
Octavia shuffled up from her crouched position too. Stretching her legs and cracking her knees, she gave Clarke a we're-so-talking-about-this-later look and took to following the man who loved her, the man she loved.
A stunned silence stretched far and wide. Clarke didn't realize how long she still hid there until her thighs moaned in pained, and a jolt of panic rushed through her.
She had always known that there was so much more she truly didn't know. Leaving her in the dark like that was Bellamy's favourite pastime. He did seem a little apprehensive, a little unsure if not telling her was the best thing to do.
Quickly and as quietly as she could, she slowly reached her full height and took a single step back before a tremor of terror awakened her veins.
"You stayed longer than I expected." Was his only response. She froze in place.
Slightly hoping that he saw wrong, or worse, that he couldn't see her from behind the veil of green.
He did. As clear as anyone could in complete darkness.
"Nasty habit," he bit out with a mock shake of the head. She bit her tongue, her lip, the inside of her cheek before finally emerging from her hiding spot. It all felt too familiar.
"Maybe if you tried talking to people, you know? Instead of keeping shit to yourself, you wouldn't have this many eavesdroppers."
"I spotted you way before I saw Octavia huddled down there. And I lived with her for fourteen years." Before she got caught, she finished his unspoken thought.
Coming into the clear, she noticed that he wasn't even looking at her. His gaze was stalking the sky. Again. His fascination with it made her smile, almost made her smile.
"So you're saying that you can find me no matter where I am?"
Lightening quick, his glistening brown eyes, even in the dark, flashed towards her. As solemnly as he could, he replied. "Yes."
Ignoring the fire in the pit of her stomach, she shot him her best unimpressed look. Really, his one-word syllable shook her more than anything thus far.
"I heard everything."
"I know."
A pause. She was debating her next move, and he was watching her like a predator hunts his prey.
"You're not telling me something," just before he can say anything she added, "I don't care. You don't need to tell me Blake, but you need to realize that Lincoln was right. The longer you shut me out, the more you'll lose."
"Funny, Griffin. Could've sworn you've been shutting all of us out since the day you arrived." A smug smirk decorated his pink lips. She took a tentative step in his direction, noticing as his body went ridged. When his eyes recognized the jacket wrapped around her, they became glazed with explosive emotions.
If he knew what her next move was he didn't call her out on it.
"Maybe." She nodded. "I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought that staying away was going to make it easier when this all ends."
She admitted this with less remorse than she initially thought. It was time to take a different approach. He never opened up, but yet, she felt comfortable telling him anything. It scared her more than she wanted to let him know.
So she would follow her gut. She would trust him one more time. And this time, she would get him to finally trust her back. No matter what.
"I came to you to help, yes. But I had so much more in mind. All my life, I was told no. With everything. Then days before my father's death, I heard him and my mom arguing about what he found. I mean, now I know that it was all a scheme, I'm also almost positive he hadn't meant for me to find out but I know his words were directed at me." It was her turn to shift her stare at the world above, and for his to sink daggers into her flesh.
"He said, 'This needs to be done, Abby. For the world to be its truest form.' I wondered what form he was talking about. The true form of natural instinct and power hungry bastards, or the form where good always defeats evil." A loud exhale was released, and she felt like drowning.
Bellamy stayed silent. Indirectly prompting her to continue. She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eyes, and it was enough encouragement to continue.
"I thought peace and a treaty was the answer but it wasn't. I was ignorant," her speech was met with a scoff, "I was lost in a fantasy world. I thought war wasn't the answer but it was. Except, it's not a war for power. In some twisted, sick way, possibly the old ways of our ancestors who ruined the earth before us, this war is peace. For peace."
He remained locked on her. Watching with a softness she was worried will fade, but knowing she had to say these next words, she wafted away his stare and took the plunge.
"If you had told me about my father, I could've savaged whatever memories I had of him, the good and the bad and maybe we could have found some answer long ago. If you had told me about the wall and its true history maybe I could have fought harder with Lexa. If you had mentioned Arkadia's lifetime plan, then maybe I wouldn't have wasted my time looking for peace in places it didn't exist. Do you know what you've done? Do you even care?"
Her golden locks twirled in the gust of wind that blew. Thankfully it blew away her watery eyes that were on the brink of emptying out. She swore she wouldn't break down again. She wouldn't break down again. Especially for someone like him.
"I thought I saw something in you. I thought we could work together and that you were the last bit of hope this world has. We had a deal remember? I thought that if I trusted you enough it could show you that you can trust me too, but I just realized that you're a joke, Blake. Always been, always will be."
He was in front of her before she could even blink. His hot breath crashing against hers. A solid grip on both biceps, his forearms tightened and pulled her in so close that it nearly marked up to being a lover's embrace.
"Stop talking."
"Why? Because you know what I'm saying is the truth? What you think manhandling me and threatening me with that stare will get me to shut my mouth?"
His brows furrowed, his grip loosened, but only briefly. "I never lied to you."
"You only hid shit from me."
"You couldn't handle it. How could you? Every single time someone doesn't bow down to your feet you snap your killer jaws at their throat. You did it with Lexa, Luna and all the rest. But I know what you're doing. It's not going to work on me." He seethed. "For the last time, Princess, you don't know anything."
"So tell me."
Maybe it was her tone, her pleading eyes, or the nonexistence space between them, but it softened up his features so much that she had a hard time tearing her gaze from the echoed sky on the hollowed out flesh of his cheeks.
"I'll tell you," it sounded like a promise but she knew better than to instantly believe him. "Under one condition."
"What?"
"You listen to it. All of it before you go running off."
"I don't run off," she tried but if his death grasp on her didn't hold her in place, then the pointed look he shot her definitely did.
"Fine." She agreed.
"Fine." He said lowly, eyes trailing her face as hers did the same.
"D-does Octavia always listen in on you and Lincoln." Clarke wanted to steer the conversation as far away from herself as she could. The intoxicating way she felt, the relief was too much.
"Yes."
"And you don't tell him?"
His mischievous smile sent her insides tumbling around and over themselves. "No."
"Nasty habit," she mumbled. Just like that, his smile turned genuine, she even caught a flash of teeth. It never seized to surprise her how one minute she wanted to kill him and the next she wanted… she shushed her thoughts quickly, not allowing them to elaborate.
"You're wrong by the way," he let her go. A colder gush of air hit her as he continued to take a few steps back and away from her.
"You're wrong," she argued back. Fixing his jacket from his crumpled up hold on it. He followed her movements, and the way he did caused her to just about go up in flames.
"I was talking about earlier," he explained.
She rolled her eyes, "So was I."
"The world's truest form isn't defeating evil, or succumbing to it. It's more than that." He went on, ignoring her teasing.
"How would you know? You told Lincoln, me, and your sister not even five minutes ago that you didn't want any part of this world."
He pressed his lips in a tight line. She ached all over, both from his words and hers.
"I know, because there was a time when people like you, Princess, fought for people like me."