I'm sorry it took long to get to this point but I needed to set it up. But I think it's fitting. I hope it's fitting. Please tell me it's fitting!
The Chancellor had been shot.
That was one of the things Clarke learned in the two days since the dropship had been launched. She'd caught it in the hushed whispers exchanged between people, snatching pieces of the story from the air voiced down corridors and in rooms she tried to avoid.
The second thing Clarke had found out was that guards were patrolling the area she needed to bypass in order to make it to the abandoned chamber, but they moved at what seemed to be random intervals. It wasn't as if she could stick around longer to find a pattern. She needed that chamber; needed someplace safe to construct some kind of plan. Clarke knew she had to get information on the air supply. And on her dad's file. But to her dismay, both were in Jaha's chambers. Clarke knew the code to get in, after Wells had told it to her, but she still had the rotating guards to deal with.
Which left her walking towards Agro Station, hoping today, she'd find a way to the storage chamber beneath. She felt her heart lurch in her chest with every step she took. An even greater fear was beginning to take up residency in her chest; that she wouldn't be able to recover any of it, not her father's file or the air supply information; that the only thing Clarke would manage to change was the way she died, swapping the ground for the stars.
Clarke shoved that thought as far from her as she could. At least the only thing she had left to lose was her life. What concerned her more was the other two thousand aboard this ship.
Clarke switched onto another corridor, keeping her head bowed, wary of every person that came near her, waiting for the shouts, for the alarms, for the sound of pounding feet. She was so close. So close to that chamber that she could almost feel it a floor beneath the soles of her shoes.
But then a sound coming from down the corridor caught her attention and Clarke's alertness piqued. She kept going, though, towards Agro. Towards the chamber. If she reacted to every sound, it would drive her insane. She needed to stay calm. She needed to stay focused.
Clarke cast a glance over her shoulder, before turning to the next corridor that would take into Agro.
She stepped onto it, just as that sound came again, much louder and undeniably much, much closer.
Clarke felt everything in her still.
That sound. She recognized it now, no longer muffled by walls or distance. It was the echo of feet on metal grating, on steel, sounding from the next corridor and suddenly, the image of running pursuers burst into real life. All of Clarke's structured thoughts abandoned her.
Her legs suddenly felt heavy, especially when she spotted the guards, having reached the corridor she was on.
That was all it took and Clarke's entire body reacted instinctively. She ran, pushing people out of her way, ignoring the gasps of disapproval and hurt erupting from those she practically knocked over. Her heart slammed against her chest and her lungs burned.
But Clarke couldn't feel any of it. She couldn't think passed anything but the guards that were coming. That were coming for her. But she wouldn't be caught. Not yet. Not when there was still so much-
She move faster, forcing her legs on, ignoring the ache in her muscles and the dryness of her throat. At the end of the corridor, she saw an entrance to Agro and launched herself through it. Clarke came to a halt.
Adrenaline messed with the mental map in her head, blurring the directions until it took essential seconds for her to grasp her surroundings.
She was in some type of common room. Empty.
Clarke looked back down the corridor she'd come from.
More pounding. More guards.
Her eyes roved over the area, up, down. There was nothing and she felt the terror of something feral and wild, cornered from all sides. Fear erupted inside her and trickled like ice water down her spine.
But then Clarke's gaze paused, spotting a small chamber, nearly hidden from her line of sight in the wall. A storage locker.
Without hesitation, Clarke reached for it, grabbing onto the handle and swinging it open.
She ducked down.
And was greeted by a face.
A jolt went through her as she met wide brown eyes set on prominent cheekbones and framed by a halo of matted dark hair. For a second, she could only look at the man, crammed inside a small box, looking stricken. Something dark burned in those eyes, and Clarke dropped her gaze, to what he was wearing. She caught the silver seal glimmering dully on his chest. She glimpsed the gun at his side, the stain of red on the fabric of his shirt, and her blood froze.
Clarke understood quickly, the sight clicking together like puzzle pieces. She knew who he was; why he was hiding in a storage locker. What other reason did a guard have to hide unless they weren't a guard? Unless they were an impostor, the one that had put a bullet through the Chancellor's chest.
For a second, he held her gaze seemingly as perplexed as she was. Panic flashed in his onyx eyes, but he recovered quickly.
"Don't scream," he hissed at her, the cadence of his voice deep and gruff. A warning.
Clarke couldn't even spare herself a moment of surprise, as she stared at this strange man, before glancing back down towards the corridor, the sound of footsteps approaching like a drum. "They're coming," she said, in a voice carved from desperation. "Please!"
He didn't move, but Clarke had the unsettling feeling that if looks could kill, she'd be dead and without his hesitation.
He grabbed for the handle, but Clarke put a hand out.
His eyes burned into her's. "Get out of my way."
The sound of approaching guards grew louder and Clarke stopped trying to reason with him, she pushed her way through, shoving him farther into the wall. His breath sawed through his lips, but his hand latched onto hers, clammy and unusually warm.
For one, terrifying heartbeat, Clarke was sure he'd push her back out, into the open.
But instead, he cast a glance trained somewhere over her head, and yanked the rest of her inside. She barely managed to pull her hands in before the man slammed the door shut, sealing them in a pit of darkness.
Clarke held her breath as the footsteps grew closer, closer, until she was pressing her back against the wall so firmly, pain laced up her back. She was aware of the guy sitting opposed to her, his legs pressing painfully into hers, aware of their breathing, mixing together in the tight space.
She imagined Soren's face, peering into the door. That gleam in his eyes, the eyes of a trained predator, as it landed on its prey.
I found you.
She waited, until the sound of the marching guards, once synchronized, now clearly in disarray, began to diminish, passing the box they hid inside.
Clarke let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. But her relief was short lived. Only then did she realize the stranger's hand was still locked around her arm and she tried to retract it, but his hold was firm, unrelenting like steel.
Clarke waited, but the only sound that came was the sound of breathing, vaguely laced with the pounding of both their hearts.
"You're him, aren't you?" Clarke asked quietly, the desperation giving way to shock. Or horror. It wasn't as if she placed Chancellor Jaha in any high esteem,-couldn't, with a man who'd killed so many and had hid behind rules and laws to justify it all.
He was the one who had sentenced her father to death. He was the one who'd stood by and watched one of his men press the button.
"The guard who shot Jaha."
Clarke couldn't see it in his eyes, but she felt the coldness in his voice, pricking her skin and raising the hairs on the back of her neck. "If you so much as scream, I promise, I will kill you. I'm already wanted for one body. So I've got nothing else to lose."
Surprising vehemence leaked into Clarke's tone as she stared in the direction of him. "Well you're in luck," she retorted. "Because it would seem we're both dead men walking."
At the lack of response coming from the opposing darkness, Clarke suddenly wished there was much more space separating them. Maybe he was planning a way to make good on his threat. At least with her death, there was variety.
"Why did you do it?" Clarke suddenly asked, almost against her volition, and as if to keep the quietness at bay. It'd been days since she'd had any human interactions. Months since it had been with anyone outside of a guard's uniform. But he wasn't really a guard.
"What's it to you?" he snapped.
Even though she couldn't see him, Clarke found herself narrowing her eyes. The air around her seemed to grow taut with tension. "Never mind. Maybe you just saw an opportunity." She hesitated a moment. "Not that I particularly blame you for it." She added.
Clarke tried to imagine it herself, waging whether or not she could pull that trigger and end the Chancellor's life. To have his blood on her hands. She wouldn't have taken the shot herself, though. That much he knew. Jaha may have sentenced her father to death, but Clarke wouldn't sentence him to his. She wouldn't play Chancellor by picking who lived and who died.
More awkward silence. Clarke tried to move her leg, but it only caused the man's kneecap to jab deeper into her thigh. She jostled him and Clarke caught the sound of his breathing, shallow and labored.
"You're injured," she said, remembering Shumway's words. Having it confirmed in the strain of the man's voice she had originally taken for fear or panic. Maybe it was both.
He bit back a scoff. "I've noticed."
Clarke took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tang of sweat and the metallic stench of blood as she eyed the spot where the handle was, hidden in the darkness. She didn't know if it was safe to go out yet. She didn't know if it was any safer staying in here.
"Why aren't you on the dropship?" the stranger asked.
The question caught Clarke by surprise. "How did you-?"
"The wristband," he replied. "I recognize it. And you running from the guards is a pretty good indication you're doing something you're not supposed to."
Clarke pursed her lips, debating on whether to tell this man-a wanted criminal, quite possibly the most wanted criminal on the Ark,-anything about herself. But Clarke already had a death sentence, and not even the Council could kill her twice.
"I..." She swallowed. "There's something here I have to finish."
The stranger scoffed, revealing, in that one single action, all condescension and mockery. "Like what?" He asked, as if it were a joke and he was waiting to hear the punchline.
Clarke shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "I have a feeling you honestly don't care."
"I care about the things that could get in my way," he said. "And some privileged, little girl's crusade sounds like it could be one of them."
Clarke glowered in the direction she imagined his face to be. Those dark eyes, hidden just behind the veil of shadows. "Believe me, it's not my intent to cause you and inconvenience."
Her quip hung in the air between them and she decided now was as safe a time as any. Clarke reached for the handle.
She felt the cool edge of it, right before the man snatched her hand back.
"Wait," he ordered. "I can't let you out of here. Not when I know you could go running off to the nearest guard or Marcus Kane himself and use intel of me as leverage to reduce your sentence."
Clarke had to give the man credit. It was a good idea, if her primary concern was being floated. Fortunately for her, it wasn't. But she didn't have anything helpful to offer Marcus Kane anyway, other than that she'd crossed paths with a boy, dawned in officer clothing. Bleeding.
They were already looking for that.
"And what exactly am I going to tell them?" she asked. "That you're on the Ark? I'm pretty sure they've already figured that much out by now. Besides, I actually stayed behind for different motives other than catching Jaha's shooter, so you don't have to worry about that."
He'll be caught in time, she thought to herself. And so would she. Living in a cage made that inevitable and Clarke couldn't help but think it ironic, how the infinity of space gave you nowhere to run.
The man let out a breath of exasperation, something that bordered on amusement. "Let me guess," he chided. "You stayed back for someone. A boyfriend?" he proffered cynically. "Because I doubt it's your sick grandmother."
Clarke felt her annoyance grow, but she shoved it down. "It's important," she told him. "We all have our reasons. But I should probably thank you. You've diverted attention away from me long enough to get around. Then again, now the guards have been doubled, so I'm not sure it was that helpful."
Again, Clarke's eyes fell the shadows near the handle and she went for it once more. If it wasn't clear now, it never would be.
"Wait," the stranger said again, and that threat was back in his voice. Maybe it had never left.
"No," Clarke told him. "I'm done waiting." She tried to move passed him and she managed to open it enough for a sliver of light to leech its way inside, but injured or not, the man had at least a hundred pounds on her, and he closed it again quickly.
"No," he snapped. "Because you're going to do what I tell you to do. I don't know who you are and frankly you're right, I don't care. But I can't trust that you won't do whatever it takes to save your own skin or whoever else you're involved with."
Anger lit inside Clarke's chest. "My life," she ground through her teeth, "Isn't my priority."
"But something is. And if that stands to jeopardize anything I need in order to-" The words broke off and he suddenly sucked in a breath as if he'd been stung.
Even in the darkness, Clarke recognized the signs. She recalled how warm his hand had felt, clammy and sweating, and burning to the touch.
"Your injury," she said, monotone. "It's infected."
"What, are you a doctor or something?" he rasped.
"I'm training..." a painful feeling flitted inside her, just over her heart. "I was training to be. But it looks like you don't have to worry about me getting in your way, not when your biggest concern is that injury."
He wheezed in what Clarke could only assume was a laugh. "Did they teach you that in your training? Because if that's the case, I'm as good a doctor as you are." Another wheeze, but this one sounded more like a groan. "It doesn't matter anyway. If I'm caught, it's not like they're going to patch me up just to float me."
Her curative mind kicked into gear and Clarke felt a pang of pity for this man, hurt and bleeding beside her. But it vanished as quickly as it had come. No one had forced him to shoot the Chancellor. Just as no one had forced her from the dropship. People made choices, and they would always have to live with the consequences of them.
"There are guards patrolling the med bay," Clarke said. "Twenty four hour watches, I assume, like they're doing here. I don't know the rotation times, but-"
"The timings are paired," the man interjected. "Five minutes, back to back. Then ten, and fifteen. Restarts back at five."
Clarke's eyes widened and her momentary surprise was instantly followed by suspicion. She was about to ask how he knew, but the answer came by itself, at her own realization. There was only one way he could've known that.
"You really were a guard," she said, almost resentfully.
He didn't reply and Clarke was more anxious now to leave.
But then an idea came to her. At first, it was just a small flicker, of ambition or stupidity, but it sprung up like wildfire.
"I'll get out first," the man said. His next words were cold and jagged, like broken glass. "Don't. Move."
She heard the handle creak, one hand still gripped painfully around her arm, but it was Clarke's turn to tell him to wait.
"What?" he asked, almost angrily, but she dismissed it. Her mind was whirring and though it could very easily be bad idea, Clarke was running out of options. She really hadn't had any to begin with in the first place, but she'd take what she could.
You owe it to your father.
Clarke stared into the pit of darkness. "How interested are you in not dying?" she asked it.