Miss Me Princess?

Chapter Fifteen

They didn't hold out long. They were never going to.

Not a group of teenagers from a space station against an army of honed warriors. They had settled into their little camp, built on the exact spot where they crash landed on the planet, and they had built their walls around it. It was naïve but they let themselves believe that they were protected, as though their walls of wooden planks made their camp an impenetrable fortress. As though by erecting a wall they could somehow insulate themselves and keep the monsters out. It didn't take the grounders long to show them that their walls were no barrier, they weren't built with stone or concrete or metal like the blockade the 100 wished it to be.

The monsters got in.


"Here's another one." A voice behind Clarke shouted. She turned to face her next patient.

Blood, so much blood and gore. War was messy. They never told you that in history lessons. Battles were - slippery blood, torn flesh, gaping wounds, broken bone. Pain. Blood curdling screams of pain and agony.

Clear the wound.

Stop the bleeding.

Close the wound.

It was simple commands like this that kept Clarke moving through the horror. The instructions sounded in her head. They were the only thoughts she allowed to enter into her mind while she worked.

"Hold this." She spoke briskly, barely looking her patient in the face as she compressed the bleeding gash with a thick handful of the spongey absorbent moss that she used for gauze. She didn't want to know who it was. She didn't have the time to be friendly or reassuring. She was silent, the blank mask of a doctor - of a leader - firmly in place as she blocked out everything other than her patient, everything horrible happening outside the dropship, the crying and the screaming and the ever present crack of gunfire in the background. The wall in her mind was one of impenetrable steel and she forced all her fear, all her panic, every thought and every emotion far back behind it.

She worked furiously. Ceaselessly. Treating one casualty after another. Desperately trying to save lives.

Clarke was so absorbed in her work, so focused on what was right in front of her that she didn't realise what was going on around her. She didn't notice when more and more people streamed into the dropship, or that they were running – retreating. She didn't notice that it was time, that they were enacting the final plan – until it was too late.

The creaking groan of the heavy dropship door being hoisted shut pulled Clarke from her absorbed trance. She stopped what she was doing – dressing a wound from a spear that had been embedded in a girl's thigh. She looked up and saw Harper giving her a tight lipped smile of thanks through a grimace of pain. Clarke squeezed Harpers shoulder reassuringly, feeling slightly guilty for not having realised who it was before now, and turned to survey the dropship. With a jolt of surprise Clarke observed that it was filled with dozens of people; all bloody and dirty, some crying, some injured, all waiting. With a final creak of the mechanism and the grinding of metal the door was closed. The sound drew her attention and an ember of worry flared in Clarke's stomach. Miller gave the order and the dropship was sealed shut, the airlock hissing. Clarke only had a fraction of a second to wonder why it was Miller and not Bellamy. Then Miller was turning to Monty and Jasper and giving them the order to detonate. Again Clarke only had time to watch on and in that moment the briefest thought of why wasn't it Raven flickered in her mind. The ember of anxiety gnawing inside of her turned cold. Then there was a roar so loud she thought she had gone deaf. The dropship shook violently and the world caught fire.

Clarke had turned her mind off and let herself function on autopilot since the fighting began. But now her senses came rushing back. It was like waking suddenly from a dream, as though a dormant part of her mind had just been switch back on and with it a tidal wave of thoughts hit her with crushing force. Panic seized her. Her breathing became ragged and her chest constricted painfully.

It was done: the final step, their last resort. The grounders, their camp, everything and anything and anyone surrounding the little metal womb of the dropship was burning in a blazing fire of rocket fuel.

Seconds ticked heavily by. Clarkes eyes scanned frantically over the gathered faces. There were, she guessed, maybe forty or fifty people. Her stomach turned to lead. So many missing. The roar of the flames surrounded them. Heat scolded the air as the walls began radiating a burning heat. Clarkes chest rose and fell quickly as fear gripped her heart. Her eyes search again, scanning every corner, but a rising dread was filling her. A cold trickle of horror crawled down her spine as her frantic gaze came to rest on Miller again. His face was drawn and pale, and his sad dark eyes met hers then quickly fell away.

No.

Ice coursed through her veins.

They weren't here. No Murphy. No Bellamy. No Octavia. No Raven. No Finn…

They hadn't made it.

No Murphy.

The words clanged around inside her head. Her heart shattered.


Clarke didn't know how long they waited for it to burn out. The roar of the flames and crackle of fire had long vanished but they all stayed still and silent inside their cocoon, numb from war and from shock and smothered by a clawing jagged grief.

It was Fox, a freckle faced brown haired girl who was the first to break the heavy silence. Tears were streaming steadily down her pale cheeks and she was barely conscious from the gaping wound in her stomach which had been pierced by a grounder arrow. She lay prone on the ground where Clarke had stitched her up earlier but her words filled the dropship when she tilted her head towards Clarke and said "We have to go back out."

Clarke turned hollow eyes to Miller.

"Open the door." the order was flat and emotionless. Miller and two others silently unsealed the door and cranked the mechanism to reel it open. A cloud of smoke instantly began to billow in the doorway, lapping at the clear air inside. No one moved to step out, to step into the thick soup of smoky acrid smelling air that blocked their view of anything beyond it, blotting out the light of the sun. It was as though they had landed on a different planet, one engulfed in foggy swirls of ash grey winds.

Beyond the smog there was silence. It was Harper, with one arm slung over Monty's shoulder, who was the first to step out. Clarke numbly watched the small blonde haired girl slowly limp forward, with Monty as her crutch, and marvelled at her bravery as she inched her way down the ramp and into the smoky depths beyond. Jasper followed behind them and then Miller, and soon everyone was slowly venturing out. They left the dropship tentatively, much like the first time they stepped out onto earth when they first landed, Clarke observed silently.

Nothing. There was nothing left but smoke and ash and a deathly silence. Nausea churned in Clarke's stomach as she looked around. She stilled as a movement caught her eye. The smog swirled in a gust of wind and a shadow formed. Around her the others had stopped, freezing in place as all around them shadows solidified. Suited men surrounded them and advanced towards them like angels of death dressed in white spacesuits. They didn't have time to react. The last thing Clarke saw was the red lasers of their guns cutting through clouds of ash and smoke as they were aimed towards them. She stumbled on shaking legs, dully noting that she should feel fear, an adrenaline spike, something… But she felt nothing. Clarke felt as empty and barren as the crater they were standing in, as though she herself - her soul - had been built into their camp, tied into its foundations and linked to each of its people. But now their camp was obliterated. What the hell had they done?

Her last thought before unconsciousness took her wasn't about these strange new people descending on them through the smoke, it wasn't about herself or what could be about to happen to her, there was no fear in her mind only the familiar swell of doubt and guilt and regret as a single thought screamed through her mind: What the hell have we done?


Clarke was confused, her thoughts were hazy and her mind was sluggish as she fought her way out of sleep. But her body wouldn't cooperate and she was gradually losing the tug-of-war against unconsciousness. Vaguely she noted that the air was stale, that bright lights burned behind her closed eyelids, and that something was beeping rhythmically beside where she was lying on something very soft and comfortable. Then consciousness fell away.

She broke through the surface of sleep and filled her lungs with a deep breath of stale air in a long and slow rhythm. Clarke thought of Murphy, saw an image of his pale face and smoky grey eyes, remembered the press of warm lips. Her heart warmed at the memory. Then she felt a sharp stab of grief, she saw the faces gathered in the dropship and his wasn't there. Grief burned through her body and hollowed her out until she felt nothing else and thought of nothing else, and sleep pulled her under again.

When she woke again it was to a lingering sting of sorrow and the burn of bright lights. Her mind provided her with an image of Murphy and a feeling of loss. She fought for more, searching for memories, for rational thought, for logic. Clarke tugged on each thread of thought, pulling them together and weaving them into a bigger picture and a more solid awareness. More of the fog cleared and she remembered with vivid clarity the moment the rocket fuel was lit and she had realised that Murphy wasn't inside the dropship. Neither were Bellamy or Octavia or Raven or Finn. Bile rose in her throat as the thought turned over and over in her mind. Her friends were most likely dead, she thought. They must be dead. How many others had died? Would she ever get answers, ever find out what happened to them? Despair tunnelled deep into her heart and she willed herself back into sleep, to the refuge of unconsciousness.

The air was stale because she was inside; in a room with concrete walls, floor and ceiling; no windows and a closed door with no handle. The lights were electric and their sharp brightness reflected off of the sheer white of the room. Clarke lay on a white hospital bed, dressed in a white hospital gown, attached to a white machine which beeped along with each racing pulse of her heart. She'd never been anywhere like it before, never seen anything like it before. Was this real…? Where the hell was she? Where were the others? Adrenaline surged through her body in frightened waves.

The hiss of an airlock seal breaking was followed by a click and then the door to her room was opened. Clarke sad up quickly in her bed and watched warily as a tiny woman with wispy grey hair entered the room. She wore an old-fashioned white pinafore hospital uniform and her wrinkled skin was so pale and frail looking Clarke thought she might be able to see right through it to the veins and bones beneath if she got close enough.

"Who are you?" Clarke asked "Where am I?"

"Good afternoon Miss Griffin how are you feeling today?" the old woman gave her a brittle smile then turned her attention to the screens of the machines beside the bed.

"Where am I?" Clarke repeated anxiously "And who are you? Where are my friends."

"This is Mount Weather. You are in one of our…" the woman hesitated for a moment before continuing, "medical rooms. Welcome." Another false smile pulled at her lips as she regarded Clarke with cold eyes. A chill swept over her.

"Where are my friends. Why did you bring us here? How did we get here?" Clarke questioned.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions Miss Griffin. Now that you're awake I'm here to do a quick assessment and then I can take you to see the others." Even as tingles of suspicion prickled at her through her muffled mind something in Clarke's chest swelled with hope.

"Others? Who…how many…are they-" the words stuttered out of her, her mind still sluggish and disjointed from being unconscious and the spike of emotions was only overwhelming her further.

"Most of your friends are staying in one of our dormitories." The old woman cut her off. "Some, like you, are still under medical observation. You will get answers soon enough. Shall we begin?"


As much as she tried to fight against it her mind was still heavy and lethargic. Clarke found it difficult to concentrate on the few things the old woman said to her during the medical assessment. She realised quickly that her body was just as slow and limp as her mind. But the old woman seemed satisfied and with another tight lipped smile she told Clarke she was discharged.

"Follow me Miss Griffin." She said then turned and marched out of the room. She offered no assistance to Clarke who stumbled along slowly behind her on weak and wobbling legs. Leaning against the wall for support Clarke followed the old woman along the corridor, it was white and long and narrow, and dotted with numerous doors like the one leading out of Clarkes room – all unmarked and without handles. At the end of the corridor was a set of double doors. The old woman punched a code into the panel on the wall, the panel beeped and the doors opened.

Clarke gasped and stumbled back a step. Before her the doors opened into a large room. Noise and colour greeted her and the tendrils of fear that had been floating through her hazy consciousness evaporated at the welcome sights and sounds. Clarke stepped slowly into the room, eyes wide and searching as she took it all in. Dozens of beds, the hum of chattering voices, the sight of familiar faces smiling at her.

"Clarke! Hi!"

Her breathing was ragged as she stared at the people moving closer to her and greeting her warmly. Relief and happiness blossomed in her chest. Her people: they were here, alive, together, safe.

Monty and Jasper reached her first grabbing her arms and pulling her into the centre of the room where several others came and gathered around them in a huddle of happy faces, friendly smiles, and warm welcomes. Clarke was only half listening, struggling to concentrate on all of the chatter as she tried to take it all in. She stared out at the gathered faces as though they were all a mi'raj that could disappear at any moment.

"How many?" She finally spoke, asking the question in a weak and croaky voice.

"We don't know." Shrugged Monty "I was one of the first brought in here. Everyone's been arriving one at a time for about a week maybe?" he turned to Jasper for confirmation who shrugged back. "I don't know it's hard to tell how long it's been."

"They don't tell us much," said Jasper "but from what we've gathered, everyone wakes up in a room on their own, and a mean old witch comes to do a medical assessment. Then they get brought in here."

"Everyone is always pretty out of it for the first 24 hours." Continued Monty. "Then they get to meet President Wallace." He shuddered dramatically "He's the leader here. It's like some weird interview. They call it 'your official welcome'." Monty made quotation marks with his fingers. Jasper nodded, his face screwed into a grimace of distaste.

"Creepy dude. He just knows stuff."

"Knows stuff?" Clarke repeated.

"They know a lot more than just our names." Jasper explained with a frown, "and we don't know how. No one we spoke to has told them anything, at least not that they've admitted."

"From what they have told us, and from us asking everyone here, we think this is almost everyone." Monty told her. "You're one of the last ones to join us."

"This is all of us?" she asked, her eyes worriedly darting around.

"It's more than we thought would survive." Monty said softly.

"So… Bellamy…? And Raven…and-" she cut herself off, her throat clenching painfully. Monty and Jasper both flinched, their eyes meeting to share a look before they turned back to her, shaking their heads sadly.

"They weren't in the dropship." Monty shrugged helplessly.

"I'm sorry Clarke." Muttered Jasper.

"No! We don't know for sure." She protested. "Don't be sorry until we know." She looked away from the sadness in their eyes. Her gaze travelling over the room to search the faces again.

That was when she saw him.

Murphy.

All the air whooshed out of her in a sharp gasp as she caught sight of his face through the crowd. Her heart stumbled in her chest. Someone was still talking to her but she couldn't hear anything anymore except for the blood rushing in her ears. She was stunned. Frozen in place as she stared at him in disbelief and he stared back at her, his eyes bright and a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. And then she was in motion, without any awareness of making the decision to move. Clarke rushed towards him. She collided with his body with the force of a run but he stood solidly and absorbed the impact with a 'hmph' of exhaled air as the breath was slammed out of his chest. She pressed herself firmly against him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck and pulling herself as close as she could get. A huff of warm air tickled her ear at his breathy chuckle and his arms wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her to him.

"Miss me Princess?" his tone was light and teasing.

Overpowered by the sudden swell of emotions Clarke crumbled in his arms. She muffled her sobs into his neck as she burrowed into him, her tears starting to wet his skin and t-shirt. She felt his chest expand with a heavy sigh and his arms closed tighter around her. She surrendered herself fully to her tears knowing that Murphy would hold onto her. He was alive, he was here, they were together.


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