Echo gentles her fingers around Clarke's throat for a moment longer, her grip lessening into a tender caress as an eyebrow arches in question and so Clarke grimaces once before she nods her head in acquiescence, the motion stymied by Echo's grip. And so Clarke gasps out quietly as the fingers release her, as they retreat and as Echo takes a measured step back, her eyes only briefly coming to look at Ontari before turning once more to Clarke.
And it's a rough cough that leaves her lips as Clarke struggles to her feet, a hand held to her ribs and another coming to wipe away the blood that drips down her cheek before she turns to Entani, whose groaning moans of pain waft through the tent.
"How—" and she cough again, "how'd you get past Torvun," Clarke breathes out, her hands coming to rest against Entani's shoulder as consciousness creeps back into the other woman.
And Echo smirks for a moment before standing over Ontari as she looks over her shoulder at Clarke.
"He will wake soon," and then she reaches out, a hand offered to Ontari who merely glares at her through the blood that drips from her eyebrow, arm still cradled to her chest.
And so Echo shrugs before turning back and sitting in the chair, her legs crossing slowly as she takes in the women before her. And as Echo reclines, as she smirks at Entani's confused daze and Ontari's continued glare, Clarke eyes the angle of her jaw, the lack of scars and the dark black of her leathers, the usual greys and whites of Azgeda absent from her body.
"I don't even know if you're Azgeda," Clarke hisses, her fingers itching for her knife, the weight absent against her thigh.
But Echo eyes her carefully, her head tilting for a moment as a slow smile saunters across her lips.
"You were taken to Ronto," she begins, her fingers coming to tap against an armrest, "Ontari was the first person you spoke to," she turns to Ontari, her eyes a quiet glow as mirth flits across her face, "Kwin Nia had her beaten for her behaviour," and she turns back to Clarke, an eyebrow raised in challenge.
"Ok…" Clarke says. "What do you want?"
"What I want is not important," Echo shrugs, "Kwin Nia merely wishes to know how you are."
"We are fine," Ontari mutters as she rises to her feet.
"Kwin Nia wishes to know how you plan to destroy the Mountain," Echo says, her eyes still trained on Clarke.
"We have a plan. Skaikru will help," Clarke says as Entani sits up, her eyes still somewhat dazed. "Nia knows about Skaikru, right?"
"Yes," Echo says, "she has known about Skaikru for some time," she finishes as her eyes turn thoughtful for just a moment. "How do you plan to destroy the Mountain?" she repeats.
"We think there's a way inside that isn't the main entrance. If we can get a small group of warriors into the Mountain then it should be enough to distract them from the army coming from the front long enough for the main doors to be blown open," Clarke answers as she moves to Ontari, her hands coming to guide her to the bedside. "Or at least cause enough confusion to give us time."
"And who will be this small force of warriors?" Echo asks.
"We haven't got that far yet," Clarke shrugs, "I assumed it'd be a mixture of Skaikru and the other clans."
And so Echo turns quiet for a moment, a finger coming to pick against the wood of the chair she sits in.
"You will ensure that a large number of Azgeda forces are amongst those that enter the Mountain first, Clarke," she says.
"Yeah, that's obvious I thought," and she pauses, "Why wouldn't Azgeda be involved in the fighting?"
And Echo pauses once more, "When the time comes, you will select only those that volunteer to go."
"Why?" but Clarke thinks she knows the answer.
"Not of your concern for now," Echo replies cooly. "I will be back soon," she says as she rises from the chair, "I am here to aid you in the fight against the Mountain."
"Fuck Echo," Ontari hisses from where she lies back on the bed, the subject of her fury having ducked out soon after her words had finished.
"Do you know her?" Clarke asks as she wipes away dried blood from Ontari's eyebrow.
"No," and she winces as Clarke grips her arm, Entani already by her other side, "she had no scars, so she is either an assassin or a spy."
"Or both," Entani shrugs.
"This will hurt," Clarke says quietly, as she begins to rotate Ontari's arm.
And so Ontari merely mutters curses under her breath as her shoulder is slowly rotated, a satisfying click quickly running through her arm as her shoulder resets. Entani hands her bandages then, some already being laid out as she begins cleaning Ontari's brow, bloodied bandages covering her own nose as the blood drips slowly.
"I don't want you moving your arm at all, ok?" Clarke says as she begins wrapping it, "And I know you won't listen to me, but try and use your left arm," she finishes, the bandages ending in a firm knot as she prods gently at the shoulder for a moment.
"I agree with Clarke, Ontari. You should not move it or it will only get worse," Entani adds, her eyes smiling up at Clarke for a moment.
And so Ontari grunts her acceptance before she turns to the entrance.
"You should probably check on Torvun," Ontari says, her uninjured arm coming to wave towards the exit.
And so Clarke rises, her feet padding over the furs that line the flooring of the tent as she pokes her head outside, the dark of the night and the moon still shining in the sky. She finds Torvun slumped over in his chair, whetstone and sword resting in his lap, his chest rising and falling slowly. And so she moves to his side, her fingers coming to rest against the pulse in his neck for a moment.
"Is he ok?" Entani asks as she exits the tent.
"Yeah, I think he's just drugged," and Clarke worries her lip for a bit, "what do we do?" she finishes, her eyes scanning around in search of Echo, if only so that she can ask how long Torvun may be unconscious for.
"I do not know," Entani shrugs. "I would let the poison leave his system," she shrugs, a hand coming to pat his broad shoulder before she turns back into the tent.
And so Clarke sighs once more as she reaches out and takes the sword in his lap and moves to return it to its sheath. And she sighs briefly at the realisation that she is once more the pawn in a game played by others. And her mind wanders too, she thinks over what Echo had said. And she knows Nia had chosen her to help in the fight against the Mountain, and she had thought it was to show Azgeda strength, to show that Azgeda had more than the other clans could offer in her presence and the larger number of Azgeda warriors. But now? Now she thinks Nia wishes to use the Mountain somehow. She thinks that much, and wouldn't Nia be a fool to not even consider using the Mountain? Wouldn't Lexa herself be planning the same thing? Isn't that why Lexa wants her to work with Skaikru? Perhaps Lexa and Nia aren't so different after all.
But as she ducks back into the tent, her fingers coming to swipe at the drying blood against her cheek she thinks over what Echo had said, and as she considers the words, she thinks that maybe using her knowledge to help destroy an enemy of the Coalition is much more different than having it fall into Nia's hands. But isn't that good for Azgeda? And for the Coalition?
Maybe she isn't so sure.
But for now she'll play the game.
The walk up to the Commander's tent is quiet, Ontari still nursing her injured shoulder and Torvun somewhat angry in his steps, his eyes moving much more rapidly around them as he stares down any that move too close towards their group.
They find Kane, Bellamy and Finn walking up the winding trail of torches too, and so Clarke nods in greeting as their groups merge, Bellamy eyeing Torvun carefully as Finn smiles happily at Clarke and Ontari.
"Training accident?" Finn asks then, his eyes moving between the swelling and cuts that both Clarke and Ontari sport, and then down to Ontari's shoulder.
"Something like that," Clarke says, her mind briefly turning to Echo. "How are those radios going?" she asks then, her thoughts turning to Raven.
"Not good," Kane sighs, a hand scratching through his beard. "Raven has them working, but range is an issue. She's heading back to Arkadia at the moment to see if she can boost the signal or something," he shrugs apologetically, "you'd have to ask her for specifics."
They fall into a small silence then as they continue up the path. But Clarke once more turns to Kane, a thought coming to mind.
"Hey," and he pauses and turns to her, "Who's our inside man?" she asks.
And he gazes at her for a moment, a thought living within his eyes.
"Wells," and she thinks she blinks for a long while, the revelation, however small, leaving her just a moment speechless.
"Oh," is all she says, before Kane grips her shoulder with a friendly squeeze. "I guess it makes sense," she says then. "They trust him, right? That's how he's getting all this information. Because he's Thelonious' son?"
"We think so," Kane replies.
"Why's he helping now?" she asks.
"He said something didn't feel right about the Mountain," Kane answers, "and then he realised they were taking grounders and turning them into reapers."
"So now he's trying to help."
"Yeah," Kane sighs, dejection colouring the sound.
The war meeting goes by as well as can be expected, but maybe it ends sooner, the captured reapers doing much to reduce clan animosity towards Skaikru. And she smiles at Kane briefly as he explains that Abby works hard to find a cure, that she is sure she knows what to do, and that now it is only trial and error and time that delays a cure.
And so Clarke's head turns to Lexa when she hears her name.
"Clarke," and she meets the gentle shade of green that glimmers in the candle light. "How would you attack the Mountain?"
And so she pauses for a moment, lets her mind think back to yesterday's conversation with Lexa.
"The Mountain uses the dam," she begins, her eyes turning to the warriors around her. "That means they must have access to it from the Mountain. If we can find how they get there then we can use that—"
And she turns to Kane as he clears his throat quietly, and so she nods her head for him to add to the conversation.
"Our inside man says there's access tunnels. He's working on sending plans to us at the moment."
"So now we rely on one man to do two things?" a warriors asks, confusion creeping into her voice.
"Yes," Kane responds.
"And he can be trusted?" the same warriors asks once more, her eyes turning briefly to Clarke.
"Yes," Kane says more strongly. "We trust him. There's a few other's with him now."
"Thanks," Clarke says quietly to Kane before she turns her attention back to the grouped warriors. "Everyone satisfied?" and she holds the gaze of the warriors that shift uncomfortably where they stand.
"Continue, Clarke," Lexa says gently, her eyes still focused on Clarke.
"So, once the acid fog comes down we destroy the dam. Our main army attacks the front of the Mountain as a distraction while the inside man lets us into the Mountain. Once inside we cause confusion, long enough so that the main entrance can be taken down. And then we're in," and she finishes, her eyes moving from face to face.
"And who is we?" Jomm asks, his eyes narrowed at Clarke from across the table.
"Azgeda," she says simply. And Clarke thinks she sees Lexa's eyes narrow for just a moment. "This is an Azgeda plan. So Azgeda will lead it. Skaikru will obviously be coming as we'd need their help destroying the dam, but other clans are welcome to join us," and she shrugs a moment, "but we've got more warriors then other clans so it makes sense for us to split and for some of us to go into the Mountain first."
And there's a quiet pause as the plan sinks in, and some warriors eye her carefully, some murmur between themselves and some stay silent, their eyes moving from Clarke to Lexa.
"I agree with the plan," a man says, and Clarke turns to find the same warrior who spoke to her yesterday, his leathers a rusted red-brown. "Azgeda is accused of being violent and eager to fight, but now we flinch at their plan? When they offer to go in first? To attack the Mountain without reinforcements?" and he turns to Jomm and he holds the Lake clan warrior's gaze. "Plains Riders stand with Azgeda in this plan, Heda," and he bows his head slightly towards Lexa.
"Are there any other objections?" Lexa calls out, her eyes turning to the model of the Mountain briefly before casting them in a long arc around the table. And she pauses, the silence heavy for a moment longer.
And Clarke sees two women lean into each other, the hushed conversation between them rapid and prompt.
"Glowing Forest and Broad Leaf stand with Azgeda as well, Heda," one of them says after one last exchange of glances. "It is a sensible plan. Clarke would lead this force well I believe, Heda," and she nods firmly at Clarke before continuing, "she would be able to lead both Azgeda and Skaikru."
"Then it is settled," Lexa cals out. "If no other plan can be settled upon before the fall of the acid fog then we move forward with this. We will meet tomorrow," she finishes.
And so the number of warriors around the table bow their heads, murmured words of farewell passing lips before they duck out of the tent.
And perhaps it's because of pattern and repetition, or perhaps Clarke can feel it in Lexa's posture, but she remains by the table, her eyes catching Torvun and Ontari briefly before they duck out leaving her to watch as Lexa moves to study the model of the Mountain.
"Clarke, rema—"
"I know," she rolls her eyes as Lexa turns, just a flash of surprise finding its way into her eyes.
Clarke moves around the table too, her eyes falling to where the dam is drawn for a moment before she comes to stand on the same side as Lexa.
"It is a good plan," Lexa begins as she looks up at Clarke and so she shrugs in answer, a shoulder coming up slowly.
"It'll work," she says. "I have faith in Skaikru," but maybe it's more hope than faith, at least for now.
And Lexa must read her expression, must read the doubt that lingers in the corners of her mind because she comes to stand by Clarke's side, her gaze firm, a hand resting against the edge of the table.
"The Mountain will fall, Clarke."
And Clarke nods, but her thoughts turn to Echo, they turn to Nia and to the plan she assumes must be brewing.
"Why are you letting me make all the decisions?" she asks, her mind turning back to the conversation they had had in the bunker. "What's your game, Lexa?" and it comes out curious, less bite than she had intended. If only because she is curious, and so she turns, rests a hip against the edge of the table as her arms come to cross over her chest. "I know you don't trust Azgeda."
"You are a leader, Clarke," Lexa answers, "would it not be foolish for me to ignore you? To ignore the benefit of having an Azgeda warrior who can lead Skaikru in a war? And the clans agree, Clarke. Your plan is sound. I am not so foolish as to reject a plan merely based on who thinks of it."
"So you wouldn't back me if the plan bad?" she questions.
"I do not think you would make a bad plan," Lexa answers.
"That's a lot of faith you have in someone from a clan you hate," Clarke says, an eyebrow raising in challenge.
But Lexa ignores her jibe and her eyes turn thoughtful as she gazes upon her. And Clarke sees her eyes move slowly, she sees them flick up to her forehead then move down to her cheeks tracing the scars that mark her as Azgeda. And they move lower yet, rest just below her eyes before they flick up once more.
"I do not hate Azgeda," and it comes out steady.
And so Clarke returns her gaze, and she lets her eyes trail over the braids Lexa wears in her hair, the way the collar of her coat hangs open and the way Lexa's own eyes peer back at her.
"But you hate Nia," and it comes out a statement, it comes out a surety and a fumbling hand in the dark. But Clarke thinks she is right, she thinks herself correct, and she knows she is when Lexa's jaw clenches just a bit, when her chin rises just a bit and when her eyes look away for barely a moment's breath.
"She's the one who killed whoever it was that you loved, wasn't she?" and perhaps Clarke isn't sure why she wants to know, perhaps she isn't certain why she pushes this topic, why she challenges Lexa's refusal to answer.
But maybe she does.
And so Lexa closes her eyes for only a moment and she takes a breath, and it's a steady thing, a small thing that is held in her chest for a long moment. But then she breathes out and her eyes open.
"Yes," and Lexa lets her gaze wander, lets her mind drift back into a time that Clarke thinks floats often through her mind, to memories long gone. "Her name was Costia," and she is sure Lexa swallows painfully for a short while. "Nia captured her. Tortured her. Cut off her head. Because she was mine," and the words come pained, they come clipped and forced past tired lips and Lexa's gaze hardens as she once more looks to Clarke's scars.
And it's a revelation that Clarke had expected. It's something she had assumed. Perhaps not the who of the death, but the importance of the person that Lexa had lost.
And so Clarke speaks out to Lexa quietly.
"I'm sorry," but she thinks the words not enough, she thinks they come out useless, come out too late for any comfort to be gained for a wound lost to the past.
So Lexa lets her eyes wander for a moment as the light of a candle sways lazily, and as a shadow falls lonely and quietly across her face before it settles somewhere between them.
"You accuse me of being unkind, Clarke," and Lexa softens her gaze for just a moment, "You accuse me of not caring," and she shrugs once as she begins to move slowly around the table. "I do care. But it is important to recognise weakness when it is present," she says. "To know it. To understand it."
"What is? Caring? Being kind?" she asks. "You need those things to be a good leader, Lexa," Clarke challenges.
"No," and Lexa lets a barely there breath leave her lips. "Not those things."
"Then what?" and Clarke follows Lexa's gaze as it drifts and recalls pages of a memory, as it turns to the map spread across the war table and as it wanders over the rivers and the forests that are drawn across the surface. "Love?"
And so Lexa looks up.
"We all must make sacrifices in order to survive, Clarke."
"I don't agree with that, Lexa," and she leans forward, the table now between them. "There's always another option. Always another way," and maybe she pleads quietly, maybe she wishes desperately, maybe she tries uselessly. "You say you and Nia are different? Then trust me, Lexa," and she places her hands against the edge of the table, lets her fingers rough against the worn wood. "If you don't trust Nia, then trust me. We can work together. Azgeda and Trikru don't have to be in conflict forever. Isn't that why the Coalition was formed? No relationship is perfect, but they have to start somewhere."
And Lexa looks up as a shadow wraps itself across her for a moment.
"Trust me," Clarke says, "show me that you're different than Nia," and Clarke lets a small smile lift her lips. "Show me that you're better than Nia."
Clarke finds Torvun waiting for her outside Lexa's tent and so they begin making their way back to the Azgeda war camp, a tired yawn escaping her lips, the early morning intrusion and the war meeting leaving her a bit more drained than usual.
As she ducks into it she finds Echo resting comfortably in the same chair, her fingers tapping leisurely against her thigh as her head comes to turn around at her entrance.
"You're here," Clarke mumbles, Torvun eyeing Echo for an angry moment before he takes his place besides the entrance as the tent flaps close behind Clarke.
"Yes," Echo says, her eyes even in their appraisal of Clarke.
"I assume you want to know how the war meeting went?" Clarke says as she sits on the edge of the bed, her thoughts already turning back to the conversations she had had.
"Yes," Echo says again.
"The Commander and the clans agreed with the plan," she begins and she sighs as she recalls Lexa's guarded demeanour. "I think the Commander is suspicious," she continues with a shrug. "She doesn't trust Azgeda much. She doesn't trust Nia," and Clarke eyes Echo carefully for a reaction. "Why?"
And Echo's fingers still in their tapping, her eyes locking onto Clarke's quickly as her face smoothes and blanks evenly.
And as Clarke takes in the woman before her, she knows that the line she walks is dangerous, is wrought with a danger that she need not introduce into her life. But maybe she's curious, maybe she's tired of being a pawn, and perhaps she wants a change.
"The Commander said that Nia killed someone she loved," and Echo's eyes move slowly, they glance to the scars on her forehead and cheeks before turning to the furs she wears across her shoulders. And maybe Clarke sees a memory, sees a time once lived move through Echo's expression, if only slightly.
"Yes," Echo begins. "Nia's revenge," she shrugs.
"For?"
"When the coalition formed Azgeda was resistant," and her words come measured, they come careful. "The King of Azgeda lead our forces into battle. He fell to the Commander's blade," she finishes.
"So Nia killed Costia," Clarke says and as the name reaches Echo's ears the other woman moves her fingers lightly to the blade against her thigh.
"Yes," Echo says.
"And then Roan was taken prisoner in revenge? To make sure Azgeda would fall in line?" she asks.
"Yes," Echo says, and Clarke is sure Echo studies her, studies her face, studies her reactions to the words she hears so she steadies her own face, she calms the thoughts that race through her mind.
And then Echo stands, her eyes turning to the tent's entrance briefly before she looks back at Clarke.
"You would be wise to guard your thoughts," Echo says. "What you question may have you killed."
And then she leaves, her words ringing lowly through Clarke's mind.
A sigh lets its way past her lips as she stretches her legs out, the afternoon sun resting in the sky a hot heat against her skin. And so she looks up as a figure sits before her. And she smiles briefly at Octavia, the Trikru warrior's own brow sweaty, her sword bloodied and held comfortably in her hands.
"You think the reapers can be healed?" she asks, her eyes turning back to the three reapers that lie unconscious and tied together, a number of Azgeda and Trikru warriors guarding them.
"I think so. Maybe we'll find out tonight," Clarke answers, a shrug lifting her shoulders as she brings the waterskin to her lips.
"Anya hates you," Octavia says then, her lips turning into a small smile as Clarke meets her gaze. "Not you specifically, but Azgeda," she continues, "I don't know if she was more angry or relieved when the Commander replaced her with Indra," and her eyes turn to Indra, the older Trikru leader's hand still resting against her sword as she walks between the resting Azgeda and Trikru forces, her gaze careful as she meets the eyes of those that look at her.
"And Indra doesn't hate Azgeda?" Clarke asks.
"Not as much as she hates the Mountain," Octavia shrugs. "Her son was turned into a reaper years ago," she finishes as she follows Indra's movements, the warrior coming to a stop by the captured reapers. "It's a shame, Clarke."
"What is?" Clarke asks, her eyes meeting a smile on Octavia's face.
"That you're Azgeda, we could have been friends if you were Trikru."
"I guess so," Clarke chuckles quietly in reply.
The ride to Arkadia goes by swiftly, the reapers they had captured closer to Arkadia than pervious incursions. And so they come to a stop by the gates as they open before them, the guards that stand duty in the guard towers thumbing their weapons cautiously as they peer at the mixture of Trikru and Azgeda, a clear divide running through their ranks. They take the reapers to the med bay, the halls of the Ark clearing as the large number of warriors carry the unconscious reapers forward.
As they enter the med bay Clarke finds Abby standing over an unconscious reaper still strapped into the bed and so she walks to her, Torvun still by her side.
"Clarke," Abby says as she looks up, their eyes meeting briefly.
And Clarke smiles at her mother as she comes to stand besides her.
"How's progress?" Clarke asks quietly, her eyes falling to the reaper strapped to the bed.
"It's a drug," Abby begins, "and they're all showing signs of withdrawal, and I'm hoping that given enough time and medical attention they'll recover," she says.
"Do you think it'll work?" Clarke asks, her voice lowering as she glances around them briefly.
"Their withdrawal symptoms are severe," Abby says. "I'm afraid that they might actually die without the drug. Which I'm sure is purposeful," and a dark shadow falls across her face. "Whoever created the drug is sick," she says, her voice hardening. "I can't understand how someone—how our own people could go along with this," she finishes.
"Yeah, me too m—"
And it's sudden. The reaper before them stills for a moment in her unconscious twitching. And then her body arcs, it's twists and contorts before her lips part in a pained wail, the tendons in her neck stretching as her body convulses and her eyes open and her fingers claw at the restraints.
And her mouth begins to froth as she contorts before Abby is shouting out instructions, Jackson rushing over from where he had been seeing to injured warriors. And silence falls around the med bay, widened eyes turning to the screaming reaper as hands come to hold her down.
"Get the sedative!" Abby shouts, as she begins wiping away at the reapers neck with a swab.
And Clarke's hands come to push the reaper down.
"Torvun!" she yells and he comes rushing to her side. "Help hold the reaper!" she says, her eyes turning quickly in search of whoever brings the sedative, and her gaze falls briefly to Ontari where she sits, her shoulder exposed from her furs, Entani's hand stilling in her motions of bandaging as their eyes stare at the commotion in front of them.
And it's only a moment longer. But the reaper stills, her eyes beginning to roll back into her skull and her fingers slacken. And then an uneven, broken beep begins to echo through the med bay.
No.
Clarke isn't so sure whether she utters the words aloud, or whether she merely thinks them but she stares at the monitor for only a moment as her eyes turn frantically back to the reaper. Her eyes follow the broken beep for one more long second before she curses aloud, before her eyes fall to the reaper.
"Take her shirt off Torvun!" and he only pauses for a moment before he pulls out his knife, the blade slicing through the fabric the reaper wears.
And Clarke's eyes search for what she needs, and it only takes her a moment before her gaze falls onto a guard who stands close by.
"Give me your shock baton," she says, her hand already reaching out for it. And so he stutters in his movements for only a second before handing it over.
And Clarke turns back to the reaper, and her eyes meet Abby's, a syringe held in her hands and Clarke sees the realisation dawn upon Abby's face before she sends a nod to Clarke.
"Stand back," Abby shouts then, her eyes glancing around the table before Clarke thumbs the shock baton.
And Clarke only spares those around her one brief glance to make sure they stand back before she drives the baton into the reapers chest.
She hears the crackle of electricity and the flow of power as the energy tears through the reapers chest. And she sees the slight shock energy as it sparks across the reaper. And she pulls away the baton, her eyes turning back to the monitor.
"Hit her again Clarke," Abby says her own eyes following the uneven beat that still lingers on the monitor, the strength of it fading.
And she does. She brings the baton to the reaper's chest and she lets the baton shock the reaper's heart. And she does it again. And for a third time her eyes turn to the monitor. And she waits. And she thinks it feels like an age between the beats she sees. But she stares, and she is sure her eyes burn. But she sees the line move and she sees the beat of the reaper's heart steady and she sees it move once more.
And so her eyes turn back to the reaper before them, she stares for only a moment. But the reaper gasps. Her mouth opens and a pained, wretched breath escapes past her lips. And then her eyes open. Her eyes stare, confused, dazed and uncertain as she takes in what she sees. And her eyes fall to Abby, white medical coat over her shoulders, and the woman must see the sterile white light of the lights overhead and the metal of the Ark because she gasps, she screams out for a moment before she begins thrashing.
And Clarke only looks up once, realisation dawning on her as to what the woman must be thinking.
"Stand back," she cries out, her hands pushing away Abby and Jackson before she leans over the woman, her fingers gripping the closest Trikru warrior she can as she drags the man forward, his tattooed face coming to loom over the woman.
"You're safe," Clarke says, bringing a hand up to brush against the braids in her hair, "you're safe," she repeats as she lifts the furs on her shoulders. "You're ok, you're ok," she says again as she pushes the Trikru warrior closer.
And it takes a long moment, but the woman's eyes focus on Clarke, they focus on the scars that mark her as Azgeda and the furs that line her shoulders, and the woman's eyes turn to the Trikru warrior, his eyes kind and wide in wonder, the tattoo winding down his neck.
And she must realise. Or at least believe in something. In the words Clarke says, in the things her eyes see because her eyes close for a moment, they close firmly and she holds them shut as tightly as she can. And then they open and she peers around her at the other warriors, Trikru and Azgeda standing around awkwardly, the Skaikru present having drifted to the back of those gathered.
And then the woman breaks. She cries and tears begin to flow down her cheeks as pained sobs leave her a shaking mess of emotion.
And so Clarke's hand comes to brush against the woman's head, her fingers carding through the dirty clumps of hair and a small smile falls across Clarke's lips.
"You're safe," Clarke whispers once more.
The sun sits lowly in the darkening sky, the light of the day steadily retreating into a quiet night. And Clarke feels drained. Her body aches and her mind longs for sleep. But she thinks a smile must still linger across her lips as she walks along the perimeter of Arkadia. She had seen to the other reapers, another had died from the withdrawal of whatever sickening drug had been used to turn them into reapers, but much like the first woman, this one had been brought back to life too. And maybe it was coincidence that reapers had to die for the drug to wear off, or maybe it was by evil design. But for now she is content knowing that two lives have been saved. And so she had left the med bay with a need for fresh air and time away from the frantic chaos.
Her mind continues to wander as she moves along the wall, her eyes passing over the metal, burns marks from reentry scorched against the surface and so she brings a hand up to the wall, her fingers running along the rough that she feels.
She rounds a corner then and she finds a small fire burning, logs scattered around it large enough for people to sit on and she finds Raven, the dark haired woman's brows furrowed in concentration as she messes with a radio, parts scattered on a sheet before her.
Raven looks up as Clarke approaches, her eyes reflecting the light of the fire for a moment before Clarke gestures to one of the logs.
"Can I sit?"
"Yeah," Raven smiles, "I'm just trying to figure out what's going on with the radios."
"Is it complicated?" Clarke asks, but as she eyes the pieces that lie before her she thinks the answer is an obvious one.
"Sorta," Raven says. "There's only so much you can do with hardware," she shrugs. "I think the Mountain's jamming the signal, stopping us from talking over long distances," she finishes with a sigh. "It's got to be the reason because our guy can talk to us from the Mountain, but we can't talk to him," she adds with a sigh. "I heard about the reapers," she finishes, a gentle smile sent Clarke's way.
And Clarke smiles back.
"At least we've solved that problem," she says, her mind already turning to the dam and the acid fog.
"The other stuff'll be easy," Raven shrugs, "I can blow up the dam no problem, and Wells will take out the acid fog, send us the blueprints and then we can kick their asses," she finishes.
And Clarke hopes it will be that simple, but she thinks that Raven knows it won't be that easy by the small glint in her eyes. And Clarke knows so, too.
"It'll be over soon," Clarke hopes, her mind just a bit more tired than before.
"Yeah," Raven says, "I hope so."
And they fall into a quiet silence then, Clarke happy to watch as Raven continues to tinker with the radio, small curses falling from Raven as things presumably go wrong.
But a faint crackle comes from Raven's hip and Clarke looks on as Raven starts for a second before she places the radio pieces down messily.
"Our inside guy," Raven says quickly as she fishes out another radio.
"Wells, what's up?" Raven says.
"Raven," and Clarke smiles at the familiar voice despite the urgency. "They're planning to bomb Ton DC," and Raven's eyes widen. "They're doing it now. You need to warn the others," and then the radio goes silent.
Shit.