DAY 96: LEXA | ALICIA

"And that's what brought us back here, to this area. You see, when my mother has got an idea in her head, there's no stopping her. Besides, it really does make sense that she wants the same protection we have," I finish my report about the last five or so weeks.

Jesus looks at me in this way I still can't read.

"Why Hilltop?" he asks, "I don't imagine you've come all this way just to walk Victor home?"

I shake my head. "No, there's a little more to it. We agreed to bring them to Abby, Clarke's mother, but I can't come with them. I can't be seen by anyone there, as we made Wonkru believe that I died."

"And?" Tilting his head, he narrows his eyes on me.

"And there's also the fact of my mother not knowing about Lexa, and all that comes with it."

He nods, slowly, as he's letting my story sink in.

"So you want to take shelter here? While Clarke takes your mother... up there?"

"Well, I hope for them they don't actually have to go up anywhere," I chuckle unintentionally, thinking back of my own close-to-terrifying launch experience, "But yes, that's why I came to see you. To ask for your help - once again. Which I know isn't fair. Especially since..."

I stop myself, but he already got where I was going. "Since you destroyed the Flame," he completes my sentence.

Jesus knows I'm no longer in command, in fact he's the one who came up with the solution that freed me from that duty. But he is unaware of the actual truth. He has no clue that I was never really back. That it wasn't me who got the Flame from Madi, as it went to Raven and her research. That I deceived him, and that I'm still doing so by letting him believe the Flame is gone.

"I'm no longer your Heda," I admit, "Yet even if I were, you have every right not to help me. To send me away."

He stays quiet for a moment, his icy blue eyes examining me thoroughly while his face is pensive, almost wistful. When he exhales, averting his eyes to overlook the field in front of the porch we're sitting on, I feel like I can hear the sorrow in his breath.

"I tried, you know."

I frown, not understanding. "Tried what?"

"To forgive you," he sighs, before looking at me again.

I know he's no longer that eleven year old boy I once knew. I know he doesn't need my care, or my concern. He doesn't need anything from me, nor from anyone else. He's a grown man now, a strong and competent one. Yet seeing him like this, I have to fight the urge to comfort him, to rest my hand on top of his and call him Aden - my sweet Aden.

"Oh Jesus," I mumble instead, "I'm not asking you for any forgiveness."

"Now that I've had some time to think things over, I'm starting to see it," he goes on, as if he hasn't heard me. "How you and I were the same. That I can't blame it all on you, as you were tricked into it just like I was. Yet still... still I can't get over the fact that you didn't stop it. While you were... you were changing. As young as I was, I could tell. You were already different from the others, and then, those last few months of your life you were..."

"I was what?" I ask when he stays quiet.

He shrugs. "I don't know. You just seemed to look at things differently. Letting go of old believes, and starting to think and decide for yourself. Makes me wonder if you would have ended the conclave tradition if you'd got the chance... if you'd got to live just a little bit longer."

I swallow. I've never thought of it this way, even though I've spent quite some time overthinking my past, but I know he's not wrong. I was changing. I was approaching things elsewise. In a way that started to feel like a thread to those around me. That got me killed, eventually.

"There's really no way of telling," I answer him. Of course it would be easier to just agree, to tell him I was this close to sending them all home, back to their families. But I don't. I wouldn't want him to think I'm trying to win him over, especially not with false claims or sentiment. "All I can say is that I'm really, really sorry for taking so much from you. Your parents, your childhood... your life. If I could, I'd give it all back to you. Even if that meant giving you mine."

"I believe you would," he nods. "That would be the easy way though, wouldn't it?"

"You'd rather want me to live with it?"

"Can you blame me?"

"No," I shake my head again, "I get it. To be honest, I envy you. At least you have someone to be angry with, someone you can hold accountable for all that happened to you. I'm not gonna take that away from you."

Jesus runs his fingers through his long hair. "Actually, I'm still trying to figure out whether I want you as a punching bag or as a confidante."

"I have no problem with being both," I warily smile at him, "But I wouldn't want you to feel like you need me for the latter. I might be wrong, but I think I just saw Magna near those trailers. You know you can talk to her too, right?"

Following my gaze to the group of trailers in the far back, he nods once more. "She and Yumiko rejoined their group after our trip to Alexandria. But we haven't spoken. Not about this."

I raise my brow. "Is there anything holding you back?"

"No, not specifically. It's just... we never met, back then. There's no connection between us, we don't share anything."

"Well, I don't know about that. I can imagine some shared feelings about the conclave, to start with," I try, but like before I'm not sure if he's hearing me. His mind seems to be elsewhere already.

"Jesus?"

"You know what I find most confusing?"

He's still staring into the distance, his hand now mindlessly stroking his beard. Something tells me he's not expecting an answer, which proves to be true when he goes on like I'm not even there.

"The fact that I—Jesus—wouldn't be here if I—Aden—had survived. If I had lived, long enough to escape, to join those Grounders that made it here, that are staying in these woods as we speak..."

I want to tell him that it wouldn't have made a difference. That in the end only a handful of people made it to Octavia's bunker, and even less of them to the space station after the earth got destroyed by the Damocles bomb, as Clarke has taught me. But I bite my tongue, aware that it doesn't matter. Or worse, that all that would justify his young death, in a you-would-have-died-anyway kind of clincher.

"You ever thought of that?" he asks me, suddenly turning towards me again. "You ever realized that Lexa had to die for Alicia to be able to exist?"

I swallow, taken aback by his sudden question. "I... I haven't," I admit truthfully.

"You see, the thing is, I really like this me. And despite this world being as fucked up as it is, I would lie if I said I wouldn't like this life. Wouldn't have want to miss any of it. But does that mean it's been all for the better? Should I be grateful, even?!"

As his eyes pierce deeply into mine, I feel a wave of turmoil washing over me, drowning me in a pool of stupefaction.

Perplexed as I am, I can only stammer. "N-No?"

"Of course not!" he exclaims, "I was robbed! We were robbed - you, me, all of us! Who knows how great our lives could have become? How great we could have become?!"

I open my mouth, about to speak up, even though I have no clue what to say, but he's already ahead of me.

"That's what they took from us," he points out - literally, as he swiftly shoots forward, his finger only ten inches from my face, "The chance for us to find out. To see for ourselves if this new life is indeed some sort of improvement, something worth dying for."

Still lost for words I blink, hoping I can at least break his stare. I'm not sure if he's even aware of it, as he already sits back, suddenly looking all relaxed again and sounding strangely calm when he continues, "Then again, I do really like this new me. So there you go. I got stuck. You got me stuck."

"I'm sorry," I finally manage to say, "I don't know what else to tell you. Or how to answer any of your questions."

He waves my apologies away. "They don't really matter, it's just—"

"No, they do. They matter. They are fair, and I can see how they confuse you. How my return not only reminded and angered you, but also messed with your reality."

Jesus gets up. Resting his palms on the railing, he watches over the compound again, his back turned towards me.

"I can't let you stay here," he says. "Not for the long term. You are all welcome for some days, get your rest after your long trip and sort that stuff out with your mother, but after that I need you to go." He turns towards me. "I don't think my mind will ever find peace again if you don't."

I nod, understanding that this is about so much more than rage and revanche.

"Thank you. And believe me, a few days is all I'm asking for. If there's anyone who wants to get away from here as soon as possible, it's me. I feel like I'm staying in Wonkru's backyard. That even the slightest gust of wind can alarm them and lead them straight to me."

"Oh, if anyone is staying in someone's backyard, it's them!" he sets me straight, "But I get what you mean. You'd better stay within these walls until your family gets back."

My family. I like the sound of that.

Jesus already goes on. "You see that row of sheds over there? I had your people set up their tents right behind them. You're gonna have to squeeze yourself in there with them, since we're still fully booked. Hope that won't be a problem."

"It's not," I quickly tell him, before he can change his mind about his offer. I'm not completely sure though. Convincing Jesus to let us in might have seemed my biggest challenge for today, but I know very well I'm just getting started.

"Alright, then I'll let you be," he shrugs. "I'm sure your friends are waiting for you."

Not waiting for any reaction from me, he spins on his heels and steps down the porch steps. When his foot touches the ground, I call after him. Stopping in his tracks, he looks over his shoulder, his eyes questioning.

"You wouldn't have become great," I tell him. "You would have become exceptional. You already were."

... ...

Before going back to get the others, I make my way to the small wooden buildings Jesus just pointed at. I catch them as soon as I walk around the corner. Lucy, June, John, Morgan, Charlie, Sarah, Wendell and Strand - the latter being right in the middle of, what I assume, one of our most recent travelogues. The only one missing is Al, but Strand already informed me how she decided to stay in Oceanside.

They all speed towards me the moment they spot me too, embracing me one by one and cheering how good it is to see me again and asking me if I'm okay and berating me for leaving the way I did, which I can't blame them for.

I also can't describe how good it is to see all of them again, and not just because it's been three months. I want to ask them how they're all doing and what they've been up to, but I don't get the chance - not just yet.

"Is it true? Is she here?"

Her voice is thin. Unsure. Nothing like I've known for the last couple of years. It's reminding me of the young, scared girl she once used to be. The twelve year old who shot my brother.

I nod, just once. "Yes."

"Is she... Is she angry?"

"What do you think, Charlie?"

Biting her lip, she lowers her gaze. When she stays quiet, I step closer towards her, while everyone else moves away, as if on cue, and well aware of the sudden heaviness that's fallen upon us.

I sigh. "Listen, there's no avoiding here. You're gonna have to face her. But I won't let you do it alone."

She looks up again, with fear crossing her face. "Right now?"

"Right now," I nod once more, "Better get it over with."

She follows me, her head hanging low, and her hair covering most of her face. In all these years she never forgot what she did. For one, because I was there to always remind her, but also because she truly acknowledged and carried her guilt, without excusing or forgiving herself for it. And even after all this time she's not walking away for the consequences. It's a strange sensation, but I can't deny to feel kind of proud of her for that.

Right before we reach the heavy doors, I turn towards her.

"Hey," I say, making her look at me again. "She's my mother, and I want her with me, but I won't let her hurt you. We're not getting back in here before we've settled this, before I'm sure you are as safe as any of us."

Though still looking defeated, she manages to smile at me. "We both know you can't guarantee that," she says.

Not wanting to lie, I take a deep breath instead. "Come on," I just answer.

... ...

They're waiting for us outside the gate, their faces lighting up with expectation as soon as they note me.

"We're in," I tell them from a short distance as we walk towards them. "Clarke, can you take Madi and Jaime with you? You can find Strand and the others on the far left."

"Sure," she nods. Her eyes briefly dart between me and Charlie, who's partly hidden behind me - whether on purpose or not. She doesn't ask any questions. She knows enough already. I can see it in her eyes. Feel it when her hand briefly strokes against mine while she passes me.

Just like me, Mom watches them head to the gate; Madi guiding Jaime by lightly holding on to his arm. Once they're out of sight, she turns back to me.

"What's going on?"

I step aside.

As soon as she sees Charlie, actually sees her, Mom's expression changes dramatically. There's no doubt she recognizes her, even though Charlie grew up quite a bit, or that she's forgotten my disclosure about her and Nick a few weeks back.

She's staring right in the eyes of her son's killer, and she knows it.

Mom doesn't move. Doesn't even blink. "You..." she breathes.

Charlie seems as frozen. I can tell that she's forcing herself not to look away. She doesn't say anything though.

"What?" Mom comes at her, her voice harsh and trembling, "You lost your voice?"

Charlie swallows nervously. "I... I don't know what to say."

Mom takes a step closer towards us. "You murdered my boy. You might want to start with telling me why."

I move my eyes from her to Charlie, who stays quiet once again, then quickly look back at Mom.

"Charlie, tell me why!" she demands again, her voice now raised and filled with despair, making Charlie cringe.

"I... I..." As she searches for words, her lip quivers. "I don't know. I thought that I had to. After he... he'd shot my..." Slumping her shoulders, she shakes her head. "I was just a child. Such a stupid child. I was wrong, of course. And I'm so sorry. So sorry."

"Sorry doesn't bring my son back," Mom growls through her teeth, and then, suddenly at me, "Why is she still here?"

I inhale and square myself up against her. It's my turn now.

"She's still here, because I chose to. I chose to let her live," I answer. "I made that decision a long time ago. And I need you to accept that."

She squints her eyes. "You let her get away with it? Without any punishment?"

"You think this isn't punishment? Believe me, Mom, it is. I know it is!" Mom tilts her head, looking skeptical as well as riddled, but I already go on. "I made her feel it. I made her live with it. Every day. By keeping her around me, around us, I'm certain she has to. I'm a hundred percent sure there's not a single moment that Nick gets to be forgotten."

"And I have to be thankful for that?" Mom questions, "I just have to be glad that he is remembered? While he could have lived!?" Agitated, she starts to pace around, which I'm fine with, for at least she's not attacking Charlie any longer.

"I'm not saying that, I would never tell you how you should feel. But Mom—"

"Ever thought of what Nick would have wanted?" She stands still, right in front of me. "Ever thought of that, Alicia?"

We're eye to eye, but I don't feel intimidated by her glare. It's not that I don't feel for her - after all, she's got a lot to process in just a few minutes that once took me years. But I need her to know that this is not all about Nick. Not anymore.

"Mom, I need... I need you to see it," I tell her. I take her hands in mine and squeeze them real tight. "I need you to understand that this isn't about Nick. Or Charlie. This is about me. With the choice I made, I could let go. I could move on. You might think you wanted me to handle things differently, but the truth is that I'm still here because she is too. I'm still me, because I chose not to become someone I'm not. Someone you honestly wouldn't want me to be."

Mom exhales, and with it I can feel her tension decrease.

"And for what it's worth," I quietly go on, "I believe Nick would have wanted exactly that. Not just for Charlie to get a second chance. But most of all for me to stay me."

Slowly shaking her head, Mom takes another deep breath, then frees her hand from mine and cups my cheek. When our eyes lock, I can tell the pain is still very much there, but I also spot the understanding I was searching for. Maybe even the acceptance.

Without letting go off me, she looks over my shoulder, at Charlie.

"You're lucky she was there," she tells her, "And that I wasn't."

"I know," Charlie mumbles.

I look at her, before I turn back to Mom.

"Again, I'm not telling you how to feel about all this, but I am asking you to respect the way things are now. Which includes accepting Charlie as being a part of us, and not hurting her at any given moment."

Mom steps aside, towards Charlie, closely seizing her up once again.

"Mom? You have to promise. Otherwise—"

"I promise I will never forgive you," she tells Charlie without taking her eyes off her. "But I won't hurt you. That, I will promise you, too."

... ...