Chapter Text
There are a lot of things about Alexandria that astound Raven; The clean water that runs through the pipes and out of the taps. The fires they can light to keep them warm without fear of attracting walkers. The beds they get to sleep in every night that are more comfortable than any bed she'd slept in before the apocalypse. The children that run free through the streets with no fear in the world,
And the fact that Alexandria has never been attacked.
That fact that this huge walled town doesn’t have walkers banging at every door, looking for flesh they can smell on the other side. The fact that when she sleeps at night, she only hears crickets and flames but none of the chomping jaws or scratchy screams. And not only that, but the fact that people haven’t attacked it. That they haven’t been looted or bandits have not come to take over the land- and she wonders- seriously - because these people had no survival skills before her group arrived- how any attacks didn’t happen sooner.
But she doesn’t wonder for long because Clarke clambers up the wooden steps to the guard post Raven’s sitting at, wiping the sweat from her upper lip. “Monty made you dinner.” the blonde says, handing the brunette a plastic container of food and a fork.
“Thank god.” she huffs, stabbing the meat and rice and shoving it straight into her mouth, discarding her watch duties just for a second. Clarke stands, hands on her hips, sword around her back and machine gun in her hands as she looks at the surroundings of their camp; peering through the trees and past the abandoned cars on the road. She feels the wind tickle her neck and burn her eyes but she doesn’t stop scouting- Raven notices, “There’s been no walkers.” she comments.
The blonde nods absentmindedly, “I’ll take over.” she assures, waving in the general direction of the houses, “Wick’s looking for you.”
Raven rolls her eyes, “I knew he was going to need my help with this freshwater system.” she stands to her feet, still chewing on the dinner Monty made her, “He should have just admitted this morning and saved himself some time.” she scoffs a laugh.
Clarke moves to sit on the stool and when she looks out at the road, something suddenly catches her eye. She quickly grabs ravens upper arm with a frown, “Hey, was that there this morning?” she asks and Raven swallows her food, following the direction clarke’s chin is jerking towards.
“What am I looking at?” she asks curiously.
The blonde narrows her eyes at the trees that line the road ahead and reaches for the binoculars by the foot of the chair, handing them to raven and pointing towards the branch of a tree, barely visible to the human eye. ( ‘seriously, she’s like a hound dog’ Raven had said one time when clarke had noticed some of the cars had been moved slightly. ‘What would we do without her?’ octavia says, because really, clarke has helped them more than they realise.) “Do you see the ribbon?” she asks.
And Raven does. A thin, delicate silk blue ribbon wrapped around the branch of a tree, hidden between the leaves, “How the hell did you…” she trails off, frowning and lowering the binoculars, “Do you have superhuman sight?” she asks- not joking.
“That wasn’t there last night.” Clarke assures, and she knows this because she was on watch last night.
Raven frowns, confused and slightly panicked, “Is it one of ours?” she asks.
The blonde reaches for the radio strapped to her jeans and clicks, “Alison do we have any blue ribbon? Over.”
Raven looks back through the binoculars, scanning through the trees like a machine while clarke continues to do the same, walkie still in hand. “ Clarke, no blue ribbon. What happened? Over”
“We saw one of those.” Raven says carefully, frowning slightly as she tries to remember, “In town, it was tied to a tree, there was an abandoned camp not far from it.”
Clarke bites her lip because she knows exactly what happened to that camp- it wasn’t abandoned it was attacked. There’s a distant thrumming sound in the back of her mind that she realises actually exists and in the space of three seconds, three trucks come barreling through the trees, straight towards their camp with the wheels spinning so fast she might get dizzy.
Her eyes widen, “Oh shit.”
Raven jumps for the claxon and slams down on the button until it blares as loud as her ears can handle and suddenly everyone is running out, running for their guns and weapons, running for safety, waiting for orders but there’s no time. There’s men and women in the trucks holding guns, big guns, and they’re angry- “bandits.” Clarke yells at the top of her voice and she can feel the army preparing for battle, sprinting to their posts.
Miller comes running up the stairs and starts shooting at the group trying to attack them, he hits one in the shoulder but then suddenly all of them are shooting and he’s out of his depth. Raven swings the machine gun around her shoulders and starts emptying the clip and clarke doesn’t need to be told twice. The truck doesn’t hesitate to speed up, forcing itself past the cars and the the side window rolls down. Every truck seems to be kitted out with so many weapons it looks like a small army and eventually Raven takes a hit, screaming in agony and clutching her thigh as she falls to the floor.
“Man down.” Clarke yells, “ Man down .”
The truck doesn't stop and suddenly it's too close and Clarke has to duck from the bullets coming at them. She scrambles for Raven, pressing her hand against the wound on the brunettes leg, “Go, I'm okay.” She assures, grunting and hissing at the flash of pain that travels through her body.
“You're going to bleed out.” Clarke shakes her head. She pulls off her jacket, folding it quickly and pressing it against Ravens thigh and the mechanic hisses again, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Clarke almost recites. ( ‘why were you apologising?’ raven asked and the blonde coughs slightly, ‘i don’t like seeing my friends in pain’ and the brunette raises an eyebrow, ‘we’re friends?’ she asks surprised and joking but clarke punches her shoulder and laughs, ‘shut up’ .)
“Go, jesus clarke they need you.” Raven grinds out between grit teeth.
They almost don’t notice the truck ram straight through the gate, blowing the doors wide open beneath the platform she’s on and screeching to a halt. It all happens incredibly fast that clarke doesn’t actually get a full picture of the events until many days later when she’s reconstructed the events in her mind. She grabs Miller's’ arm and presses his hand against the coat on Raven’s wound, “Stay with her.” she instructs and then leaves, jumping down the wooden stairs to the carnage that’s already begun.
She notices some of the original citizens of Alexandria trying their best, fighting for actual survival and she sees them bleeding where they’ve been cut or hit and she almost worries, but then she remembers she trained them and she’s not so worried anymore. A fist comes flying at her face and luckily she avoids it only to be faced with an angry looking man and his knife. She sneers, swinging her sword out and he almost falters.
She smirks and he jumps at her, narrowly missing her arm and she just swings the sword around and chops his head, clean off. His body falls to the ground and from a distance she notices a woman’s head spin around, immediately furious as she starts shooting in clarke's directions.
The blonde dives behind one of the cars but the woman keeps shooting so clarke slides her sword back into it’s case and wraps her fingers around the gun, quickly ducking to her knees and shooting the other woman’s shin from under the car boot. She falls straight to her knees and clarke crawls over, trying to hide from the bullets that are flying over her head- it’s not just her in this fight. The bitch reaches out and fists a clump of clarke’s hair, yanking until she screams and Clarke slams the but of her gun into the other woman's face until she stops. She uses the dagger in her shoe to stab her through the heart and then moves on.
She peers around the car and lines her gun up, hidden in the mess of bodies and blood nobody notices her. Bellamy kicks someone away from him and shoots him directly between the eyes before ducking out of the way of a punch and stabbing that person in the gut. A tall bulky redhead comes sprinting in his direction and he notices too late, but Clarke’ shoots her in the head without a second thought.
Bellamy looks around to see where the shot came from and catches her eye. The gratitude slowly fades into panic and he yells; “ Move.”
She pulls out of her sword but doesn’t have time to use it before someone swings a bat at the back of her head and she falls forward, hitting the car with her forehead.
She’s out, cold.
And that’s the last thing she remembers.
Octavia takes a bite of the cereal bar in her hand and chews slowly, her eyes trailing across the houses and greenery, watching flies land on windowsills and birds travel from roof to roof. She purses her lips and points to Clarke’s house with her cereal bar, “You think she’ll ever wake up?” she asks.
“Octavia.” Monty says through a gasp while Raven send her a dirty look and Miller’s eyes widen as he glances around to make sure nobody heard- or bellamy.
“What?” she asks dubiously with a frown, “You’re all thinking it.”
“But you said it.” Ravne points out, barely glancing at the other woman out of sheer frustration with her crassy attitsude towards someone Raven cares very much about.
“She woke up a few days ago.” Miller interejects, having only suddenly remembered.
Octavia scoffs, taking another bite of her cereal bar, “for like ten seconds. Her eyes moved around and little and she tried to talk but couldn’t and then she passed out again, I don’t think that counts.”
“And who are you to decide that?” Raven says lowly in almost a growl and both Miller and Monty instinctively shuffle back slightly.
The younger blake narrows her eyes slightly and swallows her mouthful, glancing down at Raven’s leg that stays trapped in a brace and will stay that way for as long as she is alive, “Did I touch a nerve, Reyes?” Octavia says, with a hint of mirth.
And the girl named after a bird lets out a deep breath, “Only everytime you open your mouth.”
“You know i’m right.” She says once more, finishing her cereal bar and shrugging.
Raven scoffs and shakes her head almost in disbelief, “You’re not.” she reminds quickly, “You’re just an asshole.”
Octavia titters like the words just roll off her and she hasn’t a care in the world, “And you’re in denial.”
“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” she other woman snaps, the fire rising in her eyes.
“I’m done.” the brunette assures airily, crumpling up the wrapper of her bar and walking down the stairs, knowing full well that what she had to say was well and truly heard, and not caring about the consequences of her words.
There's a silence as Raven’s eyes continues to stare at Clarke’s bedroom window, still waiting for some movement and finally Monty speaks up, “It has been two weeks, there's a chance that she might… you know.”
The brunette swallows, “She would never say that about you.” she grunts, wrinkling her nose and trying not to ball her hands into fists.
(Monty bites his tongue and Raven doesn’t speak to octavia for the rest of the week.)
(But Octavia cares, she just doesn’t show it.)
She spends days, what feels like much too long restrained to a bed- and by restraints she means the fact that her body literally cannot move without a splitting headache tearing through her brain. She drifts in and out of consciousness, barely remembering what day it is and where she is until the silence painfully reminds her she’s still in alexandria. She sweats and then shivers, she slurs and then forgets and tries to remember and she tries to move but it causes her way too much pain over the entirety of her body.
There’s sunlight and then nothing and sometimes she thinks she hears music or arguing and sometimes she smells food and her throat is dry and it reminds her she’s thirsty. She thinks she hears crying and a someone feeds her water, she thinks she can move and then when she tries she screams and makes herself pass out again.
After nearly three weeks of an in-and-out presence she finally wakes up for real. She moves and it hurts, but not as much as before. There’s gunk in the corners of her eyes that have nearly dried them shut and her throat is scratchy but the cup on her bedside table is empty. She croaks out a mumble of a name lost on the tip of her tongue and when she realises no one else is here she throws the covers off her legs and tries her best to walk.
Her head is pounding with occasional sharp daggers of pain behind her eyes and somehow she manages to stumble down the stairs, one by one. Her eyes flutter shut as she sucks in a sharp breath, her entire body aches and she fucking hates it because it makes her feel useless.
She staggers through the kitchen in search of a glass that she hastily manages to grab with the remaining strength in her fingers but she can’t lift it for some reason- like its too heavy. She drags it over to the sink and drops it in with a thump and a sigh of relief, but it doesn’t last for long because she’s not strong enough to twist the tap.
She grunts, huffing and sighing in aggravation but her hand keep slipping and she can’t grip it properly and she swears loudly but still can’t do it and she’s getting more and m- “What are you doing?” Bellamy asks. He’s carrying a basket of fresh clothes but he disguards them when he sees her grapple with not only the tap but even just standing. “When did you wake up?” She ignores him still trying to turn the sink handle with increasing annoyance at both his presence and her own incapability. He huffs, walking toward her, “Clarke stop, I’ll-”
“I can do it myself.” she snaps.
“No, you can’t”
“ Yes i can .” They fall into silence once more as he watches her struggle to hold her own body weight, she’s so weak she can barely balance. She rests her hands on the edge of the sink, abandoning the tap and taking a deep breath, closing her eyes. But when she closes her eyes all she gets is a fucking headache so she opts to keep them open and she hates that she can barely stand. She swallows, staring out of the window behind the sink into the open air she has yet to taste. She watches the trees sway slightly and the grass flicker in the wind and she blinks, “Why are you here?” she asks with a slight frown but that gives her another headache so she stops.
“To look after you” he says carefully, tucking his hands into his pockets.
She purses her lips, “I don’t need you to.”
He scoffs, “You can barely stand.”
“Oh Fuck you Bellamy, i’m not some fragile fucking princess.” she snaps back, and he takes a second to process what she’s said because at no point in the whole time he’s know her has he ever thought she was fragile.
“Jesus Christ, this isn’t me trying to make you out as some pussy ass bitch okay?” he demands, raising his eyebrows, “I’m painfully aware that you don’t need me or anyone for that matter, but for five minutes just accept the help I am giving you because this help does not come with any strings.” she swallows and he takes a deep breath, “So sit the fuck down.” he snaps, reaching forward to pull her arm around his shoulders.
She huffs but doesn’t fight him because she’s much too weak but the look on her face is telling him he’d be on the floor if she were able to. He limps her away from the kitchen and onto a chair of the dining table and she grunts and huffs to avoid crying out in pain. She closes her eye and regrets it almost immediately when her hand flies over her mouth to stop her vomiting on the table. She grimaces, swallowing, “I might throw up.” she says quietly.
He frowns, pushing the hair away from her face to place the back of his hand against her forehead. Not too warm. “Do you want a bucket?”
She nearly shakes her head but a warning pain shoots through her neck that also threatens her with a gag, “I want my head back.”
He huffs, “I’ll get you a bucket.”
He finds a bucket in a random cupboard and fills the glass with water before handing it over to her and placing the bucket on the floor by her feet. “Raven.” she blurts suddenly. Her eyes are wide and panicked and if she could she would have jumped to her feet. “Is she okay? Where is she?”
“She’s fine.” he assures, “Worry about yourself.”
“Where is she?” clarke demands, straining to stand but the movement throws a headache up her way and suddenly she doubles over and vomits her guts into the bucket. She spits as an afterthought and coughs slightly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before leaning back against the table with a grunt. “Did you get-” she takes a breath, wincing, “-the bullet out?” she huffs, “Is she okay?”
“Stop moving.” he snaps angrily, ( ‘you’re so fucking stubborn’ he hissed one time when she’d refused to let him go on a small supply run alone. ‘Maybe one day it’ll save your life’ she’d shrugged. He scoffed, seeing right through her, ‘Maybe one day it’ll get you killed’ ) He sneers, “I’m going to knock you back into that coma if you don’t sit down.”
“Fuck you, where is she?”
“ Stop it.” he shouts and he’s never shouted at her before so she actually stops. Her mouth is open but she doesn’t say anything, choosing to stare at him instead and he sighs, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
She sits back down carefully in the pin drop silence where neither of them say anything because they’re both reading between the lines. There’s something he’s not telling her and she knows this because he’s angry at her questions and because he’s angry, she now knows he’s hiding something. She swallows, hoping that the answer to her question isn’t what she’s thinking, “Has she been buried?”
“She’s not dead, Clarke.” he assures quickly and she doesn’t think he notices her breathe a sigh of relief.
“So she’s okay?” she asks immediately, wide eyed and clearly reassured. ( ‘i think… i think you care about us griffin.’ He pointed out when he began to notice the worry and the panic that began to present itself in her eyes. She scoffed, ‘i think you’re delusional.’ )
“She’s... different.” he says eventually.
“ How different?” she asks, her voice still hoarse as she takes another sip from the glass.
“Just different.” he shrugs, unwilling to dispose of any more information than needed.
She frowns, “Good different or bad different?”
“Just different.” he says briskly, rubbing his eyes and trying his best not to get annoyed, “You’ll understand when you see her.” he adds as an afterthought, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh.
Clarke kicks the bucket away and grunts. She places a hand on the table and once again tries to stand with a huff, “I want to see her.”
“Sit down, Clarke.” he shouts again and she freezes on the spot, staring back at him with unfiltered anger that swirls in her eyes that she tries her best not to act on. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, “You have a severe concussion that could have long lasting effects if you don’t take the necessary rest required and I need you at 100% if you’re going to be of any fucking use to anyone at all- so would you please -” he takes another deep breath, “Sit down.”
The anger in her eyes swirls into something more playful and she purses her lips, “Keep talking like that and you might actually hurt my feelings.” she says in a tone he’s never heard her use before that he might even qualify as childish and he actually smiles without meaning to.
“Feelings ey? That head injury must have turned your brain to mush.” he titters, placing a hand on her head to feel around for bumps and bruises and pressure points as she carefully lowers herself into the chair. She hisses when he presses a little too hard and he tears his hand away, not willing to cause her any more pain, “You should be in bed.” he says quietly. She purses her lips but doesn’t say anything, letting them stare at each other like it’s the first time- it has been a while. He looks worried and relieved and scared and strong and broken and so many other things she can’t put her finger on and her lip quivers slightly, something that doesn’t go missed. He purses his lips and swallows, reaching forward and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and eventually he just lets it rest against her face, like he’s never touched her before and she sighs, strangely content.
“You scared me.” he whispers.
Her breath is shaky and she wants to cry her fucking eyes out for some reason. She swallows, opening her mouth to say something but is quickly cut off when the door swings open and Octavia saunters through with a raised eyebrow, “What is all this noise ?” she asks tiredly and then her eyes widen, “Oh my god, Clarke.” she pauses, “Well fuck, i’m out ten dollars and a sword.”
Clarke actually laughs, and then quickly throws up.
A fly buzzes around the grimey car, landing on arms and fingers and noses and bumping into windows and dirty leather chairs. It settles on the dirty Jean over Raven’s knee, puttering in the murky moist of the fabric as she watches the trees pass from her passenger side window. The sweltering heat makes the car sweaty and warm, like a walking roast dinner for walkers and cannibals alike.
Raven sighs, wiping the her mucky hands on her thighs and the fly splutters into a buzz and flies slowly onto a strand of Bellamy’s hair. His eye are trained on the road, or more like what’s available of it-anywhere that isn’t covered in vines or walkers or abandoned cars and birds that perch anxiously on the edge of anything and everything, waiting for something to break the silence.
Octavia’s hand points through the gap between the front two seats from where she’s crouched in the back of the car, “Here, stop here.” she says harshly, pointing to a building only a few meters to their right by the name of Andre’s Super Store that doesn’t look like it’s been attended to since this madness began.
They pile out of the car, their eyes scanning the surrounding forest and empty roads, never once leaning towards the idea that they were alone because such assumptions cause lives. Raven sizes up the store before her, curious and confused because there’s no way nobody’s touched this place, nobody’s tried to get food and get in- and yet somehow that’s exactly what hasn’t happened.
“I don’t like this.” Bellamy assures, standing beside the mechanic.
Raven swallows, feeling uneasy at the fact that she agrees, “Clarke should be here.”
He scoffs almost immediately and shakes his head, “That's not what I meant.”
“Clarke should still be here.” Octavia pipes in, clicking through the bullets of her magazine.
“No, she should not.” he snaps harshly, mildly annoyed and both the women next to him look up to stare with a raised eyebrow, “She can barely walk.”
“She can walk fine. ” Reyes rolls her eyes, stepping forward to rap a knock on the doors to draw out any living dead, “And she’s the one that found this place.”
“It’s not like she’s been inside it.” he reiterates.
“Okay, well she’s the best fighter we have.” the engineer concedes, crossing her arms and sighing.
“Wow, that’s hurtful.” He smirks, a mocking tone to his voice and both women roll their eyes.
“She’s better than you and you know it.” Octavia reminds and Raven nods like she’s agreeing for him.
“She needs to recover.” He throws in.
But Raven cocks her head, “You’re just being difficult.”
I’m protecting her, he wants to say but he knows they’ll only laugh because Clarke doesn’t need anyone protection- she is the protection. And they fall back into silence, calmly waiting for any walker to come banging on the door. Raven carefully scrapes her hair into a pony tail, dragging the sweaty strands stuck to the base of her neck until the air can finally cool it down. ( ‘Nah, if I could do the apocalypse again fuck this I’d go to alaska’ raven assures, shaking her shirt to let air in against her skin. Clarke rolls her eyes, ‘you would really do this again?’ And the mechanic scoffs a small laugh, ‘you know what I mean’ )
She bounds from one foot to another in anticipation and Octavia stands like she doesn’t have a care in the world, her arms crossed over her chest with a gun strapped to her thigh and a knuckle duster she customised with razors. ( ‘Your sister is insane’ Clarke told Bellamy once and he had shrugged, ‘as if you’re any better.’ ) but it seems that nothing is to scare them today, and nothing comes snarling.
Bellamy frowns, “Are you sure you knocked loud enough?” He suggests.
Raven purses her lips, “I knocked like I knock normally.” She assures carefully.
“Maybe you didn’t-”
“I did.”
“ Alright .” Octavia Interrupts quickly, waving a hand and stepping forward, “That’s more than enough.” She assures before launching three heavy kicks into the door to create another knock.
Raven huffs a sigh and they wait for anything to come banging at the door, anything to start snarling and snapping it jaw, to let out a ghastly fleshy noise- but again nothing happens. Bellamy cocks his head, carefully scanning the surroundings as Raven shakes her head, “Lucky?” She suggests.
But Octavia raises an eyebrow, “To good to be true.” She corrects.
And Bellamy wrinkles his nose, his eyes still scanning their surroundings , “I really don’t like this.” He repeats.
The mechanic narrows her eyes as the hair on the back of her neck begins to prick, “You feel that?” she asks, and their face says they don’t so she lets out a deep breath quickly glancing around, “Someone’s watching.”
Octavia huffs, “Clarke should be here.”
They pile in and out in no more than five minutes because none of them have a good feeling about this new place and they’re desperate to get the fuck out. They fill the back seats with tinned food and pasta and toilet roll and tampons and Octavia swipes a packet of cigarettes, (okay she takes more like 10 just incase this place really is too good to be true and they can’t return.) Bellamy takes some lollipops and gum and Raven focuses heavily on collecting key rings and small toys to give the kids in Alexandria something to play with.
And then they drive away, under the glaring gazes of the woods.
( ‘What’s with the face?’ Clarke asks when they return and he frowns, ‘what’s wrong with my face?’ He asks. She rolls her eyes, ‘something's not right is it?’ She determines, almost sadly and he shakes his head, ‘You should have been there.’ )
It seems that Octavia has had something waiting on the tip of her tongue for a while now, some words she wants to say but doesn’t know quite how or whether she should, something she wants to state or question or whatever but something significant enough that she’s got a grimace on her face every time she thinks about it.
She bites her lip though, and puffs a cigarette like it’s her last day on earth- and it could be. “You going to help me?” Clarke calls from the top of a ladder, propped against the south side wall where she wires and rewires barbed wire and strengthens their protective barrier.
She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and looks down at Octavia who waves the cigarette, “I’m on break.”
Clarke scoffs, “Fuck off, you don’t get a break.”
“It’s the law.” She calls back indignantly but definitely joking.
“Hand me another nail.” The blonde orders, waving in the general direction of the tool box at the bottom of the ladder.
Octavia huffs, trapping the cigarette between her teeth as she rummages through the red container and pulls out an assortment of nails, “Long or short?” She calls, muffled through the smoke.
“Long.”
And Octavia climbs up the first steps of the ladder and then onto her tip toes to hand Clarke’s outstretched hand the piece of metal. The blonde hammers away at something up in the glaring sun that blinds her when she looks too long and the brunette returns to her cigarette, still with something stuck in her throat. Something the other woman noticed very early on but decided to dismiss, but now she watches Octavia hold the cigarette in her hand and her eyes wander off into the corners of her mind until the cigarette smokes itself and burns her finger with a hiss and a fuck.
She quickly lights another one and blows the hair from her face as Clarke descends the steps, carefully eyeing the blake. And the Blake notices, “You’re looking at me funny.” She comments.
The the blonde wipes her upper lips with her forearm and huffs out a few heavy breaths. There’s something about the way she’s acting that’s off, like she’s got a thousand things on her mind and it keeps wandering to anything else but what’s right in front of her.
She looks tired and confused and slightly bored but more so than usual, so clarke gestures to the cigarette, “You got spare?” She asks, wincing against the sun in her eyes as Octavia hands her one. The brunette also lends her a lighter and soon Clarke is smoking away under the boiling Georgia heat. She scratches her arm and doesn’t bother to notice the dirt that gathers under her nails as she blows out a cloud of smoke and sighs, glancing at the woman beside her, “What’s up?” She asks carefully.
Octavia doesn’t look at her as she continue to smoke her cigarette and watch the peaceful amp go about it’s day, “Nothing.” She shrugs. She doesn’t know how to say that this place is beginning to creep her out. How they’ve grown so used to safety and comfort and sleeping the full night and how it’s beginning to bother her. She doesn’t want to tear this dream away from them, something that’s been so good and hopeful but Clarke was right, this place shouldn’t exist. We should leave, we should run, start again. She doesn’t have the heart to say what they’re all thinking which is very Un-Octavia like and that’s why it’s bothering her- why does she get to hold back? Why can’t she bring herself to say it. So she glances at Clarke, who looks unconvinced by her answer until the brunette sighs and waves a hand, “Just… this place.” She mumbles.
The blonde doesn’t need to hear anymore to understand exactly what she means. She just nods, taking another puff of her cigarette and listens to the silence and peace that reigns all too often. The calm and boredom that breeds dangers, they were unprepared for that attack and it really knocked them out of their reveries- this place wasn’t going to last forever. So Clarke takes another puff, “Yeah, this fucking place.”
It seems everyone is slowly become more and more disillusioned or maybe just the ones who were out there the longest, ( ‘i mean, it’s not easy, but wouldn’t you rather be here than out there?’ monroe had asked one time and by Clarke’s lack of response it seems she thought both were just as bad as each other.)
Octavia clears her throat as a cloud of smoke dissipates into the air, “Why did you save me? That day in the woods.” She asks carefully.
Clarke looks at her, not quite understanding where this sudden interest is coming from and cocks her head, “Truth?” She asks through a breath of fresh smoke as a smirk begins to play on her lips.
“Always.”
She huffs, “I wanted your boots.” She says, glancing down at the other woman’s feet and Octavia actually smiles, like she knows Clarke is lying.
“So you were going to kill me.” She says in an ah kind of voice.
“And bury you deep in the woods.” she assures, taking another puff.
The brunette chuckles and then they fall back into silence, her only just realising that by bury clarke means that octavia wouldn’t be turned in any way and somewhere kind of twisted, she appreciates that. She goes to open her mouth but notices that Clarke’s eyes have trailed off, landing carefully on Bellamy who stands outside Allison’s house as they discuss something way out of earshot. Octavia takes another puff, “You're staring.” She comments, a smirk playing on her lips.
The blonde just rolls her eyes, “I don’t think he’ll mind.”
(Octavia’s almost sure that he wouldn’t.)
(neither of them notice the shadow in the bushes)
Something is different.
Clarke is different.
Bellamy doesn’t know if it’s the nearly dying or the nearly leaving that made her like this but she’s finally comfortable in his presence, finally taking a breath, finally letting go of the reservations that wouldn’t leave her bones and even open with expressing her feelings. She smiles and laughs and begins to openly trust the people who have worked hard to prove themselves, she kisses him in passing when she’s leaving or coming home and she runs her fingers through his hair when she thinks he’s asleep.
They don’t talk about it though, and he thinks he might be letting her off easy by doing that. He thinks she settles comfortably in not sharing what they truly need to talk about, he thinks she like the anonymity and the theory of emotional distance. But somehow she finds herself tracing the freckles on his cheek when they’re wrapped in the bed sheets at five o’clock in the morning ( ‘it is the crack ass of dawn, why are you awake?’ He’d mumbled when her fingers began to tickle, but she doesn’t stop. She makes a sound in the back of her throat, something non committal and vague and he can feel her chest rising and falling against his own. He opens an eye to see her own filtered with curiosity and wonder, something almost childlike and innocent when she say; ‘I like your face.’ And part of him knows she mean it and the other part knows she means more than just that. So he smiles, ‘You woke up five o’clock in the morning to look at my face?’ He questions, his arm curling tighter around her waist and she hums, ‘something like that.’ )
Her laugh is like some kind of siren lure and he’s trapped because there’s no getting out of this. And so these small acceptances of their somewhat relationship begin to be noticed by the general public- but nobody says a word. And because of this, she's comfortable being with him because it’s not really being if nobody acknowledges it, right?
It’s evening and he’s sitting on the porch steps to her house, his back resting against the bannister bars with a book in his hands and a Clarke resting against his chest. She sits between his legs as he reads some Greek history book and she carefully peels a peach with a knife she’s had since the beginning of the apocalypse.
And they just sit, bask in each other’s presence and the slow rise and fall of their chests. The way she carefully peels the peach and hands him a slice and he runs his fingers through her hair or the way she presses a kiss on the exposed skin of his wrist. He watches the evening sun shine orange against her pale skin and she mumbles a few questions about the book he’s reading and it’s like they’ve been doing this for years.
He’s definitely letting her off easy.
But he’s too selfish to bring it up because that would mean losing this again and he doesn’t think either one of them are ready for that. She carefully peels another slice of peach, letting the juice crawl down her fingers before she licks them and finally breaks the silence, “Do you want my eyes?” she suggests.
He frowns, “What?”
“My eyes.” she repeats, never looking away from the peach in her hands, “To check out that place in seminary hill.”
He shrugs, “You’re the one who found it.” And the tone he uses suggests that she would probably know if something was wrong with it- like she birthed it or something.
“But I didn’t get a vibe.” she reminds, slicing carefully through the peach, “I’ll come check it out again.” she assures, throwing a slice into her mouth and chomping like it’s the best things she’s eaten all year while her hair is strewn around the fabric of his shirt.
He closes his book, discarding it on a step nearby with a sigh and lets his hands rest at the top of her head, “You don’t have to, I think I’ve got it under control.” He assures.
She just scoffs, “What and I stay home with the kids and have dinner ready when you get back, fuck that.” She replies harshly, almost too harshly.
He just shakes his head, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Fucking good.” She snaps again, slicing a little too quickly through the peach and skimming her thumb.
He purses his lips, his fingers tangled in her hair and he sighs again, “I’m letting you off easy.” He says out of the blue. She tilts her head to look up at him and he continues, “I’m letting you get back to whatever this is and I’m letting it happen way to easy.” He pauses, “You know that right?” And he doesn’t mean it in a shitty way, like he’s too good for her or something. He means it because she hurt him and pushed and shoved him away and yet somehow he’s still here.
She swallows, looking back down at her peach. She slices through it again, the squelching seems louder all of a sudden and it’s like she can hear the wind rustle the leaves, the slow creaking of the wood of the houses.
She swallows, “Yeah, I know.”
Allison throws another fucking party and Clarke would claim that that’s where it all went wrong, if clarke could really find any words to speak at all.
They’re dancing in the street, fairy lights hung up and barely illuminated by some batteries Octavia found in an old alarm and someone is playing a flimsy guitar, ragged and torn but everyone is craving some music and some sense of normalcy, or something to drown out the reality of what they live in. someone dragged the barbeque out and Miller’s flipping burgers again- ‘ fuck me, this is straight out of a desperate housewives episode’ but raven just raises an eyebrow at the blonde who continues to surprise her, ‘you watched desperate housewives?’
There’s battered garden chairs and tables barely holding it together with glasses of wine and warm beers in people's hands. Clarke sits at a table with Bellamy beside her tracing patterns on the exposed skin of her shoulder while Monty tells a long lost story about his dead best friend like it was only yesterday and Octavia tries not to choke on her burger when Monty says Jasper was once mugged by a thirteen year old in his final year of MIT.
“Well did he look thirteen?” She asks incredulously while Clarke giggles uncontrollably into Bellamy’s neck.
“God no, at least, not according to Jasper.” Monty assures, “He looked about twenty four and like he’s seen some shit, you know?” and they don’t but they nod and continue to listen anyway, “built like a tank and six feet tall he didn’t look thirteen but his voice hasn’t broken yet so really that would have been a dead give away.”
“ Thirteen?” she repeats and Clarke erupts into another fit of laughter.
Monty nods, “He was more excited by Jasper’s lifetime membership to our local Video Game store than anything else.”
Bellamy shakes his head, smiling, “Why does that not surprise me?”
“That he was excited?” Octavia asks.
“That he had a lifetime membership.”
“Oh, I had one too, do you have any idea how much money I saved in the long run?” he asks, like it matter.
“You mean until the apocalypse?” Clarke corrects with some kind of mocking smile on her lips and Bellamy keeps staring at the soft curls bouncing around her face.
“Still, a bargain. ” he assures. (‘why do you still have this lifetime membership card in your pocket?’ monroe had asked when she had been searching for a pack of cigarettes and monty had snatched it out of her hand, ‘incase i need it!’ he replied quickly, shoving the card back into his pocket. Monroe just looked at him with her eyes wide, ‘for what?’ )
Speaking of which, monroe slides up to the table, a slightly sheepish look on her face, “Monty, could you help me for a second, I can’t read your handwriting on the calculations you gave me for the freshwater pipe.”
“You’re working?” Bellamy exclaims, staring at her before shaking his head, “Nope, no, unacceptable, Monty go sort out those numbers, you- ” he starts, pointing to monroe, “Sit and drink.”
“But-”
“ Drink!” he orders and she laughs, accepting his offer and sliding into Monty’s newley empty seat.
“Order up!” Miller exclaims, sliding across three paper plates of burgers with various toppings and sides and Clarke groans, rubbing her stomach.
“Miller, you’re an angel sent from above.” she assures, reaching for her’s.
Octavia, Bellamy and Clarke start to devour their burgers, ranch sauce onto fingers and down chins and Octavia flings a pickle at Bellamy’s face and it’s nice to see them acting like brother and sister; it makes clarke happy and Monroe seems to agree. “Is there any ketchup?” Octavia asks through a mouthful and accidentally spits out some food across the table- everyone laughs again and Miller returns with said sauce.
“Mayo?” Clarke asks.
Miller rolls his eyes, “Anything else, your highness?” he mocks.
And the blonde goes to open her mouth, a grin plastered across her face like Bellamy has never seen before when they hear the first scream.
It’s loud.
They all pause, glancing at each other and the burgers sizzle loudly on the grill where Miller’s abandoned them. “What was that?” Octavia asks, sitting up in her seat and disregarding her meal, barely even giving it a second chance.
Miller cranes his neck around the party, “Where’s Monty?” he asks, a hint of panic to his voice.
“What was that?” Octavia asks again, this time standing up from her chair.
“Did he go somewhere?” Miller repeats, his voice tight.
“Shut up.” Clarke snaps, rising to her feet, “I’m trying to listen.”
“But where is he?”
There’s another scream and suddenly there are walkers upon them and everyone’s screaming. Chairs are flipped as people sprint for their guns and weapons and Octavia never got to finish that burger when she’s slammed into the ground by a walker that scratches at the air, trying to reach her face.
There’s hundreds, many, many more than the eye can see and Clarke doesn’t fancy reliving everything that happened because she would argue it was one of the worst parts of the apocalypse, losing everyone she grew to care about. Citizens are killed and dragged into the underworld they never wanted to be a part of and Monty is gone. Monroe throws herself into the crowd and they never hear from her again and Alison lies on the ground with a knife sticking out of her head that Octavia put there to stop her turning.
It’s a haze of screams and shouts and shattered lights and broken bones and eventually Bellamy gets bitten in his chest and Clarke thinks she could die right there.
“Inside, get him inside.” Raven orders, hooking her hands around his arms and dragging him out the stairs of the house as Clarke and Octavia fight off the oncoming walkers.
“Hey princess.” Bellamy splutters from where he’s lying on the floor of his home, his hand clutched in Octavia’s where she tries not to cry into his skin and Clarke’s hands rest on either of his cheeks.
“Yeah?” She responds breathily, trying not to focus on the banging outside the windows, the walkers screaming and begging to be let in so that they can finish she job.
“You promised.” He reminds with a small smile, almost sad and of course he’s fucking sad because he’s definitely about to die. His hand reaches up to hold hers and his skin is cold, clammy and pale.
Raven stands by the door, her shoulder pressing into it to keep the walkers from getting in and Miller glances out of the back door into the barely populated back garden when Bellamy splutters again, “Are you calling that in?” She asks carefully, swallowing the lump in her throat.
He nods quickly, his other hand tightening around Octavia's, “I'm calling.” He assures, his eyes red and bloodshot and broken and he’s sad.
And they don’t say goodbye, or cry and they don’t hug because that’s not what they are and that’s never who they could have been in a world like this and they both knew that from the start. So they stay, eyes locked, just taking in their last sight of each other and he’s terrified, she can see it in every crevice if his face he’s so fucking scared and her heart squeezes in her chest until she can’t stand it anymore and she leans down and kisses him.
its short and sweet, a goodbye in itself and he tastes like fear and tears and like the Bellamy she grew to know and now she’s crying too. She pulls away, stroking the tear off his cheek with a small smile and wiping under her eyes. She nods, like some kind of transaction has happened but she knows it was so much more than that, “Okay.” She agrees quickly, sniffling, “Okay, Octavia, you should-“ but before Clarke can finish her sentence, Bellamy isn’t breathing anymore, lying in their kitchen floor and the brunette screams, shaking his shoulders.
“Bellamy, Bellamy!” Octavia cries, tears rolling down her cheek, “Bellamy wake up.”
“Octavia we have to kill him.” Raven reminds quickly, glancing panickedly outside the door at the swarm that seems to be getting bigger and bigger.
“ Bellamy!” She screams again and this time his head rolls to the side and his eyes open carefully.
It’s not him anymore.
“Octavia get away from him.” Clarke warns, reaching for the gun in her waistband, “Octavia now .”
“No he’s awake.” She remarks, a twisted smile on her lips, “he’s awake.”
“Octavia get away from him.” Clarke screams and the walker that once was Bellamy reaches forward and yanks octavias neck down to his mouth where he bites down hard and she cries out when he rips the ligaments from the inside of her body. “ Octavia!” Clarke shouts, pulling the brunette away from her former brother and throwing her across the floor, far away from him.
Clarke only hesitates for a second to shoot Bellamy in head, every moment they had together flashing before her eyes. She remembers being held and warm and running her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. She remembers laughing until she’s snorting and tracing the freckles on his cheek and she can’t stop seeing his smile, flashing across her eyes until he snarls a little too loud, yanking her out of her reverie and she fires the gun straight through his skull.
“Bellamy- Bellamy no!” Octavia thrashes and screams against Miller's arms, begging her brother to be okay and she’s going to die soon, he can see her eyes twisting into something dark and Clarke can’t handle this anymore so she shoots Octavia too.
The brunette falls limp against Miller, who stares up at Clarke in mild shock.
Raven can’t find any words to speak right now after having just watched all of this but Clarke tucks the gun back into the waistband of her jeans, not sparing another second and adjusts the sword on her back, “We need to get the fuck out of here.” She assures quickly.
“Your car. In the woods you have a-a- a car.” Miller stutters a reminder, still holding the brunette in his arms because he’s still in mild fucking shock.
Clarke looks around, reaching for a rag and the lighter in her pocket, “We need to burn this place down.”
Raven raises both eyebrows, “What?”
“She’s right.” Miller blurts as he finally lets go of Octavia and she hits the floor with a thump that makes him want to vomit, “if we set a fire we’ll attract more and they’ll walk directly into it, we’ll kill shitloads more than with a gun.”
She reaches for a lighter in her pocket and carefully lights the towel on fire, throwing it into the sofa, “let’s move.” She says quickly, pushing Raven and Miller towards the back door.
They clamber over the back wall and stumble through the forest, hitting branches with their foreheads and tripping over logs they didn't see until they reach the car Clarke hid months ago. It's covered in shrubbery and hidden between bushes and there's a thick layer of dust over it when they finally get it free.
Clarke is staring at it, her eyes unfocused and hazy and Raven opens the driver side door, "Hey, we gotta go." she reminds.
the blonde lets out a deep breath, looking back at the carnage they left behind and her heart squeezes in her chest- she was right, she should have stayed alone.
"Key's in the glove compartment." she blurts.
Miller stares, "What-"
"Go, i'll be fine." she assured quickly, adjusting the sword on her back once again, "I can take care of myself."
“You’re joking, we can’t leave you here.” Miller cries.
“Are you insane?” Raven asks approaching her like a frightened animal, “I knew you were mental but I didn’t think you were actually-”
Clarke cuts her off when she wraps both arms around her shoulders and pulls her in for a hug, squeezing her tightly, “Please, just go.” I’ll see you when I’m ready to not be alone anymore.
They pull away and Raven can't find words to say, her mouth screwed shut and she swallows, pressing a kiss on Clarke’s cheek, “Thank you.” She murmurs, “ Thank you, for keeping us alive this long.”
Is that really what she didn’t though?
Miller and Raven peel off through the woods and hit a main intersection within seconds while Clarke doesn’t move. She can feel the heat from the fire and when she turns around she notices how big it’s gotten.
And so she stands there, watching her friends, her family, her Bellamy, go up in smoke like they never mattered in the first place.
She should be alone.
She should always have been alone.