Chapter Text
Clark was used to getting some rude awakenings. Waking up in a drop ship as it careened down to the Earth being near the top. A close second was coming to in Mount Weather after enacting a plan to burn 300 people. But regaining consciousness because Jasper Jordan’s hands were clasped around her neck, his teeth bared and his eyes a chilling blank had to be right near the top of bad ways to start one’s day.
Her oxygen-starved brain finally kicked on, the survival instinct that had ended so many others flared to life as she started kicking and clawing at the boy’s face. A face she had once smiled at, laughed at, a face accompanied by a person she had willed and worked frantically to save after his chest had been speared in their first few moments on the ground.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have worked so hard.
Black spots filtered into her vision as she finally shifted her legs under him, kicking up into his groin.
“Ugh,” Jasper’s grip slackened, his mouth dropping open in a pitiful face.
It was enough time for Clark to shove him off of her, her breath ragged as she sucked in air in great gasps, tears springing to her eyes at the sharp pain in her lungs as they expanded.
She propped herself up in the pool of spilled, sticky moonshine. For a moment she sat there, adrenaline coursing through her as the previous evening came back to her. She had come into the makeshift bar in the early hours of the morning, the nightmares driving her from whatever corner of the downed ship she’d curled up in.
She could hear yelling and feet pounding on the metal grates to where they lay. Jasper was flat on his back now, looking up at the ceiling, as tears tracked down his cheeks. Her heart wrenched a little in a way that had nothing to do with the pain in her neck.
“I’m sorry, Jasper,” she said, her voice cracking around the syllables.
“For killing Maya?” he replied, his words slurred at the ends.
“You know I am. You know that.” she said
“Whatever Clark,” Jasper said, rolling onto his side, and getting to his feet. He didn’t walk far, just slide back onto one of the bar stools still upright after he had dragged her off of hers. He poured himself another drink, assuming the position she saw him in more than any other since the mountain.
“Jasper,” she rasped out, she was surprised at herself, she would have slunk away by now.
“Go float yourself, Clarke,” Jasper said cutting her off.
Clark let the wound settle on her, holding it tight and comparing it against all the other hurts. She didn’t get very far because Bellamy Blake had stomped into the bar, scanning around, looking for someone to yell at. She could see the confusion on his face, Clarke half propped up on the sticky bar floor. Face likely pale and red blooming on her neck. Jasper hunched over in a chair staring into his cup, his expression vacant as her own frantic hands had torn scratches along the skin of his freshly shorn hair.
Clark froze, when was the last time she’d seen him? Her mind raced over muddled thoughts and swiftly gave up. Instead, she stayed silent, sitting up and moving forward to start picking up the strewn papers that had floated around the floor.
“Hey, he said, walking over warily, his large hands reached down to help her up. His eyes took in her throat, the tear tracks down her face. “Everything okay?” He asked, his expression darkening as his hand came up to track the marks on her neck, then looking over to Jasper’s overly still form.
“Nightmare,” she said, stepping back to prevent his fingers from touching the skin. They hadn’t been this close in a long time, she’d made sure of it. Bellamy sighed and took a few steps back of his own. She breathed a sigh of relief, then regretted it as her lungs protested.
She didn’t want to look at Bellamy. She didn’t want to see the concern in his eyes as he took in her disheveled appearance. Even though she hadn’t left the electrified gates of Arkadia since everything at Mount Weather, she’d done a pretty good job of making herself scarce. It was safe to say he hadn’t seen her this close up in weeks.
So instead she looked up to watch the weak sunlight filtering in, slivers of clear blue. She quickly calculated the time, she had come in right before sunrise, a good few hours of sleep then. Better than she’d had in a while.
“Clarke?” Bellamy started, looking like he had a speech prepared.
“What?” She asked, bracing herself for an accusation, or worse, something nice.
Bellamy seemed to search her face, but in the end seemed to think better of what he had wanted to say, “Abby’s looking for you. I was heading to Raven’s to ask if she had seen you when I heard,” he trailed off.
“Ah, well. I better go,” Clarke said, stepping to her side to move past him.
“Fine, but,” Bellamy said, lightly laying his hand on her arm as she walked by stilling her, “can we talk later?”
“Yeah,” she said, “I’ll find you.” Clarke ignored the frown the crossed his face as she turned her back headed out of the bar. She wouldn’t go looking for anyone. She never did.
***
Clarke walked into Arkadia’s med bay, turning up the collar to her old, refurbished guard’s jacket, now lined with fox fur for the cold winter ahead. It wouldn’t do for Abby’s worried eyes to linger over yet another unexplained injury.
Her mother could be found in front of a large chalkboard that had been salvaged from the school rooms of the ark. A series of lists detailing the amounts of bandages, antibiotics, suture kits, and fluid lines swam in front of her. Chalkdust floated in motes of light from the open bay doors.
For a moment Clark was transported back to her childhood on the Ark, watching her mother study for an upcoming surgery or finalize a submission to the council on behalf of the medical team. This was how she and her mother were most alike, solving problems took thought, and unbiased planning.
Unfortunately, Clark had Jake’s streak of applying problem-solving in a sudden wide-sweeping scope. It was working out for her about as well as it had for him.
“Mom?” Clark said, almost hating to disturb the memory.
“Clarke, where have you been?” Abby asked, not turning around to face her daughter.
Clarke walked over to stand next to her. To not fully focus on her daughter after months of intently gauging how traumatized she was on any given day must mean that Abby was concerned about a larger problem than her child.
What a nice change of pace for her Clarke thought.
“Couldn’t sleep, went to the bar to work on the herb engravings,” she said. Abby was all too familiar with the screams her daughter woke to every night.
“Well, I guess I’m glad you found a place where someone could easily find you then,” she said, her voice tense.
Clarke had nothing to say in response to that, so she let her gaze drift around the room, landing on a large piece of parchment. Grounder-made paper stood out amid the linen paper the ark had laying around.
“What’s that?” Clark asked, trepidation creeping into her bones, she had stayed firmly put behind the fences, and anything connected to Grounder made her palms itch.
“We’ve gotten a message from Polis,” Abby said.
Clarke swallowed back the bile that had risen in her throat, “what could that possibly have to do with me?” She asked.
Abby looked at her nervously, “A retinue came from Polis, on behalf of the Commander. There’s a peace summit occurring between the clans of her coalition. She’s requested that you represent Arkadia at it.”
Clarke stared at her in silence.
“Yes, that’s about how I reacted as well,” Abby said. Placing the parchment back on the desk. “However, Marcus believes we should at least entertain the idea, for diplomacy's sake, trade routes and such.”
“Well, Kane can fuck right off,” Clarke said dryly. “I have a very firm memory of what happened the last time I trusted Le...the Commander,” she finished, not wanting to say her name. She didn’t want to say much of anything. Hitting someone vaguely Kane shaped seemed like a much better idea.
“Clarke, I think there are innumerable reasons for you to walk out of this room and forget about the message entirely,” Abby said, leaning forward towards her daughter. “I think you are completely in your right to be angry about being asked to talk with someone that has turned you into…” Abby drifted off.
These were uncharted territories. There was an unspoken agreement between mother and daughter that they did not talk about how Clarke didn’t sleep. About the weight loss, the ragged hair that hung about her waist now, the eyes that never stopped moving, the fact that she could disappear for days on end without even leaving the fence line.
But still, it hurt to have it pointed out by the person she thought was on her side. Were they not all suppose to pretend together?
“You’re right Mom,” she said. Turning around to walk about of the room. “I am totally within my right to ignore this. Just like she ignored us at Mount Weather, turning me into a monster,” Clarke said and reached for the door handle.
“Clarke?” Abby said, “I’m sorry, please don’t go.”
“That’s the problem Mom,” Clarke said, twisting the handle down and letting the cacophony of the med bay machinations seep into the room, “I stayed.”
She was walking down the corridor when Abby’s voice reached out to her as she stepped into the hall, “so is that your response?”
“If it’s important she’ll send another and if it’s really important she’ll send an army.” Clarke threw back over her shoulder. She walked quickly into the hallway, taking random turns as the panic threatened to catch her. It’d been a rough morning.
Time to find a mechanic.
Raven was sitting at her workbench as Clarke walked in. Scrap bits of metal, gears, and data chips were strewn around her as she peered intently through a magnifying glass. A bit of soldering smoke drifted around her dark ponytail.
“Clarke,” Raven said by way of greeting.
“Raven,” she replied passing her and climbing up to the lofted area of her work station. She kept a thinly padded mattress up here, hidden behind old barrels that used to hold fuel, and now held the remnants of whatever Raven was keeping from the council so they didn’t requisition it for a use that would be much less fun than whatever she had planned.
“Same playlist as yesterday?” Raven asked, reaching over to grab one of the old, pre-war music cards. It was similar to Maya’s old card, but Jasper had that firmly secured around his neck at all times.
“Let’s try something a little...angrier,” Clarke said, shifting down to lay flat on the mat, bunching her coat up under her head. The cool air felt good on the increasingly sore abrasions on her neck.
“I heard about the summons,” Raven said scrolling down the card. Her clear voice carried no hint as to what she thought Clarke should do about it.
“I think I asked for angrier,” Clarke said replied.
“Coward.” Raven said.
“See Wick lately?” Clarke replied.
Raven hit play.
The heavy bass and screeching filled her skin, rattling the loose screws on the floor beside her. She imagined the music boring into the few screws she had loose in her own head. After a few minutes sleep claimed her, the fires raging just behind it.
***
She wasn’t always sure what she had dreamed, just that she woke up screaming. That’s why she crawled into this little space, why Raven raised the volume up so high that the rest of Arkadia just thought it was another one of the young mechanic's slightly less endearing quirks. The yell ripped from her throat but thanks to Jasper’s earlier greeting, it was accompanied by pain as well.
She was soaked in sweat, and for some reason, her hands were covered in blood. No, wait. She blinked a few times. Not blood, grease. She always forgot how dirty it was up here. She hadn’t looked in a mirror in while.
The music lowered in tempo and Clarke looked down through the bars of the railing, her chest still heaving. Raven’s eyes were narrowed.
“You’re not getting better,” she said.
“You’re not wrong,” Clarke said. Swinging her feet over the edge. “How long was I out?”
“Almost an hour, Clarke…” Raven began.
“Don’t, please. I don’t need a lecture.” Clarke replied.
“I wasn’t going to,” Raven hissed, “just wanted you to know another letter came.”
Clarke stilled, “and?” She asked.
“They aren’t leaving the gate until you go out there. The guard’s getting nervous,” Raven said.
“In other words, Murphy’s on duty,” Clarke said to Raven's raised eyebrows.
“Shit.” they said in unison, Clarke crawling down and keeping pace with Raven as the walked out of her shop and toward the gate.
The population of Arkadia had filed into the relative safety of the electrified gates once the grounders had been spotted, now they milled about aimlessly.
The retinue stayed near the tree line. She could make out Nyko and Indra near the front of what looked like thirty grounders. Clarke scanned the warriors frantically and felt her chest both tighten and relax as she looked for, and didn’t see the red draped shoulder. Lexa had the good sense not to come then.
Clarke felt the air change on her right side. “You invite some friends over Princess?” Bellamy asked his narrowed eyes and crossed arms betrayed the facade of relaxation. Clarke avoided his look and moved up to the fence line, leaving Bellamy and Raven to follow as she reached where Abby and Kane stood at Arkadia’s gate.
“Clarke, they want to talk to you,” Abby said.
“Clearly,” Clarke replied, “so, should I go hang out with an army that knows I burned three hundred of their men a few months ago, or should we ask Indra and Nyko to come in?”
Abby and Kane looked at each other for a beat. Clarke turned and looked over her shoulder at Bellamy and Raven. This felt badly familiar. Her friends looking to her to make a choice, waiting for her plan. She looked up into the watchtower for Murphy’s curved back and held her hand out for Bellamy’s radio.
“Murphy,” she said into the receiver.
“What’s up crazy?” He replied evenly.
“Just Indra and Nyko, and bring alcohol,” she said. She could almost hear his smirk.
“You got it,” he replied.
Feeling her mother’s eyes on her back she walked over to Bellamy and Raven, handing the radio back to him as Murphy’s voice bubbled out of it again, now tuned to the same station that Indra carried hers at. “Grounder assholes one and two are permitted entry,” Murphy said, “drinking must have drinking.”
Clarke walked past Bellamy, brushing his fingers but snapping her hand back fast enough to prevent him from grasping it to stop her. She kept walking as the crowds began to build at the fence line. Eyes down to escape the looks people gave her that probably hadn’t caught a glimpse of the infamous Clarke Griffin in months. She was near the med bay now, ignoring Jackson’s calls of concern.
She entered the code to the secondary storage closet, locked it behind her, and shuffled behind the tall shelving to rest on the remains of a dropship parachute. Here, curled up in nylon, noise dampened from the air intakes and gauze rolls Clarke let the panic roll over her, her hands grasping her own forearms as the dark well of panic overtook her once again.