Chapter Text
It’s a moral thing that makes her stop.
Her mother was a surgeon and was adamant that every life was important, that every life could be, should be, and would be saved if she had any say in it. No matter how hard it is, how long it takes and how difficult it is, everyone deserves to be saved. ('Even the worst people on the planet?' Clarke would ask.) Her mother would take a sip of her coffee, smile wistfully like she knew a secret Clarke would never know and nod, everyone. She’d agree. ('It’s difficult. Even if they don’t deserve to live by anyone’s standards, life is valuable. All life is valuable. Remember that.')
She believes in saving lives and keeping a soul in that murderous heart of hers. She’s done bad things, she’s killed people she was once close to- but they weren’t people any more. She’s covered in blood all the time and no matter how hard she tries to wipe it off its stained her hands. And sometimes when she does a nice thing, she realises that she’s not all bad. But then she remembers her mother and her father and she realised that she’s a monster; inside and out.
So it’s a moral thing that makes her stop.
She’s driving a long a reasonably empty road with high tree’s on either side of her that seem to be scratching at clouds of grey. The windshield is covered in grime and dirt and there’s blood smeared in the corners she can’t reach. She doesn’t really know where she’s going. She hasn’t found a camp for miles (not that she needs one) and she’s pretty sure that her plan to go to Virginia is fucked. (It wasn't much of a plan anyway.) She’s somewhere in Georgia, having narrowly avoided the ludicrously busy town centre she then got on the 85 in the direction of the pentagon with hopes of getting there alive (all doctors were called in to help). But then she stops.
It’s a moral thing, you see.
She turns a bend and notices a herd of Walkers on the side of the road, huddled around something. Probably an animal carcass. But when there’s a defiant scream and a few gunshots, Clarke realises there’s a girl in there. Clarke see’s her brown hair zapping around as she spins in intricate circles around the walkers to avoid a scratch, let alone a bite. There are twenty, maybe thirty of them and the girl’s gun jams. She smashes it into one of the walkers faces but then her leg is pulled from under her and she collapses into the mud. Clarke pulls the car to a halt and without a second thought, jumps out.
She pulls the katana sword out of its casing on her back and slams her other hand down on the hood of the car to make a loud noise. The walkers grunt and turn slowly away from the other girl to face her. Clarke brings the sword down in front of her, “Hey! Over here assholes!” She yells and they turn completely.
They’re jaws start snapping wildly as they start grappling for her. She brings the sword around and severs off three of their heads at once. She grunts loudly as she carries the momentum into a 360 turn and cuts off three more. They fall to the floor and Clarke slashes her sword expertly through the air. Eventually she’s left surrounded by rotting corpses and she pushes the sword into the ground to keep her balance. She pants to regain her breath while the girl scrambles onto her feet. She slams her hand into her gun to unjam it and holds it up at Clarke whose eyes go wide.
She stands up straighter, about to open her mouth when the gun goes off.
Clarke remains standing and the girl lets out a relieved breath as the walker behind Clarke falls to the floor. She girl places her hands on her knees in an attempt to catch her breath. She’s panting as she walks towards Clarke. The blond watches her struggle to catch her breath. “I’m Octavia” the brunette coughs, tucking the gun back into the waistband of her jeans.
Clarke eyes the blood covering her katana sword and sighs, flicking a speck of brain matter off her handle. Octavia smiles thankfully and Clarke slides the sword into its casing. She turns around to get back into her car and then pauses. Her hand resting against the top of the door, she turns to face Octavia. “Which way you going?” she asks.
Octavia looks up from her gun with a frown, “Why?”
She lets out a chuckle, “I ain’t going to kill you, kid.” Clarke points up the 85 in the direction of charlotte, North Carolina which is where she’s currently headed. “You need a ride?”
Octavia looks up the road and frowns. But then she hears a distant growl and she nods rapidly, “Yeah.” She steps forward and quickly stumbles.
Clarke reaches out and catches her under the armpits, “Careful. I think it’s sprained.”
She hauls the teenager to her feet and limps her towards the car. Clarke helps her into the passenger seat and slams the door. She kicks away the bodies of the walkers without a single fleeting emotion of guilt to make a path. She glances at some of them, women, teenagers. It makes her sick; she doesn’t ever want to become one of them.
So, it was a moral thing.
“I didn’t catch your name.” Octavia points out.
Clarke just nods. Octavia fiddles with the radio and grunts when there isn’t a single channel working. Clarke slams her hand onto the CD player and it cackles to life, playing an old Smiths song that -despite its loudness- is welcome to the silence. “So, you wanna tell me how you ended up alone in the middle of nowhere?” Clarke asks continuing to drive straight ahead, avoiding the bodies in the road and still ignoring the nagging feeling that she needs to wash her hands.
Octavia sighs, “My group and I were out scouting for some food, and we all got separated.” She shrugs, repositioning her foot so that it hurts less. Clarke’s pretty sure it’s broken, and the advanced medical care offered by the US is currently off the table – because, you know, it was so great before.
She frowns, “Maybe they're nearby.” She adds, blowing her blonde hair away from her eyes to keep a better eye on the surrounding woods for any thieves, bandits and walkers.
Sometimes she thinks that she’s more afraid of the humans than she is the walkers.
The other girl shakes her head and looks out of the window, watching the trees pass her by like she’s in some kind of movie. “Two days ago.” She explains, “The rule is to save yourself.” She adds, rubbing her eyes only for dirt to crackle onto the floor.
The blond scoffs, “That’s a fucking stupid rule. You save everyone.” She huffs, ignoring the look she’s currently getting from the other girl.
Octavia crosses her arms and frowns, “Is that why you saved me?” she asks, ignoring the slowly descending sun and the incoming darkness.
Clarke just shrugs.
(It was a moral thing.)
Octavia’s camp is situated on a farm with a vast field of greenery and an old, creaky house with a long porch near the long entrance road covered with trees that loom over head like a shield. Octavia’s foot has swollen to twice its size and she keeps moving to adjust its position.
“Bellamy would probably let you stay.” Octavia says as an after thought as they drive through the mud, “We could use a doctor.”
Clarke doesn’t reply but only grunts absentmindedly. The trees finally clear and the light sears her eyes as she comes into the camp where broken fences with metal wires holding them together, seem to be falling apart. There are people working in the fields with gloves hands that dig graves with brown shovels. There are others that are returning from the forest nearby, scuffling through the branches with firewood in their arms. The car grumbles to a halt and just about everyone she can see comes sprinting towards her with a weapon in their hands.
“Friendly.” She mutters under her breath, pulling the hand break and Octavia smirks.
They all stand with guns in their hands and one of them has a bow and arrow (what is she, Robin Hood?) Clarke pushes the door open, the sword still swung over her back, and steps out. “Who are you?” a voice demands.
She looks up with her hand over her eyes so that she can wince against the sun. He’s tall with curly hair and there’s dirt on his cheeks, vague smears of blood on his skin where a hand is wrapped around a gun pointed at her. “Arnold Schwarzenegger” She deadpans, walking around the car to the passenger side.
He’s thrown back momentarily and opens his mouth to say something but he’s roughly cut off when a familiar brunette is helped out of the car.
He literally doesn't argue with anything after that because he's so over the moon to have his sister back. ('I'll be gone soon' she tells him immediately. He nods, 'I'm counting the days'.)
_____
She sits on the porch steps with a knife in her hand and a peach in the other as she watches the sun rise over the trees. Her blond hair is pulled back in a pony tail and her cheekbones pierce the skin with almost vicious force while she runs a finger along the blade, the sword is still around her back (does she ever take that thing off?).
Octavia took her to the small stream that runs down the back off the farm and she washed for the first time in months. She finally feels clean, she finally is clean. Her nails are glimmering but jagged and ripped, her hair is blond- not brown, not dirty- blond. Her skin is pale, white not muddy anymore and Raven fixed her bra (seriously, they’ve got tampons as well). She washed her clothes, her green tank top actually looks like the colour it’s supposed to and her jeans are black again. There’s a silver necklace that hangs around her neck with a small moon at the end of it where he saw the initial of a G hidden behind it, but he doesn’t ask her.
(why would he?)
Bellamy’s a few steps down with his hip against the banister and a mug of coffee in his hand. There’s not much in it, they all had to share and the mug is broken with one side shattered into jagged edges, but it’s all they’ve got. They’re quiet and calm as Clarke peels the peach slowly, careful not to cut herself.
The sun travels slowly above the trees, the temperature rising while they don’t utter a single word and Clarke continues to rip off the skin of the fruit in her hands. Raven’s out hunting with Lincoln, Octavia’s inside resting her leg, Miller and Maya are digging- Bellamy says it’s for crops. Monty’s inside the house trying to fix some walkies so that everyone can stay in contact at any point, Jasper’s cleaning everyone’s clothes (he says he’s got a system) and Monroe went to get more water.
No-one told her what to do.
“How long were you out there?” Bellamy asks, breaking the silence, not turning around to look at her.
She shrugs, “Lost count.” She mutters, the knife slicing through the peach.
He turns around, his back against the banister so she he can look at her, “Where were you going?” he asks, placing the mug on the flat end of the porch and crossing his arms. She has a car with two tanks of gas in the trunk and a worn map that with a clear path marked with dirty fingers.
She glances up at her him, her eyes violently blue and she carves out a piece of the peach, throwing it into her mouth and chewing, licking the end of her fingers not to waste anything. “Virginia.” She states and he raises an eyebrow. “There was a broadcast sent out at the beginning telling all doctors to go to the pentagon so they could set up a refuge. I didn’t go at first but then I lost my group and I figured I’d be safer there.” She shrugs but he can see the ghosts that haunt her.
“You’re a little young to be a doctor.” He points out because yeah, she is.
She shakes her head, “Pre med.” She carves out another piece of peach and looks at him carefully with narrowed eyes. “What about you?” she asks, chewing strenuously.
He shrugs, looking at his feet, “When it started I came here to take of O. Then we just tried to find a way to get back to living.” And when he sees the look in her eyes he shakes his head, “It’s not enough to survive.” She doesn’t say anything as she slices the rest of the peach in half and takes a bite.
She hasn’t had anything so juicy and tasteful in as long as she can remember. Her jeans are loose, not so tight anymore and she tightened her bra straps around the bones of her shoulder. She looks tired, almost ill with weight loss and sharp edged cheek bones. There are vague bruises and scratches around her body that he saw when he walked into Octavia’s room and saw her changing shirts. She didn’t say a word when she turned around, only dared him to say something. He didn’t. “That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t have to deal with...” she trails off, looking away and concentrating on the fruit, “Everything out there.” She shrugs off uncomfortably.
“You can fight.” He replies with no specific tone to his voice.
She scoffs with an almost sadistic smile as she chews viciously through the peach, the knife tearing harshly through the fruit, “Not them.” The humans. Although, do they really count? To be human don’t you have to have some kind of humanity in you? The people out there, the lone wolves and the packs of murders and bandits- no-one can handle them.
She throws the last piece of peach in her mouth, wipes her hands on her jeans and stands up. She turns around and walks into the house to check on Octavia’s foot. Bellamy doesn’t turn around, only listens to the sword that bumps against her back and smells clean clothes that make her feel like she’s human again.
(She’s getting there)
It’s a crime against fashion.
That’s the only reason she does it.
Her mum used to wear these horrible pink sweaters every time she went out grocery shopping. Clarke never saw them at any other point in her life other than when her mother would leave the house with a grocery list and her car keys. They were the kinds that old racist granny’s would wear with tissues stuffed up the sleeve and the buttons done up on top of some floral dress and a pair of pumps.
But then Clarke saw them again, once it started, when the call was made to send all doctor’s to Virginia. Her mum didn’t even say goodbye, leave a note or write a letter. She just upped and packed a bag, leaving Clarke behind with her father. But through the crack in her bedroom curtain, Clarke saw her mother getting into the car wearing one of those shitty pink sweaters but made no move to stop her.
She’s better off.
Her boots are shinning clean and the black colour they’re meant to be as she shuts the door with her foot. “What kind of a name is Clarke?” he asks as they climb out of the dirty blue car and shut their respective doors behind them.
The blond looks up with a frown as she holsters a gun in the waistband of her jeans, “Excuse me?” she almost demands as they walk around the car into the empty high street of a clear abandoned highway town with nothing other than gas stores and supermarkets.
“Is it French or something?” he asks as they walk side by side in the centre of the road where she looks at him like he’s insane (he could be).
The sword is swung around her back as her boots stomp over the rubbish and papers and tin cans that lie in the road. “Do you ever take anything seriously?” she asks him with narrowed eyes.
They fall back into silence as the wind threads through her pony tail and their footsteps echo (too loud, if you ask her) along the street. The woods surrounding the small stretch of what was once civilisation, isolates the area completely. She misses the noise that cars made when they drove by, the buzzing from the street lamps as they flickered on and off and the gentle chatter in the background of voices that have long since gone.
The wall to the side of a building is plain white with only four words graffitied on the side of it in black ink; tell them I tried. The brains of walkers have been smashed into the brick until the blood dripped down the writing where the tr of tried is twisted into a scramble of scribbles that make the word look like died. Tell them has leaked and mashed up in the rain until they’re vague letters of distant memories and the wall is simply stating a fact: I died.
She scoffs; even final words are too much to ask for.
Post apocalyptic was always something she was fascinated by. Whether it be vampires, or zombies, or a pandemic that swept through the nation, the fact that humans came up with this idea- this idea that predicted their own end, confused her immensely. Why find a way to end it all when we constantly want to keep living? He slows to a halt outside a small supermarket where the lit up sign above it has been ripped off and the windows are scratched and torn. Normally they go to another town but the store over there was over run so Bellamy doesn’t bother. He walks up to the door where he wraps a long cloth through the handles and knots it. Clarke walks forward, slamming the side of her fist against the plastic window and then steps back, crossing her arms.
Bellamy suddenly clicks his fingers, “Irish!” he cries, a little too loudly, “Your name’s Irish.” He adds.
She narrows her eyes and frowns, “Why do you care so much about the past?” she asks, and she can tell that he was not expecting that question.
He shrugs, crossing his arms and Clarke see’s the muscles on his arm strain, “It’s more hopeful than our future.” he shrugs.
She wonders what kind of twisted shit mother he had that dropped him on his fucking head everyday of his life. The past was not hopeful and wanting to go back is incomprehensible. (It’s like when people say ‘it’s always been this way’ or ‘it’s been around for hundreds of years’ when they try to defend their reasons for discrimination- to which she always says ‘so has slavery, doesn’t make it right.’)
She crosses her arms, the bruises on her body are clearer since her shower and he can see the trauma in her eyes. “It’s boring. It’s repetitive, it’s filled with rich, old, white, cis men who got everything they wanted by stepping on those beneath them.” She explains angrily, shrugging like it doesn’t matter anymore. “The past sucks.”
He raises an eyebrow, “Oh, because our future looks so awesome.” He sneers sarcastically and there’s a spark in her eyes that tells him she’s going to disagree.
She cocks her head. “Do you see any racism? Sexism? Discrimination? Poverty?” she asks carefully, “It’s funny isn’t it? It took the world ending for all of human kind’s bullshit to finally become irrelevant. We’re still assholes, but that’s a genetic thing. Or an American thing.” She waves off disinterestedly (after all, it’s in the past.)
He smirks and she nearly hits him, “But you’re Irish.”
She purses her lips, trying to be angry at him, “Right.”
There’s a sudden bang at the door as a walker rams into the plastic window. It’s still wearing a red jacket with a little name tag (covered in dried blood) that says tom. Bellamy gives her first dibs but she’s washed her sword so she lets him have at it. Within a minute he’s tears his knife from the walker’s head and Clarke is stepping over its body.
They stock up on tinned foods; beans, greens, fish, meat, anything they can find really. Bellamy finds a small bottle of vodka hidden behind the till, underneath a box of lost property, where they also find some new shoes for Monty (his are raggedy as fuck). They fill up a backpack and Clarke carries the rest in her arms (is that a tattoo?).
They walk out, pushing the door open with his shoulder where the little bell above it jingles. She juggles the tins that balance along her forearms and frowns- she better be the one that gets the sweet corn. There’s a growling from somewhere behind them and they both turn around to see a walker staggering along the road. It’s far enough and slow enough that it doesn’t even qualify as a threat and Bellamy agrees when he says, ‘Leave it.’ But Clarke can’t take her eyes off of it.
It’s wearing one of those shitty pink sweaters, just like the one her mum wore when she abandoned them. Her nostrils flare- she knows she should just walk away but instead she hands Bellamy all the tins she’s carrying and he can see in her eyes exactly what she’s going to do. “Clarke.” He warns carefully but she glares at him and storm towards the walker, “Clarke.” He says louder but she ignores him. (Big surprise).
He watches her footsteps gradually speed up until she’s running at full force and she slams herself into the walker, launching a punch at its face again, and again, and again until the blood splatters against her skin. It’s fast, almost terrifyingly fast and she stands up, ripping the pink sweater from it’s back before she launches a kick at its stomach. Bellamy’s not even sure if it’s dead.
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a lighter (she’s trying to quit!) and she sets that shitty pink sweater on fire, she drops it to the floor, watching it burn before she walks back to Bellamy. There’s blood on her face, her neck, her hands are covered in it (she just showered!) and she picks up the tins she handed him and walks towards the car. He doesn’t ask her.
Even as they drive off, he can see the flames in the rear-view mirror.
It was a crime against fashion.
(That’s the only reason she does it.)
_______
“You want to talk about it?” he asks.
She scoffs, “Yeah. And then maybe we can braid each other’s hair”
“No wonder you were alone all this time." He mutters under his breath.
Clarke doesn’t even spare him a glance as she turns the volume up on the jazz CD playing so that she can drown him out completely. He looks unimpressed but doesn’t say a word as he looks out of the window at the sky scratching trees around them. She’s going to be the death of him.
(And maybe she’ll even kill him before he turns; god knows no-one else will.)
You’d think they’d get used to fighting against walkers, but its every bit as terrifying as the last. The adrenalin is incessantly pumping through their veins and the constant fear of possibly having been scratched or bitten (It takes a special kind of prick to keep it a secret if they’ve been infected- the kind that obviously shows they were never part of the team).
Bellamy shoots a group of walkers with a dead shot to the head before one attacks him from behind. He uses his elbow to push it off before ramming the knife into its head. It’s dark and the barn in the distance is the only source of light (for both humans and walkers alike) as the orange flames devour its structure. “Octavia!” he calls, never mind about attracting attention, they’re under attack anyway.
He can hear screams and shouts as the separate members of his camp spread out to escape through different means from the army of walkers gunning for their flesh. “They’re surrounding us we gotta move!” Raven yells not far away from him as she shoots an arrow into a walker’s head. She quickly swaps to a gun when she realises she’s running out.
“Clarke!” he yells at the top of his voice, scanning through the crowds, “Cl-”
Raven roughly knocks into him and they collapse to the ground where a walker quickly follows with a snapping jaw where Bellamy can see bits of brain caught between its teeth. “Fuck.” Reyse mutters, slamming the butt of her gun into its head and the blood splatters over their faces.
“Fuck.” He mutters and she doesn’t even bother to reply as she kicks the walker off them violently with a grunt.
“We gotta move.” She breathes next to him, crawling to her feet as walkers pass by in haphazard directions of the dark. She holds out her hand and he accepts it so she pulls him upwards with the black bow and her remaining arrows swung around her back.
He shakes his head, pulling the machine gun to the front of his body, “I gotta find Octavia.” He rasps, wiping his brow and spreading blood across his face, “Have you seen Clarke?” he asks absentmindedly, listening to a car screech off in the distance through the flames.
Raven shoots a walker in her way and looks at Bellamy, “We have to go.” She repeats, wide eyed and desperate. Bellamy’s eyes lace with fear as he looks across the night where the walkers swarm the blazing field and through the vague shadows and distant screams. He watches the wood from the barn crackle and crash to the ground while the walkers continue to walk toward it. Raven grabs his face in her hands, “We’ll meet up with them. We need to go Bell, we need to go.” She begs.
He swallows and nods carefully- he doesn’t want to go, he can’t leave her behind- “Okay. Okay let’s get out of here.” He shakes his head to get rid of his thoughts as he and raven begin to fight their way towards the road. “Have we got a car-” he falters at the end of his sentence when Raven throws a leg over her bike.
“Get on.” She orders, revving the engine to life. He clambers onto the back of her motorbike, shooting walkers attracted by the sound as she floors it out of there. His arms wrap around her waist to stay in place and he risks a glance behind him, letting off a few more shot as he watches their home for the past six months burn to the ground.
(He’s going to miss the coffee.)
The wheels at the bottom of the car churn angrily against the concrete road where the four bodies in the car sit unimpressed with the world. The windows are rolled up because when Octavia tried to roll it down there were vein lines of grease that squelched loudly and they all grimaced.
Maya swerves to avoid the abandoned cars in the street where walkers smack at the windows, but stay untouched because none of them care enough. Clarke sits in the passenger seat with the machine gun on the floor and the sword by her side. There’s and a map on her lap that has long since been covered in bloody fingerprints with mud drags of the rushed kind. Octavia is in the backseat with her head turned to look out of the window and her leather jacket unzipped. There’s a bloodstain at the bottom of her shirt and when she reaches up to rub her forehead, a streak of red is left behind.
Miller lies across the backseat with his legs twisted at unfathomable angles to fit his head on Octavia’s lap. When the walkers attacked, Miller was thrown off a ladder where his head slammed into the ground and he was knocked out. Octavia carried him all the way to the car where she fell on her ankle again.
They’re all covered in mud that squelches under their boots and blood that stains their hands. The car in silent, no words uttered but their beating hearts. Clarke adjusts the rear view mirror until she can see the brunette in the backseat and she purses her lips, “You alright?” she asks.
Octavia looks up with blue eyes wide and looks at the blond’s reflection, she swallows and nods, “You should be more worried about Miller.” She mutters, her fingers running through his hair to calm her down.
The car rattles down the forest road- Clarke’s surprised they haven’t attracted any walkers. The tatty red yogurt pot they’re sitting in bumps violently over a pothole where the car shakes and Octavia winces, her hand clutching the wound on her hip. The blond frowns in the rear view mirror before throwing an arm around the chair and turning around, “Are you bleeding?” she asks with a frown.
Octavia looks down at her shirt and wrinkles her nose, “It’s not a big deal.” She opens her mouth but the brunette beats her too it, “I’m fine, really.” She assures, hiding a wince as she lifts her arm to wave the other woman off.
Clarke wants to say ‘he'll find us’ or ‘he’s okay’. But that’s not her. She doesn’t do reassuring words and soft smiles of the generous kind. She doesn’t lie to people but she knows when not to say the truth. She doesn’t hope for the best she simply expects the worst, and the worst is that he’s dead- or turned. So instead she says, “We’ll find him.” (she can’t lie for shit.)
Octavia’s fingers trace through the dirt on the window, “You know what’s funny?” She breathes and Clarke glances at her in the mirror-calm and forgiving, “You didn’t say he’d be alive.”
(But she wants to)
They drive for two days.
Miller doesn’t wake up and Octavia keeps his head elevated on her knee while Maya drives. They reach a prison. It doesn’t exactly strike confidence in her heart but they clear it and lock the gates and burn the bodies. They have an entire two tier cell block to themselves and Clarke keeps Miller under observation.
Maya starts planting crops in the guarded open field; Octavia clears out the concrete area and goes out stealing more cars and petrol. (‘I can handle myself.’ Clarke scoffs, ‘I know that. Just... keep an eye out, alright? And Octavia knows she means for Bellamy, so she nods.) Clarke stays around the prison, fortifying the base- she strengthens the lock, re-enforces the double fences and starts collecting wood to build spears on the doors. Octavia leaves messages on windows of the surrounding towns and building- Bell- all of them that lead to the jail.
Monroe shows up alone after three days. She’s nearly out of bullets but she managed to swipe some ammo before their camp went up in flames. She get’s straight to it, finding a way for them to access clean water where she starts building a pipe that runs from the river nearby into a water fountain. (‘Even jasper wouldn’t know how to do that’ she boasts.)
Monty shows up after a week with a wheelbarrow carrying a body wrapped in a white sheet and Lincoln walks behind him with a machine gun strapped around his shoulders. Jasper’s dead, and nobody has to say a word- His best friend’s eyes do that. Maya digs a grave, and then three more just in case. (Monroe swallows her words).
Still no Raven. Still no Bellamy. (Miller wakes up though- so Maya fills the grave until there are two.)
(They wait for two weeks.)
The sun is high in the sky and they're all sweating out any kind of motivation they have left. Mayas still watering the crops, ('we need to be sustainable.' she says, to which Octavia replies 'the worlds dead, we can do whatever the fuck we want.') Clarke and Monroe have finished building the wooden spears on the doors and Monty's been re-wiring some of the walkie talkies (even though 'This is Raven's job' he says. To which Clarke replies 'Raven's not here.') They accepted a few more people into their group, travelers looking for a purpose and people in need of help. There are 12 of them now.
Raven turns up with him in tow like its any other day and they haven't been missing at all, (Maya fills the graves until there are none).
"Hey princess." He groans in pain. He's covered in mud with stretches of blood over his skin and he's leaning on Reyes ('idiot jumped off a building', She shakes her head, 'Saved your life didn't I?' He replies with a glint in his eye and its in that very moment that Clarke knows they slept together)
(it hurts more than it should).
Its 6 o'clock in the morning and she's already busy. The sword is strapped around her back and she's kneeled by the crops where Maya has been tending to them for a month now. Clarke tucks a strank of mucky blond hair behind her ear and sighs, looking over the prisons gates into the distance as she picks the home grown food in front of her.
The necklace around her neck sticks to the sweat on her skin and slides over the bones on her body. She needs to eat more, drink more, not spend her days taking care of everyone else. Her jeans are even looser than before and her shirt hangs off her body like a muddy sheet. Her shoes are ripped and tattered and the skin on her cheeks is stretched over the bones on her face. (She's surprised the necklace has lasted this long). Bellamy walks up beside her with heavy footsteps and steep breaths of the boiling kind. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and takes a huge bite from the apple in his hand. "You working?" He asks, shielding his eyes from the sun.
She doesn't look at him, but continues to dig up the soil and turn it over. She sighs- she's never been one of those people who complains, she just gets on with it. But gardening in the boiling heat is hard and she has a whole new respect for Maya. "Yeah." She replies uninterested.
He takes another bite of his apple and winces when the sun reflects off the necklace around her neck. "I..." He starts with a heavy voice but just as soon stops himself. I missed you? I want you? I what? He looks down at the crops that she throws into a bucket, home grown ('I expect thanks in the form of sex' Maya smiles blushing at her own joke) "Do you need some help." He says finally.
She scoffs inside, knowing perfectly that that was not his intended line. She watches the sun shine against the leaves on the trees and the fiddles with her necklace. "No." She assures, calmbering to her feet, snatching the apple from his hand as she picks up the bucket and starts to walk back towards the prison. "I'm sure Raven needs you." she adds with an unreadable look to hide whatever it is she's feeling.
He purses his lips and frowns, how the hell does she know? He shakes his head and looks at his feet, "Why, you jealous?" He replies with a smirk himself. She shakes her head and doesn't reply as she turns around and laughs with that damn sword still strapped to her back. He watches the only woman he really wants walk away from him with dirty muddy hair and grime over skin but he doesn't think he's seen a creature more beautiful and dangerous at the same time.
(He should have told her goddamnit)
He sees her around the base, which isn't unusual, but he sees Finn with her a lot more. He's always leering over her and smiling at her from across the room, and Clarke doesn't tell him to stop. There's a rising jealousy in his chest as he downs a shot of something and sneers when Finn puts his hand on her leg. Clarke looks back a few times and sees Bellamy's hands in a fist and a brewing anger in his eyes and she laughs louder when Finn tries to be funny. ('Its not home but its a start' she said when she showed him to his cell, he just shook his head, 'I'll adapt').
(She sleeps with him, she's not sure why, but she does, and the look on Bellamy's face is worth it.)
She's still not quite sure how to work a gun, its a marvel she's never had to use one in the world they live in. They're in the courtyard of the prison, opposite where Maya grew her crops that's filled with cars and bottsle of petrol that Octavia collected ('By myself!' She assures proudly). Bellamy drew a target on a piece of card with chalk ('Its the apocalypse, where the fuck did you find chalk?' Clarke demands and Bellamy rolls his eyes 'Shut up and shoot the can'). The tin can he lined up on a thin plank of wood so that it sits bang on the bullseye.
"I hate guns." She says as she holds the chunck of metal uncomfortably in her hands.
He shrugs from where he's standing on the sidelines of the make shift gun range. "I hate the thought of you dead." He drops in, nonchalantly.
She pauses, scratching her head uncomfortably and looks away, not sure how to answer him. She wraps her hand around the handle of the gun and points it at the bullseye with one eye shut in concentration and the other wide. The damn sword is still strapped behind her back and when she let's off a shot (unsurprisingly) she misses. Bellamy walks over and behind to adjust her position; he lowers her arm, lifts her chin, sets her body straight, moves one foot forward and angles her foot. And this time when she shoots, she's closer to the target.
Before she gets off another shot Bellamy kicks the gun out of her hand. Without a second thought she yanks the sword out of its case and swings it in his direction. "What the fuck?" She demands angrily.
He's never seen the wild look in her eyes before, and its safe to say he never wants to see it again. He bends his legs, bounding on the balls of his feet and motions for her to come forward, "You don't need to know how to shoot a gun if you're good at hand to hand combat." He points out.
She frowns, placing her sword back in its case, "Hand to hand combat? Have you heard yourself, we're not in the goddamn army." She reminds but he just grins and she sighs. She removes the sword from her back and place it against the wall.
Before she's even turned around, Bellamy throws a punch at her face and she quickly dodges it, pushing it in the direction of it's continued momentum and pushes him back with all the force she can muster (that's a lot by the way, he has the bruises to prove it). He chuckles to mask the pain and shakes his head to wipe off the loss. The blond throws a punch at his face and when he ducks to avoid it, he swipes his leg across the ground to trip her up. She jumps over it and he then they're back to sparing.
She lands a punch across his face ('you punch like a wrestler Jesus Christ' he cries) and he grabs her arm and twists it into a lock so that he stands behind her with her arm in a painful twist. He opens his mouth to say 'what now?' but she screams out as she brings her head forward and throws it back to head butt in him the face. He yells out in devastating pain and she takes the opportunity to kick him in the side. She pauses for a moment, to make sure he's okay, and he doesn't spare her a second thought and launches an almighty punch to her gut.
Unsurpringly it hurts, and she crashes to the floor where her shoulder cracks loudly and she screams (fuck, did he just break her arm?) She groans and rolls onto her back with her eyes screwed shut. She sucks in a few sharp breaths and when she sees him approach her, she kicks his ankles.
He falls, like any other person would, beside her in a heap of heavy breaths and gasping voices, and he yells out at the gasping pain in his hand when it cracks against the floor. (Fuck, did she just break his hand?) Bellamy reaches up where blood is dripping from his nose and he hisses at the pain in his back. Clarke can feel the dirt in her hair and the blood pooling in her mouth. She rubs her upper arm, "I think you broke my shoulder." She puffs.
Their chests are heaving as they lie on the grass in strained pulls of painful muscles that crie out in pain, "I think you broke my wrist." He accuses.
She coughs a hurtful laugh and crinkles her eyes shut, "Maybe Raven will nurse you back to health." She mutters under her breath.
He turns to look at her over his heaving chest. Blood drips from his nose so he wipes it with the back of his hand and it streaks across cheek. She rolls onto her side and spits out the blood from her mouth, "That was one time princess." He points out. She just shrugs. He was missing for two weeks, they had no idea where he was, if he was alive, where he was- if he had turned. She was going out of her goddamn mind for two weeks and he had the time to sleep with Raven. She doesn't say anything in return, only wipes her thumb under her mouth where the blood has dripped onto her shirt. "Is that why you've been weird?" He asks carefully.
Clarke takes a deep breath and groans at the pain in her shoulder, "Not everything is about you Bellamy." She assures with a disbelieving look in her eyes and a raised eyebrow as she sits up onto the balls of her hand, her chest heaving and blood stains on her skin.
"So you and Finn huh?" He mentions and when she glares at him he holds both hands up in a surrender, "I'm just saying, he's not really your type is he?" Bellamy points out.
Clarke scoffs and closes her eyes, pinching her nose, "Oh and you are?" She asks angrily and he opens his mouth to reply- ('Well, you're mine').
But then someone screams, a sound so blood curtling that Clarke and Bellamy share a look of complete fear before they run to help. (Finn runs in the opposite direction though.)
They lose Lincoln and Maya (And three others, Finn being one of them) when they're attacked at the prison.
Well, they're not lost. Octavia carries a wheelbarrow with a white sheet over it ('its brown' Clarke mutters and Octavia glares at her 'it used to be white' and somewhere in the distance Bellamy watches with sad eyes and says 'a lot of things used to be.') and Lincoln lies underneath it with legs twisted at angles that make Octavia want to vomit. Monroe walks beside her with Maya's body covered in a white sheet as well in a creaky and rusting wheelbarrow. Two were turned before anyone could kill them and Finn ran for the hills. Bellamy and Clarke lead the group of bloodied misfits down the road (they ran out of petrol 10 miles back) in the midst of exhaustion.
Octavia looks blankly ahead of her and Bellamy glances over worriedly, (Clarke knows better when Octavia packs a bite like a dog).
The two leaders don't spare each other a glance, instead they check on different members of their group. Its hot, no change there, but its so hot that Clarke can tell that several members want to stop. Alex's baby has been crying quietly for some time and no-one has done anything any thing to help, so when Alex looks like he might collapse, Clarke sighs. She walks through the group that give her strange glances and when she gets to Alex she holds out her arms. Alex let's out a sigh of relief and nods a thanks ('she's not usually this loud' he tries to defend her but the blond shakes her head, 'we'll adapt')
So Clarke walks with a small baby in her arms and such a pure smile that Bellamy gets distracted. She rocks the baby in her arms and her glistening grin shines through the dirt, blood and grime on her face. His legs turn to jelly and he's surprised he can even walk, let alone lead. She starts humming a tune under her breath and the baby Ellen stops crying. ('my dad used to sing it to me' she explains. 'I never knew my dad' Bellamy comments absentmindedly and Clarke shakes her head 'then he's not worth it, is he?').
Their feet are blistered and bruised with tattered shoes that hang off their toes. Their shirts are soaked with sweat and they've all become immune to the smell. There's an unbreakable tenacity and they all know that they can't stop walking- Octavia refuses to let anyone help her carry Lincoln. ('When she cries you need to be with her' Clarke tells Bellamy. He frowns 'Why?' She just looks at him with deadly seriousness and shakes her head 'Grief makes you do crazy shit.' And he wants to ask her what she means.) No one talks, what would they talk about? No one questions their leaders and directions are given out at the last minute. (Clarke has no idea where the fuck they are but they believe she knows what she's doing, so that's enough).
"Do you think it gets easier?" Bellamy asks quietly, looking at the long road ahead. Clarke looks up from the baby in her arms and frowns, "This." He continues, motioning around them.
Clarke shakes her head, she doesn't even have to consider his question, "No." She states, stroking the hair on the baby's head. "Things are easy when you know what to do. Do you see any instructions for the apocalypse?" She asks acidly.
He just shakes his head at the typical Clarke response and he, ironically, does in fact feel better. ('Ever heard of the walking dead?' He asks. She shrugs 'Never liked that show'.) And in some twisted way, he's glad he's not the only one who has no idea what the fuck to do. And so they walk for miles, sleep in makeshift temporary camps and eat the last remaining food they have until they find a packet of bottled water in the middle of the road there's a sign on top of it in perfect black pen that reads 'from a friend'. People obviously want to take it but Bellamy and Clarke share a look. ('We can't' she says. 'I know' he agrees. But the looks on their face says they need it. The baby in her arms starts to cry and Clarke's heart breaks a little when she has to say 'no')
Alexandria is like a bad dream and a twisted ironic pieces of shit life threw in their face.
Its literally everything they've aimed for. A life, some way to get back to living. There are thick and high walls that block out the rest of the world. There are tall beautiful houses that lay untouched by the ravages of insanity. There are trees, trees that seem greener somehow and empty roads, clean roads. There are lamp posts that actually work, piles and piles of guns (really, America?). There are men who sit on porches drinking beer and women who sit on the steps of their homes with glasses of wine. They talk about the locals, gossip about their kids and laugh at a joke Clarke heard once before the Apocalypse.
(It's a shitty joke anyway).
There are parents who watch their kids cycle around the road and others who hold their babies and take picture with their cameras. ('what the fuck is this place?' Raven breathes in petrified disgust. 'I think it's what we've been looking for' Clarke says, like she's not quite sure she could ever think up a place as twisted as this.) There's chatter of useless topics and exchanges of recipies of parents who want to learn how to make the best cookies (Clarke nearly sends a chair through the window when someone asks her if she, by chance, picked up a pasta maker while she was out there.)
(Bellamy barely holds her back.)
They get given houses. Their own houses. Bellamy, Octavia and Monty opt to live together. Its a tall, two story house with intact blue paint around the outside and a sofa on the porch (the cushions are so clean that octavia's scared to touch them). Bellamy slides the key into the door and pushes it open but none of them step in. Monty peers his head through the gap and turns back to Bellamy would shrugs, so Monty continues into the house (their house!). Everything is organised with bookshelves that actually have books in them. It's so white and perfect and unused and Octavia has to blink before her eyes adjust to the brightness.
Monty tuns his fingers across the fabric of the sofa and the brunette tucks a strand of muddy hair behind her ear as she starts pulling open drawers and cupboards. She find biscuits and tinned soups and she turns the tap on and flinches when water spurts out. Monty stares in disbelief ('they have running water?' He asks, eyes wide. Octavia washes her hands for the first time in months and she has no idea she had a scar there.)
"Hi there!" Someone exclaims behind them and all of their hands fly to their weapons. The woman seems unperturbed (has she even seen a gun before?) And she walks straight through the open door, "I'm Lou Anne" she smiles kindly, juggling the plate in her arms to hold out a hand. Bellamy just looks at her in confusion and pauses. Louhanne is a plump woman with gold rings on her wrinkly fingers and shoes that shine like they're new. She wears clothes that look like they've never been stained once in her life and her hair actually looks like the colour it's supposed to be. Bellamy hesitates before carefully shaking her hand, eyeing her the entire time.
"Bellamy." He swallows.
"I'm your neighbour." She explains, "I heard we were greeting some more people and I figured I'd make you feel welcome with my home made fritatas." She says, holding the plate out and Bellamy hesitates before accepting it. "They're the best in the neighbourhood, don't hesitate to ask for more, I'm sure you didn't have much while you were out there. Angela said she'd bring by some brownies so I hope y'all like chocolate." She grins, and its so innocent that Octavia has to look away.
"Uh..." Bellamy trails off, unsure of what to say.
"Oh I'm sorry!" She exclaims a little too loudly and they all flinch. "Y'all probably want to get settled in, I'm sure there's alot you have to get done. I didn't mean to intrude. I'll see you all later at the town meeting?" But she doesn't give them time to reply as she starts to walk out, "If you ever need any help, don't hesitate to ask- I'm only next door!" She repeats and then she's gone.
They stand in silence, not quite sure what to do next. Bellamy slowly places the fritatas on the kitchen island and notices the trail of dirt they've left behind. He sighs, rubbing his eyes. What the fuck is this place?
Clarke, Raven, Miller and Monroe move into the house opposite them. Its a two storey building, almost identical to Bellamy's, but this time the perfect paint is Yellow and Clarke actually refuses to step inside. Raven and Monroe are Just as baffled as everyone else and they actually let's out a cry when water comes out of the tap. Miller jumps on the sofa like a child with a grin. ('If this is what we've been after this whole time then why does it make me want to crawl out of my skin?' Reyes asks quietly. Clarke swallows, 'I think I'm going to vomit'. And she does.) Raven drops her bows and arrow onto the floor and is the first to get into the shower (she's never seen so much dirt in a plughole in her life). Within 3 hours of their arrival, Clarke's entire group have showered, ate and passed out to sleep almost immediately.
Octavia doesn't even get under the covers, she just falls on top and then doesn't have the energy to move. Monty climbs under the covers and falls asleep so fast that Bellamy thinks something is wrong. (The Asian boy screams in his sleep, so something is definitely wrong.) Raven sleeps with her bows and arrow in her bed and her hair smells like apples. Monroe falls asleep in the bath with the shower still running (she wakes up so wrinkled that Raven laughs for the first time in months). Bellamy showers, three times because he doesn't think the first two washes quite do the job.
Clarke stands on the pavement, looking at the house that was given to her. She hasn't showered and obviously hasn't gone to bed and the sword is still strapped around her back. She scratches her arm and dirt crackles under her nails. She hears footsteps behind her (human) and she waits until Bellamy slows to a halt beside her. He doesn't say anything at first but eventually he points to the house, "I think you can go inside." He mentions.
Clarke turns to look at him and double takes with wide eyes, "What the hell are you wearing?" She asks in shock.
He looks down at the clean grey t-shirt and the new pair of jeans and tugs at the collar with a laugh, "It's a bit over the top isn't it?" He mutters awkwardly.
She stares a little longer before she laughs, honest to god laughs. She has to hold onto his shoulder to balance herself and she covers her mouth. He chuckles to himself and tries not to blush with embarrassment when she plays with the sleve, twisting it in her hands. She smiles softly, "You look like a choir boy." She comments, shaking her head disbelievingly.
He looks at her with raised eyebrows in all of her disgusting glory and sighs, "You look like shit." He states blandly with a joking tone but a serious look in his eyes.
(She walks away when he tells her to shower)
(She doesn't)