Chapter Text
"May we meet again"
Those words rang in Clarke's ears like a church bell, their connotation sinking deep within her bones, melting lead into her feet as she walked forward. She knew they may never meet again. None of them will. She knew she may never see Bellamy's ruddy cheeks or her mom's sympathetic eyes ever again. The abandonment of the people she loves hit her in the stomach, a twang of guilt twisting a knot in her throat.
She kept walking.
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The dusky pine trees loomed over Clarke as she walked a beaten trail, the sky promising darkness and granting her a warning. Her blonde hair began to mat and tangle against the base of her neck, strands becoming slick with her sweat. Her knees ached and her feet screamed their rawness through her boots, begging the girl to stop and rest. Clarke shook her head, squeezing her eyelids shut and blacking out the world before her.
Rest meant despair for Clarke. Voices and shadows of the lives taken by her hands haunted her through the nights. The night sky only promised restlessness to Clarke, making it hard to fall asleep. However, Clarke knew that if she continued to hike without letting her body heal through the night, her shoes may fill with blood by tomorrow morning.
Begrudgingly as ever, the blonde searched for shelter among the dense trees towering over her. She would have to settle for a small patch of pine needles hidden among a lush acre of bushes, protecting her from the elements and providing a stealthy hiding spot.
Clarke sat with her back leaned against the base of a tree, her heart beating frantically and her lungs heaving. Clarke had no supplies, no weapons, and no food. Her absence from Camp Jaha was impulse at best, providing the girl with no means of survival. Realization of vulnerability sunk into Clarke's skin, pulling the light bulb's chain in her head.
"Dammit," Clarke whispered to herself. Through her desperation to escape her pain, Clarke never thought her oversight could be her downfall. Usually a careful planner, the blonde felt defeated already.
"It's okay, Clarke. Maybe it's fate to starve to death."
A soft, wispy voice entered her head. Though innocent, it sounded strained, verging on tears. It sounded light, as if the person speaking held sunshine in their hands.
How innocent the voice of a child sounds, even in death.
Clarke gasped, realizing the voice currently burdening her was the voice of a child from Mount Weather. A child she killed with a nervous look and a tight pull of her hand.
"Please," Clarke whispered back, pleading with the voice that it leave her alone. The blonde's eyes brimmed with unshed tears, pounding on the walls of her eyelids, begging to be released. Clarke desperately tried to keep her pain at bay, refusing to show her weakness.
As Clarke held her breath, ears straining, she determined that the voice had gone temporarily. Clarke shook her head, trying to regain focus.
She sat against the tree with her legs out in front of her, the soles of her boots facing the dense wood before her. Clarke sniffled and brought her right leg up into her lap as she began untying her laces. The blonde peeled off her black military boot, presenting a white sock turned brown.
"Shit," Clarke exclaimed to herself. She had no way to heal the blisters she was sure had ripped open. She also had no way to disinfect the wound, creating another world of problems for her. It was too early to experience these kinds of roadblocks, though Clarke already made up her mind: she was never going back.
Slowly, she inched her sock down her foot, biting her lip as the fabric stuck to her open wounds. Sharp, stinging pains rocketed up Clarke's leg, though she continued to pull her sock off. With the dirtied sock now at her toes, Clarke could see the extent of the damage under the unwavering moonlight above her.
Her pale foot was littered with bruises and blisters, mostly along the side and heel of her foot. The girl made it a mission to find a clean source of water the next day in the hopes it would ease the pain and clean the wounds. For now, Clarke decided to leave her skin bare, allowing it to get air while she relaxed and entered a long, tiring night.
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"Clarke. Clarke wake up."
Clarke's blue eyes fluttered open only to be met with more darkness. Her bones felt stiff, her back tense from her upright position. She looked around slowly, attempting to find the source of the voice in her head.
In front of her sat a young girl. She was dressed neatly, a refined taste, with her brown hair pulled back around the edges, illuminating her face and defining her young features. Clarke guessed she was no more than fifteen, sixteen at best. The girl sat politely, her knees stacked and leaning to one side with her feet kicked out beside her, as she wore a loose dress. Her slim fingers fiddled in her lap, the nails clean and unbitten, unlike Clarke's.
Clarke blinked her eyes, not sure if the apparition before her was real or imaginary.
"I am as real as you are," the girl said, a smirk finding its place on her lips. She saw Clarke's disbelief and distress.
"W-who are you?" Clarke asked in a sleepy voice. She began to sit up a little straighter, trying her best to wake up as her eyes burned. Her brain felt fuzzy, a feeling she had been getting a lot lately. She shook her head.
"How rude of me to not introduce myself," the girl said, eyes fluttering to meet Clarke's. "Though, I don't know if that's necessary. I can only stay for a minute."
Clarke watched the girl intently, trying to determine the truth of the situation before her. She hadn't seen any signs of life besides the occasional animal track thus far, and there was very little chance a young, clumsy girl like the brunette before her wouldn't get even a stroke of dirt on her somewhere.
"You see Clarke, I thought it unfair that you got to sleep. Why should you sleep when I can't?" Clarke felt uneasy, her stomach churning at the comments of the teenager before her.
"Why can't you sleep?" Clarke asked tentatively, attempting to gauge the intentions of the girl.
"Sleep used to be one of my favorite things. The way it heals your body, the way it lifts your soul. It feels good to sleep. I miss that. Maybe you should miss that too. Shall we give it a try?"
Before Clarke could respond, the hazel eyes of the stranger turned wicked, her smirk melting into a devious grin, as her skin began to peel from her bones, charring and erupting into black ash that melded into the sky. Her fingers clawed at her neck, desperate to escape the burning, her mouth open in a scream that never came out.
Clarke's eyes widened, kicking and shoving her body back, trying to escape from the burning girl. Her hands desperately tried to grab anything, any leverage that might have been available, with no luck. She had to watch in horror.
As the girl's body melted away into a bright light of orange flames, the fire tickling the ground beneath her, Clarke realized there was still no sound coming from the girl. No sound from the crackling fire. No smell of burnt flesh. Though panicked, Clarke recognized the apparition as just that: an apparition.
Suddenly, a sharp scream erupted in Clarke's ears, sharp enough to rattle her thoughts and cause spots in her eyes. Clarke collapsed to the ground beneath her, hands over her ears, attempting to block out the sounds.
The sounds were coming from inside Clarke's head.
After a few minutes of excruciating pain, tears freely flowing down the dirtied cheeks of the blonde, the screeching stopped, throwing Clarke back into a world of near silence, with only the crickets to keep her company.
Clarke gently pulled her shaking knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins and resting her head between her legs. She couldn't stop the tears from coming and she could no longer hide her weakness. She sobbed into her knees, her body shaking, as she waited for the sun to rise.
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The sound of a bubbling stream was music to Clarke's ears. She limped forward, staying clear of any roots and rocks that could cause her to fall, trying desperately to follow the sound of the water.
Clarke gave up on sleep during the night, succumbing to fear she held for the voices in her head. I deserve it, thought Clarke. Every punishment thrown her way, she deserved. She destroyed relationships, murdered children, chose to commit a sin so vile she wasn't sure she could ever be forgiven. She made that choice to save herself, and to Clarke, that was just the icing on the cake.
Clarke crested the top of a hill that dropped down into a river bank. Below her feet sat fresh, running water; water so clear she could see the gleaming scales of the fish traveling downstream. A smile illuminated Clarke's face for the first time since Mount Weather, as she felt her stomach clench and growl, desperately in need of food and water.
Carefully walking down the steep incline was a challenge, though Clarke found that as long as she continued at a slow pace, it caused no pain to her blistered foot. Eventually, she reached the riverbank, hearing the crunch of the tiny pebbles below her boots.
Clarke sat on the edge of the water, removing both her socks and her shoes and setting them beside her. After standing up, Clarke took a deep breath and moved her way into the cold water, feeling a jolt go through her injured foot. After a few moments, the icy water felt good against Clarke's dirty skin, and she went deeper.
With her pants now soaked, Clarke paused once she ventured out knee-deep, hoping to heal the ache in her legs. She stilled, watching the water lap against clothes, a cloud of dirt from her skin merging with the water. She looked to her reflection settled on top of the water, the vision of herself blurred as the river moved. She reached her calloused hand outwards, stroking the very top of her reflection, shaking the image further into something unrecognizable. Something reflecting her inner self.
A single tear fell into the river.
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Night fell yet again, the only constant in Clarke's life, and she dreaded what was in store. The blonde moved quietly, through the tall grasses that gathered around her. She was a sitting duck to any prey nearby, and she couldn't afford to be spotted without a weapon. Though maybe that's what she wanted.
Sitting neatly to the right of her sat a cave entrance. Clarke, cautious as ever, changed her route and adventured to the dirt outside of the cavern.
Clarke's body was tense as she approached the entrance, peering inside the dark cave, her eyes straining to see possible inhabitants. A roar of thunder cracked against the sky above Clarke. A warning shot. It was about to rain.
Clarke turned on her heels quickly, searching desperately around her to find the tools needed to build a fire. From what she can remember from the books about Earth she hoarded on the ship, the rains can quickly chill the atmosphere and cause a significant temperature decrease. Clarke didn't want to risk hypothermia when her body was already shaky from malnutrition.
Fortunately, flat rocks littered the outskirts of the cave, with dry bushes and trees only a few meters from the cave. Harvesting dry kindling as fast as she could, Clarke carried her supplies back to the cave and dropped everything to the ground.
Even though it took a few tries, Clarke was able to start a small fire by her feet. As the flames kicked upwards, creating a slowly growing cloud of warmth, the rain started outside. The water dripped from the cavern edges outside, while the rest of the forest looked like someone had dumped a bucket down.
Clarke turned her attention back to the fire, sitting with her knees tucked under her chin, hands reaching out to warm her bruised palms.
After some time, Clarke noticed that another pair of hands appeared across from hers, palms facing the blonde, mirroring her position. Heart thudding, stomaching dropping, Clarke looked up slowly, unsure of what she could expect.
A familiar, large chest appeared before Clarke's eyes. A taught throat and large arms settled tightly beneath a white, cotton, long-sleeved shirt came into view soon after. Venturing upwards, Clarke recognized a mop of tangled, black hair. The person before her stared at her intently, a slight smile touching their thin lips. Familiar brown eyes were shined with the light of the fire, holding their warmth. A warmth Clarke knew so well. A gasp was lodged in her throat, her eyes growing wider.
"Finn?"