Chapter Text
Clarke weaves through the tents and fires looking for the brash Blake siblings that never stray too far from each other. She can just see their dark heads poking above the bramble in her path. As she goes to round it, a wolf whistle grabs her attention. She can see John with his fingers still raised to lips and a shit eating grin on his face. She flips him off, barely sparing him a glance, but it’s hard to fight off her own smile completely. It had taken him way longer the first go around to feel comfortable making passes at her. His anger always overtook his lust. She must not be at the top of his shit list anymore.
“I’m ready when you are princess.”
The fucking nerve. “In your dreams, Murphy.”
“It’s a date,” he calls out, voice raising to reach her steadily retreating form.
Clarke just raises her hand higher, holding the bird until she reaches the pair.
“I like what you’ve done with the jacket,” Bell gruffs, “very…”
Octavia’s eyes travel from the pauldron to her chest, down to her tight fitting pants, before flitting back up to her face. “Hot,” she supplies.
Clarke huffs a laugh. She definitely has a type.
Bell whacks her lightly in the stomach, face scrunched. “Shut up. No. I was gonna say… native. You look a lot like that grounder we saw. Except he was huge, and you’re… not.”
“I’m sorry, which one of us killed a panther with their bare hands?”
“Whatever.” Bell rolls his eyes good naturedly, shaking out his ruffled feathers. “You need something?”
That sobers Clarke up and Bellamy notices the shift immediately, his back straightening. She drops to a squat in front of the log they’re sitting on. Now isn’t the time for authority. “I need some volunteers to dig graves for the boys. There’s a spot not far from here that’s perfect for it.”
“I- Yeah, we can…um,” Bellamy pauses, lips pursing, untethered for a moment. O runs a hand down his back.
“We can't wait much longer. Having the bodies in the drop ship isn’t doing anyone any good. Half the kids are sleeping outside right now,” Clarke presses gently.
Bellamy clears his throat and stands, shaking off his sister's hand. “Right, of course. I know some of their friends that’ll wanna help. I’ll just go-“ He turns robotically away, movements stiff and awkward. He’ll get the job done and that’s all she needs right now. Clarke tracks him with her eyes as he goes to whisper in Murphy's ear.
A soft touch to her elbow brings Clarke’s face back around. Octavia’s face is open, her eyes full of understanding, and her mouth raised in that small gentle smile she rarely breaks out. Usually she feels her emotions full force: anger, joy, lust- and doesn’t hesitate to broadcast it to the world. This quietness… The nostalgia hits her out of nowhere and slams forcefully into her chest. Before Clarke even registers her actions, she’s reached up to pull the arm connecting them forward, crushing Octavia in a hug. She goes rigid for a moment against Clarke, still unused to affection outside of her brother, but relaxes into the embrace when Clarke lets out a shuddering breath. It feels like she’s going to cry and she’s not even sure why. She’s just feeling. Can’t stop feeling. A sob tumbles out into the air. Hands grip her back, pulling her in tighter. The suffocating pressure helps her breath easier.
“I’m um,” Clarke clears her throat, not bothering to move her face from where it's plastered in O’s neck, making her words muffled, “I haven’t been sleeping. Not well at least.”
A chuckle she feels more than sees with how it shakes against her chest spills from Octavia’s mouth.
“No shit, Clarke. Nobody’s even seen you lay down, let alone sleep. We were starting to think you weren’t human.”
Clarke’s brow knits together for a moment because she definitely has slept. In full view of everyone. As early as this morning. Then she rubs her forehead back and forth along O’s shoulder because she’s actually an idiot. She’s only gone to bed after everyone had already called it quits hours ago, and woken with the sun instead of sleeping well into the afternoon. And it’s not like Wells is one for idle gossip, even if he’d been included. Clarke lets out a deep sigh. It shudders again because her traitorous body just has to feel things at the most inconvenient times.
Octavia’s hand moves into her hair, stroking broadly at first, before finding those damn braids hidden mostly from view. She runs her fingers down each one. It feels too nice and too heartbreaking at the same time. A reminder of all she’s lost and given. Clarke gasps and breaks away from the touch, turning her head sharply to the side, finally ending their impromptu hug.
Her hands want to linger on the warmth of O’s waist, but she pulls them back, curling them into her own jacket. This isn’t her friend. Not yet. She can’t put her shit onto her.
Clarke stands up and puts some distance between them. She rubs her hands over face. Her cheeks are dry, but her eyes still feel itchy like she might cry.
“I uh- I have to go prepare the bodies.”
“Do you want help?”
God, yes. Clarke nods because she doesn’t trust her voice not to come out sounding broken and desperate. She really doesn’t want the look. The one that sees her as this delicate thing on the verge of cracking. She’s stronger than that. After the funeral she’ll shove every bit of this emotion down until it hardens like stone. Until she meets a stone strong enough to break it. An emerald stone that will completely shatter her. For now she can love and she can hate, but these feelings aren’t helpful. She can’t use them to do any good.
Octavia rests a gentle hand on the small of her back and helps lead them back to the drop ship.