Chapter Text
Medical Wing — After Lunch
The hum of the medical equipment was a steady, low thrum in the background. Clarke stood just inside the door, her hands jammed deep into her jacket pockets, feeling like an intruder in a place she used to know by heart.
Abby looked up from the supply cabinet, a small, unsure smile touching her lips.
"You came," she said, almost in disbelief.
Clarke nodded stiffly, stepping further into the room. The air smelled of antiseptic and something fainter underneath — old fear, maybe. Lingering memories.
"I said I would," Clarke answered simply.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Abby ran her fingers along the edge of the table, then forced herself to meet her daughter's eyes.
"I know it’s... not easy," Abby said carefully. "After everything that's happened."
Clarke swallowed, her throat tight. "No. It's not."
Abby hesitated — then pushed forward. "I should have listened to you more. I should have trusted you more. When we came down to the ground... I thought I was doing what was best. But sometimes I think I was just trying to hold on to the old ways, even when they didn’t fit anymore."
Clarke's heart ached at the honesty in her mother’s voice. She looked away, blinking hard.
"I made mistakes too," she said quietly. "A lot of them."
Abby stepped closer, careful not to crowd her. "You were carrying the weight of all of us, Clarke. You shouldn't have had to."
The words cracked something open inside her — something buried deep and heavy. Clarke shook her head slightly, trying to hold herself together.
"I still did things I can't undo," Clarke whispered. "Things I have to live with."
Abby's voice was thick with emotion. "We both do."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but no longer hostile. Clarke could feel the distance between them — but it didn’t feel as wide as it had before. Maybe it never had been. Maybe they were just two people trying to find their way back across it.
Abby drew a steady breath. "I don’t expect everything to be fixed. I just... I want you to know that whenever you’re ready, I’m here."
Clarke met her mother's eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she saw not just the Chancellor, not just the doctor — but her mother. Tired. Flawed. Trying.
"I’m not ready yet," Clarke said honestly. "But... maybe someday."
Abby's smile wavered, but it stayed. "That’s enough."
For now, it was.
They stood there for a moment longer, a fragile peace settling between them like the first hesitant note of a song not yet forgotten.
Finally, Clarke shifted, her hand tightening briefly on the doorframe. "I'm glad we talked." Abby just nodded, giving Clarke half a smile. Clarke stepped out into the thin daylight, feeling the weight still there — but also a thread pulling her forward. Healing wasn’t a straight line. Maybe it wasn’t even healing yet. But it was something.
Arkadia – Training Grounds – Early Afternoon
The practice yard was almost empty, the distant clang of metal on metal echoing through the cold air. Clarke spotted Octavia near the fence line, wiping down a sword with methodical, sharp movements.
She approached slowly.
Octavia noticed her coming but didn’t say anything. Her mouth pressed into a thin line.
Clarke stopped a few feet away.
"Clarke," she said, flatly. No warmth. No open hostility, either — just a guarded tension.
"Hey," Clarke said, keeping her voice steady.
Octavia crossed her arms. "I heard you were back."
"Yeah," Clarke said. "I’m... trying to figure things out."
Octavia’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you?"
The unspoken accusation hung between them. Clarke took a slow breath.
"I know I made mistakes," she said. "But I’m not here to justify anything. I was hoping we could talk."
Octavia finally looked up, her gaze unreadable. "About what?"
Clarke exhaled, her breath misting in the chilly air. "I need help. Getting a message to Polis."
At the mention of Polis, something flickered across Octavia’s face — not anger exactly, but a tightening. Wariness.
"You need Lexa," Octavia said, voice flat.
"I need to stop a war before it starts," Clarke said.
For a moment, Octavia only stared at her. Then she sheathed her sword and crossed her arms.
"And you thought of me."
"I thought you might know someone," Clarke clarified.
Octavia’s arms stayed crossed, but her stance shifted — a subtle easing.
"Lincoln knows the paths," she said slowly. "Indra might help too... if she thinks it’s worth it."
Clarke caught the careful if in her words but didn’t push.
"All I’m asking," she said. "Is that you talk to them."
Octavia tilted her head, studying her. "You still think you can fix this?"
"I have to try," Clarke said simply.
For a long moment, Octavia said nothing. Then she gave a short nod.
"I’ll talk to them," she said.
Clarke allowed a thin, grateful smile. "Thank you."
Octavia hesitated, something shifting behind her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was low, almost reluctant.
"You know... Lincoln says peace is still possible. Between Sky People and Grounders. But sometimes... I don’t know where I belong anymore." Octavia said quietly. "Maybe I never did."
Clarke’s chest tightened at the raw honesty in her voice.
"I think you’re not the only one feeling that way," she said softly.
Clarke stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You belong where you choose to stand. Not where others put you."
Octavia gave her a long, searching look — and then, without another word, turned and walked away, her figure quickly swallowed by the fog creeping in from the woods.
Clarke stood still for a moment, her heart heavy but steadier than before.
Maybe between two worlds, there was still a bridge worth building.
Workshop – Later That Day
The workshop was quieter now, the worst of the noise and sparks gone. Raven was hunched over a messy spread of wires and metal casing, brows furrowed in focus.
Clarke stepped inside, dust and cold clinging to her jacket.
Raven looked up, wiping her hands on a rag. "You survived Octavia?"
Clarke gave a small huff. "Barely. But... she’s going to help."
Raven raised an eyebrow. "Help with what?"
Clarke crossed the room, lowering her voice. "Getting the radio to Polis. Getting it to Lexa."
Raven’s eyes flicked to the device on the table, then back to Clarke. "And how exactly?"
"Octavia will talk to Lincoln and Indra," Clarke said. "They’ll figure out how to get it there."
Raven nodded slowly, rubbing the back of her neck. "Indra’s not exactly a fan of tech."
"She’ll do it," Clarke said. "Because Lexa will want her to. And Lexa wants peace."
Raven didn’t push. She just leaned over and adjusted one of the wires. "Then let’s make sure it works."
Clarke watched her for a beat, then said, more quietly, "I know this isn’t a guarantee. But it’s something. And if the radio reaches Lexa, I can explain. About the vote. About Pike. Everything."
Raven gave her a look — skeptical but not unkind. "Guess we better not screw it up then."
Clarke allowed herself the smallest of smiles.
Later — Clarke’s Quarters
The room was dim, lit only by the faint moonlight slanting through the small window. Clarke sat on the edge of her cot, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor but not really seeing it.
The radio would be ready by morning.
Somewhere out there, Octavia was already setting things into motion — finding Lincoln, reaching Indra. Trusting them to carry a fragile thread of hope across a world that had seen too much broken already.
Clarke leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes.
Her mind drifted to Polis — to the tall spires she'd once seen through weary eyes, to the silent weight of its stone halls, to Lexa standing so still and steady amidst it all.
Was Lexa already fighting battles Clarke couldn't see?
Were the clans sharpening their knives, the council whispering about war?
Clarke pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing herself to believe this plan could work.
That the radio would make it into the right hands.
That Lexa would hear her voice again, even if only through static and broken words.
That maybe — just maybe — they could still find a way to stand together against the tide that was rising.
She exhaled shakily, dropping her hands into her lap.
Tonight, all she could do was hope.
And for the first time in days, Clarke allowed herself that much.