Chapter Text
The dreams came like they always did.
There was a sickening acid taste in her mouth when Clarke replayed the moment that she had lived one too many times and then too many times after that. The moment that should have remained memory.
She had not been old enough to have had to experience what she did, but no one ever is. But at sixteen she had Jumped for the first time, unaware of what was happening, and she forever had to contend with the consequences of the surge of energy into her limbs.
The dreams were different to the real event, slower and she was more aware of what had happened. It had begun with the headaches and then the feeling like flying, or falling because of the disaster that awaited at the end. She relived it like watching on a television screen, blankly and emptily, hardly registering what was happening, although she felt the need to scream against the cage that was her dream. The replay was always like molasses and she felt like she was swimming, drowning, being smothered.
The dream happened like it always did.
She would open her eyes to her living room, the same as it had been since the Griffins had moved into the house, and she saw, momentarily her father, younger than she had ever remembered seeing him, bend over to talk to a blond toddler who smiled at the man in front of her with blind adoration.
Then it ends, almost immediately. Jake Griffin's eyes glaze over and he keels over, collapsing onto the glass coffee table next to the toddler. Next to Clarke, who at three years old doesn't understand why her father won't get back up and soon begins to cry. The sixteen year old Clarke remembers doing nothing, she couldn't because this seemed so unreal, so fantastic, that it couldn't be real. The crash brings more noise, her mother Abby calling amused from the other room to ask whether everything is fine. This is replaced by screams which drive the sixteen year old Clarke to back into the corner with the bookshelf as she tries to remain hidden. They never see her, the three-year-old Clarke, or even her mother.
She is simply a spectator, an intruder and the ruiner of their lives and she has to be the one to live in the destruction that follows. Even in her dream, Clarke can recall returning to a new existence.
She had missed the grief and returned to find her mother healed and remarried, a new coffee table and new family portraits littering the walls and mantelpieces. Everything became different and ugly and new and Clarke was disoriented because she was living someone else's life.
The next few times she Jumped were never replayed, although they too were part of the black pollution in her mind.
The dreams ended like they always did.
Clarke would feel like falling again and she would wake up, clutching the sheets to keep her in this time, to keep her from landing. This time was no different, although she was alone in her new apartment, with no one to hear her scream.
The next morning, blurry eyed and annoyed, Clarke moved around the kitchen, trying to get some semblance of functionality in her new independence. Her mother had helped her rent an apartment, more to get rid of the sullen young adult Clarke had proved to be. The building was a little dilapidated, but it screamed Bohemia and Clarke loved it. It was on the cheaper side but she lived far enough from her home and far enough from the family that she had created.
Clarke had woken up later than usual and was going to be late for work again if she didn't hurry. Indra would not be happy if that happened. Pulling on a sweatshirt and leggings and chewing a bagel at the same time, she moved to the door, hoping last nights make up wasn't too smudged and her hair wasn't too wild.
She began to lock up when she heard voices in the apartment across from hers.
"For god's sake, O, don't drop anything!" A male voice called.
The door was open and she could see the starkness of the apartment, which was empty except for the few boxes on the floor of the kitchenette.
She could see the man who the voice belonged to too, but his face was obscured by a pile of boxes that he was setting down on the floor.
A girl bounced out and glared at the man, "Just focus on your boxes and stop worrying about the ones I carried. Besides, everything is wrapped. It won't break,"
She was beautiful, Clarke noticed: tall, with long brown hair and a strong jawline. The man with her was equally attractive when he turned around, but he had freckles and dark set eyes that dared Clarke to say something instead of stare.
Realising that she still was holding her bagel in her mouth, and her door was still unlocked, she hurriedly turned to complete her task.
The young woman, O, also looked at Clarke and smiled when she did.
"Hey neighbour! We just moved here, if the boxes aren't an indication of that. Always stating the obvious," she laughed and moved out of the apartment to stand closer to Clarke.
"I'm Octavia, by the way and that is my brother Bellamy. It's great to meet you. Have you lived here long?"
Clarke blushed at the expectant Octavia and removed the bagel from her mouth.
"I actually just moved in, about a week or so ago." She managed to choke out.
"That's great! We can totally help each other unpack and stuff!"
Bellamy moved toward Clarke as well, "Speaking of unpacking, you could come inside and help. All your boxes need to be moved into your room so we can start sorting things out,"
Octavia rolled her eyes, "Part of making a new life is making new friends," she said, mockingly while making a heart with her hands, and she winked at Clarke.
Her brother glared at Octavia before settling his gaze on Clarke.
"Hey," she said uncomfortably, knowing that she was staring wide eyed into his narrowed ones in front of her.
"Didn't catch your name, Princess,"
Clarke's wide eyes changed to mirror Bellamy's.
"Excuse me? Princess?" She spat.
"Suits you,"
"As much as a black eye would suit you?" She paused sarcastically.
"Doubt it," he shrugged. "Although I have the features to pull of anything."
"Haha," Clarke deadpanned.
"Great comeback," he said, dragging out the 'great' and Clarke clenched her jaw and shook her head.
She liked the sister. Bellamy? Less so. Octavia groaned.
"Come on Bellamy, the least you could do is be nice. She's my friend," she said, smiling kindly at Clarke, who could feel her face soften.
"You don't even know her name."
"A minor setback in an otherwise very promising relationship. And besides that is easily rectified," Octavia all but recited and grinned at Clarke. Clarke smiled too.
"You heading out?" Octavia asked, gesturing to the door.
"Yeah, and if I'm late for work again, Indra is going to murder me, and I'm no quite sure how much of that is an exaggeration," she sighed, looking at her watch. It would take her 10 minutes to get to work. She had fifteen.
"Where do you work?"
"The coffee shop and few blocks away, the Drop Ship?"
Octavia looked excitedly at Bellamy, "We love that place! We have to unpack but I'm sure we can come through a little later. Without caffeine, my brother gets a little cranky." She teased, but Bellamy's face didn't seem to be capable of more than a scowl.
"More cranky than now? That must be quite something to see and to hopefully avoid."
Octavia laughed, "In his defence, he drove the whole night so he's exhausted. Being tired makes him cranky too,"
Clarke smirked and looked at the man in front of her, "Is there anything that doesn't make you cranky?"
Bellamy's frown deepened and she could see his jaw twitch. "Don't you have work, Princess?"
"Just leaving," she said, smiling plastically. "And it's Clarke by the way, NOT Princess. Get it right or get decaf when you come to the Drop Ship. Later Octavia, lovely meeting you."
Octavia and Bellamy moved back into their apartment, Octavia chastising Bellamy and Clarke left, hoping that she would at least make it to work only ten minutes late.