Two weeks had passed since we defeated Alie. Two weeks had passed, and yet it still felt like we lost. We were scrambling to figure out where we should go to wait out the storm. Others didn't want to leave and would happily accept their death. At this point, I wondered if I was one of them. At eighteen years old, I contemplated whether I was done living. I had done all I could for my people. There was nothing I could do for them now. Only Raven and Monty could save us by finding areas that wouldn't be affected by the melting of the power plants. I missed Finn. I missed Wells. I missed Dad. And I think most of all, I missed Lexa.
Bellamy was slowly returning to his normal self. He accepted what he had done, and was still punishing himself for it more than we had. He was trying to redeem himself now, working harder than ever to find a safe haven for us. At council meetings, he was insistent on trying to help the grounders, but was shot down. We could only worry about ourselves now.
I didn't want to worry only about ourselves, but my instincts told me to do so. I wanted to help the people Lexa left behind, in honor of her. I wanted to return something to her in exchange for every shred of happiness she gave me.
Octavia was gone, coping with Lincoln's death. I wanted to cope, but it wasn't in my nature. A warrior mourns the lost after the battle has been won. This time, there was no battle to be won. There was only surviving. Bellamy hoped she would return before the nuclear plants melted, but he had accepted that she might not. We didn't have the resources to look for her, not right now.
That night was the most sleep I had in months. I crawled into my bed, pulling a fur I took from Lexa's room up to my chin and closed my eyes.
She was there. Her braids were taken out and she was in the outfit she was wearing before she died. It was intact, though. No black blood stained it. White light framed her body, and I wanted to reach out and touch her. I knew this wasn't real, but every inch of my being wanted it to be. I held onto the image of her face, and the way her cheekbones sloped. I tried to memorize the exact shade of green of her eyes so I could mix paint later and recreate the pools that made me fall in love each time I saw them. I memorized where her shirt was ripped, probably from years of messing around with the Nightbloods, and where I untied it before we made love for the first and last time. I stared at her lips, forcing the shape of them into my memory. I knew how they felt—I always would—but my memory slipped sometimes when I thought about how they looked. And her smile—the rarest sight of all had already been captured.
"Hello, Clarke." She said, walking closer so she was right in front of me. I melted at the sound of her voice. I had almost forgotten what it sounded like and spent hours wracking my brain for memories to hold onto.
"I miss you." I whispered. Tears had started to form in my eyes and blurred my vision, obstructing my view of her face. I blinked them away. I needed to see all of her, remember every detail.
She smiled softly in the way that was all her own. "I know. I miss you, too."
I stumbled for words. I wanted to keep talking to her. If I didn't, I feared she would dissipate into my mind. I wanted to reach out to her, but I wasn't sure where we stood. I loved her, she knew that, but I felt like I would break if I touched her and she didn't feel the same.
"The Nightbloods..." I choked out. I couldn't finish the statement. The Nightbloods were brutally murdered—their heads cut off just as Costia's had been. They couldn't even fight back, for their hands had been taken, too.
She nodded. "I know. They're here with me."
"I'm sorry." I cried. "I should've protected them."
She shook her head. "They were not your responsibility. And their suffering is over. They would've had to kill each other, only for my successor to die in a month."
