Chapter Text
{I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time // That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes}
Saturn, Sleeping At Last
“You know, Clarke. There’s always been something so incredible about floating in the vastness of space.” He spoke, fingers brushing unruly blonde curls from her brow bone. His hands were worn, rough even, from years of work aboard the Ark. Long days spent in the workshop hadn’t dwindled his gentleness though, as he sat there by the window, his young daughter in his lap.
“I can see stars o’side.” The young girl replied, a heavy furrow on her small features as she pressed a palm against the reinforced glass. Her focus was painted plainly for her father to see, a gentle pout of her lip as she squinted further. He watched her carefully, transcribing it all to memory. She was the perfect embodiment of her parents. A small birthmark above her mouth, her mother’s seriousness, her father’s curiosity.
“That is a great observation, Clarke. What do you think about the concept of the Earth below?” He asked her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. She was three. There was unlikely to be a crafted answer on her end, but there was no one better to talk to then the wide-eyed little girl he had helped create.
“I can see Earf. We live dere tomorrow? Daddy, Mommy, Clarke?” Her eyes peered up at him expectantly, a blue that could hardly be described. She pulled her little hand away from the glass and scratched the top of her nose with her finger.
He kissed the crown of her head and smoothed out her hair, before standing up and setting her on his hip. He pointed at the world below and rubbed her back before speaking.
“I believe someday you’ll be able to feel the grass on the Earth below, Clarke. If not in this life, then the next. This universe was made to be seen by you, Sweetheart. I hope you’ll get to see as much of it as possible.”
Her hands felt rough. Charcoal coated the floor below as she drew line after line. She bit down on her lip as she carefully blended the intricacies. Her right wrist ached from the pressure of holding up her body, her father’s watch digging into the skin. As she scribbled another line, her knees tensed uncomfortably against the concrete floor, where she’d sat with them folded for the past few hours. She rubbed the tip of her index finger along the mark and muddled the charcoal together, before releasing her lip and running her tongue across it. She leaned back, tilting her head to rest upon her left shoulder as she stared down at the finished piece.
A moon peered from amongst the clouds. Constellations were placed with care into the night sky. Against familiarity, she’d drawn a row of tree tops below it. Her chest ached momentarily. She let her eyelids flutter closed, allowing herself to escape the confines of her cell in the only way she knew how. She allowed herself to feel imagined sensations of the sun’s warmth. She crafted the view of trees, surrounding her on all sides, tall pines swaying in the non-existent wind. The scent of wildflowers tickled her nose. How she envisioned it to, anyway. Just for a moment she allowed it all to slip away. Just for a moment she was not stranded in space. She was free. But nothing is ever truly free.
The door opened, lights flickering on. Two armed guards walked in swiftly, not halting for a moment to allow her to process the sudden invasion of space.
“Prisoner 319, face the wall.” The dark-skinned man spoke, entering the cell fully, the other following closely behind.
She stood quickly, her knees buckling for a moment as they adjusted to the movement. A frown ghosted her brow for just a second, before disappearing as it came. She turned to face her back to the door, swallowing hard as her eyes danced across the vast drawings she had sketched upon the wall throughout her stay. She averted her gaze from the sketch of a man along the right of the wall, choosing instead to speak out on her confusion.
“What is this?” Her voice was laced with discreet anxiety. Her brows furrowed.
“Quiet. Hold out your right arm.” The same guard spoke again, setting down a case in the corner of the room. He unlocked it as she turned her head quickly to react to the demand. She watched him remove what seemed to be a metal cuff from within the box. White hot panic flooded through her veins as she shook her head slightly.
“No. No. It’s not my time. I don’t turn eighteen for another month.” She watched as he unclipped the band, spores sticking out and whining as they charged with something, from the metal within. How could they be doing this? She deserved a fair sentence. They couldn’t float her early. They didn’t seem to care much about fairness.
“Hold out your arm.” The guard approached. His companion extended a baton, preparing in the case that she would lash out. She quickly locked her eyes on the weapon and took a half step back, peering over at the device approaching her in the other direction. She muttered a few words of displeasure and protest and turned to face the approaching man. The latter extended his opposite hand toward her.
“Your watch.” He said, clasping her wrist and pulling slightly. She fought, trying to pull it back, panic now bubbling over as her breathing picked up.
“No. It was my father’s.” She protested, voice shaky with fear. The guard however did not falter. “Take it off.” He reached out hard, squeezing her forearm as she exclaimed, stumbling back in an effort to get free.
“No!” She forced herself out from his grasp, fighting her way past the other, who approached with the now crackling baton. Her heart spiked at the threat and adrenaline filled her body. The two men pulled at her shirt, though she did not slow. She pushed against the armed man, his baton electrocuting him and it pressed against his chest. Her breath caught in her throat as she made it through the doorway. She clasped her fingers around the side of the metal door, swinging it shut behind her.
Her fleeing was only stopped by the feel of metal bars against her torso as she ran up to the railing, overlooking the Sky Box. The view only added to her worry, as she stared down at dozens of prisoners, teenagers, getting ushered roughly by guards, metal bands upon their wrists. What the hell is going on?
The grinding screech of metal echoed from behind her. She turned to look in the direction it came from, soon enough making eye contact with the guard she had left in her dust moments ago. The urge to flee returned and she did nothing to try to drown it out, instead pushing off from the railing and beginning to run in the opposite direction. She heard her prisoner number die on his lips as another voice called out over him.
“Clarke stop!” She froze in her tracks. “Stay here.” The voice whispered to the guard as footsteps began to approach. Clarke spun around to face her, tears beginning to tickle at her waterline. Her lip trembled as the woman approached. A sad, hollow sensation filled her chest, adding to the burning fear under her skin.
“Mom? Mom, what’s going on?” Her voice broke as her mother closed the distance between them, pulling her into a tight hug. Her breaths expelled quickly and raggedly from her body as strong nimble hands cradled her head and back. “What is this?” She whispered out, her words coming out small and pained.
Her eyes locked with another prisoner standing distantly behind her mother. The guard who had accosted her mere minutes ago pulled the other girl roughly, his voice commanding her cooperation as she allowed herself to be dragged. Clarke felt herself imagine the worst. Contrasting the warm breeze and bright sunlight that had been painted behind her eyelids where she had sat in a pile of charcoal dust, Clarke saw the inside of the airlock. She smelled the fear on her skin and heard the hiss of the large door as it opened. Her eyes flew open.
“They're killing us all, aren't they, reducing population to make more time for the rest of you?” She cried, pulling back from her mother’s embrace. She stared into the woman’s warm brown eyes as they locked with her own, trying to share her feeling of desperation with her. This isn’t fair. How is this happening?
“Clarke, you are not being executed,” her mother spoke firmly, placing her hands upon her shoulders, “You're being sent to the ground, all one hundred of you.” Confusion began to muddle the blonde’s senses as she stared back at her. She could feel herself getting light headed, her mother’s touch beginning to feel distant.
“What? But it's not safe.” Her tears returned, threatening to spill over her cheeks as she tried to make her mother understand. This could not be happening. This is not how it’s supposed to work. “No. No.” She pulled back a step, shaking her head as the other woman tried to soothe her. Her comfort fell on deaf ears as Clarke stepped farther back. “We get reviewed at eighteen.”
Her mother met her gaze pointedly, speaking sternly as she held onto Clarke’s shoulders once more. “The rules have changed. This gives you a chance to live.” Clarke gaped, trying to find words to object, to protest, to scream. But she couldn’t find the strength. “Your instincts will tell you to take care of everybody else first, just like your father. But be careful, I can't lose you, too. I love you so much.”
Clarke gasped for air, a shattered sob slipping past her lips. No. NO. This couldn’t be happening right now. This isn’t fair. This isn’t safe. She was pulled forward into another tight, emotional embrace. She began to hyperventilate against her mother, the noise of a distant dart gun falling silent on her ears. She felt the needle pierce the skin of her upper back, stealing her consciousness swiftly. She felt her body give out from underneath her as she fell forward into her mother’s arms. The last thing Clarke saw was the movement of the other woman’s lips as she allowed her eyes to fall closed.
“Earth, Clarke. You get to go to Earth.”
“When I go to Earf, you come too, Daddy?” Clarke spoke, reaching up her hand to touch at his stubble. Earth faded into view outside the window as the Ark spun. The blue of the oceans below could easily have fooled him as a copycat, the small eyes looking at him intently shining a brighter shade of the colour. He adjusted the small girl in his arms, using his right hand to take a hold of her left, guiding it to the center of her chest.
“I’ll always come with you, my dear. No matter what, I’ll always be here.” He held her closer, the three-year-old giggling against him as his beard tickled her forehead.
“Okay, Daddy. We go to Earf.”