The 99

Chapter Twenty Seven: Clarke

No, this is not the last chapter. Because frankly I would find it annoying to have all this happen and not include the Bellamy/ Octavia reunion. No, this will have two more chapters, ending on Clarke's POV because I found another way I wanted to end it so I was pretty excited. Anyway, sorry for the long wait and if I missed anything, such as a discrepancy, let me know because I hate those! Please review!

*******

"Do you think they could see the stars from there?" the little girl asked, staring out the window to the stretch of velvet black that lay beyond. "You know, from Earth?"

The girl's father placed a hand on her shoulder as his reflection appeared in the glass, painting his smiling face in shadow and starlight. "Of course," he reassured. "What good would they be if they didn't have anyone to admire them?"

"But what if people can't?" asked the little girl, suddenly feeling saddened by the thought. "What if, when we go down there, we forget them?"

But her father didn't seem concerned over the matter and squeezed her shoulder. "Oh, Clarke. The stars do not fear being forgotten, any more than they fear the dark."

*******

"Clarke?"

That was the first thing she registered through the thick haze shrouding her version, cloaking her face in a thick smog. Smoke stifled the room and Clarke let out a haggard cough, the fumes singeing the inside of her throat. The air smelt of burning metal and human sweat. A coppery tang covered the insides of her mouth.

"Clarke," the voice sounded panicked. "Are you okay? I need you to answer me."

She waved her hand weakly in a pointless attempt to clear away the smoke. It caked on her skin and stung the inside of her nose. "I'm"- she was cut off by a fit of coughing. "'I'm alive. I think." Her eyes burned but she forced them open to look at Bellamy.

His face was clouded in soot, eyes pinpricks of white and brown, but Clarke thought he had never looked better. She glanced across at her mom, relieved to see her unharmed too.

Clarke managed a meager smile as she took in the rest of the ship. But that smile slipped when she registered the splash of red adorning one of the walls, the color brilliant in the tin-can grey. She swallowed and shifted her gaze to Sinclair. "How're the other Stations?"

"We lost radio-feed," he said, hacking into his shoulder. "But I think . . . I think Factory and Mecha are gone."

Clarke felt a pang shoot through her chest and she bit her lip, once again looking around the surviving station. So many lives, left behind in the stars.

"Hey." Bellamy's gruff voice penetrated her thoughts and she felt his hand tighten around hers. She forced her gaze to him, and was surprised to see the determination there, set in the tightness of his jaw and the terse line of his lips. "We did it."

Clarke tried for a smile but it fell into a grimace. "We know we made it down," she mumbled, and swung her eyes upward. "We don't know what's out there yet."

Bellamy let go of her hand and stretched down to untie his makeshift harness. Once free, he got to work on Clarke's as others slowly began to do the same. She tried blocking out any cries of dismay or sobs coming from whatever loss of life their station had endured.

Only when Bellamy was finished did he hold his hand back down to her. "Then let's find out."

"Wait," Sinclair called after them as the two of them started for the door, resting just overhead. Clarke glanced back to him as he looked over the device resting in his palms. "There's no indication of where we've even landed. There could be a deposit of radiation waiting outside for us."

Clarke stared at him. "You're saying the air could be toxic?"

Bellamy didn't move away from the door. "If the air's toxic, we're all dead anyway," he stated bluntly, and reached a hand up. He looked at Clarke, and she could see the resolve in his gaze. "Ready?"

Her heart gave a lurch but she gave an equally determined nod. "Time to meet the sky," she whispered.

Then Bellamy pressed the button, and the door swung open.

******

Blind. That's the first thing she was, as a sudden, brilliant shaft of light arched through the door and poured over her like water. It dug behind her lids and made her see red. The sting of smoke was nothing compared to this, but she blinked at it as quickly as she could, too desperate to see.

To know.

Clarke had spent her whole life wondering what sunlight was like. But not even in her dreams, in the freedom of paper and her own imagination could she have imagined this.

She didn't know it was a gilded sheen woven out of fire and threaded with diamonds. She didn't know how it felt to have real light, not artificial circadian bulbs, trickle through her fingers. Until now, she'd never known what it was like to be kissed by the sun.

Then a hand reached down and she was pulled into a pale ocean, hanging where the stars ought to have been.

Sky.

It was so imposing, Clarke had the urge to close her eyes and crouch down low. It was endless, expanding as far as the black curtain of space she was so used to. But she'd never stood in space. Not without walls, but here . . . this sky was uncontainable. And it was blue; bluer than any color could do it justice. Bluer than any pencil or paint she'd ever used. Wisps of what were called clouds were pinned seemingly at random.

And the air. Clarke had been breathing recycled oxygen her whole life and realized now what she'd been missing out on. Real air, unused air, was sharper than anything else. It was crisp and new, combined with so many things and questions it made her head spin.

She shut her eyes for a moment just to take it in, filling up her lungs to their full capacity. But she couldn't keep them closed for long.

Then Clarke greeted what she'd spent dozens of sheets and lead and ancient nature books trying to accurately portray but could never quite get right.

Trees. They were rich in russet browns and jade greens, spearing towards the too-blue sky. Clarke took it all in, gazing at the valley beyond. At the vast body of water at her back, looking as if part of the sky had fallen down and reflected like one great mirror. She felt a strange laugh bubble up to her lips. This world was a dance of color and shape and sound, a crescendo of sublimity, so arresting it made even the wind breathless.

Clarke turned to Bellamy and met his eyes. She stilled.

His soot-stained face was lit with the widest grin she'd ever seen. Sunlight filtered through his curls like a halo resting on the crown of his head. It made his skin seem darker and his freckles more prominent. His eyes were no longer a deep, molten brown but a beautiful auburn, burning with the fire of the sun.

Clarke stared at him and he stared back, his gaze roving over his face. There were no words. She was bursting on the inside, with color and luster the one thing she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Hope.

Without speaking, without turning back to the trees or the sky or the ground they'd spent decades waiting to return to, Clarke gripped the front of Bellamy's torn shirt and pulled her to him.

Their lips collided and Clarke put everything she was feeling into it, the worry, the relief, the simple joy at being where she was, alive. Her hands wove around his neck just as his wound around her waist, pulling her as close to him until there was no closer. Her fingers ran through the soft curls of his hair and one of his hands cupped the side of her face.

The kiss on the Ark had been full of goodbyes, tainted by fear and desperation, a point of light on the brink of an ever-darkening edge. But this one was different. It wasn't shouted over that black precipice at the prospect of death. It was whispered, at the realization that now, after all their time spent running, they could finally stop.

Clarke pulled back first and offered Bellamy a smile. He didn't remove his hands from around her waist as he took a slow breath. "Now what?" he asked quietly.

Clarke felt her smile broaden and she gave him the one answer he'd waited long enough to hear. "Now we find your sister."