depth

v

This place seems eternal. Separated by a substantial wall from their high school, and made difficult to reach by its obscure location, this field seems to have been sliced out of reality and dumped into its own universe with its own set of rules. Only significant things happen here.

She takes this place with her everywhere she goes. Her art room is where confronts what she's feeling; this field is where she goes to breathe, to pause, to remember herself. Who she is, what's been done to her and what she's doing.

Her memories of this place are so vivid, it possess its own importance, its own interpretation, in a corner of her mind she sometimes has to retreat to.

(Her childhood was so pivotal. She can't understand why Finn wants to run away from it.)

She's not the only one. As they arrive, beer cans clunking and shoes thumping on the dry, dusty land, they quieten for a moment, pausing just to recall the value of this field – to pay it their respects. Clarke herself sifts through the memories.

(She, Lexa and Wells played Princess, Knight and Dragon here, when they were young. She was the knight, Lexa the princess, and Wells was the nicest dragon Clarke had ever come across in all her years of dragon-slaying.

Lexa and Clarke spent time here, the day after Lexa came out to Clarke as gay. The words had been robotic; she'd expected the worst. In this field, Lexa finally, finally shook away any fears of she'd had of Clarke treating her differently, the blonde's affirmation she could feel through the way Clarke's hug was tighter than ever.

Only two years later, Clarke had trembled her way through an explanation of bisexuality, and Lexa's accepting hug had been just as relieving. The day after, they spent their afternoon strolling around this field, hands tightly grasped together and giggling about the people Clarke had liked, and the girl, Costia, Lexa was enamoured with.

Raven and Octavia took Clarke here the afternoon they were told of Jake's passing. Wrapped in a tight hug, all three of them resolved to keep each other stronger than ever. Feeling the hazy effect of two of her best friends close to her, and the calming effect of the field, she'd tentatively granted Octavia and Raven their special mission: to take her to the art room when she was at her worst.

After numerous attempts to set the two up by their friends, Raven and Bellamy asked each other out, simultaneously, on the hill right over on the far side of the field. Clarke had genuinely shed a tear of joy upon receiving the news.)

This place has shaped them almost as much as they've shaped it. Clarke scuffs the toes of her right foot on the baseball post they'd dug into the ground, five years ago, and smiles.

She drapes the tribal-patterned towel around her shoulders, protecting her bare arms from the sun. It's almost as old as she is; it's as worn as she is. And it fits. It doesn't matter that they brought the baseball and bat in this – it's another level in which she immerses herself with the land underneath her feet.

This is a place of hyper-reality – monumental, removed. Sometimes it's easy to forget she calls another place in her life her home instead of this plot of land. It's easy to forget that even this field abides by the rules of linear time.

Raven throws the baseball to Bell and the bat to Finn, who does his best to catch the bludgeoning tool suavely. Lexa snorts, looking to Clarke next to her and sharing a smirk.

Some things just don't change, she thinks. This will always be them. They are the absolutes in separate words of relativity.

Raven yells, "Cripple privilege! No playing for me!" and instead walks around, confiscating everyone's bottles of beer. Octavia's preoccupied with setting up the music and the speaker, so she doesn't notice when Raven sneaks a couple of sips out of O's can. Lincoln does, but doesn't dare protest it or even move from his spot; the Latina is adamant that everybody participates, and that no one refuses to participate except from her.