YEAR THREE.
Desert...
An endless expanse of yellow-white. The hot, hot marble of fire blazing above, its heat beating down on her, the perspiration slick against her skin. She felt unimaginable heat chorus through her, felt the burning pain, and then the awash of cool, dousing the scrouging heat, a momentary reprieve from the fire, fell through her skin.
A gasp. And when the relief was over, when the cool slipped from her hands, too, too quickly, and there was nothing left but the licks of flame, panic seethed in her mind.
Clarke! Why did you—
A hoarse hush returned her to her senses. She blinked, dazedly, wet eyes scanning the desert. Endless, endless white and yellow, the sun's rays haggardly blinding half her vision. And then she saw—with a disbelieved glance—an oasis shining beside her, its cool water glistening in the rays.
A hoarse hush, a breathed smile. Clarke gets up from her knee, she struggles, she dances, she moves with her until the haven's but within a grasp's reach.
You'll be okay.
Fire. It doesn't go away. And yet a gasp slips from her mouth and she revels in the cool relief dancing beneath her fingers; and then some when she slips in. At first she's drowning, sinking in beneath the pond, feeling the water underneath her skin. The water's hot, but it's cooler than she'd ever felt in the blaze. But then she feels drugged warmth under her shoulders; hotter than the fire, the water; and she's brought back to the surface.
And then she smiles, bitterly at first, at the levity of the situation they're in, but then truth breaks out on her smile when the cool envelops her and she feels... bliss. Warmth hoists her up, but that's overwhelmed by the cold, and though she feels the burning it's no longer on the centre of her mind.
You'll be okay, is what they say to each other, during the burning days and the deathly nights, mumbling and shouting all the same, as if it's some rapport for them to stay alive. As if only one of them could survive, and so they say it to the other, in confidence or credence or perhaps simply hope, because both thought the other had a better chance than themselves.
We'll be okay, is what she tells herself instead.
We'll be okay.
...
''We need to get to Becca's Laboratory.''
It was the first thing Clarke said after Lexa had told Madi a story and made sure she was asleep, before entering the living room in tiredness. ''For what?'' Lexa found herself voicing, though she knew the answers, all too clearly.
She just wished she didn't.
Clarke's gaze reverted from the counter, where they had sorted out what was left in their bags on top, and to Lexa, who averted her eyes at the unspoken words. ''Resources,'' Clarke said finally, after a moment of contemplation. Gazed at Lexa, hoping for a reply that would satisfy the both of them.
Lexa blinked, once, twice at Clarke's abrupt words, and shook her head. Because she couldn't go there, not now, when her brain was addled with a drunken lightness and all she felt for was sleep. She closed her eyes shut, waiting for the words to process in her mind, and when she found her answer opened them again, meeting Clarke's eyes. ''We have plenty of resources, Clarke. And we took what we could from Becca's Laboratory. There is no need to return there... especially not when there is a seven-day journey standing between us.''
A low sigh emanated from her breath, as she thought of the weeks they've stayed there when the radiation was strongest when the aftermath of Praimfaya raged outside. Clarke, screaming, screaming like I once had when the bullet lodged in my spine, skin blistering with heat, eyes pleading for me to end it all. Myself, in constant, begging pain, another layer of fire searing my skin, my throat, my eyes, the black blood in my veins not enough to prevent the onslaught Praimfaya brought, hating myself for being incapable, hating myself for being the only one stuck with Clarke, envisioning how things could've been so much easier with my legs, or with someone else, capable, taking care of her.
