Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lexa perches among the branches of a tall oak tree, leaning against the trunk while she waits for her prey.

In the distance, a towering cement structure is abuzz with activity. The combined flashing lights and booming kaxton of sirens letting everyone in the vicinity know that there has been a prison break.

So far, Lexa is impressed with the escaped criminals.

After they are alerted to the alarm, Lexa's team spends almost two hours scoping out a ten-mile radius around the prison. They find no sign of the escapees. This far from civilization, the nighttime forest is quiet, giving away no hints to betray Lexa’s objective. The only sounds are those of animals and birds. Lexa may have enjoyed the atmosphere if she were not so put out. The mission has dragged on much longer than Lexa intended. Lexa has had to widen the perimeter twenty miles already, vast tracts indistinguishable forest unfamiliar to her city-living teammates. They never come out this far, unless called.

The prison is located deep in the mountains for a reason.

The prison is for mutants.

The dangerous among Lexa’s kind - those that discover their incredible power and choose to use it against those unable to fight back. The mission dossier names the escapees as a militant guerrilla group of eco-terrorists. Lexa wondered how they lived with themselves. She might ask - assuming she can find them.

Movement in the branches.

Lexa catches a flash of something bright amongst the trees - moonlight shining against pale hair -

Lexa hears the crunch of dry leaves under multiple pairs of feet.

Lexa does not hesitate.

The Commander of the X-Men launches herself from the tree, using the advantage of the high ground to surprise her enemy. She comes down on the escaped prisoners with the weight of an anvil. Her thick-soled boots collide with someone’s back. They both go down. Lexa rolls to absorb the impact.

It is difficult to see in the dark, her half-adjusted eyes seeing orange-shaded shapes.

A fist flies at her face —

Lexa catches the fist in her hand and retaliates with a pinch of her own, followed up by a charged kick to the solar plexus. The prisoner chokes on their breath as the blow launches them through the air for a rough crash to the forest floor. A feminine cry goes up in the underbrush. Lexa is close enough to make out a woman with a tattooed face and an orange jumpsuit just before she runs to the fallen prison and tries to pull them too their feat. Lexa gets a glimpse of his pinched weasel face before they flee deeper into the woods. A handful of orange shapes follow them.

They must be the others - at least four according to Lexa’s mission report, maybe as many as seven -

Lexa has finally found the targets.

The mission is capture but kill if needed to protect civilian lives. Kane said the escaped prisoners were violent psychopaths locked up for mass-murder by powers. Serving life in solitary confinement

Lexa lifts a single palm and launches a jet of flame, a white-hot flare, into the sky. A signal for her teammates to converge on her location for the final stage of the mission.

Capture.

A flash of silver moonlight in the corner of Lexa’s eye is the only warning she receives before she is bowled over so hard both of her feet leave the ground. Lexa and her attacker fall with shared momentum. Neither noticed the small drop until they are rolling down the shallow incline and off the edge of a cliff. Lexa knew better than the brace for the impact. If she drops on stone her form will not matter - she’ll still be dead. Lexa has the few seconds her body is suspended in midair to stiltedly think around the sickening sensation of falling - to look and see the body falling with her. If Lexa dies today, it will the criminal's fault. Aden will be alone because of the prisoner’s evil and Lexa’s incompetence. I didn’t occur to Lexa that one of the prisoners would charge her.

Lexa has a split second to fire off a shot, to kill them before she dies, on the off chance the fugitive survives the fall and lives to go after more innocent people.

Lexa is distracted by the sudden shock of landing in ice-cold water.

Right - there is a pond twenty miles from the prison perimeter.

Upon reflection, she should have taken the shot.

Lexa breaks the surface of the water in a single powerful stroke. She whips her head around, wet hair a fanning lasso, to look for her attacker.

A young woman emerges, sputtering, beside Lexa. She sees Lexa and kicks away frantically, putting a few feet of distance between them. She watches Lexa with wary blue eyes but does not attack again.

And her eyes are blue - so blue . Crystalline and luminous against the dark of the water, the same shade cast against the soft ripples of the lake by bright beams of light from the full moon. Undeniably enthralling and immediately disarming. Her pale hair is silver glass, shining despite the weight of water. Lexa’s heart beats painfully in her chest as if attempting its own escape.

Lexa’s thoughts stall for a long moment and the two just float, staring at each other with roving eyes.

“Clarke!”

An invisible force lifts Lexa’s beautiful assailant out of the water. She flies to the shore as if winged, skimming the surface of the lake with the grace of a goddess.

For a brief, time-stopping moment, Lexa believes the woman can fly.

It takes a blink for Lexa to refocus and notice that her assailant's posture is too stiff for someone moving under their own power. She is being towed to the shore by someone else.

One of the escaped prisoners must be telekinetic.

Like Bellamy.

Telekinesis is a powerful ability in both offense and defense. If any of the other prisoners had offensive powers, it could pose a challenge to her team. Lexa needs to share this information as soon as possible.

Her name is Clarke

Lexa bobs in the lake, her mind fitting the name to the face like a picture in a frame - seared into her memory. It is an unusual name and well suited to her uniqueness. Lexa’s mind replays the way Clarke’s brows furrowed in the middle as she floated in the pond, concerned yet unafraid. An experienced swimmer. No older than Lexa.

“Don’t stop!”

The sound of Clarke’s voice

A few yards away, Clarke lands with a stumble on the edge of the lakeshore. A pack of kids in orange jumpsuits is waiting. They envelop Clarke into their midst and proceed to sprinted up the small strip of beach. The woman in question leads the charge, clearly slower than some of her allies, yet they refuse to outpace her. Clarke is a natural leader.

Lexa is still floating in the water.

She curses herself silently for her distraction. She needs to get to the beach or the mission objective is going to get away. Lexa slaps her hands against the surface of the water in a burst of outrage and self-loathing. Lexa has never stood by and just watched rogue mutants disappear to wreak havoc on the city.

She is a fucking X-Man.

Lexa temper flares so hot that the water around her starts to steam. She allows the pressure inside her to build up slowly, to critical mass, before she releases it all at once in a massive surge of heat energy. The water touching Lexa vaporizes instantly and the force of the created steam launches Lexa out of the lake into the air. Lexa focuses on orienting her body in space as she catapults to shore, turning her legs forward and her head back, her arms down by her sides.

When Leksa hits the beach, she lands on her feet. The sand explodes on contact like Lexa is a live grenade that just went off. The sand underneath Lexa’s specialty boots melts and resolidifies in the span of seconds into a thin layer of glass with tall, spiked edges. Like ice at the end of winter, the fresh glass crunches under Lexa’s boots. Lexa’s pride is somewhat mollified. It took her over a year to perfect a steam engine and to perform it in the field for the first time, successfully, is a rush.

A distance away, Echo steps out from the trees moves into the path of the escaping prisoners.

Lexa’s teammate is covering for her failure to seize Clarke when she had the chance.

Lexa runs.

Echo cuts them off, standing between the point where the beach meets the woods. One of the boys skids to a stop and kicks up a spray of rocks and shells. The dark-haired girl at his side raises her both her arms, her legs braced in a combat stance. Lexa watches as the spray of rocks arc further in the hair, gaining speed and flying higher than is possible within the laws of physics. The impromptu projectiles pelt Lexa’s teammate like a storm of mosquitoes

The buffet of stones bounces off of Echo’s invisible forcefield. The rocks halt in mid-air and fall to the ground. Only a hint faint blue shimmer in the air and the deflected rocks to suggest what occurred. Twice as many rocks rose from the ground and twisted together to form a lance. The rocks pelt Echo’s forcefield with the focused precision of a drill head. Echo’s forcefield does not give. The air in front of her glows under the force of impact, each strike materializing more of her forcefield into the visible spectrum of light.

The power of mutant-kind.

An evolution that defied the heretofore natural order. Lexa is a flame that does not burn as only the devil before had been spared. Watching mutant fighting mutant reminds Lexa of why she left the church. No divinity would turn like against like in this way.

The telekinetic runs out of rocks. At the moment it will take them to gather more, Echo casts another field and traps them inside the energy dome. They do not know Echo, so they do not know the nature of the bursts of light the rocks provoked or notice the telltale ripple of air that precedes her shield as it locks them inside. The prisoners are unaware of the dome until one of them bounces off the hard shell at a run. The unyielding surface is oxygen permeable, so they will be fine, and contained. Echo is the perfect trap and the team’s ace in the hole.

Lexa prepares another flare to signal the successful completion of the mission and call her team in.

And then the fugitives are running away. The group hightail it to the tree line and disappear into the night before Lexa can get close enough to make a difference. They leave Echo standing in the sand with a confused expression and no explanation for her sudden power failure.

Lexa wastes no more time.

Echo falls in behind her as the two of them race through the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of neon jumpsuits in the dark shadows of the forest. Beams of moonlight cut through the trees, lighting their dim path. Echo is seething.

“Where the fuck is Bellamy?”

A good question and the very one sitting at the back of Lexa’s mind.

Bellamy had become unreliable lately, flighty and distracted. Bellamy is supposed to be on the flank for this mission. He was meant to block the woods as an escape route and push them back towards Lexa to establish a kill box. The combination of Lexa, Echo, and Bellamy is the team’s strongest formation and the tactic they rely upon most heavily when they have to go up against other mutants. Except Bellamy is not there, and now she and Echo had to give chase. Lexa frowns in annoyance.

She and Bellamy will have a talk, back at the mansion.

“What happened to your powers?” Leksa asks while they are of the subject of the unexplainable.

Lexa had personally witnessed Echo’s force field hold up against a bomb blast that could have leveled a building and now it chose to fail spontaneously against the prisoners. Echo’s silence is answer enough to confirm her lack of knowledge. Echo considers her control over her power to be absolute. To learn otherwise is a hard blow. One of them must have a nullification ability. Such powers are few and far between, not to mention unstable and far-reaching, affecting more than just their intended target.

“Nothing,” Echo said, holding up a cupped hand with a tell-tale ripple of air, “my powers are fine. Whatever they can do, it isn’t nullification.”

Lexa’s flames burn under her skin, as always.

Lexa’s mind raced with her body. She sees nothing but trees. Maybe they lost them.

Then Lexa spots Clarke standing between two tall trees, directly in Lexa’s path. Lexa slides into a sudden stop and motions for Echo to do the same.

Clarke is not running. She stands her ground, firm and proud, facing down her pursuers. A look of fierce concentration twists her features and she stares at Lexa with unparalleled intensity.

Lexa meets Clarke’s stare, two equal forces colliding.

Lexa blinks and Clarke is gone.

“Lexa?”

The commander hears Echo say her name distantly like her mind is trapped somewhere else, staring at the space between the trees and waiting for Clarke to reappear. Echo shakes Lexa by the shoulder in a way that suggests it is her last resort to get Lexa’s attention. Lexa blinks up at her sergeant as if seeing Echo anew.

“Echo, did you see that?”

“See what?”

Lexa needs to get her head together in a serious way.

“Something’s wrong, Heda,” Echo whispers, like they were being watched, “I can feel it. I know you feel it too.”

“It’s nothing, let’s go.”

The fugue visions keep coming. Clarke disappears and reappears seemingly at random a dozen times in as many minutes. Lexa turns one corner to find Clarke standing in front of her, solid and clear, only to vanish before Lexa can get within reach. Again and again, a vision of Clarke comes to Lexa out of thin air, standing still and staring as if she can see the very core of Lexa’s soul laid bare. Clarke, potentially the projected image of Clarke, does not appear the same way every time - sometimes Lexa gets only a glimpse of blonde and blue between the boughs. Sometimes she is so far away Lexa can barely discern her shape among the trees. Sometimes she is so close that Lexa can see nothing else.

Clarke’s condemning oceanic eyes remain the same - deep and furious as the tempest-tossed sea - large and encompassing as the sky.

Lexa sways on her feet.

A crash in their vicinity has Lexa and Echo immediately on guard. The brush parts to reveal one of Lexa's men, finally caught up to them. Miller is panting with exertion. He falls in at Lexa’s exposed flank.

“Bellamy?”

Miller is Bellamy’s closest friend. Lexa does not respond. Miller will understand Lexa’s silence on the matter.

Lexa knows that Echo does not see Clarke the way she does.

Clarke hovers in Lexa’s peripheral vision.

Miller does not react.

It seems like these vision of Clarke are meant for Lexa alone.

“Let's go,” Lexa only just manages to say.

Echo and Miller run on, focused on the mission, as Lexa should be. Subduing Clarke and her accomplices is the objective. Lexa's hallucinations are irrelevant. Maybe Clarke is a telepath and trying to get into her head. Lexa heard rumors that telepaths were capable of anything. Able to drive a person to madness with a tilt of the head and unmake them on the most fundamental level with the same ease.

“There,” Echo hisses.

“I see them,” Miller confirms, quick and quiet and on point. His eyes glow with a passion that suggests he already encountered their prisoners. Lexa follows Echo’s sightline to the bright shapes darting through the underbrush.

“Orders, Heda?”

“I’ve got them.”

Lexa fine-tuned her unwieldy powers for just this kind of situation. Hours upon hours in the training room when the rest of the mansion sleeps.

Delay, do not destroy.

Control, do not surrender.

Thin tendrils of flame appear at Lexa’s command, hovering in front of her face. The coiled serpent of flame has no form but for Lexa’s will. A mere thought sends the flame exploding outward, swerving through the air with unnatural speed and dexterity. The fire cuts in between the fugitives and their escape route - weaving a tapestry of flame that seems to materialize from nothing and abruptly cuts off their path. Lexa focuses on bending the flame around the trees to keep the wood from going ablaze. Lexa’s fire illuminates the shadowed forest like a small sun, casting them all in sharp relief.

The prisoners try to outrun the flames, but it is no use. They are soon trapped between fire and flame - Lexa and burning.

Lexa admires the way her flames turn Clarke into a pillar of golden light.

She is not proud of how she keeps the prisoners pinned between death and capture. Anya trained Lexa to believe that there is always more to the story than appears from one perspective.

The dark-haired telekinetic makes a threatening gesture but does not engage. The others stand by, holding onto each other and trembling, likely lacking the offensive power to fight for themselves.

Clarke steps forward until she stands even with the telekinetic that must be their only warrior.

Lexa is surprised to see Clarke pull the girl behind her, using her own body as a shield for someone that could easily protect themselves. Someone that wanted to protect Clarke, judging the way the girl resists before stepping back, resigned.

Clarke’s futile nobility is charming - the outright caring for her friends is moving.

One of the boys tries to match Clarke’s bravery. He goes to step in front of Clarke but she brushes him aside.

Clarke walks forward alone, putting distance between herself and her friends.

Lexa takes a few steps of her own.

The Commander and the prisoner draw into the middle distance, caught again in that inexplicable stalemate that left them both frozen at the lake - now leaves them locked where they stand. It is an undeniable connection that Lexa does not want to fight - against her better judgment. Would not fight, under any other circumstances. Clarke’s bearing, her bravery, is enough to justify Lexa’s foolishness. The mission is supposed to come first.

Their eyes meet and hold for the second time, suspending their people and the clearing in a moment of still silence.

Lexa’s team takes the opening. It is not what Lexa intended by going to Clarke, but it is what her team is trained to do. Exploit any opportunity.

Lexa is so fixated on Clarke that she is surprised when Lincoln bursts from the tree cover and tackles the incredulous telekinetic - eliminating the most clear and obvious threat in a single blow. Lexa knows the telekinetic’s her small stature has no bearing on her power.

Lincoln wraps his thick arms around Clarke’s telekinetic in an unbreakable vice grip. She screams, more in outrage than in pain, and thrashes in Lincoln’s grip like a madwoman. Her head rears back and collides with his face. Lincoln bends over, trying to trap her against him so she cannot fight. Lincoln’s strength does not stop her from lifting them both off the ground with the power of her mind and slamming Lincoln’s back into the nearest tree-trunk. The tree splits under the force of the blow. The trunk gives way with a great snap and the two of them tumble into the darkness as one.

Echo lurches forward, meaning to go after them.

Lexa stops her. Without Bellamy and Lincoln, her team is two on four. Echo’s abilities are defensive and Lexa’s power is a little cumbersome for such close and flammable quarters. Lexa has innate and finely trained control, but she cannot prevent the fire from burning and it takes most of her concentration to keep from burning the forest down.

Lexa senses a new heat beginning to radiate from one from the prisoners. Powerful energy rises.

Instinct sends Lexa leaping to the side. Echo mirrors her - trusting her commander’s split-second judgment.

A beam of red light is emitted from one of the prisoners. The plasma incinerates forest floor instead of Lexa and her team. Miller steps into the beam, absorbing the energy and storing it for later.

Echo snarls, angry as she tends to be when she cannot predict and deflect a direct attack. She projects forcefield around the prisoners and starts pushing them towards Lexa’s fire. The prisoners scrabble fruitlessly at the barrier, but it holds firm.

Not nullification, then.

Clarke looks at Lexa in abject horror, as if Lexa is betraying her.

“Echo, stop!”

Echo reacts to Bellamy’s shout, instincts and muscle memories refined over hundreds of hours to teamwork has Echo responding despite her retaliatory tendencies.

“Bellamy?”

Lexa turns at an unfamiliar and interesting sound. She watches Clarke walk forward as her mouth forms the name of Lexa’s second in command. Lexa is more preoccupied with the sound of Clarke’s voice than she is concerned with wondering how Clarke can possibly know Bellamy’s name.

“Clarke,” Bellamy runs the few feet to Clarke and wraps her in his arms. She returns the embrace fervently. Bellamy does not just know Clarke - they are close, they care about each other.

Lexa is suddenly uncertain of everything she believes to be true.

“What the fuck, Bellamy,” Echo snaps, suspicious of the prisoner’s knowledge - and now Bellamy by extension.

“Talk to us, man,” Miller says, tense, a second away from unleashing a ricochet of plasma energy.

Bellamy pulls back from Clarke in alarm, but not to answer them. He grabs Clarke’s arm’s too tightly and almost shakes her with his urgency.

“Where’s O?”

A series of loud crashes and an unholy scream pierce the night from somewhere out of sight.

“Get back here!”

Lincoln bolts from the trees with a foreign expression of fear on his face. He sprints full-tilt for Lexa and the team.

“Face me, you coward!”

A tree trunk hurtles through the air and splits against Lincoln’s back.

“I’m warning you —

Lincoln slides the rest of the way to his Commander’s side, barely evading a rock the size of a steering wheel in the process.

Hell of a warning.

“Octavia, don’t!”

It is Clarke’s warning.

That same beam of red plasma shoots the projectile from the air before it can clothesline Lexa's team, herself included.

Another tree tears itself from the earth under the mighty heave of the tiny, wild telekinetic.

“Octavia,” Bellamy breathes, his exaggerated shadow engulfing Clarke’s telekinetic in the light of Lexa’s fire. "Octavia!"

Bellamy's joy is unmistakable.

“Bellamy?”

The telekinetic is awestruck. Her power shorts out and the trunk falls from the air to crash against the forest floor.

They stare at each other and Lexa watches them, noticing the similarities between them as they take each other in.

Octavia leaps into Bellamy's embrace and they collide in a forceful hug.

“I knew you’d come.”

Chapter Text

Clarke knows she is screwed the moment she is almost kicked in the face by bright, super-heated air that turns their pursuer’s boot into a comet. Finn shoves Murphy into the line of fire and Klark is spared a broken face. Murphy ends up in the bushes, probably with some broken ribs.

Clarke cannot believe how quickly everything goes to shit.

All in all, it took two and a half years of careful planning to make her escape and less than an hour for everything to go wrong. Clarke exploited the handsome young soft-touch on the night shift. She played the long game with the administration to avoid being completely isolated in solitary. It took six months of grooming just to learn the cell numbers of her friends.

The power nullification collars slapped on them when they arrived were something else entirely. If the guards did not kill them, the collar would. The restraint was electrified to shock the wearer if they used their mutation. A shock would cause unconsciousness - anything longer than 10 seconds would be a death sentence. The collars were the first thing to go when the escape started.

Clarke and her friends are barely able to enjoy breathing real air before they are chased through the forest by powerful mutants in matching leather jumpsuits. The pyrokinetic and her posse find Clarke and her friends easily and follow them with the doggedness of a bloodhound. Clarke curses her bad luck from her hometown all the way to their last job in Boise. They were arrested on a trespassing charge, completely unrelated to the actual crime they were committing in service of a greater cause: Mutant liberation.

Getting the maximum sentence for a non-violent crime just proved how necessary the work that Clarke and her friends are doing really is. Clarke believes in the letter of the law until it is used against innocent members of society.

The fact that the government is using mutants to reinforce the wrongful imprisonment of mutants turns her stomach. The seem trained, purposeful, and unsurprised by the escape. They were sent to collect Clarke’s team and return them to prison

She doesn’t want to fight her own people - but she needs to protect the friends that have been by her side for years.

It doesn’t help that their pursuers are uncomfortably powerful, each of then above a Level 3.

“Who these people?” The one that absorbed Finn’s plasma blast asks Bellamy like Clarke and her people are non-issues. His dark hair is close-cropped and he wears the expression of a long-time soldier.

“Who are we? Who the hell are you?” Finn takes a threatening step forward, touchy after his purportedly unbeatable power was thwarted by the power absorber.

“We’re the X-Men,” the same Mutant replies in a tone that speaks of offense at Finn’s ignorance.

“Cute name,” Clarke says, unable to resist a pointed in the pyrokinetic’s direction. The woman raises a single eyebrow but otherwise does not respond. Clarke sees a flicker of unease enter her piercing gaze.

“This is a touching reunion and all,” Murphy snipes in the way he does when he was afraid, “but we seriously need to get out of here.”

Emori smacks him arm in a futile attempt to quiet his running mouth. Clarke lets the comment slide. Murphy is just looking for confrontation to ease his nerves and Clarke is not inclined to oblige.

We should do this somewhere else,” Bellamy says, his arms still around Octavia.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Clarke asks him. The standoff was beginning to frustrate her. They need to get the hell out of here without anyone getting hurt.

Clarke has unfinished business and bigger problems than the Blake family reunion.

Specifically, the group of clandestine, leather-clad mutants boxing them in with a wall of fire the size of a billboard. The flames hovered, burning the air but not catching the trees ablaze.

Clarke watches the delicate coils of fire with something like awe but closer to anger. The pyrokinetic has such precise control, Clarke is afraid of the potential of her power. That’s why Clarke tried to take her out of the equation by going after her one on one. The effect was not what Clarke intended. They both landed in the lake but the pyrokinetic’s long, stunning hair was dry and undisturbed. Clarke shivers through her thin canvas scrubs despite the heat.

Clarke does her best to evade them with her abilities, but her powers fail her for the first time. For a moment, she thought Bellamy may have warned them, but even if he did, no one can resist her power - so far.

Clarke is full of unease.

Clarke knows better than to be pulled into a false sense of security with Bellamy’s presence. Bellamy is a potential ally among the dominatrix corps, but Clarke is not about to make assumptions. She hasn’t seen him in years. He would never betray Octavia but he is also too trusting in general.

The pyrokinetic stands apart from the others, wearing exceptional control with remarkable ease. Obviously power and well respected but neither is a reason to trust someone. If anything, it is more reason to doubt good intentions, which Clarke doubts these newcomers have to begin with.

Bellamy has a spotty track record with authority figures, and this one was a woman to boot. Clarke felt a brief thrill of excitement for women kind and a pang of dread for herself.

The woman looks like the type to start a fire under people’s asses. A face fit to inspire both the righteous and the wicked to follow her questionable cause with nothing a turn of her head and a bat of her pretty eyelashes. Her firelight cast the forest of her curls in burnished bronze, dancing along her cascade of braids like a living thing.

Striking, to say the least.

Clarke refuses to be intimidated or --

“Bellamy, explain yourself,” growls the firestarter wrapped in all black leather.

Her tone holds clear authority - and pique. The leader of the newest cult of personality Bellamy has decided to fall into. She is also unaware of Bellamy’s only family - so he must not trust this woman very much, despite his apparent loyalties. He always goes off the rails without Octavia and Clarke to remind him that he matters.

Clarke already likes this one more than the last few, the wall of fire notwithstanding.

She is all legs and hair and Clarke is immediately and dangerously attracted, yet also afraid of the woman’s latent and foreboding energy. Dark slashes of makeup spike her face with shadows in the firelight, like black tears. Her careful, calculating stare burns right through Clarke. Her bright eyes are fixed, like she could not risk looking away for a moment or Clarke might bolt.

She is not wrong. Clarke is reconsidering it, even though one of her oldest friends stepped out from the trees wearing that same leather suit.

Bellamy coming to their rescue is too good to be true.

It has to be a trap, even if Bellamy is unaware of it. The only responsible choice is to run, but Octavia will never leave her brother now that they are reunited and any argument contrary is a losing battle and a waste of energy. Clarke is calm but doubtful - she will not go with these people just because Bellamy is one of them. She needs to stay oriented to the future if she wants to keep her friends alive.

Clarke watches the pyrokinetic watch, Bellamy and Octavia, talk in fervent rushes, in fits and starts, hugging intermittently, laughing uncontrollably. Clearly close and overjoyed to be together again. Clarke is surprised to see a hint of warmth in her gaze.

Something like grief tempered by joy softens the woman’s blazing eyes - a hint at a heart.

In the lake, she had Clarke within arm’s reach but chose not to attack. She just watched then too, watching Klark with big eyes. The woman that traps them here with threat of painful death is the same one keeps the heat of the fire from licking at their heels. The show of emotion at the Blake reunion is enough to derail Clarke’s meticulous plan and bring into consideration a more painless route.

Based on Clarke’s estimation, this benevolent dictator is a tall, dark, and gorgeous woman and potentially an important factor for their survival right now - if Clarke can keep her head clear and convince the woman not to turn Clarke and her people in. Clarke considers a way to spin the story of their capture without telling the truth of their mission —

“I’m sorry, Heda,” Bellamy gathers his resolve and speaks, “this is Octavia -- and Clarke.”

“You know the mission, Bellamy.”

“My little sister would ever hurt anyone, and neither would Clarke - there has to be some misunderstanding.”

The amazon of a woman raises an eyebrow, her gaze leaving Clarke only long enough to stare pointedly between Bellamy and the wreckage Octavia left in their wake. The force-field generator and the energy absorber bristle like feral cats but the tall, bald, handsome one Octavia attacked looks more willing to believe Bellamy than this Heda is. The word sounded like a title or an unusual last name and when she speaks, Clarke finds it suits her quiet dignity.

Clarke expects steel and receives silk.

“Your sister?” The quality of her voice changes, soothing as cool water, like it matters to her that Octavia matters to Bellamy. Heda’s frustration melts right out of her bright eyes. Her mouth turns into something more grudging but determined.

Clarke has a feeling that she was not going to like whatever fireworks are about to ensure.

“It’s not our place to question orders, the mission is the mission,” whatever hesitation Clarke saw in Heda, it seems to be repressed under a layer of duty, which Clarke would appreciate if it was not at her expense.

“And if the mission is wrong? Or misinformed? Lexa, we owe it to mutants to ask questions.”

Lexa Heda.

The name suits her graceful neck and proud posture.

Lexa looks unconvinced. Dubious at best. Likely considering the best way to talk Bellamy out of his foolishness. Clarke did not miss the way Lexa referenced a greater power - someone who sent them there on a mission to catch Clarke and her friends, their arrival timed perfectly with Clarke’s breakout window.

Clarke is dangerously low on options. She’s already used her power too much for one day. The original plan is still in motion, but they are quickly running out of time if they are going to pull of their escape. If Clarke still wants to escape. If it is in the best interest of her friends to attempt an escape.

The question is enough to make her head spin with the possibilities. The last thing she needs right now is to listen to her would-be captors debate the moral implications of their actions.

The vortex of flame roaring at their backs begins to quiet, the fierce inferno dying down to a soft ripple, like a fireplace the size of a movie screen. Like the smooth surface of a lake. Like the flutter of a red satin robe.

“It is a capture mission,” Lexa acquiesces like it was her idea, “so we will take them back to the mansion before we turn them over to the proper authorities,” she meets Clarke’s eyes again, like she was speaking to Clarke alone, “it is after five on a Friday, after all. I don’t want to ruin the commissioner’s weekend plans.”

Clarke is struck dumb by the sparkle of humor in Lexa’s eyes. Mischief without malice. Willingness to bend to begging or logic. Clarke can work with either. If Lexa tolerated Bellamy’s open insubordination on the grounds of family, she was either emotionally weak or soft-hearted. Either of which could be manipulated for Clarke’s benefit. For her friend’s survival. For the fate of all mutant kind.

Bellamy relaxes with an audible sigh, but the rest of Lexa’s boyband looked more uptight than their leather suits - even the handsome one drooling over Octavia. He is having a strange reaction to almost getting brained with a tree. Clarke supposes that there was no accounting for taste.

It sounds too easy to be true and Clarke isn’t the type to go quietly.

“You don’t seriously expect us to come with you, do you?”

Lexa turns her dubious eyebrow on Clarke and asks, “do you have a better option?”

It’s a fair question.

“How do I know we can trust you?”

“You don’t,” Lexa says, completely at ease, “decide.”

Clarke was surprised by Lexa’s decision, though she hoped for something similar. Clarke would do the same thing. Lexa is having doubts about her missions, wants to control an unknown element, and her turf is the best bet. If they learned something useful from Clarke and her friends, they have that knowledge in a vacuum, and it’s all the better for them, regardless of what side they fall on. Lexa will keep what she learns to herself if it is too valuable to hand over to the government.

Clarke has no plans on telling them anything.

“We’ll go with you.”

They are cuffed.

Octavia is visibly wounded by the precaution. She refuses to speak to her brother as Lexa leads them out of the forest, either back to their prison or to their ride. Octavia rips her arm from Bellamy’s grip when he tries to help her over roots and rocks. Lexa closes Clarke’s bind’s personally. Lexa’s warm hand grips Clarke’s bicep as she guides Clarke personally. Three balls of flame the size of basketballs hover over their heads, bobbing along to illuminate their path like fierce will-o-the-wisps.

They circle around the prison in a wide loop, too far to be spotted by the guards still casing the perimeter when Clarke hears it.

An ambient shift on the air, turning to a wind that buffeted the group.

An intermittent chopping sound echoes amongst the boughs.

It’s a familiar sound to Clarke - a helicopter

A lone spotlight shines through the trees, illuminating Clarke and Lexa before moving to case the rest.

“Are they with you?” Clarke has to shout at Lexa to be heard over the whirl of speeding wind blades.

Clark takes the surprised curl of Lexa’s exquisite brow as a resounding no .

A higher, tighter popping sound cuts through the hum of the rotor blades.

Clarke sees Lexa’s eyes bulge as little bursts of dirt spout from the forest floor in a row leading towards --

“Get down!”

Lexa screams a warning in Clarke’s ear a mere seconds before she tackles Clarke around the waist. Clarke makes contact with the forest floor of rocks and roots. They hit hard and the wind knocked out of her. Her ear rings from Lexa’s warning. Before Clarke can gain her bearings, two warm hands wrap around her chest under her arms and drag her bodily behind a tree.

Lexa props Clarke up against the trunk and quickly unlocked her restraints.

“Don’t be afraid, Clarke,” Lexa says, somehow knowing her heart, “you will be safe.”

“Echo!” Lexa yells to the one that cornered them on the beach where she is crouched behind a nearby tree, “take Lincoln and get them to the jet!”

The one Octavia chased into the bushes appears at Clarke’s side. His firm grip replaces Lexa’s hands around at Clarke’s arm. Octavia is already thrown over his opposite shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She’s screaming bloody murder while she pounds on his back with her fists and flails about in an attempt to kick him in the face. Clarke ducks to avoid getting the same treatment.

Lincoln tugs Clarke away but she turns as they go, looking for Lexa --

“Bellamy, Miller, on me!”

Lexa’s effect is completely changed from when she cornered Clarke in the woods. Back then, between the fire and the flames, Clarke saw sadness temper Lexa’s ire. The thrill of the chase tempered by the confusion of Clarke’s near-escape. Different from the lake, where Lexa had glistened like a water goddess yet started at Clarke like she was something to be worshipped.

As Lexa faces down the helicopter, Clarke sees nothing but unbridled fury.

Lexa’s hands begin to glow white-hot.

The world tilts unexpectedly and then Clarke is in Lincoln’s arms. She turns and he is too busy fighting Octavia to stop Clarke from leveraging against his shoulder to get a final look.

The last thing she sees is Lexa shrouded in flame with her face as peaceful as nightfall. Tress quickly obscure Clarke’s vision but she still watches for a potential glimpse through the trees.

Lincoln stops to pick up Monty on their way to Lexa’s jet. Octavia’s shoe collides with Lincoln’s face and he doesn’t flinch. Clarke winces in sympathy, though not overmuch as she suspects that he possesses some form of impermeability, along with the enhanced strength that allows him to carry Clarke, Octavia, Finn, and Monty at a jog without breaking a sweat.

In the distance, an explosion erupts, bringing and bright flash of light and compound force intense enough the shake the ground and knock Lincoln off his feet. Clarke topples off his shoulder for a long fall to the forest floor. With her hands free, Clarke is able to catch herself before she hits the ground. Clarke scrambles to catch Monsty and ends up using her body to cushion his landing. Clarke looks over Monty’s shoulder and sees the remains of a fiery plume bright enough to briefly bring of daylight to a midnight forest. Klark tries to blink away the spots in her eyes as she watches a great plume of dust rise into the cloudless sky, obscuring the stars.

The helicopter was gone.

“Come on,” Echo shouts, “Let’s go people!” She is pulling Emori and Murphy along behind her. Their hands are still bound and they stumble trying to keep up.

They don’t have to run long to find a break in the treeline. Clarke is greeted by the sight of a high-tech stealth jet painted a glossy black. The plane was razor-thin and angled to sharp points on every side for aerodynamic speed. Echo approaches the nose of the plane and a seamless, automatic gangplank lowers without a sound to touch the forest floor. It was incredibly advanced technology - and distantly familiar design.

Echo runs ahead, leaving Murphy and Emori with Clarke while Lincoln herds them up the ramp. The interior of the jet that looks more like a private chartered plane than a military aircraft. The plane is entirely open other than two rows of seats that line either side of the interior tube. Nothing blocks the cockpit off from the rest of the plane so Clarke watches Echo fire up the control panel. The jet powers up with the shrill sound Clarke associates with electric engines.

Lincoln chains her people to the seats. The jet has metal rings embedded into the floor for the precise purpose of threading chains through. Clarke was simultaneously grateful Lexa had unlocked her cuffs and furious that they would subject her people to such inhumane treatment.

“How did you,” Lincon bumbles when he comes to Clarke and finds nothing to secure her chains to.

“Lexa let me go.”

Lincoln stands in front of Clarke silently, like he is trying to figure out what he is supposed to do. Should he go against Lexa’s decisions and restrain Clarke, or she he let an unknown entity wander around his jet unrestrained?

Lincoln doesn’t get a chance to decide because Emori reaches for Lincoln and touches his exposed hand before Clarke can stop her.

“We should leave without them.”

“We should leave without them,” Lincoln parrots back to Emori with vacant eyes and a slack face.

Octavia’s expression grows thunderous at Emori’s actions. Finn leans back, eager to see what will happen next. Monty is concerned and probably dreading what Lincoln might do under Emori’s influence. Murphy watches his girlfriend’s handiwork with smug satisfaction.

“What are you doing?” Octavia snaps, “Bellamy is out there and this plane is the only way to get home! Those guys --

“Those guys had big ass guns, so Bellamy’s probably dead,” Murphy says, “you should start getting used to it now.”

“We’re not going home,” Emori expounds, “we’re going back to jail,” Emori holds up her bound hands as evidence, the chain grinds against the ring securing her to the floor. The look on her face speaks volumes.

Octavia doesn’t need her hands free to compress Murphy’s chest under the force of her gaze.

Clarke smacks Octavia’s thigh before she can suffocate Murphy with the strength of her rage.

“Murphy, do us all a favor and shut up for once in your life,” Clarke hisses. “We’re not going anywhere, unless you want to go back to the prison and turn yourself in.”

It is an out of character move for Clarke. She tries not to judge people based on their worst mistakes, and if she does, she is polite enough not to mention it. For all the shitty things Murphy has said over the rocky course of their long friendship, that is by far the most censure Clarke has ever given him in return. Murphy is wounded to hear it, like Clarke knew he would be. Hurt is about the only thing that can shut Murphy up other than Emori, who leaned her head on his shoulder to rest. She gets tired after using her power.

Speaking of

Clarke searches out the broad shoulders and shaved head of Lincoln. He is a few feet away and stumbling to the front of the plane as if in a daze. He’s walking like he’s drunk and it’s suspicious. Emori’s influence was so exceptional because the subject acted naturally even as they were compelled to act out Emori’s will. Somehow, Lincoln was fighting Emori’s mental suggestion. It must be something to do with his mutation.

“How is he doing that,” Octavia whispers to herself.

Lincoln leaned over the back of the pilot’s chair to speak Echo’s ear. Her long, nimble arms pause from where they are dancing over the expansive touch display control panel initiating the preflight checks. Echo takes one look at Lincoln and reacts almost too fast for Clarke to track. She is out of her chair in a second. Lincoln is stronger and taller but Echo’s sound mind has the advantage over his strength. A few hard blows and a long hold has Lincoln subdued under Echo’s weight.

Echo pins Lincoln to the wall of the plane face-first. She holds him there for a moment of indecision, then she pulls him around to face her. Echo winds up and punches Lincoln clear across the face. He goes down like a stone and hits the floor of the jet with plane-rattling force.

Octavia shrieks in outrage at the idea of someone hurting one of their own. She is not used to seeing infighting because Clarke refuses to tolerate violence of any kind. Evidently, Lexa’s people do things a little differently from how Clarke’s team chooses to operate.

Though, Clarke can see the utility in knocking someone out if they are under telepathic influence.

Finn catches Klark’s eye from across the plane. He mouths something to her.

Are you ok?

Clarke nods and leaves it at that. She didn’t get shot and they aren’t being brought directly to the Feds, so she is going to call today a win.

“Of course Bellamy is coming back,” Monty soothed Octavia over Clarke’s shoulder, “it’s Bellamy.” Murphy sighs in long-suffering exasperation. Finn shoots him a dark look that Murphy returns in equal measure. Emori is staring at Lincoln where Echo left him sprawled in the open space before the first seat.

As if on cue, Lexa, Bellamy, and Miller storm up the gangplank is a flurry of black leather and whipping hair.

Miller takes the copilot’s seat beside Echo. Lexa casts a single glance over her prisoners before she goes to stand between the captains chairs. Bellamy sits beside Octavia and begins the long-standing tradition of groveling for her forgiveness. Octavia is overjoyed to see him but quickly hides her happiness under a veneer of wounded irritation. She tries to get Bellamy to remove her restraints. Clarke can tell that Bellamy wants to oblige, but the glances he sends in Lexa’s direction indicate that she would not appreciate it and he doesn’t want to cross her.

Clarke wonders what makes her so special.

The X-Men have the jet in the air in a matter of moments. The plane lifts off the ground directly upright, barely wavering in the air before rocking forward in a single burst of impulse that pushed Clarke against the back of her seat. Somehow, Clarke kept her feet. Clarke knows only one engineer capable of dreaming up such advanced technology, not to mention building it. Raven would never work with a militant group like the X-Men - if she had a choice.

Clarke is increasingly concerned about their destination.

“Where are you taking us?”

Clarke’s question gets Lexa’s attention immediately.

“Home.”

Chapter Text

Lexa usually doesn’t utilize her abilities on missions. She was chosen for her position based on her leadership qualities, not the power of her mutation. It’s dangerous for Lexa to throw her power around. People can get hurt.

When the helicopter opened fires on them, all bets are off.

“Omega formation,” Lexa snaps quickly to Bellamy and Miller. They run simulations on the weekends precisely for this purpose, to explore potential disaster situations they’ll probably never be in but that Lexa wants to prepare for regardless. Better to be safe than sorry. Omega is one of the longest standing eventualities of Lexa’s strike team. A catch-all one-shot that should be their final option in any situation. The move requires a careful combination and subtle application of her team’s powers to pull it off.

It’s their best bet out in the boonies where they don’t have to worry about collateral damage.

Lexa isn’t willing to run the risk of any attackers surviving the crash and coming after her people with rapid-fire weapons.

Lexa gets stilted nods from her teammates and they move into position.

An almighty crack heralds the full-grown tree Bellamy throws into the air, close enough to graze the helicopter but not to knock out of the sky. More trees follow is quick succession, forcing the chopper to bank left and right to avoid getting hit.

A distraction.

Lexa faces Miller under the belly of the chopper, the only place they could avoid getting shot.

“You’re sure you can do this?”

“Piece of cake.”

A concentrated blast of intense, blue-tinged fire bursts from Lexa’s hands and hits Miller in the chest. The flames are sucked into Miller’s gravity in a diagonal pattern, creating the impression of rings of fire surrounding him while he absorbs the heat energy of Lexa’s flames.

“Now!”

Bellamy seizes a charged-up Miller in the hold of his telekinesis and launches his friend skyward. Miller hits the exposed underside of the chopper at the speed of a bullet.

The helicopter explodes in a hail of fire.

Bellamy catches Miller before the momentum can turn Miller into an impact crater. Bellamy lowers him gently to the ground beside Lexa.

They are sprinting away from the scene before shards of smoldering metal start raining from the sky.

When they made it to the clearing the jet is humming like instructed. Lexa leads the charge up the gangplank. Echo has the jet rising up off it’s wheels as soon as Lexa and the boys are safely inside.

Lexa finds Lincoln unconscious on the deck.

She can’t leave them alone for five minutes without something going sideways.

Lexa takes Lincoln’s co-pilot seat and levels Echo with a baleful look. Lexa comes out and asks, “why is Lincoln unconscious?”

“One of them put a whammy on him. I had to give him a hard reboot,” Echo says, entirely unapologetic.

“Wonderful,” Lexa says, resisting the urge to run an anxious hand through her braided hair. That’s bad news for Lexa.

Telepaths are tricky, intelligent, and can’t resist using their powers. Their potential is virtually limitless, anything from skimming surface thoughts to bringing someone completely under their thrall. It’s a rare gift in its most powerful form but relatively common in weaker forms of single-use telepathy. Ideally, they possessed some less threatening form like touch telepathy or one-to-one mind speech.

Lexa must attend to their guests. Miller quickly takes the copilot chair when Lexa vacates it and ventures to the back of the plane.

Clarke and her friends are huddled together on the benches. Handcuffs and chains secure them in place but they aren’t wearing seatbelts. Clarke is unsecured and her loose hands gently palpate the stomach of one of her companions. She unbuttons his jumpsuit and examines the bruising underneath. Moving for all like she has medical experience.

Clarke helps her companion like she doesn’t realize she is soaking wet and shivering.

Clarke wants to know where they are going and Lexa tells her.

Home.

The mansion is meant to be a sanctuary to mutants in need. Those too powerful, conspicuous, or dangerous to stay home. Those unwanted by their families or seeking a family of a different kind. Whatever Clarke and her friends have done, Lexa owes it to her people to ask questions before she shoots to kill. Before she gives Clarke and her friends over to people that will put them into a deep dark hole where no one will ever find them. The dossier Lexa received listed Clarke and her friends as highly dangerous. With an escape on their record, they’d be locked up somewhere even more secure than a prison deep in the Berkshires.

Bellamy claimed that his sister was falsely imprisoned. Lexa was curious to know what Clarke had to say. The anti-mutant sentiment in the country was rising a little more every day. It was possible that a biased judge could have acted out his prejudice on Clarke and her friends - turning a misdemeanor into a capital offense. If they didn’t deserve their fate, Lexa would fight on their behalf to change it.

Lexa is moving swiftly up shit creek without a paddle, a map, or even the vaguest sense of direction. Lexa spends most of her time trying to avoid hurting people with her powers and she just killed an unknown number of people in that chopper. It was self-defense, but that wouldn’t matter to their families. Technically, she also kidnapped a group of escaped prisoners. It was more than enough to be locked up herself. It is not nearly as bad as some things she has done on missions.

Lexa avoided that fate and was allowed to use her powers, under the supervision of Kane, a well-respected philanthropist, member of the Westchester city council, and a closeted mutant.

The only reason Lexa and her team were allowed free rein was because mutant lives are considered less valuable than human ones. The state doesn’t want to risk sending a human police officer against a mutant. They rather send civilian mutants to handle the problem than risk the negative PR problem inherent in mutants killing humans. Kane is going to shit a brick.

Lexa crossed her arms and planted her feet. The jet listed to the side and Lexa didn’t move. Her captives watched her carefully, looking for telegraphed movements in anticipation of violence. Lexa uncrossed her arms. She gathered her tension into her chest with a deep breath and let it out slowly, a breathing experience to keep Lexa relaxed and cool.

“Where are you really taking us?”

Lexa’s eyes wander to find the person that spoke. She lands on the man she kicked in the woods when she first found them. He establishes eye contact with Lexa and says again, “where are you taking us?”

“Murphy,” Clarke said in a firm voice, “Don’t.”

Lexa feels a small twinge in the back of her head. An itch crawls on her tongue. Lexa gives in to the compulsion to speak.

“Back home,” she says, “Arcadia Academy..”

Lexa told the truth when she said she was bringing them home. She didn’t have anywhere else to bring them other than the mansion. Kane and Abby would understand Lexa’s choice after Lexa explained what happened. An attack helicopter shooting at random isn’t exactly an everyday occurrence, even in their line of work. Due diligence is their best option at this point, considering Lexa was bringing them home, regardless.

It takes Lexa a long moment to register the manipulation.

“Is this what you did to Lincoln?” Lexa asks the man who can force others to tell the truth as if he will voluntarily admit to his own lies and therefore level the playing field.

“You were telling the truth,” Clarke says, impressed and slightly surprised.

“She does that,” Lincoln interjects with weak humor, lifting himself off the floor and rubbing his jaw. “What happened to me?”

“Sorry,” says the girl beside Murphy with the large facial tattoo, the lines too fine and precise for prison ink, “that was me. My influence would have worn off after you did what I told you to do.”

As if that made it better.

“I forgive you,” Lincoln says in his habitual wholesomeness. “What’s your name?”

“I didn’t apologize,” she says, blinking at him, her cynical glare eased out. “Emori,” she says like a defeat, slumping back in her seat.

“We don’t use our powers against each other,” Lexa says with finality. It’s their most important rule - fundamental to the operation of their mansion turned school.

“We’re not part of your eachother,” Octavia says.

“And the english language weeps,” says Monty, looking skyward with amused hopelessness.

“Bite me, Monty,” the two laugh together while Bellamy looks on.

“You could be,” Bellamy offers before Lexa can reply, “part of our team.”

“No thanks, we don’t need any Level 3 clowns slowing us down,” Octavia says with derision.

The stratification in the mutant community is getting worse from Lexa’s childhood. Those with the most power have the most privilege, even if that is relative at the bottom of the barrel. Usually, the power is social or political, but in the case of mutants, it’s literal. To hear such bigotry from the perspective of a teenager is not a good sign.

“Watch it, Octavia,” Bellamy says.

“This Level 3 could kick your ass any day of the week,” Lincoln says. He watches Octavia, a hand on his chest like she physically wounded him, but his expression is playful.

“Says the guy that ran away!”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You couldn’t if you tried!”

Lincoln and Octavia devolve into petty bickering. Lexa presses a thumb to her forehead, trying to stave off an encroaching migraine. These people are a little blasé for hardened criminals.

Lexa and Clarke have a lot to talk about before considering any of them for the mansion, nevertheless the team. She won’t deny that the team would really benefit from their powers, but trustworthiness is more important than ability. Lexa doesn’t know the odds of wrongful imprisonment, but it wasn’t exactly in Clarke’s benefit to pleading guilty. Lexa gave them a one-way ticket away from the prison and they immediately made use of their powers against her people. Lexa understands. They are afraid and acting out because of it. They didn’t know who Lexa is or what she and her people want from them. Lexa needs to level with them, person to person.

“Listen,” Lexa gets their attention, “I’m just a normal person. I’m a high school student, I play tennis, and I go to the movies with my little brother on the weekends,” Lexa says. Under normal circumstances, she never would’ve revealed Aden’s existence to potential enemies, but these were hardly normal circumstances and she was more worried about the enemies with machine guns than the ones chained up in her plane.

“What is this, speed dating?” Clarke’s truthsayer, Murphy, has an attitude. Lexa is above rising to his petty bait.

“My point is that we’re not going to hurt you and I’m assuming you want to know who was firing at us just now,” Lexa says, “or am I the only one concerned about the helicopter?”

“What did you do, by the way? I notice we’re full of holes yet,” Clarke says, “and I’m assuming we have you to thank for that?”

“We handled the problem,” Lexa replies, “It’s what we do. Are any of you going to be a problem?”

Six heads shake quickly.

Lexa nods in agreement as if sealing a silent deal before she settles into the seat opposite Clarke. She didn’t bother with the belt. It was a short flight.

“Are you cold?”

Lexa directs this question at Clarke alone, her voice lowered as if they are in private.

“A little,” Clarke says around her chattering teeth.

Lexa holds out a hand to help focus her firepower. If Lexa concentrates hard enough, she can effect changes in temperature down to the degree. The act requires precise accuracy and total surety of thought. Lexa once boiled the lake behind the mansion by accident during training. It was a special kind of hell to see a generation of frogs go belly up because she lacked finesse.

Gentle steam rises from Clarke’s shoulders - the water evaporating out of the cotton fibers of her clothes. A few seconds pass and Clarke is perfectly dry, her hair taking on a slight curl in the aftermath. She comes by her blonde honestly and the golden tones carry to her skin. Clarke is beautiful, even in the soul-sucking orange of her prison jumpsuit.

“Thank you,” Clarke says softly, marveling at her dry clothes. Monty reaches over her shoulder and thumbs the corner of Clarke’s collar to find it dry.

“Wow,” Monty says, “that’s seriously impressive.”

Lexa smiles at him and makes a snap decision. Someone has to engender a little bit of trust. She fished the key from her pocket.

“I need to know I can trust you,” Lexa says to Clarke. The handcuffs would be too conspicuous at the mansion anyway. Lexa may as well remove them now, especially if releasing them can engender some trust.

“We trusted you when we got on this plane, no questions asked,” Clarke says, her eyes alight at the idea of her friends being released, “trust goes both ways.”

It’s enough for Lexa. She goes to each of Clarke’s friends in turn to undo their restraints. She collects the handcuffs and chains and returns them to the lockbox behind the cockpit. Lex tries to ignore the incredulous, disbelieving looks that follow after her, threatening to burn holes in the back of her suit.

“We’re coming up on the mansion,” Echo says to Lexa over her shoulder, “the front door is wide open.”

The welcoming committee. The team was off-time and went radio silent. They are probably in trouble.

Echo swings the jet around to line up with the retractable basketball court and hovers there a moment. Sure enough, the huge mental panels are out of the way, giving them full access to the dock. Echo eases up on the thrusters and slowly lowers the jet into the bay. The plane touches down with the barest whisper of movement. Lexa instructs Echo to stay behind and initiate the power down procedure.

The gangplank lowered and Lexa led the way. Her footsteps echo in the cavernous space of the jet bay. The room is large enough to house the jet and the two previous prototype models with a generous amount of empty space.

Raven is waiting at the bottom of the ramp, dressed in her grease-stained coveralls and her hands tucked into her pockets. Mercifully, she is the only one awake in the earliest hours of the morning and she hasn’t sounded the alarm. The engineer’s critical eye surveyed her bird for the slightest dent or scratch.

Satisfied that Lexa didn’t damage her precious jet plane, Raven greets Lexa with a curt nod.

“I saw you coming up on the sensors,” Raven says by way of explanation, “you’re back early.”

“We ran into a bit of a problem on the mission,” Lexa says, hesitant to go into more detail.

Raven would be invited to the debrief as the resident Engineering teacher and the tech designer for the X-Men. All of the teachers that taught Lexa and were her mentors would be present when she explained to them why she screwed up her mission so badly.

Lexa settles on, “I’ll explain later.”

Raven nods agreement though she is undoubtedly curious. She looks at Lexa with a critical eye, equal parts amused and suspicious. Lexa is about to ask about the new fireproof suit Raven is making for her when Raven’s gaze flicks over Lexa’s shoulder. Her eyes bulge at what she sees. Lexa turns to look at what surprised Raven, but she only sees Clarke helping her friend Murphy down the ramp. He’s not bleeding externally, but Lexa probably did a number on his soft tissue.

“I’m gonna go get Abby,” Raven says.

No one was severely injured and Lexa hadn’t had a chance to tell her about the chopper yet but if the smartest person in the room said they needed Abby, they probably needed Abby. Lexa respects Raven, likes her for her unflappable nature and take-no-shit attitude. Lexa just nods.

Raven high-tails it out of the jet bay.

Lexa walks back to where her team is congregating with their fugitive house guests. First thing first, getting them dressed in something that wasn’t so conspicuous. The kids would ask enough questions come morning, they didn’t need the sordid details.

“Let’s get you guys a change of clothes,” Lexa says. She leads the way to the gym, guiding them through the sterile white halls of the mansion’s lower levels. The space was mostly dedicated to housing the jet, the research labs, and the Danger Room.

“What’s this?” Asks Monty pointing to the floor-to-ceiling double doors that opened into the Danger Room.

“Training facility,” Lexa says, adding nothing to suggest the lethal extent of the machinery housed within. Raven designed all of the scenarios Lexa and her team ran through in the Danger Room, including all the highly sophisticated robots that posed at their opposition. “Very dangerous.”

Echo snickers behind Lexa in a way that was distinctly mocking. Lexa holds open the door to the gym. Inside are a full-sized jogging track and three racquetball courts. The doors along the back wall lead to the showers, the steam room, and the washing room. Lexa directs Clarke's friends to the showers and catches Clarke by the door.

“Industrial washers are in the back room,” Lexa directs Clarke toward the third set of doors. “There should be piles of clean sweats to choose from.”

Miller, Bellamy, and Echo go to their lockers and begin the painstaking process of removing a molded polyurethane leather suit. Lexa would wait to change until everything was squared away and she actually had a chance of sleeping. And is alone. It ignoble to cut the suit off herself but he has no choice. Raven has yet to design a material that doesn’t partially melt when Lexa uses her fire.

Lexa’s team linger after changing out, waiting beside her for Clarke and her friends to remerge. Explaining their presence to Kane was going to be awkward. Lexa hopes the mysterious helicopter is enough to distract Kane from their temporary houseguests. Mansion rules say each student is only allowed one friend over at a time. They were a person short. Maybe Raven would be willing to claim one of them. Lexa is not a fan of breaking the rules, even if they were arbitrary. Only when it was right.

Right is relative.

One thing Lexa knows for sure is that a uniform isn’t it. Lexa belied thinking of the chief of police’s reaction when they don’t drop the fugitives off at the nearest sheriff's department. The Governor’s office would also have words, but his complaints are mostly strongly worded letters. Lexa is confident that they can get away with it for at least the weekend. That is if Kane and Abby didn’t freak out. Lexa is going to have to play on their good-natured.

Clarke’s friends gather just outside thee as room doors, a reasonable distance from Lexa’s team by the lockers. Enough to have a private conversation at least. Clarke is the last to come out and when she does, she makes a beeline for Lexa. Lexa tries not to tense as Clarke moves to stand in front of her, close enough to touch.

“So, Lexa, who pulls your strings?” Clarke asks. Her tone is brisk and her mouth pulled tight but her eyes are simply tired.

“Excuse me?” Lexa says.

“Who runs this place,” Clarke amends, “I want to talk to the person in charge.” She crosses her arms and plants her feet apart, determined in body and in mind. This is a woman used to getting her way on wit and charm, and when that didn’t work, stubbornness and the sheer force of her will pulled it off.

Clarke didn’t have to try that hard with Lexa.

“The mansion is owned by a man named Marcus Kane, and it was used as a home until he converted it into a boarding school for mutant kids,” Lexa says.

“Only mutants?”

“Only mutants. Mostly kids who wouldn’t be safe in their own hometowns or got kicked out by their parents for their gifts,” Lexa says.

“Their gifts,” Clarke says with insinuation, “is that the way you see mutation?”

“If it weren’t a gift, it’d be a curse and I don’t want to live that way,” Lexa says.

It’s taken Lexa her lifetime to come to terms with her ability to manifest fire with her emotions. One of the most dangerous forces on the planet in the hands of a little girl with no idea how to control the heat coming from within. How to keep from burning everything she loved down to the ground. She figured it out, but not in time to save her parents when Lexa burned down her childhood home. She was able to save Aden, and her little brother kept Lexa on the path to control instead of more death. Lexa curse killed her parents but her gift saved Aden.

“What if you don’t get to decide?” Clarke says. She turns a hollow-eyed stare on Lexa and Lexa can feel the weight Clarke carries on her shoulders. The weight of the world is far too heavy a burden to bear alone. The air between them is equally weighted.

“There is always a choice,” Lexa says reflexively as if she’s giving Aden advice about dealing with bullies. Clarke means greater choices, the kind of choices that affect more people than just herself.

“There is always a choice and some of those choices are painful,” Lexa amends. Lexa looks at Clarke and picks out darker flecks of sapphire in her eyes, “we are measured by how much can endure and remain relatively whole.”

Clarke stares at Lexa then, in the way an artist would stare at a great masterpiece. As if Lexa were a unique curiosity and Clarke needs to know more. The unbroken eye contact carries on as Lexa searches Clarke’s face for clues to the suffering that brought her to this point, for hints her soul in the form of laugh lines and the little scar under her eyebrow. Lexa’s eyes trace the downturn of her lip at rest and the subtle array of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Lexa’s mouth is dry. She licks her lips.

Lexa takes a step forward.

Clarke blinks and the moment is broken.

Lexa steps back, further than before. She needs to get a glass of water. Aware of Lexa’s rigid hydration schedule, laid down by Abby, Bellamy tosses Lexa a water bottle.

Clarke’s friends surround her like they were waiting for Lexa to leave Clarke’s side. Clarke hugs each of them in turn, every hug longer than the last until they’re all just holding onto each other.

Lexa got the feeling that she and her team are watching something significant.

They did just successfully escape prison, after all. A moment of celebration and a big deep breath of free air. Lexa has no idea what they’ve gone through, the conditions inside the facility they were held in, the violence involved in taking them into custody. The psychological damage of being branded and criminal and shoved through the meat grinder of the court system. Lexa has no desire to heap more trauma onto their plate, but she needs to look after her own people first. Lexa doubted that the helicopter snipers were there for the X-Men alone.

Speaking of --

Lexa walks back to Clarke’s group, bracketed by Lincoln and Miller. Lexa addresses Clarke and her friends but maintains a reasonable distance afforded to houseguests rather than prisoners.

“What were you in for?”

“We’re eco-terrorists,” Bellamy’s sister, Octavia volunteers readily. Bellamy lingers by his sister, who staunchly ignores him. She has a fearsome gift and a smart mouth and Lexa likes her. Bellamy looks down to avoid Lexa’s gaze and rubs his hands together anxiously. Lexa needs to get Bellamy alone as soon as possible. Ideally, before debrief. The gym was no place for that kind of conversation.

“Eco-terrorists?” That gets Echo’s attention. Terrorism is a pretty touchy buzzword in this day and age. Arguably, it’s the only thing worse than being a serial killer or a member of the KKK.

“We’re environmental advocates thank you very much,” says the young Asian man standing behind Octavia.

He’s dressed similarly to the others, sweats in a hundred shades of grey, all of them embroidered with the Arkadia Academy crest. A pair of goggles hung around his neck. So far, his mutation, other than Clarke’s, is Lexa’s last wild card. It’s impolite to ask outright for the nature of his mutation, but Lexa is getting to that point.

“Semantics, Monty,” Octavia says over him over her shoulder.

“Important semantics!”

“Cool it guys,” Clarke says, addressing Lexa directly, “we were falsely convinced.”

“No, were weren’t,” says Murphy, the boy with greasy hair and beady eyes that forced Lexa to tell the truth. He’s the one that received first aid from Clarke. He made Lexa’s skin crawl. He spoke up from where he sat on the floor of the gym. The girl that influenced Lincoln, Emori, is crouched next to him, gently twisting the ends of his hair.

“Technically, we did blow something up,” pipes up the guy that can shoot lasers out of his eyes, and who is likely the person responsible for said explosion. He is wearing a pair of dark red-tinted sunglasses and Lexa has a feeling that they weren’t a fashion statement.

“That was an accident, Finn,” Clarke says, giving Lexa an apologetic look. Whether she was apologizing for the unknown explosion of the words of her friends, Lexa had no idea.

“It was kind of,” Monty interjects. “Mistimed?”

“It was a fertilizer plant and no one was hurt,” Clarke intercedes to deescalate the situation, “no people were around for miles. We were convicted of trespassing and destruction of government property. Come trial day, the judge gave all of us life, Lexa, for a nonviolent crime.”

“Did you blow anything else up?”

“We don’t hurt people, Lexa, we’re trying to save them. We’re a militant environmental activist corps. We destroy industrial plants and manufacturing facilities. We disable demolition equipment and interrupt the supply chain. The land is being polluted. The planet is dying and it is affecting real people. People are starving to death, Lexa. Not just across the ocean but here, in America.”

“How does interrupting the supply chain help people in need?”

“Inconveniencing the billionaire class is how it started. It became so much more than that.”

“Define ‘much more,’” Echo says suspiciously.

“We had seen so much bad we knew we had to do something about it.”

The idea of turning Clarke over to the state is increasingly distasteful.

The gym door opens with a loud bang, starting those within. Raven and Abby made their way over to Lexa. Their resident nurse was dressed in pajamas and carrying her first aid bag. Abby immediately noticed the newcomers, and took critical stock of them, as she did everyone who came through the mansion. Abby is fiercely protective of all the students at the school, almost like a surrogate mother to the younger kids. Abby pauses where she would usually start fishing kids out to examine with her playful smile. A look of surprises comes over Abby’s face and the strap of her bag slips off her shoulder and falls to the floor.

Lexa is confused, she thought Raven would have filled her in.

Abby slowly walks forward, not taking her eyes off of Clarke’s friends -- Clarke in particular. Her arms hover in the air like she wants to touch Clarke but is afraid that she’ll find only air. Tears wet Abby’s eyes and collect, glistening, before streaming freely down her cheeks.

“Clarke?”

A noise escapes Abby, someone between oh and a disbelieving laugh. Abby wraps her arms around Clarke. Her joyful sobs are muffled into Clarke’s shoulder.

“Mom?”

It a few seconds pass before Clarke returns the embrace.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Mom.”

Chapter Text

“What on earth were you thinking?”

Lexa is sitting in the same chair used for detentions and it feels appropriate. Her mentor, and Arkandia’s head administrator, pacing the floor in front of her. Kane is dressed in a matching navy pajama set complete with sleep cap, the end caught merrily in the breeze of Kane’s movement. He had plenty of space to move in his office. The room was typical for the mansion the buildings of its time; cathedral ceilings, gigantic rooms, and exterior made entirely of carved stone. The building was old and therefore cold and drafty. The unnecessarily grand fireplace set across from Kane’s ornate desk burns brightly. Lexa lets herself be soothed by the tamed blaze purring softly against her senses.

Indra, associate headmaster, and teacher of the combat courses stands beside Kane’s desk. Her arms are crossed and the air surrounding her is distinctly disapproving. She was dressed for the day like she never went to bed, her eyes keeping the same keen focus as any other day.

Kane was in full-out lecture mode. Lexa would be there for a while. It’s best to settle in.

Lexa sat quietly, half-attentive, half drifting in the memory of Clarke's face after Lexa evaporated the water soaking her clothes and hair - warmer than the sun.

“You blatantly ignored the parameters of your mission and in doing so you have endangered the lives of everyone in Westchester, not just Arkania Academy! You knowingly brought dangerous fugitives into a school full of children. They are violent criminals and we are in no position to protect ourselves from a threat within our own home. The students are supposed to feel safe, not rubbing elbows with escaped convicts. I’m so disappointed in you Lexa. I thought you knew better than this, I thought I taught you better than this,” Kane pauses in his vehement tangent to gather himself, heaving a disappointed sigh as he runs a stressed hand through his sleep-disturbed hair. He looks at her with accusation and expectation.

It’s Lexa’s turn to make her case.

She is confident she can get Kane to see reason. Whether she can survive his catastrophizing is another story.

“The dossier we were given was wrong. I have an obligation to seek the truth,” Leksa says.

Honesty is one of the school’s oldest rules and an honor code Lexa tries to live by. Integrity. It is the reason Lexa’s willing to go out on a limb for Clarke and her friends. There’s a chance that they are telling the truth and didn’t deserve what they got and Lexa can’t turn her back on them. On Clarke.

“What about your obligation to your team, your classmates, and every mutant living under this roof?”

“They aren’t violent,” Lexa says, sure, “if they were, I wouldn’t be here. With their abilities, they could have overpowered my team and taken the jet at any point. They could have left us stranded, or worse. Something is wrong here, Kane. I can feel it.”

The fire blazing in the fireplace responded to Lexa’s feelings, growing double in size and heat. The flames bobbed in the still air, motion accelerated despite the unchanged room. Someone people need their hands or eyes to focus their abilities. Lexa can hold fire in her hands but she’s never needed to. Her mind is the only tool required for her mutation.

“What I feel, is loathing and anger,” Kane replies, “and it’s not coming from my students.”

“You can’t judge someone solely on empathy.”

“There are other factors.”

“Like what?”

“You know what I mean, Lexa,” Kane long ago perfected his look of abject disapproval. “You are putting me in an impossible position.”

“We need to do something,” Lexa insists, refusing to be cowed by his disappointment, unwilling to let him lead the conversation. “We can’t just sit back and watch this happen.”

“What am I supposed to do about this?” Kane asks Lexa rhetorically, “we made a promise to the state department when then X-Men started going on missions. We agreed that we would follow the letter of the law and get involved only when the police contact us directly and request our help. Having you guys out there at all is still probationary! A mistake like this, and no mutant will be allowed to use their power in public for fun nevertheless for helping people. We have to be the ones that set an example -- Lexa!”

Lexa jerks to attention from where her mind had wandered to - the drops of water that had dripped, dripped, dripped, off the edge of Clarke’s hair under the moonlight on the lake. Far more interesting than the grinding gears of the government. Kane tends to get political when he’s angry and prone to long digressions. Lexa spends a lot of her class time disassociating. It is a bit of a problem.

Clarke made her feel focused - grounded in the moment. Present in her thoughts and in tune with herself and her powers. Lexa is willing to go to bat for Clarke. Kane usually he. What he wants because he’s stubborn. Lexa could give a master class in obstinence.

“Lexa,” Indra warns from her corner of perpetual judgment. Indra’s pointed glance warns Lexa not to unsettle an already precarious situation by mouthing off or zoning out. Indra’s arched eyebrow tells Lexa to apologize and go to bed. As Kane’s associate headmaster, she is the big stick to go with his usually quiet voice. Indra is the authoritarian in the house and it’s appropriate considering she teaches government and combat classes for every age group.

“Are you even listening?” Kane is exasperated, both up his hands help palm up in from of Lexa, empty, like she had given him nothing to hold - nothing to work with. Like she backed him into a corner with the state and created a bureaucratic nightmare the likes of which no one has seen before and likely will never see again. Lexa needs to remind herself that she is under Kane’s guardianship, which means all of her messes fall on him to clean up. Normally, Lexa would be suitably ashamed, beg for forgiveness, and shuffle off to bed, but this scenario was different.

These enemies were people Bellamy knew personally - and now Abby too - it would not be a simple thing to hand them over to the government and look the other way.

If keeping families together isn’t enough, someone is trying to kill them.

“I’m listening,” Lexa says, “and I can explain.”

Lexa pays attention to the things that matter.

“Well,” Kane scoffs, “I’m interested to hear what you’ve come up with.”

Kane crosses his arms and leaned back against his desk beside Indra. If he had a mug in his hand, to glare over the rim at Lexa, he would be the picture of academic disapproval.

He wants to hear the story

“After we apprehended the fugitives we were fired upon by an unknown assailant. A single helicopter with what looked to be a Mini-gun mounted on either side. At least four men in blacked-out fatigues. I had to use Omega Formation to escape without injury or loss of life on our side.”

Because that is Lexa’s mission. Her responsibility as a leader: to keep her people alive.

The alarm and concern on Indra’s face morphed into a mixture of sadness and pride. Indra does not take loss of life lightly, but she is a warrior through and through, and fiercely protective of the students at the academy. No one had more mutant pride than the goddess of storms. Indra is the only Class 5 mutant in the mansion - other than Lexa.

Kane sighs so deep and long, like a balloon deflating.

Lexa knows Kane well, and his mind is currently battling between addressing the inexplicable violence or going off on another philosophic rant that doesn’t help the situation. Lexa has a feeling he’ll table the moral grey area of fatal self-defense in favor of the more theoretical conflict.

“You mean on the mutant side,” Kane says as he fell on the latter side, his voice edged. He is a teacher as much as a headmaster and his focus is ethics and philosophy. He has a lot of opinions about human and mutant equality and he is not hesitant to share. He also abhors violence with a passion that borders on willful ignorance.

“I don’t think mutants were shooting at us from that helicopter, so sides are irrelevant,” Lexa says, “but if it has to be that way, then yes, the mutant side. I don’t take life lightly, Kane, you know that. The shooters were people, same as me -- I know it better than they did -- I’m not just going to forget that I killed them. That is something I have to live with, but I’m not going to let that distract me while the justice system steamrolls mutants that need our help.”

“They are criminals Lexa,” Kane says, “they are beyond our help. Justice has already been served.”

“No system is perfect,” Lexa says, deliberately quoting Kane from their last philosophy class regarding the structure of society and how communities and governments come to be. He said that a system is put in place because a system feels better than chaos. The system will work the way it was intended, if not always the right way. The system can easily function the wrong way if people are hell-bent on making it so. Exploitation as violence.

“People slip through the cracks all the time. The innocent are imprisoned on false or extortionate charges and the guilty are privileged or rich enough to go free. That doesn’t have to happen to these people. We have a chance to help them,” Lexa said, bordering on pleading. She is willing to sacrifice her dignity for Clarke’s well-being, choosing not to analyze that motive.

“Lexa, we can’t just do whatever we want! They are fugitives, and harboring them here is a crime. I cannot risk this school being shut down over something like this. They can’t stay,” Kane says, adamant.

“Fine,” Lexa says. “At least tell the Commissioner they escaped our team.”

Kane is surprised. He didn’t expect her to give up so easily.

She isn’t. Lexa is already working on a plan. She and Aden were bequeathed the house in her parent’s will. Their family home just outside of Westchester boundaries. It was a burned-out husk after the accident, but Lexa poured most of her parent’s life insurance money into fixing it up, good as new. The manor stood empty while Aden and Lexa were at the mansion for the school year. The building was visited only by a housekeeper who came by once a month to do the dusting.

It is the perfect place to hide fugitives. In plain sight and behind closed doors.

If the police Commissioner comes looking at the mansion, he will find no trace of them. Lexa can burn their jumpsuits to nothingness and no one in the house would volunteer information to the cops. Lexa can already picture the pinched look on the Commissioner’s face like someone literally shoved a stick up his ass.

Lexa has bigger problems than the Commissioner’s mood.

The gunmen, in particular. They were another story entirely. Sent by an unknown party and working with unknown but likely vast resources. Lexa figured they were targeting Clarke and her friends. The X-Men had a mission earlier in the week, just as remote, where the gunmen could have picked them off. Lexa had a feeling that the X-Men were the wrench in the gunmen’s works. If so, they were already aware that their people are dead and are likely moving on to the next phase in their plan. Lexa needs to stay one step ahead.

They could have tracked the jet, even if Raven says it’s impossible. They could have a mutation that allows them to follow something like scent or power signature. There were too many variables. Lexa needs to move them soon - before the gunmen attack the mansion looking for Clarke. Lexa didn’t know if she could prevent another massacre considering they’d already seen her strongest attack.

Lexa wondered how the news would explain the incident. Lexa wonders if the news would cover it at all. Whoever can call in an unmarked chopper and opened fire in US airspace had to have some significant sway behind them. Someone with a whole lot of money and a grudge against mutants to the point where they hired trained killers.

Why Clarke in particular? What was so important about Clarke and her friends that someone felt the need to kill them?

“I’m not sure if I’m comfortable lying to the Police Commissioner,” Kane says.

“So you plan on telling him about the unmarked helicopter that tried to kill us?”

Kane’s silence means his doubt. He had no idea how to explain what happened and he wasn’t going to put the city on high alert whilst harboring fugitives. Lexa has to entertain the possibility that the Commissioner was behind the attack, with his access to resources and knowledge of their mission.

“Do you have any other information?”

“No, I was too busy running for my life,” Lexa says, trying to impart the significance of the encounter.

You’re alive, aren’t you?” Indra chimes in, no tolerance for theatrics. Lexa sends her a halfhearted glare.

“Indra?” Kane defers to her opinion often when his moral made it difficult for him to make a decision.

“We should keep this to ourselves until we know more,” Indra says, “don’t think of it as lying. Think of it as omitting the truth.”

“Omitting the truth is tantamount to lying,” Kane says in his best educator voice.

“Everybody lies, at least we’re doing it in service of a greater cause,” Lexa says, with an edge of irritation. Kane was putting up a weak fight but Lexa could see the uncertainty in him. He was noble enough to shoot himself in the foot to do what he views as the right thing. Getting Clarke and her friends out of the house would be twice as difficult with the Commissioner breathing down their necks.

“We don’t know the role of the police in this attack,” Indra says, “for all we know, the police are in on it. We cannot make a move until we know who we’re dealing with.”

Kane looks unconvinced.

“Before we make a decision, we need to talk to Clarke about this,” Lexa says. It’s only fair, and she may have some idea of who was after them.

“Clarke?” Kane’s voice is soft, tinged with disbelief.

“Clarke Griffin,” Lexa says, trying out the name and finding she likes the sound. “She represents the fugitives in the memo. Bellamy’s sister Octavia is one of them as well. Bellamy has reason to suspect that everything is not on the up and up with this mission. You should hear them out before you decide anything.”

Kane isn’t listening anymore. He is out the door and down the stairs.

Abby and Raven are still with Clarke and her friends in the gym. Lexa has trouble keeping up with came as he races downstairs, turning corners fast enough for his cap to fly off his head. Lexa snatched the triangular hat out of the air before it could hit the ground and carried on after Kane, stride unbroken. It takes a few minutes to get back downstairs. Kane plows through the gym’s push open door and Lexa manages to catch it.

Inside is like a garden party. Everyone is sitting in a circle on the floor with a pile of snacks and soda cans in the middle. They are laughing and gesturing wildly, having what seemed like a hundred different conversations, punctuated with laughter and faux-outrage of long-time friends. Lexa picks Clarke out of the crowd right away. She is sitting next to Abby. Abby is stroking her daughter's hair but Clarke - Clarke is sitting ram-rod still, not reacting to Abby’s gentle affection. Her eyes dart from side to side, looking everywhere except at her mother.

Clarke notices Lexa, her lips twitching in what could be a smile. She refocuses on Kane and her mouth goes slack. One of her hands shoots out to smack Monty on the shoulder. He’s holding a bowl of hot soup and Clarke’s strike spills the bowl into his lap and he swears a blue streak. It’s enough to get the rest of the group’s attention.

“Marcus Kane,” Murphy says, hands cupped around his mouth for volume. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Clarke,” Kane says, breathless with disbelief, “John.”

“It’s been a while,” Raven says from her place on the outskirts of the group. She lingers next to Finn, holding one of his hands between both of hers.

“It has,” Kane says, seemingly dazed as he embraces Monty.

Lexa watches her mentor mix like an old friend with the people he called criminals not a minute previously. Lexa was taken aback, to say the least. Indra lingers over Lexa’s shoulder, an outsider, like Lexa, watching a dynamic she is not a part of. Lexa didn’t even know Abby had a daughter. Indra's daughter, Gaia, at the mansion but left a few years ago to attend college

“Clarke,” her mother sputters again, lost for words and voice, “Clarke.”

“Mom,”

Abby’s arms wrap around Clarke tight. She smells like lavender, the same Clarke remembers from her childhood - from the last time they hugged, the day Clarke left for college a handful of years ago. Tears prick at Clarke’s eyes but she forces them down.

“I missed you more than anything.”

The last thing Clark expects to find at Lexa’s home base is the family she left behind. Clarke carries Abby’s disapproval with her like a backpack full of rocks, weighing her down in moments when she needed to run and fight. Kane’s disappointment is a lighter weight but not less distracting. Clarke turned her back on these people a long time ago.

A warm welcome is outside of Clarke’s understanding. The others are all too happy to see a familiar face. Clarke is reserving her judgment until she gets some answers.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean, sweetheart? I’m their medic. You wouldn’t believe what these kids get into during their training sessions,” Abby says cheerfully, like it wasn’t at all strange that she was a glorified school nurse with a PhD who did her residency at John's Hopkins.

“You’re not just a doctor Mom, you’re a surgeon.”

“The hours were getting to be too much for me, and after everything,” Abby says, trying not to make Clarke feel bad but obviously referencing her daughter’s disappearance, “I needed a slower pace. I enjoy my work, Clarke, I really do. The students are wonderful and a real joy to be around.”

“Yeah, right. Your job was so important to you that you missed my college graduation and my high school graduation,” Clarke says, oblivious to the listening ears around them. Mom stiffened, her lips thinning out, her tells before conflict erupted, Clarke’s warning not to push her too far.

“My life changed when you were gone Clarke, I had to adapt,” Abby says.

“How long have you been here?”

“Five years, give or take. Why?”

Clarke scoffed.

“What?”

“Didn’t take you long to find new kids.”

“Clarke - that’s not fair.”

“I’m not there for a few years and you have to find someone else to micromanage and neglect at the same time.”

“Clarke! I did what I had to do to take care of our family. I thought you understood that. I was only trying to take care of you.”

Turning someone in is a hell of a way to take care of them. Clarke doesn’t know what her mother was looking for. Forgiveness? Clarke isn’t selling at the moment. Resentment built up between them long before Clarke went to school and found her calling, with which her mother has a serious problem. Abby Griffin doesn’t understand the need to advocate for people who aren’t exactly like her, who have been born into and forced to survive worse conditions. The mutants living on the street because no one will hire them, or rent to them, or tolerate their presence in public areas. She should understand. Abby once used her suspended animation to save a coding patient that wouldn’t have made it into surgery. The patient had been ungrateful and threatened to sue the hospital. The hospital called a review board to decide if she deserved to keep her job. Abby managed to retain her position by the skin of her teeth, with considerable restrictions.

“Maybe I didn’t need you to take care of me. Maybe I just needed you to listen,” Clarke says softly.

Tears glisten in Abby’s eyes while she stutters for something to say.

Lexa interrupts, something about finding them rooms.

Clarke is more than willing to walk away from her mother with a vague promise to talk tomorrow.

Clarke follows Lexa down the gilded halls of Arkadia Academy. The place reeks of money, from the busts mounted on pillars outside the elevators to the gold flake on the running boards. Beautiful pieces of wooden furniture were settled in small alcove windows and the walls were covered in a luxurious wallpaper. On every wall hangs a painting, a tasteful distance apart. Some of them resembled old classics Clarke studied during her brief time studying for a bachelor's in art history. Lexa takes them to the highest floor. Apparently, the wing is being renovated and houses no other students at the moment.

The elevator opens and Clarke is greeted with a ply-wood floor and a bunch of white walls. The paintings are wrapped and propped in a corner and plastic tarps are thrown over the decorative furniture. Skeleton lights hang from the ceiling and large lamps are spread out across the floor.

“Your rooms are through here,” Lexa passes beyond a hanging plastic tarp hanging at the end of the landing.

That was a little murder-y but Clarke is officially trapped here. The last thing she was expecting was her mom working in this mysterious facility, but now that Mom had seen her she might as well make the most of whatever dark hole they want her to crouch in. Clarke pushes the tarp aside and walks through.

The other side was a hallway, identical to those she passed downstairs. The carpet was intact, the walls were artfully decorated and everything had a lavish and scholarly energy. It was the definition of a posh boarding school. Somewhere too expensive for Clarke to attend even with a doctor and engineer for parents, and Clarke was born far better off financially than most. The vast majority. The privilege she was born with was one of the major motivations that pushed Clarke towards her particular brand of advocacy. She wanted everyone to live with the security she knew growing up.

“Miraculously, there are six rooms in this hall, one for each of you,” Lexa said,

Clarke takes the room left over when John and Finn were done fighting over the best view. Emori joined Murphy is his room. Monty went straight to bed, exhausted from the running and the terror of a near-death experience. Finn disappears with Raven and Clarke is not the least bit surprised. Octavia was still with Bellamy somewhere in the mansion.

Clarke is alone like she had been in solitary.

The mansion is an infinitely different environment.

It actually worked. She got them out. They’re free -- relatively speaking.

They’re not in prison and that is what Clarke wanted most for her people.

Clarke is alone for maybe a minute when a knock precedes Lexa’s entrance. She didn’t wait for Clarke to let her in. Lexa’s presence takes up the room and all of Clarke’s attention. She is so aware of Lexa’s body in space, how far apart they were, how close to touching.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Lexa says, “you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Is that what Kane decided?”

“No. He is on the fence about turning you in. I’m not. I’m getting you guys out of here tomorrow night,” Lexa says, all certainty and control. Clarke wonders if anyone has ever said no to Lexa.

“Getting us out? Out of what?”

The mansion isn’t exactly a cess-pool, or a prison cell.

“The mansion,” Lexa says, “I have somewhere to hide you.”

Admirable and downright swoon-worthy. Lexa is too good for this world and Clarke wants -- If only it was that simple. The Commandos would come back around with a vengeance and Clarke doesn’t want Lexa anywhere near that. She wishes she could protect all of her friends from her mistakes - from her arrogance and ignorance. The past was catching up to her all at once and she was on the edge of losing everything. It was paradoxical, to find someone like Lexa while Clarke’s world was coming apart at the seams.

Except Lexa was already involved. Her team destroyed the helicopter. The people looking for Clarke would investigate the wreckage and see damage so severe none of Clarke’s friends could be responsible for it. Finn’s plasma burns leave very distinct residue they wouldn’t find at the crash site. They would come looking for those responsible and find Clarke and her friends at the same time. She would take Lexa up on her offer of alternative sanctuary. Clarke didn’t want to make it too easy for them. She also wasn’t trying to attract attention to her Mom, Kane, or any of the people living under the mansion’s roof.

“There’s no getting out of this, Lexa. We’re in it. Everyone is part of it. No one is innocent under Capitalism and every mutant will be made to pay the price.”

Lexa’s brow furrows and Clarke can tell she is losing her.

“Where is this hiding place?”

“Close. You can stay there as long as you like, until you figure out your next move,” Lexa says.

“I have a next move, and it doesn’t involve hiding.” Clarke was done hiding. They locked her away because they knew she could succeed and they were afraid.

“What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see.”

Lexa says nothing but gives Clarke a considering look.

“How do you know Kane?”

“He used to date my mom.”

If the appalled look on Lexa’s face is anything to go by, they broke up while Clarke was otherwise occupied.

“Are they watching us?”

Clarke answered a question, it is only fair that Lexa returns the favor.

Lexa looks confused.

“Cameras,” Clarke clarifies, “closed-circuit? For security?”

“We don’t have security cameras. Kane is an early warning system into himself.”

“All the better for slipping away. When will we go?”

“Tomorrow evening, after dark.”