Homecoming

CHAPTER 12: Clarke

Clarke didn’t have the stomach to tell Wells all the details about her plan to rescue Bellamy. She needed his help, but there was a limit to what your ex-boyfriend needed to know. Especially when the plan essentially consisted of one step: flirt dangerously with a sociopathic guard. And particularly when your ex-boyfriend was the protective and occasionally self-righteous type, who also happened to be the de facto leader of the camp.

“So what exactly is it you want me to do?” Wells asked, surveying her with an expression that made it very clear he knew she wasn’t telling him everything.

“Someone has to create a distraction so Bellamy and I can get out of camp without anyone noticing.”

“I can certainly create a distraction, but how exactly do you plan on getting past the guards?”

“I have a plan. Don’t you trust me?”

Wells sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Of course I trust you, Clarke, but what I don’t understand is why you won’t trust me. Why won’t you tell me what’s going on? I know he’s your boyfriend, but he’s also my brother.” The word sounded strange coming from Wells’s lips, but it nonetheless landed in a soft spot deep inside her heart.

“I know, Wells. That’s why I need you to believe me. The less you know, the better chance this has of working.”

Wells shook his head, then gave her a wry smile. “You could convince me to do pretty much anything. You know that, right?”

Clarke grinned. “Good. Because I have one more favor to ask.”

“Anything you want, Griffin.”

“Once we get out of here, we’ll need somewhere to go. Do you think Sasha would ask the Earthborns to take us in—at least for the time being?”

“I’ll talk to her,” Wells said. He and Sasha had agreed to meet in the woods at noon each day, a temporary measure until it was safe for her to visit the camp again. “I’m sure she’ll do it.”

“Thank you.” She ran through her mental checklist again. Nearly all the pieces of her plan were in place.

Her only regret was that leaving camp would mean leaving behind Dr. Lahiri. They hadn’t had a chance to finish their conversation, and she knew there was something he hadn’t told her about her parents.

“What is it, Clarke?” Wells asked, apparently reading the concern in her face. He’d always been able to tell what she’d been thinking, a skill that had made the beginning of their relationship so magical, and the end of it so heartbreaking.

“What’s wrong?”

“Besides the fact that I have to drag Bellamy and his open wound through the woods to get away from that maniac Rhodes?”

“Yeah, besides that.”

She filled him in on what Dr. Lahiri had looked like when she’d asked him about her parents, but how she hadn’t had a chance to finish the conversation.

Wells put his hand on her shoulder. “Clarke, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For being naïve. For not getting how sick Rhodes is. I really thought they would do what was right. It sounds so stupid now.”

Clarke wanted to take Wells in her arms and hug him—out of gratitude, out of appreciation, out of empathy. But that wasn’t her place anymore.

“Don’t ever apologize for seeing the best in people, Wells. That’s an amazing quality.”

He looked away from her and cleared his throat. “Bellamy’s my brother. I’ll do anything to help.” He settled his gaze back on Clarke, his eyes glinting with a spark she’d never seen there before. “And if it happens to undermine Rhodes’s authority in the process, well, that’s just a two-for-one deal.”

An hour later, after Clarke had rinsed off in the stream, then changed into slightly less filthy clothes, she set off on her mission. It’s just for show, she repeated to herself, trying to slow her pounding heart. Nothing’s actually going to happen. The repetition soothed her, and soon the words blended into a melody in her head.

She stopped in her tracks. There he was, leaning against the supply shed, his thumbs hooked in his belt, a smug smile squirming across his face. He was talking to an Arcadian girl about Clarke’s age, with the same color hair and general build as Clarke too. Well, at least he has a type, she thought. Gross.

Clarke took a slow breath, braced herself, and reviewed her plan, hoping for the millionth time it would work, that she wasn’t just about to re-create one of her own nightmares.

“Hi, Scott,” Clarke said as she headed for the supply cabin door. Instead of avoiding eye contact and walking past him as quickly as possible, like she’d normally do, she forced herself to let her gaze linger on his face, and she flashed him what she hoped was a beaming smile, though it could’ve well been a grimace.

“Hello, Doc,” he drawled, giving her a quick look up and down. The girl Scott was talking to turned to glare at Clarke and, when it was clear Scott’s attention was now fixed elsewhere, stormed away.

He’s all yours, honey, Clarke thought. Just as soon as I get what I need.

Adrenaline pumped through her body as she stopped in the cabin entryway, just a few inches from Scott. His intense expression made her nervous—he looked suspicious. Was she coming on too strong? Flirting was not her specialty. She’d always been much more comfortable using scalpels and microscopes than smiles and sauntering strides.

Scott’s mouth slithered higher at the corners, and his eyebrows shot up, as if asking her a silent question. “To what do I owe the honor?” he asked, reaching out to hold the door for her.

“I was just looking for something in here,” Clarke said. “Do you mind helping me?”

“Sure, no problem.” He followed her inside and pulled the door shut behind him with a thud that made Clarke’s stomach churn, but she had to keep going.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned to face him. “Listen, I wanted to apologize.”

He looked momentarily startled, but then smirked and said, “What could you have to apologize for, sweetheart?”

His voice made Clarke’s skin crawl, but she continued. “For not always giving you proper medical attention. I…” This was it, she couldn’t screw it up now. She lowered her voice and tried to make it as breathy as possible. “I still get a little nervous, around certain patients.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, what kind of patients?”

She forced herself to place her hand on his arm. “The ones who make me feel more like a schoolgirl with a crush than a real doctor.”

Scott’s eyes popped in a way that gave Clarke a whole new sense of the expression his eyes lit up. If they hadn’t been Scott’s eyes, she would have been flattered to have a guy look at her like that. A flash of guilt cut through her as she realized Bellamy did look at her that way.

“Really?” His voice was tinged with a note of disbelief, but that didn’t stop him from putting his hand on her waist.

Clarke nodded, ignoring the pressure of his touch, though it was like letting a spider crawl across her arm.

“Do you forgive me? I promise to be more… professional going forward.”

Scott placed his other hand on her hip, then let both hands slide around until they were on her butt. It took a considerable amount of willpower for Clarke not to pull away. “Professional might be overrated.”

Steeling herself, she leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Well, in that case, want to go on a little walk with me? There’s a part of the woods I’ve been dying to explore.”

He tightened his grip for a moment before letting her go and shooting her an oily smile. “Absolutely.”

They stepped back outside, and Clarke hoped Scott didn’t notice how she shuddered as he placed his hand on the small of her back. “Lead the way, Doctor.”

Clarke turned toward the woods just in time to see Octavia cross over the tree line, leading two small children by the hand. To Clarke’s horror, Bellamy’s sister was staring straight at her, a look of pure loathing burning on her face. Octavia didn’t know about Clarke’s plan to use Scott. She probably thought this scene was exactly what it looked like: Clarke cheating on Bellamy with a guard.

Clarke locked eyes with Octavia, wishing they still had cornea slips and she could send the girl a message. But the only way to communicate with her on Earth was to speak to her, and that would never work. She had Scott on the hook, and she couldn’t break the momentum now. She didn’t want to do anything to arouse his suspicions. It was too risky to talk to Octavia. All Clarke could do was hope Octavia wouldn’t get to Bellamy before she did. If Octavia told him what she had seen, Bellamy would never leave camp with Clarke that night. Octavia turned and stomped back toward the fire pit.

Clarke watched Octavia walk off, then took a deep breath and turned back to Scott. She held his gaze for an extra beat, brushed her hand against his, and said in a throaty voice, “Follow me.” She tipped her head toward the woods. Scott’s eyes grew big and round.

“I’m right behind you,” he breathed into her ear. His breath was hot and damp on her face. Clarke suppressed her gag reflex and reminded herself that Bellamy would die if she didn’t go through with this. She grabbed Scott’s hand and tugged him toward the trees.

They ducked into the dim forest, the branches brushing against their shoulders. She led Scott into a particularly dense area of woods, where the leaves grew in a thick tangle. They would hear someone approaching before they could be seen. She turned to face Scott, who bumped right into her in his excitement. He pressed his chest against her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

He wasn’t wasting any time. Clarke tried to focus on Bellamy. All this was for him. For them.

“Are you in a rush?” Clarke managed to say just before he planted a firm, wet kiss on her. She reflexively turned her face, and his lips slid off hers and onto her cheek.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Scott said, grabbing her face with both hands and repositioning it.

“And I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Clarke said as she raised her hand in the air and slammed it down into his neck, the syringe puncturing his skin with a small pop. She pressed the plunger hard with her thumb, administering a massive dose of sedative right into his bloodstream. For a millisecond, Scott’s eyes filled with confusion and betrayal. Then he released his hold on her and slid to the ground with a dull thud.

Clarke wiped her slobbery face with her sleeve and got to work. She knelt down and fumbled around in Scott’s uniform and utility belt. Her hands were shaking, but she finally managed to wrap her fingers around his heavy key ring and the cold, smooth metal of his gun. Without so much as a backward glance, she hopped up and headed back through the trees, leaving him unconscious on the ground. Clarke wanted to be far away from him when he woke up.

She pushed Scott from her mind and slipped back into the clearing. She ran her eyes around the camp, checking for guards and looking for Wells. He was in the arranged spot. Clarke closed her eyes and listened hard—yes—she could hear the lower whistle from the trees that was their signal from Sasha. She’d gotten the message. Clarke steeled herself. It was go time.