Chapter Text
The steady buzz of Raven’s workshop filled the air, weaving a symphony of industrious energy with the faint, pungent aroma of oil mingling with the metallic tang of solder—a scent both thick and oddly comforting, like a warm embrace from the very tools of her craft. Loose bolts and coils of wire lay scattered across the workbench, interspersed with the delicate, disassembled parts of a walkie-talkie.
Raven perched on the edge of the table, legs dangling over the edge, her fingers moving with a deft precision as she twisted wires back into place, desperate to breathe life into the broken connection that tethered her to Bellamy and the others.
Her focus was nearly complete until she sensed something in her periphery—a shadow shifting by the door. Glancing up, she spotted 14 leaning against the frame, her figure a silhouette in the dim light. Even from a distance, she radiated a calm intensity, like a quiet storm held just at bay. Something about 14’s presence, even so still and shadowed, was grounding.
“If I didn’t actually know you,” Raven quipped, smirking as she tightened a final screw, “I’d say I was being haunted by a very aloof ghost.”
A flicker of a smile softened 14’s expression as she stepped forward, her movements soundless and deliberate. “Sorry. Old habit,” she murmured, the hint of humor in her voice barely lifting the shadows in her eyes. “Didn’t want to distract you.”
“Oh, please,” Raven replied, rolling her eyes, but the humor softened as she looked back down at the half-repaired radio. “I’ve built bombs in the middle of an attack. You think a little light haunting is going to distract me?” She could feel 14’s gaze on her, unwavering and steady, but also somehow patient, as if she were waiting for something she wasn’t sure she had the right to ask for.
The air between them hung quiet and unhurried, thick with the weight of things unsaid. Finally, Raven looked up, noting the tension in 14’s posture, the way her gaze lingered on the ground. “Hey, seriously,” Raven said, her voice gentler. “How’re you holding up?”
14’s lips pressed into a thin line as she absorbed the question, a brief flash of emotion darkening her gaze. “I’m... managing,” she said finally, her voice low and thoughtful. She crossed her arms, as though she could ground herself with that small, protective gesture. “It’s strange. I didn’t think I’d feel anything about... what I am. Not anymore.”
Raven waited, watching as 14’s thoughts seemed to drift, layers of memory and emotion weighing heavily in the quiet. When 14 finally spoke, her voice was low, tinged with a somber nostalgia.
“When Clarke found me, I was waiting to die,” she said, her tone raw, eyes distant. “I was so buried in grief and anger that it was easier to shut down. Easier to just... focus on what needed to be done for her. I thought if I stayed calm, she’d never see what I truly was. That she’d never have to know what I had done or what I was capable of.”
Raven’s gaze softened, the weight of understanding anchoring her voice. “So you hid.”
“I couldn’t think of myself as anything more than what they made me. If I was only that—if I taught Clarke how to kill, how to truly close herself off from the world and hone in on a single, pinpoint goal—then there was nothing left of me but a shadow of their design.” 14 nodded to herself, a sad, self-aware smile curving her lips. “I’m not even sure I knew what I was hiding. What monster they had created that I was desperately trying to shield her from. And then she saw it. Clarke saw the truth when I killed November and nearly killed her. I was trying to protect her.” She paused, the weight of her confession thickening the air. “I was trying to protect her, and I almost killed her.”
“But you were also the reason she lived,” Raven replied softly.
14 nodded. “She did. I didn’t know it at the time, though. I really did worry that I’d killed her. And then seeing her alive in Polis, seeing that I had actually done something to save someone and not just death. I used that to keep me steady.”
The air between them grew heavier with her words, the weight of her honesty stretching out between them like a current. Raven nodded, feeling the depth of 14’s struggle. “But... what about now?”
“I can’t ignore it anymore,” 14 said, her voice thick. “When I saved November... then Clarke, and now Lexa... I realized the thing I’d hated most about myself–what made me feel inhuman–was the same thing that allowed me to help them. It’s why I’m still here. It’s why Clarke and Lexa are still here.”
Raven absorbed the quiet conviction in her words, sensing a depth to her strength that few people would ever understand. “So maybe that part of you isn’t something to be erased. Maybe it’s... who you are.”
A small, almost vulnerable smile touched 14’s lips. “Maybe,” she murmured. “But there are parts of it I can’t control. The way I can now feel Lexa. It’s so much stronger than it ever was with Clarke. Every drop of my blood having passed through her and back into me, leaving traces of myself behind…” 14 paused, her tone suddenly uncertain, as if she was afraid of pushing the conversation too far.
“Does it hurt?” Raven asked, her voice careful.
14’s gaze dropped, shadows shifting across her face as she considered the question. “Not like it did,” she replied quietly. “During the transfusion... It felt like my blood was on fire, like every cell was fighting to burn itself out. And now it just feels like an echo far away, a hum in the background that gets a little louder the closer she gets, the stronger her chemical changes are when she’s feeling something.” She paused, her voice softening to almost a whisper. ”But I chose it. I got to save her instead of... taking another life. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe I can be something other than what they designed me to be.”
The words lingered, heavy and meaningful. Raven felt the depth of 14’s resolve settle within her, a reminder of the strength it took to live with scars. After a moment, Raven let out a small, playful sigh, attempting to lighten the air.
“Well,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips, “if you’re thinking of taking a vacation from your job as a medical-marvel-slash-lethal-weapon, maybe you can use your time to find a new hobby.”
14 arched an eyebrow, her gaze sharpening with curiosity. “A hobby?”
Raven shrugged, letting the idea hang between them. “Why not? Something... less assassin-y. Like fixing things,” she said, gesturing at the dismantled walkie-talkie scattered on the table. “You might even be good at it. You seem like a fast learner.”
14’s eyes flickered with a hint of rare humor, her lips curving. “Convenient. Are you sure it’s not because you’re short staffed?” 14 looked pointedly around the empty room.
Raven laughed, handing her a small screw. “Nah, just picky. Our apprenticeship program is very selective.” She met 14’s eyes with a spark of challenge, her own heart beating faster as 14 took the screw, moving close enough that their hands brushed.
As 14 focused on aligning the screw, Raven leaned in, guiding her hand. The silent, unspoken connection between them thickened, an awareness of each other that felt almost electric. Just as 14 fit the screw in place, Raven adjusted another piece, but the second screw slipped from her fingers, clinking to the floor.
With a small curse, Raven moved to reach for it, but 14 was faster, crouching down and reaching under the workbench for the lost item. The moment 14 bent down to retrieve the screw, Raven's attention drifted, her gaze tracing the curve of 14’s shoulder, her graceful, silent movements. The air seemed to hold its breath as 14 straightened, bringing herself back up—so close that she was practically standing between Raven’s legs. She barely registered the cool metal of the screw between them, her knees brushing the fabric of 14’s clothes. It felt like they were sharing a secret, some unspoken gravity drawing them together in the small space between.
“Fast learner,” 14 murmured, holding out the screw, a faint, almost playful smirk touching her lips, but her voice softened, trailing off as her gaze flicked up to meet Raven’s. That trace of bravado slipped, leaving something open, raw, and barely held back. Raven’s eyes held hers, dark and steady, and the air between them thickened, magnetic, a pull neither had acknowledged until now.
Raven didn’t think—she just moved, leaning in, meeting 14 halfway, brushing her lips softly against hers. The kiss was tentative at first, a gentle press that surprised them both, but as 14 responded, it deepened, the warmth spreading between them. Raven’s hands lifted to 14’s shoulders, fingers brushing along the rough fabric before slipping down, pulling her closer as 14’s own hands found Raven’s waist, steadying her, grounding her.
The kiss grew bolder, hungrier, as if a dam had broken between them, releasing something powerful, unstoppable. Raven could feel the beat of 14’s pulse beneath her fingers, steady and alive, her own heartbeat echoing it as they clung to each other. There was a fierce tenderness in the way they held on, each of them letting go of walls neither had known they’d built.
As their breaths mingled, Raven felt something settle, an understanding, a silent promise exchanged in that shared warmth, in the way they fit so naturally in this space together. When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, foreheads resting together as they caught their breath, the quiet intimacy of the moment as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
14 smiled, a faint, self-conscious curve to her lips. “I didn’t think...”
Raven’s own voice was soft, her smirk warm and genuine. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
Before either of them could speak again, footsteps echoed down the hallway, and 14 reluctantly took a step away, just as Clarke and Lexa entered the workshop. Clarke’s expression was all business, her focus sharp, but Lexa’s gaze lingered a beat longer on them both, a faint glimmer of something knowing in her eyes.
“Hey,” Clarke said, her tone brisk, “we need to talk. Bellamy just called in.”
Raven straightened, her attention snapping back. “What’s going on?”
“Jaha’s back,” Clarke said, her voice tight. “Bellamy said he’s asking us to ‘join’ the City of Light. He said he sounded strange.”
A chill ran down Raven’s spine at the mention, her mind flashing back to the conversation she’d had with Murphy. He’d called her aside after he and Clarke had raced back from Polis, holding up a strange translucent silicone wafer he’d called a “key.” He’d warned her about it, told her it wasn’t just a place, but something that made people act... different. He’d mentioned people who took the chip seemed calm, almost empty.
“It’s not just strange,” Raven murmured, her voice low. “Murphy told me that ALIE and the City of Light offer a world without pain. People who take that chip... they act like they don’t feel anything at all. No pain. Just… calmness.”
Clarke’s gaze darkened, and she looked to 14, a quiet question in her eyes. 14 met her gaze, a hint of quiet defiance sparking in her expression.
“A world without pain,” 14 repeated softly, her voice laced with skepticism. “Pain is what makes us human. Without it, there’s no real joy, no... life.” She paused, her gaze thoughtful. “When they would hurt us… When they would make us fight or cut us or… Whenever it hurt so badly I would secretly wish for death, it was the moments between the pulses of agony that reminded me there was more. The pain and absence of it was like a heartbeat. Without one or the other, blood would stop flowing. I wouldn’t trade that—not for anything.”
A heavy silence followed, each of them absorbing her words. Lexa’s gaze hardened, her jaw set as she added, “In the past, clans who promised a life without suffering were only feeding off desperation. Their leaders manipulated people for power, and if that’s what Jaha is offering, it is the same empty promises. Offering people a world without pain is not real.”
They exchanged a look, knowing that if Jaha was asking people to join this City of Light, he wasn’t there to help them. Clarke’s voice grew firm, her gaze sharpening. “We don’t know what his plan is, but whatever it is, it’s not about peace. It’s control.”
Raven nodded, the connections forming in her mind. “If that chip is to make people calm and not feel any pain, then it’s more than just control. It’s... like mind control. And if Azgeda’s in on this... it’s not just about Ontari being Commander.”
14’s face darkened, her voice quiet but steady. “My people tried to take away my free will, and when they couldn’t, they tried to kill me. If this chip is a way to do it, then it can do what my creators couldn’t—remove autonomy completely.”
A silence fell, the enormity of their realization settling heavily between them. Raven felt her stomach tighten as she looked to Clarke, Lexa, and finally back to 14, each of them understanding the stakes.
“If ALIE and Azgeda are working together, it’s not just about ruling the clans,” Clarke said. “It’s about creating an army that can’t resist. An army that would follow orders without question, without fear.”
Lexa’s gaze darkened, her tone steely. “An army of true believers who will fight until they die... without hesitation.”
The silence between them was thick, heavy with dread and understanding. Raven felt the weight of their situation settle in, realizing that they were up against something far larger and far more dangerous than any of them had anticipated.
“We need to meet with Bellamy, Kane, and the others to figure out what Jaha is planning, and how the City of Light, ALIE, and Azgeda fit into all of this,” Clarke said, her voice determined. “You two coming?”
Raven and 14 nodded, the gravity of the moment pressing against them as they moved to follow. They didn’t have all the answers yet, but one thing was clear—whatever the City of Light held, it wasn’t peace.
It was something far darker. And it had begun.
—-----------------
As they moved down the dim corridor, Jaha’s return and the shadowed allure of the City of Light weighed down on Clarke, pressing like a shroud she couldn’t shake. The air around her felt thick, carrying a chill that seeped into her bones, stirring memories she’d hidden in the deepest parts of herself, fragments of grief and guilt she had forced herself to forget.
Her mind wandered back to those first, hollow months after Mount Weather. Silence had clung to her then, dense and unforgiving, far more brutal than any battle she had faced. Each step she took away from her people had felt like a wound, raw and self-inflicted. She couldn’t bear the thought of their forgiveness, knowing the lives she had ended to spare her own. The weight of it, the faces of the people she’d sacrificed, had splintered something inside her, something she had thought could never be mended.
And then, there was Lexa.
Lexa’s betrayal had twisted everything, filling the empty parts of Clarke with bitterness so sharp she could hardly breathe around it, each broken promise carving its own fresh wound. Bitterness had become her shield, the only way she knew to hide from the wounds Lexa had left and from the unforgiving reflection of herself that those choices had forced her to confront.
Meeting 14 had been like looking into a fractured mirror—a person who had endured horrors beyond comprehension, shaped by hands outside her control, someone whose survival had been forged in shadows. 14’s scars ran deeper, buried in her skin, her survival carved into her like a brand. And yet, something in her had resisted breaking. Her quiet resilience reminded Clarke that survival could mean more than just scraping by, that strength could be found not only despite her scars but through them. Clarke’s own survival began to feel less like suffering, less like penance, and more like a testament to her ability to endure, to still choose despite everything.
But it was in Polis that her defenses had finally crumbled.
Lexa’s presence—her unwavering resolve to atone, to reclaim Clarke’s trust—had worn down her walls, one piece at a time. Anger softened, the edges dulled by a newfound understanding of the woman behind the Commander’s title, by a love Clarke had buried so deeply she thought it might never surface. Lexa was more than a symbol of strength, more than the Commander. She was the woman Clarke loved, a truth as fierce and undeniable as the blood that bound them.
In that love, Clarke found a strength that went beyond mere survival. She felt it now, a quiet but fierce warmth, as she looked at the people around her—Lexa, Raven, 14. They were part of her now, each carrying the weight of their own scars, each forged by choices they could never undo. They had become her family, bound by pain and trust, by a kinship that had taken root in the darkest moments of her life.
A steady certainty filled her, anchoring her spirit. This journey had never been about survival alone; it had grown into something more, something that demanded hope, that demanded belief in a life worth fighting for, no matter the shadows waiting on the horizon.
The City of Light loomed ahead, a mystery promising salvation but reeking of deception, its secrets woven through everything they’d fought against. Whatever awaited them, whatever darkness lay ahead, she knew that they would face it together.
Clarke closed her eyes for a moment as they walked, the warmth of Lexa’s presence next to her a reminder that she wasn’t the same person who had wandered the forest alone all those months ago. She wasn’t just surviving anymore.
She was choosing to live.