( death did seem to have a way of finding them all in the end, no matter how artfully it'd been dodged in the past. in the moments before clarke woke up in a far too soft bed rocked gently by waves, she'd been sure that had been it. despite a desperate dash to a radiation proof bunker as the wall of fire bore down on earth, she'd been burning from the inside-out and choking on the fluids welling up in her lungs. and she hadn't wanted to die in that moment, but would have at least done so for a good cause. stayed behind by choice, saved her friends, made sure other factions of her people were safe underground.

it would have been a good death, and now she's here. and john says not like this, which has clarke shallowly nodding. be this borrowed time, some sort of limbo, or a flat out kidnapping — all of it rubs her the wrong way. )

I don't have anything left I'm trying to prove to people. ( who wants to put her down? for the first time in a while, clarke griffin has no explicit enemies aside from the actual apocalypse. well — actually, the mysterious gal friday was undoubtedly somewhere on this deck. if she's about to start looking for new enemies, that seems like the default. ) And I don't like the feeling we're all about to be asked to prove something anyway. Or be used by... whoever or what ever brought us here.