spacewalker

clarke had holed herself up in her room, she couldn’t handle raven’s anger or her mother’s reassurance anymore.  she had killed him, and despite doing it for him, she couldn’t handle the aftermath.  the only person who had spoken to her was her mother, and maybe that was for the best – but he was everywhere, he was all she could think about.  a quiet sniffle escaped as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, she stood up from the floor.  she had to get out of here – out of her own head for a little bit.  she slipped by her mother and the rest of the guards to climb through raven’s exit from the camp. a quick look behind her and she was on her way into the forest.

for a few moments, she walked in silence trying to force the intrusive thoughts out of her head unsuccessfully.  at the sound of a branch snapping she forced herself back into reality and stopped walking, eyes roaming the area to find the source of the sound.  when he came stumbling into the clearing, she felt all the air leaves her lungs as if she’d been hit in the chest.  he was here, he was alive. this was impossible, she had watched him die – she had been right in front of him.  was she just – seeing things?  

❝ please – i didn’t want to do it, this can’t be real. i’m so sorry. ❞ the thought of him somehow surviving that night and being by himself for this long.. a quick shake of her head as she took a small step toward him, feeling a sense of unease and guilt wash over her.  ❝ finn…? ❞ how had he even made it back here in the state he was in?  he needs help, come on, clarke – move.  but still, her mind was having trouble processing the sight of him standing in front of her – she couldn’t leave him like that, so she pushed herself to get a little closer.  with a deep breath she forced out her out of control emotions, she had to get him to camp, to her mother. ❝ we have to get to camp – do you need help? ❞ 

standing — then stood, as what little strength he had regained left him completely, and finn collapsed like a limp doll, strengthless and cold to the touch, with a feeble breath only barely warming his lips.  clarke’s voice was muffled and distant; he could hear the sounds but not make out the words.  dark and cold.  maybe this was it.  

i’m here… help me… please help me…

more sound.  movement.  the sensation of going up.  too weak to move or respond at all, finn allowed it all to happen as he drifted in and out and in and out.  at least he would die at home, with friends…

seconds had become hours when he finally awoke again.  even with eyes closed the room still spun.  arms and legs felt like marionette pieces he could not move, for he had neither strength nor string.  

voices.  murmurs.  a door opening and closing.  more murmurs, always murmuring, never words he could comprehend but a dull, rumbling sound in the background that failed to convince him he was not actually dead.

more seconds. more minutes, more hours.  there’s a familiar stinging feeling in his chest, flesh torn open by clarke’s knife.  must have just missed his heart.  more minutes.  finn’s eyes ease open, but are so dry he struggles to see.  

water.  thirsty.  so thirsty.  

                losing him was like losing half her soul, there was a black hole where there used to be a beautiful constellation called her heart. there’s time where she looks up from a project she’s working on when she sees him until dark eyes focus enough. times where she’s just waking up and she feels the warmth of him in her side. times where he still feels like he’s here but she just can’t feel him or see him.

but he’s not. he died. he can’t be here. he passed on to the other side. she held his lifeless body in her hands covered in his blood. he was gone and there was no way he could come back from the dead. unless radiation had that effect, but she highly doubted that because she still has yet to see a grounder with super human strength. so she knows, it’s not like that.

frustration is coursing through the sleep deprived reyes now, trying to find the tool she’s been hunting for a specific tool. she sighs, slamming one drawer shut. the other one on the right. without thinking she tries the other one and still, no luck. the second one. she follows the voice and alas, she finds it.   ‘  thank            you?  ’   but the thanks falls into empty air when she sees that no one is there. odd.

great, she’s going crazy. perfect.

she shakes hear head free as if that’ll clear her head up, sliding back into her chair as she goes back to work on her project when the jar gets flung across her station. she couldn’t of hit it so she what the hell was going on? she’s really just going crazy, isn’t she?

she’d rub at over tired eyes now, that’s all it had to be right? exhaustion making her see things? that if she’d open her eyes now the jar filled with metal fragments would still be on the metal table.so when dark hues opened to see it was still tossed, 

she’s definitely going out of her mind.

raven please. is all she hears and she’s already tossing the tool across the room, hands reaching up to cover her ears.   ‘  get out of my head! i’m not crazy, i’m not.  ’   she yells, fingers digging into her pent up hair.  ‘  i’m not crazy… you’re not here anymore, i’m not supposed to hear you. you’re not here, you’re not here.  ’

she can hear him.

finn wasn’t hoping for much, or for nothing specific at all, but just the smallest hint that she knew he was here. dulled brown eyes watch as - to his utter shock, quickening a dead heart - she seems to follow his instructions for finding the right tool. but she still can’t see him.

her words hurt, but he’s already jumped to his feet, half-leaping over and around her work station to kneel by her side, hands gripping the edge of the table and her chair as if trying to cement himself, to make this moment real.

‘raven, it’s me,’ he stresses, trying harder than he ever has since he’s died to make her see him, ‘you’re not crazy, i am here, this is real, i’m right here.’

he doesn’t know what he’ll do if this doesn’t work, if raven closes herself off to hearing him or sensing him.  

he’s spent nights in her bed beside her, arms wrapped up around himself, unable to touch but unable to sleep, watching over her shoulder for anyone who might come in.  he can protect her a little.  but only if she lets him.

what the rules are for being like he is, finn  doesn’t know.  but if she writes him off completely, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.  if he’ll even exist anymore.  it’s for her he’s back.

unfinished business.  apologies.  repentance.  

i don’t want to go.

it only happened in blips first.  sometimes he could swear that raven’s eyes lingered where he was sitting or standing or laying, otherwise invisible to the rest of the world.  but it was never for very long.  finn didn’t know if she could actually see flashes of him or if it was his own imagination, but he wanted to believe the first choice.  stuck in between this world and whatever waited for him on the other side of moving on was more lonely than the dead coldness of space, more a sting in his heart than clarke’s blade.  

he watched her dig through drawers and boxes in pursuit of something.  “it’s in the other one on the right,” said finn, who had seen her put it there two hours ago.  “no—the—the second one—”

he stopped.  words spoken to ears that would not hear.  earth-coloured eyes shifted down to his hands.  even clean and cold he could still see the blood.  this was his punishment eternal.  a sudden hot anger boiled up inside his chest: a fire turned in on himself, on the world, on the people who had sent him here, on himself again.  finn’s hand darted out towards the nearest solid object, open-palmed, needing to affect something.  heart needing to feel real.  was this all a giant hallucination as he lay dying on that same night?

the jar fell to the ground where he had struck it.  

stunned, he stared, and tried to knock something else over.  

his hand went through the box.  i’m real, i’m real, you got to be kidding me. i’m real.  please let me be real.  i can’t do this, i can’t not exist, i’m here, i’m here, i don’t want to be dead —

and neither did the eighteen people you killed, finn reminded himself.  if his lungs could starve for oxygen and his heart could pound, if his nerves could make his hands shake or his stomach ache, the blessed pain would be welcomed.

“raven, please…”  he settled down, back to his perch on an unused table, slumping against one of the support beams as he watched, ever watching, ever waiting, never interacting.  defeated.  tired.