❝ Hell isn't where you go when you die.
It's what you become when everything you love has been taken away. ❞
[ sequel to 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 ]
[ the 100 / season two ]
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A Damned Debt;
𝐓he corridor where the cell lies is quiet.
Nobody's even standing guard. They're too caught up in the riders lingering on the other side of the main gates. Too caught up in the ongoing chanting coming from the grounders as they fear an early attack.
There's nobody in sight except for the man she intentionally came to see. The former Chancellor and father of her deceased best friend.
Thelonious Jaha.
The hissing of the doors captures his attention, confusion striking at the sight of the girl. How she managed to access the coded doors is a question he finds better left alone for now. He's happy to see her. After all, he'd been told she was dead, only to discover they found the girl breathing against all odds.
"Clove."
The shade of his beard has faded, leaving a foreign grey among the hairs. The heavy bags under his eyes contribute to the overall exhausted expression, and the dried blood on his skin simply emphasizes it.
"Mr. Jaha," she speaks softly, waiting for the doors to close before proceeding into the room.
"Mr. Jaha? Please, Clove. You're family to..." he pauses through the wincing pain in his eyes. "To us."
The girl takes the seat, glancing at him with sorry eyes. Not anymore.
Jaha nods understandingly. He sucks in a deep breath, not willing to say his son's name out loud just yet. "Did he die well?"
"Exactly how does someone die well?" she raises an eyebrow, instantly regretting the harshness in her voice. Yet, her question still stands. Her expression might be somewhat expressionless, but he can hear the pain in her voice.
"What I mean is..." he drags, watching her with careful eyes. "His death- was it a painful one?"
"I hope not."
Jaha sighs at her lack of cooperation. "I'm guessing you didn't come here to grieve for my son."
Clove curses herself for acting so careless in the company of a man who's just recently lost his last remaining family. But he's right; she didn't come here to exchange stories about his son.
"Look," she hums, providing him with a sympathetic smile. "I'm really sorry about Wells- I am. I cared about him... you know I did, and I get your frustration. I'll talk to you about his death if it's gonna help you move on, but not now. That's not why I'm here."
The man listens. She knows he does, despite not looking in her direction. "And why exactly are you here?"
"Was there closed-circuit television footage on the Ark? Back at the ring?"
