AUTHOR'S NOTES: A thank you in particular to Redditkru, who asked about alternate fates for Clarke and prompted me to find the answer.

Also- I miss Anya and Lexa so I am bringing them back. Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. Please keep in mind English isn't my first language, so if you see ways for me to improve, don't hesitate to tell me!

LANDFALL

- 1 -

Impact

Suicide by Earth

Solitary Confinement

"The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time."

- Jack London

It seems her whole world is shaking and, as far as she is concerned, the cramped confines of the drop-pod might as well be the beginning and end of her reality. The interior is scarcely lit by a row of twinkling lights, the significance of which is lost to her and the few details that emerge from the gloom are anything but reassuring. The metal structure is bare and scratched, the paint that coated it long gone in places. There is a general air of neglect and disrepair, as if nobody truly expected to make any use of the pod. She feels like her whole self is contained within a remnant of another, more hopeful time.

Clarke blinks several times, as the lights split and multiply in front of her eyes. Her vision swims and tilts, first one way, then the other and her breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps that fog the helmet's visor. She shakes her head, trying to throw off the dizziness, but makes it worse and everything gains a ghostly afterimage, as if her eyes were the damaged lenses of a camera unable to focus.

The pod's tremors increase and the metal creaks and moans like a wounded beast, as if the whole thing is ready to burst at the seams. Loose cabling fizzles and sparks alight the air around her. She feels an enormous pressure, build behind her back and the small space is filled by the high-pitched whine of spooling engines. The noise builds, closing around her like a wall, pressing down on her and then there is a sudden sense of release as she is slammed forward against the restraints that keep her on her seat.

The belts and straps dig into the suit that encases her until it feels she is wearing nothing at all, then press further and she imagines they will slice her open.

She blinks back tears as she is compressed into the worn padding of the chair, her ribs crushed between its back and the air that congeals into a giant hand around her, squeezing and folding so that her lungs cannot fill fully and black creeps into her vision. She thinks she will suffocate and opens her mouth as wide as it will go, trying to gulp down some air, her throat seizing, the burning in her chest spreading to the rest of her and making her limbs heavy and leaden.

Her vision is reduced to a fast-narrowing tunnel, the colors turn to flat shades of gray and the flashing indicators on the panels mockingly blink on. She cannot hear herself breathe, only the thunder of her own heart, the rushing of blood filling her ears. She squeezes her eyes shut, unable to stare at her own end.

"Clarke," her eyes snap open as the helmet's comm system crackles to life. "Clarke, breathe." She wants to tell the voice that she cannot, but her mouth is starved for air and dry and cannot form the words that climb up her throat.

"…end…soon…" the voice is laced with static, the mechanical din almost drowns it out and in her state Clarke is not sure she isn't imagining it all. She thinks maybe she is already dead and these are the last deluded sparks of her brain shutting down.

Her heart hammers against her sternum then suddenly the weight lifts off her and air rushes into her mouth and she coughs and spits and in her haste to suck in more of it, bites her tongue. Warmth floods her mouth and the metallic tang of blood fills her nostrils. She has only a brief respite before the pressure returns, slamming into her full force and throwing her back so hard, her head snaps against the seat and only the helmet she is wearing saves her from slicing her scalp open, or worse, cracking her skull.

"Reached...external...layers," Clarke hears other voices in the background, but the connection is now possibly even worse and all she can do is cling to consciousness with desperation. This must be a nightmare, an hallucination. She tries to tell herself to wake, but it doesn't work, unlike those times when she was a child and dreamed of monsters under her bed. She would always manage to throw off her nightly terrors and always when her eyes opened her father Jake would be at her side, ready to turn the lights on or scoop her in his arms.

Her father is long gone though and the only reassurance he can offer her now is the familiar weight of his watch around her wrist. A hissing sound, like sand scraping on metal grows around her, intermingled with loud hard bangs that threaten to rip the hull to shreds. Tiny beads of condensation weep down her visor's surface and she realizes she feels hot, much hotter than before. Her whole body is clammy with sweat.

"...NOT FULLY DEPLOYED...." In one last surge the radio shrieks, hurts her hearing, before devolving down to complete static, then silence. Too late Clarke thinks she has many questions and no chance to ask any of them.

The pod tilts forward then rotates suddenly and blood floods her brain, drumming at her temples as Clarke finds herself upside down. One of the seat belts unfastens with a loud pop and her hand reflexively shoots out, clawing for something, anything she can hold on to. Her fingers brush against a metal strut and she hisses in pain as its heat sears her skin, even through the thick gloves she is wearing.

Before she can reach out again, she is slammed to the side, the rest of her restraints tearing away and she meets the metal wall headfirst. Flashes of white pain stain her vision, then the world turns to black as the drop-pod comes to a screeching halt on the ground.

Raven slowly takes off the headset and lets it drop with a clatter among the discarded parts on the workbench. She cannot tear her eyes away from the blinking dot on the monitor that signals the escape pod's last known position. Abby takes a shaking breath and Raven looks up as the woman slowly raises a trembling hand and places it on the screen, a soft, careful touch as if she could cover the distance and feel her daughter's cheek against her fingers one last time.

"May we meet again," the words are barely audible and Raven can see tears well up in her eyes.

"Abby, I..."

Clarke's mother gives the tiniest shake of her head and the words of condolence Raven feels she has to say, die on her tongue. She imagines it is best anyway. What she was going to say, sounds empty even as she rehearses it in her head, words said a million time to a million people which always fail to mend.

"You should go," Abby swallows and it seems to the mechanic that the effort of talking causes her physical pain. Fatigue lines her face and she looks older, hopeless.

"Abigail..." there it is, the sudden surge of anger at herself. Why can't she offer any comfort to the medic? She feels guilt and looks down at her tools, still coated with fluids and her hands black with grime. Maybe she should have run more diagnostics, maybe she should have tried to talk Abby out of an endeavor born of desperation. Maybe she should have asked for more time.

"Go, Raven. I will keep my promise." Abby's tone admits no discussion and she gets up, ashamed that the biggest part of her is relieved at the dismissal, relieved to be away from that room where she has spent so many hours and where the air now is heavy with grief and laced with loss. She knows that shame will burn her like a firebrand on bare skin and she cannot help but admire the Medical Officer, whose last words to her are not of blame, but soothing and Raven knows how much it must have cost her to say them, as broken and exposed as she is by her tragedy. Then she thinks about Finn and what she has just done to save him, and tears prick her eyes too.

After the echo of Raven's footsteps fades away completely, Abby lets out a small sob and the dam of her force of will breaks, letting the tears spill freely down her cheeks. With a swipe of her hand she clears the workbench from the debris of their failure and yanks power from the monitors, before dropping heavily on the chair the mechanic has occupied moments earlier. She rests her elbows on the table and covers her face with her hands, as the memory of the launch, the system failure, Clarke's frantic breathing assaults her.

More tears come and now that she is alone, she doesn't make any effort to stop them. Alone. First Jake, now her child. She is the last Griffin on the Ark. She wishes she could have comforted her daughter, but all she could do as they watched the pod spiral out of the intended trajectory, had been to listen to Clarke's labored breaths and watch rooted to the spot as Raven tried to salvage things. She can't fault the kid for what happened, even if the grieving mother inside her would like to. In hindsight, she regrets dragging the girl into her plan, although she is glad she doesn't have to bear the guilt alone and she despises herself for the sentiment.

She should leave too, before the Guard comes, but she is unable to. Abby realizes she hopes to be found, she wants to be found and judged guilty, and sent to walk in Jake's footsteps and finally atone for the death of her husband, who was right on so many things and who she did not believe until it was to late to change her course. She is tired of shouldering the guilt, and now that a fresh burden presses on her shoulders, she doubts she can bear it all without crawling. All she feels now is defeat. Her fight is over.

The door hisses open and she lifts her head. She does not need to turn to know who it is. A low male voice gives a quiet order, then she feels a hand on her shoulder. She looks up and meets Kane's stern gaze. His handhold tightens.

"Will you come with me, Abby?" There is an almost invisible shift in his stance, as if he is expecting her to resist. She sighs wearily.

"Where else could I go, Marcus?"

She stands and turns towards the door, Marcus keeps a hand on her arm, ready to hold her if she bolts. Abby's legs feel weak and cramped and her palms are sweaty so she wipes them on her pants. Marcus mistakes it for nervousness and his grip becomes firmer.

"I am not about to faint on you, Marcus," she cannot hold back a hint of sarcasm despite everything and his brow furrows, his eyes harden to flint and bore into hers.

The Guards he has brought fall in step behind them as they begin walking and soon it becomes apparent he is taking her to the Sky Box. The corridors of Alpha Station, usually bustling with activity at this hour when the day shift crew tiredly drags itself to chew, are quiet and Abby realizes that Kane must have ordered their route cleared. She reflects that she would probably do the same in his place: the station is small, idle hands always gossip and it doesn't matter that the work of keeping the Ark in one piece could occupy each of them for several generations over, someone always finds the time to talk.

She looks at each corridor, each turn she has walked time and time again and they all seem unfamiliar, almost alien to her. She wonders at the feeling of estrangement before thinking that it is not the station that has changed, but herself. She is a criminal now, set apart from what is left of the human race by her own actions. She imagines that her husband and Clarke must have felt the same, and as the image of her daughter's face floats in front of her eyes a new wave of tears threatens to drown her.

She closes her eyes then, letting Marcus guide her, unable to look upon the familiar surroundings any longer. When they stop and a door is opened with a loud clang in front of them, she is forced to look as he pushes her through.

"What have you done, Abby?" He crosses his arms on his chest, waiting on the threshold expectantly, but she is no longer listening as she takes in the walls of the cell, every inch of gunmetal gray transformed into a canvas for Clarke's art.

"Abby?" she shakes her head and he gives a sigh of exasperation as he places a hand on the door, "if you don't confess to me, you will to the Chancellor."

The door bangs shut, sealing her off from the world, but Abby does not care now. She pivots on herself slowly, the feeble light that makes it inside through the frost encrusted porthole, helping her pick out details. A skyscraper, a city at its feet, sprawling, teeming with life, and on the opposite wall the thickest forest, swirls of fog curling up from the ground and a deer caught in mid-flight by an invisible hunter.

She remembers with a sad, fond smile, the avid curiosity with which Clarke had always devoured books, especially those that told of wild places and the struggle of man with nature. She steps closer to the forest drawing, marveling at the rich detail with which each leaf, each blade of grass is picked out. She almost presses her face to the cold metal, feeling Clarke's presence tighten like a warm blanket around her tired limbs.

Marcus will soon figure out exactly what she has done, if he has not already. A stupid man would not be at the head of the Guard. Maybe he has placed her in Clarke's own cell with the intent to break her.

She cannot hold back a small laugh, as she sits cross-legged on the floor, and eyes wide open, takes in her daughter's hopes and dreams smeared on the walls.

She makes them her own and feels, for the first time in this horrible night, the spark of resilience ignite in her chest.