Chapter 30
''Dad!''
The way I look must have him taken aback a bit, but if it does - he doesn't show it. I literally run and slam into a hug, cling onto him as though for dear life, afraid I'm dreaming, afraid I'm lying somewhere in a ditch with a head injury and this is all another hallucination. He feels real though; the way one of his hands has me wrapped tight while the other holds the back of my head like I'm still a baby. The closeness and smell of him and the way he kisses my forehead like he always did - though this time with so much more force as though he's afraid I'll disappear in his arms - it's all too familiar. This is real. This has to be real.
When he tears up, I know it is.
Rick Parish hates crying, and he hates the mere possibility of me seeing him cry even more. Very few things could make him tear up like this. I can't see it though, holding him tight, but I can hear it slightly. I can feel when his shoulders suddenly start shaking gently. I hold him tighter, afraid to let go, the back of his shirt crumpled in my fists.
After a while, I reluctantly loosen my grip on him and take a small part of a step back. His composure is back intact, like nothing has happened.
''Look at you,'' he says, caressing my cheek, giving me a small smile, but traces of tears still cling in the corners of his eyes.
''Where's mom?''
He only looks at me then, and on some level I've known already, but I don't want to believe it yet.
''Dad?'' I insist, as though I need to hear it.
He opens his mouth, but no words come for another eternity long moment, until he finally speaks.
''Sweetie, she, uh- She didn't make it.''
He has to expect some reaction from me, something other than me just staring at him dumbly. But in all honesty, even if I wasn't in shock and experiencing the aftermath of several traumatic events, I still wouldn't be able to give him too much. I'd already believed mom was dead. Now she just... she just stays dead.
On the other hand, I'm just happy and grateful to at least have him back. And once all of this is over, if it's ever going to be over, I am sure I'll finally feel the loss and mourn properly. But not now. Now I can't. I can't make myself.
''How did it happen?''
''Her station exploded,'' he says, his voice threatening to give in, ''It was her idea, she, uh- She thought the chances of at least one of us getting to the ground were bigger if- if we traveled separately.''
''She was right,'' I say.
''Your mother always is,'' he chuckles, then gets serious again, ''Was. I, uh- I wouldn't be here if she hadn't, heh, pretty much chased me away,'' he smiled sadly, ''I could never say 'no' to her. I just wish I could have-''
''You couldn't have known,'' I stop him before he goes anywhere he isn't supposed to go, ''Neither of you could have known. This was pure chance. Dad!''
I grab his arms, make him look up from the ground. He looks me in the eyes then, the eyes of someone new, not the girl that left him on the Ark, but eyes that have seen too much and fought too many tears to be able to weep now. I hope he doesn't notice, but that's surely impossible. I hope he can't see how changed I am, how hardened I am. I hope he can still see his little girl. I hope against hope.
''My mom sacrificed herself so one of you could come to me,'' I say, calmly, voice level, eyes boring into his, ''And I am grateful for that.''
Maybe I imagine it; maybe I am seeing things because I am so afraid. But there could have been something in his eyes for one fleeting moment. Like he didn't quite expect that from me. Like I wasn't supposed to say what I've said.
''Well, I'm sorry to interrupt but she needs to get a full check,'' Abby walks in with a kind smile after our moment of privacy was done, ''You will have plenty of time to catch up after we make sure she's perfectly healthy.''
''Of course. Thank you, Abby,'' dad nods with a polite smile, reluctantly lets me go, kisses my cheek, and leaves the room.
''Come, sit here,'' Abby becks, and I obey, seating myself on the bed. I am still a bit stunned from everything that has happened.
''You look like a Grounder,'' she notes as she makes to pick up her small lamp light, probably to check my eyes and ears and whatnot, ''A very confused Grounder.''
''A lot has happened,'' I explain.
''Sure has.''
''The Mountain Men took everyone that came out of that Drop-Ship,'' I shake my head, realizing, ''How did Clarke get away?''
''She didn't. They took her too,'' Abby explains, now checking my throat, ''She escaped.''
''Wha-?!''
''Open up,'' she orders as I almost bite her hand.
''Sowwie.''
''She escaped,'' she repeats, putting back her tools, ''With the help of a Grounder, Anya-''
''Anya?!''
''She didn't make it. Have you had any falls or cuts that still cause pain-?''
''No, I feel fine. Rand cured me from the poisoned arrow.''
''I see. Lie down.''
''Where are they?'' I ask, lying down, ''Clarke and Bellamy and the rest.''
''After Finn Collins and John Murphy,'' she explains as she moves the outer layers of my clothes out of her way, sounding like she doesn't like that fact one bit, ''I want you to tell me if anything hurts.''
''Murphy?!''
''I understand he's not a favorite among the kids but he's been pardoned,'' she says as she presses my belly in several places, ''So unless you want to end up imprisoned like Bellamy did I suggest you try not to punch the boy.''
''Abby, what's he doing with Finn?!''
''They went looking for you. All of you. We believed the Grounders took you until Clarke came back.''
''God,'' I sigh, ''I hope they get them back before they do anything stupid and make things worse with the Grounders.''
''Marcus is negotiating peace as we speak so,'' she takes a breath - the woman is beyond stressed, ''Yeah. Let's hope.''
*
Washing up has to make the list of things that make me happiest right now, somewhere right up there with seeing dad. Actual soap, shampoo and razors - I could weep tears of joy. Untangling my hair and making myself presentable again makes me feel like - for a moment - everything is back to perfectly normal.
Then I look down - take a really good look at myself for the first time in ages. The amount of bruises and scratches is bigger than I thought. For most of them, I have no idea how I even earned them. My tolerance for pain has always been a bit freaky, even back on the Ark, but now I seem to be all but deadened to it. The wound on my calf is surprisingly well stitched and it's healed, leaving a pink scar as a souvenir. Thank you, Rand, I think with a smile. I hope he's okay and on his way to a new, good life he deserves.
Battle scars. All that time being a history geek and reading about shield-maidens, I never in my wildest dreams thought I'd ever be able to take up bow and sword. How the hell did I get here? What kind of alternate universe have we all entered? Facing the threat of Grounders for so long has normalized it all to us. We've all forgotten that there was a time when we believed there isn't a living soul down on Earth. Now this - this is normal.
My face doesn't look too bad once I've washed it, thank goodness. There are red scratches on my forehead and right cheekbone and left cheek and upper lip. The last yellow-ish remnants of the bruise on my right cheek seems to be about to disappear. My face looks more gaunt than I remember though; I must have lost some weight. It isn't too bad. I almost like it all a bit. It kind of makes me feel tougher, and I appreciate anything that can make me feel tougher. I need it. Which is why I braid up a couple of braids at the sides of my head again. Clean, blonde hair falls back, and it smells so good I can't stop shaking it a bit so I can catch the scent waft through the air. Thankful for the small piece of mirror, I decide to keep it.
I am back in clothes that look less Grounder and more Sky people, thank goodness for that too. It almost feels weird, being back in regular clothes. I appreciate the new pants with cargo pockets, and the new yellow-ish combat boots - mine have gotten pretty damaged over time. I've kept my Grounder clothes too though, washed them and left to dry next to dad's tent. I don't exactly have my own accommodation yet, but I figure I'll think about that once evening comes. I hope Bellamy will be back by then. The thought of seeing him again makes me so ridiculously nervous, it almost upsets my stomach.
Dad has gotten me a particularly versatile and bountiful meal waiting for me out front, and even though I doubt I can finish it, I end up devouring it all. We sit together at one of the tables, enjoy simply eating and talking, and avoid mentioning anything too hurtful.
''I can't imagine everything you've been through,'' dad says after a while, ''You're so-''
''Different?''
''Grown up.''
Traumatized. Scarred. Hardened by battle. Baptized by death. Damaged by loss and matured by pain. But yeah, I guess you could say ''grown up''.
''I've seen John,'' he starts casually, and suddenly half my appetite is gone, ''He seemed to try and avoid me at all costs.''
''Ashamed to face you, if he has any decency left,'' I spit, taking another bite of the steak, ''Though I sincerely doubt it.''
''Yeah, I've heard stories,'' he says, ''Though I'm not sure which ones are true. He's been helpful around camp-''
''Don't trust it,'' I hiss before he can even finish the sentence.
''I don't care what happened as long as you're alright,'' he says, ''Are you?''
''Of course. It takes more than John Murphy.''
Pleasant, calm silence ensues for a short while. He doesn't press the issue any further.
''Hey, Raven!'' I call once I see her on the other side, scanning the place to find somewhere to sit. I wave her over, and she gives me a look with a ''You sure?''.
''Get over here, Raven,'' dad waves her over, giving me a small smile.
''You two know each other?''
''Know each other? She's been giving me hell for days,'' dad says, as she sits down next to me with a smile and a teasing frown at the same time, ''But she and Wick are the best engineer-mechanic team we've got, so I have to put up with it. I wouldn't get anything done around here without them.''
''Is that so?'' I grin.
Raven shrugs, ''Not everyone can handle the awesome.''
''Did you put up that beacon?''
''It was my idea,'' she says as she munches on the food, ''Damn Byrne shot it down immediately though.''
''You saved my life. Freakin' again.''
She stops to look at me with a frown that turns into a smile in an instant. ''Well, you're welcome.''
''Well. Now I really have to put up with you, Reyes,'' dad grumbles teasingly, and we share a laugh.