Chapter Text
"I'm coming, I'm coming, what's the rush?! Did we decide on our next trip? Please say its the Everglades, please please please!" Clarke rushed down the stairs, having only heard her parents calling in the break of the music in her headphones. She expected the usual scene, her parents hunched over their map, marking the route for their next road trip, checking off points where they would meet the others in their group along the way. The scene in the living room was not that. Abby and Jake weren't alone. The room was full of local police and federal agents. Abby was cuffed, struggling in the grip of two agents.
"Mom?!" Clarke stopped short at the foot of the stairs. "What's going on? Dad? What's happening?"
"Clarke, this is a misunderstanding, we-" Abby was cut off with a hard pull on her cuffs.
"I'm sorry miss, but we have evidence that your mother is involved in a coordinated domestic terrorist cell." The agent in charge, a tall greasy middle aged man, came to stand in front of her, blocking her view as her mother was pushed out the front door.
"Terrorists?! My mom and dad are protestors, there's nothing illegal about that! Peaceful, nonviolent protestors!" Clarke balled her fists, tears filling her eyes. She beat her fists against the greasy man's chest until he grabbed her wrists, forcing her to sit on the steps.
"Get your hands off of my daughter!" Jake raged, throwing off the officer restraining him in the corner of the room. The greasy man released Clarke's wrists and turned to her father.
"Mister Griffin. You don't want your daughter to go into foster care do you? No? Then I suggest that you calm down before we have to arrest you alongside your wife." Jake stopped short and Clarke wiggled around the agent to run to him.
"Sir, the house is clean." An officer announced, coming down the stairs. Clarke hadn't even noticed him go up past her.
"Alright, let's get Mrs. Griffin down to booking. Mr. Griffin, you'll be informed of your wife's trial date, you should call your lawyer."
-
"Keep playing sweetheart, I'll get it." Jake stood, squeezing Clarke's shoulder before heading to answer the door. Clarke shrugged, placing her fingers over the guitar's strings the way he'd shown her until he turned his back. Once he was safely out of the study, she swung the guitar onto her back and followed him, stopping at the end of the hallway to peek around the corner without being seen. Two years of police and reporters ringing the bell for a story or more information had made her very wary of her father answering the door without backup.
"Mister Griffin, could you come with us please?"
"What is this? You already arrested my wife, I've done nothing wrong!"
"Don't play innocent. Your wife ratted you out, Jake. Led us right to your cabin. Right to the bomb plans and blueprints of the refinery. With your name on them."
"No! Abby wouldn't! We have a fifteen year old daughter! What's going to happen to her?!"
"Should have thought of that before becoming a terrorist mister Griffin."
"Jacob Griffin, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit terrorist acts against the United States of America and perjury on the stand in the trials of The State vs. Abby Griffin and The United States vs. The Earth Liberation Front."
-
"Clarke, we can't keep re-homing you like this. I know it's an adjustment, but-"
"An adjustment?!" Clarke stood, slapping her file out of Miss Keaton's hands.
"My parents are terrorists! They're in prison. Adjustment is selling it a bit short don't you think?!My whole life, every trip we took, I thought we were doing something good, protesting big companies that were destroying the earth! But they were blowing up refineries and blackmailing CEOs. They were lying to me, bringing me up to be just like them. You think I give a damn about where I go now? Just put me somewhere where they'll stay out of my way, I can take care of myself."
"I don't doubt that Clarke, but if you're so mad at your parents, why are you behaving just like them?" Keaton gathered her papers calmly, used to Clarke's rages after being her case worker for a year.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me Clarke. You've been expelled from three schools in a year, broke your previous case worker's nose and been arrested twice since your parents were incarcerated. You're angry, I get that. But if you're angry at them for grooming you to be a criminal, why are you acting like one. They're not here to force you to break the law or hurt anyone. You're walking that road on your own."
"Maybe it's genetic. I'll be at Saint Kay's when you find some new hell for me to live in. Take your time." Clarke grabbed her suitcase and guitar and slammed the office door, fuming as she stalked out of the courthouse and flagged a cab to the local shelter.
-
"Birthday girl."
"Bellamy."
"What is with the ice, sister?" Bellamy shoved lightly at her shoulder, receiving a scowl and a mimed gag.
"You know, it's really creepy when you call me that. We lived in the same home for six months before you aged out. After we slept together."
"Not my fault you had to be re-homed again and ended up living under my roof. How many felony charges have you collected since we met?"
"Don't be a dick. It's only one felony, and it's cleared as of today, the rest were just minor arrests. And it was six." Clarke kicked his shin. He was a dick, but he was family, or at least a friend. Two of her arrests had been with him sitting next to her, so he really had no room to talk.
"I guess it's too late to make it lucky number seven huh? Or do you have one last hurrah planned for your birthday?" Bellamy looked conspiratorially around the kitchen, trying to be as shifty as possible. Clarke could only laugh at him.
"You know I didn't ask you to pick me up to go on a crime spree Bell. I have a prison visit today. Time to finally spit in my mom's eye now that her assets have been transferred to me. As little as that is." The bitterness in her voice clashed with the blue fire in her eyes. She remembered the day when she'd received the news that her father had killed himself in prison, the day she'd sworn to make her mother pay for turning him in and completely ruining her life. It would be a small victory, but she would enjoy the look on Abby Griffin's face for the rest of her life.
"Ah, yes, the day of inheritance. Must be nice to have grown up in a house with money and all that."
"Don't start Bell. Are you going to drive or what?"
"Yeah yeah, what are brothers for?"
"Eww." Another gag.
"Last time, I promise. It's just fun to watch you squirm."
"Skeeze." Clarke rolled her eyes.
"What are you going to do with the money?" He asked, leading her to his car. It was nothing fancy, or particularly reliable, but he'd worked his ass off to pay for it and he was proud of that at least.
"I don't know. Probably blow it on something stupid just to piss her off. New guitar maybe? Fancy leather coat? Maybe I'll just go to the strip club and get a private room for the night."
"Dream big huh? You know there's maybe one male strip club in town right?"
"Who says I want male strippers?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him and he had to swerve back into the correct lane as he shook himself out of shock.
"You are talking my language Griffin. We're making a party out of this. I'll round up the rest of the crew, get us a video camera, maybe find a guy with some party supplies."
"You sure know how to spoil a girl. I assume I'm paying for the drugs and the camera, as well as the strippers?"
"You're the money bags, and wouldn't that just be the best kick in the teeth for mommy dearest?"
"You make a strong argument Blake. You make some calls, and find someplace classy. I'm adding 'nice dress' to the list, and I'm not wasting it on some low rent place that will require me to burn it after to get rid of the crabs."
"Your wish is my command Princess."
"Why am I friends with you?" Clarke laughed, punching him in the shoulder.
"I don't know. Is it the car? Or maybe you're secretly hoping that our one night of drunken sex will get an encore performance." He raised one eyebrow suggestively, earning another punch.
"I say again, why am I friends with you? And that's your sick fantasy, not mine."
"A guy can dream!"
"As long as he keeps it to himself and gets me where I'm going without forcing me to throw up in his rust bucket of a car."
"Respect the car Griffin. It's taking you to prison, it might leave you there."
"I'll behave if your car does. But you can't leave me or you're never going to get a private room in a fancy strip club."
"Alright, truce. Let's go spit on your mom."
-
Quiet was rare, it wasn't unwelcome, but it was so unusual now that Griffin had to fill the silence somehow. Her tent was normally occupied with at least one of the younger kids, but Bellamy had taken the whole crew to the soup kitchen, so she could have a few hours of peace.
"What's it gonna be Griffin? Fall in line with the big dogs? Or keep going it alone and lose my crew one by one?" She asked herself, scribbling down a set of chords in the margin of a newspaper.
"When the hell did being homeless get political?"
She strummed a few bars, scratching out a new order when she didn't like a transition. This and the muttering continued for a few minutes until there was a rustle of tarp.
"Hello?"
"Back here." She called. The Street's messenger had arrived.
"Sounds good." The other girl said as she passed through a few more sheets of tarp and plastic to find the space that Griffin called her office.
"Thanks."
"I'm Raven."
"Griffin. Nice to meet you."
"Same."
"So what's the pitch? I can't say I'm sold on losing my crew." She put the guitar away and pulled out a bag of chips she'd been saving for this discussion. Food usually made talks like this go smoother, or at least gave her something else to focus on.
"No pitch- thanks," Raven took a chip from the offered bag. "It's just, you know this city is getting worse for people like us, especially if there's little ones to look out for. It's just smarter to have more people watching each other's backs."
"And the stories about your lot taking other crew's turf by force?"
"Highly exaggerated. The Commander was tough, pretty cold, but she's not like that. She won some crews by winning a fight or two, sure, but never without a good reason, or being challenged first. She's gone though. Her kid sister is in charge now. You're in no danger if you say no. The offer is for your own protection from everyone else, not us." Griffin could see why Raven was sent to talk to her. She was honest, blunt and to the point.
"And how does that work?"
"You keep your own turf, keep going as you are really, but if there's trouble, you've got nearly forty other people watching your six. Send a runner and boom, instant cavalry. And you do the same for us if it's the other way around of course."
"Not for free though." She knew there was a catch.
"Profits get pooled, yeah. But everything is shared evenly, cross my heart. And anything you earn for yourself is obviously yours, we don't steal from our own. It's just like any other small crew, just a larger scale."
"And everyone answers to this kid?"
"She's smart. And she's got Lincoln as a second, they manage pretty well." Raven shrugged, eating another chip. Griffin sighed. The older groups and the street gangs were getting worse, moving down from New York and Jersey, she'd lost a few kids to the gangs just this month. They'd thought they'd have a better chance with a tougher crowd. It wouldn't be long before more followed.
"I'll talk to my people and come find you. I can't really say no can I?"
"You can. But it's not the best option."