losttheright | (no subject)

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clarke griffin

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It's over.

Thinking about it like that is probably strange and awful, Molly is sure, but right now, she doesn't care. The papers are all signed, Abigail is with Jessica — with her mother now, in every legal and emotional sense — and her belongings in the process of being moved over, and she's all but signed the lease on an apartment she's been eyeing for a while. Whatever should or shouldn't be the case, though, she doesn't feel conflicted at all. Mostly, she just feels relieved, a weight off her shoulders that she's been carrying around since Lee disappeared, or, really, since well before that. She was never cut out for the life she wound up in. Maybe the two of them together could have made it work, but she isn't so sure of that, either, with as much time as she spent waiting for him to change his mind and leave again. From the start, it wasn't right. She doesn't regret the choice she made, if only because she knows she couldn't have made a different one, but things finally feel like they're starting to fall back into place.

She may still be well and truly fucked in the head, but that's something to deal with at a later time. Right now, the relief outweighs all of it.

Finally alone, Molly considers going to a bar, but then pulls out her phone instead, firing off a quick text to Clarke. She may as well have a little company. It's less depressing than drinking alone. Everything's finally settled. :) Wanna come celebrate with me?

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Sure. On my way. had read the hastily written texts. It's kind of odd to call in celebrating, but Clarke knew what a big deal this was for Molly. How this would help her friend, help Abigail who would be getting the kind of mother that she deserved. None of their lives had gone the way that they envisioned at one point or another. That doesn't mean they have to give in and mourn for forever.

She'd given Bellamy a quick call, apologized for the sudden change of plans from not really having any to going out for a bit. A standing offer to join them later had been made, but he knows the light details and gets what the point of this is. It's yet another reason why Clarke loves him.

"Is this seat taken?" Clarke asks in a mock flirtatious tone as she slides into the unoccupied stool next to Molly, laughing slightly as she attaches her bag to the hook under the bar.

Maybe it won't last, this lightness, this feeling that she could practically float off the goddamn floor if she didn't try to keep herself anchored. Maybe she'll wake up tomorrow with all the same shit that's been going through her head for months, look in the mirror and feel like she doesn't recognize the person staring back at her, go through all the motions at work without her heart being in it at all. The problems she has run deeper than signing a few papers could fix. She doesn't care. She'll grab onto this feeling with both hands and hold tight to it for as long as she can.

Turning when she hears Clarke's voice, Molly smiles, teasingly flirtatious in turn when she replies. "It is now," she says. "I'm glad you could make it. Drinking alone felt a little... defeating the purpose." Clarke's her oldest friend here now, anyway, after a rash of disappearances, the only person who's seen her through all of this, who knows just what a big deal it is to her, save for a couple of people at work. It feels right for her to be here now.

"I can see that," Clarke agrees with a slight bob of her head as she leans against the bar, grabbing the specials list in its hard plastic cast. Odds are that she'll end up skipping the list for something simple, but it doesn't hurt to look. A strange cocktail that's not too likely to cause some weird side effects could appeal to her.

In all honesty, Clarke doesn't expect Molly's levity to last. But she'll be here for her friend as long as it does and stick around when it goes. That's friendship — standing by for both the good and the bad. Or the strange and confusing. All of the above. Setting the list back down with a wrinkle of her nose, she orders a whiskey sour instead. "But you're not alone now. We're here. We're drinking. It's all good, right?"

"It's all good," Molly echoes with a nod, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like the truth, or at least something close to it. Like it could be all good, eventually, or as near to it as someone like her gets to have at all. There's a whole lot of shit in her past she'll never be entirely over, probably, but this is still a step in the right direction. She still has her life back, and thus the ability to pick up its pieces, something she's been putting off for far longer than she ought to.

Ordering a gin and tonic when the bartender turns to her, she swivels slightly towards Clarke again after. "It's probably a little gauche to be celebrating, but... It seems like what's best all around, you know?"

Thoughtful expression on her face, Clarke props her arm up onto the bar, leaning on it as she considers. It's probably not what Clarke would be doing, if the situation was reversed. But to be perfectly honest, throughout all of her support of Molly, Clarke has been purposely trying to not put herself in her friend's shoes. She can empathize and help, but she's never done this. Had never grown up in a world where it was a thing that hadn't been done and dusted for months, approved by the Council.

"Probably," she concludes with a small nod after a moment. "But you're right. It is for the best and we should celebrate that fact. Everyone is going to have a better life because of this."

"We are," Molly says, nodding once, relieved that she manages to sound like she means it. She knows it's true, of course; it had been a big part of her decision in the first place, and finding someone like Jessica made it that much easier. Though it took her months to actually do it, she thinks she's known from the start, or at least the day she woke up and found Lee gone, that this is what she needed to do, and not just for her own sake. Still, it's easy not to second-guess herself but to wonder what this says about her, what fundamental thing she's missing that she never managed to feel like a parent ought to. Reminding herself, over and over, of what Clarke has just said is the only way to push past that. "It's... worked out better than I could have imagined, honestly."

"I don't think anyone's imagination quite hits Darrow reality levels," Clarke quips drily before reaching out and giving Molly a half-hug. It's a bit awkward as she doesn't want to slide fully from her stool, but the moment feels right. She can't let it pass by. That would be even stranger.

If pressed, she'll stand by her words. That no one she's met had foreseen Darrow before showing up here. No one got the idea into their head that they were going to be plucked from their lives and set down to live another one. Yet. No one she's met yet. Even in her inner monologue the caveat is important to not forget.

Fortunately any darker thoughts are cut off by the bartender setting their drinks down in front of them. Sliding more fully into her seat, Clarke nods again. "That's good. I'm happy for everyone. Really. And so we celebrate." Grinning she holds her glass up in a toast.

"And so we celebrate," Molly says, grinning as she lifts her drink in turn and sits up a little straighter. "To... Fuck, I don't know. Something that isn't too sappy or cliché." None of this needs to be made overly sentimental, after all. They both know why they're here and what this means for her; there's no sense in getting dramatic about it and talking about new beginnings or shit like that. That's not really how the world works, at least not in her experience. Baggage might get lighter, but no one stops carrying it. Wounds fade to scars, but they don't heal entirely. She's moving forward, finally, but that doesn't erase anything that's happened. She wouldn't want it to. "To finally moving my stuff out of Lee's apartment and into my own?"

"That's it not a Monday?" Clarke suggests with a laugh. It isn't a Monday, but it is pretty terrible thing to toast to. She's never been one to make up speeches or toasts on the spot, defer to other more eloquent than her. If pushed she could probably do it, hell, she has done it. But it was always a pale shadow of what others could do. At Molly's final suggest, she nods. "I can do that. To finally getting your own apartment again." Gently she clinks her glass against Molly's before taking a sip. "Serious question. Are you going to paint your walls?"

Taking a sip of her drink in turn, savoring the familiar, smooth taste of gin on her tongue, Molly nods noncommittally when she lowers her glass again. "I'm thinking about it," she replies. "It's fine if I do, and I want to be able to make it feel like home, you know? Instead of somewhere generic and empty." Already she's started looking for odds and ends and artwork to decorate the walls with, and once she's fully moved in, plans to get a couple of plants to keep around. It's always nice, having something fresh, something alive, wherever she's staying. "I don't have any real plans yet, though. Aside from actually buying furniture and stuff."

Clarke nods, understanding the feeling. During her months in solitary she had covered the floor and walls, using the precious pieces of chalk and pencil to make her small world feel so much bigger. It had kept her sane, kept her (metaphorically) grounded despite not really speaking to anyone for so long. Here in Darrow she's worked to make the apartment that she and Bellamy share feel lived in even from the get go. It's not exactly tidy, but it does feel like a real, solid home. "I get that," she takes another sip of her drink, stirring the ice idly as she grins at her friend. "I'll admit I'm asking for selfish reasons as I'd love to be the one to paint the walls if you do. Weird, I know, but at least you won't have to worry about it."

"Yeah?" Molly asks, unsurprised but brightening at that. It's easy to do when she feels so much lighter than she has in such a long time. "I would love that, actually. I'll figure out what I'm doing with the furniture and everything — or, hell, you can help me plan the whole thing, if you want. I'm starting from scratch here." There's something exhilarating about that in its own right, too. The past hasn't been erased, and she and Jessica have talked about how she isn't going to be totally absent in Abigail's life, just a cool aunt rather than a mother, but she still gets a fresh start on all counts. No more trying to pretend to be something she's never felt like at all, no more existing like a ghost in the apartment she's never stopped thinking of as her ex-boyfriend's, no more getting looks from neighbors judging her parental abilities or lack thereof. She gets to have something that's hers now, and she's goddamn grateful for it. With so much freedom, of course she'd want the input of the person who's become arguably her closest friend here.

"Yeah." The more Clarke thinks about it, the more that she is into the idea. There is something about filling up that physical space, even if it's just putting a coat of colored paint on the walls or making a patterned accent wall that makes her feel at all. It isn't like she's going to give up all of her ambition for other ventures to become a house painter. No, that would probably make her crazy to be beholden to the demands of other people. But this is Molly who deserves to have a space that is hers, right down to the moulding. "It'll be fun. You won't even have to help. You can just pick paint colors and talk to me. Or leave and come back to a tasteful surprise."

"I kind of like the tasteful surprise idea, actually," Molly says, grinning just a little at the thought of it. When it comes to decorating, she's good at settling into a place, at choosing artwork for the walls and places to hang plants, anything to make even the most temporary of lodgings feel like a home. It served her well back when she was living on the road, making each motel room more personal than just the generic bed and closet and desk. Anything beyond that, though, is more than her skill set applies to. Choosing colors for paint and carpets and throw pillows was something they always had people to do for them, back home, aware though she is that her upbringing wasn't exactly a conventional one. "Emphasis on the tasteful, I don't want to come back and have, like, dicks painted on my walls."

"Oh darn," Clarke says with mock disappointment as she snaps her fingers. It's over-the-top play acting of a gesture she's never actually seen someone do in real life, at least not in any seriousness. But it kind of fits the moment. "There goes my plans to paint a massive dick above your bed. To really set the mood."

Unable to carry on faking it for any longer than necessary, she breaks out into a laugh before shaking her head. "No, you don't have to worry. I'll definitely make it tasteful. It could be really cathartic."

She means that for Molly, but also a little bit for herself. There is something about filling up a blank space that puts her at ease. A lifetime of living in cramped spaces has made her wary of too much openness. It's hard to know what will be found.

"Oh, yes, because I definitely have a lot of mood-setting that needs to be done," Molly quips, rolling her eyes. The fact that she hasn't been getting laid with any kind of regularity isn't something she's bothered by in the slightest. It isn't just because Lee is gone, either; it's been ages since she woke up in an empty bed, and it isn't like there's been no one since. All things considered, she thinks she may have gotten over him a little too quickly, though whether that was from sheer force of will or because she wasn't feeling much of anything back then, even she isn't sure. The real problem is that she doesn't trust most people enough for that, able to count on one hand now the number of times she's gotten laid over the last year or so. There's nothing to be done to that end, though, and it's not like it's the worst thing in the world. "But other than that, you know, knock yourself out. Whatever you do, I'm sure it'll look good."

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