CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
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     IT WAS COLD AND BRIGHT, almost too bright for her eyes to see straight. Her skin was covered in goosebumps and she blinked rapidly, unable to make out anything clearly. It was as if there was an empty hole in her chest now, the physical pain nothing compared to the emptiness she now felt at the loss of those that she knew were gone. When her eyes finally adjusted to the intense light, what she saw rendered her speechless.

The couch she sat on was familiar, all of the things surrounding her were indeed the most familiar things in the world to her. Why she was in the Blakes' flat, she had no clue. It should be impossible. It was.

The Ark had retained its cold and solitary atmosphere. A shiver ran down her spine and her eyes darted around skeptically. It was home, but it was something that made her feel unsettled nonetheless.

"You okay?" a voice asked from just beside her. Jumping slightly, but then leaning back to recover from her shock, she looked to the other end of the couch to find Bellamy with a tattered book in his hands.

"W-what?" she managed, trying everything she could to repress the tears gathering in her eyes. This had to be fake. There was no way she was back on the Ark with a person who was dead. Swallowing roughly, she snapped out of her own paralyzing panic and sadness. "I'm fine. All okay. It's good."

He looked at her for a moment like he didn't quite believe the words that came out of her mouth, but nodded slightly anyway. "I'm almost finished, then you can borrow it," he told her, gesturing to the cover of the book that he held. This was no hallucination, it was something right out of her memories.

Everything she was experiencing was pushed to the side and she smiled slightly in spite of herself as she looked at him. "How many times can you read that?" she asked, laughing airily at the quick shrug that he presented.

"You're not one to talk. You always loved the Iliad," he said, putting the book down on the table in front of them with a small smile. Taylor shifted in her seat, and positioned herself slightly closer to him — she still couldn't believe that he was right there in front of her.

     "Okay, you got me," she surrendered playfully. "But you're close to a record breaking number, while I, on the other hand, am not." It was an echo of the conversation they had just a few years ago, and she was starting to slip back into the illusion that everything was okay.

     She glanced away for a moment, while he shifted closer to her on the couch, the dip in the cushions and the surprising amount of heat that she could feel radiating from him feeling all too real. When she looked back, their faces were just barely a mere inch apart. His eyes were just as she remembered them, ones that she could get deeply lost in.

     "What's wrong?" he questioned in a low tone, eyebrows pinching together in slight concern. It wasn't until then she had realized that her face had been contorted into a pained look.

     "Nothing...it's just...you're really here," she whispered, that same stabbing pain creeping back into every atom of her body once more. Taylor tried dodging it, desperately wishing just to cling to what was right in front of her. His smile was something she hadn't seen in a while, something she missed, and she couldn't bear to tear her eyes away.

     She could have sworn he was even closer now, his breath tickling her skin.

     "Taylor!" She jumped back and her head snapped in the direction of the voice. Bellamy looked back at her almost sheepishly while Octavia looked utterly indifferent on the other side of the room. Taylor had absolutely no words as she stared between the two of them, the image of the two of them in front of her beginning to sway slightly.

     Even sitting down, she felt off balance. "You killed us," Octavia spat, her previously blank expression now one that made Taylor sick, one of the most utter detest she had ever seen in her entire life.

     Bellamy had reached over and grabbed her hand tightly, Taylor being left to stare on with puzzlement and silence. He let go slowly, the world around her beginning to shake and blur before her eyes.

     "You let this happen," he said in a quieter tone, his eyes holding an indescribable sadness that caused her stomach to churn uneasily.

     "No — this isn't — I couldn't do anything — we had to — this isn't what was supposed to happen — I'm sorry," she stuttered, eyes snapping back and forth while tears streamed down her face. Of all of the thoughts that had plagued her mind about their deaths, this one was by far the worst that anyone could have conjured up. "I am — so — I'm so sorry."

     "You could have stopped this! And you know it!" Octavia screeched hysterically and Taylor shook her head rapidly, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she possibly could.

     When she opened them again, she gasped and coughed slightly while her eyes adjusted to yet another intense, white light. Though, this time, the real ache in her bones and the still existing hole gaping in her chest were present. And she knew that it was no dream. This was reality.

     The walls were a bright white, as were her sheets, the door, the furniture, and the clothes that she was wearing. It wasn't what she had on when she fell at the base of the dropship, but a stark white tank top and shorts to match.

     Her eyes scanned the room and it was as if an invisible weight was pushing down upon her, this was not as weak as she remembered feeling however long ago the dropship had been. Taylor finally settled on staring at the IV that was in her arm, the tube trailing all the way to a pole with a bag.

     Immediately upon noticing this, her left hand shot out to her right arm where she tried to peel off the tape that secured the tube to her arm. Wherever she was, it was not a good thing that they were drugging her up with something she didn't recognize.

     Barely able to lift the tape, her eyes widened when the door to the room opened and a person in a hazmat suit started to approach her. In her current state, she couldn't back up any further away and was completely powerless when they inserted a needle into the IV tube and emptied the contents of the syringe into it.

     Any protest from her died in the back of her dry, scratchy throat. Her tongue felt strange in her mouth, just a numb thing she had forgotten how to use.

     Waves of calm washed over her slowly and the world around her became less coherent. Another person entered the room and ended up on her right next to the other hazmat suit clad figure.

     A number of hands grabbed at her and lifted her, placing her in a chair of some sort that chilled her to the bone, her skin making direct contact with the cold metal.

     Blinking a few times, she realized that she was moving in this strange chair. A wheelchair? Her thoughts went to how her captors had even acquired one on the ground considering everything but then she had to prevent herself from wasting her time on irrelevant notions.

     The hallways were just as white as her room. Things seemed less fuzzy than they had moments ago and she was able to process her surroundings more accurately.

     Her heart dropped when she read the sign on the wall. Mount Weather Quarantine Ward. She was unable to fathom how that was even remotely possible. But then again, they had also expected the earth to be completely empty when they arrived.

     What she was thoroughly convinced of, though, was that Mount Weather had no business in taking them from anywhere without their permission. Or drugging them and locking them in a quarantine ward, either, for that matter.

     The eerily white hallways started to end where similarly clean, but less unnatural ones, began. Her limbs were working slower and she couldn't bring herself to move much more than a few of her fingers. Whatever she had been given was powerful.

     Eventually she was wheeled to a set of doors and was looking at what she thought to be some sort of office. Sitting behind a large desk was an old man with white hair and a smile that she supposed should have been welcoming. The person who had wheeled her in, she had lost track of who was who after she had been injected, nodded at the man and left the room.

     "I expect you're very shocked right now, so let me introduce myself," he said warmly, breaking the silence as he stood up from his seat and made his way around the desk. "I'm Dante Wallace, President of Mount Weather."

     Taylor just stared at him blankly, unsure of what to do or think. She didn't trust him, she didn't think anything about what was happening was right. He held out his hand for her to shake, but she simply looked at it without moving in the slightest.

     "Why am I here?" she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible as her vocal cords strained against each other painfully.

     "Ah, how impolite of me," Dante excused, putting his hand down and striding over to a smaller table near the side of the room. He returned with a full glass of water and held it out to her encouragingly.

     Skeptical as ever, she hesitated for a moment, but let the thirst and the lacking ability to speak get the best of her. Quickly, she grabbed it from his grasp and gulped down the entire thing, that being a small improvement added onto the fact that it seemed she had regained most of her motor abilities back.

     Dante plucked the glass from her hands and replaced it back on the table that he got it from. "My sincerest apologies for the sedative, we had some complications with your friend Clarke and didn't want to risk anything," he told her.

     "Clarke?" she questioned, her voice now at an acceptable volume for a person to hear, still unable to process what was happening. "Where are my friends? What did you do to them?"

     "Your friends are perfectly safe, Taylor. I was just about to be on my way to see Clarke, and we can take you both to your friends," he explained in a still chillingly calm tone that still didn't sit right with her. She wasn't certain if it was because all she had been dealing with for weeks was anything but calm, or if something was genuinely wrong.

     "How do you know my name?" Taylor snapped, narrowing her eyes at the man accusingly.

     "Your friends. They said that you were a leader, as was Clarke," Dante clarified, smiling at her slightly when he mentioned the last part, but she just felt like more weight had been added on top of the invisible mass of grief that was crushing her.

     "I don't know if that's what you'd call it," she mumbled, glancing down at her hands as silence crept up on them. The doors behind her opened quietly and she looked up to see a chest being wheeled just to the left of where she was sitting.

     "I'll let you get dressed, and when you're ready, I'll be outside and then we can go see Clarke," he said, leaving the room quickly and leaving her alone. Both of her hands grasped each side of the wheelchair and pushed herself up, stumbling out of it and onto solid ground. Her legs felt shaky as a result of underuse, so she grabbed the nearby desk for support.

     Staggering over to the open chest, she glanced at it apprehensively before selecting a light blue shirt and a jacket with some more comfortable looking pants and shoes. Taylor took her time on her way to the doors, examining all of the ancient looking items that were crammed into the space.

     She pushed open the doors and was greeted by Dante and several men carrying guns. He assured her that it would be a quick walk to where Clarke was and when they finally arrived, he stopped her from entering the room. A woman in a lab coat appeared at the end of the hall and greeted Dante when she approached them.

     "Why can't I go in?" Taylor demanded, every single one of his actions just making him seem more suspicious.

     "I want to speak with her first and let her know what is going on before you see her. Just wait here," he responded in an untroubled tone. Both he and the doctor with two of the guards entered the room, leaving the door shut behind them.

    It didn't seem right. The two guards that stood behind her, eyeing her intently, and Clarke speaking to Dante and the doctor by herself seemed off. Deep down, her gut was telling her that something wasn't right and it had been since she had become conscious.

     The door finally opened once again and everyone came back out, except Clarke still wasn't with them. Taylor opened her mouth to speak, her face defiant and impatient, but Dante beat her to the punch.

     "She's changing and will be here momentarily," he informed her, Taylor left to wait in still building suspense to finally see someone familiar.

     Moments later, the door opened and Clarke stepped out and looked around, confused over the jarringly loud noise that came from above their heads. Taylor let out a breath of relief and jogged over to her quickly, Clarke finally catching sight of her and running to meet her.

     They came together in a tight hug and in that moment Taylor was extremely glad that she had her there with her. Pulling apart, Clarke smiled, but faltered slightly when she realized where they were.

     "Have you seen them yet?" she strained over the grinding sound. Taylor shook her head while they started to walk back over to Dante.

     "That's apparently where we're going," she answered with slightly raised brows and a look of apprehension, Clarke nodding, not at her words, but at the look that she wore on her face. When they finally reached the man, he laughed and gestured to his ears.

     "Sorry about the noise! Hydroelectric power from Philpott Dam," he explained to the two as they walked along the hall, pointing up at the ceiling. "Fresh water from our own underground reservoir. Fresh food for our hydroponic farm."

     "I don't understand. You're on the ground. You know it's survivable. Why would you stay here?" Clarke asked, looking around at the confining space.

     "It's not survivable for us," Dante said simply with the shake of his head.

     "The Grounders seemed to have managed," Clarke countered, her entire demeanor still puzzled.

     "Natural selection works. The Grounders who couldn't survive in the radiation didn't. Those who could passed on their DNA. For better or for worse, here, we never went through that process," he elaborated while they turned the corner into another, larger hallway. The place was a maze, and that didn't ease Taylor's thoughts about it any further.

     "But that doesn't make any sense," she interjected, looking past Clarke toward the man in confusion. "We didn't."

     Clarke nodded along, adding, "We've been on the ground now for...solar radiation," she realized after a short pause. Taylor looked down at the ground and thought about it, completely shocked at the revelation. How was that something that they hadn't realized before? They could've come to the ground much earlier than they did.

     "Very good. Your DNA ran the same gauntlet as the Grounders. Only because radiation levels in space are even higher, your ability to metabolize that radiation is even stronger," he told them happily, as they rounded on an elevator. One of the many guards swiped a key card and the doors slid open effortlessly. "Truth be told, our scientists were blown away by the efficiency of your systems. If not for that, your friends would still be upstairs in quarantine."

     "Then why do we have to stay here? We can be out there, and we were getting on just fine by ourselves," Taylor commented, crossing her arms when they came to a stop in front of the open doors. Dante smiled and gestured for them to enter the elevator, two guards heading in before they did. A deep frown settled itself on her face, her question still strangely unanswered.

     The doors started to glide closed, but Dante's arm blocked them from doing so. "First, give me the heel," he said, looking directly at Clarke. She averted her eyes somewhat defeatedly and fiddled with her sleeve before handing the end of a high heel to him.

     "You're not fighting for your life anymore, Clarke. Neither of you are. You've made it," he assured with another friendly smile. "Welcome to Mount Weather."