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Bellamy thought that perhaps he hadn’t actually woken up yet. Perhaps this was a dream. Maybe he was still back at Mt Weather, sleeping restlessly in a vent, stuck in this nightmare. But it would be okay, because in a moment, Clarke’s voice would crackle through the radio, shocking him awake, growling about ‘When I say two hours, I mean two hours, Bellamy’, the scorn hiding the thinly veiled tone of worry.
Her voice was the thing that brought him back to reality, but it was the one that he didn’t want. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. They were supposed to get their people home and lock the gates firmly behind them. They were supposed to rest, for just a little while, and then a new problem would roll around and things would be normal again.
They were still stood close, but he was staring at her, mouth agape, eyes wide with horror at the notion of Clarke not coming home. She was looking at him, fear in her eyes, grief in the lines of her face, her hands were shaking. He fought the urge to grab them, to pull her insistently through the gates himself and slam them locked.
“I bare it, so they don’t have to.” It was almost brave, but Bellamy heard the tremble, and his heart gave a twist that sent agony through him. She carried such a burden, carried Finn, carried the people of Ton DC, carried the Mountain Men. She was buckling, and Bellamy could see that written all over her face.
“Where are you going to go?” It was a desperate attempt, a way of saying, ‘You have no plan, you’re unprepared, you’re not ready, please, I’m begging.’ She understood the rest of his meaning, and smiled softly.
“I don’t know.” the words were fraying at the edges, her shoulders bowed, eyes turned towards the camp, taking it in with an intensity that meant she would not be seeing it again for a while. She looked back at him, and her sharp eyes held that same attentiveness, the promise of a goodbye.
If she had not started to lean forward, Bellamy would have. But she did, and when her lips pressed to the curve of his cheekbone, his eyes slid closed, savouring the feel of the chaste kiss. The only kiss. But then her arms were around him, and suddenly he was clamping her to his chest, basking in the warmth of her body, the curves of her frame, memorising her, saying all that he could not put into words with the fierceness of that one brief touch.
It was she that pulled away, she that was strong enough to plaster on a feeble attempt at a smile, her farewell sounded empty, not a promise, not really. He didn’t even get the chance to return it before she was turning, walking with a bent back towards the line of trees in the distance.
Bellamy had to turn, had to walk towards his people, because else he would run after her, run after her and throw himself on the ground and urge her to come back, to tell her that he needed her too, needed her guidance, her trust, her belief in his own goodness. Bellamy had tried to leave once, and she had pulled him back. Once, he had not deserved forgiveness, and she had given it freely. He had failed her, failed to make it better, like she had done for him, failed to keep her with their people, like she had managed.
He walked passed all of them, ignoring Abby’s hoarse question about Clarke’s retreating back, passed Wick and Raven, curled up together on the ground. Passed Octavia and Lincoln, heads bent low together, fingers joined between them. Octavia looked up as Bellamy approached, caught sight of his face and reached out for him, but Bellamy flinched away like he’d been shocked. He moved on quickly, guilt assaulting his stomach at the hurt that flashed across her face, but he needed to be alone.
It didn’t surprise him when he ended up in her tent. Of course he would. The small space was neat, the cot made, the small table organised. Bellamy’s head bowed, and he finally felt free to let a few tears trickles loose. He sniffed, brushing them harshly away, and when the fog cleared, his eyes found her pack on the end of the cot. She took that everywhere with her, when it was just them in the Dropship. There was almost an armada of supplies in there. And her sketchbook, which he’d never had the privilege of inspecting.
How was she supposed to survive without that pack? She’d walked into the trees with nothing but the clothes on her back and a gun with a half empty clip.
He hefted it, surprised at the weight, dropping his gun onto her cot to better test it.
She needed it, he realised. She could die without it.
Suddenly, Bellamy was moving.
It was wrong. He knew that. He understood why Clarke needed to leave, knew the guilt that was crippling her, knew the darkness building in her chest. He got that, really he did. But he would not permit her to die out there. If only he knew, knew for certain that she had a chance, that she was out there, alive, surviving, he would be able to function.
His steps were quick as he walked back past his people, almost stumbling in his haste. They didn’t need him any more. The remaining 100 had their parents now, didn’t need him to lead. Raven had Wick. Octavia had Lincoln. Nobody needed him here.
But someone needed him. Someone did, and she was getting further away by the second.
Octavia spotted him and turned, her eyes going to the pack on his shoulder. Her face darkened.
“Where’s Clarke?” she called as he neared. He didn’t slow, so Octavia kept pace with him, hurrying to keep up.
“She left,”
“And you’re following?”
“She’ll die out there.”
“Clarke is tough.”
“Not right now, she isn’t.” Bellamy was sure of that, sure that she couldn’t carry this burden, not alone.
“She needs space, Bell.”
“She needs help, O!” Bellamy stopped and spun towards his sister, his expression almost feverish, he was so panicked. “She tried so hard and she lost so much. Clarke gave up everything to get her people back, and she can’t even look at them without seeing all the things she’s done.”
“What she did was wrong!” Octavia’s eyes were fierce.
“It was necessary!” he hissed back, “She gave everything, and it’s breaking her. I can’t stay here, safe and sound, knowing that she’s out there suffering alone. I owe her too much, care about her too much.”
He started walking again, and Octavia moved with him.
“So you’re just going to leave?”
“She might send me back, she might sneak away from me, but I’m going to stay with her for as long as I can.”
“Clarke’s going to be furious.”
“She might hate me,” he nodded, “There might be a lot of swearing, but she’ll be alive.”
They were at the gates now, and Octavia grabbed him by the shoulders. She stared at him, long and hard, his own eyes, his mother’s eyes, glaring back at him from the hardened face of his sweet sister. Finally, she pulled him in for a hug that made his spine creak in protest. They said their farewells, the scene a mirror image of that night outside the dropship. Except he was the one running this time.
Bellamy started moving before anyone else could stop him to ask questions. He walked quickly, the bag a comfortable weight on his back, though he would have much preferred his gun, which he’d left behind in his haste. He’d seen the spot where she’d entered the trees, and hurried towards it. The only idea he had of where she’d go was the dropship, so he’d start towards that way.
He ducked under the canopy of trees, careful to place his feet between the roots layering the forest floor. His pace was still quick, head tilted down.
“Three whole minutes to decide to come after me, I’m almost insulted.”
He spun around so fast he almost toppled over. She smiled at his bewildered expression, shaking her head slowly, eyes pointed at the ground. She was stood a little off to the side, atop a small hill that gave her a perfect view of the camp. She must have watched him approach.
“Well, my brain works a little slower than yours.” he shrugged, “Sorry to keep you waiting.” he took the pack from his shoulder, offering it out. “I couldn’t let you go without this.”
“Thank you,” she reached to take it, but he slung it back over his own shoulder. The exasperated expression that formed sent warmth through his chest.
“We can carry it in shifts.” His voice was firm.
She looked at him for a long moment. Face bloodied, clothes ripped, hair matted. But her hands were steady, and her eyes were dry. There was something more there, something that had been missing a moment ago. It was making her whole face glitter.
“You won’t change your mind?” he didn’t even bother answering her. “What if I never come back? What about Octavia?”
“No one wants their big brother hanging around forever.” he held out his hand, offering it up. A long moment passed slowly, Bellamy’s heart hammered in anticipation, in dread. But then her hand was sliding into his, and he was steadying her as she hopped down from the hill. She tilted her head to look up at him.
“Clarke?” his voice was gruff, his heart squeezing painfully. She quirked a blonde eyebrow at him, expectant. He took a breath. “Would you like some company?”
She glanced away, sighed, glanced back, and a small, timid smile spread over her lips. “I... I’d really like that, Bellamy.”
He kept hold of her hand and turned expectantly, towards the shadows of the forest. He cut her a glance, smiled with encouragement. She seemed to brace herself, took a deep breath, and started walking. Her direction was aimless, they didn’t have a plan, didn’t have a goal. But they had each other.
Together, he’d promised her. You won’t be alone, she’d promised him.
When she glanced over at him again, eyes glittering with tears, her smile conveyed that they were tears of gratitude, not of sorrow. Then, finally, he identified the new emotion in her eyes, and it made his heart swell to twice its normal size.
It was hope.