Clarke woke with a gasp, eyes flying open to stare at the ceiling above her. She lay there, for a moment, trying to remember what woke her up, before she realized what she was looking at. Above her, the ceiling was not the metal of the ark she was so used to, or even the open sky, but a light-colored plaster.
Sitting up so quickly she could almost feel her brain rattle in her skull, she took in the room around her with a panicked gaze. The walls were also plaster, one of them hosting a wooden door with a shiny knob, the other with several curtain-covered windows, soft sunlight filtering in through the thin fabric. The floor was covered in a strangely-textured fabric, akin to grass—carpet? Wooden furniture was placed carefully around the room, decorated with photos in frames, and with drawers and doors half open to reveal soft, clean clothes spilling out. The closest Clarke had ever been to being in a room like this was when she was trapped in Mount Weather, but even then, her hospital room hadn't been nearly so… homey.
She'd seen pictures, back when she was on the Ark, of the times before the bombs, of what houses looked like, and she was sure they were pretty similar to this one.
Looking down, she realized she was sitting on a bed, tangled up in clean sheets, cushioned on top of the softest mattress she'd ever felt in her entire life. Her legs were bare, and her torso was covered in a thin t-shirt she was positive she'd never seen before. Lifting her arms to inspect them, she was shocked at what she saw: instead of the dirt crusted fingernails and bloody scars that frequented her skin, her arms were clean and healthy, the scars from her wounds barely visible. The gold ring that adorned her hand was also new, as well as the small infinity sign tattoo that graced her wrist. Hurriedly untangling her legs from the sheets that were suddenly too restraining, she found that they were in the same unnervingly clean state.
Breaths coming more and more rapidly, she started to panic; where was she, how did she get here? The last thing she remembered was laying in the ark's sick bay, her mother pressing cool cloths to her fevered forehead, ignoring Clarke's cries of pain every time she touched one of the blisters on her skin. Clarke had been having symptoms of ARS for days now, but refused to go into the sick bay until she'd collapsed in the floor of her office and Bellamy and Monty had carried her there. She definitely wasn't in this room when she'd passed out on the cot, surrounding by the coughing, crying sounds of her dying people.
Suddenly, to her left, the pile of sheets shifted. Letting out a soft shriek and scuttling backwards so quickly she almost fell off the mattress, she watched as someone emerged from the blankets, then rolled over to face her.
"What are you doing up already?" The voice rasped sleepily, as Clarke's eyes widened in recognition. "It's a Sunday, Sunday's are for sleeping." Bellamy's dark eyes met hers lazily across the mattress, and he smiled softly.
"I don't—how're we—what're you—" She stuttered, watching as he stretched his arms above his head, releasing the muscles that had tightened during sleep. With wide eyes, she took in his bare torso, the soft drawstring pants riding low on his hips. His dark hair, curly and messy, was sprawled across the pillow under his head. Despite all her best intentions, her heart sped up at the sight. Desperately, she shoved the all-too-familiar feeling in her gut back where they came from. It was not the time or the place.
"Where are we?" She finally whispered, scooting a little closer to him. "How did we get here?" A look of concern crossed his face.
"We're at home, princess." He said softly, bringing his calloused hand to cover hers. "Did you have another nightmare?" She gaped at the term of endearment, at the gentle hand that rose to her face to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. When she didn't respond, he moved his hand to her waist.
"C'mon, come here." The gentle words floated around her as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her into his chest. She went willingly, feeling her panic dwindle as he wrapped his strong arms around her. With a sigh of relief, she breathed in his familiar scent: pine, and earth, and sweat, and rain. Allowing herself to nuzzle her face into his chest, she felt the slow rhythm of his steady heartbeat under her cheek. The beat calmed her, as she felt her heart slow its panicked racing to match his. Sighing softly, she felt him press a soft kiss to the top of her head.
"You're safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, ever." He whispered into her hair, sending shivers down her spine and tears to her eyes. She was disconcerted by the sudden intimacy, but this safety had always been Bellamy's specialty. Out of everyone she'd ever met, beyond Wells, beyond even her own parents, he had the brilliant capacity to keep her centered. To make her feel safe, protected. She knew that no matter what happened, she'd be okay if he was by her side.
"Thank you." She whispered the words across his skin, and he pulled her in closer, nuzzling his nose into her hair.
"No need to thank me," He muttered sleepily. "I'm your husband; it's part of the job description."
It took Clarke a moment, lying there in his arms to realize what he'd said, but when she did, her head reeled backwards. She took in the soft look on his face with wide eyes, gauging whether he was serious or not. He was.
"What-" She whispered in disbelief, when she suddenly heard a strange sound, what she could only assume was a door, just outside theirs. She felt Bellamy stiffen in her arms, and with brute force the panic had returned. Swearing softly under his breath, he untangled himself from her.
"What, what is it?" She hissed, as he fumbled around for something on the wooden stand next to the mattress, knocking several items off it in the process.
"Sorry, I thought we had a little more time, but," He let out a great, heaving sigh. "Looks like they're on their way."
"What? Who is?" Clarke questioned, her voice rising in pitch, but he didn't seem to notice. Noises grew from outside the door, all while Bellamy continued his seemingly fruitless search, for what,
Clarke didn't know. Finally, he leaned back over to her, slipping a pair of pristine glasses up the bridge of his nose. With a tired smile, seemingly ignorant of Clarke clutching the sheets to her lap in apprehension, he spoke again.
"Brace yourself."
With his words, the wooden door flung open. Clarke tightened her hands into fists in preparation, but was surprised when she was greeted by two small bundles of noise and color and energy, entering the room with all the force of a whirlwind. They clambered onto the mattress, their voices excited and incomprehensible, and out of the corner of her eye, Clarke saw Bellamy's face split into a wide grin.
"Oh no!" He cried in mock fear as the larger of the two bundles jumped onto him. "You got me!" Clarke watched as the tiny thing flung her arms around Bellamy's neck, knocking him back onto the mattress. The little bundle, a young girl who could've been no older than six, giggled and screeched as
Bellamy ran tickling hands across her stomach, retaliation for tackling him. She was adorable, with wild curly hair sticking out in all directions and a grin that revealed she was missing her two front teeth.
Clarke momentarily forget about the other child until she felt a weight on her lap. This one, a toddler, was tottering unsteadily across her lap, all smiles as he approached her. He giggled as he unsteadily trudged across the blankets towards her, and Clarke smiled as he finally reached her and fell into her chest.
"Momma momma momma momma." He chattered excitedly, clapping his hands in front of her face. Clarke reeled backwards once again; momma? Wrapping her arms around the excitable child, she took stock of his appearance: piercing blue eyes, just like hers, and like the little girl, a halo of unruly, curly black hair. Hair like the man sitting next to her.
Bellamy's hair.
With all the force of a bullet, a pang shot through Clarke's chest. She wasn't sure how it was so, but this was her child. No, her children, she realized as she caught sight of the girl's ice-blue eyes. And Bellamy was their father. Her husband. It felt… right. And normal, and happy. Something she didn't think she'd ever felt, especially not since coming to the ground. Not since the weight of the world had been shoved onto her shoulders, not since she became a leader, not since she became responsible for the lives of not only her people but the entire world's. Yet, as she looked at the family—her family—surrounding her on the bed, she felt a joy she never thought she'd have. And it hurt, another bullet-sharp pain piercing through her heart.
She choked back a sob as she stared at the little boy on her lap, his fingers picking at her shirt contentedly. To her side, she heard the little girl stop giggling long enough to breathlessly resume the barrage of questions she'd entered the room in.
"What're we gonna do today daddy?" She questioned, her voice soft and happy, bouncing up and down on Bellamy's lap.
"Hmmm." He replied, in over exaggerated thought. "How about… we go see Auntie Raven?" Clarke ran a gentle hand through her son's hair as she heard her daughter let out a cry of excitement, listing the things she was going to do at Auntie Raven's in a rapid-fire manner. Bellamy chuckled, moving a hand to Clarke's back.
"Is that okay with you, mom?" Clarke didn't respond, running a finger over the boy's chubby cheek as he babbled nonsensically. She noticed the faint spattering of freckles the peppered his nose and cheekbones.
"Clarke?" Bellamy asked quietly, his voice laced with concern. "You okay?" She tried to speak, but when she turned to look at him, his kind face and his gentle eyes, the words died in her mouth, and tears sprang to her eyes. Shooting her a worried glance, Bellamy lifted the girl off his lap and onto the ground next to the bed.
"Alright, Miss Persephone, why don't you go QUIETLY check and see if the baby's awake, and then I will make you some waffles." Another child. Another bullet to Clarke's heart. The girl ran from the room, screeching excitedly, the exact opposite of quiet.
"Wait, take your brother!" Bellamy called, crossing the room hurriedly to lift the chattering child from Clarke's lap. Her arms felt empty with him gone.
"Come here, Jakey-Jake." He muttered as he carried the child over to the doorway, letting him totter off after his sister. Her son was named Jake. Another bullet.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Bellamy questioned, moving back to sit next to her on the bed, wrapping her hands up in his. She shook her head, and he rubbed his fingers across her knuckles, the callouses on his thumb raising goosebumps on her skin. It was all too much, too much for her heart to handle.
"It's nothing." She whispered shakily, her voice unconvincing. Bellamy, his face layered in concern, removed his hands from hers, instead placing them gently on either side of her face. Clarke wrapped her hands around his wrists, clinging to them like a lifeline.
"Clarke whatever it is, I'm here for you." He said gently, his breath brushing across her face. "Whatever we go through, we go through together, remember?" The softness in his eyes made her knees weak. She knew Bellamy cared about her—Bellamy cared about everyone—but the undying love etched into his expression made it almost hard to breathe. As if the universe was conspiring against her, Bellamy leaned forward, placing his forehead against hers. He went to speak again, but stopped when they heard a resounding crash from the next room, followed by a child-like cry of 'uh-oh'. Bellamy closed his eyes and let out a sigh.
"I'm going to go make the kids some breakfast, and once I get them settled, we can talk if you want." Clarke nodded, unsure of what to say. She wasn't sure how to tell him that didn't know how any of this could be real, while it was at the same time the realest she'd ever felt. It was confusing and painful and made her want to cry more.
In a swift movement, he brought her mouth to his, pressing a kiss against her lips. It was gentle and chaste, and the feelings Clarke had worked so hard to keep at bay finally spilled over. She'd been avoiding this for so long, trying to ignore how her once irritation at his presence had converted into deep affection, but here it was, all crashing down at once. As his lips pressed soft and warm against hers, the walls she'd so carefully constructed around her heart after Wells, after Finn, after Lexa, came crashing down.
The kiss was over too quickly, and as Bellamy pulled away, Clarke almost found herself going in for more. Instead, she contented herself with his forehead resting against hers once more.
"I love you, Clarke." He whispered, his eyes filled with love so deep she felt she would drown.
"I… love you too." She replied breathlessly, the softest of smiles crossing her face. He smiled back.
"Clarke." His voice echoed oddly, pulsing through her ears. She could've sworn his mouth didn't move, but it was definitely Bellamy's voice.
"Yeah?" She replied, their noses brushing against each other's', but his face remained the same.
"Clarke!" His voice repeated, more urgent this time, with none of the same softness he'd had only moments before.
"What?" Her brows furrowed as his face remained unchanged, his expression frozen on his face.
"CLARKE!"
Her eyes flew open, and she was suddenly back in the sick bay. Metal ceilings, loud sounds, the smell of the sick.
It wasn't real.
Tears blurred her vision, and it might've had something to do with the return of the searing pain that coursed through her body. To her left she could hear Bellamy calling at someone across the room.
"Abby! Abby, she's crying, I think something's wrong-" He called in a panic, half risen from the crate he'd dragged next to her cot to sit on. Her head pounded, her vision fuzzy. She felt too hot and too cold at the same time, her muscles sore and achy and her skin blistered and dry. Abby hurried over, placing a firm hand on her forehead, before letting out a relieved sigh.
"She's doing okay, Bellamy, her fever is finally breaking." Abby muttered, turning to grab a wet rag from a bowl on the ground. "There's hope for her yet."
"But she was crying." He persisted, sounding mostly defensive and more than a little scared.
"She was probably hallucinating, with the fever so high. It might've scared her." Her mother expounded. Upon seeing Clarke's open eyes, Abby addressed her next question at her. "Clarke, honey, are you feeling any better?" Clarke nodded.
"Yeah… my mouth is a little dry." She admitted. Abby went to speak, but Jackson's voice called her from across the room, mixing in with the coughs and the cries of the sick.
"Get her some water, would you?" She directed her request at Bellamy, before hurrying over to another patient. Complying immediately he poured her some water into a small metal cup, before helping her sit up in her cot. She felt woozy and achy, but not as horribly so as when she had passed out. Closing her eyes, she took a sip of the water, trying to calm herself down. Just a hallucination, just a hallucination.
"You okay?" Bellamy asked, tearing her from her concentration. His expression was laced with masked concern. He was trying to be casual, but he was worried. Clarke nodded, raising a shaky hand to her forehead.
"Yeah, I'll be okay. Just a little disoriented." She assured him. It was almost too much, to be sitting next to him considering what she'd just witnessed.
"Were you hallucinating?" He questioned after a moments' pause. "You were crying, and that's what your mom said caused it."
"I think so." She told him, looking down at her hands. For a brief moment, she expected to see a gold band on her finger.
"Was it really bad?" He questioned "You seemed pretty upset." He hesitated for a moment, hands hovering over his lap, before he reached forward and brushed a sweaty lock of hair off her forehead.
"No," Clarke sighed, trying to ignore the way the brief contact made her heart jump to her throat. "It was really, really good, actually." She croaked, her voice cracking at the end. She took another sip of water to cover the slip-up.
"A nice hallucination? Well aren't you lucky." He joked half-heartedly. "What was it about?" He muttered quietly. Turning to look at him, she took in his strong hands, his messy hair, the constellations of freckles dotting his skin. In a moment of bravery, she moved her hand to cover his.
"Hope."