Hey there.
So I have been watching The 100 for quite some time now and couldn't rest in peace till I wrote something on these two. To me, Bellamy forgiving Clarke in Season 3 seemed a little too convenient and so I decided to play with that plot a little bit and tried to advance their story just a little further.
I do not own The 100, in case you were wondering.
And I love feedback, so please leave behind a review.
Enjoy!
She can tell that he has not slept in days. There are bags under his eyes, dark circles printed on his skin, hideously overshadowing the beautiful constellation of freckles she has grown to love. His hair is a mess and as he stumbles into the room, late for the meeting, she realizes he is also drunk.
He ignores her completely, disregards her presence with such vehement loathing and distaste that she finds it hard to keep herself from crumbling in full view of everyone.
"Bellamy," Kane speaks, concern apparent in his words. "You don't look too well."
"I'm fine," he replies gruffly, collapsing onto a chair.
"You should have Abby take a look at you," Kane says, clearly worried about him. "We can fill you in later about what we decide."
"I am fine," Bellamy repeats, enunciating every word.
"You don't look fine, man," Nate chips in. "You should-"
"Oh for crying out loud, I am fucking fine. Can we get on with the freak show, please?" Bellamy explodes reducing the entire room to stunned silence.
"Damn," he drives his fist into the table. "I'm done here."
And with that, he storms out of the room, every pair of eyes fixated on the door except the one that has tears spilling out of them, uncontrollably and relentlessly.
She cries because she knows she brought about that anger, she cries because she watched him break, piece by piece, over the last few weeks, and did not do anything about it.
Love is weakness.
She should have done something, she could have done something but she was so busy nursing her own broken heart and saving her people that she left him on his own. It is not like she has not thought about him, he has occupied every second of her wakeful thoughts. It is just that she has been so wrapped up in other meaningless charades that she has been robbed of doing what is important.
Lies.
She shakes her head violently in an attempt to vanquish that thought. Those are not lies, she tries to convince herself but is reminded of how they are not the truth either.
She sighs audibly and runs a hand through her hair. It is just that she is also scared.
Of Bellamy.
She does not want to be, she has no reason to be but everytime she thinks of all the lengths he has gone to, all the blood he has spilled, only to protect her, only to save her, she cannot help the spine chilling numbness that creeps upon her.
His devotion scares her.
It scares her because it reminds her of all the things he would do for her and she would not.
But she does love him.
In her own twisted way where she pushes him against walls that cannot be broken and mountains that cannot be scaled, where she stoops low enough to take advantage of his mindless selfless devotion, where she parades him around as her soldier, where she plays on his emotions and makes him dance to her tunes, she truly does love him.
She loves him more than anyone she has ever loved.
She does not understand why she behaves so dysfunctionally. She cannot explain her actions and decisions to herself.
Why does she always leave him alone if she really loves him?
And so she tries to explain the inexplicable to herself and as useless words to her broken soul, as a useless balm to her decaying spirit, she tells herself that she does it because she is afraid of loving him too much, of wanting him too much, of needing him too much.
Just maybe she can push him far enough for him to despise her and not look at her with a light in his eyes that knocks the air out of lungs. Just maybe that will stop her from hopelessly falling in love with him and when he eventually leaves, because that is what everyone does with her, just maybe the pain will not be as heart wrenching and damaging as it always is.
But she is so tired of pushing him away, so tired of keeping her feelings locked behind iron bars, so tired of never being there for him.
She is so tired that she does not even mind the pain his leaving might leave behind in its trail. She is so tired that when she sees him losing his cool again and firing at Jasper, all she wants to do is wrap her arms around him, engulfing him in her warm embrace.
She does hold back though.
Because that is what she has always done, because that is what she has always taught herself to do.
But then there is that voice in her head again, screaming at her what she does not want to hear.
Because that is what cowards do.
She finds him drunk the next morning too and this time, she does walk up to him and demand an explanation.
"Bellamy," she tells him sternly as she seats herself down beside his slumped form. "This needs to stop."
"Princess," he greets her with causticity. "Didn't fancy seeing you here, pretending to care about me."
"I'm not pretending, Bellamy," she raises her voice a notch higher.
"No? Good on you, princess. You might finally get some points for behaving like an actual human being."
"What is your problem with me?" she screams this time, blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay.
"You don't know?" he draws menacingly close, his eyes taken over by an apoplectic red.
"No, I don't!"
By now, they have managed to draw a few curious spectators, but he is too drunk to notice and she is too tired.
"Let me piece it together for you then, Clarke."
He takes her name like it is a poison and the raw hatred dripping from his words breaks her into a thousand pieces.
"Here's the problem, Clarke," he continues. "You left. You turned your back on all of us when we needed you the most, you did not even think of coming back. How did it not hurt your conscience, Clarke? How could you just abandon your people and walk away?"
"I…" she has tears in her eyes, his words scarring her, wounding her.
"While we were trying to build a world for us, you were running around doing whatever the hell you wanted. You left, Clarke."
"Bellamy-"
"You left me," the words leave his mouth in a broken whisper.
Whatever fragile thread she was hanging by snaps at that, those three little words from him and she dissolves into a violent volley of tears.
She knows leaving everyone behind was wrong, she knows her absence led Bellamy to do things he would otherwise never have done, she knows it damaged him, broke him, but to hear it from him, to hear the resignation and the helplessness in his voice, makes the pit of her stomach lurch with guilt.
"But I am here now," she whispers, her words somehow hollow, somehow useless.
He looks at her then, his eyes devoid of warmth, his mouth set into a thin line and yet despite the cold demeanor, she believes she catches a glimpse of the old Bellamy, her Bellamy, till he says, "But I don't need you anymore."
Sleep eludes her for the next few nights and she spends her time in the makeshift medical bay they have set up in Arkadia.
It helps actually. On most nights, there are emergencies to handle and the crisis keeps her mind away from unpleasant and unwanted memories. But the other nights when there are no patients to tend to, nothing broken to be fixed, and she is left alone to battle her loneliness, she curls up in a corner, terrified of the darkness, craving for the safe arms she knows she has lost forever.
On the fifteenth sleepless night, an emergency is rushed in at the stroke of midnight.
"I said, I am fine," she recognizes the obstinate voice of Octavia long before two guards drag her injured form to the medical bay.
"Octavia," Clarke cannot help but gasp. "Where were you all these days?"
"Oh great," Octavia mutters under her breath. "Five more minutes till my brother gets to know of this."
"A bullet tore through her arm," one of the guards tells Clarke, as Octavia continues her struggle.
"How?" Clarke asks, examining the wound.
"There was movement outside the perimeter. We thought it was a wild animal and shot at it. It turned out to be her."
"Okay," Clarke nods. "I've got this but someone needs to inform Bellamy that his sister is in here."
"No," Octavia protests. "You are not going to tell Bellamy. If he sees me here, he will never let me leave again."
"Octavia, I have to let Bellamy know," Clarke says, pushing a dose of sedative into her.
"Clarke, you don't understand-"
"I do, but I can't lie to your brother."
Octavia keeps protesting till the medicine starts affecting her.
It is a fairly standard procedure yet Clarke finds her heart racing. She takes a few calm collected breaths and is about to make an incision when Bellamy bursts into the room.
"Why are you operating on my sister?" he demands.
"She needs surgery, Bellamy," Clarke replies as nonchalantly as she can.
No more breaking down in front of him.
"She needs a doctor," he counters.
"I am the best she is going to get," she says and paying no heed to him, carries on with the procedure.
"Dammit Clarke!" Bellamy shouts. "I asked you to back off. I don't want you touching my sister."
"Bellamy, you are being unreasonable. I am the only one who can help her and you are wasting precious time."
"You will help her?" he scoffs. "Remember the time you were willing to let a bomb drop on her?"
She gulps hard at that, tries to shake off his accusation, tries to remind herself that he is laughing out of pain, he does not mean it, not really.
"Back off, Clarke," Bellamy reiterates.
"I can't, Bellamy. You cannot stop me from doing my job," she says, steely determination in her voice.
"Clarke," he hisses. "Don't make me say things I don't want to say."
"I really don't think you have left anything unsaid, Bellamy," she says and for a moment, she sees him falter. "And unless you drag me away from here, I will operate on your sister because right now, she needs my help and we don't have time for your shenanigans."
He does not say a word after that and simply retreats to a corner of the room, watching Clarke pull the bullet out of Octavia.
He wants to thank her after the surgery when she comes to a stop in front of him, the slightest hint of expectation in her eyes, he knows he should, but he is too damned proud, always has been.
And so he ignores her presence yet again and walks right past her, treating her as if she were invisible, inconsequential and unimportant.
Octavia's arrival raises up a storm.
Clarke hears the whispers wherever she goes: almost the whole of Arkadia wants her to be rightfully punished for Pike's murder.
And so after much contemplation, after forcing her personal feelings aside, she brings herself to stand outside Bellamy's room. Letting out a strained breath, she knocks on his door.
"Who is it?"
"It's Clarke," she replies nervously.
There is silence on the other side of the room, followed by the click of the lock. The door opens and she finds herself staring at the stony expression he seems to wear all the time these days.
"What do you want?" he asks.
"I need to talk to you about Octavia."
"What about her?"
"Can I come in?" she asks tentatively.
He nods hesitantly and lets her in, closing the door behind them.
"Everyone wants her to be executed for Pike's murder," she says.
"What?" he gasps, his eyes widening in shock. "Who told you?"
"Everyone's talking about it, Bellamy. It's not safe for her to be here."
He has tears in his eyes and almost on instinct, she wraps her hand around his. He does not pull back, only holds on tighter.
"I can't send her away again, Clarke."
"But Bellamy, you have to."
He sniffs, taking a long look at their linked hands.
"I feel like I have failed her," he says, his voice breaking. "Like I have failed everyone."
"Bellamy," she sighs. "You know that's not true."
He looks at her with doubt in his eyes, his gaze piercing through her.
"Do you really believe that, Clarke? After everything that I have done to you, do you still believe that?"
"I do," she tells him confidently, squeezing his hands in assurance. "It wasn't your fault. Not entirely, anyway. I did leave all of you behind."
"You know," he tells her quietly, refusing to meet her eyes. "I still need you."
She smiles at that, remorse etching itself on her face.
"I think I'll always need you, Bellamy."
He tells her he needs her by his side when he talks to Octavia. She no longer has the heart to refuse anything he says.
"I would have left Arkadia anyway," Octavia tells Bellamy, no hint of emotion in her voice.
Clarke wonders how it went this wrong between the two of them.
"O please," Bellamy pleads. "Just give me some time. I will fix this."
"What will you fix? Which part will you fix? The part where Lincoln is dead because of you?"
Clarke notices she talks like a war hardened warrior, all traces of the free spirited girl who landed on the ground three years back gone.
"Octavia-" Bellamy's voice has cracked by now.
"You can't do anything, Bellamy," Octavia says. "You no longer have that right."
"So what will you do now? Run away? Hide out in the shadows?"
"That's none of your business."
"Octavia," Clarke interrupts, disapproval in her voice. "He only wants what's best for you."
"You don't say, Clarke," she practically screams. "You don't get a say in this when the man you love is standing here, breathing and alive."
Octavia says it out of anger, spitefully even, but it forces her to think and she winds up outside Bellamy's room.
He is sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, and his gun in his hand.
"Bellamy?"
"She left."
There is nothing she can say to help, so she lets him continue.
"She told me to never try and find her."
"Give her some time, Bellamy. She will come around."
"She won't, Clarke. Not this time. This time, it has gone too far."
She sits down beside him, maintaining her distance. He is fragile right now and she is afraid to push too hard.
She pries the gun that she has been eyeing alarmingly off his hand. He lets go without any resistance.
They keep their fingers entwined, two lost souls meandering in this anfranctuous world.
Most of what they had is now broken, dissolved into dust, fractured beyond repair.
So they fix what they can, salvage what is left.
And they go back to rebuilding their relationship. So much was said in those angry moments that it takes time. But they are both willing to invest that time and before long, she finds her well perfected barriers dissolving.
And on one particularly dull day when she hears him laugh, late in the night, underneath the glow of the stars, a pure beautiful sound that creates ripples around her, for a moment, she begins to wonder what it would feel like to allow herself to fall in love.
When she is starting to believe that this time things will fall into place, he tells her he is volunteering for a mission.
Suicide mission.
He does not say that though, she hears it in his voice.
"Why?" she does not even try to contain her tears.
"I need to do it, Clarke," he says. "For myself."
"Bellamy," she sniffs. "I don't know what you are thinking but if this is your way of punishing yourself, your plan is bad."
"It's not like that," he sighs, wiping away a stray tear off her face.
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know," he says weakly. "All I know is I need to save them."
"I can't lose you, Bellamy."
"Clarke-"
"The last time I sent you on a suicide mission to Mount Weather, I was wrong. Only I realized it a little too late and by then, you were gone. I can't live through that again."
"I'll come back," he says, pulling her close and pressing his lips against her forehead. "I always do, don't I?"
She cries into his chest, wrapping her arms around him, too scared to let go, fearing that if she does, he will disappear, leaving her lonely and broken yet again.
His mission is to sneak into Azgeda territory and rescue four of their people the Ice Nation had taken captive.
She spends her days in a daze, going through her motions wordlessly and mechanically, surviving the onslaught of misgivings, keeping her emotions in check, holding on and bravely warding off her demons night after night.
On the eighth night, the gates to Arkadia open and he returns with three of their people.
He has fresh bruises painted on his body and he walks with visible discomfort but he is alive and well, and she can no longer hold back.
She is quick on her feet and rushes to meet him in the medical bay where her mother is tending to his wounds.
"Clarke," he smiles as soon as he sees her, his eyes not leaving her for a second.
She smiles back, heaving a sigh of relief.
"You came back," she whispers.
"I promised, didn't I?"
"I got this, Mom," she tells her mother who has been watching their exchange with a knowing smile on her face.
Abby smiles at her and giving her shoulder a squeeze, she leaves the two of them.
There is silence between them as she cleans the cuts on his body and bandages them, stitching where necessary.
"I lost one of them, Clarke."
"You did your best."
"I didn't."
"What do you mean?" she asks softly, running a hand through his hair, forcing him to look at her.
"Roan caught us," he sighs.
"He let you go?" she asks, cleaning the wound on his face.
"He would let us go only if someone stayed back. It should have been me, Clarke, but I couldn't bear the thought of staying away from you and when Clint volunteered, I couldn't say no."
She stares at him in disbelief for a moment, surprised at his confession. Whatever they were, vocal confessions were never a part of it.
"Clarke?"
She realizes she has zoned out and shaking her head, she says, "I think I would have done the same."
That night, there is a knock on her door. She has a fair idea of who it is but asks nevertheless, "Who is it?"
"It's me," his voice reaches her through the closed door.
She opens the door to find him drenched in his sweat, his body trembling violently.
She lets him in without a word and when his arms come around her, she lets herself sink into his warmth. They hold each other till she feels her body calming against her own.
"Bellamy?"
"I couldn't sleep," he whispers.
"It's okay," she says, pulling back.
"Clarke," his voice breaks. "I don't think we can survive this-"
"Don't," she cuts him off, pressing a finger against his lips. "Don't say that."
"I don't want to keep things left undone," he says and she knows where he is going with this.
"Bellamy," her voice comes out as a warning.
But he is no longer listening to her and has bent down to capture her lips into a kiss. She melts into him at the contact. His touch is electric and in those few seconds, she finds herself trying to quench the thirst of all these years. It is all that she has expected and more. His lips are warm and soft against hers, his fingers alternate between combing through her hair and caressing her skin.
It is when his lips reach her neck that she pulls back, breathless. A giggle escapes her mouth and he chuckles too, the sound bubbling out of him.
And suddenly, she is reminded of how young they really are, of how much they have lost, of how much they have sacrificed and all she craves is this lost time.
These days that reverential light in his eyes no longer scares her, that selfless devotion of his no longer sends her scrambling on her feet to hide in her shell.
In fact, on certain days when they lie on her bed, flushed, holding each other in their afterglow, she brings herself to whisper, "I love you, Bellamy."