Hey everyone! I know it's literally been years since I've posted on here, and I'm so sorry I'm no longer writing what you guys originally followed me for, but my relationship with TVD has gone a bit...sour. Also if anyone remembers, my username was previously romancerevival. Anyways, I've found a new fandom to call home and have gone a bit off the rails with my Bellamy and Clarke obsession - and I've been dying to write for them for months, so here we are! To my old readers, if any of you watch the 100, hopefully I can still entertain you? And to the new readers, thank you thank you thank you for giving me a chance. xoxo
At first, Bellamy was angry.
He was angry that they'd had to kill innocent people to save their own; he was angry with himself for breaking Monty's spirit and alienating Jasper; he was angry that he'd been left alone to deal with the guilt of pulling that lever.
He was angry that he wasn't enough to make her stay.
When he'd found out how Clarke had let the bomb drop on all of those people so that his cover wouldn't be blown, he didn't know what he felt. He tried not to think about it too often.
When he finally stopped being angry, he realized how broken he was.
Every time he closed his eyes, vivid pictures of all of the mountain people, dead at the table, tattooed themselves behind his eyelids. These pictures were almost always followed by all of the children he'd seen filing into that classroom.
He'd helped slaughter them. Because he had to.
He didn't really know how to lead his people anymore; he didn't want to give any more commands that could lead to another body count. He wasn't sure he could handle any more bloodstains on his hands.
He often wondered if Clarke felt the same way he did: did she lose sleep over the nightmares too? Did she hate the sight of herself in any reflective surface that she passed by?
Did she miss him too?
Every time Bellamy went out into the woods for supply missions, part of him always watched for a flash of yellow, a glint of golden princess hair in the corners of his vision.
He never saw it.
He looked for her in Abby's features, which had aged 10 years over the past few months. He looked for Clarke in her eyes, but all he saw was a dullness where there was once razor-sharp alertness; a clouded dimness where there once had been fire.
Abby was lost without Clarke too.
Some nights, while he was alone patrolling the camp border, he would look up at the stars, knowing that Clarke could see the same constellations and comets that he could, and ask her what to do. Ask her how she was. Ask her why for so many things. Ask her if she would ever come home.
He didn't realize that he'd been talking to her out loud until the night he caught Jasper in the corner of his eye, throwing down his gun and striding away much faster than he'd approached.
Four months and ten days after she walked away from him, she came back to him.
Bellamy had been nibbling on some dried venison, talking to Miller about the new bullets Raven had been supplying them with, when he noticed a dense, angry smoke cluttering the dusky, watercolored horizon. It wasn't unusual to catch a glimpse of the smoke from the grounders' camps; he knew they were out there. He just didn't think, after all that had happened, that they would seek confrontation with the sky people any longer. However, the smoke was thicker and darker than usual; it was the smoke of a structural fire.
It set him on edge.
Bellamy assigned himself to the gate patrol that night. Now that time had passed with no sign of attacks, the patrols had been significantly reduced; some nights, only one armed guard would pace the border of the camp, and they usually stayed inside the fence. Bellamy often volunteered for the post – it was better than sleeping, better than the nightmares, better than the dreams that would likely never come true.
The heavy stench of smoke permeated the camp air as Bellamy slowly paced by the gate, shivering occasionally in the damp, chilly night air. Seeing and hearing nothing to cause alarm, he slumped down against the scrap metal of the wall, tilting his face up toward the pinprick-lit sky.
He had nearly drifted off when he heard a weighty, clumsy scratching on the other side of the gate. For a moment, he'd assumed that it was the beginnings of another dream.
The scratching started up again briefly, followed by a substantial thump against the exterior of the gate.
Bellamy's finger slid to the trigger of his rifle as he slowly reached for the gate handle. It sounded like a wounded animal, but Bellamy knew now never to assume.
He pushed the gate gently to the left, poking his head around to look for what he was dealing with.
And there it was.
That golden, brilliant glimpse of yellow that he'd been searching for since he last lost sight of it.
Except it was nearly hidden with dark soot and ash.
"Bellamy," rasped her voice. May we meet again. "I'm glad it's you."
His heart lurched into his throat. He didn't know what to say; he didn't know if he was capable of speech at all. He immediately dropped to the ground, tossing his rifle aside and crouching in front of her. His eyes hungrily roved over her face. It was almost completely black with soot, except for an angry, shining pink burn that stretched from behind her left ear to her chin and across part of her throat and collarbone. Parts of her jacket were burned away, and he noticed that her once-golden eyebrows were badly singed.
"The fire," he muttered, his eyes squeezing shut involuntarily. "What happened?"
Clarke finally looked up, but she avoided his eyes, staring somewhere past his chin.
"I trusted them," she answered, her last word disappearing into a hoarse cough. "And I shouldn't have." She paused. "You were right. Again."
Bellamy eased himself into a sitting position beside her against the camp wall. They were silent for a moment. He knew she would continue when she was ready – if she wanted to.
"I didn't know where else to go, and I guess I was banking on the fact that they kind of owed me a good turn." She broke off, a rattling wheeze ripping from her lungs. "And at first, I thought that I was right. They took me in, and I taught them things I learned on the Ark in exchange. Turns out it was actually just an elaborate trap.
"They lured me into a false sense of security, even though they didn't trust me at all. They thought that once my defenses were down, they would kill me off. Deprive the sky people of a potentially lethal leader, it seems they thought. I don't know if-" she swallowed thickly. "I don't know if it was an order from the commander or not, but that smoke I'm sure you saw earlier? That was my hut. They thought they'd burn me in my sleep."
Bellamy's jaw clenched. "How are you here, then?"
"There's no way I'd have been able to sleep through fire after everything that's happened. Surely you of all people would know that." She still wasn't looking at him. "I pried some of the wood off of the back of the hut – mine was on the edge of the village – and ran out the back." Her hand involuntarily reached up to brush her singed eyebrows. "I still cut it pretty close though, obviously." Her voice was beginning to fade into a scratching whisper. At her silence, Bellamy glanced over her once more. All of the knuckles on her right hand were bleeding, and the side of her thumb had swollen into a shiny, purple mass. He noticed she was holding it suspended in the air, propped off the side of her thigh. Closing his eyes again, Bellamy sighed, leaning his shoulder into hers.
"You should come inside." Please come inside.
She turned her head away from him, staring at nothing in particular. Slowly, she nodded, wincing as she disturbed the burn stretching across her neck. Bellamy, not realizing he'd been holding his breath until he noticed the tingle in his chest, exhaled and propelled himself to his feet.
He stretched out a hand to her, and she took it.
She didn't let go as he led them back through the gate.
"Bellamy?" her voice was weak behind him.
"Yeah?"
"Can we wait until morning before letting everyone know I'm back? I'm not really – not really up to that right now."
Bellamy nodded. "That means you're gonna have to stay in my tent then. I mean, they had to use your old one for-"
"That's fine," she whispered in a rasp.
He let go of her hand to hold the flap open for her. Only after letting go did he realize just how fevered her skin had felt.
"I'll be right back, okay? You're probably in serious need of some water at this point." She nodded, silently dropping down onto his pile of blankets. He glanced back at her as he left his tent. She still hadn't looked him in the eye.
As Bellamy filled up the biggest makeshift cup he could find with water, his mind seemed to settle around him. Their missing puzzle piece was back.
The princess had returned.
He quietly hurried back into the tent, kneeling down next to her. "Here you go." She took the cup in her left hand and drank all of it in two swallows. "Thanks," she mumbled, wiping her mouth with an uncharred bit of her sleeve, her voice still as raspy as it was before. Bellamy sat down next to her, putting his rifle aside. Clarke shifted, making a move to take off her scorched jacket, but her arm fell back into her lap after her right hand recoiled from touch.
Bellamy grimaced as he realized her hand was too burned to be usable.
"Here," he offered, scooting behind her. She relaxed her shoulders but otherwise didn't move as he lifted the collar from her neck and gently slid the jacket over her shoulders and down her arms, carefully pulling each one out of the sleeves. She didn't tense up, but she didn't acknowledge him either.
"Thanks," she finally repeated thickly as he tossed the jacket to the other side of the tent. Her eyes were still fixed on her lap. He thought he saw her chin wobble. Sighing, he slowly leaned forward and rested his chin on top of her shoulder, his mouth nearly brushing against the side of her neck.
She didn't move.
His eyes lowered and he again noticed the angry pink burn skirting across the skin of her neck.
"Does that hurt?" he asked, his eyes unable to see past the side of her sooty face.
"I've had worse," she muttered, her face drooping a little lower.
Bellamy leaned away, instead resting a careful hand on the back of her shoulder. "You should sleep, then. We'll fix it in the morning."
Bellamy wasn't sure what "it" he was referring to.
He noticed her eyelashes resting on her blackened cheek. She'd drifted off. Her weight slowly shifted, and her back was heavy against his chest. He leaned back himself, his arms wrapping around her waist as he slowly lowered the two of them down to rest on his makeshift bed. As he held her to his chest, he lifted a palm to brush against her face, pushing her limp, tangled hair out of her eyes then cradling her head against him, tucking his own cheek against the top of her sooty hair.
Her breath rattled in her exhausted lungs as she slept, but Bellamy didn't mind.
Bellamy woke to the sound of rain gently falling against his tent. It was light out, but in the dreary, gray sort of way. Clarke still rested heavily against his chest; she hadn't moved an inch during the night. He wasn't sure how she'd react to waking up in this position, so he gently shifted out from under her and carefully lowered her back down onto the blankets.
He knew he couldn't keep this secret for long.
"Where are you going?" a groggy voice half-whispered from behind him. Bellamy slowly let the flap of his tent fall back shut, and he turned around. She was awake, staring straight up, her burned hand resting gingerly near her face.
He sighed. "I've got to get Abby. You really need to get checked out and I don't know anything about-"
"Please don't," she pleaded in a crackling whisper. "Just give me today. I'm exhausted and I don't know if I can face everyone yet. Please."
Bellamy clenched his jaw. He'd never been able to turn her down in the past, and he knew that there was no way in hell he'd be able to start now.
"Fine. But I'm gonna fix those burns up myself then, and you're gonna tell me how."
Bellamy quietly slipped back into his tent. Luckily no one was awake yet, and he'd been able to snatch water and medical supplies unnoticed. Clarke was sitting on his makeshift stool, facing away from him.
"Here, drink some of this first," he told her, kneeling down in front of her and handing her the wooden bowl full of water. She reached out to take it from him, but stopped short when she saw her hand. "Shit, I'm sorry. We'll figure that out later." He reached down for the bandages and the salve that Clarke had described to him. "Give me that hand, will you?" She held it out. Bellamy noticed that it looked even worse than before, and her thumb looked too swollen to move. He dipped a rag into the salve, and with the other hand he gently grabbed the tip of her middle and ring finger, which had escaped the worst of the burn. Holding his breath, he touched the medicine-soaked rag to the skin between her finger and thumb.
She sucked in sharply. He snapped his head up, but her eyes still wouldn't meet his. A whine of slight panic echoed somewhere in his mind, but he pushed it away. He continued to apply the salve to her shiny, purple-red hand, frequently glancing at her downcast face. She bit her bottom lip until it turned white, but she didn't say anything.
"Okay, time for the last one," he said to himself more than anything else. Dipping the rag into the salve again, he inched closer to her, leaning so near that he could feel her breath fanning against the base of his throat. He swallowed thickly, and reached up to tilt her chin slightly to the left. He brushed the medicine lightly from under her earlobe all the way across her jaw and down her neck.
Neither of them breathed.
Bellamy tossed the rag aside and reached for the clean bandage. Gently drawing Clarke's wrist back toward him, he started to wrap the cloth around to cover the worst of the burns. A small noise caught in the back of her throat, but she shook her shoulders and nodded for him to continue. He tucked the last of the bandage under a loop, and carefully returned her hand to her lap. She drew it up to her chest, cradling it instinctively.
"Wait a second," he spoke up as she began to turn away. He dipped a second cloth into the bowl of water, wrung it out, then gently washed the soot away from her cheek. He reached with his other hand to turn her other cheek toward him, and she let him. As he softly wiped the ash from her face, her eyes fell shut.
"Clarke. Look at me." He brought his free hand to cradle the unhurt side of her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, leaning into his hand.
"Clarke." Her eyes finally snapped open, locking on to his. They immediately welled with tears.
"What is it, Bellamy?" She asked him desperately, her voice thick and still raspy. His breath hitched in his chest when she said his name.
"You're okay. It's gonna be okay."
She stood sharply, backing away from him, shaking her head incessantly.
"No, it's not, Bellamy! I'm not okay! Nothing is okay! I never meant to do any of this, I never meant to be this person and now – and now I'm this monster that I can't even look at every time I see my own reflection!" Bellamy's heart clenched in his chest. She felt this way too. "And what's worse, I dragged you and Monty into it! You did everything I asked you to and you did it perfectly and you could have died and then I dragged you into pulling that lever – I tried to make you into the monster I always told you you weren't-"
"Clarke, listen to me, listen! I chose to pull that lever with you, okay? That was my choice. You didn't force me to do anything. And honestly, Clarke, what choice did we have? What else could we have done? Nothing, and you know that. You saved everyone. You did what you had to do." He placed a hand back against her face, brushing away a tear with his thumb. Her eyes fell. He shifted his hand to cup the back of her neck. "And you're about the farthest person from a monster that I've ever known." She slowly looked back up at him again, her eyes red. Her lower lip quivered, and she sank to the ground, covering both her eyes with her hand as her shoulders shook.
Bellamy sank down next to her. He pulled her sideways into his chest, kissing her temple before tucking her against him. She pressed her forehead against his neck, and he felt stinging tears fall onto his shoulder.
"Brave princess," he murmured quietly, his hand in her hair. Racking sobs rattled through her chest and vibrated against his.
"I'm sorry," she choked out between sobs, her voice wet and muffled against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
Bellamy's heart dropped. He could feel the hurt rolling of off her in waves. "Shh, shh, it's okay, Clarke. It's not your fault. It's not." She shook her head miserably, leaning back a little to look at him.
"You know that's not true, Bellamy, you know it isn't." Her voice wavered, tears glazing her cheeks. Bellamy bit his lip. Hard. The torture in her eyes was drawing something out of him that he'd been trying to repress, and seeing those same feelings ripping her up from the inside out made him want to claw out of his own skin. With some effort, he kept his eyes on her shining ones as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers.
"We've done the best we can," he murmured, his own voice gravelly, as he gently brushed strands of her hair behind her ear. He brushed the back of his fingers against her cheekbone. "The best we can."
Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, her wet eyelashes stuck in little triangles. She reached up and curled her uninjured arm around his neck, hugging herself to him as her whole body still shook from crying. Bellamy leaned his face down to rest on the side of hers. He closed his eyes, preparing to wait it out.
But it didn't happen.
Clarke's sobs had turned into rattling wheezes. Her breath kept hitching in her chest, and the rhythm of her breathing picked up speed. Air ripped through her throat in sickly moans.
"Bellamy," she gasped, her grip around his neck loosening as she pulling away from him.
"What is it? What's happening?" Horrible sounds issued from her throat as she hyperventilated, her chest heaving. She tried to speak, but no words came out, and her breath gave way to a hacking cough instead. She covered her mouth with her good hand, and when she drew it away, she stared feverishly, nothing registering in her clouded eyes.
There was blood spattered across her palm.
"Oh my god." Bellamy's insides whined in panic. "Come on, med bay now, okay? Can you hold on?" She nodded between rattling wheezes, her chest still lurching with ragged breaths. She curled her arm around his neck once more, and he scooped an arm around her back. Bellamy noticed a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth.
"Shit," he muttered, highly aware of the shake in his own voice now. He wiped the blood away with his thumb and tucked his other arm under her knees, pulling her to his chest and hurrying out of the tent.
He quickly covered the distance between his tent and the compartment inside the crashed Ark that Abby had taken over as med bay. He ducked under the hanging sheet that served as a makeshift door. Abby was sitting on the edge of a metal table, winding bandages around her hand. Clarke's body seized with another wet cough, announcing their arrival.
Abby's head snapped up, and her eyes grew wide. The bandages looped around her hand dropped to the floor, unraveling.
"Clarke?" She said in an odd, strangled voice. Bellamy knew that seeing her daughter for the first time in months but also seeing her sick at the same time was a bit much for her to process, and he wordlessly moved further into the room, gently lowering Clarke onto the medical table.
"What…when did she…" Abby cleared her head, obviously trying to sort out her priorities. "Do you know what happened to her?" Her eyes didn't leave her daughter as she questioned Bellamy.
"It could be a number of things, but I'm positive that it's smoke inhalation, at the very least."
Questions burned in Abby's eyes as she raked them over her daughter, whose own eyes had fallen shut, despite her heavy, labored breathing.
"Smoke inhalation? Okay. I'm gonna need an IV to replenish her oxygen supply…but we don't have any oxygen tanks." She swore. Turning around, she rifled through a drawer. She returned to her daughter's side with a long, plastic tube. "I need you to lift her into a sitting position for me." Bellamy slid his hands to rest under Clarke's back and lifted her up, sitting on the edge of the table so she could lean against him.
Abby leaned toward them. "Clarke, honey, I'm going to have to slide this tube down your windpipe to keep your airway open, okay? I know it's uncomfortable but I promise it won't be for long." Clarke nodded, wheezes still racking her body. Clenching her jaw, Abby held Clarke's mouth open and deftly guided the tube down her throat. Clarke's shoulder blades tensed against Bellamy's chest, and he felt her hand faintly grasping for his. Swallowing, he twisted his fingers through hers, staring at their joined hands as they rested against his knee. Her breathing began to ease up. He ran a thumb across the back of her hand in absentminded circles.
Abby glanced over Clarke again, staring at the bandaged hand that Clarke cradled against her. "I see someone's already looked after you," she said in a thin voice, her eyes boring holes into Bellamy. "I'll give you something for the pain, okay?" She returned to another drawer, dousing alcohol over the needle of a syringe and filling it with a translucent, syrupy liquid. She gently took Clarke by the hand and turned her arm so that she could inject the painkiller into her inner elbow. A few silent moments later, Clarke's weight grew heavier as she fell unconscious, a dead weight against Bellamy's chest. Her hand went slack in his, sliding back down to the table. Her head lolled inward toward Bellamy, and Abby reached over to slightly readjust the tube protruding from her mouth.
"Now you're going to tell me what happened."
Bellamy hesitantly related Clarke's story as well as his own. Abby was angry that he hadn't immediately brought her in, for medical reasons among many others, but Bellamy hadn't seen any severe symptoms at first, and Abby did acknowledge that when it comes to secrecy, Clarke usually gets things her way. Bellamy stopped himself from visibly sighing with relief as Clarke's soft wheezes filled a temporary silence.
"Do you think she'll stay?"
Bellamy grimaced. "After what's happened to her, I don't think she has anywhere else to go."
Abby nodded absently, clearly not entirely reassured.
After the news got out that Clarke had come back, Clarke's tent (her old one which had gladly been returned to her) had been a virtual revolving door of people throughout the day. Abby tried to keep them away, telling everyone that she needed rest and quiet, but Bellamy noticed that Abby herself barely left her daughter's side, her eyes flitting back to her face every few seconds, as if she was making sure that Clarke was real, and still there.
Bellamy couldn't blame her.
By the time Bellamy went back in to see her, it was dark outside and Clarke was lying on her side sound asleep, her bandaged hand cradled against her chest and the shiny pink burn on her neck catching in the dim firelight from outside. Bellamy grimaced at the sight of the tube still protruding from her mouth, and stepped back outside toward his own tent.
When Bellamy got back from a hunting mission the next morning, Clarke was still nowhere in sight. Trying his best not to seem overbearing, he waited until lunch to duck his head into her tent.
"Hungry?" He held up a bowl of broth.
Clarke, who'd been lying on her side on a pile of blankets, jerked her head up, wincing at the strain on her burned neck. Sitting up, she nodded briefly before reaching up and wrapping her uninjured hand around the tube in her mouth. With a swift pull, she yanked the tube from her throat, coughing violently as she tossed it aside.
"Jesus, Clarke," Bellamy muttered as he strode across the tent. "Were you supposed to do that?"
"Probably not," she wheezed, coughing again into her elbow. "But I've had about all that I can take." She reached up for the bowl as he crouched down next to her. She drank deeply, then pulled away, scrunching her nose.
"Rabbit?"
"We still haven't quite mastered hunting bigger game yet," Bellamy shrugged.
"I can't even begin to tell you how much rabbit I ended up eating the first few weeks I was away. Enough to do me for a lifetime."
Bellamy made a mental note to try and spear some more birds or fish next time he went out to hunt.
"Whatever, I haven't eaten in days." She took another big gulp. Bellamy noticed that some soot still lingered in her hair.
"The princess needs a bath," he teased, nudging his shoulder against hers.
Clarke frowned at him. "Don't we all," she retorted, swallowing the last of the broth.
"No, seriously. We found an underground spring about a month or so after you left about a mile from here. We never would've seen it if Jasper hadn't slipped and almost broken his neck on a hunting trip. It's in a cave, there's a waterfall and everything. Abby told me to go down there today to bring you some fresh water, anyways, so…do you want to come?"
Clarke absentmindedly ran a finger over one of her singed eyebrows. "I'd be lying if I said that didn't sound like heaven right now."
"Then let's go." He stood and reached a hand down to her. She paused for a moment, then shrugged as she grasped his hand, pulling herself up.
"Lead the way."
"Stay out here." Clarke pointed to a stump a few feet away from the mouth of the cave. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Bellamy sank down onto the stump, placing the small tin barrel that he'd brought with him by his side. He watched as Clarke disappeared into the little cave, carrying a worn out blanket and pair of clothes Raven had given her.
"Shit, that's cold," he heard her voice echo a few minutes later, and a laugh caught in his throat. Several minutes later, she emerged, her clean hair dripping and her shirt sticking to her damp skin.
"Showering with one hand was a lot harder than I thought it would be," she muttered, her bandaged hand still dry and held slightly away from her body. She reached up with her other hand to wring water from her hair with the blanket. "But god, that felt good."
"You missed a spot," Bellamy murmured, and he carefully leaned in to brush soot from one of her eyebrows with his thumb. Clarke's eyes drifted shut at his touch. He swallowed thickly. Just a few more inches and his lips would brush hers…
"I should fill this up so we can get going," he said suddenly, clearing his throat. He couldn't do this with her. Not yet. She'd been through so much. Her eyes snapped open, and she nodded, stepping back and turning away from him so she could shake more water from her hair.
Around the fire at dinner that night, Clarke dropped down next to him on his usual log, somewhat separated from the rest of the circle. Her hand full of hickory nuts, she stared at them for a second before clearing her throat.
"I, uh, didn't really think about this, but would you mind helping me-?"
"Hand them over," Bellamy said dryly. He cracked one against the side of his seat and handed it back to her.
"Thanks," she mumbled, already chewing.
Bellamy watched as other people around the fire sneaked glances in Clarke's direction. She kept her eyes carefully trained on the flames in front of them.
"Shouldn't you be sitting over there?" He cocked his head in the direction of the others. "It looks like they're dying to know all of your tales of adventure." He smirked. She stopped chewing and went silent.
"I can't face them yet, Bellamy." The smirk slid off his face. "I wasn't ready to face them at all, but after what happened with the grounders, I didn't see much of choice." Bellamy plucked another nut from her hand and cracked it. She took it from his hand and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly this time. "I look at them and I still see all of those people, lying dead at their dinner table, and I remember that I'm the one who made that happen, and-" her voice hitched in her throat.
"We're the ones who made that happen, Clarke. Both of us." He tried to catch her eye, but she was still staring straight ahead. "And no one here resents you for saving their lives."
"Jasper does," Clarke whispered. She was silent for a moment. The rest of her dinner fell to the ground as her hands began to tremble. "I do."
"Clarke-" Bellamy pleaded, but she stood up quickly, her head hung low, and marched away, disappearing behind the flaps of her tent. The camp fell into a hush as they watched her go.
Bellamy knew better than to follow her with everyone watching.
Bellamy awoke a few hours before dawn to a horrible scream.
Scrambling for a shirt in the darkness, he tugged one over his head as he ran out of the tent.
The scream had been a dry, rasping one. He knew where it came from.
"Clarke?" His voice was still thick with sleep. "Clarke, what is it?"
Abby came stumbling into the tent, a lit flashlight in hand. "What happened, honey?"
Now that there was light, Bellamy could see Clarke standing, parts of her clothing drenched, her empty water barrel in hand.
"There was a fire," Clarke said in a small voice, her eyes unfocused. Abby shined her light around the tent. Nothing was smoking, nothing looked burned.
"Clarke, honey, I don't see anything that looks like there was a fire in here."
There was a pause. "I lit everyone on fire." Her wide eyes roved helplessly to Bellamy's, her expression shot through with panic.
Abby walked over to her daughter, shaking her head and blocking Clarke from Bellamy's view. "Clarke, you were dreaming. Those painkillers I gave you – sometimes they give people nightmares. Just a dream, okay?" She rubbed her hands reassuringly up and down Clarke's shoulders. Bellamy noticed a shuffling commotion coming from outside the tent.
"Bellamy, I'm sure a lot of people want to know what's going on. Will you go out and send them back to bed?" Abby nodded toward the tent's flaps.
With a glance toward Clarke, who was still staring absently at the ground, her body trembling slightly with cold from the water, Bellamy nodded. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly, stepping outside.
A small crowd had started to gather near the tent. Bellamy clenched his jaw. "All right guys, Clarke was just having a bad dream. A side effect of some of the medicine she's taking. Nothing to worry about." A few people tried to glance behind him into the tent, and the crowd was peppered with mutters. "Everyone should go back to bed. We've got work to do in the morning, remember?" A few groans issued from the crowd, but they slowly turned around and dispersed back to their sleeping quarters. Sighing as he watched the last of them disappear, Bellamy ducked back into the tent. Clarke was sitting on the floor, a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Abby was pacing around the tent.
"Bellamy, will you bring Clarke some more water? The last thing we need is for her to get dehydrated again right now." She kneeled down next to Clarke. "Clarke, is there anything else you need before I go back to bed?" Clarke shook her head. "Are you good for right now?" Clarke nodded. "Okay, well I'm off then. Good night, honey." Abby glanced back one more time as she stepped out of the tent, her eyes lingering on her daughter's huddled form.
"I'll be back in a second then." Clarke didn't acknowledge that Bellamy had spoken.
When Bellamy returned, Clarke hadn't moved. He set the tin of water down near the edge of the blankets, then settled down next to her, their shoulders brushing. Clarke still didn't move, and it was silent for a moment. After a while, Bellamy finally spoke up.
"It was just a dream, Clarke," he murmured. She stared straight ahead. "It wasn't real."
"Just because it didn't really happen that way doesn't mean that it wasn't true," Clarke whispered, a crackle still in her voice. Her shaking hands lost grip of the blanket she was holding around her, and it slid down her shoulders. Bellamy reached for her good hand, clasping it in his and kissing the back of it before holding it against his chest. Bellamy heard a sob catch in her throat, and she leaned her head tiredly against his shoulder.
"I can't stay here, Bellamy," she whispered. "I can't live with this here."
"Clarke." He leaned down, kissing the top of her head. He felt a tear drip onto his shoulder. "Clarke, you are the strongest person I know. You can do this." She shook her head against him. "And I'm sorry to tell you this, but you know what? We need you here. We need you to lead us. Your mom and Kane, they don't understand the grounders yet, not like you do. They don't understand how it works. And I – I've been doing what I can, but it's not the same. I need you here, too. This hasn't been easy for me either, but we can figure this out together. I promise." Bellamy felt the tears falling faster on his shoulder.
"So will you stay for us, Clarke? Will you stay for your people?" Bellamy bit his lip, but the next sentence came tumbling from his lips anyway. "Will you stay with me?"
Clarke was silent. Her hand tightened its grip around his fingers. Bellamy's throat constricted. Bellamy felt her head lift from his shoulder, and he looked down. Clarke twisted up toward him and pressed her warm mouth in a lingering kiss on his cheek.
Bellamy's heart dropped. The last time she did this, she'd walked away without-
"I'll stay," she answered, leaning back to look at him. She held his gaze, and a warmth spread through his chest. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she meant it.
She dropped down, nestling into his chest, her head tucked under his chin, their hands still joined.
"Thank you," he murmured, his hand reaching up to cradle her head against him.
He was suddenly aware of the growing lightness around the tent.
"The sun's almost up. I should go," he said into her hair, not wanting to go at all. He pulled away, standing over her.
Clarke still hadn't let go of his hand. She gazed up at him, blinking tiredly, and tugged his hand toward her.
"Please stay."
Bellamy held her eyes for a beat, then nodded slowly, once, and sank back down to the ground. He lay down and drew her to him, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against his chest. She pressed her cheek against his heart as he drew up the blankets around him, drifting quickly back toward sleep. Just as he himself had almost drifted off, he heard a small, sleepy whisper, so quiet he thought he might have heard wrong in his bleary state.
"I need you too, Bellamy."
He pulled her even closer.
It had been nearly two weeks since Clarke's return. She'd mostly stuck to her tent, recovering and regaining her bearings within the camp. She'd been treated like a hero throughout the camp, and Bellamy could tell she still wasn't comfortable with it – probably would never be. Just like him.
But Bellamy saw her trying her hardest to work through it. She helped Raven out with mechanics, handing her supplies and fetching what she needed. She mostly stayed in med bay, silently working alongside her mom whenever the sick or injured trickled in.
Jasper broke a finger while on a repair job for the fence. He refused to let Clarke set it when he was brought in to med bay. Bellamy caught Clarke on the edge of the camp shortly after, crouching and trying her hardest not to cry.
He sat with his arm around her in silence until she was ready to go back.
A week later, one of the delinquents went out on a foraging mission and didn't return. Bellamy recruited Miller and Octavia to come with him as a small search party. Tossing a gun to Miller, Bellamy led him and his sister to the gate.
"Wait a second!"
Bellamy ducked his head, biting back a smile that he knew would've been embarrassingly broad.
"I think I know the woods just as well, if not better than you guys do," Clarke said, sidling up to the group, medical supplies in hand. "And if he's hurt, god knows what good any of you will do." Clarke's eyes locked on Bellamy's, and her face softened. He gazed back, something simultaneously monumental and freeing passing in the silent space between them.
"We're wasting daylight, you two," Octavia said abruptly, clearing her throat. She unlocked the gate and stepped outside. Bellamy shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Clarke's. He grabbed her free hand as she walked past, squeezing it briefly before letting it go. She glanced at him over her shoulder, a smile ghosting across her lips.
It was the first time they'd seen light in each other's eyes in months.