002: King

He holds a bottle of vodka in his hand, letting his thumb glide over the smooth casing. It has been on the Ark for who knows how long, an item not lost to the destruction of a place that used to be his home.

He uses this term loosely for he spent most of his time on the Ark as an obedient pawn, all to protect his little sister. She gave his existence purpose.

"Your sister, your responsibility." His mother's words never leave his head. Sometimes, they are quiet and other times, they roar. The latter is how he finds them now as he stares at the ruined Earth from the window and hopes Octavia is alright.

Stars stretch along a black canvas, unaware of what happened to the Earth which Bellamy has a good view of: the blue and green hues stolen by an angry red. It looks exactly like Mars, except the wounds to its surface are fresh.

Bellamy knows he has to pull himself together for the five years that are to come, for the challenges they will most likely face. He cannot break apart despite the horrible weight on his chest. He cannot break apart because he has to see his sister. He cannot break apart because Clarke sacrificed her life to save not only his, but the others as well.

Clarke.

The name stings and it inches him close to opening the bottle of vodka and chugging it until his feelings dissipate, until he can sleep with no dreams and no fears. But he has to be better than this. He lowers the bottle to the ground and focuses on the Earth, on the woman he aches for. They had come a long way from when they first landed on the ground. They hated each other, people on opposing sides of a spectrum.

Time showed them otherwise. Time showed them they would become a team.

Bellamy doesn't know if he can do this without her. There are significantly less people to watch over, but they still look up to him, still expect him to be a leader despite the fact he is sinking. He rubs at his eyes with fists until colored spots appear in his vision.

He can do this. He has to.

But Clarke should be here with him. He remembers tightening the straps around his body in the rocket. He remembers Raven imputing where they needed to go. He remembers the seconds slipping between his fingers. He remembers when they could no longer wait and the rocket jarred to life, taking them away.

Guilt is a terrible thing. It seeps into one's blood and turns it black. It makes it thick and heavy until one is consumed by how horrible they feel, how horrible they are. Though Bellamy knows Clarke would have wanted it this way. Their lives for hers.

The pair of them spent so much effort trying to prevent and mediate Praimfaya: arguing about who would be on the list, how it would go with the grounders, how they would sustain themselves. This wasn't like before when their problems were controllable. This was nature telling them it was the end.

Bellamy wishes he could have told Clarke so many things, how much he cared for her, how much she mattered, how he would do anything to protect her in the same way he would protect his sister. And yet, the words are left with him and him alone. He had his chance before the final tasks for launch were given. There is no way to have the opportunity again.

He presses his back against the nearest wall. He is tired, but unable to sleep. It shows in the dark circles under his eyes. It shows when he accidentally nods off only to be awoken by his grief and what needs to be done.

The door to the lookout swishes open and Bellamy straightens, shoulders rolling back.

Raven takes the wall opposite of him, offering a tight lipped smile that is both understanding and sympathetic. "You can't hide here forever."

"I know." His gaze lifts to meet hers and he notes that she too has the symptoms of exhaustion on her face.

She looks out the window, arms folding over her chest. "I never thought we'd be back here."

"Me either. I didn't think there was anything to go back to."

"I always find a way, don't I?"

"You do. I've never doubted you, Raven. Neither has anyone else." He attempts a smile, but the action is too out of place and it falls immediately.

There's a pause and Raven's brows furrow. "Bellamy, none of this is your fault. C…Clarke would have wanted us here, wanted this."

He nods. This realization does nothing to console him for it's her presence he yearns for, the tone of her voice, the way he could make out her hair in a crowd. They were not the best people after finding out the nuclear reactors would collapse, but they tried. It was all they ever did. "I just hate thinking that she died in such a horrible way for us, for me."

Raven closes the distance between them. Her hands squeeze his shoulders firmly. "I don't know when it's going to get easier for you. I wish I did. After Finn died, it felt like everything faded to black and white, that my whole sense of purpose left with him. I was angry and scared and lonely, but it did get easier. It lingers and some days, it's worse than others, but I would take it over the ignorance I had when A.L.I.E was in my head. We need pain to survive."

Her scream on the day Finn died rang in Bellamy's ears for a while afterwards. He had never seen Raven vulnerable until that moment where she collapsed into him, a mess of rickety sobs. He is aware of how far she has come and all she's accomplished since. She is the strongest person out of their group, but she is not the one Bellamy needs. She is not the one that shattered his heart into pieces he's not sure he wants to pick up.

"How do you know every kind of pain is survivable?"

"I don't, but I know you and I know what you're capable of."

"I think you have more faith in me than I do." Bellamy chuckles, but it's a bitter sound. He wonders if he'll laugh again and if he'll mean it. He wonders when the monochromatic view, like Raven described, will fade.

"Maybe, but I'm usually accurate with my hypotheses." She finally releases him and takes a few steps back.

She doesn't leave and shows no signs of doing so which Bellamy is grateful for. Being alone is both a relief and a curse. He can have his thoughts in private, but they are not the forgiving kind. "I miss her," he admits.

"I do too. We always looked up to Clarke to save the day and she did it in the biggest way she could." The steadiness of Raven's tone wavers.

"I wish I could have done something differently, said something, other than thinking it would all work out. I was an idiot." He buries his face in his hands, but does not allow the long overdue tears to escape. He clenches his jaw until the desire passes.

Raven doesn't say anything until he has himself together again and he respects her for it. That thread connects them, the need to be braver, composed, whole. "Whatever you have to tell her, do it. Write it down. Say it on the radio. Repeat it in your head. Do what you need to do Bellamy because you may not understand why or how, but we need you here."

He doesn't have a clue as to if it will help, but he has no alternative. He can't find Clarke and ask her for forgiveness. The only way to heal is to do it himself. "The radio, it works?"

"Monty and I got it working this morning. The lines are filled with silence, but I feel better having it than not. Do you want me to get it for you?"

Bellamy shakes his head as he notices Raven shifting her weight from her right leg to the left. "No, I'll get it. Just tell me where."

"The old storage room."

"Thanks." He heads to the exit, waiting until Raven is behind him before sliding them open. Whereas she veers to the left, he veers to the right finding the room easily. Once inside, he toys with the receiver, pressing the button on and off. There's nothing to fear, no one to hear him. Clarke is gone and the world has been silenced.

"Hi, Clarke." He inhales, letting every ounce of air fill his lungs. "I don't know what happened down there, why you weren't able to get to the rocket in time, but I wish…I wish you could be here. It's not the same without you and I don't know how I'm going to do this without you. I am who I am because you fought for me in a way no one else did." His fingers shake and he doesn't know when that started, at the beginning of the speech or just now. "I would say thank you, but that doesn't seem right. I can't thank you for dying. I can't be happy about it. I…I hope that whatever happened, it didn't hurt."

Bellamy pauses as the tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He has to say this. He can't be a coward. "I love you, Clarke."

He hears the other line crackle, but that's not possible. There's no one left on the ground that isn't sealed away inside the bunker. It's confirmed as the noise vanishes a second later. It is a trick of the mind, a lie.

He places the receiver back, and in the quiet, he lets himself feel.