Bellamy was being pulled back into the ship by his shackles, connected to the line of delinquents. He nearly tripped, refusing to look anywhere but the hole in the trees where Clarke had vanished.
The guards who had ran after her had disappeared, engulfed in the Earth's foliage; it was green, bright, and alive.
How. How had they survived all this? The Earth, the delinquents, and her.
He'd seen the planet from above: raging in an angry layer of flames, until there was nothing but stillness and silence.
Until the Earth itself was darkness and death.
He thought it slightly poetic, really. The end of the world, all over again. It reminded him of all the greek tragedies he loved so dearly.
Sometimes, he thought of Clarke and Icarus. He thought of how Icarus had flown so close to the sun, had shone so bright and beautifully, only to be snuffed out by the heat.
And then he'd think of Clarke in flames, after she'd saved them all.
Just then, Murphy shoved his shoulder into Bellamy's, pushing him forward into the ship's hull.
"Look alive," Murphy smirked.
The pun was not lost on him.
Bellamy jerked his gaze forward as he climbed up the ship's ramp, reminding himself his nightmares had been just that: nightmares.
Not truth.
The guards pulled them deeper into the belly of the ship, before pushing them each agaisnt the wall just outside the entrance to their cells. With their arms and legs wrapped in iron, there was nothing they could do but wait.
Four guards stood at attention, guns at the ready, five feet from them, awaiting orders, when Bellamy heard Raven whisper, "I can't believe she's alive..."
Bellamy kept his eyes on the guards, swallowing hard.
Raven leaned closer, "the Nightblood, it actually worked."
He shot her a quick look, then nodded towards the guards in warning. Now was not the time.
Raven pursed her lips in slight annoyance and readjusted her stance as she leaned agaisnt the wall, shrugging.
A moment later, the commander was upon them, his face red in anger. Nearly as red as his man's blood that was smeared across his uniform.
Bellamy smirked.
In an instance, a fist collided with his stomach, forcing him to double over in pain.
"I told you: you and your friends would be safe if you told me the truth. You lied." The commander forced Bellamy back up and slammed him agaisnt the wall. "You told me everyone was dead. You told me this Earth was as empty as the sad excuse of a space station we pulled your sorry asses from."
"I thought it was," Bellamy mumbled through the pain, soft enough that only the commander could hear him.
With the commander so close, and the echo of pain running through his abdomen, he couldn't help but think of his first days on the Gagarin.
The commander thrust him agaisnt the wall again, "you knew her. Who is she. She's clearly one of yours."
One of mine, Bellamy thought, almost laughing. If only. If only she had ever been his.
"Clarke," Bellamy growled through gritted teeth. There was no point in lying. The commander had heard her name slip from his lips like an untold secret.
He hadn't meant to say it. He was too stunned to think. But when he heard it: that soft way she said his name, as if it was a promise, he couldn't stop himself.
Perhaps it was a promise. Her way of promising.
All those years, she had promised him so many times... so many things... simply by saying his name.
"Clarke," the commander repeated, throwing him against the wall one last time as he retreated to eye the group in full. Her name on his tongue sounded wrong, as if he was stealing something that was never supposed to be his. Possessive anger began to swirl in the pit of Bellamy's stomach, telling him to protect her name from this man's lips, telling him he didn't deserve to say her name.
"She was supposed to be dead," Raven spoke up, clearly trying to pull the commander's attention away from Bellamy. He let his guard down slightly, grateful for the distraction.
"Well, she isn't very dead, is she?" the commander spat at her, "how. How is she alive when the whole world burned."
Raven shrugged, refusing to be intimidated by the man in front of her.
The man who had took his time as he tortured her for information three years ago. Who had took his time as he tortured them all, one by one, bit by bit.
"I have no idea," she said simply. "We left her for dead."
The words stung. He remembered that moment, staring down at the Earth as it glowed, a canvas of yellow and orange and red swirls.
It had almost looked like a sunset.
But while he watched the Earth burn, not knowing if Clarke had succeeded in reviving the comms system...
His hands had shook in regret, and nothing could still them.
They hadn't stopped when Raven opened the Ark doors, or when the oxygen had revived them, or when he had laid down his cold, empty cot to sleep amongst the stars again for the first time in a year.
He'd awoken that first night shivering, drenched in cold sweat.
Cold sweat.
The thought had caused him to wretch, though there was nothing in his stomach. He heaved and heaved until his stomach ached and tears ran from his eyes.
He watched as they dripped to the floor beneath him, mixing with the expelled insides of his stomach, and he wondered if they were caused by the dry heaving or the memory of her.
Monty had found him the next morning, asleep on the bare floor, next to a pile of dried stomach bile. It had smelled horrible, but Monty ignored it, forcing Bellamy to eat what small provisions they had brought. Monty hadn't said anything, but his presence was enough to remind Bellamy he had a job to do. Even if he didn't want to, he had to live. She had died for them to live.
Bellamy hadn't wanted to wake. He hadn't wanted to eat, or sleep, or face another day.
And back then, he hadn't known why.
Why one death, of all the deaths he'd seen and caused, had made him feel as if his soul had been ripped from his body, plucked from each string that kept it tethered to him, one by one, until he was numb.
But he knew now.