Can it really be that simple?
It was what Bellamy had been asking himself over and over since Clarke explained her theory. That Octavia might have traveled hundreds of miles only to come full circle.
Right back to the beginning.
It had seemed to him so unlikely, but when she'd returned from her afternoon with the renowned Azgeda healer, Clarke had been equally certain she was right.
"It makes sense if you think about it," she'd insisted.
They'd decided to spend the night in the Rover, and had reclined the front seats to get as comfortable as possible. They could have moved to the rear benches, he supposed, but that would have put Clarke further from him than arm's length. Bellamy wasn't sure if that had influenced Clarke's preference for the front seat, but it had certainly informed his own.
In this position, there was just enough moonlight for him to make out her features as they spoke quietly, discussing Clarke's hypothesis, trying to decide if they should use what little time they had left to pursue it. Not that there was really much of an alternative.
And besides, she was so damn sure.
"What else is there left for Octavia to do, Bellamy, what other place left to go? Rhyne said she seemed so lost, and so tired. I think, after talking to Indra and then Luna, she might have thought of Lincoln's grandmother as her last chance. The last person who would applaud what Octavia thought of as her righteous vengeance."
"But Rhyne didn't applaud."
"No, she didn't. She said the same thing as the others. That Lincoln wouldn't have approved."
Clarke paused abruptly then, and appeared to be studying him closely. She was obviously mulling something over, some point about which she was undecided.
Bellamy had a sudden suspicion the conversation was about to take a turn, and that he wouldn't like where it was headed. He watched as her hesitation morphed into resolve, as she pressed her lips together, determined.
"But Rhyne went even further, Bellamy," she said firmly. "She told you herself that she urged Octavia to reconcile with you. And considering what she did to you..."
"Clarke..." He tried to interrupt, even though he knew it was unlikely he'd be able to head her off.
"No, Bellamy. I want to talk about this. Please don't try to excuse Octavia or defend her. Not to me."
They'd never discussed it. Octavia using him, using his body, to vent her anger and her grief over Lincoln's death. But he'd always known the conversation would happen eventually, and that Clarke would have an opinion. And that her opinion wouldn't be sympathetic towards Octavia.
"Miller told me what happened," she said. Now that she'd finally broached it, he accepted she wasn't going to let it go until she'd had her say.
Bellamy sighed quietly, resigned. "What did he say?"
Clarke made no effort to conceal her disapproval. "That you just stood there and let her beat the shit out of you. That the others tried to stop it, but you wouldn't let them. That you allowed yourself to be her punching bag. Dammit, Bellamy!"
She turned away but he could see the shine in her eyes. He mentally kicked himself for once again being the cause of Clarke Griffin's tears.
"She'd just told me," he said, closing his eyes against the painful memory. "That Lincoln was dead. And I just..."
He paused, trying to think of a way to explain the inexplicable.
"You just thought you'd expiate your guilt and her grief by letting her wale away at you," she said baldly. "How'd that work for you?"
"You weren't there, Clarke. You can't know," he tried, but he knew it would make no difference.
"No," she said, her words deliberate. "Because if I had been there, it never would have happened. And I wouldn't have given a shit if you thought I was butting in!"
She paused to collect herself, and Bellamy understood that this discussion was probably nearly as painful for her as it was for him.
"And then maybe," she said, spitting out the quiet words like bullets, "I wouldn't have had to travel all these miles with you wondering if that cut on your left cheek was ever going to heal, or if it might be a lifelong reminder of what your sister did to you."
Bellamy looked away, out the window, into the darkness that surrounded them. Tried to think of the right words to make her understand.
"She was sick with grief, Clarke. And she needed something...someone...to blame. And I was...safe. She knew I wouldn't hit back." He fidgeted a little, shifting his body, finally turning to face her. "It was...it's always been..."
Dammit! He paused in frustration, wiping his hand across his eyes. Kept going.
"When she was little, and she got frustrated, or upset, I'd let her...hit on me a little. She just...she didn't have any other way to let go of her anger."
Bellamy willed her to understand how it had always been. How he had always been Octavia's safe harbor, a place to vent her anger without repercussion.
Clarke's smile was small and just barely reached her eyes. She grabbed his hand, holding onto it tightly, rubbing her thumb across his palm.
"I see how it must have been," she said softly. "I know what you gave up for her, how you spent your life taking care of her."
She gave her head a tiny shake.
"But Octavia isn't a little girl anymore, Bellamy. And her punches aren't ineffectual swats. She's a trained warrior, and she used deadly force on you. You're lucky..." Clarke faltered just a bit..."you're lucky she didn't do more damage. Permanent damage."
Her eyes locked on his as she squeezed his hand.
"I can't stand the thought that you keep getting hurt. But at least...," she exhaled roughly and glanced briefly at their clasped hands, "...at least if we're at war, or you're trying to save a life with some crazy heroics, or even if it's just some pompous Azgeda heda being an asshole, I can accept that that's the way it sometimes is on this fucking planet."
Her words were heavy with that same fierceness that had seen her through all the months of conflict and terror.
"But this was your sister, Bellamy, and I don't accept that. The same sister you cared for since childhood. You even shot the goddamned chancellor so you could come to the ground and protect her. And we've just spent two weeks searching for her, even though we should be back in Arkadia trying to figure out how to stop this place from killing us all."
Clarke sighed.
"In her head, she can blame you all she wants for your part in what happened to Lincoln. But she doesn't have the right to hurt you like that." She paused. "And you're not letting it happen again."
It wasn't a question, or an entreaty, Bellamy knew. She looked ready to fight him on the point, but it wouldn't be necessary.
He sighed, agreeing. "It's not happening again."
Clarke looked surprised at the ease with which she'd achieved this victory. Her brow wrinkled.
"I know you would never hurt Octavia." It wasn't a question. And yet it was.
"No," he agreed. "But I won't have to, Octavia may be a warrior now, but I've still got fifty pounds and six inches on her, so I think I can keep her from hurting me. If...I need to."
She nodded and they both fell silent.
But now she'd brought up that terrible day and Bellamy couldn't keep his mind from following along the same path it always traveled. To the moment that had hurt far worse than any bruise Octavia might have inflicted on his body.
"She said I was dead to her." He had to choke out the words, because just saying them out loud made them all too painfully real. Bellamy felt sick each time he remembered what Octavia had flung at him with such disdain. "Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"
He could see the compassion in Clarke's soft lips and kind eyes.
"I don't know, Bellamy," she said honestly.
And now he was the one grasping for her hand, searching for comfort.
"I'd like to think," she said earnestly, "that Octavia could grow up enough to understand that there doesn't have to be a reason for every bad thing that happens in her life. Or that she needs to always look for someone to blame."
She shifted in her seat just enough so that the moonlight framed her from behind, abruptly throwing her face into shadow. "And will you forgive her?" she asked softly.
Bellamy smiled wryly. "It's O, Clarke. I don't know how not to forgive her."
XXXXXXXXXX
Early the next morning, near the border of his lands, they parted company with Roan. It would only be a brief parting because in a few short days he was due in Arkadia for Kane's next planning meeting.
"It was a pleasure to entertain you both," Roan said, and Bellamy noted the sardonic smile. "But perhaps next time you'll wait for a personal invitation."
"Pretty sure I can happily spend the rest of my life without ever setting foot in the Ice Nation again," Bellamy said. "However the hell much is left of my life."
"There is that," Roan agreed. He clasped hands with them both before remounting his horse and turning with his men toward the northward track.
There was a reticence between Clarke and Bellamy as the Rover made its way across the vague boundary that separated the Azgeda and Trikru territories. It was not hostile or uncomfortable, but their conversation the night before had been both painful and exhausting, and they might have felt the need to pull back from all those exposed feelings.
Bellamy wondered if all along he'd just been waiting for Clarke to force the issue. Maybe he craved the reassurance that she cared that he'd been hurt. Cared enough to be angry on his behalf. Cared, period.
But it had still been an emotional conversation, and the calm quiet was a welcome relief. For several hours, they continued southward and eastward along the by-now-familiar track with only the occasional murmured word between them.
Until Clarke finally broke the silence with a question.
"What will you do if she's not there?" she asked, as if she could no longer hold it back.
Bellamy shrugged, a bit startled by the sound of her voice. "Not much I can do. I can't keep looking for her forever, especially without a clue, or a lead, or any kind of direction."
"But will you be okay with that?" Her tone was tentative, apprehensive.
Bellamy had a sudden revelation. He stopped the Rover so abruptly that Clarke, unprepared, was thrown a bit sideways.
"What the hell, Bellamy!"
"I'm sorry, that was stupid," he said apologetically. "But we need to have this out right now, before we get there."
"Have what out?"
Bellamy could see no point in being anything but direct. "It's finally hit me why you came on this trip, Clarke."
"I came because I wanted to help you," she declared. "And because I was sick of being separated from you," she added candidly. "But you already knew that."
"So you said," he agreed. "But can you also admit that you thought I might...I don't know...go off the deep end or something? If I couldn't find Octavia, or if I found her and it didn't go well? That maybe you had to keep an eye on me?"
Clarke shifted uncomfortably.
"I would have come along no matter what, Bellamy. I wasn't lying when I said I'd be anxious the whole time you were gone."
Then she sighed softly, admitting unhappily, "But it's also true that ever since our first trip to see Luna, I've been concerned about you being so at odds with Octavia."
"Clarke," he said softly, reaching across the seat to pick up one of the hands lying loosely in her lap. "That means a lot to me. But you shouldn't have to worry about me-"
"Are you kidding?" She interrupted him, indignant. She tried to remove her hand from his grasp, but he held on tight. "What happened to we need each other? Or didn't you mean that?"
"Of course I meant it. Why would you even think-?"
She didn't let him finish.
"Then I get to worry about how you're feeling. I get to show concern for your well-being. I get to be afraid for your fucking safety when you're fucking forced into mortal combat against your will!"
Clarke's voice rose with every "right" she catalogued. And there was a challenge in her eyes, as if daring him to insist that she give up any of those privileges.
Bellamy barked out a short laugh. "Okay," he said. "Point taken. And if I ever have to fight any more grounder champions, I will have no objections to you sending for reinforcements."
He smiled at her then, grabbing onto her other hand.
"But please stop worrying about how I'll deal with Octavia. I mean, it hurts like hell that she hates me so much right now-"
"She doesn't hate you!"
"She does," he insisted quietly, squeezing her hands. "And I never thought she'd hold onto that hate for so long. But..." Bellamy shrugged, "I know I don't have any control over how she feels. Or where she goes. Or really, anything at all anymore. And I think I've...learned to accept that."
He gave his head a small shake, astonished that he'd actually been able to reach that point.
"I'll always want her to be near me, to be a part of my life," he said. "But if I can't have that, if she doesn't want it, then it's what I've been telling everyone all along. I just need to know that she's okay. That's all. I won't like it...but I can live with it."
Clarke looked like she wanted to believe him.
"Are you sure?" she asked softly.
"Yes," he nodded, "I am."
Satisfied that he'd said everything that needed saying, Bellamy let go of her hands, shifted in his seat, and restarted the Rover. They still had a long way to go.
They were only about twenty miles from their destination when he felt his eyelids droop, and he realized they weren't going to make it that day. Clarke had already fallen asleep in the passenger seat and he hated to wake her up, but she needed to know they'd be spending another night in the Rover.
"Clarke," he said quietly, pulling off the track into a copse of sturdy maples. "I'm too tired to drive. We'll have to spend the night here."
"Um," she muttered, waking only momentarily, waving him away with her hand before turning over in her seat and falling back to sleep. For all the world like a tired, cranky child.
Bellamy laughed softly, shaking his head, wondering if he would ever discover all the pieces of the intricate puzzle that was Clarke Griffin.
XXXXXXXXXX
When Clarke first told him that they should look for Octavia in Lincoln's cave, Bellamy had thought she was crazy.
"Isn't that the last place she'd want to go?" he'd asked. "Wouldn't it be too...painful?"
She'd just shrugged. "Maybe. But Rhyne said that it's what the Azgeda do when a loved one dies. They make a pilgrimage to the places that have special meaning for them. And for Octavia, that would be the first place Lincoln brought her. The place they fell in love."
Yeah, okay, maybe, he'd thought. On her own, she would likely have avoided the place, but if Lincoln's grandmother told her about the Azgeda custom, Octavia might have felt compelled to follow it. To honor Lincoln. And if she was still searching for the magic pill that would ease her grief, she was pretty much out of other options, anyway.
But so was he. All along this journey they'd guessed right about the path Octavia was following, but they'd always managed to arrive just too late. Held up by the weather, by unexpected adversaries, by their own physical limitations.
Maybe this time they'd get lucky.
If nothing else, if they were too late again, or if she'd never made that pilgrimage at all, at least they'd be nearly back to Arkadia.
So here they were, on what he knew would have to be the last day of their journey, only a scant few miles from where they'd begun it. He and Clarke had risen early, determined to get to the cave by mid-morning, and soon the Rover was deep into the forest track.
When the woods became thicker and the track all but disappeared, they were forced to leave the Rover behind and trek the last few miles on foot. It occurred to him that if Octavia were there, she'd have come on horseback and would have had no such limitation. So when a moment later they heard a soft, snuffling sound, followed by a couple of louder snorts, it was the first sign that they may have caught up to her at last. They would never be Bellamy's favorite mode of transportation, but since they'd come to the ground, he'd been around enough horses to know when he was hearing a whinny.
Clarke turned to him, a hopeful smile on her face. "I think, maybe..."
"Yeah," he nodded. "Me, too."
As they hurried down the path, the prospect of success encouraging them to pick up their pace, Bellamy wondered how best to proceed. Not by just stumbling unannounced into that cave, because that might get him a knife in the chest. Octavia had pretty much become an advocate of "attack first, ask questions later."
Bellamy grabbed Clarke's arm, stopping her in her tracks.
"Wait. Let's think about this a minute."
"Right," she nodded. "How do you want to approach her?"
"We need to let her know we're here. Then, if she won't come out, we go in to talk to her."
Clarke looked at him uncertainly.
"Bellamy, after what happened, even if she knows it's us..."
"It'll be okay, Clarke."
"I know it will," she said, "but just...let me call out to her. She doesn't even have to know you're here."
"I really don't think that'll be necessary," Bellamy said tightly, dismayed by her implication.
"Please, Bellamy. Just to be sure." The sympathy in Clarke's eyes told him everything she didn't want to put into words.
"Okay." His nod was curt, his vexation not with Clarke but with how fractured his relationship with his sister become. So broken, in fact, that Clarke was afraid of what his mere presence might trigger in Octavia.
They continued down the path, and he knew they were close when they came upon Octavia's tired nag tied loosely to the heavy branch of a large tree. A few more steps brought them to the mouth of Lincoln's cave.
Bellamy nodded at her, and Clarke called out firmly, "Octavia? Are you in there?"
For a frustratingly long time there was no response, but then they finally heard her voice.
"Is that you, Clarke? I knew someone was out there. You'd be a lousy warrior. You make too much noise." Her tone wasn't hostile, but neither was it friendly.
"Yeah, silent tracking's not my strong suit," Clarke acknowledged impatiently. "Look, can you come out here, Octavia?"
The response took even longer this time. "I don't have anything to say to you, Clarke. Or anything I want to hear from you."
"Well, that's too bad," Clarke said. "Because we need to talk. So I'm coming in now,"
She wasted no time in moving into the cave, Bellamy on her heels. He felt a profound sense of relief when he saw Octavia emerge from the deep shadows at the rear of the cave. She was there, she was whole, and even if she hated him, she was still safe. At least for the moment.
Octavia's face reflected her shock at seeing him there.
"Looks like you need a refresher course on that tracking," Clarke said matter-of-factly. "Since you didn't seem to catch that there were two of us."
"Guess I should have expected it," Octavia said, her lips twisted in an odd expression that was halfway between a smirk and a sneer. "You two have always been joined at the hip."
She turned a cold eye on Bellamy.
"What are you doing here?"
"You disappeared, Octavia. I've been looking for you. To make sure you're okay."
"I'm not coming back with you," she said immediately, her tone hostile. "To all those people who wanted Lincoln dead."
Bellamy sighed. "I didn't want Lincoln dead, Octavia. He was my friend, and I would do anything, give anything-"
"Too damn late!" Octavia said, stalking angrily towards him.
When Clarke stepped directly into her path, Octavia stopped in surprise.
"What are you doing, Octavia? Planning to go for round two?"
Bellamy was appalled. Despite their talk, he never thought Clarke would actually try to shield him physically.
"Clarke, stop. This is between O and me."
But Clarke had never been very good at biting her tongue.
"So I should just let her take advantage of the fact that you feel guilty about every single bad thing that happens?" She was speaking to Bellamy, but her eyes never left Octavia.
"He is guilty," Octavia insisted.
"Of what?" Clarke shot back. "Tell me about Bellamy's crime."
"Lincoln's death. He's the reason why Lincoln died." Octavia's voice rose as she bit out her condemnation of her brother in staccato syllables.
"He's the reason? Bellamy is? But I thought that was Pike, Octavia. Isn't that why you had to exact your revenge? Run Pike through with your sword? Because no matter what else the man had done...good or bad... the only thing that mattered was that he shot Lincoln."
Octavia's lips twisted, and Bellamy could see how the mere mention of Lincoln's death brought her grief to the surface. "Yeah. That's right. Pike pulled the trigger so he needed to die, but it was still Bellamy's fault," she said, her voice thrumming with certainty. "He could have stopped it."
"Maybe a lot of people could have stopped it, Octavia. Did you think about that?"
Octavia was silent, her mouth set in a stubborn line, but Clarke wasn't backing down.
"Maybe I killed Lincoln when I let Lexa talk me into agreeing to bow to her, to making us the thirteenth clan. Or maybe Kane did when he went along with it and accepted the brand. Because it seems like everyone else in Arkadia hated the idea."
"What the hell does all that political shit have to do with anything?" It was clear that to Octavia, politics were irrelevant.
But Clarke kept right on talking, gaining momentum as she ticked off her points.
"Maybe it was the Azgeda when they killed all those kids from Farm Station for no reason at all, except that they were there. And turned Pike from a dedicated teacher into a man so filled with hate and paranoia that he thought only in terms of us and them."
Clarke's lips twisted with her own grief as she continued to parcel out blame.
"Or maybe it was Lexa, when she put out the kill order on Lincoln, and he was forced to stay in Arkadia. I know the two of you wanted to get away."
Bellamy's eyes stung when he recalled his talk with Octavia on the roof of Mt. Weather. On a day when he'd still believed that the only thing that could ever come between them was geography. Octavia's eyes flicked briefly across his face and he knew that she was remembering that day, too.
The day the Azgeda blew up Mt. Weather. The day Gina died. The day Clarke refused to come home. One of the worst days of his life.
"Or maybe..." and now Clarke's voice had softened, and he could see that Octavia was beginning to listen, suddenly mesmerized by this litany of who might be held accountable for Lincoln's death. "Maybe you are partly responsible, Octavia. Because when Bellamy offered to intercede with Pike, you chained him to a rock instead of listening to his plan."
"Clarke, no!" he protested, grabbing her arm and pulling her around to face him. "Why are you doing this? You're just making it worse for her."
It was a harsh indictment, and only someone as ruthless as Clarke would have ever suggested it. She shook off his arm, and swung back to Octavia, determination etched in her face.
"She needs to learn that things are never as simple as they seem. That sometimes we take actions, and those actions have consequences that we never, ever expect."
"He should have done something a lot sooner," Octavia said, and though her words were uttered with contempt, he could see the doubt bloom in her eyes.
And so could Clarke.
"It's not so easy trying to decide who gets the blame when you start parceling it out, is it, Octavia?
"Please, don't," Bellamy said quietly. He wanted so badly to go to Octavia, to assure her that Lincoln's death wasn't her fault. But his touch...even the sentiment...would not have been welcomed. Not from him.
But Clarke must have felt she'd made her point, because she sighed then and placed a comforting hand on Octavia's shoulder. And Bellamy suddenly remembered that Lincoln had been Clarke's friend, too.
"Lincoln was a fine man, Octavia. And his death was a tragedy. But he died a hero. Saving his people."
Bellamy thought this accolade might have brought Octavia at least some small comfort, but instead, her face twisted with grief.
"So did he care about them more? Those people he died for. More than...me?" she asked of no one in particular.
My god, is this what she's been thinking? Bellamy was appalled.
"Octavia, no!" It burst out of him, although he kept himself from actually touching her. "Lincoln loved you. No one was more important to him than you were."
"Then, why," she asked quietly, her voice cracking, "why did he do it?"
"Because sometimes duty trumps love," Clarke said simply, as though it were something she understood in her very bones.
She glanced up at Bellamy, and he wondered, just for an instant, if she were trying to tell him something.
"Is that true, big brother?" Octavia asked, and Bellamy almost wept. She hadn't called him big brother in a long, long time.
"It is," he agreed, "or at least it should be."
Bellamy paused, remembering all Kane's lessons about doing things for 'the right reasons'.
"It takes a brave man to do his duty when he knows that someone he loves will be hurt. Not everyone is that brave, but Lincoln was."
They were quiet then, for there was little more to be said.
It was then that Bellamy remembered he had other news to deliver. Unhappy news.
"We're not going to try to drag you back to Arkadia, Octavia, but there is something you need to know."
He made it a simple statement, but he could see that Octavia was immediately wary, as though she knew it would be something she wouldn't want to hear. It didn't take long for them to fill her in on the latest crisis.
"It makes no difference," she was stubborn.
But of course it did, and he knew that eventually she'd have to see that, too.
"You won't be able to stay here, O," Bellamy said. "But you don't have to come back with us now. There's still a little time while we try to figure it out. And you should know that we're all working on it together. Even Indra. This isn't just our problem."
But for the moment she remained unconvinced.
"You can come back to Arkadia when you decide we're not the enemy," Clarke said quietly, "but right now we have to go."
She did no more than squeeze Octavia's shoulder before she turned toward the entrance to the cave.
Bellamy wanted to protest. He'd finally found Octavia and he didn't want to leave her. Not yet. But she wouldn't touch him, would hardly speak to him, so there seemed little point in staying.
And, after all, he'd done what he'd set out to do. He'd found his little sister. Now he had to hold fast to the belief that he'd see her again.
So he contented himself with a gentle caution. "Don't wait too long, O. I want you to be safe."
Reluctantly, he turned to follow Clarke, his mind already shifting to how long it would take them to return to the Rover and make their way back to Arkadia. So he was surprised when he heard Octavia's voice.
"Bell, wait."
Bellamy pivoted in her direction. Waiting, just as she'd asked. It was the first time she'd called him by that name since Lincoln died.
When she moved towards him, he thought for just an instant that she might be going to embrace him. But she stopped a few feet away.
One of Octavia's shoulders twitched as she struggled to get the words out.
"I-I'm sorry for...you know." Her hand fluttered towards her own face while her eyes flicked briefly over the one cut still visible on his left cheek. The one that was not quite healed. She looked away.
"Yeah, I know," he said quietly.
Things were not right with Octavia, not how he wanted them to be. And maybe they never would be.
But perhaps she didn't hate him quite so much after all.
Bellamy thought he might be able to make do with that knowledge. He could wait until later for forgiveness.