Sorry for such a late update! Thank you to those reviews of concern. All is well with me! I just didn't have access to my chapters to post over the last few weeks! Thank you for being so patient and I'm so sorry for leaving it on a cliff-hanger!
This chapter might be unexpected for most of you. If you guessed where this fic was headed, I AM IMPRESSED and this is my virtual high-five.
I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter 51: Let's Just Go
Clarke woke up with a jolt, her heart hammering in her chest and dread clouding her mind. Her eyes flew open and her scream got trapped in her throat. She was inexplicably terrified in that moment.
She took gasping breaths. Terror gripped her. Why did she feel like she couldn't breathe? Why did it feel like she was drowning?
As she struggled to catch her breath, her eyes swept across the room wildly.
Where was she?
She was so terrified that she felt petrified with fear. Her blood felt like it was ice in her veins and her heart felt like it had turned to stone.
She didn't recognize where she was. The ceiling was white and sharp pain in her eyes from looking at it. She flinched away and tried to ignore the headache blossoming across the back of her head.
Clarke turned her head to the side and squinted, trying to survey her surroundings. Her knuckles groaned from gripping the grey blanket draped over her body.
It looked like she was in a hospital room. She spent enough time in clinics growing up to be able to recognize one. There was a green curtain pulled shut at the foot of her bed, isolating her from the outside world – whatever the outside world was. The room was silent, the floor was a shiny linoleum, and the walls were a crisp white.
What really sold the deal was the heart monitor beeping steadily behind her and the I.V. taped to the back of her hand.
What the hell?
A different type of fear hit her – one that didn't petrify her, but made her want to get out. She didn't know where she was, she didn't know what medicine was being injected into her, she didn't know what day it was.
She was terrified. She needed to get out.
Clarke pushed herself into a sitting position, but quickly fell back into the bed. Her lungs had completely froze and black spots danced in front of her eyes.
Fuck. That hurt.
As she tried to stop her vision from spinning, her hand dragged across the scratchy blankets to rest on her torso. That was definitely where the pain was originating. It felt like a white-hot rod had been left inside her, making her head fuzzy.
The cloth bandage wrapped around her waist was scratchy and thick. It was wrapped snuggly around her middle and layered with gauze padding.
She licked her lips and dug her head back into her pillow, her mind too foggy from the pain to keep up with everything. Her fingers pressed against her torso and she winced. Her jaw tightened and she could feel tears pricking her eyes from the pain.
Pain. Blood. Ripping. Falling. Water. Drowning.
It came back to her in a rush.
Clarke's hand froze against her bandages as the memories came rushing back to her.
Dax stood in front of her, her sword locked against his axe, their arms fighting to be the strongest. Then, she was filled with burning pain – pain the seemed to melt her brain and light her skin on fire.
A knife. There was a knife.
She remembered it now. She remembered it being pulled from her torso, dripping in her blood. She fell to her knees, suddenly her body being too weak to hold herself up. Just as she thought she didn't have any more energy to keep fighting, she remembered Octavia.
Octavia. Her last friend. Her last promise. Bellamy's sister.
She remembered jumping off the ground, lunging at Dax's retreating back a few feet away.
Then, the pond. They fell into the pond. Her hands were wrapped around his neck. Or were his wrapped around hers? She couldn't remember. All she remembered was tasting blood and death.
One thing she did remember clearly was being dragged under the water. The hands she once feared – the hands of the Capitol mutts – gripped her and Dax.
Darkness. Ice. Acceptance. She didn't remember much after that. Then, she plunged a knife right into his heart.
He was dead. She was dying. Drowning. Bleeding.
Blood was all around her in the water. Who's was it? Was it his? Hers? She didn't know.
It didn't matter.
She was dying.
She remembered looking at the sky, searching for the clouds or the stars, searching for Bellamy. She remembered her vision darkening and her head pounding. She was tired, so tired.
And then she was gone. She died.
She died.
What the hell? If she was dead, how did she end up here? If she was dead, why was she sitting in a hospital room?
Not even her fear and confusion could push all of her thoughts away though, unfortunate for her. Thinking of Octavia – thinking of dying – brought memories of him back.
Bellamy.
His blood was warm in her lap. Her fingers trembled as she pressed against his neck, begging the blood to stop flowing. She cried and told him to stop talking – to just hold on.
And then he was gone too.
Her heart still ached. It felt like her whole chest was caving in from the pain. Her throat felt tight.
She pulled her thoughts away from Bellamy. It wasn't easy to do, but it was something she was getting used to. For the last few days of her life, she could only survive by refusing to think about him.
Last few days of her life.
It was strange to think. Was that the truth? Was she dead?
Somehow, that thought should've disturbed her more. Was this an afterlife of some sorts? Was she a ghost?
She didn't have time to contemplate it, which was probably for the best. Something clicked from behind the curtain and she froze; it was a sound she heard more times than she could count. A lock was being turned.
She was locked in here? Was this a cell?
A thought even more terrifying came with it.
What if she was back in District 6? What if everything that happened over the last month – the training, the fighting, the deaths, the arena – what if it was all a dream?
What if Bellamy was all a dream?
No. No, no, no.
She tried to keep the world from tipping around. No, that wasn't right. If she dreamed everything, why wasn't she in her old cell? This might've been similar to those four walls back home, but it wasn't the same.
No. It was real. And, even though that came with the pain of losing everyone she loved, she was glad it was real. At least she knew them. At least she loved them.
Then, she was dead. If the arena was real, she died.
That couldn't be right either. If she was dead, why would she be in a place with a lock on the door? If she was dead, why could she still feel pain? If she was dead, there wasn't supposed to be anything – not any of this.
The door clicked opened and Clarke quickly scanned her bedside for something to defend herself with. If she wasn't dead and she wasn't dreaming, then the only other place she could be was in the arena.
She never escaped. She was still in the Game.
She welcomed numbness that came with this realization.
Clarke yanked the I.V. needle out from her hand, barely noticing the pain. Once whoever had her locked away got close enough, she could stab them and make an escape. The needle wasn't long, but it was all she had to work with.
She curled her hand around the needle, hiding the sharp object from whoever was entering the room. She braced herself to lunge off the bed; her heel dug into the thin mattress and her free hand pressed against her slashed torso. She hoped she'd be able to keep herself together and fight off the pain long enough to kill whoever this was and escape.
"Clarke Griffin."
She froze.
She knew that voice. While it wasn't who she was expecting – she was expecting Ontari, in all honesty, she did recognize that voice.
The curtains were pushed back and Clarke was even more confused than before.
Clarke's mouth ran dry. "President Becca."
She recognized the President of Panem instantly. It was hard not to know her face, having spent most of her life living in the country Becca ruled over. She spent years idolizing her, too. She was so young when she first became president – she was the youngest President of Panem ever.
People loved her, including Clarke. She tried to make change and she tried to do good, or, that's what her father told her, anyways. He met with her on more than one occasion to discuss future plans for the country and sustainability.
Becca was a good and fair leader. She didn't just speak to the rich sponsors across the districts, or the powerful from the Capitol. She addressed everyone; from the poverty-stricken in District 12, to the workers in District 8, to the power hungry in District 2.
Clarke remembered listening to Becca speak at the tribute parade weeks ago. She remembered being underwhelmed by her. She wasn't the person her father talked her up to be; she was clearly manipulative. Each word she said was valued heavily, and had a double meaning.
Why was the president in the arena? Or, more likely, was Clarke even in the arena?
"What's going on?" Clarke tried to sit up. She had to bit her inner cheek to keep from calling out. She hid her pain behind a stone mask. "Where am I?"
Clarke watched her closely. Becca smiled in what was supposed to be a reassuring way, but it sent a chill through her.
Becca must've sensed her dream. "You're safe, child." She pulled the curtain shut behind her and moved to the end of Clarke's bed. She bent over, her hands clutching onto the railing there.
Clarke knew she had to be careful here. Becca was powerful and manipulative. Nothing she said should be trusted. Everything had a double meaning with her, she already knew that. Even if she was out of the arena, she still had to play the game.
"I don't understand." Clarke pulled her feet towards herself, inching away from her. "I don't know what's going on."
It wasn't smart to admit not knowing something in front of enemies, but Clarke was so confused and so overwhelmed that the thought of lying never even crossed her mind. She needed answers. She needed clarity.
"Do you know who I am?" Becca pressed. Clarke nodded her head. "Do you know who you are?" Once again, she nodded. "Do you remembered what happened?"
Dust. Blood. Pain. Knives. Loss.
"I remember a lot of things," she said, trying to stay vague. Why was she asking her? What was she digging for? Clarke felt like she was a lab subject being poked and prodded at in that moment.
She didn't feel safe. She needed to get out.
"Don't be scared, Clarke." Becca turned her hands towards her, her palms up. They were empty. Was this supposed to make her feel better? Was the fact she wasn't carrying a weapon supposed to make her trust her?
She was in charge of the country that sent her and two dozen other children off to die only weeks before. It was because of Becca that her friends died. It was because of her that Bellamy died.
That she died.
She didn't trust her.
"What's the last thing you remember," Becca asked again, clearly still digging for something.
Clarke caved. "Blood."
Becca pursed her lips. "Blood?"
"Lots of blood." Clarke lifted her hand from her torso, her palm turned upwards. She had bled through the wraps around her middle, staining her palm red once again. "My blood. Dax's blood. Blood of my friends, blood of my enemies." Anger was rising in her. She had to bite her tongue to keep her sharp words away.
Play the long game.
"You remember the fight?" Becca seemed to ignore Clarke's hostile tone.
She narrowed her eyes and curled her fingers against her torso. "I remember dying."
"You didn't die." Becca's answer was quick and dismissive, like they were discussing the weather and not a human life. The breath got knocked from Clarke's lungs. She moved around the bed and sat down near Clarke's feet. "You're here, talking to me, aren't you?"
"I remember dying," she insisted. She tried to remain expressionless. "I couldn't have survived that injury. I… No. I lost too much blood."
"Do you remember your Games?" Becca pressed further.
Of fucking course I remember them. I remember the pain you put me through. I remember all the people I loved that died. I remember all the blood I am soaked in.
She didn't dare speak.
When Clarke remained silent, Becca continued. "I was impressed with your time in the arena." She smiled softly. "I took personal interest in you. I know I'm not supposed to play favourites, but I would've bet on you if I could have."
What a liar.
Once again, Clarke didn't dare speak her thoughts.
"You reminded me on myself, in a way," she continued. "You led a pack of nearly a dozen tributes – all from different districts around Panem. You had the two tributes from District 3, the two from District 8, the male from District 5, the two from District 2, and the female from District 4. You united a group of people that never would have been friends, all in the name of survival. Not many people could say the same."
Clarke's heart hurt at the mention of all the people she lost. She tried not to let the emotion show.
"You won the hearts of a lot of people by being so willing to sacrifice yourself over and over, just so your allies could live. You faced challenges – seemingly impossible challenges – and you never backed down. You looked death in the eyes dozens of times, but you still kept coming back. Your heart, your courage, and your passion are what carried you forward."
"Love," Clarke corrected. Her heart stung. She didn't know why she was telling Becca this; it wasn't because she trusted her, but maybe it was because she wanted the record straight. She didn't carry on for herself; she carried on because of her love for her friends and for Bellamy. "That's what kept me going. It wasn't my heart, and it wasn't my passion, and it definitely wasn't my courage. It was because I love those people in there – all the people you just listed – and I wanted to see them win."
She noticed her mistake too late. She loved those people. They were all dead now.
"You wanted to see one of them become Victor?" Clarke nodded stiffly. "I know many people who felt the same way for you. They wanted you to become Victor."
Clarke wanted to laugh. Becca was a liar. Nobody wanted to see her be Victor – nobody in the Capitol, anyways. They all knew she had to die. She knew she never had that opportunity.
Yet, here she was, allegedly alive.
When Clarke still didn't speak, Becca pushed further. "I wanted you to become Victor." She smiled. It looked genuine, but Clarke wasn't convinced. "Although, I'm happy Octavia won."
Clarke felt her heart stop. Holy shit.
"Octavia won?"
"Just a few hours ago," she admitted. Clarke couldn't breathe. "She took out Ontari in a great final battle. She's still unconscious and in the med-bay, but she'll live."
Octavia won.
Clarke felt like she could cry in that moment. She only wished Bellamy knew that his sister survived. He scarified everything for her to live, and it was all worth it. His singular goal was achieved. Octavia was safe.
Clarke felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulders, too. She promised Bellamy to try to help Octavia. She promised him on his dying breaths that she would watch out for her and take care of her.
She died trying. She died trying to keep her promise to Bellamy. She died trying to keep Octavia safe.
Or not died.
She was still confused about that.
"Why am I still alive if Octavia is Victor?" Clarke questioned. She was even more confused than before. If she didn't die in the pond and she wasn't in the arena, what was going on? "Only one can survive, but both of us are out of the arena. Right? I'm not hallucinating this?"
"You're not hallucinating," Becca promised her with a small laugh. Clarke wanted to scream at her, to beg her to stop playing with her emotions. Tell me the truth. "You were pulled from the arena after Dax attacked you. You lost a lot of blood, but the medics here took care of you. You're lucky we got to you when we did. Things could've been a lot worse."
She was alive, but Clarke still didn't understand. "But I'm not the Victor?"
"No."
"Octavia is."
"Yes."
"So, why did you pull me out?"
Becca stood up from the bed and walked back towards the railing at her foot. She grasped the poles and leaned forwards, her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked entirely too human and too normal in that moment. It made Clarke uncomfortable.
The silence that stretched between them was thick. Finally, Becca blew out a long breath and smiled.
"Bellamy Blake made a deal with me," she admitted.
Clarke's world stood still at this admission. She felt sick to her stomach.
Bellamy made a deal with Becca? How? Why? When?
"He-" Clarke shook her head. Her throat had completely closed off at this point and she was unable to speak.
She didn't understand. Why did Becca promise Bellamy anything? When did she even have time to meet Bellamy?
This didn't make sense. She didn't understand.
"Bellamy made me promise to get all three of you out of the arena alive."
Clarke's heart ached at that. While she was still confused about the whole thing, her heart ached for him. He was the one to arrange this deal, but he wasn't here to see it. Octavia had won on her own right and escaped the arena, she was nearly murdered and saved, but he was dead.
She watched him die. She held him as he died.
He deserved to be here. He deserved to live.
"You lied to him." Clarke couldn't help but speak her mind on this matter. Venom tinted her voice. "You said you promised to get all three of us out alive. You failed."
"I failed?" Becca echoed, her voice suddenly chilly. She straightened up and crossed her arms. "You don't know me, but I know you. You don't trust others easily. You loath the government of Panem – including me. But, I promise you, I always keep my word, Clarke Griffin."
Clarke's mind was buzzing. If she kept her word, that would mean-
No. She wouldn't allow herself to even think, never mind hope. Hope was a dangerous thing, especially when it came to survival.
Her mind was spinning. It felt like she watched from a different world as Becca pulled open the door to the room once again and mumbled something to the Peacekeepers in the hallway.
Bellamy was dead. She watched him die. He was dead. She felt him take his final breaths. He was dead. Bellamy was dead.
But he wasn't.
When Becca stepped back into the room, he was behind her.
He wore Capitol issued clothes, much like he did when they fell in love in the Capitol. He was covered in bandages, including one across his neck, and he looked exhausted. His eyes were red rimmed and his jaw muscles tight.
Still, she could see the light inside of him. The corners of his mouth turned upwards as he seen her; slowly, at first, but then it quickly broke into a full grin. He reminded her of a golden sunset in that moment, and it stole the breath from her lungs.
She didn't know how many times they had been separated and reunited over the last month, but she was hit with the same emotions every time. A torrent of emotions hit her; relief, anguish, joy, denial, bliss. She was in complete disbelief.
Especially now.
She mourned for him. She grieved his death. She watched as he died. She cried over his body. She held his sister as she struggled to carry on.
He was dead. Bellamy was dead.
Clarke was wrong.
Before she fully comprehended what was going on, she was attempting to pull herself from the bed. Tears were blurring her vision and her head spun, but she used all of her strength to swing her legs off of the bed. She held back strangled cries – from pain, from seeing him alive, she wasn't sure.
He was beside her before she could get any further. His hand reached out to gently grasp her shoulder. His touch – a touch she didn't think she'd ever feel again.
That was when she broke.
She rocked forward, falling into his arms. She melted into his body and sobbed so loud that her throat hurt. His arms circled around her shoulders and pulled her close to him, just like he used to back in the arena to comfort her.
This was home.
Her fingers curled into the material of his shirt. She could barely breathe, she was sobbing so hard.
Bellamy was alive. He was here. He was in front of her; breathing, smiling, living. She could feel the blood rushing through his veins, and she could hear his heart racing, and she could feel the warmth radiating through his body.
He was alive.
"I thought you were dead," she managed to say between sobs. She pulled away from his chest, wanting to see him with her own eyes. Her shaking hands stayed tangled in the material of his shirt and his arms stayed wrapped around her shoulders.
She didn't think she would ever see these eyes again. Those beautiful, soul-capturing eyes. She didn't think she would ever feel his warmth again, or hear his voice, or be beside him.
He was dead, and then he wasn't. She was confused, but she didn't care in that moment. All she cared about was the fact that he was here and he was alive.
He was alive.
"I'm here," he told her, as if he read her mind. He spoke with such a soft voice that broke her into pieces. "I'm okay. I'm alive."
"You're alive," she repeated. She rocked forward and pressed her forehead to his chest. She could hear his heart beating. She could feel the blood moving through his veins. He was alive.
"I don't-" She was going to say she didn't understand, but she stopped. In that moment, she didn't care. She just cared about him.
Bellamy swooped down and pressed his lips firmly to hers. Clarke cried harder and pulled him closer. She could taste their tears on her lips.
Her hands grasped at his chest, her fingers pulling at the material. She was sobbing at how alive he felt under her. His hands gently cupped her cheeks, his thumbs sweeping some of the stray tears away.
Her head was fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, but she never wanted to part from him. She wanted to be pressed with him forever, never letting go. She never wanted to be away from him again, not any time soon. Not after losing him.
She wondered if he was thinking the same thing as she was. This was unbelievable. It felt like she was living in an alternate reality, or dreaming, or hallucinating.
And she never wanted to wake up.
Being in his arms, she felt like she was dying and being brought back to life over and over. She felt shattered into a million pieces, yet so put back together.
Bellamy was alive.
When they pulled back from each other, their chests were heaving and Clarke's head was spinning. She was thankful that she was sitting down; her knees felt weak and wobbly.
He didn't break contact with her as he moved to sit in bed beside her. Clarke pulled her legs back into the bed, trying to give him more room. Sometime during their reunion, Becca had left, and Clarke was thankful.
Bellamy moved further into bed, so his back was also resting against her pillow. She moved to his side, curling into him perfectly.
She couldn't tell if her tears were ones of joy or something else. She could feel pain in her heart, almost like it was residue left over from the heartbreak she experienced when she thought Bellamy was dead. It was almost like her heart hadn't completely caught up with the situation yet.
Her head was tucked against his neck and her hand rested over his heart. She was desperate to feel every inch of him – to make sure he truly was here and alive. She needed to feel his heart beating under her palm, she needed to feel each breath he took.
She tried to stop sobbing, but she couldn't. While she was in the arena, she never had time to mourn him. She had to push everything away in the name of survival. She became numb.
Seeing him pushed her over that edge. She was sobbing because he died, but she was also crying because he was here. She loved him so much that it hurt.
"I'm so sorry, Clarke," he mumbled, his voice muffled against the top of her head. Hearing him say her name brought on another wave of emotion. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her tightly. She was glad for his strength in that moment. She thought she would fall apart without it. "I'm sorry."
"You're alive," she sobbed. She couldn't form coherent thoughts. All she could think about was the fact that he was okay. He was okay. "I don't want an apology for that. You're alive, Bellamy. Oh, gods. I thought you were dead."
"I'm sorry for putting you through that," he told her. "I… I didn't know that was going to happen, or I would've told you. I never wanted to put you through that pain."
His lips pulled away from the crown of her head and he leaned forward. Her eyes flew open from the loss of contact, her heart in her throat. Don't leave me.
Almost like he was thinking the same thing, he reached out and grasped her hand. She relished the feeling of having his fingers twine with hers again.
He moved forward to glance at the wraps around her torso. His eyes flicked to hers fro a brief moment, his face so filled with concern. She never thought she would see that tender expression again.
She loved him.
His forehead was creased and his lips pushed tightly together. He ran a single finger along the side of her torso, creasing her side. She shuttered in his arms and goose bumps erupted across her body.
"Are you okay?" he questioned, his eyes snapping to hers. She wasn't sure if she was asking this because of all the blood or because she was squirming in his arms. "I can get the medics in here to give you something for the pain or-"
She mustered her strength to move forward, and pressed her lips to his once again, ending his statement. "I don't want it," she told him. Her breath ghosted across his face. "I barely feel it right now. I just… You're alive."
"I'm alive." His hand cupped the side of her face, holding her with such tenderness that it made her heart ache. "You're alive, too." She nodded and ran her thumb along the back of his hand. He swallowed thickly and grasped her hand tighter. "I… I wasn't sure if you were going to make it."
She remembered the pond clearly now, and she wished she didn't. She didn't think she was going to make it either. She didn't understand how she was alive. She didn't understand how he was alive.
"I thought I was dead," she said, her voice weak. "Maybe I am dead. Maybe that's why you're here. Maybe I'm hallucinating."
He surged forward and captured her lips again, stealing the breath from her lungs and making her feel like she was floating on air. When he pulled back, she was dizzy with joy.
"This isn't a hallucination," he said. She believed him. She knew she couldn't hallucinate a kiss that good. "You're not dead," he promised her. "We're alive. We made it."
"We made it," she echoed, her mind not comprehending those words.
Then, it hit her.
They made it out of the arena.
There was one thing that she was sure of, ever since she met Bellamy – they both wouldn't survive. She knew that either of them, or both of them, would die before the Games were over. She knew that their time spent during the weeks leading up to the Games were the only seconds they would ever be able to spend alone, just the two of them. And she knew that the time they spent together in the arena would be the only time they ever had together.
She knew that their relationship was temporary. She knew that they lived in a little bubble in the arena.
But she was wrong.
They both lived. They both survived the arena. It was impossible, but it happened.
"How?" She pulled away from him slightly. Her heart ached from the lack of contact, but she needed to see his face. She needed to hear the truth. "Becca said you made a deal with her?"
His facial expression was hard to read. His eyes dropped to the blanket wrapped around Clarke's hips, his eyes zeroed in on the pattern there.
"I did." His fingers tightened around hers, grounding both of them.
"I don't understand. What… Why would she agree?"
"Before I say anything, I want you to know that I was desperate." He locked eyes with her. She was struck by how determined he looked. "I needed to figure something out for all of us; for you and Octavia."
Her stomach felt like lead. "Okay."
"I wrote her a letter, the night before we went into the arena. I got a Peacekeeper to deliver it." He wet his lips. "And, do you remember the day I died?" It felt strange for him to talk about his death so naturally, like it wasn't something that ripped both of them apart and destroyed her. "We got a gift from a sponsor. Do you remember?"
"Of course."
"Do you remember what the note said?" She nodded. "It said deal. It was signed with an infinity symbol."
"I remember." She swallowed thickly. "I still don't understand how you're alive. What did your letter say?"
Bellamy looked guilty in that moment and Clarke's heart froze. She was terrified that he signed something away, like his life. She was terrified that he traded something more valuable than their freedom for this.
"Bell?" she prompted. His silence was killing her.
"I told her to let us go – all three of us – or I would tell Panem about District 13."
She blinked at him and was silent for a long moment. He glanced up at her, his expression filled with worry. He was clearly terrified of her reaction.
As for what she was feeling in that moment, it was hard to put a finger on it.
She knew what she expected to feel – she knew what she would've felt if she was thrust into this situation only a month ago.
She would've felt betrayed. She would've been crushed that anyone person she trusted turned his back on her. She would've been destroyed that this secret that she carried around for months was shared so easily with someone that could've killed her.
But… she didn't feel like that. Not at all.
When she thought Wells told his father and played a part in getting her father killed, she still was her old self. She trusted Wells not to tell anyone because she needed nobody to know. Her life was on the line, her father's life was on the line, her mother's life was on the line.
And, when she thought Wells did it, it resulted in the destruction of her life.
Now? Now, she had nothing to lose. Her father was dead. She would never forgive her mother for what she did, and never wanted to see her again. She lost Wells. She lost her friends. She lost herself.
Really, she had nothing else to lose. The only two people left that she cared about were Bellamy and Octavia. And he was the one to decide to tell Becca that he knew about District 13; by him saying that, he was only putting himself and Octavia at risk. At that point, she was already guaranteed to die for knowing. There was nothing more the Capitol could do to her.
Even weeks ago, when she told him her secret, she might've felt differently. She might've been hurt and betrayed by Bellamy's actions. But, now, they seemed so insignificant.
She lost people she loved. She watched them suffer, she watched them bleed. She held them as they died, she watched the sky as she died, too.
Things like this – something that was once so important to her – seemed insignificant now.
She was safe. He was safe. Octavia was safe. That was all that really mattered. And, it worked out. Things worked out.
If it worked out, what was there to complain about? Sure, she could've been upset that Bellamy told the most powerful person that he knew the secret about District 13. Sure, she could've felt betrayed. She could've felt a lot of things.
But it worked out. Was there really a point to hanging onto the past when things turned out okay? Was there really a point to forming grudges when his plan worked?
No. Not to her, anyways. Not when she'd seen worse things in the world. Not when she'd already been to hell.
Bellamy must've taken her silence as something terrible. His face looked long and his eyes looked panicked. "I'm really sorry, Clarke. I… I…"
"It's okay." She was surprised by how even her voice sounded. She squeezed his hand. "It's okay."
"It's not," he said, pulling away from her. "I promised you I wouldn't tell anyone, and I did. I did this without your consent – I risked more than just myself by doing this. I-"
"Bellamy," she cut him off. "You saved us."
"That doesn't excuse anything, Clarke."
She retook his hand. "It does for me. It worked; that's all that matters. I-" She licked her lips. "I've lost someone before because of this secret. I blamed Wells for so long, and I'll never forgive myself for that." She met his eyes. "I've lost you once already. I don't want to lose you again. Not over something that doesn't matter anymore – not over something that worked and saved all three of our lives."
He shook his head. "Clarke-"
"If you need forgiveness, I'll give it to you." She remembered those words from Wells' letter, and she remembered how many burdens she released with them. It felt like a lifetime ago. "You're forgiven."
She brought his hand up and brushed her lips against the open palm of it, where a large scar ran. It was still fresh and still healing. This scar was from when he saved her at the bottom of the pond, the first time she got taken by the Capitol mutts. He risked everything for her then, and she knew he would do it over and over.
"I know your intentions, Bellamy. This scar proves that you care about me – that you are willing to anything so I can live." She locked eyes with him. "I know you, Bell. I'm not upset."
He looked broken. "You should be."
"Maybe I should be," she agreed. "But, I'm not. Right now, I'm so fucking happy that you're alive. I'm alive. Octavia's alive. We got out." She smiled and pressed another quick kiss to his hand. She could feel the tension leaving him bit my bit.
She met his eyes again. She doubted she'd ever get tired of looking at them. "I… I don't know what your deal is with the president, but I assume that we're going to live past today." Bellamy nodded slowly. Clarke thought about how, if they lived past this day, that meant they'd have to come to terms with what they had to do to survive. It was terrifying and exhilarating. "What was the deal with Becca?" she asked after a moment.
"I threatened that if all three of us didn't make it out of the arena alive, I would tell Panem about District 13." It was a smart plan, and it worked. All three of them got out alive. "She knew I wasn't bluffing." The corners of his lips twitched upwards. "It looks like she would rather bend a few rules for us than see a rebellion start up."
Clarke was confused again. "But I saw you die. I… I held you as you died." Her throat felt tight talking about it. There was blood. So much blood.
"The Capitol did the same thing with you." His smile was gone now. Even though he wasn't there to hold her when she died (or, when she thought she died), she knew he must've been watching the cameras back at the Capitol. That was almost a worse fate; having to watch, but not being able to do anything about it. "They fired both of our canons early and pulled us out while we were still alive. The medics here were able to work to save us."
Clarke shook her head. "Bellamy, that's not possible. You lost too much blood."
He shrugged. "I'm alive."
Clarke's mind was already racing, trying to figure out all the missing pieces to this puzzle. "Rebellion?" she echoed his words from earlier. "What do you mean?"
Bellamy looked even more exhausted in that moment. "Becca told me that she knows Panem will rebel if the truth comes out about District 13. You told me, too, Clarke. Your father knew the people wouldn't stand for the injustice." Clarke tried to ignore how her body felt cold. A rebellion? Would people actually rebel about District 13? It wasn't hard to imagine after hearing how the Capitol screwed people over from across Panem. "She'd rather do this than lose her country."
"You said bend the rules earlier," she remembered. "So… We're all Victors? All three of us? How is that possible? You died days ago. I died when Ontari and Octavia were both still alive."
"No, we aren't Victors," he said. "We're dead."
She gave him a blank stare. "But you told me we're alive?"
"We're dead to the rest of Panem," he clarified. "They fired our canons early, faking our deaths. To the rest of the world, we're just two tributes that died in the Games. Octavia is the sole Victor." He looked relieved with this mention. "The only people who know the truth – that we escaped the arena and are actually alive – are the President and her inner circle."
She had to laugh at that. She knew she should've been taking the whole situation more seriously, but the idea that her death was faked during the Hunger Games was too ridiculous.
Just over one month ago, she was still in her cell. A few weeks ago, she was sure she was going to die. A few days ago, she was convinced her final days were approaching.
Now, she was alive. She was alive and-
And now what? She asked Bellamy.
His cheeks puffed out and his forehead creased. "Now what?" His concern melted away to something softer. "We live."
That sounded good to her.
She was brought back to all her realizations she came to when she thought he died. A family. Being in love. Having children. Growing old. The possibilities were endless and it made her more hopeful than she'd been in a long time.
He continued speaking. "The deal I made with the President included faking our own deaths, but this means that we have to stay dead – that we have to live out the rest of our lives in hiding."
Clarke's heart dropped at that. The thoughts of their future died. She could already imagine spending the rest of her life in a cell, trapped away from the outside world. The President wouldn't allow her to see the sky, for fear of someone seeing her and recognizing her. That wouldn't only cause a rebellion over District 13 – it would cause an uprising.
"I… I've arranged something," he continued speaking. He kept avoiding her gaze. "For both of us, if you want."
He was guarding his emotions and it made her nervous. "What is it?"
"I don't want to stay here," he said. She felt sick with his word. "I can't stay here. They don't want me here either. All I was ever trained to do was to fight in the Games, and I've done that. I've served my purpose for the Capitol."
"You're not staying?" Her heart was racing. She felt like she was on the verge of breaking. Please don't leave me. I can't lose you again.
"I'm leaving Panem," he clarified. Clarke felt like she was falling, and she gripped him. "She's granted me safe passage to the boarder of Panem, and then I'll make my way North."
"What's North of Panem?"
"Nothing," he replied. "Or, at least, that's what Panem claims. We all know how corrupt they are, though, so I don't really know what lies beyond the boarders." He glanced at her. "I'm leaving Panem and I'm never coming back. I can't come back. That's part of the deal with Becca."
She was going to lose him all over again and it hurt.
For a moment, his façade broke and she could see the hope he had. It was something so foreign to both of them; they'd never been allowed to have hope for the future before.
Bellamy's thumb swept across the back of her hand. "But you're also part of this deal." Her heart stopped with his words. "You can come with me. We can leave Panem together – escape this hell of a country, find a new place to start a life."
The breath was knocked from her lungs. "You want me to come north with you?" she asked, slightly breathless. "Beyond Panem?"
"If you want to," he said. "It's an invitation, if you want. We could finally escape everything here – all the corruption, and the death, and the pain."
Clarke wanted that. She really wanted that.
"We could start a life – a new life, a better life."
Clarke wanted that, too.
"We could finally find peace, forgiveness, and be free."
Clarke needed that.
He locked eyes with her. His smile was soft and his eyes caring. "And, if you decide to come with me, I don't expect you to stay in love with me. I didn't make this deal because I expect you'll love me forever, Clarke. I did this because you're my family now. You'll always be family, no matter what happens between us." The more he spoke, the more affection flooded her heart. "If you come with me, you don't need to feel like you have to stay in love with me. We don't have to be together like that at all if you don't want to.
"All I ever wanted was to protect my family. You're my family, Clarke. And this… this gives us the choice on how we want to spend the rest of our lives. We aren't dead. We could leave Panem together, and that's it – we never see each other again. We could stay friends and live out our days wherever we end up." He brushed her cheek and she leaned into his touch. "Or we could stay together. And we could love each other like we do now, until our true dying breaths."
She was at a loss for words, so he kept talking.
"I didn't make this choice for you, Clarke. This is your choice. Becca's also going to give you the option to live out the rest of your life here, in the Capitol." She felt frozen as he spoke. "She's going to offer you a place in the palace to live for the rest of your life. You'll work with trusted Capitol officials on projects of your choosing. If you want that, take it."
Clarke tried to imagine her life in the Capitol, she really did, but it was impossible. How could she work beside people that killed children? How could she work with liars and manipulators? How could she work with people that killed almost everyone she loved?
She never wanted that fate. Even as a child, she knew she could never stand beside people who ruled with terror.
Bellamy continued speaking. "She told me that if you choose to stay here, you can continue the education you had to stop when you went into lock-up. You could become a medic – an official medic." His fingers were gentle on her hand. "You can have a life here, too, Clarke.
"I'm not asking you to decide now. I'm not asking you to decide ever, really. All I mean is that… don't base your decision on us. Do this for you, Clarke." He smirked. "You're so selfless. All the choices you make are ones for other people. You bare things so others don't have to. You don't have to anymore, especially not with this decision. This is your life. Do this for yourself."
Clarke didn't hesitate with her answer. She didn't even have to think about it. There wasn't a doubt in her mind.
"I'm coming with you," she said. Her jaw was locked and her eyes blazed with determination. "I can't stay here either. I don't want to. Working for the Capitol is not something I want – I've never wanted it."
"You wanted to be a medic," he pointed out. "They can give you that."
Clarke glanced at the white gauze covering his neck and felt a chill settle over her. "I don't know want anymore. After everything we've seen… After everything I've been through… I don't know who I am anymore."
She felt this way for a long time. Ever since she was reaped, she struggled to figure out who she was. Being alone for so long made her feel lost in herself.
Over the last month, she began to understand herself again.
She loved without apology. She fought for her family. She was willing to give up everything to keep people she cared about safe. She had a strength inside of her that she didn't know before.
But, being in the arena also changed her. She never thought she'd be able to hurt someone, but she'd killed people. People were dead because of her.
She didn't really know who she was. Not after isolation, not after being a tribute in the arena.
"Maybe one day, I'd want to be a medic again," she said after a moment. "Maybe once I've found myself again. But, right now, all I can think of is them." She knew she didn't need to clarify for him. Even though they escaped the arena, so many of their friends didn't. Wells. Charlotte. Monty. Lincoln. Raven. Murphy. "All I can think of is losing them, and me not being able to stop it. I… I don't know if I want that feeling again, of being so helpless, even though I should be able to save them." Bellamy knew her well enough to know she didn't want to hear how she tried. She didn't want to hear how she shouldn't blame herself.
"I don't know who I am," she admitted again. "But I do know this; I don't want to stay here. I don't want to live in the Capitol, or work for Becca, or standby while dozens of children are sent into the arena." She could see that same glimmer of hope in Bellamy's eyes from earlier and it warmed her soul. "To leave the Capitol – to leave Panem… that's a choice I never thought I'd have. It's freedom. It's a new life. A better life." He smiled at her repetition of his words.
"I'm not doing this for us, or for you," she said, addressing his earlier words. "I'm doing this because I want this. I can't imagine my future here, but I can out there. I dream of it, actually." She dreamed of freedom, and healing, and forgiveness. She dreamed of finding out who she really was again. "I want to go North with you, and I want to go wherever our future might take us." She had never felt so sure about something in her life. For the first time in a long time, she was filled with excitement for the future. "I'm with you, Bellamy."
His grin was as soft as his touches. "Together?"
Her heart fluttered. "Until the end."
There we have it! The official end of the time in the arena. And, in a way, this is the official end of this fic, as the next chapter is the epilogue. It's bitter-sweet to come to this moment.
Also, please note, I am nerding out over the fact I accidentally closed this fic with the words "the end." I realized this as I was editing!
I'll give a brief explanation over what the hell happened, since this chapter is pretty plot packed!
-In chapter 19 and chapter 20, we see Bellamy writing a letter to someone unknown. This chapter reveals that he wrote this letter to Becca, offering her the deal of her saving all three of them (Octavia, Bellamy, Clarke) in exchange for their silence regarding District 13.
-In chapter 47, they receive a note saying "DEAL –∞" This was a note from Becca agreeing to Bellamy's terms.
-Bellamy and Clarke never actually died. They were gravely injured, but, before they could die, the Gamemakers fired their canons early, signaling their deaths. They were pulled from the arena and saved in the Capitol.
-Everyone across Panem thinks they are dead since the Capitol faked their deaths. They'll have to live their lives secretly because of this.
-This chapter is the equivalent of "You and me. Screw everyone else. Let's just go."
And, I'm not sure if you caught it, but Octavia is the Victor! Which means she beat Ontari in the final fight. I never included that in this fic, just because I honestly never even thought to. But I know a few of you were looking forward to this showdown. I'd be willing to write a one-shot? If people are interested? (This is also me subtly saying that I never want to give up the universe this fic is based in, someone please encourage me to continue writing for it)
Thanks for reading! Reviews are extremely appreciated.
Paw
