Bellamy walked through the halls of the empty GoSci Ring. His hand brushed lightly along the wall as he put one foot in front of the other. The sound of his feet dragging across the metal floor stood out from the machine hum and air flowing from the ducts. Everyone else was in the mess hall.
The seven on the Ring had just escaped the hand of death once more, leaving the eighth behind. For all they knew, they were quite possibly the only people alive, that is, if the bunker had not been sealed properly. Ever since they arrived back in space, they had yet to make contact with those in the bunker.
How was he going to make it five years when just five days had been so miserable? He had just been separated from the two people in the world he cared most about. Clarke was dead, and if Octavia were alive, his sister was hundreds of miles away from him and unable to make contact.
How was he supposed to bear the uncertainty of his baby sister's life? How was he supposed to go on without looking out for the very one he swore to protect as a child?
How was he supposed to go on without Clarke? They had just lost their child mere months ago, lost each other and eventually reconciled, but now he had lost her for good.
Who would be there to bicker with him over the smallest thing? Who would be there to talk with him about his past, his fears, and his hopes at any hour of both day or night?
How was he supposed to go on without them?
How was he supposed to go on at all?
Bellamy rounded the corner to face the large window that separated him from the burning world below. He inched forward until he came close enough to press his forehead against the cold, thick glass. Against his skin, he felt the slight vibration from the machinery that caused the Ring to function. He pressed his eye lids together, hoping to see her face appear in his mind.
He'd give anything to see her once more. If seeing her again meant facing the battles they once fought or his demons she helped him slay, he'd do it in the heartbeat she no longer had.
He opened his eyes, grasping on to his mental image of her. His brown eyes found the fiery planet.
Clarke had fought to survive in the Mountain and to save her people. She fought to piece herself back together, choosing to save herself instead of their relationship after losing their baby.
The first two months were the hardest. They both shut each other out, blaming themselves for what happened. The silence between the two grew long as their conversation grew short.
That same short conversations soon turned into arguing over the smallest things. It wasn't long before the leader of Skaikru packed her bags and left for the capital.
He assumed the reason she moved to Polis after their split was for finding comfort in Lexa's arms, but at the confirmation of his assumptions, he only then realized he had lost the best thing that ever happened to him. He suddenly realized everything they ever did wrong and what they should have done.
Camp Jaha was quickly over run by A.L.I.E. as was Polis after the death of the commander. Bellamy watched from a distance, but he could clearly see Lexa's death sent her over the edge. His heart broke for the woman he loved, but he kept his distance.
It wasn't until the day they defeated A.L.I.E that they reached a much needed breakthrough in their strained relationship.
Her hand shook violently as Murphy moved the flame closer to the incision in the back of her neck. Clarke's eyes found Bellamy the second his hand grasped hers tightly.
"I need you," her voice cried softly.
"I'm here, Princess," His voice was deep as if he were hiding the emotion he held back, "I believe in you."
She did her best to smile softly at him through the pain she felt. She hadn't heard that term of endearment from him in so long, only then painfully realizing what she lost, but she couldn't think about that now. She had their people to save. He believed in her, giving her the assurance that she could do anything.
Bellamy looked back down at the earth once more with tears streaming down his face. His child and the love of his life— both forever gone.
He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his eyes before he turned to face the wall, striking it repeatedly until a bloody dent appeared where his fist had been, and he clutched his right hand with his left and cursed aloud as the pain surged throughout the nerves in his now swelling, bruising hand.