a/n Hello and welcome to my next multi-chapter fic! I planned this out long before 7.13 happened but it's turned out to be a slightly ironic coincidence. I hope you're ready for ten chapters of Clarke and Bellamy remembering that they are each other's family!
(Sometimes, Penguin of Prose, irony can be funny. This is possibly not one of those times.)
Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this and being the greatest supporter in the world. We're starting off in the middle of season 4, with Clarke at the lab and Bellamy in Arkadia. And Miller is in Arkadia rather than at the lab, because of Plot Reasons. I figure continuity errors are allowed now, based on what we've seen in the show, right?
Happy reading!
What does family mean when the world is ending?
Clarke doesn't know any more. Since the moment that dropship first landed, she's been noticing that life on Earth does funny things to relationships. It pushes people together quickly, intense bonds forged in the heat of the battle for survival. But it pulls people apart, too, in the most brutal of ways.
Right now, for instance, she's standing several yards away from her mum, watching a man burn in a radiation chamber and resisting the urge to weep like a child and beg for a hug. They are not mother and daughter, today. They are two women burdened with the weight of saving the human race.
Up on the balcony, Murphy and Emori watch, holding each other tight. That's one of those relationships hastened by the end of the world, Clarke thinks – they've only really known each other a couple of months.
Something about the way they stand together makes her miss Bellamy. That's silly. He wouldn't be holding her quite like that, if he were here. There's nothing romantic between them, and that's that. But he's her closest friend in the world these days, without a doubt. Funny, how they started out at opposite ends of society on the Ark, but now he's the person who knows her best, all in a few short months. Anyway, it's good that he's not here. He has his missing sister to worry about – his family. That's what's important to him, and Clarke can respect that.
But it doesn't mean she doesn't miss him.
She sighs, and forces her attention back to the task at hand – saving the human race. The test subject in the chamber is responding well. She's thinking of him as the test subject because she can't quite bring herself to acknowledge that he's a human being. That way lies madness – she knows as much from past experience.
"Some burning and blistering, but that's to be expected." Jackson notes.
"We should stop here and see how he recovers." Clarke hears her mother recommend.
There are nods all round. This is the plan – to expose him to the radiation, then stand back and see whether he recovers as Luna did. And to keep him sedated the whole time, so that they can pretend he isn't a living, breathing person. Or at least, that's what Clarke's cynical side suggests.
She's not looking forward to playing the waiting game, now. The test subject – Bayliss – is no longer being exposed to the radiation, and it's simply a matter of monitoring his vital signs and seeing whether he recovers. Honestly, the worst part about that is that it's a one person job – given both Jackson and Abby are here, Clarke knows she will have nothing to do except worry for the next several hours, or even days.
She could try drawing, but it seems frivolous to draw when the world is ending. She could try getting a head start on figuring out the logistics of how they will distribute the nightblood if all goes to plan, but that sounds a lot like tempting fate, seeing as they don't yet know whether it has worked.
Clarke is startled to find her mother at her side, laying a gentle hand on her arm. Apparently they are allowed to be affectionate with each other again, now that their task is temporarily on hold.
"I'm going to radio Marcus." Abby says softly. "Jackson's got this and I need to get out of here for a minute. Do you want to come talk to Bellamy?"
"Bellamy?" She echoes foolishly. It's not that she doesn't know who he is, just that she doesn't understand the question.
"Yeah. Want to call him?"
She frowns. "I don't have anything to say to him."
Her mother smiles gently. "That's not what I asked."
Clarke thinks about that carefully. Radio calls back to Arkadia are for business, and for saving the world. Social radio calls exist only between lovers, she's pretty sure – her mum calls Kane all the time. But now she comes to think of it, she did call her mum occasionally before she got here. Perhaps a more general definition is needed – social radio calls are for family, for people you care about.
Well, then. In that case, she wants to call Bellamy.
"Thanks, Mum. That's a good idea. I'll come speak to Bellamy."
The world might be ending, but she has time to chat with the people she cares about.
…...
Bellamy is somewhere between confused and alarmed when Kane tells him Clarke is waiting for him on the radio.
Radios are for important news, he's pretty sure – often bad news. Or else they're for couples, and he and Clarke are not a couple, however badly he might wish it could be otherwise.
"She is? What's wrong?" He asks, urgent.
Kane smiles calmly. "Nothing's wrong, Bellamy. It sounds like she just wants a chat." He softens his voice a little further. "I know it's been difficult for them, doing these experiments. Abby said it reminded her of Mount Weather."
Bellamy nods, picking up easily on Kane's hint. Nothing's wrong on a world-ending disaster or life-ending injury kind of a level, but something is wrong. Clarke is upset, and pretending not to be, and wants someone to talk to. He can deal with that.
He can deal with that a hell of a lot better than he'd be able to deal with her genuinely just wanting a chat, he thinks. That would be frightening yet wonderful new territory, and he's not sure how he would cope with it. But sensitive and often subtle mutual support is what they've been doing for each other for months, since the night she first absolved him of his grief while he sat slumped against a tree.
His mission now clear in his mind, he heads for the radio.
"Clarke? It's me." He offers, less than helpfully, as he takes a seat.
"Bellamy. Hey."
There's a pause. He sucks in a breath.
"Kane said that the experiments have been tough on you guys." He tries to get the ball rolling.
"Mmm. Yeah, I guess so. They've been tougher on the test subject." She offers sadly.
"I'm sure. Was that what you wanted to talk about?" He asks, in that gentle tone he usually saves for stressful late nights in her office.
"What? Oh, no. No, I didn't really want to talk about anything. I just thought – you know. We haven't spoken for a few days."
He's rather taken aback by that. This is actually a chat – the kind of pointless radio call couples might share to enjoy each other's company when kept apart by the business of saving their people. This is about nothing other than Clarke wanting to spend some time talking to him.
Huh. That changes things. Or at least, it would change things, were it not for the end of the world bearing down on them.
"Bellamy?" Clarke asks, a little tentative. It occurs to him that his stunned silence probably has her worried.
"Hey. Sorry, still here. You're right, it's been too long." He swallows down nerves. "Maybe we should try to keep in touch more often." He suggests, tone carefully casual.
"I'd like that. So – how have things been in Arkadia?"
He considers that for a moment. He's trying to learn how to have a cheerful chat with the best friend he has something of a crush on, so he ought to keep his answer light.
But the honest truth is that things in Arkadia have been awful.
He and Clarke have always been honest with each other, so he tells her something of the truth. "Not good. The black rain took eighteen lives but took even more out of morale."
"Yeah, I thought it would. I heard about Peter and about – about what you tried to do. I'm so sorry, Bellamy."
He stiffens, emotions still raw from that night. "Not your fault."
"That's not what I meant. I meant I'm sorry it happened. I'm sorry I wasn't there to go with you." Clarke persists, gentle yet determined, as is her way.
"Thanks." He mutters.
He hears her suck in a loud breath. "Kane told me about your sister, too. I can't imagine how you're feeling."
"Not great." He admits. So much for a cheerful chat – he's been no fun at all, here. She's never going to want to call him again at this rate.
"Just promise me you won't do anything stupid? Promise me you're not going to run after her?"
He swallows. "I can't. I've got no idea where she is." No, he can do better than that. He can be more honest than that, with Clarke. "And I guess even if I have thought about going after her, I'd wait till I know how things go with you in the lab. No point running after her if we're all dead anyway." He concludes sadly.
"I'm not going to let that happen. I'm going to find a way to keep you safe. To keep everyone safe." When he hears the conviction in her voice, somehow he finds that he believes her, quite against his better judgement. Based on his past mistakes, he's not convinced his better judgement was ever that good anyway.
"Yeah. I have faith you'll figure something out." He tells her, hoping he sounds more encouraging than sad.
"We'll be OK."
He hesitates for a moment. He really would like this to become a happier conversation, more the kind of light banter he might expect to share with a woman he has a crush on. But he supposes that something about this is very typical of him and Clarke – bonding over grief and guilt, clinging to the most tenuous of bright spots.
He just wishes they could learn to do both.
With that in mind, he tries to move the conversation on.
"Thanks for calling, Clarke. It's good to hear your voice. And I've been wanting to tell you about Jasper's latest prank." It's a risk, given her recent conflict with Jasper, but it's the only lighthearted thing he can think of to say.
"Yeah?"
"He swapped out all the soap in the men's bathrooms for this really floral shampoo. We're all walking around smelling like roses or whatever."
She laughs softly. "I'm happy to hear he's still at work. It's good that he's starting to find a little bit of his old humour again, isn't it?"
Bellamy frowns. "I'm not sure about that. If he's doing better at all, it's not by much. But yeah. I guess it's better than nothing."
"And now you smell like roses?" She prompts.
"Yeah. Well, Japser said it was meant to be Jasmine. He spent ages on it, Clarke – he distilled all these scents himself and did some complicated chemistry and there we have it, Jasper Jordan's floral shampoo. He's getting women come up to him to say they've smelled it on their boyfriends or husbands and want to buy some."
"So was it a prank or a business opportunity?"
He laughs. "Maybe a bit of both."
"Well make sure he doesn't sell it all before I get home. I want to smell you."
There's a stunned pause. Bellamy isn't sure whether to laugh or tell her he's a teeny bit in love with her – or maybe both at once.
Then Clarke continues in a rush. "I mean, I want to smell the shampoo on you. Or on any guy. I just think it sounds funny."
"Yeah. Of course." He hopes he sounds smooth. He doesn't feel too smooth, just now. He's always been less smooth with Clarke than with literally any other woman on Earth – or even in space. It's a side effect of the way he feels about her, he supposes.
"I should probably go see if Jackson wants to take a break." Clarke mutters.
Damn it. He hopes he hasn't scared her off with all that shampoo nonsense. "Yeah. That's cool. I actually have a shift starting soon."
"OK. Great. Well I'll see you when I get back, I guess." No. No way. That is not how this ends.
"I was thinking I'd call you before that." He says lightly. "I've got nothing on tomorrow evening, if that's a good time?"
"Yeah. That works. We might have some news on whether the nightblood is a viable solution by then."
"Great. Speak to you then. Take care."
"You too. Stay safe."
Bellamy manages to resist the urge to actually punch the air in victory when he sets down the radio handset. He figures that would be a bit of a foolish overreaction to having a civil conversation with his closest friend. But he does allow himself a wide grin, because Clarke is doing OK, and she likes speaking to him, and if they're going to make a habit of this it at least gives him one small thing to look forward to amidst the unholy mess that is the end of the world.
Radio calls are not just for important news and couples, it turns out. They're also for him and Clarke.
…...
For the first time in as long as she can remember, Clarke is feeling genuinely optimistic. The early indications suggest that the nightblood treatment is working, and that Bayliss is recovering from his radiation exposure. Sure, his condition could still deteriorate. And even if he gets better, they then have to figure out arrangements for injecting the whole of the human race before the death wave hits.
But still, this is better news than she's received in quite some time.
Her mother and Jackson are already getting started on making the serum. They figure that it's worth doing that if there's even the slightest chance that their experiment will prove successful. That way, they have given themselves a head start – and if it doesn't work out, only a little time has been wasted.
Clarke offered to help them with that, of course. But she was kindly reminded that she only made it as far as being a medical apprentice. She'll be useful when the time comes to actually distribute the serum and inject everyone, but this is not her moment.
She therefore takes a notepad and a pencil and sets about planning how they will distribute the nightblood if all goes to plan. At least, that's what she tells herself she's doing – really she's sitting by the radio and waiting for Bellamy to call.
She really hopes he calls. He did say he would, and he keeps his promises. But talking on the radio is a rather new development in their friendship, and she's taking nothing for granted.
She's making a little progress with her plan. She supposes that the best idea would probably be for her mum and Jackson to stay here making more serum while she starts ferrying the first few doses back to the mainland and then distributing them. That's if Bayliss really does recover, of course – she has learnt the hard way that she mustn't get ahead of herself at times like this.
The radio crackles into life at last.
"This is Bellamy, calling from Arkadia. Is Clarke there?" He sounds slightly awkward, she thinks, and she can just picture the stiff frown on his face.
"I'm here."
"Clarke. Hey."
"How are you doing?" She asks, because that seems like an obvious way to start a conversation.
"Fine." He says. She hopes to figure out whether or not that's a lie over the course of this chat. "What about you?"
"Pretty good, actually. We might have some good news about the nightblood."
"Yeah?"
She hesitates, wonders how much to say. Obviously none of their progress is public knowledge yet, but this is Bellamy. She can trust him, she's certain of it.
"Yeah. There's no one listening in on your end, is there?"
"No." He sounds puzzled, she thinks.
"We're cautiously optimistic. The test subject's vital signs are improving quickly. My mum and Jackson are already working on more serum. That stays between us, though, OK?"
"Yeah, of course. Thanks for telling me." He says warmly.
"I wanted to share the good news with you." She tries to convince herself that's for logical reasons – like reassuring him that his faith was well-placed, or that his sister will be safe – but does not entirely succeed.
"You're making my good news look a little pathetic." He laughs.
"You have good news?"
"I'm trying to have good news. I had a good hunting trip with Miller this morning."
"That's great." She says, genuinely happy for him. She knows he's had a run of spectacularly bad luck, these last few days, and it's a relief to hear him sounding somewhat brighter.
"Hardly saving the world." He snorts.
"I disagree. I've been thinking, and if this nightblood solution does work out – which is a pretty big if – but if it does work, we're going to need to take shelter while the death wave is burning. And we're going to need to eat during that time."
"You're already planning that far ahead?" He asks, somewhere between impressed and amused, she thinks.
"Yeah. I'm trying not to get ahead of myself, but we need to be ready."
"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help." He offers.
She thinks about it. She really wants to tell him that calling her on the radio is helping more than he knows, but she's not sure she's brave enough for that.
She settles for a compromise, in the end. "Just keep being you. I know I can always count on your support."
It's the honest truth, but it's only half of what she needs to pluck up the courage to say to him before the world burns.
…...
When the whole population of Arkadia is summoned to a meeting three days later, Bellamy is pretty certain he knows what's going on. He's expecting this to be an announcement about the nightblood. He's been in touch with Clarke a couple of times in recent days, and he knows that the nightblood solution is going ahead. More than that, Clarke has already planned how the serum is to be made and delivered in time.
There's just one flaw in her plan – it doesn't involve scouring the forest for one missing seventeen-year-old girl. So just as soon as Clarke gets back with the serum, Bellamy plans to head out in search of his sister. He's intending to leave after Clarke gets back for entirely sensible reasons – it's so he can get his nightblood shot and take one with him for Octavia.
It's totally not because he's desperate to hug Clarke one more time before the end of the world.
He plans to come back, anyway. He plans to bring Octavia home. But he has to concede that he'll feel better for having said goodbye to Clarke, just in case he doesn't make it back here.
Sure enough, it turns out that this meeting has been called to give an announcement about the nightblood. Kane explains that Clarke will be here in a few days with the first doses, while Abby and Jackson stay on the island to make enough for everyone. Meanwhile, everyone in Arkadia must help to fire-proof the buildings and prepare stores of food to last them through the initial death wave.
Bellamy more or less zones out. It's nothing Clarke hasn't already told him.
After the meeting, people stay to mill around for a few moments. Bellamy says hi to Harper and Monty, as he hasn't seen them much in recent days. He smirks at Bree, because it always does him good to have an admirer.
And then he finds himself approaching Jasper.
"Hey, Jasper. How are you doing?"
"Just great." Jasper says. That's presumably a lie or a joke – but not a very funny one.
"Have you got any more of that shampoo?" Bellamy asks, without allowing himself to analyse why he wants to know.
Jasper frowns. "Why the sudden interest?"
"Just... you know. Happy to see you're using your talents for something more useful than moonshine. I want to support your business."
Jasper snorts. "I've still got some, yeah."
"Great. Can I get one? What are you trading for it?"
Jasper's eyes light up with curiosity. "I'll give you it for free if you'll tell me who it's for." He offers. "Who's the lucky woman, huh?"
Bellamy frowns. "Really, I'd rather trade for it."
"Come on, don't be such a downer. Just tell me who it's for. Who's got you all domestic and buying shampoo, Bellamy?"
"I'll give you a shirt for it." Bellamy grinds out. "A good one, no holes."
Jasper looks stunned. "A whole shirt for a bottle of shampoo? And for protecting your secret? Intriguing."
"So is that a deal?"
Jasper reaches into his pack, hands over a small bottle filled with milky-coloured liquid. Bellamy can't quite believe he's doing this, but it seems that he is. He reaches out, takes the bottle with careful hands.
"Thanks. I'll bring the shirt to supper. Shake on it?"
A hearty handshake follows. Bellamy nods, slightly awkward, and turns to take his precious prize back to his room.
He's nearly out of earshot when Jasper calls after him.
"Hope Clarke enjoys her shampoo."
Damn it. He feels his shoulders tense up, realises too late that he has probably given the truth away through his reaction. He never has been smooth when it comes to Clarke.
Never mind. It doesn't matter – that's what he decides, as he walks back to his room. It doesn't matter whether he's subtle, or whether she feels the same way, or whether they ever get together.
What matters is that she's going to survive the end of the world – and with any luck, he's going to survive it with her.
a/n Thanks for reading!