a/n Here's another chapter! Huge thanks to everyone who commented on the last one - great to see people are looking forward to this story despite (or should that be because of?) everything that's gone wrong with the show. Thanks as ever to Stormkpr for betaing. Happy reading!
Bellamy wonders whether it would be acceptable to radio Clarke.
He hasn't heard from her since yesterday, and it's now well into the afternoon. And they did say they would try to talk more often, so he figures he's allowed to go call her.
The thing is, there's a difference between it being allowed and it being truly acceptable. He's still trying to get his head around this new development in their friendship, and he doesn't want to pester her or make things awkward by calling her all the damn time.
Yes, he's aware that worrying about awkwardness when the world is ending is probably a case of confused priorities. But in his defence, the world will end either way. His relationship with Clarke feels a little more under his control – but not by very much.
He doesn't need to call her today. That's what he decides in the end. She's coming home soon and anyway, he called yesterday. She should be the next one to pick up the radio and initiate conversation, out of the two of them. This makes him feel like a nervous teenager trying to read the behaviour of one of the girls he went to school with, but he supposes it can't be helped. Clarke has always had a special talent for leaving him soundly bemused.
He sighs and stretches out over his bed. He's terrible at waiting for the death wave to come, hates the tension of sitting here with nothing to do. When Clarke's not around he's not entirely sure what to do with himself – sure, he's a guard, but he feels like he ought to be doing more. When she's here the pair of them find themselves in strategy meetings and make life-or-death lists. Without her, he feels like any other young man waving a gun around at random.
She always did make him feel like more than another janitor from factory station.
His frustration is mercifully interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Come in."
It's Miller, looking harassed. "Hunting trip. Can you come?"
Bellamy frowns. "I'm on night watch tonight. But yeah, sure." He's been bored out of his mind, today, if he's being honest.
Miller nods. "We'll be back in time. But Kane and Jaha have taken a division out on some errand to Polis and we need to keep the food coming in."
Bellamy understands Miller's point – they need to stockpile enough rations to last them through the death wave. He only wonders why Kane and Jaha have gone on an adventure.
"Do you know what they're doing?"
"No idea. Something secret. Come on, let's go."
Bellamy doesn't wait to be asked twice. He gets to his feet and the two of them set out down the hallway, catching up on trivial news as old friends do. Sometimes Bellamy cannot believe that they have only known each other since last year – it feels like Miller has been a brother to him all his life, in many ways. He supposes that trying to survive on Earth does funny things to relationships.
They have a good time, out hunting that afternoon. They catch a lot, and laugh a lot – probably more than Bellamy has laughed since his sister's disappearance and the black rain, except perhaps during his precious radio calls with Clarke. Miller's a great friend – supportive in an unobtrusive sort of a way, able to balance light humour with serious dedication to his duty.
But he's not Clarke.
And that's proof if any were needed, Bellamy thinks, that Clarke is not just his good friend. She's more than that – she understands him on a deeper level than anyone else he has ever met, seems to genuinely value him for his character rather than his capabilities.
He just wishes he could be sure he was more than a good friend to her, too.
…...
Clarke wonders whether it would be acceptable to radio Bellamy.
He called her the day before yesterday, and she figures she's probably OK to return the gesture soon. He did say he would be happy to speak to her more often, after all. They seem to have established that they are the kind of particularly close friends who are allowed to call each other for a chat – or perhaps even that they are more than friends, she allows herself to hope in the quiet moments between saving the human race.
There have been too many of those quiet moments, lately. She feels like she's been killing time here, fetching and carrying for her mother and Jackson, while everyone else gets on with her job. Kane and Jaha found a bunker in Polis yesterday to protect more people while the death wave burns, for example. All Clarke is doing is hanging around waiting for the moment when she can roll out her plan to administer the nightblood serum. Even giving herself the nightblood injection was a brief and rather anticlimactic distraction from the uselessness of standing around the lab and hoping for something to do.
She jumps to her feet the moment she hears her mother call her name.
"What can I do?" Clarke asks, already dashing to the other side of the lab.
"That's dose number two thousand. You can call Bellamy and ask him to pick you up – you and the first batch of serum."
Clarke sighs in relief. "We're ready to start distribution." She concludes.
Abby allows herself a small smile. "We will be by the time he gets here. Go on, tell Bellamy you need a lift. We should keep working."
Clarke runs to the radio. That's obviously because she's keen to get back to Arkadia and get to work on saving the human race, not because she's keen to speak to Bellamy. And in fact, now she comes to think of it, she doesn't see why it should be Bellamy who picks her up. There are half a dozen guards at Arkadia who are trained in driving the rover, not to mention most of the engineering team. But she's hardly going to complain – a ten hour journey in Bellamy's sole company sounds like her idea of heaven, right now.
She has very small dreams.
Maybe it will be different, one day. Maybe there will be peace and safety, and she will owe nothing more to her people, and she will be able to dream bigger.
Huh. Some chance of that happening. It was a naive idea when she discussed it with Lexa, and she knows she's no more likely to get some kind of fairy tale happy ending with Bellamy, either. Bad things happen to people she loves. Bad things happen to everyone, in fact, in her experience.
She pushes that less-than-useful thought aside and picks up the radio. It's Kane who answers, so Clarke asks for Bellamy and then sits back in her chair to wait.
"Clarke? You still there?" His familiar voice pipes up, only a few moments later.
"Yeah. I'm here."
"Hey. It's good to hear from you."
"My mum sent me to ask you to come pick me up, along with the first batch of nightblood."
"Oh. Yeah, sure." She wonders if he sounds disappointed, or if that's only wishful thinking.
She tests her theory. "I was going to call you tonight anyway. I found this book about Roman history that made me think of you."
"You did?" Yes, he definitely sounds brighter now.
"Yeah. I'm not going to tell you all about it now though – I should save something for us to talk about on the drive home, right?"
He laughs. "We're going to spend a ten hour drive talking about Roman history?"
"Maybe not the whole thing." She concedes.
"Why are you so into Roman history all of a sudden anyway?" He asks, tone teasing.
"I've not had much to do. That's why I need you to get me out of here and drive me home to Arkadia."
"Yeah, sure. Let me just -"
"I don't mean I want you to leave now." She reprimands him sharply. "It's a long way. You should get some rest."
He disagrees with her, of course. Sometimes she thinks that's what he does best. "I'll set off now – or as soon as we're done talking. I can take a break when it's dark so the battery doesn't run out on me."
She considers that for a moment. It's not a plan she really likes, if she's being honest. That's a lot of driving, and not enough sleep, and she doesn't want him to have an accident. But the fate of the human race is at stake, because the nightblood needs distributing, and she knows that she must put that above a little concern that Bellamy might get tired.
It's not so easy to do that, though.
He'll be OK. He's faced tougher challenges than a day of driving before now. And when this is over, with any luck, they'll both get the chance to catch up on some rest.
"OK. If you're sure. I guess I'll see you some time tomorrow morning?"
"Yeah."
"Let me know how you're getting on with the drive." She says, tone carefully light. "You know, check in sometimes."
"I'll be fine." She can practically hear him rolling his eyes. "I'll take care."
"Bellamy -"
"I'll take care, and I'll check in every couple of hours." He concludes in a quelling tone.
He'd better do. She doesn't like it when he's late checking in. She didn't like it when he was in Mount Weather, and she certainly doesn't like the idea now.
…...
Bellamy starts driving more or less right away, pausing only long enough to ask Raven to check that the rover is good to go. He has to start driving right away, because he needs to ferry that nightblood serum back here to save the human race. His urgency isn't entirely founded on his excitement at the thought of seeing Clarke again. Honestly, it isn't.
Occasionally he allows himself to wish that his life didn't just revolve around running after his womenfolk. His chief duty in life was protecting his sister, and by implication his mother, from the earliest years of his childhood. And recently, of course, his devotion to Clarke's safety has become his focus. At least that's a little better than giving up everything for his responsibility to Octavia, he likes to think. At least with Clarke he has something of a role and an identity, actually makes a positive impact on the lives of his people. At least today, going to pick up this woman he considers family constitutes saving the human race.
But yeah, sometimes he allows himself to dream of a different future. A future where his family cares about him half as much as he cares about them. Where he doesn't feel like he's bound by his duty to them, grovelling for the scraps of their affection, but instead they put him first as he does for them. It's not that he wants Clarke to walk across a battlefield for him or Octavia to stow away on a dropship for him, as such. He just thinks it would be comforting to know that they'd care enough to do that for him, if ever the need arose.
It's probably a silly dream. And the world is ending, anyway.
It's about time he made his first call to check in with Clarke. He knows she worries about him more than she likes to let on – in fact, she worries about everyone and everything more than she likes to let on.
"Clarke? Are you there?" He feels less stiff and awkward about starting a radio conversation, now, than he did only days ago.
"I'm here. How's the drive?"
His first instinct is to tell her that the drive is fine. But a one-word answer is not great conversation material, he thinks. To be honest, he suspects that if he goes with fine Clarke will hang up soon after and he'll be left to drive in lonely silence for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
"No trouble so far. And it's good to see the first signs of spring." He wonders if that sounds sappy and like a mangled poetry quote. He's still working on this whole cheerful chat with Clarke concept.
"Yeah? I don't remember noticing that on the drive down here. You'll have to show me on the drive home."
He makes an agreeing kind of noise.
"How's everyone back in Arkadia?" She asks. He thinks that's an interesting question, simply for the fact it doesn't need asking. She could ask him in person when he arrives tomorrow morning, or she could not ask it at all and see for herself when they get home.
It's a question, therefore, that she can only be asking to make conversation.
"Jasper's doing well. His shampoo business is going strong. Monty and Harper are looking forward to seeing you."
"That's good."
There's a pause. Bellamy knows the conversation is over, but he doesn't want it to be over. He might not get many more conversations with Clarke if his self-appointed mission to find his sister doesn't go to plan.
"I'll see you tomorrow. Check in when you stop driving for the night?" Clarke says.
"Will do."
The radio lapses into silence.
Bellamy has a slightly different outlook as he drives, now. He finds himself looking intently at the forest and scenery around him, memorising any feature of interest he sees as fuel for future conversations with Clarke. Part of him is also drinking it in because Earth is beautiful, in a way that still surprises and overwhelms him since he landed here so recently. He's sad it's going to burn soon – it's as simple as that.
He quite likes driving. Maybe that's a silly thought, but it's the truth. Just for a while he gets to live a straightforward life that revolves around navigating the rover safely through the trees. In moments like this he does not have to worry about letting down his mother or losing his sister or loving Clarke more than she loves him. There's only the road ahead and the worn steering wheel beneath his hands.
And then, once more, there's Clarke's voice over the radio.
"Why haven't you checked in? Have you stopped yet?" She asks.
"No." He says mildly. He's long since learnt that she has a habit of asking slightly aggressive questions like that when she's stressed, but it will always pass when she gets it out of her system.
"It's getting dark."
"It is." He has to acknowledge that she's right. The time seems to have flown by, these last couple of hours, while he's been driving and trying not to think too hard.
"Bellamy -"
"I'll pull over when I find a good spot." He reassures her. He allows himself, just for a moment, to feel almost comforted that she worries about him so much. He doesn't like to think of her anxious, of course, but it's kind of touching that it's him she's anxious about.
"Great."
Another one of those pauses. They can talk for hours on end when there's a crisis to solve or a scheme to plan. But they've not had enough practice at chatting peacefully, Bellamy thinks. Maybe that's something they might resolve if they manage to spend that month or so safely in a bunker while they death wave burns.
For now, though, he guesses he ought to say goodbye.
Only then Clarke takes him by surprise.
"Let me tell you about my book." She says, almost urgently, somehow.
That's a request he's not going to turn down. Between the way he feels about Roman history and the way he feels about Clarke, he cannot imagine a better suggestion, actually.
"Sure. What exactly was it about?"
"Roman emperors. You know, like Augustus." Yes. He does know like Augustus, as it happens. But he decides it's more sweet than funny that Clarke is trying to step out of her comfort zone to make conversation with him, so he lets her have it.
"Yeah?" He prompts, hoping to keep her talking.
She does keep talking. She keeps talking for a surprisingly long time, actually – laughing at some of the eccentricities of various emperors, then pulling herself up short when she recalls that history is real, and real people had to suffer for it. Narrating great swathes of history he already knows, then losing confidence and asking him to take over. He bails her out each and every time, but then pushes the conversation back over to her. He likes listening to her talk while he drives – it's like listening to Jasper's music player, only a thousand times better.
She's still talking when he finds a place to pull over, as the sky grows truly dark. But he doesn't mention that, because if he tells her he's stopped and points out that night has fallen, presumably she'll go away. So when the conversation starts to flag, he prompts her once more, and sits back in his chair.
She's still talking when his eyes are starting to drift shut and he really ought to be sleeping. But he tries to stay awake, and finds himself reflecting that this has long been something of a fantasy of his – not a sexual fantasy, obviously, but a fantasy all the same. He's dreamed of the day that Clarke would spend hours just chatting with him about his interests. He wonders if maybe, tomorrow, they might have a go at discussing her life beyond leadership, too.
In the end, it's Clarke who notices the time. Of course it is.
"I should stop boring you and let you get to sleep." She says, sounding suddenly nervous.
"I'm not bored. I really enjoyed that." He rushes to assure her, then wonders if maybe that sounded a little too keen. "I mean – it's good to just chat with you. Without the world ending."
She laughs a sad and slightly desperate laugh. "Yeah. I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow."
"You too." She has no idea how much, he thinks. Maybe one of these days he'll find the words and courage and time to tell her.
"Great. Well, go to sleep, I guess."
He snorts. For a whole hour or so there, she managed to switch off her tendency to give instructions and think she's supposed to be leading the world. But it seems that their leisure time together is over, and she's in business mode once more.
"Will do, Clarke. You should get some rest too."
"I will. Sleep well."
That ought to be a ridiculous instruction, he thinks. He's grabbing a nap in a chilly rover in the middle of a forest on the road to nowhere in particular. He brought a scratchy blanket and he can use his pack as a pillow, but that's hardly a recipe for a comfortable night.
And yet, he knows with some instinct that he cannot quite explain that he will sleep well, tonight. He's going to have a good day tomorrow – or at least as good as days get, when the world is ending.
...
The first thing Clarke does on arriving at the shore is hug Bellamy.
Unloading the boat can wait, she figures. Or Murphy and Emori can get started on it, or choose not to, as they prefer. But hugging Bellamy cannot wait, because when they were last standing on this beach together they weren't sure they were going to get to hug again. Sure, she told him they'd meet again, but she's always had a habit of pasting on a firm face and pushing her worries to one side.
This is a good hug – possibly their best yet, she thinks. Bellamy's arms are even firmer than she remembers and he smells better than ever, somehow, despite his night on the road. She wonders if it's that shampoo.
But the best thing of all? She could swear she just felt his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of her neck.
She wishes this was it. She wishes this was the happy ending – that now they could maybe sit down and have that drink and she could do some sketching. But she knows they're only just getting started. The nightblood serum needs distributing, and she needs to talk to the grounders about accepting artificial nightblood, when some of them firmly believe it undermines their religion.
She'd rather just stand here and hug Bellamy for the next week or so. Maybe ten days, even. But the world will have gone up in flames by then.
She forces herself to pull away. Immediately the world feels more dangerous, more cold. Sometimes she could swear his hugs are a kind of magic – they're comforting like nothing else she has ever known.
"Did you miss me?" She asks, trying for a teasing tone. Trying to pretend that she's asking to have fun, not because she desperately wants the answer to be yes.
"Yes." He swallows. "It's good to see you. Come on, let's get going."
That's the story of their relationship, isn't it? A hurried sentence about how much they care about each other, if they're lucky. And then it's fast overtaken by we need to move.
The two of them don't talk much as they load the rover – largely because Murphy appears determined to carry the conversation single-handed. He's been strangely outgoing, these last few days, Clarke thinks. Maybe his optimism that they might all survive this has him thinking it's time to forge a few more friendships. Maybe without the pressures of survival, Murphy could be a more likeable man.
She wonders if Bellamy is finding it strange, too. At one point Murphy offers to help him carry a large crate, and Bellamy looks up to meet Clarke's eyes with a sort of secretive smirk. She likes that. She likes the idea that they share secretive smirks, when the moment is right.
Clarke still doesn't know Emori well, despite spending the last few days living alongside her. She keeps to herself, and that's something Clarke can understand, having learnt a basic thing or two about her life story.
Before long the rover is loaded, and it's time to go their separate ways. Murphy says a strangely hearty goodbye, Emori waves once, and then they sail off back to the island.
"Tell me I'm not the only one who found that strange." Bellamy mutters, as he starts up the rover.
"You mean with Murphy?"
"Yeah."
"You're not the only one who found that strange. He's been... I don't know, trying harder?"
Bellamy looks thoughtful. "I know he saved your life in the City of Light, but I'm still not sure I trust him."
Clarke only hums in response to that. She's got very little idea whether she trusts John Murphy or not. Earth does funny things to interpersonal relationships, remember? She supposes she would trust him if it came down to it, as she would trust almost anyone in a moment of desperation. She just hopes she can avoid desperate moments for the foreseeable future and never have to find out.
She shakes her head. She doesn't plan on spending this whole journey talking about any of their friends or acquaintances. She plans to spend it talking about them.
"Tell me more about Octavia's namesake." She invites him, trying for an encouraging smile. He's supposed to have his eyes fixed on the road, of course, so it shouldn't matter whether she smiles. But he seems determined to look at her more often than she thinks he really ought.
He shakes his head. "Not happening. We talked about history all of last night. It's your turn. What embarrassing interests did you have as a kid?" He asks her, tone teasing, but eyes serious.
"I liked to draw." She offers, because that feels like a safe answer.
"I know that already. Try again." He orders, slanting her a look that is somewhere between affectionate and exasperated.
She thinks about it carefully. There is an obvious answer that springs to mind, but it's not a comfortable answer. It's not an interest many young woman have, in her experience, or at least not one they are expected to have. And it's an interest she shared with some people she loved and lost, so that makes it a difficult subject.
She steels her courage. This is Bellamy – she's pretty sure she can tell him anything, at this point. She trusts him. And hasn't she been thinking, lately, that she'd like them to grow closer when it comes to personal matters rather than only discussing politics and logistics?
"You have to promise not to laugh." She warns him.
"I promise."
She sucks in a long breath. "I used to love watching soccer with my parents and the Jahas. I swear I've watched every FA cup final at least four times over."
He doesn't laugh. On the contrary, he looks rather closer to crying.
"Thanks for telling me that, Clarke." He says softly.
She thinks that's an odd thing to say. It implies that he feels gratitude, or something, when all she did was share a silly and slightly upsetting insight into her childhood. She mutters a stiff you're welcome under her breath, and wonders what to say next.
Bellamy picks up the slack.
"I'm sorry about Wells." He murmurs.
She looks up, sharp.
He continues. "I wish I'd known him better. I can see now that he was a good guy, and I'm sorry I didn't realise that sooner."
She nods, heavy and sort of resentful. This was supposed to be a light chat, and it seems to have gone awry. But now they've started down this conversational path, she finds that there's something she wants to get off her chest. Something she's never been able to say to anyone, until now.
"I'm almost more upset about Thelonius." She mutters, eyes fixed on the road. "I really miss Wells, of course I do. But – he's dead. That's final, and there's closure. And sure, the circumstances were horrible, but he died as a good guy and that's that. But Thelonius – he was family to me, too. He's there in all my childhood memories, like an uncle or even another parent. And I don't even recognise him any more. Earth has changed him more than it's changed anyone else." She concludes, tearful.
She isn't surprised to find that Bellamy has reached out to lay a fleeting hand on her arm. That's a thing they seem to do, since that awful night with the list. His hand is gone again almost as soon as she's registered it, as he has to drive the rover. But the warmth lingers.
Maybe it's that warmth that gives her the courage to address the situation more directly.
"I'm sorry." She says, trying for a brisk tone. "I don't want this to be a sad day. I was actually really looking forward to having some time to just hang out with you."
"I think that's life, down here. There are always going to be sad moments even on the good days."
That's a dispiriting and upsettingly accurate outlook, she decides. And it's not exactly the cheerful affirmation of their friendship she was hoping for, from that conversational gambit.
She brightens considerably when it turns out that Bellamy wasn't done talking.
"There are more good moments when you're around." He tells her, smiling softly. "Come on, tell me more about your soccer obsession. I've got a ten hour drive ahead of me, I could use the entertainment."
"I can drive for a bit." She volunteers quickly. She more or less knows how to drive, and she doesn't want him to think she expects him to act as her personal chauffeur.
He shoots her a quelling look. Apparently he's driving, and that's that.
"And it wasn't an obsession." She mumbles, somewhat defensive – but she thinks defensive more because he doesn't want her to split the driving, than because of the soccer. He's an infuriatingly stubborn man, she decides.
He laughs a bit, shoots her another look. He really ought to watch the road more carefully.
"Sure it wasn't, Clarke. Now are you going to tell me who won the cup final in 2037 or am I going to have to live in ignorance forever?"
There's something very playful in his tone, and she likes it. She never thought the week before Praimfaya would be the week they'd learn to be playful with each other, but she decides easily and resolutely that it's better than never learning it at all.
a/n Thanks for reading!