I'm sorry it took long! But the next chapters should be easier. I think there will be two more. And yes, I am going to leave the ending open to interpretation, or I could take this on for an entire other fanfiction and integrate them into the world of the Mountain Men and grounders, and all that stuff. But I don't want to write all that, but it will be implied. Hopefully. Anyway, thank you! And please review! (Also, this isn't edited, so please ignore any mistakes)
Clarke was once again holding hands with death. Or so it seemed as she watched Sinclair and Jaha discuss the details in hushed monotones. But she knew the most important pieces.
That there was no way to tell which Stations would blow up.
That there was no promise of even disconnecting the Stations from the body of the ship in the first place.
That, at any second, she could be reduced to ash.
A weird laugh bubbled up to her lips but she squashed it down. Not death by stars, or ground or gun. Not even by lack of air. She'd go in the one way she never expected.
By fire.
It would be the first cremation ever to happen on the Ark.
As if sensing her unease, Bellamy squeezed her hand and a different kind of heat leapt from his fingers into hers. "This could work, Clarke," he said quietly by her ear.
She nodded, eyes still on Jaha. She trusted that man as much as she did a murderer, because that's what he was. But now, she had to. She had to place her life in the very hands that had once held her father's. The very hands that had so easily let it go. "I hope you're right."
With his finger, Bellamy lifted her chin to him. His dark eyes were hard. Deadly. Like he could take on all of space alone. "It will work," he amended.
She smirked at him. "I thought you weren't an idealist."
The corner of his lip turned upwards. "Only when you're a pessimist, because that's when I know we're screwed."
Clarke shook her head slightly and returned her gaze to Jaha. "So what happens now?" she asked no one in particular.
Jaha cast his eyes to her, looking incredibly sure for odds so bad. "Now we tell the others. We prepare, and pray we don't die."
The compact room was crammed with people, tied down to every part of the floor by buckles and ropes. It looked like the innards of the ship had been ripped out and Clarke was starting to feel a little suffocated, pressed up against the wall with a thick, yellow strap crossed over her. Her legs were drawn tightly into her chest and she cradled them in her arms, but already they were starting to cramp. It had taken nearly four hours to get everything ready and she'd been seated for one of them. She'd been calm. Still was, but now that they were getting close to launch, anxiety churned inside her and she was trying very hard not to think of fire or ash.
Maybe it would be easier if she didn't know how much heat hurt, because after crawling through that shaft, she knew what it was like to burn.
"You doing okay?" Bellamy asked from beside her, as tightly wedged between the rows of people as herself. Her mother was seated on her other side, next to Kane, and Clarke's elbows brushed against hers and Bellamy's. Drawing strength from the contact, she licked her very dry lips and looked over at him. "I'm fine."
His eyebrows drew together doubtfully. "You don't have to lie to me, Clarke."
She gripped her hands together, clutching onto the fabric of her pant legs. "I'm okay. Really. We're just . . . possibly dying." She tried her best at a smile. "You think I'd be used to that by now."
"Mecha Station good to go," a voice chirped from overhead, making Clarke's insides tense into knots. She shut her eyes for a second, breathing through her mouth.
His hand latched onto hers and she gripped it back gratefully. "If anyone's going to survive this, Clarke, it's us. We're too stubborn to die."
She knew it was an effort on his part to make light of the situation, but she found she couldn't join in. "Bellamy, I'm scared," she admitted, voice barely above the whisper. Clarke was never one to admit to it out loud, but she wanted to be honest now, if there was never a chance to be later.
Bellamy pulled her as close to him as he could, his eyes boring into hers. She glimpsed fear in them, but it was eclipsed by something stronger; his own fire, his iron will to survive.
In answer, he pressed his lips to her forehead and drew her into his chest.
"Hydra station, good to go."
"One by one, the voice sounded, ticking off the Stations.
"Agro station good to go."
"Factory Station, good to go."
"Aero Station, good to go."
And then, too soon:
"Chancellor Jaha, all Stations are prepared for launch."
Another hand was placed on Clarke's knee and she glanced over at her mother. Abby gave an encouraging nod and Clarke did the same. She looked back to Bellamy. If she was going to die, at least it'd be here. With the people she cared for.
Too many had gotten far less.
"In peace, may you leave this shore," came Jaha's orotund voice, diplomatic as ever from another Station. "In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels until our final journey to the ground." A pause. "May we meet again."
Bellamy tightened his hold around her hand. "How poetic," he mumbled under his breath as the surrounding people echoed back the phrase.
Clarke let out a strained laugh, choked by fear and the many images of fire consuming her entirety. "Think you could do better?"
He didn't answer immediately, just pulled back enough until he was looking into her eyes again. She was close enough to see the multitudes of freckles splattered across his cheekbones like dozens of stars. His own galaxy.
"Thanks, Clarke," he whispered, eyes roving over her face as if to preserve the details of it.
She looked at him questioningly. "For what?"
"For climbing in that storage locker."
A warmth spread through Clarke, blotting out some of the anxiety. "I thought you didn't do goodbyes."
Bellamy sighed. "I'm not saying goodbye. I'm saying thank you."
She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. Somehow, this man had become a rock, an anchor throughout the lethality of the Ark. It seemed both sudden and languid, like it had been building over time without her realizing it. What began as a partnership founded on survival had been forged into something else by the hands of Death. Because there was no greater testament of trust than to put your life in the hands of another, and that's precisely what Clarke had done. She'd trusted Bellamy with her life, and his with hers. Not just once, but again and again, solidifying that trust until it had become something of steel.
It was unbeatable. It was unbreakable.
"Sinclair," Jaha said, pulling Clarke from her reverie. She stilled.
"Take us home."
She looked over at Sinclair who was sitting across from Kane with a pad balanced on his knees. "Initiating Sci Gov separation in five . . ."
Clarke gripped Bellamy's hands until her knuckles turned white.
"Four . . ."
The people around them held their breath.
"Three . . ."
She thought of herself as fire and ash.
"Two . . ."
Bellamy's eyes stayed on hers.
"One . . . Separate."
Clarke expected a loud crash. A surge as they plummeted downward. But none of that happened.
Nothing happened.
Bellamy's expression turned perplexed and heads exchanged between one another, fragmented murmurs erupting through the narrow space.
"What's going on?" Clarke asked, but before Bellamy could respond, Sinclair spoke. "Sir, remote detonations failed," he said, words coated in disdain. "We are negative for Sci Gov separation. Negative for launch."
Clarke heard Bellamy's hiss of breath and he slammed his head back in frustration. "You've got to be kidding me."
She didn't let go of his hand, ignoring her own questions that swam around her head.
"Can you fix it?" Jaha asked, voice cracked through the comm.
On this side, Clarke watched as Sinclair fussed over a pad, fingers flitting across the screen. "Not from here, Sir, no." A haunted look came into his eyes. "Someone will have to launch it manually."
Clarke blanched. Manually? That would mean . . .
As she thought it, someone unstrapped their belt and Clarke twisted around, looking at Kane from her mother's side.
"What are you doing?" Asked Abby as Kane retracted himself from the yellow strap.
"Someone has to stay behind, Abby," he told her quietly. Firmly.
Clarke didn't feel anything other than distaste for Marcus Kane, but she could see that her mother felt differently, as she gripped his arm and turned to Sinclair. "There has to be another way."
Sinclair deliberated, but something told Clarke it was more for Abby's benefit than anything else. "I can go back and reprogram the system. But it'll take time."
"Time we don't have," Bellamy murmured.
For once,no one tried to contradict him. "We'll miss the window for the Eastern United States," said Sinclair. "We won't land anywhere near the Hundred."
Clarke didn't have to look at Bellamy to know he was thinking of Octavia. They'd only ever anticipated the challenge of making it to the ground. Not a secondary journey once there.
But her mother didn't see it that way. "Then we'll wait till it comes back again," Abby deadpanned, her posture stoic as if she were speaking to the Council.
"We"—Bellamy started, but Sinclair cut him off. "The Ark will be out of air by then."
Abby and Kane stared at each other, and regardless of Clarke's own perception of this man, she felt a twinge of sympathy for him and for her mother.
"Freedom," Kane told her. "Comes at a price." He stood, but her mother's hand clung to his for a few moments before she finally let him go. As he maneuvered through the row of people, many held out their own hands in thanks. Clarke watched with a lump in her throat until he reached the end.
"Mom?" she asked quietly.
Her mother just shook her head, and looked across at Sinclair. "How much air will we have?"
His expression was sympathetic, but now it turned dubious. "A week. Two weeks at most."
Two weeks spent waiting for death.
Clarke's back suddenly lurched forward as the Ark dipped without warning. Her heart jumped into her throat and a few shouts of alarm burst from the people.
Then came the sound of explosions.
The floor under Clarke rattled and her breathing sawed through her lips. "What happened?" she asked, as Bellamy helped her right herself.
They both looked at Sinclair. He picked up the pad and searched through it. His eyes lit up. "We're away," he breathed. "We've launched!"
Abby's vexation mirrored Clarke's. "How?"
"Godspeed, my friends," came Jaha's voice. "Godspeed."
Clarke looked from Bellamy to her mother as she touched the comm in her ear. Her gaze became distant. "Thelonious, where are you?"
"Right where I'm supposed to be."
Clarke looked upwards, unsure of what to feel. Jaha was staying behind. He'd given himself up.
For once, Clarke had no petty thought for the man. For once, he was acting as a true leader, like her father had. He was sacrificing himself and though Clarke still couldn't find it in herself to forgive him, for this moment in time, she respected him.
The room careened and Clarke's entire body slammed forward, the yellow strap digging into her chest. She couldn't breathe as everything shuddered around her. Some fell from their seats and smashed against the other wall, painting it red.
Her teeth clanked together and the sensation of dropping became more and more powerful, until her heart didn't feel like it was inside anymore. The grey of the room swirled around her. Screams pummeled her ears. The pictures of ash filled her mind.
But she held fast to Bellamy's hand.
Even when the room grew hot, choking the air in her lungs.
Even when her blood threatened to boil in her veins.
She held on.