a/n Hello and welcome to the end of the journey, the final chapter, the happy ending. Fluff ahead! Happy reading!
Clarke is still Clarke, so she doesn't become completely hysterical at the prospect of marrying Bellamy. She likes to think that she takes a relatively pragmatic approach to the upcoming celebration, choosing the neatest of the clothes she already owns and pointing out that there's not much need to make a guest list when the whole village will be able to crane their necks for a view of the open-air ceremony.
Emori does not think Clarke is taking a pragmatic approach, though. This much is obvious.
"Admit it, Clarke. You're a romantic at heart. You never would have agreed to a double wedding otherwise." Emori teases, as they stand side-by-side and gut fish.
"A double wedding makes practical sense." She insists, waving a knife to emphasise her point. "We only need to get together enough food for one feast, and we only take everyone away from their duties for one day."
"You're not fooling me. You agreed to get married alongside me and John because you're so moved that he's turned out to be one of the good guys."
"I agreed to get married alongside you and John because Bellamy insisted on it." Clarke corrects her sharply.
"And the fact that you'd do anything for your future husband supports my claim that you're secretly a romantic, don't you think?"
Clarke doesn't have an answer for that, and she hates not having an answer for anything. She therefore huffs a sigh and gets back on with gutting fish.
"That salmon do something to you, did it?" Emori asks, tone cynical.
"I don't know what you mean."
"No need to be angry with a fish just because I'm right." Emori tells her, with an affectionate bump of her shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with becoming a sappy romantic, Clarke. You're still Clarke. You're still the most badass woman I know."
Clarke feels herself softening at that and cracks a smile. "Right back at you."
Emori grins, but the effect is rather ruined by the fish scales that have somehow found their way onto the tip of her nose. "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather get married alongside."
…...
Bellamy is an expert in the art of waiting for Clarke. He waited for her all those years ago in Becca's lab, and watched the world burn, and prayed she would make it back to him, and really he reckons that ought to have been a more stressful experience than this. He waited months, too, to tell her how he really felt about her, patiently anticipating the moment when she might learn to speak from the heart, and at least this time he knows that she loves him.
But yeah, for the record, waiting for her to show up and marry him is pretty damn stressful all the same.
There are a lot of people here, which doesn't help. Eight hundred, in fact, give or take the first couple of babies born beyond the bunker. And they're all watching him and Murphy, and he's finding that a bit much.
Well, they're all watching except Gus. The toddler is climbing resolutely onto Monty's shoulders, seemingly oblivious to Harper's insistence that this is not quite the time or the place for such nonsense. Bellamy throws a grin towards where they sit in the front row, and Harper is virtually glowing with joy in response. It will be their turn, soon, to have a little one of their own, and he cannot help but think that another wedding might not be so far off, either.
"You nervous?" Bellamy asks Murphy, trying to keep his tone light. He needs to say something or he will expire right here on the spot.
"Me? Nervous?" There is a strained and rather un-Murphy-like laugh. "I don't do nervous."
Bellamy snorts.
"There's nothing to be nervous about though, is there?" Murphy continues. "They love us. They'll be here any minute."
"I know." Bellamy agrees. "But I'm nervous all the same. This just seems too good to be true. I know we've been together for years, and I trust Clarke with my life but – she runs away when things get too much for her."
Now it is Murphy's turn to snort. "Trust me, Bellamy, her days of running away from you are definitely behind her."
Bellamy hums in agreement, but he does not have time to form actual words because he can see her now, still some distance off, yet he can already tell she looks radiant. It is different from that other time he waited for her, he muses. She is not trying to outstrip death this time, and there is no snow giving way to steam as the apocalypse bites at her heels.
No, she is forcing herself to take her time. He can see it in the way she trips over her own feet a little as she resists the urge to pull away from her mother's arm. He likes that. He likes it a lot – the idea that she's so keen to marry him that she's struggling to remember not to break into a run.
He supposes he ought to be thinking sappy thoughts, at this point. Something about wanting to freeze this moment, perhaps, or something about how she will never look lovelier than she does now. But neither of those things are true, not in the slightest. He doesn't want to freeze this moment, but is eager to get on with spending the rest of his life with this woman. And she will always look lovely to him – he hopes to live to enjoy the privilege of telling her so when they are old and frail and still, resolutely, together.
At last, Clarke and Emori arrive, and he spares a moment to smile at Raven over Clarke's shoulder. The Maid of Honour is playing her part well, of course, but he has to admit that she's been slightly outshone by the Commander herself acting as flower girl. Raven doesn't seem to mind taking second place, though, as she steps back and takes Echo's hand, and the two of them share a look which promises that they will stand before the altar, one day.
Kane starts speaking, but Bellamy isn't listening. He remembers helping Kane choose some new words that might be suitable for this new world they are building, recalls their conversations about how to renovate the old Ark service to suit this age of Grounders. But he has better things to do, in this moment, like stare at Clarke and her very pregnant belly and wonder what on Earth he did to get so lucky. After all, he sure as hell didn't do anything on the Ark to earn this moment.
One phrase, though, he does hear loud and clear.
"You may kiss the bride."
Yeah. That's not an invitation he's ever going to ignore.
…...
John is still John, now, but he is Murphy no longer. Names are a difficult thing to get right – he's absolutely fed up of Bellamy and Clarke arguing about whether Agrippa is a suitable name to call their much-anticipated baby – but he is confident that, on this occasion, he and Emori have made the right choice.
He has to admit that John and Emori kom Liwouda Kliron Kru is not snappy, but it is accurate. It is perfect, in fact, as a name for two people who spent so many years feeling that they belonged nowhere, only to find that this valley could be their true home. So he is glad to ditch Murphy at long last, or at least to reshape him into something new.
The ceremony is over and the paperwork signed with their new names. The party is getting started, with Monty doling out the alcohol while Raven and Echo get the dancing started, and Kane proves surprisingly keen on embracing the festive spirit. Even Octavia has let her hair down – quite literally, so that it shields her face from curious onlookers. But at least she's here, and John knows that it must mean the world to Bellamy to have his little sister taking part in this biggest of days.
He juggles three beakers of moonshine, and goes in search of his wife and their friends.
"I don't care about the history, Bellamy, we are not calling this kid Agrippa. She would get teased." Clarke takes up the familiar theme.
"It's a boy's name." Bellamy corrects her, apparently affronted.
"No. No way is that a boy's name." Clarke shakes her head. "No way is it anyone's name. Move on."
"Camilla?" He suggests, while Emori looks on and shakes her head in despair.
"Better." Clarke acknowledges. "Keep trying."
"Achilles?" John contributes, fully aware that he is fuelling a very dangerous fire. In his defence, he reckons even good guys are allowed to tease a little.
"That's a bit of a mouthful." Bellamy shakes his head. "What would we call him for short?"
"And Agrippa isn't a mouthful?" Clarke asks, incredulous.
"Julia." Bellamy counters, rather than responding to the question.
There is a heartbeat of silence, and then Clarke breaks into a smile. "OK. Julia. We could actually put that on the list of maybes."
It is, John supposes, the happiest list these two have ever had cause to write, between them.
"Great." He breaks in. "That's that decided. Now we party?"
"Now we party." Emori confirms, gulping down half a cup of moonshine.
"I take it you're not expecting, then?" Clarke asks, brow quirked.
"No." Emori confirms. "Or not yet, at least."
"You're thinking about it?" Bellamy asks as he turns to John with visible enthusiasm. "Ready to take the plunge and be a dad now you're a married man and all?"
"Maybe." He concedes, trying very hard not to sound too excited about the idea.
"Never thought I'd see the day." Clarke shakes her head, grinning a broad grin she has evidently learnt from Bellamy over the years.
"What can I say?" John throws back his moonshine and steels his courage. It is time, he reckons, to get in a bit more practice at being a good guy. "I've realised something, since we first landed all those years ago. Life should be about more than just surviving."
a/n Thanks for reading!