A/N: Didn't even mean to write this. Meant to be writing an entirely different fic, but "Murder Song" by AURORA came on in my playlist, and this whole premise immediately forced its way into my life and ripped out my heart. Now you all have to suffer with me.
WARNING: This fic contains major character death.
Five, four, three, two, one
Five, four, three, two, one
He holds the gun
Against my head
I close my eyes
And bang, I am dead
I know he knows
That's he's killing me for mercy
And here I go
And he holds my body in his arms
He didn't mean to do no harm
And he holds me tight
Oh, he did it all to spare me
From the awful things in life that comes
And he cries and cries
"Clarke, don't make me do this."
Clarke was holding Bellamy tightly, and her hands ran over his chest, his face. She forced him to look at her with those sad, brown eyes.
"Bellamy, you have to," she begged, nodding. He shook his head. "Please. The tests didn't work. I'm a natblida, but…" Tears rolled down her cheeks, and Bellamy pulled her into a hug. She rested her head against his warm, strong chest, closing her eyes, crying as she listened to his heartbeat. "We're gonna die. We're out of time. The others made it into space, that's what matters."
"Clarke, I can't do this."
Clarke reached behind Bellamy, feeling the gun tucked into his waistband. Her other hand was pressed intimately against his back. But she pulled back now, taking the gun with her. Though she didn't think she could do it, knowing she couldn't, she held it to her head now.
"Don't make me do this."
"You're not gonna kill yourself."
She sobbed, lowering the gun.
"Then what option do we have? You kill me, or you watch the radiation burn me. And I can't watch it burn you. I can't."
Bellamy was shaking his head. He walked away, running a hand over his mouth, but then he was back, hands running up and down her arms.
"So you want me to watch you die? I can't do that. It'll make me want to die next."
Clarke pressed the gun towards him, barrel facing to the side. It was up against his abdomen. He shuddered from the object's touch. Clarke could barely see him now, face so tear-streaked, eyes filled with them. Bellamy must have been the same. But at least they cleared some of the dirt and ash on his face, and if she blinked enough she could see his many, wonderful freckles on his tan skin.
"That's the point! I will not allow you to suffer the radiation. But first—"
"No!"
"Please…"
"No, Clarke! You don't understand. You don't…"
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. His eyes squeezed shut, and his tears fell onto her face.
"Oh god, Clarke, you don't understand. I… I…
She nodded. "Me too."
And then she relinquished one hand from the gun, hand going to the back of his head, his hair that was somehow still fluffy despite how dirty and oily it was. She pulled him down into a kiss. It was far from gentle. Clarke didn't know how to be gentle, not when every second something was trying to kill her, threatening her survival. Not when she hurt, and ached, and missed those she'd lost. Not when she realized this would be it.
Bellamy held her face, and kissed her back, lips as urgent as hers. It was a sloppy kiss, painful, almost. They bumped teeth a few times, and they kept trying to suck and bite the other, not ready to let go. Not wanting to ever let go.
Clarke took one of Bellamy's hands, lowering it. She intertwined their fingers. Their bodies pressed together, even with the gun between them, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was home.
Clarke pressed the gun into his hand.
Bellamy pulled back, a sob escaping his lips, even as saliva trailed between their mouths for a few seconds before dripping down onto their chins.
Bellamy hugged her, tight, his love pouring through in the way he held her just as it always had. Clarke did the same, arms going up to wrap around him, holding onto his shoulders, nails digging into the ratty fabric of his shirt.
"There has to be another way," he said. "Another… Another gun. So we can go out together. Something."
"There isn't," Clarke told him, her voice a harsh squeak, almost mute with emotion.
"Then let me at least say it first. Clarke, I—"
"I know," she told him, caressing his cheek. "I know."
He shook his head. "No, no. That's not enough. Clarke, I… Clarke, I love you."
Her lips quivered, she whimpered. They were both breathing hard now, holding in hitched sobs that sometimes still escaped.
"And I love you."
She wrapped his fingers tight around the gun.
"And that's why we have to do this. I don't want to burn. I don't, I can't. I'm sorry, I'm so scared!"
"Me too."
They held each other more. On the screen to their right, a map of the death wave, Praimfaya, decimated the Earth.
"I hope they're safe in the bunker," she told him.
"They are. Your mom, Kane, Octavia, Niylah, Miller, Jackson… They're all safe. And I'm sure our family in space is too. Even Echo. She didn't deserve your spot."
"But she got it. We saved them, and they had to go. And your spot is empty." Suddenly, overcome with emotion, realizing that he'd done this, that he'd decided to die, Clarke started whacking his chest, screaming, "Why didn't you go?! Why didn't you take the spot?! You were supposed to… supposed to be safe! Bellamy, you're such an idiot!"
Bellamy grabbed her wrist, dropping the gun in the process and lowered her to the ground till they were kneeling. He eventually sat, pulling her into his lap. She shuddered against him, wailing.
"An idiot for loving you?"
"An idiot for not surviving."
Bellamy laughed, the sound heart-breaking. "I couldn't survive without you, Princess."
He stretched out his legs, cradling her with them, and then she heard a clattering sound. He was picking up the gun.
"If it's any consolation," he told her, Clarke opening her eyes to watch him handle the weapon. "I hate you for this too."
"I don't hate you."
"I'm gonna die. Yes, you do."
There was a click, and then the pistol was against her temple. Bellamy kissed the top of her head, his tears falling; Clarke could feel them wetting her hair.
"I guess it's right I'm aiming it at your head, right?" he sobbed. "The heart and the head."
Clarke pressed her hand over his heart.
"The heart and the head."
All seemed too quiet, yet loud, blood pumping, adrenaline rushing through her, despair clouding her senses… yet the world was gone for her. There was just Bellamy, the thrumming beat of his heart, his heavy breathing, his cries.
"In peace, may you leave the shore. In love—in love, may you find the next." Bellamy's hand was shaking, the gun quivering hard, almost painfully against her skull. The metal was cold, cold enough to burn a hole in her. Clarke held on tightly, arms wrapping about his neck. Their bodies were pressed together, one in their final moments. Bellamy's breath hitched, shoulders shaking, but he went on, voice deep, and filled to the brim with grief, regret, fear, "Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground." The ground, what a heart-riven hellscape it'd turned out to be. But they were there, and together, they would find the next. "May… May we meet again."
"May we meet again," Clarke echoed.
A final tear fell, and she barely heard the sound of the gun as he squeezed the trigger. Clarke took in a sharp gasp, a weak cry coming out, and Bellamy held her.
That's all she knew.
Bellamy was holding her.