a/n Hello and welcome to a fluffy oneshot to celebrate Valentine's day! Various people requested a Bellarke post-S6 resolution, so please enjoy this. Happy reading!
The last six days have been the longest six days of Clarke's life, longer even than those six years she lived on a lonely Earth. At least, back then, she genuinely believed her friends and family were coming back to her. Genuinely believed Bellamy was coming back to her.
Now, her mother is dead, and a good proportion of her former friends seem to hate her. And Bellamy has taken himself off on some ill-begotten quest to save his sister without even saying goodbye in person, sending some garbled message via Echo instead.
That shouldn't surprise her, she supposes. He has made it quite clear to her that their relationship is not the kind of relationship that justifies heartfelt leave-taking in the midst of a crisis. In fact, she thinks she might finally be on the point of giving up on him ever feeling about her the way she feels about him. Something about the fact that she quite literally died in his arms the other week has her convinced that he's less than in love with her - she's pretty certain that's the kind of event that would have forced a confession, if indeed there was anything to confess.
She heaves a sigh and refocuses on her task. She is supposed to be working with the people of Sanctum to set up a working Medical Centre, making amends for the death of their doctor in circumstances partly of her making. Sure, she didn't exactly choose to have him sleep with her for the colour of her blood and then be killed for his trouble, but taking the blame for anything and everything that happens around her is kind of her default state, these days.
Her train of thought is interrupted by a commotion next door, and by Jackson's muffled voice. Without mourning the passing of her concentration, she jumps to her feet and heads down the corridor.
Then she reaches the door, and freezes. Because there, standing before her, is surely a ghost. There is no other explanation, she fears, for why she thinks she can see a clean-shaven and twenty-three-year-old Bellamy on the threshold. Perhaps, she wonders, she has lost her mind like she did with the loss of Finn all those years ago, has started hallucinating his much-missed face.
"Clarke?" He croaks out, striding towards her.
"Bellamy?" She refuses to believe it. This has to be some kind of dream.
Then she feels very solid arms wrap around her, and decides that, if it is a dream, it is at least a good one. She hugs him back, fiercely, passionately. He may not care about her in quite the particular way she cares about him, but he is home and safe and real and she's not about to let him go any time soon.
At last, he pulls away, eyes suspiciously damp. She cannot blame him, really. She's very aware that she is crying, and that Jackson seems to have melted into the background to give them a little privacy.
"How are you?" She asks, curiosity finally winning out over concern. "What happened? Did you find her?"
He doesn't answer her. He just reaches out to take her hand, and reaches his other hand into the pocket of his jacket. Pulls out a stack of papers, and wraps her fingers around them with one, solitary sentence of explanation.
"I didn't have a radio."
With a last brush of his thumb against her palm, he is striding back out into the afternoon sun.
She gapes at his retreating back for a few moments, waits for her brain to catch up with what has just happened. Waits for it to turn out that he is only a figment of her imagination, and is still gone.
No, he can't be a figment of her imagination. Figments of her imagination don't give her bundles of paperwork.
"What's that he gave you?" Jackson reappears from the shadows, concern knitting his brow. "Papers of some kind?"
She finally allows herself to look down at the contents of her hands. They are papers, yes, but there is more to it than that. They have been folded carefully - she can see the sharp corners that define the edges of the stack – and on the topmost piece her name is written in a careful hand.
These are letters.
"He's written me a load of letters." She says, realisation slowly dawning as she leafs through the stack and sees that there are dozens and dozens of the things. "So many letters. Because – he didn't have a radio."
"Of course he didn't have a radio. Radios don't work here. He would never have got through to you."
"A radio isn't for getting through to anyone." She reprimands him, gently. He isn't to know, after all. "A radio is for staying sane. And for telling someone you love them."
With that revelation, she decides not to stay in Medical any longer. Whatever Bellamy might have written, whatever role she might play in his sanity, she is pretty sure it must be significant for him to have presented quite so many letters to her quite so urgently on his return. So it is that she excuses herself sharply and runs to the privacy of her room. Madi is with Gaia for the afternoon, and she has nothing to interrupt her reading.
She sits herself down, and unfolds the first letter. Find that he has, helpfully, labelled it with a careful Day One. She smiles gently to herself – she remembers how that feels, to count the days for no one.
She takes a deep breath, and begins to read.
Clarke
You're judging me already, aren't you? "Pathetic," you're thinking, "has he no imagination?" What can I say? I have to do something to keep me sane on this mission, and I don't have a radio. Gabriel tells me that time passes strangely in here, and that I will forget everything that has happened on this journey when I leave the anomaly again. So I'm writing it down to remember it. And so that if anything goes wrong, at least I'll have said goodbye.
You're frowning at me now. I know you are, I can see it in my mind's eye. Don't worry, I plan to come back to you. I have a good reason to, now, you see. Gabriel tells me that the anomaly shows people their deepest desires. No prizes for guessing that it showed me you.
I know, I know. I'm an idiot for not admitting it sooner. I'm an idiot for not admitting it when you damn well died on me the other week. But I was scared, OK? If I'm being honest, I still am. But there it is. Whatever happens, it's out there now.
I have to go. We're only just inside the anomaly, and I can't really describe it except that it reminds me of a forest in the mist. Maybe it is a forest – I guess we'll find out soon.
Until we meet again
Bellamy
Tears and giddy excitement make for an odd combination, she decides. She forces herself to open the next letter rather than running out into the village to find him and demand whether there is any truth to his stunning words. He must have given her all these letters because he wants her to read them all, she decides. He does not intend for her to give up at this first emotional hurdle.
She rips open the second letter, her heart in her mouth.
Clarke
It is a forest, as it turns out. There's still some mist, but the trees have taken shape now. They're real trees, not the weird ghost-trees we saw yesterday. Still no sign of O that I can tell, but Gabriel reckons he's tracking her with some magic anomaly stone.
I know. You think I should use my head, and not put my trust in some weird magic. But I don't have a better way of finding her, do I? Another episode of "no more good choices".
I miss you. That should be obvious, shouldn't it, now that we've established you're my deepest desire and all? But I figure it's only fair I take my turn at being a little pathetic, now. I miss you, and I wish you were here. Everything is always easier with you by my side.
I want to get O back. Because I love her, and she's my sister, but also because I want us all to try again. I want her to be at peace, and I want to build a peaceful future with you. I want you and I to have children to be little brothers and sisters to Madi, and live in a little cottage with blue curtains at the windows.
I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? I think I need to leave myself a note to go speak to Echo when I get out of here. It's time to acknowledge that we both know that's over. And then I guess I need to find out whether you see me in the anomaly, too. I don't know why, after everything I've done to let you down, and after I put Echo in between us, but somehow I still have hope.
I always will, as long as you're still breathing.
Until we meet again
Bellamy
Without pausing for breath, she races through the next letter, then the next letter, and the next, and her confused disbelief at the sentiments he is expressing somehow solidifies into absolute certainty. The messages from the following few days are not as extensive as those first two, and there is no more mention of cottages or children. They are brief, and factual, and describe a tough trek over rough country, and the desperate prayer that it might not prove a wild goose chase.
But yeah, sure, there is still the occasional mention of being his deepest desire, and that is pretty hard to read with indifference.
The next letter that really catches her interest is from day eight.
Clarke
It's raining. I didn't know it could rain inside the anomaly, but I guess this is just a normal forest in some ways at least. It's such a normal forest that we've found a little wood cabin to sleep in tonight. It's a bit of a mess, really. You'd frown at it, if you were here, and try not to smile at how excited I am to have a roof over my head. It's not a very good roof, to be fair. It leaks like crazy, and I'm getting a bit obsessed about keeping these letters wrapped up so they stay dry.
There's something we need to talk about. OK, I hear you, it's not going to be the greatest conversation. Maybe it'll be a bit one-sided. Did you used to do this? Sit back and think about what my answer would be? Who am I kidding. Of course you did. Anyway, I need to tell you something about my deepest desire. Because I have to admit I didn't tell you the whole story that first day. But I've had a while to think about this, now, and I think you deserve to know.
I heard you, too. I heard you saying you loved me. And Gabriel keeps telling me it wasn't real, that it wasn't some miraculous reception of those radio calls I missed all those years, and that it was just the anomaly telling me what I wanted to hear. But either way, I think what matters is that it was what I wanted to hear. And it's what I want to say to you, too.
I love you.
That feels good to write. I hope it will feel good to say, one day, too.
Until we meet again
Bellamy
Clarke isn't proud, but she has to admit it - she gives a little squeal when she reads his words of love, and clutches the paper to her chest. She manages, by a great force of will, to stop short of actually kissing the precious paper.
She hasn't the time to waste on such foolishness. She needs to get on with reading the rest of these messages, as quickly as possible, so she can get out of here and go find Bellamy. So they can practise saying the words to each other, and not into time and space.
She reads ever faster, after that, allowing herself only a moment to pause and smile when he finds his sister alive and well on day twenty-four, and a little sigh of relief when he gets her safely out of trouble with the mysterious villain described only as He and onto the journey home shortly afterwards.
On day thirty-three, part way through the journey home, Bellamy writes a letter that surprises her.
Clarke
I shaved today. Now that's not how you were expecting this letter to begin, is it? It was Octavia's idea, actually. I thought it was a bit silly, a bit selfish, to worry about a thing like that when I'm supposed to be concentrating on rescuing her and getting home to sort things out with you. But she insisted, and said that she thought I needed a fresh start. She said that I'd feel better if I took a bit more care of my appearance. And she said you'd like it, and that sealed the deal.
She was right. She might not be right about you liking it, I haven't been able to check on that one yet. But I do feel lighter, somehow, and like I've said goodbye to some of the terrible things about the last 131 years. I thought it was a bit silly, and that I'd feel even worse for trying and failing to be the man I used to be. But I guess real life is a bit more complicated than that.
I miss you. I love you. You get the idea. I can understand why you called me all those years. I've got my sister and Gabriel for company, and I still feel like I'm losing my mind. I know you never thought my head was my best feature to start with, but you know what I mean. I can only tell you again how sorry I am that I couldn't answer you all those years. I'll be home soon, and I'll give you these letters, and then, I hope, neither of us will ever have to be without a reply ever again.
Until we meet again
Bellamy
The evening sun is streaking orange though the window, now, as she reaches the final letter. One last message, and then she can go and answer him once and for all. Forty-five days to her 2199, but she is still in awe of the magnitude of this gesture.
She takes a deep breath, and starts to read.
Clarke
I've written myself some instructions. I didn't know what else to do about the memory loss Gabriel said I will have when I leave the anomaly. So I've made a list of everything I have to do when I get back.
The first thing on the list is to give you these letters, of course. And then I need to give Echo my apologies, and tell her what I'm pretty sure she already knows full well – that she's not the person I'm in love with.
I haven't written myself any messages about what happened this side of the anomaly. I've got you for that. Tell me or don't – I trust your judgement. I trust it far more than I will ever trust my own.
There's one thing, Clarke, and it's not an easy thing to write. If you don't feel the same way about me as I do about you, that's OK. Be honest with me if you can. Or we can just pretend that none of this ever happened. I won't remember what I wrote, of course, but I'm pretty sure my future self is smart enough to work out that I'll have mentioned it somewhere in all these letters, so I think pretending nothing happened might not be easy.
I hope it won't come to that. I love you. Have I told you that, recently?
We're about to leave the anomaly, now. The trees are fading into the mist. I want to write it one last time.
I love you.
Until we meet again
Bellamy
She drops the letter almost before she has finished reading his name, does not stop to notice where it falls. Jumps to her feet, and runs to the door.
She has a message to deliver.
She charges down the corridor, loosely aware that Madi is due home soon. Strides through the front door, and sprints across the village with all the speed she can muster, not stopping to be embarrassed that she hardly looks like a woman ruled by her head, just now.
And then she flings open Bellamy's front door, and runs straight into his firm chest.
"Clarke?"
She doesn't bother to greet him, hasn't the breath to spare to utter his name. She simply presses her lips to his, and kisses him with over a century's worth of pent-up passion and enduring care. And she's imagined this moment more times than she wishes to recall, and she always thought that it would be something perfect and pristine and that might make a good story for the grandchildren, one day.
Never did she imagine that she would be sweaty and breathless and quite so thoroughly moved.
At length she pulls away, and rests her head against the side of his neck while she fights to regain control of her breathing.
"So I guess I wrote what I think I wrote?" He murmurs, arms still tight around her waist.
She makes an agreeing sound deep in her throat. "Just one thing, though. I think the curtains should be red."
"The curtains?"
"The curtains of the house we're going to share. Where we're going to bring up the children. Those curtains."
"Of course. The curtains." He drops a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry I didn't consult you about the colour of the curtains at the time. I'd have loved to ask your opinion, but I didn't have a radio."
She kisses him again, then, slower and softer than before. She'd like to tell him she loves him sooner or later, but she's not about to surrender his lips to do so any time soon. And anyway, she doesn't think they're in any rush, now. She's pretty sure he's already got the message.
a/n Thanks for reading!