Chapter 11:

Clarke looked at the black wall before her, a protective hand over the arch of her belly. "Why black?" Maya asked her, "If you don't mind me asking…" There was a cherry wood crib in the middle of the room with bland baby bedding in it. "Most parents paint the nursery a color representing the gender of the child."

"I'm not finished yet." Clarke told her, "The entire room is going to be covered with stars."

"Stars?"

"A million luminescent white dots that shine brightly in the dark." Clarke said with a smile on her lips, "The night sky is beautiful…the constellations will meet my baby's eyes every night and she will never forget that she is not one of your people, but one of us."

Maya seemed insulted, "One of my people?"

"Yes, one of your people." Clarke said, "Before you kill her for her blood or for her bone marrow and she mistakenly thinks it's because she's benefiting her people—no, she will know her real people are from the sky and live on the ground. She will know where she comes from."

"What's her name?" Maya asked, disregarding another one of Clarke's rants towards the government that has been treating her like the prized hog. Clarke thought that expression was fighting because of the size of her stomach.

Clarke looked at the wall, "Livilla."

"How did you come up with that?"

"Her father has a thing of Ancient Rome. He named his own sister after Augustus Caesar's sister Octavia. Augustus Caesar had a wife named Livia…she never had a female child but her granddaughters name was Livilla. Close enough." Clarke picked up the book by the crib, "See."

"Oh. What about a middle name?"

"Nova."

"Star?"

"A star showing a sudden increase in brightness…" Clarke said, "I'm tired, Maya. I'm going to sleep now."

XXX

Miller sat in her hide out, downing the moonshine as if it were a necessary blood infusion. He heard footsteps behind him—sometimes when he heard Bellamy walking behind him, he would close his eyes and pretend it was her. He didn't know why he would sacrificed the few pieces of his sanity for something so foolish. Months had passed.

Months.

And there hadn't been a damn thing but a small feeling in his gut—and Bellamy's—that things weren't exactly over.

"If she's alive, we're wasting time." Miller said, "I'm not the impulsive type but shouldn't we be getting our guns—shooting at that god damn mountain? Open up a door or something, kill all the sons of bitches?"

"You're wasted."

"I know." Miller nudged him as Bellamy sat next to his totaled friend. "If she is alive…what the hell are we doing about it?" Bellamy's face was inclined towards the sky, his eyebrows furrowed as he lost himself in deep thought.

A thought that was always centered on Clarke and some noble rescue mission. He knew that she didn't want him to rescue her—maybe that's why the radios had been silent and movement on the mountain ceased to exist. If it weren't for the hole in his chest that sparked every time he breathed…he liked to entertain the notion that if she was dead—if she was really dead—he could find some type of closure within the camp, that he would have already found closure and been able to move on.

He was probably underestimating her influence on his heart wit that type of thinking.

Did he ever have her forgiveness for leaving her? If he came back…was that one night …

God.

Eventually, Miller decided he was two sips from throwing up all over the sacred spot that had become a shrine for Clarke. He stood up, wobbling—a small ironic chuckle coming from his lips as he climbed down from the spot and left Bellamy alone.

"I don't believe in God." Bellamy said, "So I'm not praying to him…but if a higher power exists…if there is something out there—fuck it. Fuck this, I'll pray to you princess. I need you to forgive me for all the horrible things I've done to you. I need you to stay alive. I need you to survive this, dammit. And when I find you—or when you find me because you have a history of finding me long before I find you…I need you to be strong and I need you to be the person I know you have the power to be."

A tear fell down his face as the thought of her cold body somewhere—if anywhere. "I need you to make it…it's probably selfish to say it but I need you to make it for me because this hope—it's all I'm holding onto right now. We deserve to be happy together—we were supposed to be happy together. I don't know about you but the optimist in me thought we would have time to build a life here." More tears fell down my face, "It's my fault you changed and you turned cold…I should have tried harder. I walked away and laid our love down behind me like it didn't matter. It mattered, though…it mattered so much."