There was no way into the grounder camp.
"Bellamy."
He couldn't find a way in.
"Kiss me again."
He could taste her lips, feel her skin under his hands but there was still no way in, the walls too high and the guards too strong, everything blurry and muddled in front of his eyes.
"No, not there..."
Her laugh echoed in his ears.
"Oh, god, yes. There. There... there... oh, Bellamy, fuck, yes..."
It turned into a scream, pleasure at first and then fear.
Her skin disappeared from his hands and she disappeared in a flash of pink and yellow.
"Let her go!" he bellowed.
"Bellamy!"
He jerked upright to Finn, hands on his shoulders. His heart pounded. "Wh-What?"
"You were dreaming," Finn said, taking his hands back and swallowing.
"Oh." Nightmare. "What time is it?"
"It's early," Finn said. "Were you dreaming of—"
"Yeah." Bellamy scrubbed a hand over his head. "Any news?"
Finn shook his head. "The grounder camp is abandoned," he said. "There's no tracks, no sign... We have no idea where they are, where she is."
Bellamy swallowed hard. "Any bodies?" he grunted.
"No." Finn watched him. "No, no graves, no bodies. Just empty."
Bellamy nodded. That had to mean Clarke was still alive. There was no point killing her and not leaving her body as a message. There was no point at all.
"We'll find her," Finn said.
"Get out of my tent."
Finn paused. "What?"
"I want to sleep and I can't do that with you standing over me," Bellamy said and dropped onto his back with a grunt. "Wake me if you get a damn lead."
Finn huffed something, turned and strode out of the tent
Bellamy looked up at the cloth ceiling, eyes glazing over. He wasn't sleeping. He hadn't been for a long while. Grounders kept attacking, night and day, and his bed was cold and empty without Clarke beside him.
He launched out of bed, grabbing his things and striding out, across the camp and into Clarke's. She could yell at him once she was home.
He stretched out on her bed and groaned quietly, inhaling the scent of her and closing his eyes. He could pretend she was here, that's what he could do.
He could pretend.
She was sure it had been eighteen days since she ate. She knew that twenty-one days - three whole weeks - was pushing it, that she could die if she didn't get food after that time, and she knew it had been eighteen days - she'd seen eighteen sun rises and they told her anyway, they wanted her to know how long she'd been here.
Worse still she'd had all but no water, just enough to keep her alive, and she was feeling the effects: headache, tired, dizzy. Her mouth and eyes felt like they were made of sand and stone, not flesh and fluid.
She was chained up in an X position, her legs and arms spread almost like they'd done to Lincoln once upon a time. They'd checked her for weapons and tools, taken everything sharp off her, but they'd left her clothed and even left her simple hair tie in her hair, holding it off her face. She supposed it made it easier for them to watch her lose her shit from lack of food and water.
It made sense that this was what they were doing, breaking her by leaving her in solitary confinement, making noise so she couldn't sleep and starving and dehydrating her. It made that kind of sick sense that hung over her, the knowledge that it was an effective strategy and that at some point it'd work and she'd break.
She closed her eyes, adjusting her stance a little to lean her weight differently on her bindings. She closed her eyes, thinking of Bellamy, of Finn, Raven, her mom, all the reasons she had to not break, not give in or give information over.
She trembled a little, body trying to cry without tears available to fall, and pulled against her restraints. She'd do so much differently if she had another chance.
