Bellamy raked a hand through his hair and made his way across camp. Of course she would need some time alone, he understood, but he was, admittedly, a bit scared to leave her by herself after what had just happened. Taking one last glance at his tent, he made his way over to his sister's, hoping she would be able to give him some sort of advice.
"Octavia," he called. "You in there?"
"Just a minute," he heard a voice call. Bellamy folded his arms into his chest and waited.
"Okay," he heard her, closer this time, as she exited the tent. She made immediate eye contact with him ,a million questions already on the tip of her tongue. Blue eyes shone with concern and curiosity.
"Is she okay?" she asked first, as Bellamy motioned for her to follow him.
"Yeah she'll be—," he stopped himself before he could finish the sentence and let out a long sigh, rethinking his answer.
"I don't know, Octavia. I don't know."
Octavia could see the worry in his eyes. Clarke was one of their best medics and best leaders. They couldn't do anything without her. And whether Bellamy would admit it or not, she knew that her brother had a soft spot for Clarke.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked. "Do you want me to talk to her?"
"No, no," he was already shaking his head. "She just wants to be alone for a while."
Octavia nodded and bit her lip. "You know, I read about these…well, they're not parties, they're sort of the opposite. Anyways it's when a bunch of people get together to mourn the death of a loved one."
Bellamy quirked an eyebrow. "A funeral? You want to give Finn a funeral?"
Octavia shrugged. "It might put Clarke's mind at ease," she said. "They're supposed to give the loved one a sort of…better ending I guess."
"They're sad, Octavia. Clarke doesn't need any more sadness. She's barely holding together as it is."
Octavia sighed. "Well it was just a suggestion. Maybe you could find the body, just so she can finally say goodbye."
Bellamy thought for a moment. "You think that would help?"
"I don't know, maybe. Saying goodbye always helps."
"Okay," he said nodding. "I'll see what I can do."
Suddenly, he spotted Ms. Griffin walking towards them. He patted Octavia on the back.
"I'll catch up with you later, okay?"
She nodded in response. "Keep me posted."
Clarke's mom seemed to have spotted Bellamy for she was already making her way towards him.
"Bellamy, I'd like to speak with my daughter," she said determinedly.
Bellamy closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "Clarke wants to be alone right now," he said. "She needs time to process and to grieve."
Abigail's eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you telling me that you have more authority over my daughter than me?" she suggested. "Because I can tell you right now, young man—"
"No, no," Bellamy stopped her. "She asked to be alone. She…just give her some time."
Abigail brought a hand to her forehead. "I cannot believe that you are telling me how to act around my own daughter. I'm her mother!"
Bellamy wondered how angry she would be if he told her the truth. He huffed a breath through his nose.
" I don't think it would be the best idea if you went to see her now."
Abigail's eyes flared.
"She's dealing with a lot of stress and…doesn't want you to see her so…broken." Bellamy had been guessing at the truth, but was fairly convinced that he'd figured it out. After realizing who had been responsible for the death of her father, Clarke had made superior effort in being able to support herself without the help of her mother. She told herself that she could live without her, partially to detach herself from the possibility that either of them might die and partially to begin the foundation of what would turn out to be a cement blockade of feelings. Clarke was good at building walls.
Abigail suddenly seemed to understand and nodded slowly. "Tell her I want to speak with her when she's ready."
Bellamy nodded, thankful that their conversation hadn't materialized into a bloodbath. Sometimes it seemed that the war they were fighting within the camp and against each other was more dangerous than the one outside of the gates. There had been way too many problems between the Ark members and the 100. Too many to count.
Bellamy took a seat in front of the fire for a few minutes, trying to sort all of his crap together. Everything was so messed up. He should be dead by now—he owed his life to Clarke, Octavia, and pretty much every other prisoner who had died at his expense. The only way he'd kept from breaking was by taking out his frustration and stress in bed. But after a while, not even the prettiest of girls could ease his pain. Well, except for Clarke. She seemed to understand his struggles—probably because they were going through it together. She knew that sometimes you need to be strong so that other people don't have to be. Bellamy was surprised that it had taken this long for her to break. She was more persistent than he anticipated. But, then again, she was the most stubborn, sassy-assed person he knew. And Octavia had also outrun his expectations. She was fierce and unafraid, if a bit awkward on the social level. But she was definitely his sister, strong-willed and determined to get what she wanted, even if he didn't agree. Even if he told her not to be.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Bellamy grabbed a quick snack and some water before heading back to his tent. He respected Clarke's privacy, but she needed to eat. She needed to take care of herself.
"Hey Bellamy," a voice called as it passed behind him.
Bellamy's head swiveled around. He gave a little nod. "Murphy."
Bellamy didn't fully trust Murphy, in fact he was still angry at him for what had happened with Charlotte. But he'd been through a lot and Bellamy felt a little bit guilty for his suffering. He seemed to have a change in attitude, anyways.
Finally reaching his tent, Bellamy flipped open the flap.
"Clarke, I got you some—"
He stopped cold. The food fell to the floor as his fingers lost their grip and his eyes widened in a mixture of concern and fear. On the ground before him lay a shaking figure, her arms clutched around her legs, knuckles pale and white as she gasped for air. She looked like a fish out of water with her mouth in an oddly-shaped "O" and her eyes shut tightly, as if in pain. Hot tears ran down her cheeks as her lungs fought between heart-wrenching sobs and a lack of air.
Bellamy was down on his knees in less than a second.
"Clarke! Clarke," he shook her firmly, but she continued to breathe irregularly. His heart rate picked up. What was going on? He pushed back the hair from her eyes to see her expression better. She flinched in response.
Bellamy suddenly remembered where he had seen this before—it had happened with Octavia, the first time they had left her in the floor for over twelve hours. She'd started to feel constricted and scared. Soon, she began having trouble breathing.
But how did I—he suddenly remembered.
Lifting Clarke up so she was sitting, he positioned himself in front of her, his hands clasped tightly around her forearms to keep her from falling.
"Clarke, look at me." Her head stayed down, but one of her hands was brought to her chest in a fist. Bellamy brought one hand to her face and tilted it upwards.
"Clarke, it's Bellamy, open your eyes." For a moment, nothing happened, but then her scary gasps began to relax a bit and she squinted through her tears.
"Bellamy?" He had to strain to hear his name.
"Yeah, it's me," he said and, not quite knowing what he was doing, began rubbing his arm up and down hers in comfort.
"Bellamy, my chest—" she managed to choke out, as her other hand joined the other one, overlapping in a death-grip.
"Clarke, look at me," he said firmly, and she opened her eyes wider, blue meeting brown.
Slowly, she began to relax. Her breathing quieted and her fisted hands came to rest in her lap. Her head nodded forward as her chin met her chest.
"Okay," she said, after a minute. Her voice was still a bit shaky. "Okay."
Bellamy released his grip on her shoulders and she managed to steady herself a bit. A minute or so passed before he broke the silence.
"You had a panic attack," he deadpanned.
"I know."
"What happened?" he asked.
Her gaze came up to meet his, but Clarke remained silent, her head shaking minutely from side to side. A dry sob escaped her mouth before she brought her hand to her lips and broke their stare.
"Clarke," he said in what sounded like a warning. He scooted a little bit closer to her, warm brown eyes trying to catch hers. "Clarke what happened?" he whispered.
This time she looked up at him under her dark lashes, guilt playing in her eyes.
"I'm just like him, Bellamy. He proved it." She brought the cuff of her sleeve up to wipe away the remaining tears. "I'm just like him."
"Just like who, Clarke?" Bellamy asked, trying not to sound too intense, too curious.
"Murphy," she whispered, and let her forehead fall onto the front of his shoulder. Bellamy seemed to be frozen.
"What did he say, Clarke?" His voice was strained with tension.
"Doesn't matter," she replied, voice thick as she shook her head against the fabric of his t-shirt.
"Clarke what did he say?" This time Bellamy failed to keep the anger out of his voice.
Clarke sniffled and paused for a moment.
"That I'm a murderer like him. That we're alike, that I'm weak. And then he called me princess. Over and over and over again, even though I told him to stop."
Bellamy could hear the tears in her voice. "I'll be right back," he managed to say in a more neutral tone than he felt.
But Clarke latched onto his arm before he could even so much as stand.
"Please don't go," she whispered, begging him with her eyes. "Please don't leave me here alone." Bellamy couldn't refuse the withered and beaten look in her eyes.
He nodded, understanding. He needed her too.
Bellamy shrugged off his jacket and made his way over to the bed, slipping in and opening up the covers for her to join him. She hesitated for barely a moment before kicking off her shoes and sliding in next to him. Bellamy didn't move when she came to wrap her arm around his waist or when she laid her head against his chest.
He wasn't the cuddly type, in fact girls usually never even made it as far as staying the night. But Clarke wasn't like the other girls he had been with. She didn't want to sleep with him, she just wanted to be near him. And it sort of felt nice to have somebody who could rely on him for more than just a physical relationship. It felt nice to be around somebody who understood.
Bellamy could feel Clarke relaxing against his chest, her draping fist finally unraveling as her fingers hung over his abdomen, breathing becoming more even and deep. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
He was almost sure that she was asleep by the time he said it, but a small part of him knew that she'd heard him.
"You're nothing like him, Clarke. Nothing at all."