Okay so obviously this fan fic is going to be canon divergent from now on, based on 2x05 (WHICH I LOVED). BUT I'm going to try and fit the tone of everything that is happening in the show as best as I can. I also borrowed some lines from the actual show because I wanted it to be as close to the real thing as I could get without running this story. Hope you enjoy!
He's not there when she marches up to the gates of Arcadia, put he can picture it all the same. He's been imagining Her return since the minute she left.
He sits in his room, still and silent, just another object in the cramped space. A dusty lamp. An unmade bed. A metal chair. A broken Bellamy.
He wonders if Lexa is with Her at the gates, holding Her hand as she trudges in. Is she only here to talk legislation? Is she here because Lexa told Her to come? Is she here to put Bellamy out of his misery, the same way she did for Finn?
He tries not to decide if he wants that or not. Instead, he tries to think of what he's going to say to Her. Will he be able to say anything? Last time he saw Her, he had pleaded for Her to come home. She refused, and he let himself become what she always told him he wasn't. But what he had always been. A Monster. What is there left to say?
After so much time wanting to be angry with Her, then wanting nothing more than to just be near Her, he can't decide which emotion now outweighs the other. Just a few minutes ago he was prepared to leave Arcadia, and everyone he cared about, behind. Packed and ready to go.
But then Abby was there and she stunned him with the news of Her impending arrival, and Bellamy hasn't moved an inch since. He's frozen in place, paralyzed by the wavering feelings in his chest. He lies back on his bed, arms crossed over his chest in a defensive way, as if it would prevent his heart from breaking further.
Time ticks sluggishly by, practically staying still.
It isn't until there's a firm knock at his door that he realizes he'd fallen asleep at some point. Shaking off his slumber, Bellamy's up from his bed in one, rapid movement. Confusion, then panic, tightens itself around his core, constricting his breath like a snake. Not sure if he's ready to face Her. But there's another knock at his door. Soft this time, but somehow more persistent than the last.
"Bellamy?" Though laced with the concern, the tone of Her voice is gentle. It puts some ease on Bellamy's nerves, if just a little.
Bellamy stands from his place on his bed, but hesitates. Behind that door could be only a ghost; proof that he's going crazy or something like that. Her being just a figment of his imagination. Maybe he's still asleep; dreaming about Her.
Yet another knock gives him the courage to stop questioning his sanity for a moment. Bellamy rushes to the door in an urgency he hasn't felt since he's landed on earth. He practically LEAPS, grasping onto the door knob and flinging the heavy metal open in a manner in one haste, breezy motion.
When alas he sees Her, that pesky, unwelcome blend of hopeful resentment overrule any sense of panic that existed prior. Of course, without a doubt, he's relieved to see Her. Standing only a foot away from him, breathing and okay. Alive. But that relief is overshadowed by the realization that yes, he is very much angry with Her.
For the moment, he tries his best to push those feelings aside, accepting the fact that she's there, standing in front of him, and not a ghost. She isn't dressed in grounder attire, like Bellamy realized he was expecting, though Her hair is different; strands of pink and reoccurring braids accompany the long, golden locks that Bellamy has come to associate with Her. It doesn't look as soft and groomed as he remembered, but at least Her face hasn't hardened, even with all she's had to do in this cruel world. No grounder paint this time, just Her. Eyes staring back at him with an intensity that is sure to mirror his own.
She seems to be paralyzed as well. Neither one sure how to progress from where they stand. There are borders between them, distances that stretch on for miles, even with only a foot separating them in reality.
The bitter, indignant side of Bellamy wants to refer to Her as Wanheda. Would that make Her understand the pain she's caused him? But he can see that she has Her own anger, Her own eagerness, and Her own misery cowering behind the window of her eyes. No one is right, but no one is entirely wrong either.
He's braced himself for this confrontation; prepared himself to spit out accusations and throw at her all the fury that has resided within him since her abandonment. But in this moment, all he can focus on, is Her.
"Clarke." His voice is deep, both in sound and in meaning.
Clarke. Clarke is here. He is there too. And Clarke has a turn to take it all in.
The sound of His ardent voice caresses Clarke's eardrums, smooth like an affirmation. It's confirmation of why she's decided to return to Arcadia. Return to Him. His voice jolts through Clarke's chest, and a nagging energy pulsates through her veins. It's a stubborn, perhaps forbidden energy, but not undesirable. Definitely not.
He stands before her, finally, with no immediate threat to interrupt their reunion. He looks the same as she's allowed herself to remember, albeit a bit more tired (if possible). Last she saw Him, he had looked at her will more disappointment and grief than she's ever seen on a man. The burden she had placed on Him with her absence had been so clearly evident on the expression lines between his brows and the glassiness shielding his eyes. But now, standing before her, he looks at her with eyes of yearning and begging. She's familiar with the expression; it's a face that belongs in her own repertoire.
That energy (ever so nagging) remains bubbling in Clarke's chest, and it deters her train of thought. She's felt this "energy" before. She tries to attribute it to coincidence. Coincidence that she's only ever felt this sensation before around Finn and Lexa. She's terrified to add Him to that list; it would only bring Him harm. So rather than acknowledging the correlation, she chooses to relate this energy to basic anxiety. Anxiety of confronting not just Him, but months of pent up emotions and regrets. She and Him are about to dive head-first into a pool of grief, that if they're not careful, they could easily drown in.
But Clarke let's herself stop mulling over that energy, or anxiety, or whatever it may be. She allows herself to take in the moment, to focus on his presence. To focus on Him.
"Bellamy." She returns the greeting with equal vigor. She searches his eyes, but she's not met with either pleasantries or debate. Gone is the intensity that first appeared. Just numbness. Silence returns to the divide between them.
Well passed any comfortable amount of silence, Bellamy and Clarke realize they've been standing in limbo for too long, both struggling to climb out of the canyon that separates them.
"You should come in." Bellamy steps aside, gesturing towards his dull, uncharacteristic room. Clarke eyes the dust particles gleaming in the crack of sun; floating around, mimicking the tension that's rapidly covering the room in its own, un-resting molecules.
"Okay." Clarke steps forward, nervously twitching her thumbs as she absentmindedly takes a seat atop Bellamy's dismantled bed. The mattress is still warm from where he lay just a moment ago, and Clarke is reluctant to admit she finds comfort in this. She realizes then that maybe this is a bit too familiar, but Bellamy doesn't acknowledge an elephant in the room if there is one. Instead, he grabs the chair from his desk, dragging it across the floor. The sound of metal against metal makes both of them cringe. More tension hovers around the room.
He places the chair in the center of the room, directly across from her position on his bed, only a foot separating them. He takes his seat slowly, unnaturally, taking every route to delaying the inevitable.
Now in close proximity, Bellamy realizes how badly he wants to touch her. Not in a sexual way (though there is that question; always in the air). He wants to touch her like a porcelain doll; to brush back her hair, like when he'd found the first time, after all those months. He wants to touch her, if only make sure the moment is real. Questioning his sanity again. Not a dream. Not a ghost. But he doesn't quench that desire. Instead, he leans forward, resting his forearms comfortably atop his thighs. He makes a discreet, but deliberate effort to push his chair back a few inches, the closeness suddenly overwhelming.
Clarke is the first to break this pause, but her attempt is weak. "So, um, how is Octavia?"
If he had only been audience to this conversation and not an active participant, Bellamy might have found the pleasantries comically awkward. But nothing was funny about it; it felt unnatural, forced. Whatever ease and comfort that existed between the two before Mount Weather had erased itself, leaving only rubbery residue in its tracks. Brushed away with a breath of wind.
"I don't know," Bellamy admits; his expression sullen, still numb, "I'm dead to her, Clarke. She hasn't spoken to me since she knocked the shit out of me after I fought the grounder army. After I killed them all."
There's another pause in their exchange. Clarke takes note of Bellamy's use of the word "I," like he's the only one responsible, like it's only his burden to bare. It's an ironic twist of fate, all things considering. She tries not to look at him with sympathy. He doesn't want it.
"Bellamy, we need to talk about that," Clarke approaches the subject, dominance unmistakable in her voice. Bellamy then looks directly at her, no longer numb, and Clarke realizes that it's the first time he's initiated eye contact since entering the room. Intensity returns to his eyes, but behind its edge lingers the gaze of disappointment.
"So that's it then?" Quiet at first, then voice intensifying, "That is the only reason you came back! To remind me just how much I Fucked up!?" Bellamy scoffed, sitting back in his chair with defiance, forcing the chair back another inch.
Clarke is dumfounded, jaw hanging in disbelief. But it doesn't take long for his words to register and for an inch of her porcelain doll-heart to chip off.
Her words come out slow; methodically and desperate. "Bellamy! Stop that! You can't believe that's the only reason! You have to know…"
"Why Clarke? What reason is there for me to believe you'd come back for anything other than politics!? You only came because it's convenient for you. Well save your breath! I already know how bad I am! How much I fucked up everything! I live with it! I bareit, every day! Every day since you left, I've lived with it!" With that said, Bellamy is up from his chair, pacing the room with stride. Shame…Anger…Pain….they follow him in every step, and Clarke has the urge to hold onto him, if only it could save him.
Clarke stands up too, with equal passion. "Bellamy!"
Bellamy stops his pacing, turning abruptly in the direction of her pleading voice.
There is nothing said. He looks at her, and she looks at him. She can see the fragility in Bellamy's stance. She sees the pain that she has caused him, and it burns her entire body with guilt and regret.
But Bellamy moves passed that sorrow and back onto anger. The relief of her presence is once again shadowed by the pure resentment left behind in the wake of her abandonment.
"Bellamy! Whatever mistakes you've…we've made….I know we can move passed them!"
"We?" The word comes out bitter and raw.
"Yes Bellamy. We. What happened with Pike…That's not who you are! We need to fix this, and I know that we can," she pauses, looking to see if her words are registering. It would appear not. "I need you Bellamy."
"You need me?"
"Yes! I need the guy," her eyes are beseeching, "that wouldn't let me pull the lever at Mount Weather, by myself!"
"You left me!" Another inch of Clarke's heart chips away. "You left everyone!"
"Bellamy, please-"
"Enough Clarke! You don't get to come back here and act like you understand! You haven't been here! You were the one who let a bomb drop on my sister! You were the one who sided with Lexa, who abandoned us and forced us to kill everyone who helped us at Mount Weather! People who trusted me! We said we'd face it Together!"
The booming sound of his voice ricochets off the metal walls and into Clarke's reluctant ears. So loud and filled with anguish. This she couldn't bare.
Then Bellamy continues; this time so quiet that Clarke has to strain her ears. Quieter than the cries working rivers down Clarke's swollen eyes.
"You were the one…who convinced me that I could be the good guy. You convinced me that we could be strong together….and then you left."
Both Bellamy and Clarke have tears staining their cheeks red, the dam breaking behind their eyes and flooding the room with emotions that neither one felt entirely ready to face.
While the room is silent, Bellamy's words still echo in Clarke's field of sound. They haunt the room. Clarke sits back down on the bed, needing something to parachute her heart as it falls to the ground. She's been aware for a long time how much she needs Bellamy, but it dawns on her that perhaps he needs her too.
On the other side of the room, Bellamy clenches his fists, channeling this instant regret and sorrow into physical repent. His nails pinch the skin of his palms, not quite drawing blood.
Though her throat feels narrow, strained with tears and clogged with phlegm, Clarke forces the words that Bellamy needs to here. Words that Clarke believes and feels deeply.
"I'm sorry…" She looks up at him now, daring to make eye contact. "I'm sorry for leaving. But I knew I could…because they had you."
The dam brakes again, releasing all of Bellamy's emotions and letting them drown his sorrows. He feels his lungs tighten and shudder, overflowing with all the grief, spite, regret, happiness, relief, and fondness that exists in his bones. The flood continues to rush down his body, hitting every nerve until finally the water subsides. There is damage, of course. There is still repairs that need to be made. But now Bellamy can take a step forward without being washed away completely.
He takes a step. Then another one. Then another, until he is kneeling down in front of Clarke, tentatively grabbing her hand, finally giving into that desire to touch her.
It's this moment, with Clarke searching his eyes, that Bellamy feels the spark. Clarke feels it too, that connection, that energy once again. The friction of their hands helps to kindle the flare, igniting a flame that sears the skin of their palms.
Both let go at the same time. The burning sensation is too much to grasp onto just yet.
Bellamy clears his throat, sitting back up and onto the chair again. Back to where they started, but no longer that divide between them. Bellamy casually scoots his chair forward a few inches.
"I'm sorry too."
Clarke nods at his apology, a hesitant and welcome smile expressing itself on her skin. This is the beginning. The beginning of their repairs. She notes that this time, she will mend their wounds with a stronger stich. One that cannot be broken so easily, if at all. She never wants to be the cause of Bellamy's pain. Never again. This idea etches itself onto Clarke's subconscious, a commandment set in stone.
With everything out in the air, those particles of tension finally settling down, pure relief encompasses the room. Clarke finds herself bolting into the arms of Bellamy, nearly knocking him out of his stupid chair! She gratefully wraps her arms around his shoulders, burrowing her face into his neck and allowing herself to breath in the scent of familiarity. Bellamy is stunned, but only for a second, before he returns the embrace with full force.
"I missed you." Bellamy whispers against her neck, admittance lacing his tone of voice.
"I missed you too." Clarke tells him shyly, unexpectedly blushing. She pulls back from the hug to make eye contact, finding a different form of intensity behind Bellamy's eyes. It's intense but it's comforting. Both are so eager to mend their bond.
Bellamy briefly runs around the idea of Together in his mind and places it on the tip of his tongue. This time, the word doesn't taste so bitter. It tastes sweet and feels warm.
Clarke is now the one to clear her throat as she settles back to sitting on his mattress, a different (though not unpleasant) degree of tension tiptoes its way through the seams of the room.
"So, um, what now?" Bellamy asks, his voice back to his usual, deep voice. The tension dissipates. Back to familiarity.
As a team, they will decide.
"I don't know," Clarke shakes her head. "Lexa wants retaliation. We have to do something to stop her."
"Are you going back to her?" Bellamy asks outright, hiding any insecurities or doubts behind the vibrato of his voice.
Clarke hesitates, not quite sure of the answer. Both options (staying in Arcadia vs. going back to Polis) are equally as dangerous and maybe equally as selfish.
"I…I don't want to leave Arcadia again," Clarke's voice is strong before an added whisper, "I don't want to leave you again."
Bellamy's heart unexpectedly flutters. It feels like metamorphosis; a butterfly releasing itself from its cocoon and landing on his shoulder.
"But…?" But Bellamy can't get his hopes up just yet.
"But we need to fix this. I want to stay. I really want to Bellamy. I want to face it. I have to face it. But I…we can't face it until we face the problem at hand. We have to find a way to stop Lexa from retaliation. And-"
Bellamy interrupts, "And the only person who can convince Lexa otherwise is you." He throws Clarke a knowing look, which she catches, unsurprised that he's put the pieces together.
She nods, regretfully.
Bellamy sighs, looking down at his hands (twisted in a tight knot), as he tries his best to confront the reality. All bets are off. He dares to ask…
"Do you love her?"
Again, Clarke isn't sure how to answer him. Love? What does the word mean anyway? She had thought before that she loved Finn. She knows she loves her mom, her dad (even if he's dead). She loves her People. She loves Octavia, and Raven, and Monty. Miller. Jasper. Everyone.
She loves Bellamy. And the thought scares her, because for once in her life, she can't decipher this manifestation of love.
With Finn, even with Lexa, whatever love that had formed was first caused with that initial infatuation. Sure, in both cases, they shared some type of deeper bond, a mutual respect, a care that went beyond friendship. But there was lust and hunger behind every motive, even if she hadn't realized it at the time. This kind of love was easy to negotiate with and make peace with. It was easy because she could connect the dots and draw the conclusion of romance with no question as to how she got there.
But with Bellamy, that connection is not as clear. She tries to connect the dots, but it's hard for Clarke to find which point leads to another. Too many lines intersect ant the emotions somehow get lost and zigzagged in every direction.
Sure, there is no denial on Clarke's part than Bellamy is an attractive person. That's not hard for anyone to see, really. But initially, when they first got to the ground, whatever attraction or romance that could have possibly surfaced was supplemented by the fact that (at the time), Clarke only saw him as an Asshole, to be frank. He was arrogant, selfish, and reckless when it came to leading their People.
But over time, the idea physical attraction got pushed further to the side by a different line of sight. Getting passed their initial dispute and onto respect and admiration, Clarke paid no mind to the body that housed Bellamy. She saw through it. She saw that he was caring, that he was brave, that he was honest and smart. She saw that he would do anything for his sister, and then anything for his people, including her. She saw that he had her back and that he saw her just as transparently. She had no time to confront the idea of physical lust with Bellamy because she was already consumed by a much deeper pull and attraction towards him. He is more than just a romance. He is more than just wanting touch and release.
What they have is much more intimate. She has already seen the most private and sacred parts of Bellamy, in her opinion. She has yet to acknowledge that there is more to explore.
Clarke watches him now, sitting across from her and waiting for an answer that might make or break whatever future would come. For the first time, Clarke allows herself to really look at Bellamy, and see everything. She starts by examining Bellamy's face. His jawline is sharp; beautiful and strong like his ability to care for his People. His freckles, scattered around his cheeks like constellations in the sky, are pleasantly unexpected, like the bravery and sensitivity that Clarke has come to associate with Bellamy. The scar above his lips (Clarke then realizes how plump his lips are) represents the damage that has tethered its way onto Bellamy's soul. But it is beautiful none the less.
Moving from his face, eyes darting across his entire expanse, Clarke lets herself be superficial for a moment, recognizing just how beautiful this man is. Before, she had only let herself see beyond his outward appearance, but she is looking at him now with a different set of eyes. It is okay to see all of him. She can see his soul, and window to it.
She's able to sense that their bond has tightened into something more. More that friendship. But More than just lust.
The realization takes Clarke be the reigns, but it isn't as surprising to her as it should be for someone just realizing their feelings.
But then comes the question of Lexa. Who is Lexa to Clarke? A Traitor? A Friend? A Commander? A Lover? An Agenda? A Bridge?
She can't deny her attraction and connection to Lexa either. But, Love? What on Earth (literally) does that even mean?
"I don't know," replies Clarke. Bellamy lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding as Clarke continues. "I, I feel something when I'm around her. Something I felt when I was around Finn."
Bellamy maintains eye contact with Clarke, endurance in his eyes.
Clarke continues. "But….with Finn. I don't think it was really love," Clarke nods at her own words, discovering solace and understanding in them, "Not in the way that it should've been. I mean, look how that turned out," There is no humor behind her voice, only admittance. "I respect Lexa…. And I'm painfully aware that I should hate her! But, by that logic….I should hate you too. For what you did to the Grounders… But I don't. And I can't. I could never hate you.
"So yes. I've thought about Lexa in that way before. I'm sorry. But love? I don't even know what that means anymore… But…" Clarke looks as deep as she can into Bellamy's eyes, trying to convey her silent message. But, even if I don't know what love means, I know I love you.
Bellamy nods, but Clarke's still not sure he's heard the message. "I understand." But he doesn't. He accepts and understands what Clarke has been through, but Clarke can tell he doesn't understand what he means to her. It hurts her to realize this, but can she risk explaining it to him? Can she risk his partnership and the love that already goes beyond romance?
"So," Bellamy starts, "You go back to Lexa and try to compromise. Are you going to stay with her? And how do we compromise on a 'blood must have blood' negotiation?"
Internally, Bellamy's stomach churns at Clarke's confession. Jealousy cultivates within him, green and ripe as ever before. He wants to grab onto Clarke, handcuff her to the table and forbid her from ever seeing Lexa again, but he can't do that. He can't do that because he loves her, and more than anything, he realizes that he just wants her to be happy.
He realizes, that maybe he loves Clarke in a way that she may never be able to return. He's always acknowledged their bond for what he wanted it to be: no complications. Just partnership, co-leaders, a deep friendship formed on respect and burdens. But once more, he's confronted with the truth that their bond, at least on his side, goes deeper than that. It's what kept him from being able to fully commit to Gina. It's what kept him from ever really accepting the fact that Clarke had left. Their bond is the reason that he would do anything to protect her and anything to make her happy, including letting her go into the arms of Lexa, if that's what she should choose.
"I have to go back to Lexa. Maybe I can talk her out of it? I know that sounds like a weak attempt, but it's the best we've got, for now."
Bellamy nods again, refusing to acknowledge that she didn't really answer his first question. Are you going to stay with her? The thought reverberates around his head, weighing down on his relief.
"If I could, I'd have you come with me. But, it's too dangerous. I can't risk losing you." Clarke is standing now, suddenly ready to confront everything that stands in the way of returning to her People. Returning to Bellamy. She knows that she needs to see Lexa again, even in a personal way. She needs to confront everything that Lexa means to her and everything that Bellamy means to her. Only then can she define her own meaning of Love.
Bellamy stands too, not as sure of himself, but also ready and willing to face whatever comes next. It feels a little less like self-loathing when someone can replace that hate with forgiveness. And both will leave with this comfort in mind.
They're walking to the door, each step bouncing with an eager stride, leaving behind a hopeful footprint. They turn to each other, about to say goodbye again. (They do this too often.)
The air between them is tense for another moment, silent. Clarke looks past his expression, searching for his mind. She tries to convey everything she has, every belief that he is hers: her person (whatever than entails). There's a second, only a brief, tiny second that realization reaches Bellamy's eyes. The side of his mouth (the one with the scar) quirks up, ever so slightly. The moment disappears as quick as it came, replaced by a longing and impatience in both their eyes. Ready to get on with it.
Clarke won't touch him though, not until she figures it out. She vows to herself; the next time she sees Bellamy, she will see all of him and all of what he means to her. Only then can they move forward with whatever fate will follow. She takes one last glance around the room, sketching it into her memory. She spots the bag that Bellamy had packed, and she realizes that he was going to leave. She so glad he didn't.
"May we meet again." Bellamy states, his voice comes out rough, yet confident.
"May we meet again." Firm, with conviction.
She leaves the room quickly, not looking back. She holds to her vow. She has a new mission, and she's ready to face it.
Okay! So I hope I was able to capture some of Bellamy's and Clarke's true characteristics I'm happy that I sat down and wrote this! From purely a writing standpoint, I had fun with the chapter! Man this took me a long time! I know it's pretty packed with emotions…and I admit that in the real show I don't think Bellamy and Clarke are at this point yet. But hey, that's what Fanfiction's for! Anyway, Hope you enjoyed it! I will try to write more soon! TBH I don't really have a direct plan for where I want to take this…just some ideas floating around my overactive imagination!