Summary: Non-canon, Drama/Romance, hopefully with some Action/Adventure thrown in. Bellarke, Linctavia and probably more once I get going. :D
Rated M – for adult themes.
Disclaimer: Just borrowing The 100, not for profit!
A/N: Like I said in Chap 13# this is pretty full on (well it was for me to write) and includes description of a fire scenario and burn wounds - just warning you. Also it's a bit dark and angsty, for me anyway. Sorry.
The Homestead
Chapter 14 – Bellamy.
Bellamy glanced up just in time to see Emerson lunging at him with a large kitchen knife. Emerson took him by surprise – tackling him into the burning beam opposite Clarke.
Within seconds Bellamy realised the mountain man had driven the knife through his shoulder with such force that he was pinned to the scorched beam. He scrunched his features at the searing agony, faintly aware of the smell of burning cloth and flesh.
A sudden image of the hall at Mt Weather after he and Clarke had pulled the lever flashed through his pain heightened brain.
In front of him with his hand still on the knife wedged in Bellamy's shoulder, Emerson turned to face Clarke and seethed at her through clenched teeth.
"You killed everybody!" he exclaimed.
Emerson's momentary distraction was enough for Bellamy to garner all his strength, slip his own hunting knife from its sheath on his pant hem and shunt it into the side of his attacker's neck, right at the artery, right where he'd seen Clarke relieve Atom of his suffering, right where Charlotte had stabbed Wells and right where he had ended Dax's life.
"We killed everybody," he corrected over Emerson's lifeless body.
Adrenaline pumped through Bellamy's body as he wrenched the knife from his shoulder with a scream, freeing himself from the post. It was hard to ignore the severe burn on his shoulder and the sickening stench of it, but he had no time to appreciate the pain.
From the front of the hall came a resounding roar as part of the roof fell through – a fireball of flame, heat and debris flying towards them. In a flash he slashed Clarke's ropes with his hunting knife, wrapped her in his arms and commando rolled them both behind the metal kitchen counter.
The fireball thinned out above them.
"Bellamy – the roof," Clarke coughed as the creaking above them reached a crescendo.
He flicked his eyes furiously around the kitchen, dragging them both across the floor when he found what he was looking for through the smoke and heat haze.
Lifting the trap door he shoved Clarke in unceremoniously before sliding down the steps behind her, slamming the door and shuffling on all fours to the very back of the small earthen cellar and shielding her body with his. The ground above them shuddered and the trap door shook with the full force of the wooden construction collapsing on top of them.
Bellamy thanked the stars above, and Monty, for the presence of the small dug out cellar his friend had devised for cold storage only a few weeks ago. He shuddered to think what would have happened to them – had it not been there.
"You're in shock," Clarke's blackened hands held him steady while he shook.
He took the chance to study her properly – to check that she was okay and uninjured.
It seemed she was doing the same to him because she suddenly howled with dread at the sight of the large burn from the beam.
"Bellamy - your shoulder!"
He was instantly made fully aware of the searing pain and the smell of his own singed skin and muscle. Beneath the black ash on Clarke's face he could see a rush of fear and the sense of futility cover her features. She started to sob and cough at the same time – her lungs racked with smoke.
He clenched her fingers in his and, acutely aware of how close they were, down under the ground, beneath all of his carefully built dreams burning away; he pressed his forehead gently to hers, closed his eyes and whispered calmly to her.
"It's okay Clarke. I'm okay."
She sniffled uncontrollably.
"You're okay Clarke. We're okay."
They stayed like that, heads pressed close, arms around each other, until they heard voices and the soft thud of footfalls above them.
Somebody opened the trap door and Bellamy emerged from the cellar first, holding her hand as he helped her up.
Somebody else put a blanket around Clarke's shoulders and the two of them stood there oblivious to everything but the smouldering blackness, smoke and ash surrounding them, and the curl of each other's fingers tightening together in solidarity.
Still somebody screamed their names and then Octavia barrelled into him, a tangle of fists and tears. Beside him somebody started addressing the fleshy mess that was his shoulder. Clarke was dragged in the other direction and he felt their fingers being slowly pried apart by the distance between them.
It wasn't until he could no longer feel her touch that he allowed himself to cry.