#bellarkefic

“I think that’s enough, Clarke,” Jasper tells her.

She looks down at his wound, realises she’s been rubbing it a bit too forcefully – the redness of his skin less about the fever now, and definitely about her lack of bedside manners. She mumbles an apology before she grabs another piece of cloth that she wraps around his torso.

She pats his arm without really looking, before she stands up and moves toward the other two boys.

“Whatcha talking about?” she asks cheerily, startling them both.

They offer her twin looks of surprise, too focused on their discussion to notice her coming. That’s when Clarke sees what they were discussing, the old map she had used on their very first day to find her way to Mount Weather. Only now a bunch more scribbles are added to the paper. She frowns.

“Nothing much…” Finn starts, leaning back with his hands in his pockets.

Wells is not that slick. “Looking for a better place to settle.”

Clarke blinks at him. “What do you mean?”

He points to the map, the big dot that represents the dropship, the slithering lines that make up the newly formed rivers, the most dangerous parts of the forest. She knew Finn had made a habit of sneaking out of camp already, but now it makes sense – they were updating the map, one landmark at a time.

“Our location isn’t exactly the best in the long run,” Wells explains. “If we want to build a proper settlement, the ground here is too uneven. We’re too far from fresh water too, which would be bad for agriculture, according to Monty. And we want some clearing, so we can establish a proper… town, I guess? Village?”

Clarke looks down at the map again, frowning slightly. She hadn’t thought that far, but of course Wells did. And it does make sense. They’re only sticking to the dropship because it’s easier than moving a whole bunch of rowdy teenagers to a new place and starting from scratch.

Wells takes her silence as an invitation to continue, “We think closer to the river, to the south, would be better. The ground is more even there, so better for the foundations of buildings.”

“Monroe’s dad works in Factory Station,” Finn chimes in. “She says she can help with basic architectural foundations.”

Wells points at him in agreement, and adds, “If we can get even basic cabins, that will help us with weather conditions. Climate is okay for now, but once winter comes, who knows what to expect. No to mention storage, cooking, or even just protection from those acid fogs.”

They both look at her expectantly, as if waiting for her approval. But Clarke is dumbfounded, blinking between Wells and the map in front of her. While she was trying her hardest to keep them all alive, they planned an entire exodus, buildings, and even fields? Together?

Is she that oblivious of the world around her?

“Who’s to say the Grounders won’t shoot us on sight if we move?” comes from behind her.

Clarke is startled by Bellamy’s proximity, only a few inches behind her as he looks at the map over her shoulder. She didn’t even hear him coming and yet here he is, so close she can smell the smoke of the fire and the sap of trees on him. He stands with hands on his hips, leather jacket discarded for once. The gun pokes out from under his shirt, a not-so-friendly reminder.

“They shot Jasper the moment he crossed some kind of border, yeah?” he asks. When Finn simply nods, he adds, “So how do you know this isn’t their territory too?”

“Well, hm,” is all Finn replies.

Clarke hates that Bellamy has a point, if only because he doesn’t need to be smug about yet another thing. But he does have a point – the Grounders are nothing more than shadows and tales in the dark at this point, and who’s to say they will not attack again if the opportunity comes? Maybe they just got lucky with their landing spot, some No Man’s Land they now get to claim as their own.

“Bellamy’s right,” she admits. Wells immediately shoots her a look of what can only be described as betrayal. “We’re safe here for now. Moving could be more dangerous than it’s worth it.”

“Maybe we can send Charlotte as our scout,” Finn replies, voice dripping in sarcasm. He raises his hands in defence when the three of them immediately glare at him and voice their discontent. “Joking, guys… Even though I’m sure she’d enjoy the change of pace.”

Three days she’s been locked upstairs, three days of Bellamy feeding her breakfast and dinner and not allowing anyone else to see her. Three days that must feel like an eternity up there, and yet Clarke cannot find even half an ounce of sympathy for her. Back on the Ark, she would have been floated on sight, minor or not.

“We stay here and that’s final,” Bellamy states.

Even if Wells or Finn wanted to argue, it would be a lost cause. Those delinquents outside only answer to Bellamy, and even barely. They would never follow them to a different location without his approval, even if it made sense.

Still, never put it past Wells to try and win an argument, and he’s halfway through a reply when a whooping sound gets their attention. All four of them turn toward Monty’s corner of the dropship to find him doing a mini dance, before he stops and stares back at them.

“Oh please do keep fighting. I only just managed to repair the comms, if any of you are interested.”

Clarke shares a quick glance with Wells before the two of them hurry to Monty’s side, Bellamy and Finn following close. Monty shows them the different cables connecting various pieces of the dropship’s tech and Clarke’s old wristband.

“Once we connect this cable to the cuff, we should be able to communicate with them. Morse code, one way only.”

“Better than nothing,” Clarke replies, with a pat on his shoulder. 

He’s been working relentlessly on this for the past few days, only taking breaks for food and short cat naps. The bags under his eyes are so dark they turn purple in the low lights of the dropship. He deserves at least a whole week of sleep for the effort he’s put into this.

He shows Jasper how to connect one cable to the wristband, so he can do them the honours.

It doesn’t exactly go as planned.

Bellamy disappears back outside without a word.

…

The first real fight breaks out at dusk, about four days later than Clarke expected. It starts as a low rumble of voices, and turns into cheers and screams and chants within seconds. Clarke shares a glance with Wells, the two of them moving as one to make their way outside.

Unsurprisingly, Murphy is in the middle of the fight, with a dark-skinned boy twice as large. The other boy is very obviously smoking Murphy, punch after punch hitting his jaw and the side of his face, as the other teenagers cheer them on and yell words of encouragement.

“Someone needs to stop them,” Clarke tells Wells.

And she has no doubt Wells would do exactly that, were it not for the stitches on his neck Octavia had to fix twice already. He would put himself between them, take a few hits of his own maybe, but he would stop them. Only he can’t.

Bellamy is nowhere to be seen. Of course.

Another guy from Murphy’s gang grabs the dark-skinned boy from behind, holding his arms to his side and giving Murphy the perfect opportunity to punch back without taking a hit. He goes for the nose with a loud crunch of bones against bones, then for the ribs, and a kick to the side. The other boy grunts in pain, struggling to escape and fight back.

Wells grabs Monroe and pulls her toward them. “What’s happening?”

She looks a little wild-eyed, her tight braid coming undone, her clothes a mess. Her eyes travel between Wells and the fight, like she really wants to explain but also doesn’t want to miss the fight. She winces when the boy finally escapes and punches Murphy right back in the cheek.

“Murphy’s been bullying everyone at camp,” Monroe explains, then stops to cheer on the boy – Connor, apparently – before she glances back at Wells. “Ration water for no reason, force people to work, just straight up dickhead. Was only a matter of time before someone lashes back.” She cheers for Connor to kick Murphy in the dick. “Murphy took a piss on Connor after Connor asked for water so, ya know…”

“Yeah, this needs to stop.”

By the time Clarke actually manages to push her way through the crowd and toward the two boys, the fight has gone much, much worse. Three other teenagers are holding Murphy, pinning him so he can’t move, as Connor punches him relentlessly.

One girl yells “Float him!” and it immediately becomes a chant, louder and louder and louder, drowning out everything else. They push and pull and kick Murphy out of camp, Clarke following as she yells helplessly for them to stop, to listen, to not, please don’t, what are you doing, stop, stop.

Bellamy shoves past her, in time to stop a boy from slipping a nose around Murphy’s neck.

“What the fuck are you all doing?” he screams, and it’s enough to stop them all in their tracks, enough for all of them to fall silent and turn toward him. Enough for Connor to let go of Murphy, who spits blood and saliva on the ground.

“Right on time,” Murphy grins.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bellamy glares at the other boys, the only thing he needs to do for them to step away from Murphy, who slumps against the nearest tree. Bellamy ignores him as he turns toward the crowd. “If we kill him, we’re no better than the Ark. Is that what you want? To become your oppressors?”

The same teenagers who, only moments ago, were screaming for murder and blood, now all grumble in agreement with Bellamy. Eyes cast down, neck in shoulders, as if being scolded by a father figure. Clarke looks at each and everyone of them, the way they avoid his eyes and stand still, listening to his every word.

Only Connor is brave, or perhaps foolish, enough to reply. “So what do you propose we do? He’s been bullying half the camp for days now!”

Bellamy glares at him, for a second too long, before his eyes find herself in the crowd. Incertitude flashes through his eyes before he smooths his features again, but Clarke knows. She understands the silent cry for help. She steps forward.

“We banish him,” she states, loud enough to be heard by all. “If he refuses to be part of our society, then he’s gone. Simple as that.”

Murphy stands up, one hand on the trunk of the tree, and wipes the blood off his mouth. “And who put her in charge?” 

Bellamy pushes him back, hard, and Murphy falls back against the tree. “I did,” he says, with the kind of confidence that only Bellamy can muster. He turns back toward the others. “Anyone has a problem with Clarke, they have a problem with me.”

Clarke blinks at him, unable to find words to express the way she feels at the moment. Wells is at her side, fingers against her elbow, but she can’t find it in her to look at him when she’s so puzzled by Bellamy in front of her. Not after what he said, not after he looked at her for – was it guidance? She can’t even tell. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. Bellamy doesn’t make sense.

She watches, troubled by her own thoughts, as Murphy is given a knife and a warning, as he’s pushed away from camp, as teenagers scatter back to their duties with hushed whispers and hurried steps. She watches, as Bellamy ensures Murphy is gone, before he turns back and walks toward her and Wells.

“What was that?” Wells asks for both of them.

Bellamy ignores him, only has eyes for Clarke. “My sister trusts you. Believes in you. Don’t make me regret it.”

Clarke frowns, before she swallows back a few chosen words for him. Instead, she says, “People will start asking about Charlotte. They’ll think it’s not fair.”

“Let me worry about Charlotte,” Bellamy replies. “And help me keep everyone else alive.”

“Since when are you a team player?”

He smiles – his first real smile, not the usual smirk and scoff – at her, looking at her through his long lashes. A lopsided smile that Clarke pretends is perfectly normal and not – yeah, perfectly normal. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want to be in charge, princess.”

And then he’s gone, strutting his way back to camp without even a glance back at her. Clarke watches him go, watches him disappear behind the fence, before she looks back at Wells. She doesn’t know if she wants to be relieved or concerned that he looks as lost as she feels right now.

“I think he likes you,” Wells says flatly.

Clarke shoves his good shoulder away. “Shut up. Not Bellamy Blake.”

But Wells gives her that look, the one that says he definitely knows better and she’s being clueless, and Clarke huffs, annoyed. Her best friend knows better than to poke at it. Instead, he says, “Maybe you can convince him to move…”

“Not now. Not when we don’t know what’s out there.” She pauses, and sighs. “Anything else, though, I’ll need your help with.”

It flickers, like it can't decide what form to take. For a moment, it’s a man unfamiliar to her and in the next, it's Bellamy. Clarke gasps quietly, but before she can begin to process his expressionless gaze, the figure is changing again. A new man appears, and this time he isn’t looking at Clarke.

"Huh. One brain, one hallucination. It's supposed to show you your biggest hope or your biggest regret." Josephine turns back to look at Clarke, hiding her pain with a smirk. "This one's mine, so I guess we know who's really in charge." It comes off as a gloat, but Clarke can sense her anticipation. "I should have known yours would look like Bellamy. You should have seen the look on his face in the cave, when he said he wouldn’t let you die. Pathetic, really."

The mirage of the man saves Clarke from having to respond.

"Is that what it was when I said the same thing to you?"

"Stop looking at him, Clarke," Josephine snaps. "I would answer, but you're a hallucination and we really don’t have time for this." She starts walking briskly into the trees, Clarke follows despite her fatigue.

"Gabriel?" she asks.

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner. You really are smarter than you look."

Gabriel flickers in front of them, and Josephine lets out an aggravated huff as Clarke studies him. He's tall, with tension trapped in his shoulders that hasn't yet hit his soft brown eyes.

"I could have loved you forever," he says.

Josephine directs her words to Clarke. “Well, now he's trying to kill me, and I'm apparently just going to walk in and let him do it."

Clarke doesn’t say anything. This feels too personal, an even deeper intrusion than the moments she had seen in Josephine's mind space. It's too messy, unable to be categorized and filed away on a shelf. Clarke hates that it feels familiar.

He flickers again, keeping up with their march. Josephine's eyes remain fixed ahead of her. Clarke tries her best to do that same.

"You could have come with me, Josephine. It could have been just us. We could have grown old together."

Finally, she turns towards him. "We could have done that hundreds of times in Sanctum. You made me like this and then you left," she says. "We could have been gods together."

"I never wanted to be a god," Gabriel says softly. "I just wanted you."

Josephine shakes her head. "Whatever you do, don’t walk us into the giant green cloud," she says to Clarke. "Later, hot stuff."

Clarke and Gabriel speak together, "Josephine-" but she's already gone, disappearing into the mind drive.

Once she's out of sight, Gabriel fades away, replaced by another.

--

Bellamy strides quickly through the woods, desperate to find Clarke. The day has begun to fade, the strange lights of the moon's sunset filtering through the trees. Leaves crunch under his boots, the endless sound of it creating a buzz between his ears, louder and louder as her walks. He pushes forward, wishing for a radio, anything to contact her with, to make she's safely with Gabriel.

The sunset tints the world green as the sensational sound in his head covers him, still there, but no longer discernible.  Somewhere deep in the confines of his mind it reminds him of jobi nuts.

Out of the trees, a figure appears, blonde hair glowing in the green light.

Disoriented, he steps toward her. "Clarke?"

"Bellamy. You're here."

He doesn't realize he's been holding his breath until he releases it. It's really her. Josephine is still gone, at least for now. Taking another step forward, he stumbles slightly, an odd sensation prickling at the back of his neck.

"Something's wrong with this place. We have to get out of here. We need to find Gabriel." He tries to turn around, walk the other way, but she's right behind him, grabbing his hand.

He turns to her, finally looking into her eyes. They're sad, the little crease between her brows prominent. He tilts his head toward the open forest, in a 'come on, let's go' motion. She doesn't budge, instead rubbing a soothing thumb in circles on the back of his hand.

"It doesn't matter. Just listen to me, okay. Just stop," Clarke says. "You can’t save me."

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't save me. The barriers between the mind drive and my brain are wearing down. Even if I get to Gabriel, he won't be able to undo the damage. There's nothing left you can do for me. It's too late."  

He shakes his head. They have to do something, to at least let Gabriel try. "Clarke, you're not making any sense. We need to go."

Unsure if he's being fueled by fear or determination, he squeezes her hand, ready to carry her to Gabriel on his back if he has to. Clarke's eyes grow wild as he begins to pull, and for a moment, he's expecting her to fight him.

Instead, she collapses onto the ground, spasming as black blood falls from her nose.

He's down beside her in an instant, rolling her on her side. "C'mon Clarke. You're okay. You have to keep fighting. Please."

As she shakes, he sits in the dirt, nothing to do but rock back and forth beside her. He had lost her so many times already, hadn't tried hard enough to save her or protect her. He can't make that mistake again. He won't.

The seizure lasts longer than it had when she was Josephine, finally stopping when Bellamy thinks he might just be on the precipice of losing his mind. He helps her up, guiding her to where she can momentarily slump against a tree. His hand strokes her arm as she looks at him, face exhausted and blood stained. She feels different than she should, the body colder, muscles less solid.

"I told you," she whispers, "it's too late."

--

"Bellamy?" His name slips out of Clarke's mouth before she can stop it. She wishes she could take it back, avoid acknowledging this hard-expressioned apparition’s connection to her friend.

"So am I your biggest regret, or your biggest hope?" he asks.

She stares at him for a few long moments, unable to help herself, before -  "you’re not really here."

"Does it matter?"

She steels herself, takes a deep breath through her nose. The smell of the leaves and the air are so different, yet so similar to earth. In a sick way the smell reminds her of him, makes the imposter seem more real.

"I need to find Gabriel. A hallucination can’t help me do that," she says.

"Right," he scoffs, "because people only matter to you when they're useful."

"That's not true."

"You called me every day for six years and then left me to die in the fighting pits. You needed me, and then you didn’t. Simple as that."

He forgave you for that, she reminds herself. The memory does stop the regret from pooling like blood in her chest, suffocating her ever so slowly. Rather than responding, she starts walking again. He isn’t real. His words shouldn't mean anything.

Bellamy stays beside he as she walks. She does her best to ignore how real he seems. How easy it would be to reach out and touch him, even just for a moment. It could be her last chance if she doesn’t find Gabriel soon.

Once she's resolute in her silence, he speaks again, filling the quiet of the woods. "The real question is; why do you feel so guilty? You've killed hundreds of people. What makes me any different from them?"

"You didn't die," she snaps.

"All the more reason you should be seeing them, not me." He stops in front of her, forcing her to look at him. "Why am I so important to you Clarke? Why is it so important for me to forgive you?"

--

In the green glow of the sunset Clarke reaches out to him, still leading against the tree, running her fingers down his arm. "I'm as good as dead already, Bellamy." Before he can refute her, she continues. "Why do you care anyway? You left me to die in Priamfya. Six years is a long time. You already know how to live without me."

"I can’t," he bites out.

"Can't what?"

He clenches his jaw as the memories he so carefully packed away begin to break loose, snapping their bindings, clawing to the surface. It's like he's back on the ark, surrounded by the cold, empty metal of the ring, just beyond it the cold, empty vastness of space. It's like hearing her voice warped into something high pitched and singeing, the sound of it burning him from the inside out. All of it the pain of where she should be.  

"I can’t lose you again, okay?" He clears his throat. "Now let's go."

"Yes you can. You said it yourself, you don’t need me anymore."

"That wasn't me taking." He tries to quell the desperation in his voice. "You know that."

"It doesn’t change what you said."

He pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, breathing through the strange stupor still covering him, clogging his senses. "I don’t know what Josephine is doing to your head, but I'm getting you to Gabriel. So you can either start walking or I can make you, because I'm not leaving you again."

--

"I need you, okay? Is that what you want to hear?" Clarke asks.

"You left me behind to die. We can’t go back to when it was just the two of us pulling the strings, running things. It's too late. I have a new family now, I have Echo," he says. "And yet you still need me, someone to share the burden, who understands the pain. What would have happened to all that, if you had let me die, or if I never forgive you? How would you live with yourself?"

She swallows down the lump in her throat, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I could hear you talking to Josephine. I know you still care."

He keeps talking, unbothered by her desperate observation.

"But it's not just the shared experiences is it? Even after six years, you couldn't let me go."

"You’re my best friend."

He gazes at her with eyes that know her all too well. "You’re in love with me, Clarke. You have been for a long time."

She looks back at him for a long time before letting her eyes meet the ground. She watches her own feet as she drags them, slowly staggering forward.

"I need to find Gabriel," she says.

--

"Are you even listening? You can't save me this time, Bellamy. You have to let me go," her voice is weak, but still insistent.

He runs a hand down his face. "I already told you I can't do that."

"Why not?"

He just stares at her, his own lethargy mixing with the glowing green. It all feels like a dream. He's not entirely convinced that it's not.

"Because I love you."

She barely reacts, the same sadness lingering in her eyes, haunted. "Love can't save people, Bellamy. We know that better than most."

--

Clarke turns away from her hallucination, determined to ignore what he's told her. He's not really Bellamy. All that matters is finding Gabriel.

In the distance, a new figure arises, just far enough away that his features are blurred.  Somewhere in the periphery her anomaly-induced Bellamy still flickers, but his grasp on her has faded.

The distant figure gesticulates into the darkness, surrounded by nothing and no one. Increasing the pace of her hobbling, she moves closer to him until finally, she can make out his words.

"I won’t let you give up," he says, his voice breaking.

This is the Bellamy she knows: softer, less angry, yet still fighting for someone he loves. Her hallucination had paled in comparison.

"Bellamy," she calls out to him, voice weak.

"Clarke?" The crease between his brows deepens, his arms drop to his sides.

"Whatever you’re seeing, it's not real. The anomaly causes hallucinations." Before she can drag herself any closer he's running to her, taking her in his arms, pupils blown wide from inhaling whatever's in the air.

"You're alive," he says, caressing the side of her face. He studies her, eyes wandering across her face, roaming over her eyes, cheeks, lips. He shakes his head, letting his hand drop from her face to her side, wrapping around her fingers. "We need to get to Gabriel."

As she nods, the world goes black around the edges, she can feel her body go limp into Bellamy's arms.

In the distance, she hears his voice calling her name. I'm sorry, she wants to say as she sinks. You were right.