#captainbellchabod

“Hey,” he says, the word rough and low in the back of his throat. He keeps his mouth tight, his eyes on the Ark, tells her, “We can get through this.”

This time there’s a long pause before Clarke speaks.

“I’m not going in,” she confesses, voice wavering a little, and he knows already, but the words shake him out of control regardless, he can’t pretend composure anymore, he can’t-

“Clarke,” he says, breath shuddering out his lips and he feels desperate, he has to look at her. “If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you,” Bellamy says, looking her straight in the eye and willing her to remember, to understand.

She does. He can see it her eyes, she remembers, she knows, and he puts everything he can into telling her, “You’re forgiven.”

He could recite the rest of the speech by heart. A part of him wants to, but Clarke already knows what he’s telling her and - she looks away. It’s a rejection clear as anything.

Any and all speeches vanish from his mind. All that’s left is to simply ask (no, he can’t even pretend it’s not begging): “Please come inside.”

Clarke looks at the Ark with such longing he knows she won’t be coming inside. He already knows. It’s obvious, this look is her goodbye, and he can feel himself shaking.

“Take care of them for me,” she asks, turning back.

“Clarke,” rips itself out of his throat, and Bellamy’s - collapsing, he knows but he can’t stop trying, he can’t stop himself because he needs her here. It’s as simple as that - he needs her here.

“No, seeing their faces every day, is just gonna remind me of what I did to get them here,” Clarke cuts him off, voice shaking. And it’s obvious, how this is tearing her apart inside, it’s been obvious, but she doesn’t understand.

“What we did,” Bellamy reminds her (and he’s straining for her to get it), “you don’t have to do this alone.”

You don’t have to forgive yourself, Clarke (he wants to tell her). I haven’t. I won’t, ever. What I’ve done will always be with me, and it will be the same for you but you can’t stop. Don’t you see, we need you. Clarke (he wants to tell her), I need you. Let me share this with you. I’ll help you. Please. Don’t go, please.

He’s breathless, can’t speak a word.

“I bear it,” Clarke says with tears shining in her eyes, unshed; “so they don’t have to.”

Bellamy gets it then, with the same crystal clarity that he understood she was leaving: Clarke needs this. This isn’t about everyone else, no matter what she says. That’s still valid, maybe, but it’s not why - the simple truth is that Clarke needs this. She can’t be here, she needs to leave, it’s something she has to do for herself, and he can’t stop her.

No, he’s not even going to try. Not anymore. He won’t tell her that he and Monty made the same choice, made it happen as much as she did, bear the same weight. He won’t tell her that by leaving she isn’t saving anyone because she is, he can see it now, she’s saving herself. She’s decided that this is the only thing she can do to try and save herself.

It doesn’t matter how much Bellamy thinks that is utter bullshit, how much he needs her here - this is about Clarke, not him. And she doesn’t need him. She needs this: leaving.

“Where are you gonna go?” he asks her.

Clarke looks down for a moment before she answers, looks so utterly lost it’s no surprise when she admits, with a hopeless little edge of a smile (or maybe a sob): “I don’t know.”

Bellamy looks at her and feels just as lost. Feels wrecked, desperate, shaken completely out of control, and when she steps forward, grabbing onto his arms and leaning up to kiss his cheek, he turns into it.

If this is goodbye (and this is goodbye, he’s known from the start), he isn’t going to stop himself anymore. So Bellamy turns his head, catches her lips against his and closes his eyes when he feels her hand clutch harder on his arm, her lips tremble against his before pushing back harder.

No, he thinks pitifully, and reaches his hand up to curl his fingers tight into her hair, and presses his lips hard and fierce against hers and doesn’t want to ever let go when he feels her hand sliding up his shoulder. It trembles up his neck, slips too gently behind his head and slowly holds him there. She’s gripping too hard, too, she’s kissing back too and not letting go and he wants to tell her see? this is how it should be, Clarke but this is a goodbye and even as he’s thinking that she breaks the kiss.

Breaks him a little too, a little more, when she doesn’t pull away completely but just presses herself closer into a fierce clutching hug. Her chin is pressed over his shoulder and he can feel her body warm against is, her breath juddering past his ear. Bellamy opens his eyes and stares at the ground as he presses his cheek to her head and hugs her back, closer and longer than they have ever been.

Clarke sniffs a little.

“May we meet again,” she says - but just clings closer, for one long terrible second, before finally pushing herself away. She smiles at him, before she walks away. Maybe that’s the most terrible part.

Bellamy stands still, head hanging, arms dropped at his sides where she left them, for a long moment. His breathing is heavy, out of control and he knows he is only seconds away from crying - he looks at her, one sharp desperate jerk of the head to stare at her back and he wants to run after her, tug her close again, into another kiss, a hug, anything that doesn’t let go.

But Clarke needs to leave.

He will let her, no matter how much it hurts (how helpless and lost and angry it makes him, how betrayed he feels that she would do this-). He couldn’t stop her, and right now, his people need him. He can’t be staring after her anymore.

Still -

“May we meet again,” Bellamy says, rough, and walks through the gates without looking back again.