Work Text:
The lab is dark, the only light coming from the glow of screens on the lower level. Clarke’s taken to dimming the lights in the evening, so she can at least keep up the act of separating her time into day and night. When she speaks, her voice echoes. It always does.
“It’s been a year since Praimfaya,” she says, pausing. “A year since I’ve left the lab, a year since I’ve felt the sun or the wind. Since I’ve seen the sky…”
Clarke trails off and takes a generous gulp from the bottle she’d found a few months ago, letting her head loll back against the arm of couch once she swallows. She’s sprawled out, her legs tangled with a blanket and the radio held carefully in her other hand, like it’s something precious.
She doesn’t know exactly what type of alcohol it is, but she knows it’s strong and that she planned to ration it. A fifth of the bottle for every year until her friends came back. Until her mom came out from underground.
She’s already halfway through the bottle.
Her voice takes on a dreamy quality, the words coming out like she doesn’t realize she’s speaking them when she continues, “A year since I’ve seen another person. Heard another voice. Touched anything else living.”
Clarke makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan, the glass bottle loosely dangling between her fingers, brushing against the ground. The clinking startles her and she grips it tighter, taking another swig.
“A year since I’ve gotten laid.”
She hiccups and repositions herself on the couch, her legs now curled up toward her chest, both the radio and the bottle held close.
“I never thought Earth would suck more than space, but at least you have other people up there. I bet Emori and Murphy are having all kinds of space sex.” She pouts, takes another small sip of the liquor. “I just want someone to hug me. To feel something else that’s warm.”
Clarke pulls the blanked tighter around herself, takes another sip.
“It’s so cold down here, all the time. Everything is just metal and… cold. It’s like being back in space except worse. It’s like being back in lock up.”
She sets the bottle down on the table in front of her and curls more into herself.
“I thought that was the worst, Bellamy,” she says quietly, her words starting to run together. “I thought nothing could ever be more horrible than being alone in lock up – I had all that time to think about how my dad was dead, how the Ark was dying, and how it was all my fault.”
“This is worse.”
She squeezes her eyes shut against the tears, but they still come.
“There’s so many more now – so many more deaths that I’m responsible for. It’s all I think about. All the people that I killed or condemned or couldn’t save.”
The tears are running down her cheeks now, her words both slurred and punctuated by harsh, gasping breaths as Clarke tries to keep the true sobs at bay. If anyone were listening on the other end of the radio, they would barely be able to make out what she’s saying.
“Even in solitary there were other people. Someone brought me food and we had monthly medical evaluations. There’s nobody here. There might never be anybody ever again.”
It’s the thing that’s been in the back of her head, that she’s been actively avoiding thinking about. The bunker might not have been as secure as they thought or it might have devolved into mass bloodshed or they might not have been able to save her mom. Her friends might not have gotten to Ring or she might not have turned the power on in time.
That’s what finally pushes her over the edge. She lets the radio drop out of her hands, distantly aware that it landed on the couch and not the floor, and cover her face as the sobs finally come.
***
There’s nothing to drink on the Ring. Bellamy could’ve asked Monty to cook up some moonshine, but it feels wasteful. More than that, it feels disrespectful. He could spend the day drinking away his sorrows, forgetting why he’s been so short with everyone for the last week, or he could let the memories wash over him.
He chooses the latter. Once he’s done with his duties for the day he sits in front of the window overlooking Earth, elbows on his knees, head dropped forward.
Earth’s no longer a swirl of reds, oranges, and yellows. Raven told them that Praimfaya has passed, the initial death wave only lasting so long. Now, the view is murky. The blue is still there, but instead of vibrant greens, all Bellamy can see is shades of brown.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, how many memories he revisits – when she defended him to Jaha, when they irradiated the Mountain, when he saw her again as Roan’s captive.
It’s not that he doesn’t think about her all the time. It’s the opposite. She’s in everything he does, every decision he makes. But her tries not to think about her as herself. He asks himself “what would Clarke do?” and tries not to think that Clarke was beautiful and brilliant and he left her to die.
So, on the one year anniversary of her death, he lets himself think those things. He lets himself remember her eyes that were always challenging him, her mind that was so cunning and ruthless it sometimes surprised him, her heart that took blow after blow even before they arrived on Earth.
By the time he’s remembering the last time he saw her, when she told him to hurry, Bellamy’s eyes are red and his throat is raw.
He almost doesn’t notice when Murphy slumps down next to him.
“You missed the party,” Murphy says, without looking over at Bellamy. “Well, not a party, I guess. Emori and Echo did some Grounder ritual to honor Clarke. It was actually pretty interesting, they-“
“Murphy.”
Bellamy’s voice doesn’t quite break, but he’s on the edge of it, his voice rough and short. Murphy takes it in stride.
“Yeah,” he says, quiet. “I get it. Raven didn’t come either.”
Murphy shifts a little, stretching out his legs and bumping his shoulder against Bellamy’s.
“Don’t beat yourself up today. She wouldn’t want that.”
The breath that Bellamy lets out is long and shuddering.
“It’s what I deserve,” he says, emotion thick in his voice. “We left her behind to die. I left her behind to die.”
“She stayed behind to get us up here, because we wouldn’t be able to survive down there,” Murphy says. He keeps his gaze firmly on the Earth below them when he crosses his arms and continues,” Come on, you really think Clarke is dead?”
Bellamy’s head snaps toward Murphy. “The Nightblood didn’t work,” he says, sharp.
“We don’t know that.”
“Yes, we do,” Bellamy says. His jaw is clenched and there are tears sparkling at the corners of his eyes again. “She was showing signs of radiation poisoning even before we left and she didn’t – she was pretty sure it didn’t work.” He lets his head drop back down, his shoulders sagging even lower than before.
Murphy shrugs and says, “All I know is that Clarke Griffin? She always has a way of showing up when I’m sure I’m never gonna see her again.”
He stands and brushes off his hands on his pants, pausing to look over Bellamy. “You don’t believe she’s alive? Maybe you should try talking to her ghost. I hear that helps people.”
Bellamy doesn’t move or look up. Murphy nods once and kicks at Bellamy’s foot.
“Don’t stay out here too late.”
For a long moment, Bellamy doesn’t do anything. Then, once he’s sure Murphy’s out of earshot, he closes his eyes again, leans his head against the wall, and speaks.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” he says. “If you’re alive, it doesn’t matter, and if you’re not…”
Bellamy trails off, takes a deep breath, and tries again.
“I miss you, Clarke. I miss you always being there when I needed you. I miss you arguing with me. Raven’s a pain in my ass, but not the same way you were.”
It doesn’t help, not really. He doesn’t really feel better, but he feels – lighter, somehow. The tightness in his throat loosens and he realizes that aside from that first day with Raven, he really hasn’t talked about Clarke. Certainly never to her.
“I think we’ve finally gotten used to space again,” Bellamy continues. “Echo’s stopped glaring at… everything. She’s not the biggest fan of being up here.”
He lets out a small laugh, his first one of the day that isn’t hollow. “Emori loves it. She’s like, Raven’s apprentice or something. Raven’s even modified Emori’s radiation suit so that she can work on the outside of the ring with her.”
“Murphy’s been working with Monty,” The words are tumbling out now. All the things he hasn’t gotten to talk to her about swirl around his thoughts, but he keeps it to what he thinks she’d want to know. If she were alive and he were really talking to her. “Monty’s hands were messed up for a while, from the radiation. He knew what we needed to do to get most of the systems running, but he couldn’t do it, so Murphy’s did it for him.”
“Harper and Monty are still together. Emori and Murphy, too. I think Echo wants me to be her new Roan. Not-“ He cuts himself off and runs a hand over his face.
“If you were here, you’d be laughing at me,” he mumbles. “Echo was so used to being loyal to Ice Nation. First Nia and then Roan that I think… she’s just so used to it that she’s transferred it to me. I didn’t think we’d get along up here, but I guess things are better than we thought they’d be.”
The lump in his throat returns and for a minute it’s a struggle to get out the words. “It’d be better with you here. Everything was better with you, Clarke.”
Bellamy takes one more deep breath before saying, “If you’re alive, I know you can’t hear me and this is all for nothing anyway, but… please don’t do anything stupid in the next four years. We’ll be back in four years, Clarke, and if you’re alive, we’ll find you.”
He opens his eyes and stands, taking one last, long look out the window before heading back toward his quarters.
***
It’s not until later, when Clarke wakes up with a dry mouth and a pounding in her head that she notices the computer that acts as a clock.
1:37 A.M.
It takes her a minute to find where she dropped the radio, the dried tear tracks on her cheeks a reminder that this might be pointless.
Clarke clicks the button on the side of the radio and takes a deep, shuddering breath before murmuring, “Four more years, Bell.”