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“Why’re you here?” Clarke croaks softly, seeing Bellamy standing in her tent entrance. “Who told you to come?”
“My intentions are my own, Princess.” Bellamy replies, simply, turning to face her, some sort of herbal tea that Octavia swore would help in hand.
“Bellamy.” She says his name with a ton of effort, arms crossed and eyes staring into his.
“Clarke.” He mimics her posture and tone and she shakes her head.
“Seriously, Bellamy. I don’t get why you’re here. You don’t care. And I don’t want you to. That’s the whole point of me being here alone.” Bellamy shakes his head.
“You’re so wrong.” He mutters under his breath.
“No, Bellamy. Talk to me. Why are you here? I know you don’t care. Did Finn ask you to do this? Did he?” She demands.
“No, Finn did not.” Bellamy tells her, half-truthfully. “As I said, Princess, my intentions are purely my own.” This was completely true.
“But I don’t understand, Bellamy.” Clarke is repeating the same damn things over and over and if there’s one thing Bellamy hates its repetition.
“I do, Clarke.” He implores softly, holding her gaze. Yes, he’s fucking annoyed, but he’s not going to let her get upset about it. “I think you’re scared. I think that my Brave Princess is fucking scared to face the world again. And you know what?” Clarke shakes her head.
“You can’t blame me, Bellamy. You know what happened!”
“You lost your mom, Clarke. And that’s hard. And it hurts; believe me, I know. But I also know that you’re better than this. You’re stronger than this, Clarke. You're stronger than me. So yeah, I do blame you. Because you can do so much better. Better than this place, better than me, damn, Clarke. You can do better than this fucking earth. And if I could, I'd make sure that you got what you deserved. But I can't. Because I'm a fuckup. So it seems like you’re stuck here. In this place, with me, on this earth. So, no. You don’t understand why I’m here. And if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t expect them to. But it’s you. And you’re fucking terrible and challenging, but you’re intelligent and you’re caring. And you make do with what you have. It’s you, Clarke. It’s you that has taken this camp of criminals and turned them into a real society. It’s you that earned their respects. And this is like talking to a brick wall, because you’re not even acknowledging me. Can’t you just try?” He’s trying to be patient, but it’s not working. She’s Clarke, she’s not allowed to shut down like this. Not now, not when everyone needs her — not when he needs her.
“I am trying, Bellamy!” Clarke throws her arms up, tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. “I am trying to be okay, every second of every minute of the day! For you, for Octavia, for Jasper, for Monty, for Finn and for Raven. For everyone in this damn camp! I’m trying to be better but it’s just so hard.” Her voice breaks and Bellamy nearly pities her — nearly.
“I’m not asking you to be better, I’m asking you to trust me, Princess. You don’t have to change; I’m not asking for you to miraculously be better and good as new in the morning. I’m asking for you to take my hand, and let me show you the world you’re missing out on.”
“I don’t want to.” She says weakly.
“Well that’s just fucking selfish.” He’s done. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but she doesn’t realise how much she’s hurting him. She looks at him, surprised. “No, Clarke. I’m not Finn. I don’t have the fucking patience of a saint and I’m not practicing on you. Look, you have a whole camp of teenagers out there. Teenagers that trust you, look up to you, teenagers that fucking love you, Clarke. And I understand that you lost your mom and if anyone here understands that it’s me, but you can’t just stay here all day. Because every minute you spend in here, those teenagers spend another minute without a mom. And they’re lost without you —we’re lost without you. I can’t run this place on my own. I need you, Clarke. Just like you told me, what feels like years ago. You needed me then. I came back with you. I didn’t want to. But I came back, for you. Now I need you to do the same for me. I need you to come back to us, Clarke. Because I don’t think I can do this without you.” His eyes are full of tears as he looks at her earnestly.
“Why’re you doing this?” She asks in a croak.
“For the camp.” He tells her. “For you. For me. For us. But most of all, for those seventy-odd teenagers outside, scared out of their wits and wanting their mom. So, come with me?” Clarke reluctantly puts her hand in his and he presses a surprising kiss to her temple. “Brave princess.” He murmurs once more, but now it’s weighted with no sarcasm or irony, no, it’s weighted with nothing but respect. “My brave princess.”