Work Text:
Bellamy's first thought on waking up is relief. Not relief that his chest is intact, that he doesn't seem to have been shot, that he's not bleeding out on the floor. But relief that all this means Clarke hasn't turned against him, after all. That she's still who he thinks she is – forgiving and loving. That he wasn't wrong to put his faith in her all these years.
His second thought is more of a question. Something along the lines of what the hell?
He doesn't feel right. He doesn't feel right at all, and in ways that go beyond the grief of watching his best friend shoot him and the confusion of learning that it seemingly didn't happen after all. He feels a little like he did after Mount Weather – sort of numb and upset, but determined – only a thousand times worse.
Probably it's just the situation, he figures. He's strapped to some kind of chair and recently had what seems to have been the ultimate nightmare. Probably he'll feel better when the moment passes.
Anders is leaning over him, a concerned frown on his brow. Bellamy does a quick survey of the room – out of the corner of his eye he can see someone on a neighbouring chair, too.
Huh. That looks a lot like Clarke. He cranes his eyes as far as he can, fighting the headrest. Yes – definitely Clarke. Is she having the ultimate nightmare, too?
That's when Cadogan walks into the room. At least, Bellamy presumes this guy really is Cadogan. It's not clear what's real and what was nightmare, at this point.
"Welcome back, Bellamy." Cadogan greets him.
Bellamy only frowns. He hasn't been made to feel particularly welcome, he thinks. Being strapped to a chair and forced into whatever the hell that awful vision was doesn't exactly seem like hospitality.
"I'm sure you're wondering what happened to you." Cadogan continues smoothly. Bellamy gives the barest nod, and Cadogan continues. "We have some wonderful technology here on Bardo. We had you and Clarke spend some time in our simulator so you could see how events would unfold if you chose not to work with us. As you can see – that doesn't end well. We're hoping you'll see the wisdom in joining our cause. A nasty business, that shooting. We wouldn't want that to happen for real."
Now Bellamy's puzzled. "But I was working with you. I was a Disciple."
"Yes, you were. But you tried to fight it at first. And Clarke wasn't with us, was she? She was very upset with you."
Yes. Bellamy remembers that. He remembers finding that most weird of all – that Clarke wouldn't even try to understand his experiences and point of view. Their relationship has been founded on understanding, right from the beginning – from the moment they sat together beneath that tree. He remembers that, even if he's still feeling the strange numbness.
"This only ends well if we all work together. For all mankind." Cadogan informs him robustly.
Bellamy frowns. By any logical thought process, he thinks, he ought to disagree with that. This man has held him captive and locked him into a nightmare, and yet now he's supposed to believe that cooperation will end well? What, he's supposed to convert to the faith now under this most strange duress?
But something of him must still be stuck in that simulation, he fears. There's some part of him that remembers his faith and the light as if it were real. Some part of him that cannot overlook what he thought he saw on Etherea – even though, presumably, he never went to Etherea.
"Was Etherea real?" He asks, curiosity getting the better of him.
"Etherea is real. I've been there. But you haven't – your simulated pilgrimage was based on my own experiences."
Bellamy nods. He can deal with that. Etherea wasn't real for him.
Then why does it still feel real? Why does it feel more real to him than his love for the woman still strapped to a chair on his right, who he's been so devoted to protecting since almost the day he first met her? Why are his emotions such a damn tangled mess right now?
Clarke would be annoyed with him, he spares a moment to think. She always did say he ought to think things through more rather than letting his emotions get the better of him. Hopefully she wouldn't be annoyed enough to shoot him.
Not real, he reminds himself. That shot wasn't real.
"What about Clarke?" He asks Anders and Cadogan now, twisting his head as far as he can to get a better look at her.
"She'll stay here a little longer." Anders tells him.
"She's still in the simulation." Cadogan explains. "She'll stay there until it ends for her."
Until it ends for her. Until she dies? Until she shoots herself, he wonders, unable to bear the weight of what she has done? He hates to think of her living on after shooting him, struggling with grief and guilt and loneliness.
But somehow, that pain on her account doesn't feel as intense as he thinks it probably should.
He shakes his head. He needs to get out of here, away from these two solemn faces. He needs to think through everything he just saw, try to get some distance and remember that none of it was real.
"Can I have some time to... reflect on this?" He asks Cadogan, trying for a calm, almost sweet tone.
"By all means."
"I'd like to discuss it with Clarke when she's done. We lead our people – we should have some time to speak and reach a decision about how far we will ask our friends to work with you." He hopes that sounds like a clear and logical request from one leader to another, and not like a desperate plea to talk this over with the person he trusts and treasures the most.
At least, he thinks that's what she is to him. Right now, between the shooting and the numbness, he's not quite so sure.
"Certainly. I quite understand. We'll have her stop by your quarters when she's finished here. The guards will show you to your room."
With that, the door opens. A pair of guards walk in, faces eerily blank. Bellamy notices Anders carefully take some kind of line or needle from his arm, and then he is unstrapped from the chair and goes on his way.
Even when he leaves the room, the feeling of being trapped in the nightmare still lingers.
…...
Clarke's first thought on waking up is horror, pure and simple.
The last thing she remembers is stepping in front of a bullet heading at Madi. She recalls thinking, in what she believed would be her final moments, that there was some kind of twisted poetic justice in all this – after sacrificing Bellamy to save Madi, it seemed like all three of them were likely to end up dead.
Only Clarke's not dead – at least, that's the way it seems.
Her second thought is a kind of urgent curiosity. She appears to be strapped to some sort of chair, in a room she doesn't recognise. And she doesn't feel right at all.
It's not that she feels ill – this isn't something as simple as nausea or fatigue. She feels angry, and deeply cold. Detached from the rest of the world. She recalls knowing with utter certainty that she needed to save Madi's life, but she cannot manage to feel genuinely warm about her daughter, somehow.
It's odd. She doesn't like it. She can't figure out whether all this is real or some kind of horrific nightmare.
"Where am I?" She asks, panicked. "What happened?"
"You're perfectly safe, Clarke." She jerks her head towards the voice, recognises Cadogan.
"Where am I? What happened?" She repeats, firmer.
"You're on Bardo still. You've just been in a simulation. A little taste of how things will play out for you and Bellamy and your people if you don't choose to help us willingly." He says, a warning in his tone.
Clarke still doesn't like this. If anything, her fear and anger and suspicion are deepening by the second. How does this work? A terrifying simulation to scare her into compliance? Threatening her with the deaths of the two people she cares about most in the world – both of them her fault, in their ways?
The weirdest thing of all, is that it doesn't hurt as much as it should. She's still numb, somehow. She knows that she is horrified at even the idea of shooting Bellamy, but she doesn't truly feel it.
She forces herself to look about the room as best as she can, tries to think about the situation logically. She sees Cadogan and the man she first met on arrival on Bardo – Anders, she recalls. The ceiling is too white and the walls are too white. There's another chair next to her, but empty. There's a canula in her arm, and it stings.
"So none of it was real?" She asks carefully, thinking most of all of that horrific bullet flying at Bellamy's heart.
"It was real in that it will happen in the future, if you try to resist." Cadogan says mildly.
Clarke considers that for a moment. She thinks this man puts too much stock in his ability to foretell the future – in her experience, human behaviour is rarely so predictable. And frankly she finds the idea of her shooting Bellamy completely absurd, no matter how much time he might spend wearing white robes or even betraying her.
While she thinks, she carries on taking in her surroundings. That canula in her arm is attached to a bag of some kind of fluids. That's hardly unusual – she must have been here a while and they'd want to keep her hydrated. Only the liquid is not colourless but a blushing shade of pink, and that puzzles her.
"What's in the bag?" She asks, trying for a light, unconcerned kind of curiosity in her tone.
"Just some fluids to keep you healthy and hydrated." Cadogan says brightly, refusing to meet her eyes.
Aha. Here's a puzzle.
"The fluids we used on the Ark for that were colourless." Clarke offers mildly.
"Ours are pink." Cadogan explains. Again with the lack of eye contact.
There's a pause. Clarke wonders about pushing – she's sure she's onto something with this mysterious pink liquid, but she doesn't know what. She wonders, too, why she still feels so strangely off, as if still stuck in that nightmare, her emotions not quite settling as they should.
Most of all she wonders why the hell she shot Bellamy, simulation or no simulation.
Cadogan clears his throat and speaks. "I imagine you'll want to confer with Bellamy before agreeing to cooperate with us."
"Yes. Is he... well?"
"He's in good health. He asked to speak to you when you woke up. I understand you two take the leadership of your people very seriously."
"We do." She agrees, but her mind is no longer on the conversation.
For the first time in her life, she's truly intimidated by the thought of speaking to Bellamy Blake.
…...
Bellamy doesn't know how much longer Clarke will be in the simulation. It's not as if he has a lot of experience of extended nightmares and being shot by his closest friend.
Somehow, that thought doesn't make him feel as bitter as it should. He still feels more numb than hurt. Maybe it's just the shock, he reasons. It's a pretty shocking turn of events, after all.
He doesn't have much to do, while he sits in his room and waits for her to show up. Minutes stretch into hours, and he knows that there are guards stationed on his door. He takes to listening to music turned up loud, remembering what he's heard about his friends' resistance inside Mount Weather – the music will help to cover the conversation when Clarke does make it here to talk to him. In the meantime, when he really blasts it on full volume, it almost drowns out the disconcerted voices whispering in his mind.
He doesn't want to listen to his own worst fears remind him that Clarke shot him.
She didn't, anyway. It wasn't real. There must have been something strange going on – there's no way she would shoot him, not even in a simulation. After all, neither of them knew it was a simulation until after she did it.
When he finally hears the knock on the door, he sags in relief. He knows that's Clarke – and yeah, sure, maybe recognising his good friend by how she knocks on the door is a little ridiculous, but he's done more absurd things out of love for her before now.
"Come in." He calls, more relieved than warm.
She opens the door, peers around it. She takes in the music, eyes flickering to the speaker by his bedside. She enters, closes the door with painstaking care behind her.
And then she dives straight in. Of course she does – she's Clarke Griffin.
"I shot you." She says, voice trembling.
"It wasn't real."
"It felt real."
He doesn't argue back. He can't, because he agrees with her. It felt terrifyingly real, and he's absolutely certain he will never forget it.
He wonders what to do, seeing as he has nothing to say. He would normally hug her in a situation like this, he thinks. But he shouldn't hug her today, because he's pretty sure there are cameras in this room. And anyway, he surprises himself by noticing that he doesn't much want to hug her, in this moment. He supposes he could use a hug in as much as he's scared and feels funny, but for some reason he has no particular desire to hug Clarke.
That's odd, he's pretty sure. Every time he can remember seeing her upset before – the day of the death wave, or the day she lost her mother, for example – he's been desperate to offer her the shelter and comfort of his arms.
As hugging is out, he decides to get on with something useful.
"We need to decide what to do." He tells her briskly.
She freezes, visibly stunned, staring hard. "This isn't you." She mutters, audibly frightened. "Why are you being so... harsh? What happened, Bellamy? Did they get to you for real? Why are you not... what's wrong?"
He wonders where that question was going. He wonders if she was about to ask why he's not hugging her, or comforting her, or loving her.
He thinks he might have forgotten how to do those things.
He sets about answering her panicked questions in a rather cautious and confused fashion. "I don't think they got to me. I don't really know, Clarke. I don't feel right and I just want to fix it and get out of here."
At once, she brightens. That's odd, he thinks. Why does she look happy about him feeling like crap?
"I feel all wrong too." She confides to him. "Not ill, really. Just – cold. Like that time my head wasn't in a good place after Mount Weather, only worse."
He nods, encouraging. He recognises that description.
"It's like I've forgotten how to feel. Like I'm cut off from emotions, or something?"
"Yeah. It's like that for me too." He tells her eagerly. He and Clarke have always been a team – he knows that, even if he doesn't truly feel it in this moment. Maybe if they're both struggling with the same problem now, they can help each other out this time, too.
She nods, looking happier than he's seen her since she walked in here. "OK. We can work with this. I figure they must have done something – no way you just forget how to have feelings without a good reason." He doesn't like her emphasis, there.
"You have feelings too." He reminds her softly. It's the closest thing he can manage to a hug, right now, between how he's doing and the threat of cameras. "I know sometimes leadership gets in the way, but you're kind, Clarke. Don't ever doubt it."
She doesn't even attempt to smile at his words. She dashes away a few tears instead. He curses himself, realises that maybe the immediate aftermath of her shooting him is not the best time to try to convince her she's one of the good guys.
Clarke being Clarke, she presses on with the plan. "I want to check whether they put something in the fluids they gave us. There was something strange going on there. And if I tell them I was a medical apprentice on the Ark and never finished my training and want to start a life as a doctor here with them, that should keep them quiet, right?"
"You're going to play along? Figure this out from the inside?" He's pretty sure that's usually his job. He's not sure what his job is, if Clarke's doing that.
"Yeah. I'll see what I can find out from medical. Do you want to tell them you'll join the Disciples and see what you can find out there?"
He doesn't take orders from Clarke, of course. But over the time they've known each other she's developed this rather neat way of telling him what to do without ever shaping it quite like an order. He therefore hears the wisdom of her words and nods.
"I don't much want to." He points out, with the slightest hint of cynical humour. "But yeah, that sounds like a plan."
She nods briskly. "Great. That should get us started. Check back in with each other every few days? I guess I should start listening to music." She says, with a nod at his less-than-sophisticated cover for their conversation.
"Yeah. Take care, Clarke."
There's an horrendous pause. He doesn't think a pause between himself and Clarke has ever been horrendous before, in all the time he's known her. But there's simply no other word to describe this moment, as they stare awkwardly at each other, and Clarke shuffles her feet. He's never seen her do that in her life before, and he doesn't like it.
"I'm sorry for shooting you." She bursts out, in the end.
"Clarke -"
"I'm so, so sorry." She shakes her head, scattering tears. "I can't believe – I can't – I'm sorry."
"I can't give you a hug. I'm sorry. I want to." He explains. For the first time since she entered the room, that's more than half way to the truth. Something about watching her properly break down has got through to him, somehow, reminded him that he's in love with her – or at least, that he was, and will be, outside of this living nightmare.
"I'm sorry." She repeats, helpless, shaking.
"Clarke. I forgive you. You're forgiven. I'm sorry for betraying you, in that simulation. I think – there's a lot going on here, OK? When we've figured this out and we've got our friends safely out of here we'll have that hug and we'll be able to talk about what happened."
She's still weeping.
"Clarke." He repeats her name yet again, and yet again she barely reacts. "We always forgive each other, you and me. That's who we are. So let's forgive each other for this, and find a way to put it right."
That works, at least a little. That has her nodding, looking a little more steady.
And then she turns and opens the door, steps through and leaves the room. He watches her go, still visibly upset, still painfully unhugged.
That's it. That's the moment he really feels something, for the first time since that damn simulation. He wants to comfort Clarke, wants to hold her close and make it better.
That ought to be an emotion that hurts, he's pretty sure. But in this moment, he's overjoyed to be feeling anything at all.
…...
Clarke doesn't find all the answers she is looking for on her first day in med bay. She finds a set of crisp white scrubs laid out for her, and a number of less-than-friendly doctors and nurses ready to show her the ropes. She thinks white is a stupid colour for scrubs, as it happens, but everything in this damn place seems to be totally lacking in colour, from the white walls to the too-toneless voices of the residents.
Her heart ought to ache for her mum at this point, she's pretty sure. For Jackson, for the kind nurses back on the Ark – all dead now. For literally anyone warm she's ever worked alongside in medical matters before.
But her heart still seems to be pretty uninterested, somehow.
She sets about starting her new job with close attention, precise accuracy, painstaking care. She follows every instruction she is given to the letter, and avoids asking difficult questions.
And at last, when her shift is over, a young woman with a rather bland expression on her face catches Clarke by the lockers.
"I'm Davey." She announces.
If this were any other situation, Clarke would try to make real conversation, here. She'd comment that Davey was an unusual name for a woman on the Ark, perhaps, and ask more about the culture of Bardo.
But of course, this is not the time for that.
"Clarke." She introduces herself meekly, stretching out her hand.
"You were good back there – very neat sutures."
"I've had a lot of practice." Clarke admits. It ought to be a sad thought, but her emotions are still misfiring.
"I can see. Do you want to head to supper together?" Davey asks, tone level, eyes blank. Clarke wonders what the hell is wrong with all these people.
But she agrees to head to supper without asking further questions. She may not have found her answers, today. But she thinks she may well have found the person she will get her answers from, in time.
…...
Bellamy doesn't find all the answers he's looking for in his first week as a Disciple.
In fact, he finds only more questions. Questions like why does this feel so right? And why does this feel so wrong? Somehow, those two questions coexist in perfect disharmony.
The thing is, he quite likes the idea of light and hope and transcending to a better place. All the places he's been have been pretty crap, all things considered. Apart from Clarke's arms, he seems to remember. But he's not experienced that for a little while, so it's hard to be sure.
He doesn't like the Shepherd, though. And he doesn't like this strange numbness, which has now endured long enough to convince him that it goes far beyond shock at watching Clarke shoot him in that simulation. He sure hopes Clarke is finding some answers in med bay, because he's got nothing here. Nothing except cold loneliness and deep confusion.
He decides to go see her. He's not seen her for a couple of days, and he wants a report on her progress.
He also wants to know if she's doing OK – or maybe he wants to want to know if she's doing OK? It's hard to tell. He knows he would want to know if he were feeling his usual self, and that's what counts, surely?
He can already hear the music as he walks down the hallway towards her room. He smiles to himself, ever so slightly. He wonders whether she put that on in the hopes he would pop by for a chat, whether she feels as uncomfortable without his presence as he does without his usual connection to her. Or maybe she just plays loud music all the time now – that does seem like the kind of logic-over-comfort thing she would do.
He knocks, firm and forceful. He hopes she can hear him over the music.
"Come in." She calls loudly.
He opens the door, slips inside. His first impression on entering the room is not a positive one. Clarke looks absolutely exhausted, he thinks, with dark shadows under her eyes. And her eyes themselves look all wrong – sort of empty, staring slightly, some combination of tiredness and horror that makes him want to cry.
Huh. That's encouraging. That seems to be him having another emotional reaction to Clarke. Maybe this really will all go back to normal, one day.
"How are you doing?" He asks, because asking whether she's OK seems like a frankly rude question when she so obviously isn't.
"I'm just tired." She lies – at least, he's pretty certain it's a lie. "I need to work hard at this and impress them, to make as many useful friends as I can."
He hesitates. "Yes. I know. But you need to look after yourself too. Remember to get some rest."
"I'll rest when we're out of here and everyone we care about is safe."
He doesn't like that. Because someone he cares about a great deal – or would care about, if he could find it in himself to care at all – is putting herself in danger here and now, as far as he can see.
"Clarke. Be smart. Think about it. We'll never get out of here if you're too exhausted to figure out what's going on."
She gulps audibly, looks up at him. "Isn't that my line?"
It takes him a moment to figure it out. To process what she's said and why she's said it, to understand that she's pointing out that cold pragmatism is not his usual approach to life.
"I mean – I don't want you to get burnt out." He amends. That's the truth, after all – or rather, it would be the truth, he's pretty sure. It would be the truth in any time or place but this.
"Thanks, Bellamy." She smiles a tired smile. "How are you feeling?"
"About the same. So I guess it's not just the shock." He sighs loudly, takes a seat on the bed. "I guess – maybe a little better. I don't like seeing you upset, now. That's – that's more human than I felt at first."
She nods. "It's like that for me. I'm starting to feel more... invested in helping people in med bay."
There's a pause. She's frowning as if she has something more to say. He does her the politeness of waiting, because shooting or no shooting some part of his heart is still functioning well enough to want the best for her.
"I'm missing you, too. That's – that's been creeping up on me more, these last few days." She murmurs softly.
He looks at her, hard. He can't help it. He's always a little taken aback when Clarke says things that imply she feels something for him. He can still remember that conversation they shared on the shore near Becca's island as the world was ending, the way he felt simply stunned by her so easily saying he was special.
He's not quite feeling stunned, today. That's too strong of an emotion for him, right now. But he is at least slightly struck by her words.
"I'm missing you, too." He assures her softly. "I'm missing things being normal between us most of all. And it's not just how I feel about you. I see my sister at meals and around the place, and I don't feel warm towards her, either."
Clarke nods. "At least it's not just me." She says weakly.
"No. Of course it's not. It's -"
"A joke, Bellamy." She clarifies. "Not a good one – sorry. I wouldn't blame you if it was just me you felt like that towards, after what I did."
"What you did in a nightmare." He insists, firm.
She smiles weakly at him. "It's going to be a good hug, when all this is through."
"Obviously." He agrees, feeling himself even grin slightly at the thought. "All our hugs are good."
He remembers that. It's about all he can remember of love, right now.
…...
Clarke has been carefully befriending Davey for a good couple of weeks, now. It hasn't been easy, seeing as the people of Bardo do not appear to believe in friendship – and seeing as she honestly doesn't feel very friendly herself, right this moment. But she's done her best, seeking Davey out at meals and in the break room in med bay, and she thinks that they are about as close as two people in Bardo could ever be.
That's not saying much.
All the same, she gathers her courage and presses on. Today Clarke and Davey have been assigned to treat a young man with nausea and vomiting.
Perfect.
"I think we should put him on one of those drips so he doesn't get dehydrated." Clarke says carefully. "You know, the pink stuff. Remind me what you call it round here?"
"The Light." Davey answers, immediately and with conviction.
"That's it. The Light. Do you think that's the right call? That will stop him getting dehydrated, won't it?"
"Yes. And it will make him strong. The Light keeps all of us strong."
"What do you mean? I've only seen it in med bay." Clarke says, carefully casual, keeping her hands and eyes busy tending to the patient as if her question is unimportant.
"Did the Public Health team not tell you when you started in medical? It's in the water." Davey says, like this is just common knowledge around here.
"That's very sensible. We had fluoride in the water on the Ark for strong teeth." Clarke offers lightly.
"The Light's like that." Davey agrees instantly. "The third generation of Disciples discovered it a century or more ago. It's a blend of minerals found here on Bardo – it gives us strong teeth and bones and muscles, but strong souls, too."
Aha. Jackpot. This is just what Clarke was looking for.
"Strong souls? It makes you brave?"
"Yes. It gives us confidence in the Shepherd and the strength of will to do his bidding without selfishness." Davey recites, as if she has learnt it at medical school. "That's why we call it the Light."
"That sounds like exactly what this young man needs right now." Clarke says smoothly. "Can you run and fetch some?"
She tries to keep a lid on her excitement for the rest of the day. She treats her patient carefully, and as compassionately as she can manage while some mysterious drug is giving her strength of will in place of actual human feelings. She figures that's what's going on here – all that propaganda about strength is surely just a cover for some kind of drug that is somehow blocking her emotions. Honestly, she thinks the chemistry of that could be fascinating if she had the leisure to study it rather than a pressing need to save her people. It really is a masterstroke on Cadogan's part, to drug the water and turn all these people into emotionless loyal robots.
It makes so much sense of how she felt in that simulation, and how she's been feeling since. She was on a high dose of it, then, from the drip in her arm. And since then she's been on a lower dose through the water, the excess of the drug gradually leaving her system.
That's why she can almost remember she cares about Madi and Bellamy, these days.
As soon as her shift is over, she strides to the water distribution pipes where Echo tried to add the gem-nine in that simulation. She presumes the geography of Bardo is the same now as it ever was in her living nightmare. And honestly, for a woman whose emotions are being suppressed she's feeling positively giddy right now. She can't wait to take the good news back to Bellamy and see him look at her with something like pride instead of only sadness.
But then she hits a stumbling block. There is no sign, here, of a pink drug known as the Light. There is no sign of tampering with the water supply of any kind – only the pumps roaring and the water being divided and distributed around the bunker.
Well, then. That's a stumbling block and a half. Looks like Bellamy won't be so proud of her after all.
…...
Bellamy is proud of Clarke when she explains what's going on. It's a feeling that catches him by surprise, but in a good way – a little peep of personal attachment peeking above the parapet these monsters have built across his mind.
"So that's it! That's the solution!" He cries, feeling positively giddy.
Crap. He hopes no one heard that over the music.
"I mean – that's why we can't love any more." He continues more quietly.
Clarke looks at him then. She just looks, but it's a loaded look that somehow resembles the ones they used to share.
Too late, he realises his implicit confession. "I mean – I noticed that from how I feel about O. I don't love her like I usually do." He explains, flustered.
Clarke isn't impressed. She's got her eyes narrowed at him thoughtfully, as if she can see right through him. Probably that's because she can, he realises with a sense of resignation.
It doesn't matter. He wants her to know, one day. But he doesn't want her to know here and now in the middle of enemy territory. And most of all he doesn't want to tell her he loves her when he can't actually feel it right now. That would be a sad state of affairs for a moment that ought to be joyful, he thinks.
He moves the conversation on.
"What can I do to help? We need to find where they're adding this drug, don't we?"
"I'll ask Raven to get on the engineering side of things. Maybe she can make a new friend and get access to the plans of this place. I guess you – just keep being the inside man." She offers.
Just keep being the inside man. Typical. Has he not spent enough of his life wearing other people's uniform, yet?
He's on the point of snapping at Clarke when he realises something – at least frustration and anger are emotions too. At least this is the high dose of drugs he received in the simulation gradually ebbing away from him.
He gathers himself, looks into her tired eyes, and tries with everything in him to remember how it feels to love her.
"OK. I'll see if I can learn anything useful." He says simply. "Take care of yourself."
"You, too."
He seems to remember they used to take care of each other through actual actions rather than empty words. But maybe they can learn how to do that once again when they're out from under the influence of the Light.
…...
Clarke doesn't know what to do.
It's a week since she learnt about the drugged water supply, and she's no closer to finding a solution. She has asked Raven to take a look at it from an engineering point of view and now there's nothing more she can do than wait and keep her ear to the ground.
The other problem leaving her a bit lost for ideas is Bellamy. She knows it's probably wrong to be focussing so heavily on his wellbeing when others of their people are also here – Octavia and Echo cannot be finding this unscheduled trip any easier. But she allows herself to worry about him more, partly because he was actually in the simulation with her, after all. He's had a harder time than the others, the burden of their shared leadership following him even to the ends of the universe.
The other reason she allows herself to worry about him more? She hopes it might be a sign that she's starting to love him again. She's been feeling more human, this week. She's not sure whether that's the higher dose she had in the simulation still working its way out of her system or whether she is subconsciously fighting the numbness, now that she knows she's been drugged.
So that's why she's determined to do something to lift Bellamy's spirits. Something seemed off, she thought, in that conversation where she told him about the Light. Sure, he seemed happy that she had made progress, but between his flustered denial of having ever loved her and the cold look in his eyes when she suggested he should keep acting the devoted Disciple, she's a bit worried about him. And she hasn't seem him since, apart from passing nods at meals.
She wants to take him to the oxygen farm, for something resembling fresh air and outdoor exercise, but she just needs an excuse to get him out there.
She fabricates it a little, but bases it on truth. That's how all the best lies work, isn't it? She approaches the head doctor with a well thought-out story.
"Bellamy Blake is due a check-up for an old injury." She says, tone carefully level in imitation of the way all these loyal sheep seem to speak.
"Oh? That's not appearing on our records." The head doctor says, sounding more confused by the apparent technical failure than alarmed at Clarke's initiative.
"No. I don't think the people who came from Sanctum have all their details on the system yet." She says, carefully casual. "It was a deep stab wound to the upper part of the leg. I need to check how his hip mobility is doing as it heals."
"You need to check?"
"I thought it would be simpler as I treated the initial injury." She didn't, actually, but these people don't need to know that. "I'll test the leg, then take him for a walk somewhere and see how he copes when the leg is tired. Is there somewhere like that where patients can take exercise?"
"You can take him to the oxygen farm. I'll expect a full report. We need to update these medical records. Can't have gaps in the system."
"Yes. Of course. You're absolutely right."
She tells Bellamy the good news at supper that evening. In a carefully neutral voice she explains that she will be meeting him at his room tomorrow morning to check on his old injury, and he should expect a walk.
He tries not to smile at that. She can see it in his eyes, in the tension lining his jaw as he tries to keep a straight face, and it makes her want to hug him more than ever.
One of these days, if all turns out for the best, she might never have to let go.
…...
Bellamy can't believe Clarke organised all this. He's walking around the oxygen farm, chatting to her in an eager whisper. Moments like this make it very easy to remember that he loves her, usually.
"You made up an entire story about hip mobility just so I could get some fresh air?" He asks her, awestruck.
"I didn't make it up. I really do want to check how your leg is doing. You shouldn't be running around saving the world again so soon after I cut you."
"I haven't saved shit yet." He says, cynical, but laughing at himself slightly at least.
Clarke turns to him with a sad smile. "Don't say that. Pretty sure I remember you saving me."
He nods, lets her have that one. He did save her back on Sanctum, but that feels like a lifetime ago now.
"I'm sorry if you don't feel like you're achieving much here." She continues. "I don't, either. I guess we just have to wait for Raven."
"At least you're treating people in med bay. I'm still not sure what the point of a Disciple is." He gives a wry laugh. "I just spend the whole day praying to a god I don't believe in. Is Cadogan a god? Or more a prophet?"
Clarke only shrugs.
He leaves that topic aside. Clarke has done a lovely, caring thing for him here. She's brought him on an excursion and made a point of telling him she doesn't think he's worthless. He thinks that might be the kindest thing anyone has done for him in centuries, actually. Isn't that a pathetic thought?
He decides to have a go at repaying her in kind. To try being the uplifting and supportive right-hand-man he used to aim to be for her, back on Earth.
"We'll be OK, Clarke. You've figured out the biggest part. We can be patient and figure out the rest. The time dilation is so big Madi won't even have had time to worry about you yet."
She nods heavily.
"And who knows when you'll be able to invent an excuse for us to walk out here again? Let's make the most of it while we can. Do you think you need to test how my leg copes with running? I can race you to that big tree over there." He suggests, pointing, trying to infuse his tone with joy.
It works. She laughs slightly, turns to look at him. "No. As your doctor, I can't allow that."
"I don't take orders from you." He teases back in turn.
She sighs, gives an exaggerated shake of the head. And so it is that he doesn't run anywhere, but rather continues to walk in a slightly more buoyant mood.
…...
Clarke goes to see Raven. That excursion with Bellamy and the conversation with the head doctor has given her the perfect pretext, she figures – the need to update Raven's medical record.
So it is that they talk a little about Raven's leg and her heart, her history with the chip and with the ice bath treatment. But before long, and under the cover of music, they get onto the topic Clarke is really here for.
The layout of the water system.
"They're not drugging it at the distribution point." Raven shrugs. "I figure they're putting it in right at the start, straight after they've purified it. That would explain why they're so keen to keep the exact plans of their water treatment works a secret."
"It seems like only the doctors know about the Light." Clarke offers.
"And the most senior Disciples, I'm betting. So we should presume it will be well-hidden behind a locked door."
"We've got you and Miller to deal with locked doors." Clarke points out, trying to sound encouraging.
"Yeah. I just need to figure out which locked door we're looking at. I've ruled some out already. We'll get there, don't you worry."
That's an interesting one, Clarke thinks. Don't you worry. She's honestly beginning to miss feeling anxious about her daughter and her friends all the damn time.
At least she knew she was truly human, then.
…...
Bellamy lets it go, the first time he sees Levitt sneaking an entire bottle of fruit juice out of the dining hall under his robe. He's no stranger to stealing food, after all, given his history with his sister. He supposes Levitt has his reasons.
The second time he sees it, he decides to find out what's going on. He's never seen anyone on Bardo break the rules before now, so to see the same man break them twice is an interesting development. And he's noticed before now that it seems like Levitt and Octavia are closer than most people are to anyone, round here, so he wonders whether these things are linked.
He follows Levitt out of the dining hall and invites him to stop by his room – where, as always, music is playing to block out the sound of their conversation.
Levitt looks rather like a cornered rabbit, Bellamy thinks. His eyes are wide and fearful, his movements shifty. But he enters the room through frightened obedience if nothing else.
Bellamy does not beat about the bush.
"Fruit juice is precious round here." Bellamy says, eyes narrowed. "One glass a day for each of us. I'm sure there's a reason you've got a whole bottle of it up your robe."
Levitt stands stock still, but his hands shake. "I'm sorry. I'll – I'll -"
"Relax. I've stolen food in my time. I won't turn you in. I just think it's interesting that in a law-abiding society you're stealing juice. And it doesn't look to me like it's the first time you've tried it. You knew what you were doing. What's going on?"
Levitt frowns, then opens his mouth, then closes it again. He takes a deep breath, then speaks at last.
"I just really hate the taste of water."
Bellamy laughs. He cannot help it. He sure as hell wasn't expecting such an innocent, almost childlike response as that. And he's laughing, too, because he thinks that this sounds like a recipe for serious tooth decay, and he thinks that's a little joke Clarke would appreciate, if she were here.
Levitt relaxes slightly at the sound, and continues to explain himself. "I've always really hated it, since I was a kid. So I guess I got good at stealing juice. I dilute it with water so it still tastes more like juice. Half and half, more or less. Look, I know it's a pathetic reason to commit a crime but -"
"Relax. I'm not turning you in." Bellamy repeats. He's certainly not turning Levitt in, because he's already working through the implications of this development and seeing some conclusions he rather likes.
Clarke would be proud of him, he thinks. Or at least, she would if she could feel pride, right now.
The way he sees it, Levitt has been receiving a half-dose of the Light his entire life, if what he says about the fruit juice is true. That's probably why he feels enough of a rebel to keep stealing the juice, actually. And why he became attached to Octavia when personal attachments are unacceptable here, and why he looked so fearful when Bellamy invited him in to talk.
In short, Levitt has more emotions than anyone else here. And Bellamy intends to make use of that.
He starts by telling him the truth.
"Levitt. I think we can help each other, here. I'll keep quiet about the juice if you'll keep quiet about what I'm going to tell you."
Levitt nods, willing. Bellamy is almost starting to feel hopeful.
"The water round here is drugged. They put a chemical in it which makes you braver and stronger but stops you feeling human emotions like love and fear. I think – I think that's why you like Octavia." He says, wondering exactly how much he likes her. "Because you've always drunk fruit juice you've had less of the drug."
"I love her." Levitt says, at once and with conviction. "Sorry – she tells me you can be overprotective. I should maybe have not started with that."
Bellamy smiles reassuringly. "Honestly, that's the best news I've heard all week. You love her. You want to work with me to help everyone round here learn to love again?"
Levitt nods eagerly. "Yes. Definitely. I worry that – that Octavia doesn't seem so interested in me, these last couple of weeks."
"That's the drug getting to her." Bellamy explains. "Now she's been here a while, I guess it's setting in. But she'll be back to normal once we cut off the supply."
At least, he sure hopes she will. It's strange to think of his little sister being without love. She's always been defined by love, in his estimation – her love for him as big brother, the way she fell for Lincoln at first sight and then Levitt, too, apparently.
He shakes that thought off. They'll get her back. They'll get everyone back.
"What do you need me to do?" Levitt asks, determined and serious.
Bellamy allows himself a small smile. "Do you know how we can get hold of the plans for the water treatment system?"
…...
Clarke is pleased with the way things are progressing now, more or less. They have Levitt on side, and he thinks he can get hold of the plans. Raven is confident that she can shut off the supply of the Light, little by little, so that no one experiences sudden and dangerous withdrawal.
There's just one thing she's not pleased about. Bellamy is visiting her too often.
It's not that she doesn't like seeing him, obviously – or rather, she would like seeing him if she liked much of anything. She just thinks it's irresponsible that he's suddenly started visiting her so often in the week since he added Levitt to the team. If anyone is watching their behaviour, this will seem suspicious indeed. It will be taken as a sign that they are suddenly up to something.
She's tried dropping hints about this, reminding him to be cautious and subtle. But he seems determined in an almost aggressive way she does not like, recently.
So tonight, she fears, she's just going to have to lay it out for him.
"You shouldn't come here so often. It's not safe." She tells him, trying to keep her tone soft.
He's hurt. She can see it right away. "You're saying you don't want to see me?" He asks bitterly.
She takes a deep breath, reminds herself that this is just the Light warring with Bellamy's naturally loving heart. He's hurt – that's a sign he's still himself, deep inside.
"Of course I want to see you. I just want to keep us all safe." She explains, in what she hopes is a calming tone.
"Liar. I can't remember the last time you sought me out. If you wanted to see me -"
"I love you." She cuts him off abruptly. "You must have figured that out by now. So don't you dare claim I don't want to see you. I am trying to protect you – and all our people." She bites out.
His jaw is tense as he replies, rather more quietly, but no less bitter. "No you don't. You don't love me. You don't love anyone, remember? That's why we're stuck here."
"You know what I mean. I loved you. I will love you again when we're done here."
Silence falls. She lets it. This entire experience is so frustrating. She thinks that, in moments like this, she'd rather take on Mount Weather again. At least no one was messing with her mind, there.
"I will love you, too." Bellamy mutters at length. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know you're doing your best. I just – turns out if you take away love from me all you're left with is anger."
She smiles thinly. She's not sure it can be called anger – that sounds like an emotion. But Bellamy has always been one to fight for the people he cares about, and apparently since Bardo stripped away his ability to care all that is left is useless aggression.
That's the Light – making people strong. What a joke. A cruel and totally unamusing joke.
"Add another hug to the list I owe you. Please." He begs. "I'm so sorry. I just want to feel like myself again."
"We're going to have to spend several days hugging at this rate." Clarke jokes weakly.
He gives a hollow laugh. "Honestly, that sounds like heaven right now."
…...
Levitt finds the plans. Miller picks the lock. Raven starts cutting off the Light.
Bellamy only knows about this from stilted whispered conversations at the dinner table. He has been taking care not to visit anyone since Clarke pointed out that might look suspicious. He sees the logic in her suggestion, really he does. He's just feeling angry and cold and confused and craves seeing her. It's about the only way he can seem to remind himself he's still human, these days.
No. That's not true. He doesn't only know about cutting off the Light from what he has heard from his friends. He knows because he's starting to feel a little more emotional, too – more angry and frustrated than purely aggressive.
He knows, too, because Clarke has started occasionally playing footsie with him under the supper table. It's a little thing, but it brings him no small amount of hope.
…...
Clarke is confused when Bellamy shows up in med bay with blood dripping from his forearm. Confused, and also really quite alarmed.
That'll be the Light leaving her system, then.
She's not seen him so much since that difficult conversation about love and distance. Well, she's not seen him to really talk to – they've sometimes touched toes under the dining table, and the light in his eyes is looking more normal. But she's not entirely sure what's going on with him, and now he's bleeding all over med bay and that doesn't make her worry about him any less.
"What happened?" She asks, taking him to a treatment room.
"I got cut training with my sister." He says carefully.
She frowns, narrows her eyes at him. He's never got cut training with his sister before. In her experience, he only gets hurt by his sister when he allows it or even wants it, when he thinks he deserves it or she needs it or -
Oh god. He's done this deliberately, hasn't he? He's gone and got himself cut just to visit her here. What a stupid, self-sacrificing idiot.
She purses her lips. "How unfortunate." She deadpans, reaching for a swab to press against the bleeding.
"Yes. A very unfortunate accident." He says, laughter brewing in his voice now. She hopes she is the only person in this bunker who knows him well enough to hear that.
She frowns more deeply. Hurting himself to be allowed to see her is not healthy, she's pretty sure. She remembers doing a similar thing back in Mount Weather, once upon a time. At least then there was a real reason for it. She wonders whether he has a reason now, whether there's something he needs to tell her.
She'll have to make an excuse to visit him tonight, she figures.
With that decided, she gets to work on treating the wound. It's a pretty superficial one, at least. Further proof that it was planned rather than a genuine accident, she muses. She can't talk to Bellamy about anything of substance while she works – indeed, she is careful not to talk to him too much at all, because she knows that would rouse suspicion. But it's strangely soothing just to be able to touch him while she heals him, to feel his warm skin and strong arm. Even if she's only able to touch him because he's hurt, it's better to have some human contact than nothing at all.
He feels much the same way. She can sense it in the tiny, subconscious clues. The way his breathing and pulse have slowed since he got here. The way his pupils are blown wide as he watches her work.
Looks like both of them are feeling a little more human, these days.
When his wound is dressed, she goes towards the medication cupboard. She makes a great show of searching it carefully and for a long time.
"Oh dear. I don't seem to have the medicine I wanted to send you away with." She says, in the resigned tone she thinks a true Bardoan would use.
"How unfortunate." Bellamy deadpans, apparently in an impression of her earlier words.
She feels her lips quirk, desperately represses her giggles. "I suppose I'll have to find some and bring it to you later today."
"Thank you. That's kind." He says neutrally, ever the perfect Disciple.
"You can leave now. I'll bring your medication over in a couple of hours when my shift ends."
"Thank you." He says again, standing up and heading for the door.
Honestly, she almost pinches his ass as he passes. It's the strangest impulse – she's never felt a great need to do that before now. Sure, she's always been aware he has a nice ass, but she was more fascinated by his face and neck and chest. But since he's spent these last fifteen minutes being so shamelessly cheeky, she thinks maybe a little butt slap or pinch might be just the thing.
Wow. That's definitely progress.
…...
Bellamy is pretty excited at the idea of Clarke coming to see him that afternoon. And then he gets excited in turn about his excitement, in an odd sort of way. He's simply overjoyed to be feeling such a transparently emotional response to the idea of spending time with her.
She's as good as her word. She shows up with his medication ostentatiously clasped in one hand, smiling a carefully neutral smile. She's getting good at acting the part of a citizen of Bardo, these days. But there's something about the light in her eyes that has him increasingly convinced she's starting to feel again, too.
"Please tell me you didn't cut yourself just to get into med bay to see me." She begins admonishing him.
"I didn't cut myself. O did it. We had to make it look like a convincing accident."
She frowns. "Bellamy -"
"I know. It's not something I plan to make a habit of, OK? I'm fine, I promise. I just got the idea from that story you once told me about Mount Weather. I needed to see you and that seemed like a way to make that happen."
"You needed to see me?" She presses, eyes interested.
Yes. He did need to see her. He's been feeling an increasing need to see her, recently, in fact. He supposes that's his heart learning how to love once again.
But the answer he gives her is a slightly different one.
"Levitt told me an interesting rumour today. Two Disciples caught making out in a storage closet. I thought you'd want to know. That means that cutting off the Light is working, right?"
Clarke looks pleased about that, he thinks, but tries to flatten her expression for the sake of the cameras. "That's great news. Raven's cut it off completely now. We should all be feeling pretty normal in a couple of weeks' time, judging by what I've seen of the drug's effects in med bay."
He nods. "Honestly, I'm already feeling a lot more normal." He admits.
"Yeah. Me too." She sucks in a careful breath. "You know, what you just said about Levitt has given me an idea. We don't need to take out Cadogan and Anders. If the Disciples are already starting to remember how to love, they'll want to change things round here themselves."
"There were people who wanted to change things in Mount Weather." Bellamy remembers sadly. "People who helped us."
"Yeah. So we do better this time." Clarke suggests. "We spread the truth about the Light to them and we help them change things round here peacefully."
He smiles at her. He can't help it. He knows he probably looks transparently lovestruck, if anyone is monitoring the security camera in his room right now. But that's because he feels pretty lovestruck, in this moment, listening to her talk about doing better and learning from their mistakes. And the fire in her eyes looks rather more genuinely Clarke than he's seen her look in weeks, certainly nothing at all like the stranger wearing her face who shot him in that simulation.
"This is going to work." He tells her with conviction. "We're going to fix this, then we're going to head home and live in peace."
"And we're going to love each other." She says, as if that's not even in doubt.
She's probably onto something, he decides, as he makes an affirming sort of a noise. He's never been more confident of anything than he is that he will love Clarke when all's said and done.
…...
Clarke knows that cutting off the Light is working. Even if she didn't have Levitt's report via Bellamy of Disciples going rogue, she would be able to tell it just from the looks in the eyes of those around her, and from the state of her own emotions.
She's really starting to mourn her mother. That sucks, the grief crashing in on her now the strange numbness is passed. And she's worrying sharply about Madi, fretting over whether she is safe back in Sanctum.
She tries to focus on her task. She concentrates on whispering the truth about the Light to carefully selected individuals – Davey and Echo, Octavia and each of the med bay nurses, one at a time. And before long it's spreading, and by the time she makes mention of it to her next-door neighbour, she finds that the woman has already heard about it from a nurse she ate breakfast with this morning.
Success.
Clarke's not ready to feel confident just yet, though. She really is worrying a lot about Madi, feeling desperate to get home and live a peaceful family life.
That's why she fabricates an excuse to go see Bellamy. He's never had a flu jab in his life, as far as she is aware, so she decides he's having one now. No one in med bay even argues with the idea of her doing a home visit to give a flu jab to a healthy man not yet thirty. That is proof if any were needed, she thinks, that the residents of Bardo are already losing their unnatural respect for the rules.
She knocks on his door, hopes to high heaven he's home. She can hear the music, so she guesses he must be inside. Unless he just leaves that on all the time, these days, permanently hoping that she'll stop by?
No. That's a silly notion. To leave music on while he's not even home wouldn't be romantic. It would just be incredibly foolish.
"Come in." He calls, and he sounds confused.
He looks even more puzzled when she opens the door to reveal it's her and walks right inside.
"What are you doing here?" He asks, transparently overjoyed. "I wasn't expecting to see you. Come on in."
"I'm here to give you a flu jab." She says, holding the precious needle in its packaging.
He laughs. "Sure you are. You actually going to stick that thing in my arm?"
"Of course I am." She sits at his side, pulls his sleeve up and starts cleaning the skin of his upper arm. "Partly to keep our cover. But also because I figure we may as well make the most of the free medication while we're here. I don't want to get you safely home to Sanctum only to have to nurse you through the flu." She says, teasing.
He doesn't tease her back in kind. Rather, he turns to look at her with soft eyes. "You know, I don't think you wiped my arm enough yet. Could you just – touch it a bit longer?"
She smiles gently. She knows how he feels. Honestly, she would do almost anything for a hug right now. And he's right, having this excuse for a little physical contact is better than nothing. So it is that she spends a moment simply stroking her fingers up and down his arm.
"We're going for the jab now." She says, when she has stroked his bare skin as long as she dares. "This will sting."
He doesn't make a fuss about the sting. He doesn't so much as flinch. And then she's pressing a little cotton pad to the tiny puncture wound, holding his thickly muscled arm cradled in her hand.
"You know, I don't think the bleeding is going to stop for a long time. I think we might have to sit here like this for several minutes." She jokes, rubbing a gentle thumb over his bare skin.
He laughs. "You're incredible, you know that? You think next time you can invent a medical excuse to see me that involves some actual hugging?"
"I'll do my best." She says lightly.
Silence sits. For a moment, she lets it lie there. It's nice and peaceful to simply be here, in this moment, with Bellamy's living warmth beneath her fingers.
But then he speaks up.
"Is there a reason I needed a flu jab today?" He asks pointedly.
"I just really needed to see you." She admits. "I'm missing my Mum and worrying about Madi. And – and I still feel so guilty about shooting you in that simulation. Sometimes I wonder whether I would really have done it in the real world, if they drugged me with this Light long enough."
"If they drugged you and then you shot me, it wouldn't be you shooting me." He tells her fervently.
"Bellamy -"
"No, Clarke. Hear me out. You would never shoot me. We both know that. You couldn't do it if you were really yourself. So if they had drugged you and you shot me for real, it wouldn't be you shooting me. Just like in the simulation, that wasn't really you. Any Clarke who shot me would have to be drugged or unwell or – I don't know – under some kind of extreme pressure. You wouldn't be yourself." He concludes, impassioned and over half way to crying, she thinks.
She strokes at his arm a little longer and tries not to weep herself. "Thanks, Bellamy. Thank you. I – I hope you're right."
"I am." He says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Just like I would have to be not myself to not love you." He tells her warmly.
She feels her cheeks flush. Never mind hugging – she wonders whether maybe even some kissing, or perhaps still more than that, might be on the cards when they get out of here.
"I'm feeling almost myself again." She says carefully.
"Yeah. Me too." He agrees. "Why d'you think I was begging you to stroke my arm?" He asks pointedly.
She laughs, louder and longer than she probably should. Maybe she'll have to spend a lot of evenings getting Bellamy's vaccination programme up to date, over the next few weeks.
…...
For once in his long and frustrating life, Bellamy gets what he wants.
He's just lying on his bed, fully clothed and wondering whether Clarke might be able to fabricate a medical excuse to see him tonight, when the door bursts open to reveal Levitt and Octavia, hand in hand.
"Cadogan and Anders are in prison. Citizens' arrest." Octavia explains.
"Disciple Doucette led the coup. He says he wants a more compassionate Bardo. Can you believe that?" Levitt enthuses, practically dancing on the spot.
Bellamy jumps out of bed, starts hugging them both enthusiastically. He knows Doucette a little, and always got the impression he was very much loyal to Cadogan. If even he has said goodbye to the Light and now decided to lead a coup, then things really are changing in Bardo.
"I need to find Clarke." He says at once, because of course he does.
"She's signing the peace deal with Doucette right now. And then we can go straight home." Octavia offers.
Bellamy is stunned. Is it to be as simple as this? Is this perhaps a lesson in doing better? Fate showing them that helping the Bardoans to liberate themselves is a better idea than running around all guns blazing?
Can they really go straight home?
"I still need to find Clarke." He insists.
Levitt understands that. Of course he does – he's a man who knows all about love. Fruit juice. Bellamy can still scarcely believe how lucky they got, there.
His sister really does have good taste.
So that's how it is that the three of them end up jogging down the hallways in search of Clarke. They find her in the office that used to belong to First Disciple Anders, signing a hastily drawn up treaty and shaking Doucette's hand.
Bellamy doesn't hesitate. Acting on impulse has always been his calling in life, after all – almost as much as protecting Clarke is his vocation. So that's why he strides straight over there and interrupts the formalities by kissing her full on the lips.
She staggers backwards slightly, laughing into his mouth. But then she catches her balance, wraps her hand about the back of his neck and starts kissing him deeply in turn.
They stay like that for a good couple of minutes, holding each other tight, tasting each other and teasing with the promise of more to come, when they get home at last.
Eventually they pull apart at the sound of Octavia's pointed cough.
Bellamy supposes he knows how this will go, now. They've had their kiss, and now they will get on with rounding up their people and running out of here. And then the rest of the day back in Sanctum will be taken up with endless explanations of what has happened, trying to find food and beds for those that need them, and all the kinds of tedious logistics he's been sick of worrying about since the dropship camp.
That's not quite how it turns out.
"I love you." Clarke whispers to him, before the business of the day can intrude on their moment.
Giddy, he grins at her and presses another kiss to her lips. "I love you too."
"I should hope so." She teases smartly.
He simply grins even wider. "Come on. Let's get our people home."
…...
Clarke supposes it has been a good day. It's been a busy one, certainly, and she thinks she'll be happy about it turned out just as soon as she's shaken off the exhaustion. Her people are safely home – along with Levitt, who insisted on following Octavia. She thinks the peace treaty with Bardo might actually last, their two peoples united by the aim of doing better, and the idea that love should triumph over hate.
Madi is safe, asleep upstairs in the farmhouse. And Bellamy is alive and well – no horrific bullet wound tearing through his chest – as he sits at the kitchen table and eats the last of his soup.
"What's the plan?" He asks her, brows raised. "Where am I sleeping? With you, I'm hoping? What do we have on for tomorrow?"
"Honestly – I have no idea what the plan is." She admits, sinking tiredly to a chair at his side.
He just smiles softly at her. "I've never been so happy to hear you say that. I think you deserve a couple of chaotic and unstructured days resting."
She snorts out a laugh. "That doesn't sound like me."
"Maybe you should learn." He says pointedly. "Maybe we all need to practise getting used to peace."
She nods, reaches for another chunk of bread. That's step one of living a cheerfully unstructured life for a few days, she decides – eating until she's no longer hungry. The food on Bardo was good but tightly rationed for the sake of all mankind.
She's surprised when Bellamy breaks the silence.
"I've got a plan." He announces.
"You have?"
"Yeah. We should get that drink at last."
With that, he stands up from the table and starts scouring the kitchen while she watches him with a soft smile. She thinks his plan sounds perfect, really. That drink is long overdue. And she likes the idea that getting a drink together could mark the start of a rather more peaceful chapter of their relationship.
He turns back to her, only a couple of seconds later, a large bottle of deep pink liquid in his hand.
"Jo Juice?" He asks. "That good enough for now?"
"Sounds perfect. It's a little pink, though." She points out with a wry chuckle.
He snorts, frowns at the bottle as if only just noticing that. "You're right. Is that a problem?"
"I think pink is my least favourite colour in the world after all that trouble with the Light." Clarke says lightly. "But maybe it's for the best – it'll encourage me to drink this quicker."
He laughs, ducks to kiss her on the forehead. "We'll try this for now. I'll get you a drink that's not pink from the tavern tomorrow. How does that sound?"
"It's a date." She says easily.
After all, she does like to have a plan.