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It used to hurt. It hurt for a long time as Bellamy lay there on the ground, casually bleeding out from a wound that he knew was fatal. The Mount Weather guards that had shot him even knew as much, because they left him to die on the concrete with no apparent worry that he’d be able to somehow save the day with a hole in his abdomen. He couldn’t feel the pain anymore, though. His body was pleasantly numb. If it weren’t for the blood soaking through his stolen guard uniform he’d be able to convince himself that the bullet missed and the guards were just stupid.
The guards were right, though, obviously. But Bellamy didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of finding him dead in the place where they shot him. He didn’t want to die alone on the cold concrete either. So with some sort of reserved strength pulled from somewhere that the bullet had missed, Bellamy stood up. He pressed his hands to the wound in his abdomen, wincing as the blood stained his hands. He was lightheaded and he couldn’t walk straight, but he wasn’t going very far and he didn’t need to see anything except for what was right in front of him.
Logically, he should have ended up on the floor again long before he actually did. But he made it to the wall that he was aiming for before he collapsed onto the ground against it. Reaching up, eyes closed, his fingers wrapped around the radio he’d used earlier. He brought it to his lips and pressed the button just as he fell into a coughing fit that left blood on the radio.
“Bellamy?” Raven’s voice came from the speaker.
“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, “Can you get Clarke for me?”
The line went dead and he waited. It was getting harder to think. Most of his thoughts collided and tangled in his mind, then broke apart and faded away before he could get a hold of them. All he knew was that he had to talk to Clarke before he couldn’t speak anymore.
“Bellamy?” This time it was Clarke. Her voice washed over him, and Bellamy almost forgot that he was dying. Almost.
A sharp pain near his naval reminded him. “Clarke.” He let out a shuddering breath.
“Is everything okay? You’re early. It’s only been an hour –”
“I’m fine,” he cut her off sharply. “I wanted to tell you that everything should be ready for you when you get here.”
“Oh.” Her surprise was evident. Bellamy would have felt bad for lying, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t exactly a lie. He had confidence that Maya and Jasper would get their part of the plan done and everything would run smoothly. Minus one key player.
“Clarke?” His head was feeling foggy. He just wanted to sleep. He was so tired. “Clarke, I wanted to tell you how great this plan was. I couldn’t have thought of a better one. I’m proud of you, Clarke.”
“Thanks,” she said, but it didn’t sound sincere. She thought he was just saying that. She didn’t realize that was the deepest compliment that he could give her… Bellamy groaned quietly, though he didn’t care to know whether it was because of his injury or because of the fact that Clarke was still a pain in his ass, even when he was trying to be honest and sincere with her. While he was dying.
“I mean it.” His voice came in a whisper. The radio threatened to slip from his hand just as words threatened to slip from his lips. I love you. He wanted to tell her. Every muscle in his body strained to confess the words that he’d been holding back for what felt like so long now. That was no way to leave her, though. She knew that he cared about her. She knew that she was important to him. He didn’t need to die after a dramatic confession of his feelings. She didn’t need to bear that for the rest of her life.
He was fading in and out, he realized, when he heard her speaking halfway through a sentence. “– could do it. I wouldn’t have sent anyone else. We’re going to save them, Bellamy. Thank you.”
He couldn’t form the words to respond. The radio fell from his hand. His last coherent thought was Clarke, and the smile in her voice, and that she was proud of him.