Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clarke:

“...I’m sorry,” he says, but he isn't apologizing to her. He isn't even apologizing to their friends, whose chance at escape he just ruined. He's apologizing to Bill Cadogan, his Shepard.

The world around her tilts. She doesn't realize that it's not the ground beneath her, but her own numb limbs giving out until hands are grasping her, keeping her upright. She doesn't know who they belong to. She doesn't care.

All she notices is that it isn't Bellamy. He doesn't even look back.
Words are exchanged, and guards are seizing them, but Clarke fails to process it through the roaring in her ears and the pain that makes it difficult to breathe as she tries to wake up from the nightmare that was the last few minutes. She blinks, looks over her shoulder, but the sight doesn’t change. Bellamy still stands tall, his eyes firmly on Bill.

Just the echo of the words coming out of his mouth makes her stomach roll and her throat burn, and she forces herself to look away.

They’re moved from Cadogan’s quarters to some type of holding cell. It’s nice, as far as these places go – certainly better than any of the cells she experienced on Earth – with two beds and decent lighting, but she isn’t truly able to process it through the shock. She doesn’t head for the beds, though some of the others do, nor does she pace like the rest. She tucks herself into the corner, ostensibly watching the room, but stares unseeingly as she tries to ground herself and find purchase.

For minutes or for hours, she can’t say for sure exactly how long, she tries and fails. What sense of the world that was returned to her when Bellamy appeared - a little rougher for wear, but alive - crumbled to dust and left her in a perpetual freefall with nothing to anchor herself. She can’t make sense of it; if there is one truth, it is that Bellamy Blake protects his people at all costs, yet the man wearing his face just destroyed whatever chance they had, the one chance she had to protect them.

She drifts through the physical realm, but her mind is still trapped in that moment. It stretches indefinitely, that fraction of a second in which everything she thought she lost was returned to her only to be ripped away just as quickly.

The indefinite moment stretches until a warm hand on her cheek and a familiar voice instantly calling her name forces her back.

When her eyes focus, it's painful.

Octavia sits before her, green eyes boring into hers and expression so reminiscent of her brothers that it feels like being kicked. It's a struggle to breathe, taking in the raw determination and reassurance in Octavia's expression, as well as the clenched jaw that belies her stress, a look that Clarke associates so strongly with Bellamy, but she manages.

“Clarke,” she says again, gentle but firm.

“Yeah,” she croaks in response, her throat dry. It hurts, whether she's been crying or if it’s simply from disuse, she doesn't know. Quite some time must have passed, maybe all night; beyond Octavia, Niylah and Miller sleep in one bed with Hope and Jordan in the other, while the exhausted forms of Echo and Raven pace the room like caged animals.

“I need you to focus,” Octavia says intently.

And stars, is she trying. But it's so hard. Bellamy Blake is the rock that keeps her tethered, and he's gone.

He was right in front of her, looking a little worse for wear, but there.

Except, he wasn't. Not really. And she doesn't know how to exist in a world where Bellamy isn't a safe place.

Even after the world ended and she had no one, she had a shitty, broken radio and the hope that he could hear her, he could still be her safe place, even from a million miles away.

Whoever came back is not the man she prayed was listening.

Octavia's gentle hand against her face turns hard, nails digging into the softness of her cheek.

It helps.

“I’m listening,” she whispers.

“Good. That's good,” Octavia says.

As Clarke focuses, she notices the other woman's pupils are blown wide with urgency, though she keeps her tone soothing, as if Clarke is a cornered animal at risk of being spooked. It's absurd. Clarke’s beyond such petty things now, but she doesn't say so. There's little point. Instead, she waits.

Sensing she has her attention, Octavia continues. “They're going to take you to m-cap, to look at your memories.” Octavia swallows thickly – Clarke can see her throat working, and she knows that there are things Octavia isn't telling her about that, but she can't bring herself to ask – but her tone remains that strange mix of calm but urgent. “They'll try to find your memories of the flame.” Clarke nods. It makes perfect sense, after all. Octavia's grip changes, both hands grasping Clarke's shoulders hard enough to bruise now as she stressed, “No matter what, you cannot let them.”

Clarke blinks in surprise at the sudden change.

“If you let them, they'll follow whatever memories you give deeper, but that cannot happen if you want to protect Madi. If they find the flame, they'll eventually find her. Do you understand?”

Madi. The name lodges a stone in her throat and brings tears to her eyes.

Madi, her beautiful, brilliant daughter who never should have had the flame in the first place. The one bright spot in her life since the world ended. The one thing that still matters.

She has to protect her. Nothing is more important than that.

It hurts. Everything hurts in the present moment, but most of all it hurts to know that protecting Madi will probably be the last thing she ever does. That she'll be leaving her daughter behind, just like Madi's parents left her, and Clarke’s parents left her too.

“What do I do?” she asks, fierce determination settling over her and pushing away the last of the fog.

Octavia smiles sadly as if she knows what this is costing her. Perhaps she does.

“Pain,” she says with a grimace. “You can fight it by focusing on something else as hard as you can, but it hurts. It will drive you to the brink of insanity, but they need you, so they shouldn't push too hard.”

“And if that doesn't work?” she asks. It's hard focusing now, even with Madi as a focal point, but she won't be able to do that when they take her. She needs to keep her thoughts of her daughter far away from them and their equipment, but she doesn't know how to focus on anything else right now. She won't bet Madi's safety on her unstable mind.

“Physical pain. Diyoza dug the spikes of the machine into her temple until she bled and they gave up,” Octavia answers quickly, but with a grim expression that belies her true feelings.

Clarke nods. She can do physical pain. She's lived through plenty of it.

Octavia hesitates only then, before carefully adding. “They won’t give up on you, though. You have to know that.”

“I do.”

“And if they come after the rest of us?” she questions, her gaze never wavering.

“I have to protect her,” Clarke admits, broken by the admission. She forces back the memory of her mother speaking ALIE's words, saying her friends are her weakness. Nothing can be her weakness this time, not if she wants to save her daughter.

Octavia doesn't look disgusted. If anything, she looks pleased. “Good,” she says firmly. “We cannot let Cadogan win. Not after all he's done.”

Chapter Text

Levitt:

Levitt isn’t sure exactly how it happened, given his recent demotion after helping Octavia and her people, but somehow, he was called into the discussion about how to handle the situation with the flame. When he arrives in the room, it’s clear that there is tension, or as close to tension as the Disciples are capable of with their unwavering faith to the man who leads the discussion. Bill Cadogan, their Shepard, and savior, sits at the head of the table, looking unperturbed as ever, while a handful of disciples stand gathered around the room, all but two with their heads bowed deferentially.

Gabriel stands with his chin up, calm but defiant, and Levitt catches the disapproval in Bill’s eye when he looks at the other man.

Bellamy is speaking when he arrives, making an earnest but apologetic appeal, “If I can get the flame, and your daughter really is in there, you can find out.”

Bill looks at Bellamy for a long moment. He looks torn and tempted, more genuinely emotional than he is used to seeing here on Bardo, where the people are conditioned to hold back their selfish desires if they don’t align with what is best for the good of all mankind. For the moment, he doesn’t answer, instead of turning to look at Levitt himself.

“Disciple Levitt,” Bill greets magnanimously. “Thank you for joining us.”

With the attention on him, Levitt does what is expected of him. “My Shepard,” he greets deferentially. It’s not entirely an act. The man has built something good, a peaceful and well-organized society that preaches a message of hope and a brighter tomorrow, and that deserves a level of respect and admiration; he’s seen in Octavia’s memories just how difficult that is to achieve. “I appreciate the invitation. How may I be of service?”

“You performed the memory capture of Octavia Blake,” Levitt casts a discreet glance at Bellamy, but the man gives no outward reaction at the mention of his sister, “with some degree of success, more than any of the others to say the least. In your professional opinion, is it reasonable to believe we may be able to extract useful information about the flame from Clarke Griffin?”

He takes a moment before answering, doing his best to make it appear that he’s giving it the level of consideration it deserves, given the magnitude of the question, but he’s internally hesitating, trying to determine the correct answer. An emphatic no means the clock has run out for the sky people, but a confident yes is just as problematic.

“It’s possible,” he equivocates. “Octavia’s memory capture stopped before we could determine what happened with the key. We don’t know how long Clarke had it or how she interacted with it. Even if we had retrieved that information from the subject Octavia Blake, we still couldn't know for sure. Only Clarke Griffin knows the full depth of her experience. We can only know if we try.”

“All right,” Bill nods, turning to Bellamy and explaining slowly, “If you can get it, and if we can repair it, and if it contains the code to the last war, your friends will be absolved.”

Levitt blinks in surprise. Apparently, Bellamy isn’t as unfeeling as he appears, if he’s bartering for the lives of his people. Maybe he has an ally after all.

“Thank you, my Shepard,” Bellamy replies quickly, inclining his head again. Levitt feels his hopes being dashed slightly. His mannerisms are all wrong, far too grateful and awestruck to be an act. “Clarke doesn’t share our faith. She doesn’t understand what’s at stake with the last war, but she’ll see reason. I know she will.”

That’s not promising at all. He had seen barely a snippet of Clarke Griffin’s life and yet, he has witnessed her sacrifice herself countless times. If the fight comes down to giving up the information or sacrificing her people, he knows which one she’ll choose.

Transcendence wouldn’t be the worst outcome, but he’s starting to think it isn’t the best, either. Not if it is to be achieved through war, which is never won by one man for all mankind. For all that the Shepard claims otherwise, with the blind faith his people have in Bill Cadogan, it might just be that this war won’t be so different after all. Somehow, it will yet again be the people who are left to do the fighting, instead of him, and they who suffer while he sits back awaiting victory.

The man in question seems to prove this point with his next words. “I'll give you some time to convince her, though know that if you fail, your friends will be executed. We cannot allow their actions to go unanswered indefinitely.”

“I understand, my Shepard.”

“Good. Take Levitt with you. He has the most experience when dealing with difficult subjects.”

While it's true, and Levitt is grateful that he'll be in a position to treat Clarke gently instead of someone else who might lobotomize her accidentally, he doesn't relish the opportunity. Even still, he says, “Thank you, my Shepard,” like the good disciple he's pretending to be.

Bill smiles benevolently in return. “You may go prepare the equipment. Disciple Charles, you will be responsible for collecting Clarke Griffin. Please return Gabriel to the cell while you do so. It is clear he is not as committed to the cause as he would like us to believe.”

“I never told you Clarke had the key,” the man in question says, unabashed. “You let Octavia's memories do that.”

“You never corrected the assumption either,” Bill shoots back, his pleasant demeanor cracking. He takes a deep breath, settling himself, before turning to Bellamy and adding kindly, “I hope Clarke does see reason, Bellamy. For all mankind.”

“For all mankind,” they chorus back.

With that, they are thankfully dismissed, and the two men make their way to the holding cells to retrieve Clarke.

Levitt hates this but refuses to let it show. He would have preferred to collect Clarke himself, so he could give her and Octavia some warning about Bellamy or even just to reassure them that they still have someone on their side. He can't even imagine how hard this must be for them.

“I'm sorry this is happening,” he says, breaking the silence between the two of them as they slowly walk toward the treatment rooms.

A small frown distorts Bellamy's features. “It would’ve been better if Clarke had been honest with the Shepard.”

He doesn't miss that Bellamy's response is virtually a non-answer, but he nods. “It's never easy being at odds with the people you love.”

Bellamy casts him a strange glance before shaking himself, his face smoothing into a blank mask. “They don't understand what we're doing here. It will be worth it when we transcend.”

He hesitates but ultimately decides to push a little more. “How familiar with M-cap are you?” he probes.

The small frown is back, a crease between his brow. “Not very.”

“It can be relatively painless. A quick and routine procedure here on Bardo,” he pauses before elaborating. “But it can be painful and dangerous when the subject fights the procedure.” When Bellamy says nothing, he adds softly, “I just want you to be prepared.”

He sees Bellamy bristle at the tone. His tone is brusque when he responds, “We do what we have to. A little sacrifice is necessary for the good of all mankind.”

Levitt doesn't try again, electing to stand in silence as they await Clarke's arrival.

She doesn't fight as they make their way to the M-cap chamber. She looks lost, distant, and docile in a way he hadn't anticipated. It's a startling contrast to the woman he knows from Octavia's memories, but also from the strong woman she was when she first arrived on Bardo.

He casts a look at Bellamy, who stands straight-backed and seemingly unaffected as Clarke is strapped in the chair, and wonders what it would be like to love someone so wholly that their loss could be so devastating.

He's never felt anything so strongly. Before Octavia, he hadn't even known it was possible.

It's heartbreaking, witnessing the change, but he can't help seeing the beauty in it too. They've known so much pain and loss, but they've known triumph and victory too. Above all, they've known true, boundless love, both earned and freely given, in a way that has meaning. Every up and down, every joy and horror, has given them that.

He's lived a good life doing the work of the Shepard. He knows that, intellectually. He's known calm, peace, and purpose through hard work and dedication. It's been valuable and worthwhile, working toward the good of all mankind, and he understands it now as fully as he has his whole life. But he's never known a life like the hundred or the sky people they hailed from.

He's never truly lived.

Perhaps their Shepard has forgotten what it's like to live too; too focused on eliminating the pain in his search for transcendence. Perhaps that's what has driven Bellamy to forget as well.

Levitt knows Etherea was designed to break the man, to wear him down until all he remembered was the pain instead of the joy and then he is offered salvation in the form of eternal peace and security. He's known from the moment he found out he was alive that Bellamy wouldn't be returning to Bardo until Docette succeeded in his goal, but he hopes that Bellamy remembers, deep down, how the pain and suffering make the joy and hope worth it. That everything bad that has happened to them makes all the good worth it.

Maybe it's unfair of him to judge them so quickly. As a disciple, he hasn't suffered a fraction as much as they have, but he has known some of it since Octavia came and turned his world upside down like some force of nature. He's been beaten and tortured, demoted, and left behind, but he's also known loyalty, sacrifice, and affection, and knows for certain that the tradeoff has been worth every second.

He wonders what it will take to make Bellamy remember that, but shakes the thought away. It's clear from his earlier attempt that whatever it is, Levitt won't be the one to break through Bellamy's newfound faith.

“I'm sorry,” he says to Clarke, as he adjusts the last strap. He's ostensibly apologizing for over-tightening it, but he knows she received his true message when her gaze meets his directly. He's apologizing for what she's been through and for what's about to come. Almost before his very eyes, he sees the clouds clear in hers as resolve fills their place.

Bellamy stands statue-still, hands clasped before him and head angled down like an obedient follower as Levitt takes his place at the controls. Levitt suppresses a sigh and begins.

"Imagine you're in an endless desert, with a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out to you, whose is it?"

Despite her earlier meekness, Clarke is no less a warrior than Octavia or Diyoza now. She fights every bit as hard as either woman before her did, just as he expected after having seen her in Octavia's memories.

Octavia must have warned her before they came to collect her because she wastes no time in slamming her temple against the probes, the impact forceful enough to open up a wound on her temple from the first hit. Black blood pours from the wound, staining her blonde hair and standing in stark contrast to her pale cheek and neck where it trails down and pools in the hollow of her collarbone.

Bellamy steps forward almost immediately, either ignorant or indifferent to how against the rules it is, and takes Clarke's head in his hands, refusing to allow her to continue to abuse herself.

Levitt has to bite back a smile. It seems there's no version of Bellamy Blake that can stand to see Clarke Griffin hurt.

He hides his satisfaction at that and carries on as if this were normal as if a disciple touching a subject during M-cap is entirely normal and not a complete violation of protocol.

"Let's try again, Clarke," he says smoothly. "Imagine you're in an endless desert under a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out to you, whose is it?"

The neural link engages easily this time, a surprise, but the dark hand that clasps her pale one on the screen is exactly what Levitt expected the moment he voiced the question.

Bellamy:

The second that Bellamy’s hands make contact with the silky skin on either side of Clarke’s face, he feels a rush of emotion, unlike anything he’s felt in months. Longer maybe, he’s still not sure quite how long he was actually gone. Not that it matters. He was gone until he was ready to come back. He knows this, knows that there was a purpose to his absence, and he will not allow his selfish attachment to one person to destroy all the progress he’s made.

Not even if that one person is Clarke Griffin, the girl who walked into his life as though she owned it and ended up doing exactly that. For years, she consumed his thoughts and then later, his heart, as well, even when she was never supposed to. He cannot allow her to continue to have that power. It's too dangerous.

Fighting off the urge to wipe his thumb across her cheek to catch the tear, he closes his eyes against the onslaught of memories and begins reciting the Shepard’s promise to himself.

He repeats it once and then again, blocking out Levitt’s gentle monotone voice until an amused huff, barely an exhale, catches his attention and he’s eyes fly open of their own accord.

On the monitors in front of him are two hands. There’s nothing exceptional about them; they could be the hands of any two people, but he knows they’re not. He’d recognize that pair anywhere, that moment. It’s the one that changed his life as unequivocally as the day Octavia was born or the one where his Mother was floated. It was the day he finally allowed himself to acknowledge what he had known long before then, that Clarke was worth saving.

“Whose hand is it reaching out towards you, Clarke?” Levitt asks even though Bellamy suspects that he already knows the answer.

Bellamy looks down at his hands. For all that he’s changed, his hands haven’t. There are a few more scars along his knuckles, the calluses are more pronounced and in different places, but the smattering of freckles across them stare back in the same patterns they have always held.

Clarke’s muscles tense under his fingertips as she tries to resist the memories the question wants to draw out, squeezing her eyes together in concentration or pain and he just reacts. Against his will, or at least without his will, his thumb moves, tracing the soothing pattern across her temple that it’s been dying to since the moment he first walked over here.

In an instant, the furrow between her brows lessens and a nearly silent exhale of content fills the space between them. It feels wrong, the surge of relief that washes over him the second she’s not in distress, proof that he hasn’t managed to fully shed his protectiveness of her. He’s not supposed to care; her pain is not supposed to bother him. Yet, he does, and it does. He’s not immune in the way he should be. His hands still instinctively want to protect.

Closing his eyes, he breathes in and out as he was taught, finding the light of the Shepard within himself. It’s okay that he wants to protect. That is, after all, the foundation of The Shepard’s beliefs. For all mankind. If him providing some menial comfort to her allows them to find the answers they seek quicker, there’s no harm in it.

It’s okay to want to save her, to care for her, just not at the cost of everyone else.

When he opens his eyes again, just in time to see a quick flash of Clarke kneeling in the desert, he feels more at peace then he has since he spoke to his Shepherd. He knows his place in all of this.

For a blissful 30 seconds, he is confident of that fact, but then the memory in front of him solidifies and the doubts start to creep in.

Here we go again. Bellamy, if you can hear me if you’re alive, it’s been 2,199 days since Praimfaya. I don’t know why I still do this every day.

A lush landscape of greens spreads out on the monitor before him, sending a stab of longing pass through Bellamy. He misses Earth. For all of the struggle of the dropship days and the pain of the months after, everything was so much simpler back then. He knew who he was, but then wars happened, people died and he lost himself.

Longing is replaced with regret as Clarke’s voice rings out through the room. He knew that she called him every day. Logically, he understood, but hearing it, seeing it, seeing her sending him a message that he never had the chance to receive makes it so much worse.

She was desperate for him to answer, he can hear it in the tone of her voice, see it in the tightness of her hand on the radio, and it breaks a piece inside of him that he didn’t know was still there to be broken. How different could their lives have been if he had just heard those calls?

It’s been safe for you to come down for over a year now. Why haven’t you? Anyway, I still have hope. Tell Raven to aim for the one spot of green and you’ll find me.

And just like that, the tumultuous emotions swirling around inside of him settle down into one all-encompassing feeling. Guilt. It spreads across him like a familiar blanket, comforting, and suffocating all at the same time. This must have been towards the end of their separation; she looks nearly the same as she did when he found her again.

Hundreds of unanswered calls and an entire year of expecting him to show up with no results, but she still had hope that he’d return.

Her faith in him has always been misplaced.

Unable to bear the images in front of him any longer, Bellamy turns away. His eyes scan the white room until they finally land on Levitt watching him closely instead of the tablet he’s supposed to be monitoring. He told Bellamy that this was going to be hard, but he didn’t believe him. It shouldn’t be. He knows why they are doing this, believes that it is necessary.

Levitt holds his gaze for a long moment, Clarke’s memory looping back to the beginning, and then some kind of emotion, far too close to pity for Bellamy’s liking, settles in the man’s expression. Levitt nods his head once slightly and then looks down at the device in his hands, “Clarke, let's get back to the flame, what can you tell me about it?”

As though hearing her name has woken her from a trance, Clarke tenses back up underneath his hands and the screens go blank.

“Don’t fight it, Clarke,” Levitt says softly, taking the words Bellamy can’t manage to make himself say, as a bead of sweat rolls off her forehead and into his sleeve, right out of his mouth. Levitt lets out a sigh and then steps closer, “Okay, let's reconnect the neural link. Imagine you're in an endless desert—”

He doesn’t even need to complete the trigger before the displays flashback to life, a literal desert stretching out before them.

It’s like we were never here. Like we never should have been. What’s the point if all there is, is pain and suffering?

Seeing Earth as it must have looked right after the wave passed, Bellamy can’t help but agree with her. What’s the point? It's a question he asked himself countless times as he sat alone for weeks on end with nothing other than his thoughts for company. He wanted to get back home desperately, but why? What was his purpose for returning?

His life since they landed on the ground has been war after war, fight after fight. Death and destruction. His people against everyone else. It was a vicious cycle of pain that would undoubtedly continue if he returned, but still, he fought too, with every piece of himself. All because they were back there; she was back there.

Anyways, I doubt you can hear me on this piece of crap radio, but in case this is the last time I get to do this, I just want to say, please don’t feel bad about leaving me here. You did what you had to do. I’m proud of you.

He left. She’s proud of him. The two thoughts flash rapidly back and forth in his mind, reminding him of the things he told himself those years alone on the ring; the weeks with no one to talk to on Etherea. This time, the memory playing across his mind is his own.

Bellamy, I need you to hear this.

He walks away from her because he doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to listen to what will happen if she dies because it’s not going to happen. He won’t let it. For one foolishly hopeful second, he thinks that she’ll allow him to change the subject, but she doesn’t. She always was persistent.

We’ve been through a lot together you and I. I didn’t like you at first, that was no secret, but even then, every stupid thing you did was to protect your sister. She didn’t always see that, but I did. You have such a big heart, Bellamy; people follow you, you inspire them, because of this, but the only way to make sure we survive is if you use this too.

She told him to use his head. To watch out for everyone; to protect them. It was her last wish. The final piece of wisdom she offered him, somehow knowing that he was going to need it. She wanted him to be smart, to be rational. For everyone. For all mankind.

He takes a hasty step back from her, realizing with sudden clarity how wrong his hands on her are. Menial comfort isn’t acceptable. It promotes selfish attachment and that has been the source of every mistake he’s ever made. It’s the reason countless people have lost their lives. Selfish attachment is what has destroyed the world over and over again, turning a once lush planet into a desert wasteland. It needs to end.

The monitors attached to Clarke start beeping wildly as she once again starts thrashing around, but he makes no move to stop her. He can’t. The cycle needs to end. He won’t go back there. He’ll be the person who she told him to be and eventually, she’ll realize that this is all for her benefit, their benefit. For all mankind.

Levitt rushes towards Clarke, muttering under his breath, and starts to mess with the equipment. It takes Bellamy a second to realize what he is doing, but once he has, he steps forward sharply to stop him from undoing the restraints, “What are you doing?”

“We’ve done enough for today,” the man responds, eyes still focused on releasing her.

“We haven’t retrieved the information our Shepard seeks yet,” Bellamy says with an edge to his voice. They need to find where the flame is. The Shepard is counting on them to come through. Bellamy won’t fail him.

“She’s minutes, if not seconds from a cardiac arrest,” Levitt says, throwing down the last restraint and looking up at Bellamy with outrage in his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy can see Clarke still laying unmoving on the table. He wonders ideally if the unconsciousness is genuine before ultimately deciding that it is and focusing his attention back on Levitt whose look has transitioned to horror. He stares back, confident now, that he is on the right path. After a second, Levitt’s eyes clear of emotion, “If we push any further there will be nothing left of her brain to search. The Shepard doesn’t want that.”

Centering himself, Bellamy smooths a hand down the front of his uniform, inadvertently, smearing a black streak of blood across his chest, “Of course, the Shepard’s will shall be done.”

Chapter Text

Hope:

Ten years.

Ten years of peace. Ten years spent on Skyring with her mother and Auntie O, the former content and the latter longing for the family she left behind, but together and happy nonetheless.

It took only minutes for their world to shatter when the disciples came.

The next ten years were marked by loneliness, longing, and the determination to save her family that resulted from both. She had only the briefest glimpse of her family, was so close to reuniting with them, only to have it all snatched away for another five.

Fifteen years in all spent away. They weren't all bad; she found people, surrogate family members that she came to love and care for, but none of them filled the holes in her heart left by the absence of her mother and Auntie O. No one could ever do that.

It took her years, but she finally found her way back to them. The situation wasn't ideal – trapped in a hostile environment, forced into servitude – but she had them both back. Her heart wasn't perfect, so long spent apart from her family left the holes with jagged edges that would take time to smooth, but they weren't gaping caverns anymore, and for this first time in a decade, Hope actually had hope that the next ten years would be better than the last.

She'd been wrong. Everything had gone to hell, and the mother she loved so much was just gone, leaving the old wound in her chest wide open once more, never to be filled again.

It was all for nothing. And it was all because of Bellamy Blake.

If Auntie O hadn’t been so desperate to talk to him again that she threw a letter into the anomaly, then the disciples never would have come for them. They could have lived out their days as a happy family on Skyring. Dev wouldn’t have hurt them.

If Echo hadn’t lost her damn mind in her search for vengeance, Hope’s mother wouldn’t be dead.

If Clarke hadn’t trusted him so wholeheartedly, they wouldn’t have been betrayed.

She once questioned what it was about him that made seemingly sensible women lose their minds, but looking around at the expressions of everyone in the room, she now knows it’s not just the strong women she idolized in her youth that fall under his spell, but all of them.

She doesn't fucking get it.

Sure, she understands the anger she sees on Raven's face. He deserves their rage. Also, the frustration on Miller's and the disappointment on Jordan's. Even Echo's pinched, frustrated look she can relate to. What she doesn't get is the dejection, the completely distant and gutted expressions on Clarke and Octavia.

Echo broke, completely lost any sense of reason or calm, when she watched Bellamy’s supposed death. Even before he was dead, knowing she was separated from him after he’d been taken made her ruthless in her single-mindedness.

Octavia never forgot her brother. She fought and struggled for years to get back to him. Even when he died, she held it together and fought back. She didn’t let herself get lost in her grief.

Clarke was even more rational when she learned of his death. It was as if knowing he was gone and could no longer help her had sharpened her. Every inch of her was drenched in pain and heartbreak, but she used it to her advantage. The pressure seemed to encourage her to fight back as if the weight that the absence of Bellamy placed on her shoulders was just a reminder that she needed to stand a little taller, push back that much harder.

Then Bellamy walked back into their lives, breathing and relatively unscathed, but an entirely different person, if everything she ever heard about him is to be believed, and the three strongest women she knows completely had the wind knocked out of their sails. Echo losing her anger, Octavia her heart, and Clarke her determination.

How could they possibly have coped better thinking he was dead than they are now?

Hope casts Clarke a glance, the former titan of a woman, just a shadow of herself as she sits staring unseeingly at the far wall from between the cradle of Octavia's legs as she cares for her. Clarke seems oblivious to the attention, yet Octavia carries on, brushing her hair and whispering soothing words in the blonde's ear that are too low for the others to hear. Hope would assume it was having no effect if Clarke's current state wasn't miles greater than it was yesterday when she returned from m-cap. Remembering Octavia's state when they found her in the chair, Hope can imagine why.

Clarke deserves a pass, but still.

“I just don't fucking get it,” she hisses.

Jordan, the only one close enough to hear, furrows his brow at her. “What exactly don't you get?”

She makes a frustrated gesture at the others. “Them. If my mother was still alive, I wouldn't care what side she was on. At least she'd be here.”

Understanding flashes across his face before he turns to look at her intently with weighted eyes. “There's more to life than just living and dying. It's about how you live and what you do with your life. My parents believed that, and your mother did too. They were lucky enough to die on their own terms, doing what they believed in.”

His tone is gentle, aiming for comfort, but it snaps something inside her.

“What she believed in?” she retorts incredulously. “My mother died protecting them.”

He gives her a sad, pitying smile. “No. Your mother died to protect you, from what you were going to do. She never wanted you to live the life that she lived. All she ever wanted was a better life for you.”

Fighting back against the heartbreak that threatens to intrude, she snaps back, “For what?! Look where it got her. It’s not like it did us any good.”

“Hope.”

Despite herself, she snaps to attention at the reprimand in Octavia’s voice when she says her name like that, a childhood-worth of conditioning at work. Her aunt is still perched in front of Clarke, the expression on her face more pleading than stern, allowing Hope to shake off the feeling of being chastised. She’s not a child anymore; she doesn’t have to listen to Octavia.

Perhaps she never should have.

Seething, she refrains from yelling only by speaking through her teeth. “Don’t,” she warns. “You don’t get to talk to me about her. She wanted us to be a family, but you kept trying to leave. You brought the Disciples down on us because you just couldn’t let Bellamy go. Your brother, the hero. But he isn’t the hero, is he?”

Octavia says nothing, though pain is etched in every line of her face. It only makes Hope feel more angry, more desperate. She needs something to fight, damn it.

“You told me I could trust him,” she accuses. “I went into that anomaly knowing I wouldn’t even be able to remember who I was, and the only note I had was ‘Trust Bellamy’ because I trusted you.” Her breath hitches, but she carries on, ignoring Jordan’s increased pleas for her to calm down. “I was an idiot though, wasn’t I? You lied to me plenty, Blodreina.”

Octavia visibly flinches, but rallies quickly, stepping away from Clarke and toward her. “Hope, you were so young–“

Hope flinches back but doesn’t relinquish her anger. “I was young, and you left me. Both of you.”

“I’m so sorry, Hope,” she says, inching closer, tears welling and falling down her cheeks slowly. “We tried. We tried so hard to get back to you.”

Suddenly Octavia is there, holding her, and Hope does feel young again – young and terrified and in desperate need of comfort – as she sinks into the embrace and lets the first sob out.

“She left me, and I never even really knew her.”

“You did, Hope,” Octavia soothes, brushing the hair out of Hope’s eyes and wiping away the tears as they make eye contact. “I promise you; you did. There was no truer version of your mother than the woman who loved you and would do anything to protect you. That’s who she was, from the moment you were born until the moment she died, and you knew her. She loved you, so much."

She heaves great, choking sobs into Octavia’s chest for so long that it hurts to breathe. It’s only when she’s finally cried herself out that she understands why they all hurt so much. There’s some level of peace knowing that her mother was loved, that everything she did to protect Hope, all those years mattered because she was able to die in support of that goal. Her mother fought for what she believed in her entire life, and she died on her own terms, fighting the fight she wanted to fight.

Bellamy had spent his whole life fighting to protect Octavia, Clarke, all their friends... loving them and being loved in turn. Now it was like he had forgotten everything that mattered to him, more than a lifetime of love and sacrificing culminating into nothing.

How would it feel to look into her mother’s eyes and know that she’d been forgotten? Though her mother hadn’t been with her physically most of her life, she had never abandoned her in spirit. How would it feel to know she had been abandoned for real?

Surveying the room once again, it becomes obvious. The pain, betrayal, and defeat are there in some form or another written across all their faces.

It’s so wrong.

A single person shouldn’t have the power to break all these people.

He shouldn’t have the power to break her.

She doesn’t even know him. She never did. All she knew was a man in stories passed down to her by others. People who loved him more than their own lives; people who were sure he returned that love in equal measure.

Abruptly, the fire reignites in her chest and she breaks away from Octavia unceremoniously.

“What is wrong with all of you? He’s just a man. Just one man,” she challenges, “He isn’t even dead, but you can’t pull yourselves together? It’s pathetic. ”

Jordan steps in again, the patient tone he uses grates against her skin, setting her teeth on edge. “It’s not. It’s incredibly painful to look into the eyes of someone you love and not recognize them.”

“I don’t care,” she spits vehemently, “I don’t care how much it hurts. You can’t just give up. Not after everything.”

“No one is giving up,” Echo chides, casting her a reproving look.

Hope whirls on the woman - her companion of five years, a woman who told her nothing but the harsh truth and having the strength to make the kind of decision that made weaker women sick- and sees the impassive mask has returned. It fuels her outrage to new levels.

“Look around,” she replies, gesturing to the dejected group around them, finally settling on Clarke, who stares at nothing, silently mouthing whatever phrase she and Octavia worked out, and appearing for all the world as if she isn’t listening. “They’re done. They’re weak. ”

In the beat that follows her outburst, the door to their cell slides open, revealing Levitt and two guards. The former surreptitiously casts a glance at Octavia before his eyes fall on Clarke and he grimaces slightly. He calls her name without inflection, but his eyes swim with worry.

Hope seethes, looking in the other direction while Clarke is collected. Their group remains silent, making the sounds of shuffling that much louder, though Hope swears she hears a whispered, “Love is a weakness,” when they pass her on their way out the door.

Hope can't agree more.

Bellamy:

Not interested in seeing a repeat of yesterday, Bellamy positions himself along the far side of the wall with his hands folded neatly behind his back while he waits for Levitt to arrive with Clarke. He keeps his stance when they arrive, modifying it only slightly to nod in the direction of the chair when Levitt cuts off hastily and looks over at him in surprise upon entering.

For several long minutes, he is able to stay stoic as Levitt moves her over to the chair, strapping down the belts and hooking up the wires. He remains calm even when Clarke’s refusal to acknowledge him threatens to break it. He holds steady through the trigger phase, and then her moans of pain until he finally figures out what she is whispering over and over again like a chant. Like a prayer.

Love is weakness. Love is weakness. Love is weakness.

His foot steps forward of its own accord. What the hell is she talking about? Why would she be chanting a long-forgotten phrase that she claimed to not even believe in when it was first introduced to her? Moreover, how can she cling to a notion like love is weakness while simultaneously condemning him for his actions when all he’s asking them to do is not let selfish love blind them?

It’s the exact same thing.

Levitt’s voice rings out loud across the room, stretching to be heard over the incessant beeping, “Clarke, you need to relax, you’re going to cause damage if you continue like this.”

Bellamy steps forward again, indignation fueling his movement. Love is weakness, sounds out around them, echoing off the walls as her desperation grows. The words start to mix together, becoming indistinguishable from each other, but Bellamy can still hear each word clearly. Over and over again, he hears them in his head. If love is weakness, why won’t she just give them the information they need?

The ridiculousness of it all is what finally pushes him over the edge. He takes one more step forward, much closer now than he wanted to be, but still an acceptable distance away at least, and snaps, “Clarke!”

There’s a long second where nothing can be heard. Her chant falls away, the beeping along with it as his reprimand hangs in the air between them. Then the memory starts.

Abby stands in front of Clarke, a bloody scalpel in her hand, Jaha off to the side. He can see the faint outlines of a torch lighting the room, and yet, he still can’t make out the memory. He hears Clarke whimper and looks down, concerned that she’s in pain even though she’s not fighting the machine, but the sound isn’t coming from her. It’s from the memory.

What’s the passphrase?

No.

There’s clear hesitation to her refusal, but underneath it is a steel resolve that he knows very well. Abby should have known, even in her chipped state, that Clarke doesn’t just break, not when the fate of her people is on the line.

It can stop Clarke, just tell us what we need to know.

Once again, she refuses and Abby shares a meaningful glance with Jaha beside her.

I told you, her friends are her weakness. Start with Bellamy Blake.

His eyes widen in shock. He looks down at Clarke, but she’s got her eyes closed, one stubborn tear sliding out of the corner. While he knew that Clarke was tortured for the information, he’d seen the gouges in her skin himself on their trip back to Arcadia, he hadn’t known that he’d been used against her too.

A rush of pride fills him as the memory shifts. She was smart; she used her head and didn’t allow her attachment to him to sway her resolve. She’s been practicing the Shepard’s teachings for years without even realizing it. That’s not surprising; she’s always been ahead of him in that regard, but it fills him with hope. Sooner or later, she’s going to see the light of the Shepard’s ways.

This memory he recognizes straight away; he was a part of it although his perspective was different, on his knees on the ground with his hands tied behind his back rather than in front of an army, ready to call the shots.

Your move, Wanheda.

Roan shifts in the memory, twisting until he’s standing alone in a cave, the arrogant look he always wore, clearly displayed in the turn of his lips.

Or tell them to open fire.

We have more bullets than you have men. You’ll lose.

There’s confidence in Clarke’s voice, but underneath it, there’s the slightest tremble. He thinks he might be the only one to notice it until Roan raises an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered.

Maybe. We’ll both take losses. Kane and Bellamy among them.

You think you can shake my resolve? I was willing to sacrifice my own mother to stop Allie.

Pride hits him again. She’s so strong, his princess, always doing what’s right even when he can tell it’s costing her. Hopefully, soon she’ll learn that there doesn’t have to be a cost. Doing the right thing doesn’t have to hurt. The Shepard can take that pain from her just as he has all his flock.

Fight it is.

Wait.

Crushing disappointment passes through him as he remembers the outcome of the memory; half the Ark’s spots traded away. The disappointment lingers with him for a moment as a new memory shifts into focus until he realizes the faultiness of his perception. Not traded, gifted. The life of Skykru is not worth more than that of Azgeda. Why should they be given priority over anyone else?

The next memory is playing before he has time to contemplate the question properly. Octavia is displayed in front of him, dressed in full grounder gear.

Tell me you didn’t know it was coming.

Octavia.

Clarke says so much in that one word alone. He can hear the agony, the shame, the regret, but underneath that is a heavy edge of exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that only comes from interacting with people who just refuse to understand. His eyes flick down to Clarke on the table; it's a feeling that he’s intimately familiar right now.

You let all those people die. You were going to let me die.

I did it to save Bellamy. So that we can win this war, don’t you see that? If we’d have evacuated Ton DC, Mount Weather would have known that someone tipped us off. They would have found your brother.

A century ago, even a few months ago, this memory might have been enough to light the fire of resentment within him. Clarke’s willingness to sacrifice people in exchange for his life, to sacrifice his sister in exchange for his life, was the fuel of all his guilt-filled nightmares, but now he understands. Now, he knows why she made that call.

The lives of the many over the few, necessary sacrifices; they are both lessons that he spent a long time refusing to learn. He was too emotional, too invested in the lives of a specific few.

No, Bellamy would have never told you to do that. He would have found another way.

I couldn’t take that risk.

She couldn’t have taken that risk, and she never should have been asked too. He knows himself, knows how he would have reacted back then, and he’s so thankful that she didn’t give him the opportunity to ruin everything for everyone else. She was strong for him then. He’ll be strong for her now.

Bellamy, stop.

He should have expected this memory, should have realized that it was coming, but instead, he’s shocked when he blinks and then his own face is staring back at him with hurt filled eyes. He was so naïve. So foolish.

Clarke, what are you doing?

What I have to. Like always.

He’s realizing with increasing horror, just how often he’s put her in this position in the past. Over and over again, he’s made choices with his heart, and she’s been left holding everything together in the wake of it, trying to make it with someone who didn’t value her logic. No wonder she’s confused now, no wonder she keeps looking at him like she doesn’t recognize him. She wouldn’t, not if this is her perception of him.

We know that if this door stays shut then the human race survives. Please.

You’re going to have to make it a kill shot. It’s the only way you are going to stop me.

His mouth thins into a line as he watches her lower the gun as he opens the door. She shouldn’t have done that. His life is not worth more than the guaranteed survival of the human race. His life isn’t worth more than any others just because he matters to her, and she knows that. The reluctance in her movement tells him, and yet, she still did it. Why?

I’ll get you out of here

Look out.

Once again, he sees his face in front of him, desperate and emotional like in an instant he could lose all rationality. Thinking back to the moment, he realizes that he had already lost it. He was stupid and reckless, traveling through the enemy’s army with no regard for the damage that he could have caused. His actions here prove just how necessary the Shephard's teachings were for him to find peace.

He was a mess, but as the memory continues to play on both screens in front of him and in his mind, he is forced to accept that she’s not any better. She wasn’t then, and she probably isn’t now.

Please, please don’t. I’ll do anything. I’ll stop fighting please just don’t kill him.

There is no logical reason for her begging, no justifiable excuse for the tears in her eyes or the desperation in her tone. She wasn’t looking to save everyone; she wasn’t even attempting to protect a group. It was all for him.

No logic. No reason. The faults of selfish love are shown plainly before them all to examine. In that moment, she was not only willing but eager to trade her life for his. The same trade, he's come to realize, that she was probably aiming to make when she was bluffing about having the Flame.

He lets out a startled breath as the truth of the thought settles over him. Selfish love is not only dangerous to the masses, taunting people to make foolish decisions in the name of love, it is also dangerous for the individual. Clarke’s love for him, for their friends and their people, has somehow convinced her that her life is worth less than everyone else. That she should be willing to sacrifice herself at any given moment.

The horror of it all sticks with him as Levitt puts down his tablet. He doesn’t object when he starts to unhook the wires even though they aren’t any closer to finding the information they seek. Over and over, she’s tried to make the smart choice, to do what she should and not what she wants, but even she faltered. Somehow, the emotional impulsivity of those around her seeped into her and infected her.

Her breathing is labored as Levitt helps her into a sitting position, her face pale, and her hands shaky. She has her eyes closed, but he knows that if she were to open them that he’d see weariness. How did they get it all so wrong before?

“It doesn't have to be like this,” he tells her softly as she turns to walk away with Levitt’s arm around her.

He doesn’t expect an answer, doesn’t expect her to even stop. He certainly doesn’t think that she’ll actually turn to look at him, but she does, staring back at him fiercely, “It does.”

There’s determination in her cold gaze as she watches him, but underneath that is pain; pain that has been there lingering in the corners for far too long. He holds her eyes, willing her to understand, to accept the peace that he’s trying to offer her.

She looks away after a few seconds, turning her back on him, but he doesn’t let that deter him. She’ll see the light eventually, see all the ways that the Shepherd’s teaching will help her, he’ll make sure of it. He will find the information about the Flame. He will show them the ways of the light.

He will save everyone; he will save her.

Chapter Text

Echo:

Clarke trembles from her slumped position in the corner, her entire countenance a sign that her mind is somewhere else. Her sunken, red-rimmed eyes are glazed, staring off into the distance, though she doesn't cry as her lips silently mouth the refrain, “Love is a weakness".

Echo watches without making any attempt to intervene. She knows there’s nothing she could do that would be of any help.

Octavia has been relentless in her attempts to help – coaching Clarke through resisting m-cap, cleaning her wounded temples and the bruises from struggling against the restraints, and trying to coax her into eating – though she has less and less success as the days pass.

Raven has been prowling like a caged animal, the fire growing in her eyes just barely contained, and Echo suspects she is only holding back in deference to the shaky state Clarke appears to be in. They discussed it, after Levitt came to retrieve her, and decided it was best to proceed with caution. Knowing the unstable state Octavia was in when they found her in the chair, even Echo could agree it was wise to maintain their composure in front of Clarke.

Jordan and Gabriel tried gently encouraging her to sleep. Niylah and Miller tried their hand at reasoning with her.

All their attempts have fallen on deaf ears. Even her simple exchanges with Octavia have ceased. Clarke has gone off with the disciples twice now and come back looking worse than the time before, retreating into her corner and her own mind each time. They've taken shifts watching her and trying to persuade her, but three days in, she has yet to eat, drink, or sleep.

It’s difficult to watch, even for Echo. This woman before her is so changed from the one she’s used to.

Change comes for them all though, in time.

Usually, it’s slow, like the tentative trust and family she built with the others those six years on the Ring. Her relationship with Bellamy had been that way. A slow unfurling, one she fought, knowing she could never truly possess his heart when it belonged to a ghost. She’d even told him it wasn’t real, just a temporary fill when the seven of them were all they had. In time, her perspective had changed as they learned and grew together, though the doubt lingered. He promised nothing would change on the ground, but she should have trusted her instincts. If she hadn’t been so desperate to hold on to all the growth they’d gone through, she would have seen sooner that they couldn’t exist outside the vacuum of space.

Things did change on the ground though. Everything changed. The kind of change that comes swiftly and without warning.

The quick changes had always been like that in her experience. Completely inexplicable and unavoidable circumstances, quick decisions that cannot be undone, and the changes that must be made in the fall-out. She’d lived through repercussions herself. A split-second decision, and her identity was gone; no longer was she Ash the little girl but doomed to live her life as Echo the spy.

The ground they returned to was different than the one they left. They were different too, but so were the people they left behind. Clarke was there, but different. She had Madi now, and all her current priorities shifted down to one. Octavia had changed similarly, the petulant but fierce warrior now a tyrant running on bloodlust. Changes forced by circumstance, all boiled down to the moment the world ended.

And then Bellamy had given Madi the flame, and everything changed again. Loyalties and power shifted. A Clarke who wasn’t so eager to forgive. Echo could relate, her loyalty made it near impossible for her to forgive either.

In a twisted way, her understanding of that loyalty is what enabled her to forgive Clarke in the end. She could respect Clarke’s loyalty to the little girl’s safety, objectively; it wasn’t very different from what Echo felt for Bellamy. Both had survived in the end and forgiveness was due on both sides. Bellamy forgave Clarke, and Echo followed his lead.

There were many things she had learned from him over the years, and forgiveness was one, despite how difficult it still was. She did it though, not wanting this new, ruined Earth to steal from them what they had gained in space. Trying to convince him otherwise never would have worked, and hurting him wasn’t worth the grudge. If he could forgive Clarke, she could as well, if only to prove that she had changed.

Bellamy had changed in space too, but it wasn’t until she was offering to avenge Clarke’s death in Sanctum that she realized it wasn’t her who had changed him. He had changed for Clarke, to make up for her absence. Even though she had been alive when they returned from space, Clarke had changed too, and he was still trying to make up the difference in their partnership.

They had a bond that refused to be broken by time or distance. It may have faltered at times. This isn’t the first time they’d betrayed each other, if the stories she heard were true, though it was the greatest. Through all their ups and downs though, they always found their way back together.

The end of the world hadn’t broken that connection. Six years out of contact had damaged it, but it still remained, if only by threads. Even death couldn’t keep them apart; Bellamy had refused to let it.

Snapping out of her recollections, Echo looks over at Clarke once more. She represses a sigh as she contemplates what method would be most effective on her.

Bellamy’s betrayal had cost Clarke a great deal, another change that she didn’t see coming, and Echo isn’t sure yet how to handle her. It needs to be done, though, and soon at that. She plans on doing her part to try to sway Bellamy, but her instincts tell her it is inevitable that Clarke has to be the one to save Bellamy this time.

Before she can figure it out, however, they come to take her away again. She does sigh then, thinking that it may be for the best. If they can get Clarke to sleep when she returns, perhaps she’ll be more receptive when Echo makes her move. She feels more confident as she forms a tentative plan.

It disappears when she notices a fourth white-clad figure entering the room, one whose silhouette she knows all too well. Bellamy.

She and Octavia share a look. Levitt has been passing her notes, keeping her updated on Clarke’s progress and the disciples’ movements, what information he is privy to, at least. It hasn’t been a problem these last two days; the guards pay no attention to him, their entire focus usually on forcing Clarke up and out of the room, though they seem to keep a cursory watch on Echo and Hope in particular. Bellamy though knows them well enough to know when they’re up to something, with the added complication that he is likely to pay close attention to any interaction his sister is part of.

He surprises her by not giving Octavia any particular attention. He looks at Clarke, frowning slightly to himself. It isn’t sad or worried like Echo hoped it would be. Instead, it’s disapproving, but in a detached way. He surveys the room next, his expression still impassive and unaffected despite the varying angry and disappointed expressions he is faced with.

She locks eyes with Octavia again, trying to convey that she’ll handle this. The younger woman gives her a look of relief.

“Bellamy,” she says, stepping forward and tipping her head to the side as she moves into an empty corner of the room. The area is too small for it to truly be considered private, but it will keep Octavia and Levitt out of his sight.

His expression flickers at her call, resignation quickly crossing his features before he follows her, nodding politely. “Echo.”

It’s a lost cause, she can see that already, but she needs to assess him to figure out how far gone he is, and this may be the only opportunity she has.

“What is this? What are you doing?”

He sighs slightly, as if he’s tired of the conversation already, but begins, “They told me you trained with them. You know what this is. You know why I’m doing this.” The look he gives her is pained, but she doesn’t for a second believe that it’s about her. She proves him right with his next statement, “I don’t understand why you don’t see it. You’ve always understood loyalty to a cause.”

She can’t contain the harsh breath that escapes her, the faintest hint of a bitter laugh as the memory of him telling her that loyalty was her weakness rises to the surface. “I did train with them. Five years on Skyring, and another three months here, but I didn’t let myself forget who I truly am or where I came from. Not like you. You’ve changed.”

"I haven’t. I’m still the man you love. I still care about all of you." At her scoff, he frowns. "Echo, you know better than this. You know that sacrifice is important. I know you understand this. I’ve seen it."

She doesn’t flinch; she’s better than to show her hand. She keeps her voice steady. "I know about war, Bellamy. I know how to win. But this? Is this really more important than your family? Did you forget why you came here? You were looking for your sister."

He ignores the mention of Octavia, doesn’t even look at her. It’s probably a good thing, considering Levitt is covertly passing her a note while the guards rouse Clarke. “I haven’t forgotten anything, Echo. I know what I’m doing.”

"Do you?" she presses. "Is it really that important?" She looks into his eyes, analyzing his expressionless face. "Is it more important than us?"

He steps back from her, straightening his shoulders and folding his hands behind his back as he says with surety, "Yes. This is the most important thing I'll ever do."

She wants to ask the question, Is it more important than Clarke? but she refrains. She already knows he’d claim it was, but she doesn’t believe it. She doesn’t need to hear the lie, not when she could hear the truth in his words when he said it was more important than them.

It gives her hope, though. For whatever else has happened, however much change and growth they've all gone through, they all rest on a foundation that cannot be taken away from them; some parts of who they are are immutable.

Echo will always be part Azgeda spy, raised, and trained in the art of assassination and suspicion. She cannot deny that, especially not as she schools her expression and watches Bellamy's every move with a critical eye.

He’s here, seemingly indifferent to Clarke, but his body subtly betrays him. Each movement, each glance, is too controlled and carefully planned to be genuine. He's trying to prove himself. It tells Echo what she needs to know.

Bellamy will always be partly dependent on Clarke, one half of a whole fighting to keep the other balanced.

There was a time when a jealous, insecure part of her wished that wasn't true, but she always knew it was. Now, she's grateful for it, because she's certain it still is, no matter how much that truth hurts.

She gives none of her thoughts away, posture rigid and vigilant, watching the procession leave. Levitt leads, with Clarke between the guards right behind them, as Bellamy follows. It appears for all that he is changed, Bellamy still knows her well enough to see something in her stance, however, and pauses on his way out to address her one last time. She wants to snarl at his disappointed expression but simply waits. He’ll say what he needs to say regardless.

“If you reconsider, there will be a place for you here.” He looks at her first, before shifting his gaze to address all of them as he speaks. “All of you, the Shepard will grant you forgiveness, and then you can fight with us. Together, we can create a better future.”

Echo pushes a breath through her nose in frustration, preparing for the outburst that is sure to follow.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hope shouts incredulously, hopping to her feet.

Echo intercepts her, a firm grip on her arm stopping the younger woman, who shoots her a murderous look. Out of the corner of her eye, Echo sees Raven shaking with rage, similarly being held back by an angry but composed Miller. They’re moments away from a fight they cannot come back from. This is one of those moments that could change everything, only this one would condemn them.

There’s nothing she can do. Nothing any of them can do, so with a shake of her head, she tells him, “Just go, Bellamy.”

To her profound relief, he does. She only hopes that Clarke can do something, anything, to spark a change for the better in him where she, herself, has failed.

Bellamy:

Clarke stumbles where she walks in front of him, Levitt by her side, and his mind screams out to steady her, but his hands don’t move from their position neatly folded behind his back. It's progress. He's making progress.

If he’s honest with himself, he was a little worried about how his resolve would hold up in the face of all the people who he used to love most. He’d feared that seeing Octavia again, Raven, even Miller and having to witness the disappointment on their faces would shake him like seeing Clarke during their first session did, but he need not have concerned himself. For the most part, they all ignored him, choosing to show their disdain for him with silence.

It was perfect. He didn’t need to even look at Octavia, he wasn’t tempted to let the anger in Raven’s expression sway him, and then when Echo caught his eye, asking to talk, he was able to meet her cold accusations with equally cold indifference. He doesn’t need to let his emotions rule him any longer.

Before his enlightenment, he would have been frustrated by Echo’s judgment, felt like it was unfair for her to be implying that he’s making a mistake, that he’s losing himself, when she has never had that firm of a grasp on her own identity, but now, he finds that he doesn’t care. He would have felt guilty before too, walking away like that. Now, he knows it’s for the best. He’s encouraged her attachment to him and all that has ever done is hold her back, fooled her into believing in a reality that doesn't truly exist.

She was right all those years ago, it was a mistake, and he should have listened to her. He meant what he said, she, maybe more than any of them, knows the danger of emotional attachments. She knew that they should be eliminated, and still, she let him sway her. She was better than this; she should be better than this.

Both her and Clarke should, he thinks, watching as the pair of guards position themselves out in the hall and Levitt takes over directing her to the chair. Why are they both being so stubborn? They've been here before; they have made the sacrifices and felt the burden of a hard decision. They know why he is doing what he’s doing, he’s sure if they just tried, they would understand, and yet they seem to be intent on denying its validity.

At this point, he’s starting to feel like they are being willfully ignorant just to punish him. He could see why, after all, it was his actions that caused both of them to slip up originally, but he just wishes that they could see that. Clarke, in particular, has always been one to do what’s necessary, she should be able to see that now.

Hopefully, today will be different. Hopefully, it will be better; he needs it to be better. While she hasn’t fought the process physically either of the days before, there is something extra passive about her behavior as she settles into the seat. Maybe it will be.

Something has to give at some point. She can’t keep fighting against them, it’s not good for her, and despite everything, he doesn’t want to see her suffer. He just wants the information the Shepard seeks. Really, he wants much more than that, he wants her to see the truth of what he’s trying to show her, to let go all the pain and doubt he knows she carries around. He wants her to find peace like him.

The lights dim as Levitt starts the machine; Bellamy waits for the standard trigger phrase, standing off to the side as he did the day before, but they don’t have to wait. The second that the needle makes contact with Clarke’s forehead, the screens in front of them flash to life and a glimmer of hope passes through him. This could all be over today.

He squints at the scene, trying to make sense of it. Unlike any of the other ones, it’s foggy, like the memory is coming to them through a haze. Maybe they did need the trigger phrase to connect it right. He can make out what he thinks might be Arcadia, but he can’t be sure. Just as he’s going to turn to Levitt for assistance, the memory shifts, and then it’s instantly recognizable.

Go, I’ll catch up.

Raven’s face disappears, and his one replaces it as Clarke rushes towards him. He can remember the feel of her, warm and alive, as though it happened yesterday, but like with the images in front of him, his recollection comes to him through a film. While he knows that he felt immeasurable relief seeing her, there’s an element of regret that taints it all. He asked about everyone else almost immediately, and that after, they did the best they could to get the rest of the 100 back, but he also knows that he didn’t care about saving them as much as he should have.

In that moment, with his arms around Clarke and Octavia standing behind them, he’d had everything that he truly needed. He was so very wrong. The memory shifts in a swirl of shapes and colors that does nothing to aid the sickness he feels pulling at his stomach.

Bellamy, it’s okay. The toxin is affecting you; come with me back to the school—

Maybe you haven’t noticed, Clarke, but I don’t need you anymore.

Before he even has time to consider the cruel look he sees reflected on his face in the memory or the biting words that might seem to be even more relevant now, but no less horrible, the image of him towering over her glitches to a stop and the picture changes.

Tall trees stretch upwards, seemingly endless. Lush green leaves fill the screen only to be replaced a second later with snow-covered mountains. He shakes his head, trying to make sense of the rapid changes. For a few seconds, he stares at the image, trying to place it before it switches again suddenly and he’s once again looking at Raven.

Your problem isn’t making amends Clarke. Every time you do something horrible; you say you're sorry, but then you do it again. Clarke Griffin and her impossible choices--

This time the memory cuts off mid-sentence, stopped suddenly as though someone hit pause. It flickers on the screen, and Bellamy looks down at Clarke in concern. He doesn’t actually know what’s supposed to be happening, and she doesn’t appear to be in any clear distress, but this doesn’t seem right.

“What’s happening?” he starts to ask Levitt, but Clarke’s voice cuts him off as another memory starts, choppy and disjointed like it’s missing critical data.

If I was with Bellamy, I never would have met you.

The memory runs smoothly for a second and then shifts again. A million different images seem to pass across the screen in rapid succession, and he watches on mesmerized. Out of all the places and people, the only one he has time to identify is a landscape filled with sand until it finally comes to a sudden halt and some kind of tavern takes shape.

There’s a hazy quality to it still, but the memory holds steady, giving him the time he needs to examine it more closely. Where is this? He can see the sun shining in through the windows so he knows it’s not some memory from the ark, but when else could she have been anywhere without him. Everything in the space looks too fresh to be from the ground.

A woman he doesn’t recognize comes into focus, wearing the nicest Ark style clothing he’s ever seen.

Does that mean you’re not going on your little secret family project?

I told them no.

The voice that answers is clearly not Clarke’s, and Bellamy feels a chill run down his spine. What is this? How is this one of Clarke’s memories? He turns to Levitt, ready to demand answers this time, only to find a contemplative look on his face.

Closing his hand into a tight fist, Bellamy tries to remind himself to have patience, but then Levitt continues to watch the screen without a word, and his control snaps, “What’s happening?”

“I think,” the man starts, much too slowly for Bellamy’s tastes, “that this must be from the key. It looks like a memory from pre bomb Earth...”

He trails off, and Bellamy feels the nervous energy grow inside him. This is it. This is what they have been looking for. Even as the excitement starts to build though, he is filled with inexplicable terror because he knows this isn’t right; it doesn’t make sense. Clarke only had the Flame for a matter of minutes, and as far as he knows, she never had any memories from it. Something is wrong.

That thought is only proven when Levitt asks Clarke about the memory, and a bright flash lights up the room. He closes his eyes against the shine, and then when he opens them again, his sister is staring back at him in full Blodreina gear.

You’re good at that aren’t you, hiding while other people fight.

In a vain attempt to understand what is happening, Bellamy steps closer to the screen. This can’t be about the Flame, it makes no sense with Octavia here, but what is it? When is it? He recognizes the fighting pits, they are burned into his mind, and logically, he knows this conversation could have happened, but his instincts are telling him no.

Whatever. Fine, you wrote me off.

There’s the same hazy quality to this memory as the first, but it’s more pronounced now. The edges are blurred, the speech is choppy, and he can’t get over the fact that he would have known if Octavia said anything like that to her. It can’t be real.

His intuition is proven correct when Monty’s voice comes through the speakers. He turns to see Monty watching Clarke expectantly, the house she lived in with Madi in the background, and he knows for sure that this can’t be real. There wasn’t time for them to have this conversation.

You call this doing better?

He twists to look at Clarke, thinking that maybe she’s the reason the memories are making no sense and that this is some attempt to fight it off. As she twists as far as her restraints will allow her, though, moaning softly as different colors flash across her face, he knows that she doesn’t have any more control over what’s happening than he does.

A sharp cry of anguish has him turning back to the screen where the picture has once again cleared just in time to see what he assumes must have been Jake Griffin flying out of the airlock. Wells is next, his body mostly hidden in leaves, but unmistakably dead. Then Finn with a muffled, ‘thanks, princess’ and Lexa with a rush of black blood. There’s a flash of Jasper’s goggles, found in the ruins of Arcadia and Abby’s body flying out another airlock.

One after another, the worst moments of Clarke’s life flash in front of him with barely enough time for him to suck in a breath before the next horror is upon him. Why does she insist on fighting? Why does she continue to want to live a life that is so full of pain and misery?

He can feel the despair of his own losses threaten to overwhelm him; his mother being dragged away from him, Echo’s face when she told him that Octavia was gone, the moment that he realized Clarke wasn’t Clarke. The memories don’t sting in the way they used to, but he still has to close his eyes against the on slot of emotion.

I’m sorry, Bellamy is dead.

His eyes fly open in time to see Gabriel with a concerned expression on his face, to hear Clarke suck in a horrified breath, and then suddenly, the screen goes black.

“What happened?” Bellamy demands, whirling around to face Levitt, and then taking a step towards him threateningly when he sees him standing next to Clarke, “What did you do?”

“I gave her a sedative,” Levitt says, looking back at him steadily, and Bellamy suddenly feels ashamed, he let his emotions get the better of him. He takes a breath, adjusts his posture, and then nods his head in Levitt’s direction to indicate that he should continue, “She hasn’t been sleeping and it’s disturbing her brain patterns. Anything we learn at this point can’t be trusted.”

“Right,” he agrees, still trying to calm his racing heart. He glances quickly at Clarke, and then looks away, “It was a good call, disciple.”

Levitt considers him carefully, “She needs to be returned to her room. Would you be willing to take her?”

No, is the answer he wants to give, but that’s not an option. He's better than this now. He can pick her up, carry her back to their friends, and keep his composure. He won’t let a few hard memories erase all the progress he has made.

He doesn’t look at Levitt as he moves to pick Clarke up, doesn’t look at Clarke once she’s in his arms. He keeps his eyes straight forward and his mind clear as he walks out of the room and down the halls. He doesn’t allow himself to notice that she’s much lighter than she should be or the easy way that she leans into him unconsciously.

Through it all, he manages to keep his training about him, but then there’s a cry of anger after he hands her off to the guard to bring her into the cell and something like guilt starts to unfurl in his chest. He turns his back on the noise though and walks away before it can take root. The Shepard's Prayer escapes his lips, drowning out the echoes that follow until he's clear of both the sounds and the feeling.

Chapter Text

Raven:

Clarke sleeps, finally using one of the beds, though she remains unaware of it; the sedative Levitt gave her is the sole reason for her slumber. Somehow, she manages to look worse in sleep than she does awake – the bags under her eyes are dark, her breathing shallow, and her muscle twitchy despite the medicine that should put her completely at ease.

It hurts Raven to look at her and see what she has been reduced to. It burns like the shock collar, like fire and radiation. The evidence of what happens every time Clarke is pulled from the room weighs down on her like the pressure of moving through Earth’s atmosphere. Together, the sensations are overwhelming.

Raven is an explosive, just waiting to detonate.

She always has been, really. Back on the Ark, with her shitty childhood and her shitty luck, when the only thing keeping her from going off was Finn’s calming presence. Back on the ground too, when her rock turned out to be a cheat who fell in love with someone else and it was one threat after another. Up on the Ring, when the weight of running the systems that kept them alive rested almost entirely on her shoulders. And over and over again, as she bounced between space and land, fighting one betrayal after another.

She never really stopped. Not until she became the monster she was always looking over her shoulder for. Not until she was the one who had to make the tough call. Not until she willingly and knowingly sent an unwitting crew to die for the greater good.

Now she knew. She knew what it was like to bear it so that others don’t have to. She knew what it cost to make impossible decisions. She knew how it felt to be the bad guy.

She knew she had been too quick to judge before, particularly Clarke.

Remembering the words, “Clarke Griffin doesn’t break,” is as painful as swallowing glass, now.

Clarke had assuredly broken here. On the second day, she had walked back into the room calmly, if not tiredly, but it had broken the moment the door closed behind her. Hysteria replaced the calm within moments as she fell into Octavia’s arms and repeated again and again, “It wasn’t enough.” Eventually, the younger Blake soothed her, and the conversation dissolved into whispers that Raven couldn’t make out without intruding.

Raven wished she could have been a part of it then, and wishes she could do something to offer comfort, but she doesn’t know how to. Even if she did, she's not sure she has the right anymore.

For all that she threw at Clarke, all the anger, hurt, and accusations, Clarke never once cracked under pressure. More often than not, she took it as if she deserved it. Raven really thought she had, honestly. That Clarke had betrayed Bellamy, betrayed them, in a way that none of them would ever have done her.

She’s never been more wrong.

They’ve all let her down. Octavia first, though Octavia betrayed them all. Echo tried to kill her, in front of her own daughter, no less. Murphy aided her murderers and continued to do so even after he knew she survived. Emori helped for a time. Raven betrayed her by forgetting the sacrifice that she made for them and forcing her to carry all the blame. Worst of all is Bellamy, the man Spacekru so staunchly defended after Clarke turned her back on him, who has now turned his back on everything they’ve been through in favor of Bill fucking Cadogan.

At least Clarke did it for her daughter, the little girl who was her only solace in the six years they spent alone together. Bellamy betrayed them over an ideology, one taught by the enemy and led by a known cult leader.

Maybe it’s because they were both alone. For all that Raven has faced, she’s never entirely had to do it on her own. It's possible that she too could fall prey to the trap of blind loyalty if she was worn to the quick like they had been, with only one thing left to hold onto. Then again, probably not. She’s more apt to explode than to place her trust in any one person or thing, these days.

It never ends well.

She must have placed more faith in Bellamy over the years than she thought, however. She holds herself back, watching him, waiting and looking for any sign that he hasn’t truly gone off the deep end. Any indication that this is just part of a larger scheme to save them all, Clarke included. There’s a naïve part of her that’s foolish enough to hope that this is all because he knew Clarke was going to sacrifice herself for them yet again and that he couldn’t bear it.

Raven spends the night pacing, staying awake beside the others during their watch, even alongside Octavia, waiting for Clarke to wake. The hope is that the sleep will have done her some good, restored some sort of life to the near-catatonic Clarke that she has been the last few days. Raven thinks she should know better than to hope by now.

When the morning finally comes, Clarke has slept through the night without showing any signs of waking. Gabriel suggests that they try waking her gently, believing she may be more comfortable seeing friendly faces before she’s taken for another session, though Raven doubts there’s any comfort she can find on this planet. The two people most important to her are out of her reach, Madi in the physical sense, and Bellamy in the emotional one.

What’s worse is knowing that Madi is mentally gone to her right now too. Octavia told her about what’s happening, what Clarke is trying to do. If she is to keep the disciples from learning about the flame, she must keep them away from Madi as well. Raven can’t begin to understand how difficult it must be to hold onto someone as your sole motivation while simultaneously trying not to think about them. Their entire group is afraid to mention her, afraid to make things worse after Levitt informed Octavia that what memories they have succeeded in retrieving from Clarke seem to be triggered by what’s going on around her.

It’s the only reason Raven has been trying so hard to hold her tongue. The last thing she wants to do is trigger something in Clarke. It’s getting harder and harder to hold back, though, especially as she takes in the vacant, confused expression on Clarke’s face when they finally manage to rouse her by dousing her in water.

Reining in her temper becomes near impossible when Bellamy walks in behind Levitt and the guards for the second day in a row. He stops at the door this time. The coward, she thinks, though she bites her tongue. She barely managed to contain herself yesterday, and that was mostly because she thought Echo deserved to say her piece. She didn’t get a chance to try again later; when Clarke was returned unconscious, Bellamy didn’t have the decency to come in and face them. Coward, she thinks again.

Blood floods her mouth, the rusty taste thick on her tongue, taking her by surprise when she realizes that she bit through her cheek in her attempt to stay quiet.

For Clarke, she repeats in her mind. Octavia is still being allowed to brush back her hair, and the guards don’t challenge Raven when she stands next to the bed near Clarke’s head. For Clarke. Put Clarke before yourself just this once.

Clarke doesn’t so much as blink when they arrive, completely dazed under the haze of drugs. Raven can’t help wondering if Levitt failed to account for the lack of sustenance Clarke has had over the last few days when he dosed her. The anger flares again as she watches Clarke’s uncoordinated movements and the way she puts a clumsy hand to her head.

Levitt has the good grace to look guilty, waving off the guards before coming closer to her, checking her pupils and other responses before he mutters to himself angrily. When he pulls out another injection, she wants to throw herself at him, but she doesn’t, instead listening to his strained apology. “I’m sorry, Clarke” he whispers. “This is going to help, okay? I wish I didn’t have to, but you need to be able to think clearly if you don’t want to give anything away.”

Whatever it is helps. Awareness comes back to Clarke’s eyes and her hand clasps Octavia’s with purpose now, but with awareness also comes wariness. The trepidation is clear in her eyes, and she hesitates. Now that Levitt has backed away, the guards seem to have decided they’ve waited long enough, moving forward to force her from the bed. Raven doesn’t move, doesn’t want to risk making things worse for Clarke, but she prays to a deity she doesn’t believe in for some kind of intervention.

Her gaze flicks to Bellamy against her will, the sliver of the naïve little girl she once was still clinging to the hope that everything has been a big misunderstanding, a mistake that he’ll snap out of at just the right moment. But Bellamy doesn’t even twitch when one of the guards forcibly drags Clarke into a standing position, and all Raven's foolish notions burn out like debris falling into Earth’s atmosphere.

When Clarke stumbles under the guard's rough grasp, and Bellamy doesn't reach out to steady her, she finally allows herself to explode.

“Stop it!” she yells at the guard, launching herself between them. Octavia moves with her, stepping up to Clarke’s side to steady her. Distractedly, she hears Levitt tell the guards that they should give Clarke a minute for the medicine to settle before moving her anyway. She’s grateful for the reprieve, even if she’s incapable of expressing it through her anger.

She aims a glare at Bellamy and hisses, “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m doing what needs to be done, Raven,” he explains slowly, like she’s not lightyears smarter than he is. “I learned things during my time on Etherea. There is so much more at stake than you know.”

“What I know is that Clarke was trying to save us before you rolled over for your Shepard like a dog for its master.” She scoffs, “So much for family, huh?”

He doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he calmly waves down the guards that have attempted to step in at the insult. His jaw doesn’t clench like it should, which only makes the fire inside her burn hotter. “What we’re doing here will save us all, but it’s bigger than any single family, Raven. It’s for all mankind.”

“For all mankind,” she mutters lowly. “That fucking prayer.”

“Raven,” he tries again, in that infuriatingly calm tone, as if she's the one who’s being unreasonable.

“Don't,” she cuts him off firmly. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound spouting that bullshit? It says the Shepard saved you from the fire, right? That’s how your precious prayer goes, isn't It, Bellamy?!” She steps toward him threateningly, ignoring the guards and trying not to hit him when he doesn't react. “You seem to have forgotten, but I remember that when the fire came for us, it was Clarke saved us. Clarke saved us, and you left her, and then you spent six years trying to make up for that. Is this how you do that?!”

“I remember,” he says calmly. “If she were thinking clearly, Clarke would understand. She’s always made the tough choices. This time, I’m doing it for her. She’ll see that.”

“For Clarke?!” She wants to hit him. Eviscerate him at the audacity of that statement, but she controls the impulse, breathing heavily and settling for a glare. “I don’t know how you’ve deluded yourself into thinking this is acceptable, but I hope you remember that we’ve been here before. It was wrong then, and it’s wrong now. I’ll be the first person to tell you Clarke has fucked up, but she has never done what you’re doing now. She sacrificed herself for us. You don’t get to sacrifice her against her will and tell me it’s what she would do.”

“I’m doing what I have to do, Raven.”

“No,” she sneers, her anger making her cruel. “You're doing what you always do when you feel abandoned. You found yourself a new leader to play soldier to. Stars forbid Bellamy Blake ever has to stand on his own two feet.”

He doesn’t give her a response, simply turning to wave to the guards. One forces her aside, the other moving to grab Clarke again, but Levitt intercedes before he can. Bellamy leads the way out without looking back, leaving as if she isn’t worth his time. If he didn’t hold all the power in this situation, he certainly wouldn’t be worth hers right now.

Bellamy:

Counting silently in his head, Bellamy takes calm, measured steps back to the room, refusing to allow Raven’s words to touch him. She’s lashing out, doing what she does best when feeling trapped, and taking whoever she can down with her. It’s no wonder that the people here think they are all insane. Why would anyone want to live the kind of life where someone who’s supposed to be your friend could just turn on you?

Selfish love is fickle, and he’s thankful to have no more part in it. Yesterday’s session only served to remind him how lucky he is to have found salvation. He doesn’t need to carry the pain with him or the doubts. He doesn’t need to worry if what Raven accused him of is true because he knows that it’s not. He’s not the same Bellamy who followed Pike in a fit of grief and anger, and his Shepherd couldn’t be further from the type of man that Pike was.

It’s almost laughable how different the situations are when he analyzes them side to side. Pike installed himself through a message of hate, us versus them, because there could only be one, while the Shepherd preaches of unity and salvation with peace for all mankind. He wants to put an end to all wars, not start a never-ending one. Pike was afraid, and he let that fear consume him, but the Shepherd knows that there is nothing to fear if they all work together.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, Bellamy doesn’t realize they are back in the room until he looks up, and Levitt is strapping Clarke down. She looks almost more tired than she did yesterday, if not physically, then at least mentally, which makes sense considering the memories she experienced yesterday.

He can see the fight starting to leave her, and he’s grateful for it. Even if she just gives them the information begrudgingly, even if it’s only because she knows it’s him asking for it, that would be enough at this point. At least then, this can all finally be over, and he can start using less invasive tactics to help her understand.

As the memories showed yesterday, she’s already suffered enough.

While it might be tempting to try and catch her eye, to attempt to convey his frustration with how this is all happening to her in a way he hasn’t allowed himself, he doesn’t, because he knows that it’s an easy road back to an existence dictated by selfish love and she’s the most likely person to drag him back there. He won’t go back there.

Today, Levitt needs the trigger phrase to start them off, so only once the words are spoken, the lights are dimmed, and the screen has flashed to life does he permit himself to focus on his surroundings. There's a red tint to the room from the memory where in the dark and obnoxious sky, a rocket takes off.

He feels a stab of longstanding guilt hit him in the chest as he hears Raven’s voice in his head, louder than anything else around him when the fire came for us, Clarke saved us. He tries to tell himself that all this memory is, is proof that he has done this before. He’s made the logical choice even when it hurt her, more than once, and she’s still accepted it in the end, but the rationale doesn’t feel nearly as convincing as it did a few days ago.

Still, he knows that he’s only doing what is necessary. At some point, Clarke will realize that. She’ll understand, and then everything will be fine.

The memory shifts in front of him with no prompting from Levitt, and he turns his attention to it rather than dwell on troubling thoughts that he shouldn’t still have. If they can just find where she put the flame, this can all end, and he won’t have to worry anymore.

Why did you come on this mission, Clarke?

Raven is my friend.

Yesterday, you were okay leaving your friend out to die; my sister too. Kane.

It feels so long ago, sitting in the rover with her as the world burned around them. Like another lifetime. Then she lets out a sigh, though, and he remembers the pain of the moment as clearly as it was only yesterday.

I wasn’t fine with it, and you know that. Bellamy, I never meant to hurt you.

Aiming a gun at me is a strange way to show it.

He can see the disapproval on his past self’s face even through the hazmat suit, and it makes him wince. He was so mad, so hurt, and Clarke took the brunt of his emotionality. He glances at her in the chair with her eyes closed. How did she do it? It's only been a few days for him, and already, he’s feeling the struggle of doing what he knows is right even when no one else he cares about agrees. No wonder she’s exhausted.

I didn’t pull the trigger.

Is that supposed to make it okay?

Nothing is okay. Whatever choice I make, someone always dies.

The memory fades away, leaving him more confused than ever. Clarke looked so worn down like the weight of the world is on her shoulders, and all he wants to do is take that burden away from her. No one has to die, that’s the whole point; she just has to see it. She doesn’t need to be alone, holding the fate of the world up anymore.

I’ve been by myself now for two months, but this is the first time I feel alone.

Her voice shows up before any image, and for a second, he’s startled, thinking that she was talking to him, that she somehow learned to actually read his mind, but then a destroyed Polis takes shape in front of him, and he realizes it’s just the memory. Bellamy settles in to watch, looking for the information he seeks, only to be distracted again with the image of a radio.

She was talking to him. She was alone and calling out to him.

Once again, the memory shifts before he can process the thought, Russell’s face filling the screen, and a wave of horror washes over him. He wants to close his eyes against the sight, already anticipating what’s going to happen, but he can’t seem to make them cooperate. Russell moves towards her, brushing a hand across her face, and Bellamy feels like throwing up.

I’m sorry, Clarke; I truly am. Please don’t cry.

He watches tensely as it continues until suddenly, it cuts off without warning. The memories seem to be flowing more logically now, there’s no haze, and each of them makes sense for which he is grateful even if it means he isn’t able to discount the painful recollections as fake. It means that here in the present, she is doing better.

All of me for all of us, it’s kind of beautiful... They lost 400 people, that’s a third of everyone in that bunker and they had no idea if they would ever get out and yet, look at them. Strong, unified. I can see why my mom was terrified, but you have to admit, it’s impressive.

The fire reflects off his face on the screen, but it’s hers that he sees in his memory. He remembers the contemplative set to her lips, so familiar to him and yet, foreign after all the years apart.

So is surviving alone... How did you do it?

Well, I wasn’t alone; I had Madi.

“This is irrelevant,” he tells Levitt with all the authority he can muster before he has a second to consider the ramifications. He was too caught up in his thoughts; he didn’t realize where the memory was going, and he should have. If he wanted Madi involved in this, then he would have given the Shepherd her name along with Clarke’s, but he doesn’t, and he won’t have that jeopardized.

Levitt turns to look at him, confusion on his face, and all he can do is hold the man’s gaze steadily, praying that he appears as indifferent as he should. He waits tensely for a moment until finally, it seems like he is going to say something, only to be cut off by a new memory taking shape.

If I’m on that list, you’re on that list.

Bellamy, I can’t.

Write it down, or I will.

He turns away from Levitt, absorbed in the memory.

So what now?

Now, we put it away and hope we never have to use it.

You still have hope?

We still—

Breathing, his mind finishes for him as the memory fades away. At one of the darkest moments they faced, he had hope, so she did too. He had faith that she would figure something out, and that was enough for her. She believed him enough to trust that if they were together, everything would be okay. That has to mean something.

It's only once the lights come on that Bellamy realizes that the memory didn’t just transition but was cut off. He looks over, concerned despite himself, and spots Levitt pulling the needle away from Clarke. She blinks slowly, sitting up with a little difficulty and then rubbing a hand across her face.

He looks away quickly, annoyed that he lost focus watching her and finds Levitt watching him with the same curious look in his eyes. Bellamy comes back to himself in an instant, “What are you doing?”

“I think we’ve done enough for today.”

Every bit of his training tells him to push for more, the voice in his mind questions if this is some kind of test, but he pushes it aside, Madi’s face the first time she saw him, the hope in her eyes, at the forefront of his thoughts. Even though he was able to direct Clarke’s mind away from her once, there’s no guarantee he could again. Plus, with her already there in Clarke's thoughts, the chances of seeing her again are probably higher.

No, it’s better to stop now and be safe, he decides with no further thought to whatever test he might be failing with his actions, “I agree. We don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”

“Exactly,” Levitt says, finishing undoing the restraints and then walking over to the edge of the room to finish up shutting down the machines, leaving him and Clarke standing a few feet from each other with virtually no one around for the first time.

“Why?” he asks suddenly, breaking his own rules. He closes his eyes briefly and then walks over to her, knowing that this is probably a mistake, but willing to do it anyways, “Why won’t you just tell us where the flame is?”

“You know why.” There’s an accusation behind her words, but none of the heat he’s come to expect from arguing with her.

“No, I don’t know why. I don’t understand any of this.”

“You don’t understand,” she says, finally looking at him, and there’s something in her eyes that makes him uneasy, “A week ago you were my rock— my best friend, and now I can’t even recognize you!”

“I am the same person I’ve always been.” It’s basically the same thing he told Echo a few days ago, but now, he puts every ounce of emotion behind the words he can find, looking into her eyes and begging her to see him.

She lets out a laugh, getting off the chair shakily, but there’s no amusement to it, “This is a strange way of showing it.”

He's wondered over the last couple of days if she’s as aware of the memories they are seeing as he originally thought she would be and this confirms it. His own words, twisted back at him, land like a physical slap to the face. He takes an involuntary step back, “And I’m not anymore okay with what’s happening now than you were that day in the bunker, but it needed to happen and this does too.”

“I didn’t shoot,” she says suddenly softly, looking away from him.

“And I’m not going to either,” he responds after a moment, realizing with sudden clarity that he’s not. He wants the information, he’s going to get it, but there are some lines which he knows he’ll never be able to cross, not even for all mankind. “I don’t want it to be like this, Clarke. Us on opposite sides never ends well. Just tell me where to find the Flame and it can all end.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asks again, absolute, unrestrained desperation in his tone. He just wants this all to be over.

“Because I don’t know what he’s going to do with it,” she explains, turning to glare at him, “I don’t trust him, and I’m not going to be responsible for him triggering the end of the world.”

“I’m not asking you to trust him!” he tells her, voice caked with emotion. He takes a step towards her, just as unconscious as the step back before, “I’m not even asking you to believe in transcendence. I am asking you to trust me, to believe in me.”

Her eyes turn misty, and for a second, he thinks maybe he’s finally got through to her, but then she takes a step away from him, opening her mouth, “I do trust you... I do, it’s just not enough.”

He watches in stunned silence as she walks to the door, meeting up with Levitt on her way, an unexpected wave of hurt hitting him. He tries to think of something to say, but he can’t, so he just stands there while they walk away, her voice echoing in his head. Since when is it not enough?

Chapter Text

Miller POV:

Inhale terror, exhale rage. Keep it to yourself.

It’s a game he’s become far too familiar with over the years. One he knows better than his own name at this point.

Nathan Miller has been both angry and afraid many times in his life, but never like he feels as he registers the expression on Clarke's face when Bellamy walks into the room that morning with two guards. It's a veneer of strength and resolve that resides over desperate panic and sends him back to another terrifying chapter in their lives. One that didn't end well.

She had rallied yesterday, looking fiercer than she had since Bellamy returned. He got the impression that the others were relieved, but he didn't share in their optimism. None of them had been at Mt. Weather that first time like he had; they couldn't possibly recognize what he did. Her current demeanor was one of careful control, barely masking the chaos and desperation that rages like a storm in her eyes, just like it had been then. Not exactly the same, of course – back then, there had been the slightest bit of optimism in her eye, but even that is absent now.

Determination alone had carried her through that mission, but the cost was so great she left them.

There’s only one way she could be planning on leaving them now, and the knowledge makes seeing her wear that expression again nothing short of terrifying. Whatever she’s gearing up to doesn't have a happy ending, not for her. If there is any hope in avoiding it, Nathan knows Bellamy is it.

It doesn’t bode well for them, but it's all he has at this point.

The truth is that Nathan has been around long enough to know that no matter what he says, no one is going to listen no matter how much they value him. They were a bunch of delinquents for a reason; none of them were very good at doing what they should and that hasn’t changed. It's particularly true of Bellamy and Clarke. He isn’t one for wasting words, as a general rule, so he learned quickly to keep his mouth shut. It was less frustrating for everyone that way.

It didn't make them easier to protect, not Clarke or Octavia, but he never stopped trying. He just rode out their stupidity with them, a mostly silent force at their backs. The trust Bellamy had instilled upon him back at the dropship had been so poignant he hasn't managed to shake it even over a century later.

It’s why he can’t keep his mouth shut any longer, no matter how fruitless the endeavor is sure to be. Not when he can see how much the situation has taken from Clarke in just a few short days.

He intends to, anyway, but Jordan beats him to it, softly calling out, “Bellamy, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Bellamy looks confused for only a second before he clears his expression and nods his assent, walking with measured steps to the corner of the room Jordan has indicated.

Nathan hesitates for just a moment, torn between the desire to stay with Octavia and Clarke to protect them and the desire to confront Bellamy. Echo notices his dilemma and nods at him, letting him know she can handle the women, and he nods back, his decision made.

“No. You don’t understand. No one here does,” he hears Jordan say as he steps into their range. He lets out a frustrated sound, and Nathan understands that he’s trying to appeal to Bellamy’s reason without having much success. “I’ve read the text, Bellamy. The real text and they’ve got it wrong. It’s not a war, it’s a test. For humanity.”

Bellamy hesitates slightly, and some small part of Nathan perks up. The Bellamy that came back from space was far more rational than he was used to (with one exception). Maybe they stand a chance to break through to him this way. But then Bellamy sidesteps it and quickly dashes that hope. “Even if you’re right, we still need all the information we can get to prepare. The flame is the only thing that can give us that.”

“Maybe,” Jordan concedes. “But this,” he says, gesturing to Clarke, “what you’re doing to her is not the way to do that.”

“I know that this is hard,” Bellamy responds, his tone conciliatory, “but it’s the only way.”

Nathan clenches his fist, his jaw hurting from the effort of trying to keep quiet so that Jordan can say his piece. Jordan looks at Bellamy for a long moment, searching. What he’s looking for, Nathan isn’t sure, but the small frown on Jordan’s face says that he didn’t find it. Disappointment laces his voice when he tells him, “My father wouldn’t even recognize this person. You have no heart and no head.”

Bellamy shakes his head dismissively, and Nathan finds himself speaking up. “He’s right. You used to care, man, so much that you made the rest of us care too.” He laughs bitterly. “I would have followed you anywhere, you and Clarke, even to death. Hell, I followed Octavia down the path of the Red Queen.” He exhales his rage, straightening his shoulders and making eye contact with Bellamy. He tries not to inhale more terror, but he knows what will probably happen if this attempt fails. “But I won't follow you now, not down a path that leads to Clarke’s torture.”

He thinks he sees Bellamy’s jaw tick, but it’s gone too quickly to be sure. “It’s not torture,” he insists.

“It is if you fight it,” Gabriel says. Nathan hadn’t even noticed his approach. “I hardly know Clarke, not compared to the rest of you, but I know she’s a fighter. So do you.”

There’s something about the way the ex-Prime delivers the reprimand that’s pointed, and the spasm of emotion that crosses Bellamy’s face as the words register says that they landed exactly where they were supposed to. Briefly, Bellamy looks pained, but then it clears again, although not as quickly as before.

Despite this marginal gain, Bellamy’s expression is still too smooth for Nathan’s liking when he tries to explain, “I don’t expect you to understand – you couldn’t know unless you’ve seen the things I’ve seen, experienced it.”

Seeing the “Disciple Blake” mask slip onto his old friend’s face once more frustrates him to no end, and he snaps, “Seeing isn’t believing. Jackson and I saw the same shit during the eclipse on Sanctum. Doesn’t make it any more real.”

“That’s not –” Bellamy responds aggressively, before stalling himself and taking a deep breath. Nathan’s fists clench again, and he grits his teeth at the composure. It almost makes him want to laugh. What he wouldn’t give to see the other man snap, to see the version of him that strung Atom up in a tree and tried to hang Murphy. “I’m trying to do better. Don’t you think we’ve suffered enough? Caused enough pain? We don’t have to go through anything like that ever again once we find the key and win the last war.”

“Test,” Jordan puts forth again, his gaze intent. “I know it’s just one word, but it makes quite a bit of difference. Think about what you’re saying. What you’re describing sounds an awful lot like the City of Light.”

“I wasn’t chipped. It wasn’t anything like that. Call it faith, but I know what I saw. I could feel it.”

“Faith,” Gabriel interjects calmly. It’s odd, his demeanor is so calm and controlled, so similar to Disciple Blake’s, yet still so different. The patience Gabriel exhibits is clearly learned through practice; there’s genuine feeling behind it, unlike Bellamy’s cold repression of everything he used to hold dear. “It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? What people can believe so wholeheartedly. Take Earth, for example. Echo told me all about Grounder culture, their belief in nightbloods, and the flame was religious, no? Not unlike the people of Sanctum and their belief in the Primes as gods. It would never have occurred to them that it was all just tech.”

The pained expression returns and Bellamy closes his eyes, tilting his head back as he does so. He doesn’t open them again before speaking in a voice drenched in exhaustion. “I’m not going to convince you. This discussion is over.” He doesn’t look at them again, spinning on his heel and walking to where the guards stand beside Clarke.

Nathan can’t let it go, however. He doesn’t know if today is Clarke’s last stand or the day before was or if he still has a week, but he’s not willing to risk it. Without thinking, his hand shoots out and grabs Bellamy’s arm firmly, jerking him to a stop.

“No. It’s absolutely not over,” he says firmly, stepping into the other man’s space. For years, he’s been the dutiful soldier at Bellamy’s side, but Bellamy hasn’t been a leader since he got back, not one worth following anyway, and he’s done sitting back waiting for orders. He won’t let it go, not this time. “How stupid can you possibly be? How many times do things have to go to shit when you and Clarke are apart for you to realize that you should be on the same side?!”

It comes out harsh, forceful. Nathan has no problem with the sharpness – Bellamy deserves the sting of the words that has him pulling out of his grasp – but it comes out louder than he intended, and he sees Clarke flinch out of the corner of his eye. Damn it.

He lowers his voice, but still maintains his intensity. “Every single time you two go against each other, everyone suffers in the end, most of all the two of you. You don’t have to do this.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Bellamy says, but he’s looking off to the side as if he isn’t speaking to Nathan at all. His voice is stronger when he looks back at him and continues, “She could just trust me. All she has to do is tell me where the flame is.”

Nathan shakes his head and says bitterly, “No, she has to tell Bill Cadogan. That’s not the same thing.” He pauses, taking a moment to filter the animosity and rage he feels before saying more reasonably, “Look around you. Everyone you loved, every member of your family, is with her on this. Every one of these people has followed you, both of you together and apart, before. They trusted you, just like she did. Yet we’re all on this side of the line while you're over there. I don’t know how it can get much clearer than that.”

He shoves Bellamy away from him in frustration then. He’s said enough, and he doesn’t want to hear what the other man has to say in response. He inhales deeply, trying to get himself back under control, though the terror that’s been haunting him is abated somehow by his rage. Bellamy brushes himself off and turns to go again before he’s stopped again, much more gently this time.

“Bellamy,” Jordan says softly. He thinks it’s only because the kid is so quiet and unassuming that Bellamy pauses to listen. “Just because the system works, even if it makes you feel safe and comfortable, doesn’t mean that it’s just or good. You taught me that back on Sanctum.” Bellamy turns around, his expression cautious but interested as Jordan continues, “Those people were happy to sacrifice themselves for the greater good because they believed one man’s lies.” Bellamy shutters, but Jordan continues earnestly. “I know you’re not hurting anyone like Russel was, but you’re still sacrificing the people you love for this, because of one man and his followers. Just... think about it. Maybe it changes nothing, but...” he trails off, shrugging sheepishly before he turns and walks away.

Bellamy hesitates, watching Jordan with his brow furrowed before Levitt’s appearance breaks him out of his haze. Nathan didn’t even notice the other man was missing, but the delay suddenly makes a lot more sense. He’s grateful regardless because he isn’t sure how many more opportunities like this he’ll get. Who knows how much longer Clarke will last?

Levitt exchanges a few words with the guards, sends Clarke a worried look, and slips a note to Octavia in a matter of seconds, but the tension in Bellamy makes it feel much longer. Nathan can’t get a good read on him, but he hopes the fidgeting is a good sign. The man in question doesn’t look back at Nathan or Gabriel, doesn’t look at anyone really until Clarke is led out of the room.

For the first time since they came here, Bellamy’s eyes don’t leave the back of her head as she walks in front of them. He shadows her footsteps, closer than before but just out of reach. The last thing Nathan sees before they disappear through the door is Bellamy’s twitching fingers clasping both hands tightly together as if he needs something to hold on to. He’d be worried that Clarke seems completely unaware of it, except he’s seen this before too.

It sends his mind back to the dropship camp, back before Clarke and Bellamy had made their peace, but Bellamy was drawn into her orbit anyway. He feels a small flare of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they can find their way back there.

Inhale, exhale. Pray.

Bellamy:

Rifles are not the same as nukes.

In Bellamy’s hands, they are. Clarke, come on, you can’t predict what he’s going to do.

Finn’s condescending voice rings out loudly the second that Bellamy opens that door to the room, giving him no chance at all to slowly acclimatize himself back into his role here. He steps up to his designated spot and nods in greeting towards Levitt, trying not to let Finn’s accusations from the past mix with Miller’s pointed questions from a few minutes ago and send him back spiraling.

The grounder saved Octavia’s life, and Bellamy brought him back here and tortured him.

Yeah, and if he hadn’t brought him back here, you’d be dead.

I know—

I trust him.

Clarke’s declaration hits him like a punch. She trusted him then, believed that he would only do what was best for their people. He thought she still trusted him, but he was evidently wrong. Or no, she trusts him, just not enough. No one trusts him enough. Bitterness spreads across him like a winter storm, settling in his stomach to stay despite his attempts to push it away.

He’s not supposed to care; the fact that she doesn’t trust him anymore should be nothing more than an inconvenience. It shouldn’t have the power to make his hands shake and his palms sweat. There’s no reason why the image of what they used to be should haunt him to the point that he can’t even do his job. He should be stronger than this. He needs to be stronger than this.

The few minutes he took while Levitt set everything up were supposed to be enough for him to regain his center. He’d thought, maybe foolishly, that all he needed was a second away from the ghosts of his past, coming at him with questions he knows he should have answers for, and then he’d be fine, but he’s not. Not even close.

Thoughts swirl in his head. Emotions that he hasn’t felt in a long time threaten to consume him. He tries to push them back and he did, out in the quiet of the hall where there were no distractions, he was able to banish them with fervent repetition of the Shepherd’s prayer. Now though, with Clarke’s memories, often his memories right in front of him, the traitorous impulses keep slipping through the cracks of his mind.

Are you ready to be a badass, Clarke?

For the first time, he truly focuses on the memory playing in front of them, looking up just in time his own face smiling back at him in glee. He had so much hope at that moment, hope that they would all be okay, hope that he would be able to protect them all now. Thinking about all that came after, the death and destruction, the people who they lost, and the way that they both lost themselves, makes it even more heartbreaking.

More than anything, he wishes that he could leave; he continually has to fight back the urge to fidget, to run his hand through his hair and let out a tired sigh. He doesn’t though. He keeps his shoulders back and his head straight forward, playing the role he’s supposed to play.

Do it.

The urge to turn away only increases as the memory switches. This was the start of it all; the moment that the two of them lost any claim they had on innocence and, of course, it was Clarke’s voice, her permission, that sent him over the edge. He spent a long time waiting for her to make the hard calls for him.

Bellamy, no. Please.

Octavia's voice, begging him to stop with such innocence, is too much, and he has to look away. This is what he wants to prevent from happening again. Maybe it’s too late to save O from feeling that type of misery, from seeing that level of violence. Maybe it’s too late to even protect Madi, but there will be others who can live without ever witnessing this.

Torture. That's what Miller had called what he’s doing with Clarke right now. He knows in his heart, though, that it’s not. What they did to Lincoln that day, using pain as an incentive to talk, that was torture. Bellamy didn’t want to hurt Lincoln any more than he wants to hurt Clarke now, but the difference is that he was willing to go there with Lincoln –he would have pushed the man to the brink of death to get the answers he needed– and he won’t with Clarke.

Clarke, you don’t have to be here for this.

He offered her the out, not wanting her to lose her soul along with him, and still, she’d stayed. If he was going to be there, then she was too. They were a team.

There's a flash, and then he sees his hand closing over Clarke’s to pull the lever at Mount Weather, the vow of together echoing in his mind.

It switches in an instant, still their hands, but now it’s her reaching out to him when the prospect of saving everyone in the City of Light felt too overwhelming. There was no together spoken out loud that time, but he can hear it just as loud in the way that he holds tightly onto her hand.

The memory changes, and Jaha’s face on a monitor fills the screen.

Before you do, I’d like to say something. When you send us down here, you sent us to die, but miraculously most of us are still alive. In large part, that is because of him because of Bellamy. He’s one of us.

They really were a great team, he thinks, as he listens to Clarke claim him, feeling just as mesmerized as he was the first time. Miller was right; things are always easier for him when they are working together, but he’s still not sure that easier should mean better. While they did some amazing things together, things that saved a lot of people, just as many, if not more, lost their lives because of them.

The two of them working together was often beautifully destructive in a way that no two people should ever have the power to be. That's the whole problem with selfish love, the potential it has for destruction. Still, it makes his heart flutter a little faster to remember the faith she used to have in him.

What if he can’t? What if it was too dangerous and I sent him in there anyway?

You care about him.

He hears the surprise in Lexa’s voice and wonders not for the first time what she thought of the two of them. It's no secret that he wasn’t her biggest fan, and that's before her betrayal, which made her lose any credit that she had with him. He can’t help but wonder, though, how she would have handled this situation if she were in his place.

Would Clarke be more willing to trust her, to believe her? Or would they be stuck in the same stalemate? He's sure that Lexa would have been on his side; rejecting selfish love for the good of everyone seems like the exact type of rhetoric that she would have been eager to get behind.

I care about them all.

And yet you worry about him more.

The scene fades away, and Bellamy is left wondering if Lexa’s claim was true. Did Clarke worry about him more? Maybe at that moment, while he navigated the deadly halls of Mount Weather alone, but after, when the fate of everyone else didn’t rest on his survival, did she still feel the same? Does she now?

283 lives for one, she must be pretty important.

She is.

He can hear the certainty in his tone when he gave out the answer and is able to remember the confidence with which he gave it. He’d like to think that he wouldn’t have done it, but the truth is that back then, 283 lives to ensure that Clarke was back safe with him didn’t seem like too steep a price. He would have done that and more to save her, and everyone knew it. And yet, they still can’t seem to grasp the issues with the way they lived.

Bellamy’s not dead, Clarke. At least he wasn’t until... he survived your betrayal in Polis long enough to march straight into your betrayal here. What? Now you care about Bellamy.

I always cared.

She always cared, and that’s the thing that he doesn’t think any of their friends has ever been able to understand. The times she walked away or the ones where he shut her down, even now, it has nothing to do with them not caring. She cares. He cares. That's not the problem; it’s never been.

Care, trust, they are just words, emotions that neither of them has ever been able to control as well as they should when the other is involved. The last few days have proven that over and over again. He is apparently physically unable to stop caring where she’s concerned, but that doesn’t change anything.

It's not even that they don’t care enough, trust enough, as she so aptly put it the day before, it’s that they both chose not to let those emotions override everything else, and that’s not new. She has always done what she felt she must, and he has done the same. Sometimes that puts them on the same side, but it often doesn’t, and that’s something that he has to just accept.

What's happening now is killing him; he can feel the heart that Jorden claims he doesn’t have, breaking every day that this goes on, every time he sees the shadows on Clarke’s face or feels Octavia’s glares on his back, but it doesn’t change anything. It can’t because just as surely as he knows what cost this is taking from him, he knows that he must pay it.

He will save them all, even if it means he doesn’t get to be saved along with them.

I tried to do better, I did, and then I lost my Mom. Tell me it was worth it. Tell me it was worth it.

Somehow, he will just have to find the strength to keep trying to do better, to find the right path and follow—

The door opens suddenly, and Bellamy’s thoughts cut off sharply as his Shepard walks in accompanied by a series of guards. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, watching the memory with interest, and Bellamy feels a chill go through him.

They aren’t doing anything wrong. They have been trying each day, every day, to get the memory that he seeks, but when he tilts his head to the side in contemplation, it feels a lot like disapproval.

Hey, hey, we did— we did do better, I have to believe that that matters.

“What progress have you made?” he asks the room, the image of him and Clarke hugging lingering in front of them.

Bellamy keeps his head tilted down in respect, letting Levitt answer the question while he battles with the surge of shame coursing through him. While his faith in the cause is just as strong as it’s ever been, he’s not sure that he’s done a good job of showing that since he returned.

“We have developed an effective system for getting into her mind. I have high hopes that we will eventually be able to find the information we seek without causing lasting damage,” Levitt answers when it’s clear that he’s not going to.

The Shepherd hums thoughtfully, “Disciple Blake, what do you make of that assessment?”

“I agree,” he responds, his head snapping up to look at being addressed, “We are making steady progress every day. We should have answers soon.”

“Stop the machine,” he commands suddenly, barking the order at Levitt with an intense authority that Bellamy hasn’t witnessed as of yet, “I want to speak with Clarke myself.”

Levitt rushes to do his bidding, turning off the device and moving over to Clarke. He watches with every muscle tensed as Clarke blinks up at Levitt in confusion, and his Shepherd shifts impatiently before him. His hand tights into a fist behind his back in an attempt to keep himself controlled, but it doesn’t have any effect when he takes a step towards Clarke, the interruption flying out of his mouth before he thinks, “My Shepherd.”

“No. 'Soon', 'eventually', 'progress'. We have a war to fight. I told you I’d give you time, and I did, but now it’s time to get the answers we need.” Terror grips Bellamy’s heart as he takes another step closer to Clarke, “Are you aware of your surroundings?”

Clarke glares back defiantly for a second, but the effect is lost when she sways to the side and has to catch herself in order to not fall off the chair, “Yes.”

"Good. You have one more day. If you haven't decided to cooperate by tomorrow, your friends will be executed one by one," he tells Clarke magnanimously, lifting his hand to stop her when she opens her mouth to respond, “Go. Rest. Think about my offer."

He leaves the room without another word or another glance at either him or Levitt, taking his guards with him. The sound of the door closing behind them echoes in the quiet space, and Levitt lets out a sigh of relief, helping Clarke off the table, that Bellamy feels more acutely than he’d like to admit.

Bellamy catches a quick glimpse of Clarke’s face as she passes him and sees grim determination etched across her features. A pang of sadness hits him hard. This isn’t what he wanted. He wanted her to give them the information because she finally believes and not because everyone else was being threatened. He never wanted them to be used as leverage.

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says softly just before she passes through the door.

For a second, he doesn’t think she heard him, and he lets out a sigh of relief since he really shouldn’t have said anything, but then she turns around with the strangest expression on her face, “Me too... I know you’re just trying to take care of them— you’ll take care of them.”

“That’s all I’ve ever tried to do,” he responds once he’s got control of his emotions back enough to speak.

“I know,” she tells him, offering one single pained smile before turning and walking through the door.

Chapter Text

Octavia:

Octavia has spent the past week doing what was necessary to support Clarke. If anyone understands what Clarke’s going through, it’s her.

She remembers the desperation with which she fought, every last emotional resource she had channeled into protecting Hope’s existence. It was better for her though, unlike Clarke, she had Bellamy to hold onto as a source of strength. Bellamy had hidden her own existence for sixteen years; despite the vastly different circumstances, she was determined to protect Hope with the same determination that her brother had done for her.

Clarke doesn’t have Bellamy like she did, not as a source of strength. The Bellamy they’re seeing now is so far removed from who he once was that she still can hardly believe it. She can’t imagine how difficult it is for Clarke to sit through those sessions while Bellamy watches. Octavia has witnessed Bellamy and Clarke at odds countless times before, has seen them wound each other profoundly, but she’s never seen her brother not fight for Clarke.

It’s worse knowing that Clarke has to rely on him anyway.

After Clarke’s first session, when she returned and told them how Bellamy wouldn’t let her hurt herself, they’d foolishly hoped Bellamy would come to his senses. The hope diminished as the days passed.

“It didn’t work,” Clarke rushed, frustrated and frantic as soon as they were left on their own. Her hands shook slightly as her fingers threaded her hair and she gripped the sides of her head, reopening her scabbed temples. “It was distracting. I couldn’t - I needed the pain. And he won’t let me.”

“It’s okay,” Octavia had soothed, approaching her as if she were a cornered animal. “Remember the mantra? We just need to find you something to focus on.”

“I couldn’t focus!” Her eyes were too wide, her lips slightly trembling, and her frame vibrating with distress.

“You will,” she promised, finally close enough to take Clarke by the shoulders. “We’ll practice, okay? All night if we have to.”

Practice they did, through the night and into the next morning, the words “Love is a weakness” serving as Clarke’s constant refrain. She’d tried to convince Clarke to eat and sleep, but she’d known it was a losing battle when she started. She could only hope it worked, but of course, it didn’t. When had their lives ever been that easy?

Clarke came back from the next session worse than the day before. It was to be expected, the lack of sleep in conjuncture with fighting the M-cap would decimate even the strongest warrior, but Clarke’s state of duress was worse than Octavia could have imagined.

The second they were left by Levitt and the guards, Clarke had collapsed into her arms, desperately repeating, “It wasn’t enough.”

Far too long passed where Clarke was incapable of anything but dry sobbing as the words escaped her over and over again. If Octavia had to guess, she’d say Clarke was in shock, but Clarke was the only one among them with enough training to make that kind of diagnosis. Eventually, Octavia was able to get her to at least drink something and calm down enough to explain what had happened.

“I tried,” she lamented quietly. Her gaze had gone far away as if she were reliving it. “I did it. Just kept repeating it, thinking of nothing but the words. But he distracted me. It only took a second and he was through. I couldn’t stop it.” She shuddered, her whole frame shaking Octavia’s almost violently, before looking at Octavia with wide, terrified eyes. “It wasn’t enough,” she said again. “What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to protect—”

She cut herself off sharply, looking about the room as if she would see a Disciple spying on them. There were none, of course, but even if someone had been listening, they wouldn’t make themselves seen. They decided to measure their words carefully, even when they appeared to be alone. Who knew who could be listening in a place where they have suits that make them invisible?

Octavia grimaced. There was one more tactic she could think of, but just the thought of suggesting it left a bitter taste in her mouth. To her intense misfortune, Clarke chose that moment to come back to the present.

“What?” Clarke whispered, the single word laced with both hope and fear.

“I think,” she began, hesitating before forcing herself to continue. No matter how distasteful, she knew Clarke would accept anything that would protect Madi, just as she would do whatever it took protect Hope. She’d never let Clarke withhold something like that, and she didn’t expect Clarke to let her either. Regretfully, she continued, “I think Bellamy is important to you. The most important thing aside from,” she cleared her throat. “Well, the only thing important enough to drown out everything else.”

Clarke seemed to wilt in on herself for a moment. “Bellamy is a weakness.” A bitter sound escaped her, some poor imitation of a laugh. “Over a century and I’ve learned nothing.”

“Hey,” Octavia interjected, touching Clarke’s cheek and making her meet her eyes. “It’s not. Love is not a weakness. Let it be a strength. He’s here. He’ll be in the room. That’ll make it easier to focus on him.” The positivity made bile rise in her throat, the logic too twisted, but she persisted. “It’s shit, okay? But you can use this. You can make it a strength. I know you can.”

Clarke nodded, trying to pull herself together, but failing. Her head bobbed too many times as if she was already lost in thought. Octavia pulled her back in with a gentle nudge to her shoulder and tried to instill some confidence in her.

“You’re Clarke Griffin. You can do this.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Clarke got lost in her own head, plagued by things she wouldn’t share until her body shook with tremors from fighting so hard against sleep and her own mind.

And Octavia knew for certain after that third session when Clarke came back sedated that she would eventually break. She just didn’t know how to prevent it, aside from breaking through to Bellamy.
She hasn’t given up on him, not entirely. She’s been biding her time, watching him when the opportunity presents itself, taking note of Levitt’s observations, and weighing the options.

Whatever she says, she must get it right on the first attempt. The first words are always the most important; once you rationalize and dismiss the first argument, it’s easy to keep digging that hole. She remembers that. She also remembers just how much harder it is to crawl your way back out when you dig yourself in too deep.

It’s not too late for Bellamy to save himself, but as Clarke’s time is running out, so is his.

Last night Clarke startled awake, eyes wide and terrified as she heaved uneven breaths and gasped for air. When she finally calmed down, Clarke begged her to take care of her little girl.

“I don’t want her to live like we did. You know what it’s like. Don’t let her end up as screwed up as the rest of us. Please,” she pleaded in a whisper.

Octavia wanted to argue with her, but everyone else was sleeping and she knew Clarke needed comfort more than anything, so she nodded her head and whispered, "I promise." Pulling her friend’s blonde head against her shoulder, she began brushing her fingers through her short hair and encouraged her to go back to sleep.

“She’s breaking,” Niylah’s unexpected voice drifted softly over to them when Clarke’s breathing evened out.

“She’s not,” she had insisted, but the invisible band that seemed to have found its way around her chest since Bellamy returned tightened once more, contradicting the words she spoke. Niylah didn’t dignify her with a response.

The band had only gotten tighter throughout the night as she tried to work out what to say to her brother. Niylah was right. Even if she could ignore the obvious signs of wear and desperation in Clarke, the increasingly concerned tenor of Levitt’s commentary on Clarke’s m-cap sessions was more than ample proof on its own. Clarke was breaking, which meant they were all out of time now.

The hours and minutes are passing her by both agonizingly slow and too quickly. Each one allows her too much time to think but not enough to settle her anxiety. Her intuition is screaming that the ending is coming, one way or another, and this is her last chance to change it.

She still hasn’t worked out what to do when Bellamy arrives. Everyone has said their piece already to no avail; no amount of logic or emotional entreaties have made any lasting impact. There’s nothing that can be said that he hasn’t already heard in some form or another.

She is different from the rest of them in one way, however. Bellamy is her brother, her blood, and they grew up together. She has a lifetime of getting under his skin in ways that the rest of them can only dream of.

Years' worth of memories run through her mind in an instant as she watches him walk into the room. He’s looking at them, her and Clarke, though he remains a step behind the guards. He’s there, but just out of reach, two steps and an imperturbable mask separating them as thoroughly as a gaping chasm might. Part of her wants to jump at him immediately, so desperate to see the emotional, volatile version of her brother that she doesn’t care that it isn’t wise. The grown, rational part of her knows better, though, and decides to use some of his own tactics against him.

So, she does what no one else has; she allows him to explain himself without judgment.

“I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing. You’ve got righteousness written all over your face. Whatever it is, you clearly believe in it. So how about you just explain it to me? Okay?”

“It’s the peace we’ve all be looking for O, the chance to do better— to be better,” he tells her, looking at her with such earnestness in his eyes that she knows he’s not just saying this all for show, “I have made so many mistakes in my life, you’ve been there to witness most of them, and the guilt of those has nearly consumed me at times. I’m free of that. I know that what I’m doing is right for all mankind with the type of certainty I’ve never had.” He meets her gaze, the mask he wears slipping away and allowing her to witness his desperate longing to be understood. “I want that for you, for all of you.”

“It sounds nice, Bell. Really,” she says, offering him a brief sad smile. Her heart breaks a little, but she remains steadfast. “But people don't work that way. There’s no universal solution. You know that.”

“There can be,” he insists, interrupting her. “With the Shepherd’s teachings, we all work together. We’ll have peace and freedom for all mankind. There is no need for separate sides. If everyone would just let go of those selfish attachments, all the rest would fade away. No one would have to face the impossible choices we did.”

“I get it,” she begins calmly. “On paper, it all makes sense. In reality, though? No one can live like that. Not even your Shepherd." When she sees his brow furrow, she continues, “If selfish love has no place in the Shepherd’s teaching, why would he delay our execution on the off chance he can find out what happened to his son and daughter?”

He’s caught by surprise, a flash of confusion gracing his features at the unexpected reference. She shouldn’t know about that, and they both know it. Part of her hopes he’ll pursue his curiosity – It would give her time to work out where she’s going with this – but he doesn’t. Instead, he schools his features and answers calmly.

“The Shepherd knows the flame contains vital information to the cause.” He looks away from her then. “He seeks peace, above all else. He didn’t want to have to execute any of you.”

His lack of eye contact makes sense now. It’s such total and utter bullshit that even a brainwashed Bellamy couldn’t look her in the eye and spout it. The words alone are damning enough to make her snap, however.

“If Bill was so damn anxious to learn about the flame, maybe he shouldn’t have burned Becca at the stake.” He flinches and she feels some of the tightness in her chest loosen at the sight; it’s the most emotional response he’s had to anything they’ve said. “She had all the answers and he had her, but he just couldn’t stand dissent, could he? He’s not so different from Blodreina. You couldn’t stand her, yet you follow him.” She looks over at Miller. “You didn’t think too highly of your old friend over there either, yet here you are, following a power-hungry madman.”

“It’s not the same, Octavia,” he chides. There’s a familiar irritation, just below the surface of the words, that gives her hope, so she pushes.

“Of course not,” she says, letting some of the sarcasm familiar to her teen years leak through. “He’s trying to save everyone, right?” She pauses, letting the façade go, and leans into him with a confidence that could only be gained through the tragedies she’s survived. Looking him in the eye, she says challengingly, “So was I. Anyone can judge me for it, but I did what had to be done. If I hadn’t, you would have opened that bunker and found nothing but a mass grave.”

“There was a better way. This is nothing like that.”

“Maybe,” she admits, “but that’s not what matters here. We survived, and I don’t regret that. I do regret the cost - it wasn’t worth that. It wasn’t worth the people I betrayed, the people I lost, or losing myself.” She pauses, looking at Hope, feeling the love for the bright-eyed, sweet little girl she knew, and the despair for the hurting, angry woman she sees. “I didn’t understand you, you or Clarke, back then. It makes sense now, though. I’d never loved anyone more than myself before, but I get it. Love is everything, Bellamy. Life isn’t worth living without it.

“Loving Hope. Finding out how you loved me all those years... I found myself again, and I know you can too if you’d just let yourself feel it. It’s all still in there. Your heart – it's who you are.” She lets all her vulnerability show, softly beseeching him, “I know it’s hard, but it only gets harder the longer you fight it. I don’t want you to have to learn the lessons I’ve learned, Bellamy. Please. Please stop before it’s too late. Before you cross a line that can’t be uncrossed.”

He doesn’t speak, but she knows that look on his face, the one that says he’s at war between his head and his heart. She knows why; it’s because he doesn’t have Clarke at his side.

“That's Clarke. Our Clarke,” she says, her vision blurring as the tears she refuses to let fall build up. “The woman you loved so much that you poisoned your own sister to save. The woman you refused to let die, even when it meant risking everything. When you realize that…” she exhales heavily, steeling herself before admitting, “take it from me. The pain of waking up and realizing you betrayed the person you love most – I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, let alone you.”

The look he gives her is softer than she’s seen on him since they were together on Sanctum, but she recognizes the slight condescension in it too, as though she’s still a child with so much to learn. Gently, more so than she thought Disciple Blake was capable of, he says earnestly, “Once we achieve transcendence, none of us will have to worry about pain any longer. It’s beautiful, O. You’re going to be safe and happy, finally. That’s all I want for you, for everyone.”

She looks at him, her loving, self-sacrificing brother who has always been far too good for the life she was born into, and finally let’s a few tears escape. “No, Bell. It won’t. If you have to destroy the people you love, who love you, to pay for peace, then the ends don’t justify the means.” She swallows thickly, holding back the sob that wants to escape. “I’m sorry that it’s come to this, big brother.”

Without having to wait, she knows it hasn’t been enough. He hasn’t been swayed by her logic or love. Nor has he recognized those final words for what they were – a goodbye.

Levitt warned her about what’s coming if Clarke fails to give up the flame today, and Octavia knows that her place at Clarke’s side this past week has secured her spot as first in line for the firing squad.

It hurts, a deep aching wound, made worse by the sinking feeling of failure pulling at her gut so strongly that she thinks she may be sick, as she watches Bellamy walk through the door.

Even that pain doesn’t compare to what she feels when Clarke turns at the last moment and mouths a goodbye before disappearing through the door and Octavia realizes she said goodbye to the wrong person.

“Remember your promise.”

It knocks the breath out of her lungs as the realization dawns on her, the note Levitt slipped her dropping from her hands like it’s poison. She doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to see the warning he’s surely given her that will confirm what Clarke has set out to do, but it doesn’t change the truth.

She waited too long, and now it’s too late.

Bellamy:

There has to be a better way. The thought echoes in his head as he walks a few steps behind Levitt and Clarke. There has to.

He understands where Octavia is coming from, can see the logic and feel the emotion behind her argument in a way he hasn’t with anyone else. She doesn’t want him to do something that he can’t come back from because she loves him, and he understands that motivation with a clarity that he’s positive he’s not supposed to. It's all he ever used to want for her.

The image of her looking back at him with glassy eyes, filled to the brim with unshed tears of pain and hopelessness, anger and betrayal, is far too similar to a look he’s seen from her before. It’s the same way that she looked at him the day they reunited after Lincoln was killed, how she looked at him as the poison started affecting her system.

She’d mentioned that moment, using his actions that day as proof for how much he’s done in the name of keeping Clarke safe. She had implored him to stop before he crossed some invisible line of irredeemability, but the reality is that he fell over that line a long time ago. He doesn’t know when; it might have been the day he poisoned the person who used to mean the world to him in desperation, or maybe it was years before when he let his love for that same person override all logic, getting his mother killed.

Bellamy has passed that point, and he’s accepted that. Countless times over the last few days, he’s told himself that he’d happily pay the cost to have all mankind safe for all eternity, to have those he loves free from this cruel world, and he will, but what about the cost to everyone else? What about the sorrow in Octavia’s expression when she said goodbye? What about the resignation in Clarke's shoulders as she makes her way over to the chair?

Is he willing to have them pay a cost too?

There is no doubt in his mind that the answer should be yes. Every teaching points to the notion that any and all sacrifices should be made by the individual for the betterment of everyone, but as he takes his place, moving like a robot, he’s not sure that it’s something he’s going to be able to do.

One more day. One more session. That is all the Shepard granted them. He has however long this goes to either find the information about the flame that they need or to somehow convince her to give it to him. He needs the intel like he hasn’t any day before because if he doesn’t, he's not sure what he’s going to do. It's an impossible choice that he doesn't think he can make.

There has to be a better way.

By the time he looks up, the memory has already progressed almost to the end. He sees a flash of his face filled with concern, feels the press of her lips ghost against his cheek like it was only yesterday, and then hears the words that haunted him for months after this moment.

May we meet again.

She thrashes against her restraints in obvious distress, pulling at them in a way that she hasn’t since the very first session when she was still trying to use pain to resist. Levitt calls out to her to relax, telling her that her heart rate is out of control. He wants to go over there, press his hands into hers to protect her, comfort her, as he did that day, but he can’t get his feet to move, terrified of what’s coming. Instinctually, he knows that whatever memory is causing her this pain is likely to cut him just as deeply.

And I won’t let anyone else die for that mistake.

Bellamy, I need you. And we don’t have much time.

Now, you need me?

Yes, I do. I need the guy who wouldn’t let me pull that lever in Mount Weather by myself.

You left me. You left everyone.

Bellamy—

Enough, Clarke! You are not in charge here, and that’s a good thing because people die when you are in charge. You were willing to let a bomb drop on my sister, and then you made a deal with Lexa, who left us in Mount Weather to die and forced us to kill everyone who helped us. People who trusted me!

He doesn’t have more than a second to swallow against the lump in his throat before a new memory takes its place. It's different from the first, but with the exact same outcome, Clarke walking away from him, only this time with a slap instead of a kiss. Just as before, he feels the echo of the moment on his skin, a burn so hot that he’s never really stopped feeling it.

Pressing a hand against the inflamed skin, he knows now what he knew then, that he’s screwed up. Regret fills him, mixed with shame and hopelessness. She needed him then, needs him now, and all he’s done is let her down. He has left her just like he accused her of leaving him. He's done exactly what Octavia said he would end up doing, he pushed too far, lost himself in all that he’s found, but it’s too late. He didn’t do this right if he had she would have just given him the information freely.

His heart pounds in his chest as he tries to find a way out where no one gets hurt other than him, and he can’t. He wants to run away, to hide away and never return, he wants to yell for Levitt to turn the machine off and stop all this nonsense. He wants to, but he can’t. His legs won’t move; his voice won’t work. All he can do is watch transfixed as the memories continue to play.

You’re okay.

No, I’m not. If my mother— if she knew what I’d done, who I am. She raised me to be better, to be good.

Bellamy.

And all I do is hurt people. I’m a monster.

Hey. You saved my life today, and you may be a total ass half the time, but I need you. We all need you. None of us would have survived this place without you. You want forgiveness, fine I’ll give it to you, you can’t run Bellamy.

If it were any other day, if he hadn’t spent months trying to repress every emotion, he’s sure that tears would be streaming down his face. As it is, he closes his eyes briefly against the impulse, and only one single droplet escapes when he opens them a few seconds later with a shaky breath.

The question is, will you forgive yourself?

Forgiveness is hard for us... I was so angry at you for leaving, I don’t want to feel that way anymore.

You know, you’re not the only one trying to forgive themselves. Maybe we’ll get that someday.

Forgiveness. Anger. Pain. Loss. Love. Acceptance. Bellamy thought he was past needing all of them, but as he watches the two of them clinging to each other on the beach, his blood roaring in his ears with how much he wants that again, he knows with certainty that he’s not.

Apparently, the lanterns float, taking your sins with them.

If only it were that easy.

Maybe it is. I wrote down leaving you in Polis.

Clarke, stop, let’s not do this.

What I did, leaving you like that? I’m so sorry, Bellamy.

I know what it’s like to risk everything for one person, and I know Madi is your family—

Hey, you are my family too. I lost sight of that, but I promise I will never forget it again. You're too important to me.

Pressing his palms into fists, he tries to get control of himself, if only so that he can intervene. That was the first time Madi has actually been mentioned, and the fact that he let it slide by without seeing it coming is unacceptable. He takes a breath, trying to force air into his uncooperative lungs. He’s failed Clarke, he’s failed Octavia and so many countless other people, he’s even failed Madi before, but not here, not yet. There will be no yet. She will come out of this unscathed.

The purpose helps to calm the beating of his heart, and soften the noise in his ears enough that the world outside of the screens comes back into focus. He hears a frantic beeping coming from the monitors for the first time, drowned out only by Levitt’s voice, talking quickly and quietly to a nearly unresponsive Clarke. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” the man snaps at him sharply, but his voice is unsteady as he continues, “her brain function spiked suddenly for no reason— I mean it was a little higher right from the start, but I figured that was an emotional response to the content of the memory, but now it just keeps rising! I don’t— oh, wait. Maybe. Yes.”

Bellamy watches tensely as Levitt does something to the tablet in his hand, and then the beeping slowly back into a steady rhythm as the needle moves away. It doesn’t get far, though, before the image on the screen flashes back to life and a new memory starts clearly for them.

I’m done, do you hear me? I’ve lost everything!

A stab of pain shots through him as he makes sense of the scene, the sand around her, the gun in her hand, so sharp and visceral that a knife might as well be going through him.

I’ve got nothing left!

He left her. He left her with nothing and then came back six years and thousands of unanswered radio calls later with nothing to offer her other than more pain and misery.

A toxin? Clarke, are you sure it’s not just you?

No, no, it’s all of us... some worse than others.

You don’t understand, I’m not saying you’re imagining it, I’m saying the toxin is you. Think about it, no one is safe around you because the only people you won’t kill, die anyway trying to protect you... You infect people Clarke, and Madi is next.

No, no, I won’t let that happen.

There's only one way to stop it.

How?

Take out the knife. Good, now put it to your throat. If you’re gone, she can’t die trying to save you.

It’s the second Madi mention in a matter of minutes, but he can’t even comprehend it. All he can do is watch in horror as she takes a shaky hand with a knife in it and presses it against her throat. This was the red sun, only a few months ago. His own hands start to shake, he feels the air around him start to close in. He was here for this. How did he miss it?

Your people are safe, Bellamy made sure of it. I mean, he took your death hard sure, but he knew that the only thing a leader could do was strike a deal for peace.

You're lying. Bellamy would never make a deal like that.

Take it.

The memory seems to shift and then he can suddenly see himself, chained to the floor, facing off against Russel.

I can guarantee safety for the rest of your people, we will share everything that we’ve learned about surviving on this moon.

We will take your deal because it’s the smart play and the move that she would have made.

Despair consumes him, falling over him like a tidal wave in a ferocious storm. That isn’t what he meant, that wasn’t what he wanted. The prospect of peace was never worth losing her.

It's time to sacrifice for your people Clarke.

And sacrifice, she did. Over and over. His heart feels like it’s shattering to pieces at the realization.

Madi, Madi, I know you’re in there, please come back to me. I lost my mother today; I can’t lose you too.

“Stop!” he finally manages to burst out, the image of her kneeling on the ground with a gun to her head and tears in her eyes, finally enough to spur him into action. He nearly trips in his hast to get to Levitt, his body stiff with fear.

I pull the trigger in three, two—

Levitt hesitates, looking between Clarke on the monitors and Clarke thrashing around on the bed uncertainly. The alarm starts to sound, just as rapidly as before, and Bellamy sees red. He moves the final steps towards Levitt, blood pounding in his ears as panic adds fuel to the fire burning within him. He's a raging inferno and his only purpose is to make sure that Clarke is okay, “Turn it off. Now.”

Even after the beeping has cut off, and the screens go dark, though, he doesn’t stop. His feet propel him forward until he’s close enough to shove the tablet out of his hands. It lands on the hard floor with a loud crash. Levitt lets out a noise of protest, hands raised slightly, and that’s enough to snap the band of tension within Bellamy. In a split second, his fist is connecting with the other man’s cheek and he’s stumbling back.

Bellamy watches as he falls to the ground, his breaths coming in desperate pants now. He shouldn’t have done that. Or maybe it was necessary. He needs to get Clarke out of here, and he’s not going to be able to do that with someone still loyal watching. For a split second, he wonders if maybe he should have knocked him unconscious, but he dismisses that idea when Levitt looks back at him. A threat should work. Hopefully. “Clarke and I are going to leave, and you aren’t going to say anything.”

“Wow,” he mutters in response, gently poking at his skin and then wincing.

“You aren’t going to say anything,” Bellamy repeats, lowering his voice.

“Why would I say anything?” Levitt finally answers, not quite rolling his eyes, but it’s close. Bellamy stares back at him blankly, hoping that the seriousness of his warning will be conveyed, and then he actually does roll his eyes, “I’m on your side, have been since the start… Do you not remember our first conversation? I tried to warn you.”

Bellamy thinks back to that day, the way Levitt had looked at him, the confusion on his face when Bellamy had brushed aside his apology for the circumstances without a second thought. Levitt had expected him to be repulsed by the idea of doing this to Clarke, he’d expected them to be on the same side all along just not the side that Bellamy had believed.

Looking closely at the man, Bellamy recollects all the occurrences he had written off involving the man in question. He remembers the hushed conversations he witnessed between him and Clarke, the meaningful looks passed between him and Octavia. Thinking about it now, everything appears in a different light, but before he can process that revelation more, he hears shuffling from the table behind them, and his attention is intently back on Clarke.

Where it should have always been, he berates himself as he walks toward Clarke, standing vigilantly by her side as she slowly comes back to herself. She sits up slowly, eyes still squeezed shut like the world is too bright and harsh to even contemplate opening them. He places a steadying hand on her back, concerned by the amount of effort the move seems to be taking her, and her eyes instantly fly open.

“No,” she says suddenly, glancing at him quickly in confusion before turning to glare at Levitt who’s pressing a hand to his rapidly coloring cheek in amazement, “What did you do?”

“What did he do?” Bellamy asks her in confusion, not understanding how this is any different from what’s happened every other day. Then she can’t meet his eyes though, and neither can Levitt, and he knows with terrifying certainty that it’s not what he did do, but rather what he didn’t; he didn’t let the machine fry her brain.

Horror mixes with the adrenalin still coursing through him making his hands shake and his eyes water. A gun, a knife, a code, another gun. Different weapons but all the same outcome; a pattern where she gives up her life, seemingly for the benefit of other people.

A strange choking noise fills the room, a painful half cry of despair unable to be fully realized, and it’s only once Clarke turns to look at him with sorrow in her eyes that he understands that the noise came from him, “Clarke, no. No.”

He takes a hasty step back, unable to handle the proximity to her on top of everything, but she just follows after him, sliding off the table on shaky legs, “There was no other way.”

Shaking his head, he venomously rejects the idea that a world without her in it could be presented as any kind of solution. He’s about to tell her that, to tell her over and over again until she understands that her life is not worth sacrificing, but Levitt’s concerned voice interrupts him, “We are going to have a problem in approximately 40 seconds. The guards are about to override my manual lock on the door.”

When Bellamy looks over, Levitt has the tablet back in his hands, and a wrinkle of worry across his brow, but that’s all he has time to register before the door comes flying off its hinges. He steps protectively beside Clarke, blocking her with his body. He won’t let them take her. Not again.

She must have some other plan, though, because she quickly adjusts their position, so that when the guards walk into the room and see them, he’s got his arm around her, and she’s leaning heavily against him, looking like she’s close to unconsciousness.

“What’s going on in here?” the first guard asks, eyeing the room critically, “Why was the door locked?”

The other guard steps forward, his gaze landing instantly on Clarke, “Why is the prisoner out of her restraints?”

The burly man takes a threatening step towards them, and Bellamy braces himself for a fight, but he need not have bothered. The moment he is close enough to them to touch, Clarke springs to life, grabbing the man’s gun, and shooting him in the head before he has time to so much as blink. Within the next second, there’s another thud, and Bellamy looks over in time to see the guard in front of Levitt fall to the ground.

Clarke walks over to him and shoots him in the head as well with no signs of remorse, but that’s not the source of his worry. Bellamy eyes the weapon in her hand warily, the image of what she can do with it to herself forever cemented in his mind, “Clarke, it’s okay, just put the gun down.”

Chapter Text

Clarke:

“No.”

Her voice rings out firm and clear in the silence, far stronger than she feels. She clings to it, hoping she can absorb the feeling. Ignoring Bellamy for the moment – she can't afford to look at him yet, not when she can still see his horrified face behind her eyelids when she blinks, not when he looks so much like the man she used to know - she turns to Levitt instead.

“Go,” she orders. “Get the others back to Sanctum.”

He hesitates, but only for a single beat of her heart, before he nods and rushes from the room.

She breathes a sigh of relief. Levitt may have failed her here in this room, but he won't fail Octavia. That's one worry down. There's no time to appreciate the reprieve, however. Bellamy has always refused to be ignored.

“Clarke,” Bellamy begins, his voice strangled.

“I’m not losing anyone else,” she cuts him off firmly, squaring her shoulders as she finally turns to face him. This is the end, one way or another; there’s no need to ration her strength any longer.

It still hits her like a physical blow when she takes in his torn features, but she pushes back against the pain, not letting it overwhelm her. Weakness is a luxury she can’t afford now.

“You don’t have to,” he insists, his gaze flickering between her eyes and the gun, begging her to put it down with the look alone.

She tightens her grip unconsciously but keeps it pointed at the floor. “He wanted me to choose between them and the flame, and I won’t. This is the only choice.”

“Only choice?” he yells in frustration, finally breaking. “Do you hear yourself? There shouldn’t be any choices here. Why can’t you just tell me where the flame is?”

Despite everything, his outrage is a bitter comfort. She’s missed this side of him. If it weren’t for the circumstances, she might even be choked up by its return. As it is, she’s too overwhelmed to do anything but bite back.

“You don’t get it,” she seethes through gritted teeth. “There’s nothing left to the flame! And once he figures that out–” She barely refrains from speaking her daughter’s name, clamping her mouth shut sharply at the last moment. Her anxiety builds, her lungs constricting as it escalates into panic. Desperately, she tries to get him to understand. “There’s only one place he could find what he’s looking for, and I won't let him near her. I’d rather all of us die here than allow that to happen.”

“Listen to me, Clarke,” he pleads, but she’s already shaking her head, unable to force any coherent words out when she feels like she can’t breathe. No matter what he says, no matter how much sense he makes or how earnestly he believes it, she cannot risk it. The gun feels like an anchor trying to pull her down into a watery grave; it shakes in her hand, begging to be released, but she can’t let go. “Please. You have to know I would never let anything happen to–”

“Don’t say it,” she warns him, her fear for Madi overriding everything else and allowing her to raise the gun fractionally.

He lifts his hands, palms out in surrender. “Okay, I’m sorry. If you trust nothing else that I say, that’s fine, but you have to know I’d keep her safe.”

“I know,” she tells him. Truly, she does. He stopped Levitt when they stumbled across a memory of Madi. The reassurance lifts some of the weight of her crippling anxiety, allowing her to think clearly once more. “But you’re not in charge here. Bill is.”

“The Shepherd –”

“He isn’t who you think he is,” she cuts him off again, some of her strength returning. She will get out of this, one way or another. Madi will be saved. “She knows that better than anyone. You and the Disciples? None of you even know him.”

“I know what I’ve seen. I’ve been working with them. They’re good people, with good goals.”

“But not him,” she insists. “He can say whatever he wants and have his people pass it down, but it doesn’t prove anything. You’ve known him for a week, Bellamy, and in that time, he has threatened to execute almost every member of your family. Is that really what he preaches?”

“That’s not fair. Sacrifice is always necessary.”

“And why should he be the only exception?” she challenges. “We’ve seen over and over again what happens when men are treated like gods. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. You’re smarter than this.”

“You’re right. No one is perfect,” he says conciliatorily, inching his way closer. Despite the obvious pacification, she finds herself lowering the gun even further. Just the thought of him at the end of it in her hand again makes her stomach turn. “Look at all he’s done here, though. It’s better than we’ve ever been capable of.”

Reluctantly, she steps back, adjusting her grip and preparing for the inevitable end. They’ll get nowhere with this. It’s time.

“You’re my family, Bellamy. All of you. But we’ve had our time. She's just a child. She never should have been involved in this in the first place, and now she has a chance to live a normal life. It won't be perfect, but it's real. That's all I ever wanted for her. She deserves that.” She lifts the gun to her temple, muscle memory making it feel almost weightless now. “No matter what it costs me.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, not trusting herself to do what’s necessary when she can see him looking at her like that, but it ends up not making any difference. He lets out a heartbreaking cry, and her confidence wavers. She's breaking him, and she never wanted that. It was supposed to be quick and simple, over before he even knew what was happening.

“Clarke, no. Please.” She can see the expression on his face, full of anguish and desperation, behind her closed lids, and that’s enough to finally allow the tears she’d been trying to hold back to escape. “Please, don’t leave me,” he begs brokenly.

When she opens her eyes, he looks even worse than she pictured, like he’s the one with a gun aimed at his heart. She breathes in and out shakily, her eyes locked onto him as her hand trembles on the weapon still connected to her temple. “Give me another choice,” she says, begging him now. “Give me a solution where no one I love gets hurt, because I’ve spent days trying to find one and I can’t. This is all I’ve got.”

Hope flares to life in his eyes, and she instantly feels guilty. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be dragging this out for him. It isn’t fair. Not when she knows in her heart that he’s not going to come up with any acceptable answers. There aren’t any.

“You haven’t found a solution, and I haven’t either,” he tells her, voice rough with emotion as he takes a step towards her. She automatically steps back, and he stops his advance instantly, a frown on his face. “Miller was right, you and me on opposite sides is always a disaster, but if we work together, we can figure this out. You just have to stay, Clarke.”

The words hit her square in the chest – together, a vow made time and time again in the worst of circumstances – and she falters momentarily.

It should make her warmer when the cool metal of the gun breaks contact with her skin, but her blood runs cold. Bitterness and helplessness fight for dominance. He doesn’t get to do that, use her memories of them and the love he must know she has for him, against her.

Something breaks inside her, something long- lost and forgotten, at his plea.

She wants to give in, wants to stay, for him and for Madi. If they could get out of this... maybe they could build something real in Sanctum, something better that would make Monty proud. Maybe she could watch her daughter grow up, finally free of the weight of being commander, and flourish. It has the potential to be beautiful.

But life doesn’t work that way, not for her. She made her choice, as sure as he has. It isn’t fair, but it’s all she has now.

"You don't get to ask that of me,” she tells him, the words both broken and resentful in equal measure. She doesn’t care. She can’t worry about protecting him right now, and she should never have tried. It’s only making it harder for both of them. “You have your faith and your Shepherd. You made your choice."

“I never-” he cuts himself off. His fingers flex and contract into fists repeatedly, suspended slightly in front of him as if he’s barely containing himself from reaching out for her. “There is no choice for me that doesn't include you. There never was."

Whatever is left of her composure – if there was anything left – disappears at that moment. No choice? He gave them up as soon as he arrived. He stood by and watched, helped, as they dug through her memories while Bill held a sword over their friends’ heads. She wants to throw his words back at him – strange way of showing it – but she’s beyond words. All she manages is an exhale of disbelief.

“I believe in it, Clarke. I believe with everything in me that this could be the key to our salvation, the better that we’ve been looking for all these years, but I don’t want that life, whatever form it takes, if you aren’t there with me... Clarke, you have to know - if the choice is between you and -" he chokes like he’s horrified that she doesn’t already know all this. "It's always going to be you. I need you.”

She wants as she hasn’t wanted in over a century. She wants to give in, she wants to stay, more strongly than ever. But she can’t. She can’t, she can’t, she can’t. Because Madi is more important than her own life. She deserves to live in a way Clarke never has.

“It’s not enough,” she says, shaking her head in regret. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t make a difference. As long as Bill is in charge... as long as he’s looking for the flame, she’s at risk. He will find her. I need this to die with me, with him believing that it’s lost and looking for another way. If I’m gone, he has no reason to go anywhere near her.”

“Clarke,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what to say as he goes, but she doesn’t give him the opportunity to gain momentum. She’s let this go on far longer than she should have already.

“I can’t let him hurt anyone else. Not for me. If I’m gone, all of them are safe.” Why is he making this harder? Why can’t he just let her go?

“Everyone is safe except for you,” he corrects her with an edge to his voice, “Why doesn’t your life, your happiness matter in this?”

She stares at him for a second in stunned silence, overwhelmed by the hypocrisy of his question. She knows she should let it go, that she’d be better off if she did, but she’s never had great restraint where he’s involved, “Where’s ‘for all mankind’ now? What happened to the benefits of the many out weighting the few? Shouldn’t my willingness to sacrifice myself for the betterment of everyone else be perfectly aligned with your beliefs?”

His jaw clenches in a way that she knows means he’s irritated, but he doesn’t say anything, and that makes it all worse. Where are his pretty words of understanding and acceptance now? What happened to the apologies?

“Why do you insist on twisting everything?” he asks her in outrage, running a hand across his face in exasperation; he’s never had much restraint around her either. “I never wanted anyone to sacrifice anything, least of all you. I wanted you to want to help. I wanted you to take a second and try to understand where I was coming from. I wanted you to trust me enough for that!”

“It doesn’t matter what you wanted!” she explodes at him. Giving up all pretenses, she spits the truth at him like it’s acid, “You’ve already proven I can’t trust you to keep her safe.”

He takes a step back like she’s slapped him again, and a vindictive part of her feels just as satisfied as she did the first time. This all feels achingly familiar as if they are back on the ground in the days of the dropship when every discussion between them was an argument, but they aren’t back there, and she’s not alone anymore.

Right before her eyes, he seems to deflate, curling in on himself in an attempt to be as small as possible. She can see that he knows what she’s referring to when he finally looks at her again, but she doesn’t feel triumphant; all she feels now is complete devastation.

As swiftly as he deflated, she feels all the fight drain out of her. She thought it would feel better, hurting him the way he hurt her, but it doesn’t. Not at all. Hurting him feels like hurting herself. That’s why this has been so hard.

“I made a mistake, Clarke,” he tells her, stumbling over the word ‘mistake’ like he knows it’s not great enough to describe what happened, but unable to find something adequate, “and I will regret everything that happened that day for as long as I live.”

"I forgive you. I do," she responds, meaning it with her entire heart. "But I can't forget. You said it, Bellamy. You said you'll choose me. And I can't live with that. Not when the choice is Madi."

His look shifts to one of contemplation. She wants to believe that there’s a solution coming together as she watches, but she knows that’s impossible.

Just like she knows that this has gone on long enough. Far longer than it should have.

She lifts the gun back to her temple. At some point during the conversation, she must have unconsciously lowered it, too absorbed by his words to notice. Nostalgia makes her want to smile. It’s always been this way; since they first fell to Earth, Bellamy Blake could draw her in, pulling her into his orbit until nothing else existed.

The notion sends a pang of longing through her hollow chest, the missed opportunities, and what-ifs echoing through the empty space where her heart used to reside. She gave it away a long time ago. The greater part had been given to him, before Primfaya when he left her for six years without a word. She had learned to live without it, though, and pieced what remained back together. What grew from the remnants was the part she gave to her daughter.

She would never regret doing so, but there were things she couldn’t allow to go unsaid, not this time.

“I just want you to know,” she begins, the tears that have been threatening finally spilling over, “I don’t ever want you to doubt... I don’t want to leave you. I have never wanted to leave you. I only ever did what I thought I needed to. What was best for you, and for them. If it were any other choice... I’d choose you. I need you to know that.” Her hand shakes. She closes her eyes again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Wait!” he cries out again, and, like before, she can’t control that her instinctive response is to listen. This is Bellamy; against all odds, she’s always trusted her life in his hands, and the part of her that wants to live cannot help but heed the desperate warning in his tone. Her eyes snap open to find him much closer than he was before, just an arm’s length away, though he makes no move to touch her. “Just... just hear me out— your problem is with the Sh– with Bill, right? Not the idea of transcending? Not the faith?”

“No...” she answers slowly, equal parts fearful and hopeful of where he could be leading her. “It’s not the faith. It's - there's nothing wrong with the people here, with what they want. But Bill... he's like Russel. It's like Jordan said, the message is good and the system works, but Bill can't be trusted. He's selfish and cruel, and believes himself to be something more than he is."

“Okay,” he says simply, the fear and despair that’s been weighing him down suddenly disappearing as he stands taller. His expression is all determination and confidence now. The shift makes her head spin. “Then choose me, and I’ll choose you.”

“What?”

"I don't care about Bill,” he says with conviction, no longer stumbling over the name like just moments ago. “I care about our friends, about mankind, about you. I don't need him, but I can't do this without you."

She looks at him skeptically. It sounds great, but she can’t just forget the reverence with which he said Bill's name only yesterday or the ease with which he bowed his head. While he doesn’t care right now, there’s nothing to stop that from changing tomorrow or the next day. “You don’t care about him now.”

“No, I never— I was alone, or basically alone, for months, and I held out for a long time from believing because I knew who he was, I recognized his name from the bunker,” he starts to explain, shifting a little awkwardly, not able to look at her too closely. “I refused to listen to the teachings because I thought that the teachings were all him too, but they are so much more. The idea of faith and unity, of doing better not just for your own people, but for everyone; it can all exist without him.”

“What are you saying?” she asks. Her voice shakes, the product of her struggle to tamp down the uninvited hope that’s swelling in her chest.

“I’m saying that if he needs to die for you to feel safe— for Madi to be safe— then that’s what should happen.”

He doesn’t stutter, doesn’t look away, or pause. Despite how far away he’s felt since he returned to them as a disciple, one thing that hasn’t changed is her ability to read his eyes. More often than she cares to admit, she wondered if that’s why he was avoiding meeting her gaze. Right now, his are clear and locked onto hers, guileless and radiating an unwavering certainty that is more reminiscent of the dropship than even their argument was.

She lets the gun fall away from her temple, dropping her arm to her side.

Bellamy leans forward instantly, reaching out and taking her arm. He doesn’t go for the gun in her left hand, however. He grasps her right forearm to steady her, palm warm and strong as his fingers curl just around her elbow.

The glint in his eye, the familiar contact, the words... It's so textbook Bellamy Blake that her chest hurts. The man before her is Heart-Bellamy. Her Bellamy.

Suddenly the world realigns.

The confusing tilt that’s been present since she first realized he was lost to her rights itself. The painful pressure that was preventing her from drawing a real breath disappears. For the first time in a week, she feels like she’s standing on solid ground again, anchored by his hold on her, not one of restraint, but one of support.

He’d let her fall, but only if she chose to. He’ll hold her up for as long as she needs, but only if she’s willing to accept it. He’s offering her a solution, but he won’t force her.

This is a choice.

She does what she always should have. She chooses him. She chooses forgiveness. She chooses ‘together’.

“Okay.”

Bellamy:

She says it simply, no trace of hesitation in her voice, or hint of mistrust in her eyes. She doesn’t question anymore if he means it, or doubt his sincerity. She looks at him with absolute faith, so much so that it almost doesn’t seem real. His heart beats wildly in his chest as he looks into her eyes, and then he knows for certain that this is exactly what it appears because this is Clarke.

Clarke...

The woman who always, always offers him forgiveness, even when he doesn’t know he needs it, and especially when he doesn't deserve it.

The woman who has never given up on him, even after 2,199 unanswered radio calls.

The woman who couldn't kill him even with the human race hanging in the balance.

The woman who sacrificed herself, over and over again, for him.

The woman he spent weeks missing a few months ago.

The woman he spent years missing in space.

The woman he tried to live without, time and time again, only to fail.

This woman he could never let go, even when he thought she was dead.

It hits him all in a rush, stealing his breath and robbing him of the control he still managed to possess. After everything, all he put her through, this last week, these last years, she’s still standing here looking at him like he has the power to be her rock, to hold her steady through any storm. He doesn’t hesitate, stops thinking entirely, and closes the remaining distance between them, wrapping his arms around her in one swift movement.

She puts hers around his back, holding on just as tightly, and then nuzzling her face into his shoulder. The position is so achingly familiar, yet simultaneously foreign, that for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Then he takes a breath, though, and it just feels like home. This right here, is what he’s been searching for, the overwhelming comfort, the security. It really shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s found the missing piece here. It’s always been her.

He lets out a watery chuckle at the absurdity of it all. He found his faith when the concept of holding on to her became too much to bear, but in doing so, he lost what started it all. He thinks about all he’s done, the pain he knows he’s put her through, and his weak attempt at levity turns back into all-consuming despair. The fact that she’s allowing him this close, hugging him back is a miracle. He’s just not sure it’s a miracle that he deserves.

“I’m so sorry,” he says into her hair. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness. He can’t even imagine asking for it after all he’s done. “I don’t think I can ever tell you just how sorry I am.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The words come out garbled against his shirt, but he knows them because he knows her. She holds him tighter. Her fingers dig deeper into his back, an assurance that they’re both real. “I forgive you.”

The words are almost painful to hear. Clarke has never failed to offer him forgiveness, not in the long run. She knew before he did that forgiveness was what he needed, and she gave it to him, without making him earn it, or even asking for anything more than him being there. Years of pressure had been lifted from his chest that fateful day, and he had never been more grateful to anyone. She was giving him a chance he had never dreamed of getting – the opportunity for redemption. She owned a part of him after that, the part that had hope. If she knew, she never made use of it – she never threatened to take it back. No, every choice he made was because he chose to support her.

His blood runs cold when he realizes that what happened here isn’t all that different. Being on Etherea, isolated from all the people he loved most while his sister was captive and Clarke was in trouble had been torturous. It had left him with nothing but time to think about all the ways he’d failed them. All the ways he’d failed everyone he ever loved. All the things he could never atone for. And when he had finally reached his breaking point, Docette and the Shepherd's offer for redemption had been waiting.

The realization makes him feel sick. He knows the underlying teachings are important, he still believes in the message and wants to save everyone, but he should never have lost sight of what was truly important. Who was truly important.

It’s his fault. All of it. His –

“Stop,” she says. It’s a reprimand, but gentle, not harsh, or judging in any way. He looks down to see she’s already looking at him, her eyes soft with understanding. "I’ve lost you too many times to allow you to keep your guilt between us. I need you, but you won’t really be here if you hold onto it.”

He hesitates. It shouldn’t be this simple. The masochist in him wants to reject her forgiveness; he doesn’t deserve it. Accepting it means acquittal, a reduction in guilt, at least some part of him forgiving himself. She may not want to hold it against him, but someone should.

“Let it go, please. Punishing yourself will only end up hurting us both. Believe me, I know.”

I know. The sadness contained in those two small words is enough to break him from his self-loathing because he recognizes her own in them. It only takes him a moment to place their source.
Mount Weather. He offered her forgiveness after, but she refused. It had felt like a rejection like confirmation that he was not worthy, that she didn’t deem him her equal.

It made sense back then.

He'd always lived his life in fear. Fear that Octavia would be discovered. Fear that his mother would be floated. Fear that Octavia would as well. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to stop it. Fear that he wasn’t enough to protect them. And then the worst had happened, and it had been all his fault. He was irredeemable.

Then she had convinced him otherwise with two words: you're forgiven.

The refusal to allow him to do the same was a confirmation that nothing had changed. He was still the boy who had never been good enough, never strong enough, to hold onto the people he loved.

Only now can he see how wrong he was. If she felt then like he does now, then his forgiveness was never lacking. If anything, the problem lies in that it carried too much weight. Accepting it meant she would have to forgive herself as well. And she couldn't do that.

Maybe if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own insecurities back then he could have recognized the pain she was in and helped her. Maybe then he could have had her there to keep him steady. Maybe everything would be different, and they wouldn’t be here now.

"Alright," he concedes. It grates at him a bit, but the chafing is an acceptable cost; he still doesn't feel like it's right, but he doesn't want her to hurt any more than he already has. He’s lived through that pain before, and it didn’t end well for them. This time... this time, they will do better. If he’s learned anything since he landed on the ground, it’s that he and Clarke are always better together.

"Thank you," she breathes as if he's given her a gift beyond words. As if he isn't the one who should be thanking her.

He doesn’t argue the point, however. They cling to one another, silent but communicating so many things through touch alone, selfishly taking an infinite moment to relish in the contact. He buries his face in her hair without remorse. Now that she’s here, with him, he doesn’t know how he ever could have gone without this. It’s both far more than he could have hoped for just a day ago, and still not enough.

There's no doubt in his mind that he could stay here forever, in a world made up of just the two of them, but there are other people that both of them care about who need attention and he’s not about to just forget about them. He takes one more second, locking the feel of her in his memory, and then starts to pull back. It's once again time for their people to come first.

The second that he meets her eyes, he knows the same thoughts are passing through her head. She gives him a wistful attempt at a smile, and steps the rest of the way out of his arms, “We should go back, make sure that they all got back to Sanctum okay, and then we will go deal with Bill.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, forcing himself to push the overwhelming emotions back for now and focus on thinking through a plan that gets her back to Madi safely. There will be time for him to dwell on everything later, “An alarm hasn’t sounded, which means we should be able to walk through the halls unquestioned.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding her head in approval. She hesitates for a second and then offers him the gun still held loosely in her hand, “It makes more sense for you to have it.”

“You sure?” he asks before reluctantly taking it, sure that he wouldn’t be offering such an item to himself in this situation.

“Yes,” she tells him easily, “I trust you to have my back.”

He feels the weight of her trust heavy on his shoulders just as surely as the cold press of the gun at his back, both reassuring in their own way. This is what he’s meant to do, who he’s meant to be. As they make their way down the halls to the anomaly room without any issues, he tries to come up with a plan to get her to go through the anomaly straight away.

While he’s fairly confident that the others will have already gone through, there’s no reason for her to not go right after them. Go to where Madi is. Go where it’s safe. He knows that every life they’ve taken comes at a cost, and it doesn’t seem right or fair that she should have to pay that price now, not when he’s the one that caused this whole mess. If she can trust him to take care of it, he will. He can at least do that much.

“Disciple, what are you doing here?” Bill asks, turning away from the stone to observe them as soon as they opened the door.

Through the panic, Bellamy doesn’t realize that it’s him who’s being addressed for several long seconds, and then once he does, the panic only grows. Every instinct in him wants to turn to look at Clarke, to ask her silently what to do, but he knows that’s not the smart choice, and he needs to be smart here. He needs to get that gate open to get Clarke back where she belongs. He needs to play the part one more time, “I know where the flame is.”

He realizes too late that he should have ended with a 'my Shepard' but doesn’t make any attempts to fix it. He’s honestly not sure he could stomach saying to him again; he knows it wouldn’t come out with any level of the reverence it used to. No, looking at him now, being able to see the predatory gleam in his eye for what it is, Bellamy’s not sure how he was blind for as long as he was.

“Excellent work, disciple. You’ve done a great service for all mankind,” Bill tells him, tilting his head curiously at them with a too-big smile on his face, “Where is it?”

Bellamy takes a deep breath, indecision still tearing him about, and then answers, just praying that Clarke trusts him as much as she says she does, “It’s in Sanctum.”

“Really?” Bill asks, his voice appearing to be as calm as ever, but underneath the friendly exterior is a type of ruthless desperation that Bellamy is only now realizing is perhaps more dangerous than anything.

“Yes, it’s in a container with the flame keeper’s notebook, tucked away in the palace for safekeeping,” Bellamy tells him with as much confidence as he can muster, his heart beating wildly.

“I thought you told me that it was broken, why would they keep it, let alone put it somewhere secure? It had no more value as far as you were all concerned,” Bill questions him again, clearly suspicious.

He’s been able to feel Clarke’s gaze on him since the first moment, but only now does he allow himself to look back. He holds her eyes, hoping that she will be able to see the apology in his before finally turning back to the man in front of him, “There was no true value, you’re right, but there was sentimental value. Clarke had a relationship with one of the commanders in it. That’s why she kept it.”

The hesitance suddenly disappears from his eyes in the exact way that Bellamy expected it would; he just hopes that it was worth it, hopes that Clarke will understand why using the information was necessary. He can’t have Bill unsure of the validity of his claim, not when he could open the portal and send Clarke anywhere as he did with Octavia and himself before.

“Of course, selfish love. At least this time, it will work in our favor,” Bill answers, the judgment clear in his tone as he looks at Clarke with pity filled eyes, “Let’s not delay any longer. The last war awaits.”

Without another word, Bill turns back to the stone, pressing a series of symbols. While he has that chance, Bellamy takes a step closer to Clarke, ready to whisper an apology, but she just shakes her head at him, offering a tight smile. It's no comfort, though, when he can see concern written all over her face. Still, he lets it go as she indicated, as the stone flares to life, filling the room with an unearthly green glow.

He reaches behind his back, ready to pull out the gun and finish the job as he and Clarke step forward to the passage, but Bill’s voice rings through the room before he gets the chance.

“Wait,” Bill calls out, and Bellamy can finally see the monster that everyone else has, “I’m glad that you decided to give us the information, Clarke, and I thank you on behalf of all mankind, but you are a liability, and I can’t—”

The gun in Bellamy’s hand goes off cleanly, the bullet in it landing between Bill’s eyes, killing him instantly. He watches as the body falls to the ground as if in slow motion, feeling an immense sense of relief. One way or another, he was going to do what had to be done, but he can’t say it wasn’t a whole lot easier to pull the trigger when he was already threatening Clarke.

“Thank you,” Clarke tells him softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm, “I know that can’t have been easy.”

“I’m sorry—” he says instead of acknowledging her thanks.

She shakes her head, “Bellamy, no.”

“I shouldn't have—” he continues to stubble over the apology she deserves.

“You did the smart thing,” she responds, emphatically, “He needed to believe that you were telling the truth to open the passage.”

His eyes catch the swirling green light. He doesn’t know how long it will stay open, and he’s not going to chance it, “You should go.”

“We should go,” she responds, narrowing her eyes at him like she already knows what he’s thinking.

“Clarke...” It’s not that he doesn’t want to go with her. If there wasn’t a literal clock ticking down their window of opportunity, he’s sure he’d be selfish enough to try and delay their separation, but as it is, he knows that he’s already had more time with her than he deserves.

“I am not going through that passage without you.”

“You are going to,” he tells her, his heart aching with the familiarity of it all and the fact that this is goodbye. It has to be the end because even though it hurts, staying and fixing the mess they left behind here is how he makes things better, with Clarke and with the universe. The people here need someone to help them find the truth, and she needs some way to make sure that Madi remains safe. “It’s how I make things right. How I do better here.”

“No,” she says venomously, shaking her head, and he’s horrified to see tears starting to gather in the corner of her eyes, “you do better by coming back with me and making sure everyone we love is safe. And then we will figure this out together.”

Together. The word has meant many different things to the two of them over the years. The notion of shared burden, the need for self-sacrifice in the name of a greater good, for their people, but now, she says it like a promise, one filled with hope. The promise to stay, to fight, and try even when running away would be so much easier. The memories are fresh, swirling as the weight of the promise bears down on him.

She laces her fingers through his, holding on tightly like she can express the urgency of her words through the strength of her grasp alone. “I know you believe - I know it’s important – and I’m going to help you, I promise. I don’t know how, alright? But we'll figure it out. As long as Madi's safe, I'm with you. We’ll do it together, just like always, okay?"

“Together,” he agrees with a shaky smile, squeezing her hand once in reassurance as they walk into the anomaly.

It’s time to go home.