bellamy blake (whoweneedtobe) wrote in storybrooketown, @ 2015-02-04 23:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | 100: clarke griffin (borninspace) |
who: Bellamy Blake whoweneedtobe and Clarke Griffin borninspace
what: Bellamy is back from the dead and goes home to see Clarke.
when: Late night
where: Their house
rating: TBD.
The way the auroras looked as they undulated across the curve of the horizon, the way colors bled and burst across the sky as the sun rose and fell. The heat from Raven's bare skin pressed to his as they toppled onto the bed, the cold of his mother's lips brushing his cheek as she kissed him for the last time before stepping into the airlock. Clarke's impossibly blue eyes and the way she looked as she slept - like nothing bad had ever happened to her. Octavia - at three years old, tiny hands splayed across the planes of his face as she leaned in and declared she would always love him the mostest, at seventeen, the way her hair caught in the breeze as she became the first person from the ark to ever step foot back on the earth. Those were the last things his mind had fired at him before he'd died. Before his heart stopped beating and his blood pumping.
Bellamy startled back into consciousness, a ragged, gasping breath ripped from his lungs as he sat up. Those final moments still played in the back of his mind, but they hadn't really been his final moments... had they? No. He had just been somewhere else. Inside Mount Weather, a radio in his hand. Raven's voice crackling back at him as she explained the paths he would need to take, the things he would need to do. One instant he was glancing back to Mya and the next... had he died? Bellamy blinked heavily, chest still heaving as his heart pounded. He looked around and everything was so familiar.
"No," he murmured, disbelieving. He was back in Storybrooke? He rubbed his hands across his face, wincing at the tenderness around his eye. He remembered being here. Remembered Clarke and Octavia (more than one?) and Lexa and working as an officer and- his heart rate suddenly spiked and Bellamy clamored to his feet, looking around wildly. He'd been attacked. Killed. He quickly, almost frantically, searched himself over, only finding his own blood (and Lovejoy's) on the uniform. Bellamy quickly peeled off the vest, lost the cap, and then almost as an afterthought, ripped off the button-downed long-sleeve shirt. The undershirt would be fine for now, even in the biting cold. He didn't want to keep the clothes of a dead man on any longer than he had to. Bellamy had to stand still for a moment, taking in deep breaths to calm himself down. He had died. He'd gone home. He had been captured. Tortured. He killed a man. There were children in Mount Weather. One whose father he'd killed. Bellamy felt sick. He had to move on.
He set a course for the house he remembered. The place he lived with Clarke and Octavia. If they were still here. How could they be? They were at home. He felt a pang of grief and guilt when he thought of his sister and Lincoln. No. He wasn't going down that path right now. It was dark and cold and his mind was unsettled. He just wanted to get home. Bellamy hadn't realized just how singular his focus had been until - seemingly instantly - he was standing on the front steps to the building he called home in this place. He reached for the door knob and hesitated.
Clarke.
He remembered her so incredibly clearly in two incredibly different ways. He could remember her curled up, sleeping in his bed here; could remember they were working toward... something. (He didn't want to call it love anymore.) And then he remembered her standing in the firelight, declaring her affection weakness and sending him on a suicide mission. Up until Mya accidentally found him it had been a suicide mission all but completed. But then he could remember the relief in her voice over the radio. How was he supposed to process all of this?
It occurred to him once inside that, honestly, she thought he was dead. He did die. He felt it. Octavia thought he was dead. Raven, Finn, they all did. Part of Bellamy just wanted to trudge into his room, lock the door, try to sleep it all away. But how could he do that? He couldn't. Clarke deserved to know he hadn't died - not here and not in Mount Weather. So he made his way further into the house, padding silently through the hallway that led to their bedrooms. He peered in the dark room, and stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Even in the dim lighting, he could make out her golden hair where she slept.
Maybe he should let her sleep. The thought hit him and, for a moment, Bellamy considered turning and letting it go until morning. But he found himself rooted to the spot, watching Clarke's sleeping figure for a handful of seconds. Finally, he took in a deep breath, steeled himself for whatever was going to come, and exhaled shakily.
"Clarke," he called her name and waited, not moving from where he stood in the doorway.