He shifted his weight, that feeling of helplessness that he hated creeping over him again. Why couldn't she just- did she have to be so goddamn saintly all the time? Couldn't she just want to be saved? Couldn't she just let him do this? Bellamy's breathing began to pick up. She wanted him to just go back? She didn't get it. The others didn't need him, they needed her. He could rally troops, sure, but he couldn't take care of them. He couldn't ease tensions and soothe nerves like Clarke could. He was a blunt instrument. Brute force and a loud voice. He adjusted his grip on the gun, and this had to be how Finn felt. That sensation that you were losing control of what was happening. Clarke was the one held captive and she was still calling the damn shots.
And that damn grounder wouldn't shut up. Bellamy's nostrils flared in anger, dark eyes flashing even if they never left Clarke. "Same as us," he echoed Clarke. "I'm doing right by you," he insisted, because who else was going to? She sure as hell wasn't. "Leaders do what they think is right," he reminded her desperately because with those tears in her eyes, he was almost convinced to do what she wanted. The only person who ever called him Bell was Octavia, but when Clarke did it, the gun trembled in his hands. "Clarke," his voice broke over her name and it was a plea. Just let me save you. The despair evaporated when Lexa pressed the knife harder against Clarke.
"Hey!" Bellamy's voice rose to a shout and he took a panicked step forward, his hands now steady with the gun. "I swear to God!" he repeated, his voice louder now. For a moment, Clarke was wearing him down, but Lexa's brutality revitalized him, rekindling the fury. "Move again," he growled daringly.