The sterility of the building made him think of the Ark. Of Mount Weather. It made his skin crawl and his heart race. It felt like he was walking toward his mother's execution or the bodies of all those people he and Clarke irradiated. The quiet corridor did nothing to ease his nerves and Bellamy suddenly found that he could only manage shallow breaths as they followed the worker further into the building. He stalled before stepping into the viewing room, his legs suddenly no longer working. Forcing himself forward, Bellamy nearly backpedaled at the sight of a body, covered in a white sheet. This was suddenly far too real for his liking, his pulse hammering in his throat. He thought of his mother, pale and terrified, as she stood in the airlock and he wasn't sure he could actually see this whole thing through.
Cat's voice anchored him to the moment and he swallowed thickly, nodding in answer to his question; he didn't trust his voice to speak. He didn't want to do this alone.
He was so utterly convinced it wasn't her that even after the sheet was pulled away, Bellamy didn't react right away. The idea that Octavia could be anything other than vibrantly, violently alive was at absolute odds with the way the universe worked. He quit breathing as his mind broke down the truth, tried to process it. After a heartbeat he took a staggered step backward as if he'd been shoved, a shaking hand coming up to his mouth. He couldn't think; panic, horror, and a litany of no no no nonono drowning out any thought in his mind. Bellamy took another step backward and his vision was suddenly ringed in black. He windmilled an arm out, a hand clumsily reaching out for Cat before he missed and went down.
If the worker said anything, Bellamy missed it. It was Octavia. He knew it even as his mind screamed that it couldn't be. The only promise he'd ever made to anyone in his entire life had been to her and he'd promised to never let anything bad happen to her. How had he failed her so terribly? How hadn't he known? Bellamy could feel the tears building, his breathing uneven and shallow. Panic threatened to overtake him as he struggled to breath, vision swimming with unshed tears.
"How?" he forced the syllable out, throat constricted with emotion.