Bellamy Blake, Age 23, A Brother, Loyal to All He Loved

[blake]

Octavia waited waited at the door with Clarke for Bellamy to come open it--but he never did. They eventually got in when Maya came to open it, suited up. Monty in tow. "Stick to the plan," she told Clarke, knowing that if Bellamy was held up or captured that was his best hope. The plan. O waited with Maya, while Clarke went with Money to the monitoring room. Eventually, they were found, and O fought like she had been trained to do. Whatever happened, happened quickly--one moment she was fighting everyone, and the next she was holding Maya while she died. Everyone died. Looking around the room she felt almost detached in her numb shock . . . . everyone was dead. Laying Maya back, O stood up and walked out of the room, her feet dragging slightly while her mind struggled to work it's way around it.

As she walked down one of the halls toward the sounds of her people, she paused when she saw a room with more bodies. Only this time there was no blistering skin. It was the hair that gave her pause. She didn't move, just stood there staring at the hair for a few seconds. She blinked once, and twice while her mind struggled to tell what it was seeing. The first step was slow, a single step forward, but the second came faster and the third was a run, every step after was a run. Dropping to her knees she slid the last foot to the body, and pulled it to turn the cold body over.

A scream broke through the eerie silence of the halls. It went on for what felt forever before there was no other sounds coming from her. Bellamy. Cold. His eyes looking right at her, but they didn't see her. His body was bruised, and covered in old wounds. "Bellamy," She cried his name, as if that would make him look at her. It had always worked before. Her body jerked with each breath as they came in short panicked gasps. "I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid," She whispered, her words an old chant from her childhood--only they held no comfort. She was afraid. Bellamy was in her arms, but he was gone from them as well.

She tired to look over what had happened to him, even while her mind knew that he'd been harvested like Monty had said they were doing to them. They'd drained his life so they could walk on the ground. Her eyes couldn't seen the damage, they saw nothing. Only felt the wetness fall over her face as she sobbed. Bellamy had been all she had for her whole life--and now she'd lost him. He had only come down here for her, had he stayed he would have been safe and alive and not mixed in to this mess. When Clarke sent him, she had not spoken up--she should have. She should have known this was the end, but she had only seen her brother--her big brother--and apart of her had seen him as undefeatable. How wrong she'd been!

"Don't leave me," She asked him, moving his face so her forehead could rest against his cold one. "You promised," She whispered, before yelling the words at him, "YOU PROMISED!" Pulling back she shook him harder! He promised! He said it! Over and over! He wasn't going anywhere! She had to find a way to live with him! HE SAID THAT! He promised! He'd let nothing happen to her! "YOU PROMISED!!!" Now something bad had happened, now she had to find a way to life without him after planning to live with him! She was sobbing so hard she knew it was echoing in the halls, as she moved to lay him back, and then she layed down beside him, her head resting on his bare shoulder, while her hand clung to his cold arm. Her eyes looked up on his face and she just stared at him. Reaching up she closed his eyes, before burring her face into his neck and letting the dam break.

[Clarke Griffin]

Desperation and love were a powerful weapon, Clarke had to learn that the hardest way possible. As she watched the monitor, of Cage torturing those she loved, those she cared for more than anything, she felt as if someone was holding her, putting her on fire, torturing her mind and body at once. What choice did she have? She threatened Dante, yet it was to no avail, she shot him, trying to make Cage understand, but nothing worked on him. He still wanted to go through with it. Even her last real weapon would be misplaced, Clarke felt. Kane had argued with him as well, had tried to make him understand that they could have it willingly, slowly, but he refused. He wanted to kill them. He really wanted to kill them. There was no choice for her anymore. 

The numbness set in the moment she watched the people die. Their skins broke open as radiation slowly killed even children. It was done. Their people were safe. Now all they had to do was find them somehow. All of them, which shouldn’t be too hard. Clarkes steps echoed in the now empty hallways. She passed the room with the bodies of the people of Mount Weather, though she couldn’t bring herself to care about them at all. Not right now. They had given them a chance, yet they didn’t take it. Clarke knew she’d break down sooner or later, but she had her people to find. She had people to take back home, some were more directly her responsibility than others.

Clarke almost would have walked right passed the room, had it not been for Octavias voice. Thinking she might be in trouble, since the blonde could not make out a word she said, she went in, ready to defend the former friends, but not ready for this. 

She stopped as soon as she realized what she saw before her. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. She… tried so hard. God damn it. Everything she did, lately, aside from killing everything in this mountain and even that to an extend had the goal to keep Bellamy alive. But there he was, his skin unnaturally pale, his eyes unseeing and Octavia. If only her heart could catch up with what she saw. It wasn’t possible. He would wake. If she touched his skin, it wouldn’t be cold. She would feel a faint barely- there pulse. There had to be a pulse, but Clarke was frozen on her spot. She couldn’t move, couldn’t allow herself to step closer to Bellamy. “No.” Clarke whispered. Finally, as if her own voice was enough to shake her out of her trance, she walked forward.

Once by their sides the small blonde reached out, pressing her trembling fingers to the cold skin of his neck. Nothing. She moved them, but again nothing. Pulling her hand away, as if it burned her, Clarke shot up again. She backed away from the body and Octavia, still refusing to believe what she was. This was completely and entirely impossible. He had to be alive. This was impossible. Almost in desperation Clarke turned around, where Monty stood, frozen in horror. “Get my mom. Get Jackson. GET HELP NOW!!!!!!” He couldn’t be gone, not Bellamy. This world would make no sense without him in it. “HURRY!” They had to bring him back or save him. This couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be allowed to be true. 

blake

[blake]

Octavia saw someone's hand touch him, and it caused her to blink. Before she could react the hand was one. There was shouting, and movement but her mind couldn't think on it. It was like she was underwater again, and couldn't move or breath or hear. Everything was so far away. Shaking her head slightly, she tired to look around and see what was happening, but even when she could see, she couldn't think. They were looking at him, and talking. "No," She told them, and when a man came to kneel beside her brother she leaned up and pushed him away. She pushed everyone away. "DON'T TOUCH HIM!" No one else would hurt him! She'd protect him this time! "GET AWAY!"

Octavia had not lied when she told others she had no home, or people. She never felt apart of the Ark and it's people. Not truly. She'd been locked up her whole life, and when she was discovered they'd locked her up again and killed her mother. What had been her home had been her brother. Her constant. Her best friend and sanity. He had been who she fought for when she was weak, and who keep her strong when she was afraid. Lincoln she loved, but Bellamy had been the only person in her life for so long. The ONLY person. She had feared loosing Lincoln at times, but never did she doubt Bellamy would be the constant. And she'd not protected him like she could have.

She'd gotten him killed. TonDC was for nothing. This whole mission was a death mission! They never should have sent him in here without a way to get him out! He'd saved his friends but the cost was his life! O rocked back and forth for a moment, staring down at him until someone once again tired to move toward them both--but she was stronger now, and she would protect him this time. "GET BACK!" She demanded, only giving them enough of a glance to make sure they saw her weapon in her hand. She'd protect him this time! She would!

Looking up at them, she found her eyes resting on Clarke. Clarke. Who sent him here. Who let a city die but saved her girlfriend. Who lied to him about O being in the burning city. "You did this!" She hissed, "You brought this on him. You got him killed! . . . . Stay away from my brother!" She'd protect him. She . . . she . . . She'd failed him.

[Clarke Griffin]

It was different this time There was no blood to wash off her hands, not really. She knew his blood was on her hands as well. It mixed with the others, his voice soon joining the chorus of voices, that rightfully accused her of their murder, yet Clarke knew this would soon change. One voice would drown out all else, his voice had the power to bring her to her knees. Like the man, his memories had the power to shatter, to break her. When they landed on earth, Clarke had expected to die. She had been prepared for her end, to be another victim of the Arks politics. Never in her life would she have expected to find direction in this chaos, like a picture she had once seen: A tiny flower blooming in a desert, defying all rules and logic. He could have been that flower for her. The flower was dead now. It survived the desert, but not a nuclear war. It survived the desert of earth, but not her. He was too pale, too still. Before he left she had told him one thing, had opened up about so much, but not enough. It would have never been enough.

I can’t lose you to

Turned into a single tear running down her cheek. 

Slowly she understood. He was dead. There was nothing in this world that could bring him back. Clarke saw herself standing in a pile of body, her feet, her legs, her hands drowning in blood of all those people, yet they paled, her eyes still on his lifeless form. He was the only one that mattered. With him Lexa kept her in line. She killed people in the hope of buying him more time, of not exposing him, of protecting the life that was so precious to her. She might as well have run him through with a dagger as well. She might as well have taken his life with her own bare hands. Maybe that would have saved him pain. There was no way they would not have made him suffer. The blonde didn’t want to know, the knowledge of that would be too much for her to handle. She couldn’t do that to the others. They’ve been through too much. Octavia has been through too much. She was falling apart, visibly. How could Clarke allow herself to let go of control now? Where would she let go of control anyway? The one she would have entrusted with it, lay dead in his sisters arm. It was all over.

It was Octavias words, that made a last bit of hope flicker up in her. She couldn’t do much, nothing to bring him back, but at least she could allow Octavia to give her anger a target, to give her a bit of understanding, maybe a bit of closure. Maybe it would be easier for her, if she allowed her to have a clear enemy, someone she could blame, the very person, who really was to blame. 

“Yes. It’s my fault. I… I killed him. Serves him right.” For trusting her with her mad plan. She’d never forgive herself for this. Clarke turned around. She didn’t want Octavia to see the pain, the tears that finally ran over her cheeks. If she wanted her to have someone to blame, she couldn’t show pain or weakness. Weakness. She had held him back initially because of a certain form of weakness and now she knew she should have clung to this idea. She should have held on to him, made him stay, she should have continued to be weak, because now she was irrevocably weak. This wound would never heal again. She didn’t want it to. 

blake