Lost Love Found [ #Wattys2015 ] {Bellarke}

In the Shadow

Clarke's POV

Clarke Griffin wiped the back of her hand across her sweaty brow, leaving behind a dark stain of moist earth. It was early in the morning, so early in fact that the sunlight radiating through the trees gave off only minimal warmth. It was not yet humid. And Clarke preferred the biting chill to the sticky hotness of the forest. It made her work easier.

She bent over once more and finished shoveling dirt. The makeshift shovel she was using was inadequate, but it was all she had.

Clarke tossed it to the side and fell to her knees in front of the large mound. She reached over, grabbing a handful of radiation soaked flowers that she had picked earlier that morning. It was the kind of flower that glowed blue in the night. Using the fauna as a marker, Clarke leaned back and admired her work with a deep sadness.

"Your fight is over." She whispered solemnly, hanging her head in defeat.

Grave digging - this was Clarke's purpose in life now.

Dragging the bodies out from Mount Weather, the bloated, the maimed, the festering bodies, was a laborious chore. She was burying them in the shadow of the mountain, just outside the huge metal door. Clarke contemplated digging the graves further out, but Mount Weather was home to these people and she thought that they would like to be buried close to home.

Her days consisted of hefting lifeless corpses outside before the sun even rose, excavating pounds of dirt before the bodies exploded in the heat and working through the hours before she collapsed from exhaustion. The only words she ever spoke were to the deceased men and women. And they were the same words each time.

Your fight is over.

Clarke felt responsible for these people. She was just like Lexa, willing to sacrifice an entire people to save her own, and the notion brought bile up her throat. She replayed that moment over and over in her mind, composed hundreds of solutions in a matter of minutes when she should have thought of them at that moment - before she pulled that lever.

Their blood was on her hands. She was the harbinger of death.

It was her, all her, not her mom, not Kane, not Monty nor Bellamy.

Bellamy.

Bellamy helped her pull the lever. Bellamy was there for her the entire time.

No. Bellamy was gone. He was no longer a part of her life. She had managed for so long without him. She reminded herself that she was capable of making decisions without him. This was her burden, not his. She bore this grief so he didn't have to.

She slammed her fist into the soft earth, tears pooling in her eyes. Clarke busied herself with grave digging so she didn't have to think about the past, didn't have to think about the future. She convinced herself that Bellamy couldn't hold a place in her heart because she didn't deserve that kind of love - just like she didn't deserve love from Raven, Octavia, Jasper, Kane, her mom, any of them.

Clarke Griffin was beyond loving. She told herself that the only emotions love invoked were grief and regret. Love was something for mothers to entice children with, men to bed women with and leaders to manipulate with. After all that it had been through, Clarke's heart was nothing more than a burned lump of muscle.

Clarke rose to her feet, gathering the shovel and flowers in her arms. She had finished burying all the adults - now came the children, the truly innocent. As she walked up the path, covered in dirt and corpse fluids, tears ran down her cheeks.

However, like most days and nights, Clarke didn't feel her salty tears and continued with her self-imposed penance alone and in complete desolation.

. . .

Bellamy's POV

"Get up." Raven said, tossing a pack full of rations and supplies onto Bellamy's sleeping form.

Startled, he jerked awake and instinctively reached for his pistol hidden beneath his pillows. The quick movements induced a headache and Bellamy quickly rolled over onto his side after making sure whoever tossed the pack wasn't a total threat.

Although, Raven was the closest thing to any threat he could've imagined.

"What do you want?" He moaned and ran a hand down his weary face.

"Do you not remember our conversation last night?" She asked in annoyance, placing a closed fist on her hip.

"I remember being woken up from a very pleasant dream about a girl who misplaced all her clothes..."

"You need to go find Clarke," Raven interrupted, her voice taking on a steely edge. "Now."

Bellamy looked up at Raven, her face hardened into something unrecognizable. The uselessness of her right leg did little to quell her temper or spirit. In fact, it strengthened her resolve. He admired her for it. Perhaps if their roles had been switched, she would've been handling this situation better than himself.

He rose from his bed and slowly walked over to the piped washbasin along the supporting pillar of the tent. Bellamy stripped off his shirt, tossed it onto the floor, and began to run water over his face and hair in an attempt to wash off an alcohol induced sleep. He glanced in the mirror briefly, but couldn't stand to look at himself for more than a few seconds.

Placing both hands on either side of the plastic sink, he gripped the basin until the veins in his arms bulged. He no longer could depend on morals and emotions to keep him together, to keep him upright. He needed physical things to sustain him - mortal things, like whiskey and women.

"You're going to leave, Bellamy, and you're going to leave right now before everyone in this damn camp wakes up." Raven said, her voice carrying somewhat of a lighter tone, an understanding tone.

Bellamy's eyes met hers from across the room, only his were full of anguish. Water dripped from his dark curls onto his face and his bare chest rose and fell in increased succession. "Clarke doesn't need rescuing. She doesn't need our help anymore."

She doesn't need him anymore.

The thought was enough to induce a strong yearning for his favorite whisky.

"You're right she doesn't." Raven replied, squaring her shoulders.

Bellamy gazed at her confusion and was about to open his mouth again when Raven stopped him.

"But, we need her."

Bellamy's mouth snapped closed.

"So get dressed," she added quickly. "Because you're leaving now."

. . .

Bellamy was speaking to Raven and Wick in hushed tones when, suddenly, Abby Griffin came flying towards the main gate. Her hair was askew and her dark blue scrubs crinkled from a lack of sleep. She was out of breath by the time she reached them.

"You're finally going after her?" She asked, the question directed at Bellamy.

He nodded.

"Then please," she begged, tears welling in her eyes. "Bring her home safely."

Bellamy did an uncharacteristic thing then; he took her small, artist-like hands into his own and stared her directly in the eyes as he said, "I swear."

Abby made a light noise in the back of her throat and hugged him. It was an awkward hug and Bellamy wasn't sure what to do with his hands.

"She trusts you more than anyone," Abby whispered, so low that the others couldn't hear. "She'll listen to you."

Bellamy pulled away first, stunned by her statement. Then, Clarke's mom looked over at Raven and Wick, nodded, tucked a loosed strand of auburn colored hair behind her ear, and turned on her heel, heading back the way she came.

Only Bellamy saw her wipe her tears as she walked away.

"Guess that's goodbye." Wick stated and Bellamy left without another word.