Not my story
It's a bright, sunny afternoon when Clarke returns to Camp Jaha - the same cheerful light that she'd once thought to be mocking now feels almost comforting. When she steps through the trees, the first thing that hits her is, We have walls now.
And they do - thick, sturdy barriers that enclose the camp within, both a declaration and a warning to anyone who looks upon them. The great bulk of the fallen Ark ship rises from the center like a beacon, and the noise and bustle from within makes her feet hasten closer.
Until someone yells "Stop!" from atop the wall, and the black barrel of the rifle glints in the sunlight as it's pointed down at her.
Automatically, her hands go up. She has nothing but the gun in her waistband, the rifle strapped to her chest, and the clothes on her back - a simple shirt and trousers, because that's all she needs anymore - so she doesn't consider herself particularly intimidating, but the gun stays pointed at her regardless.
That's a good sign, she thinks. They shouldn't be so trusting upon first glance. Plus, maybe she still has a knife or two hidden in her boots. This is the ground after all. The guard atop the wall turns to shout below, and Clarke hears heavy footfalls as another person comes to join him.
The breath leaves her in a rush when Bellamy's head pops up over the ramparts. Her entire world narrows to his mop of curly hair, the muscle ticking in his jaw, and those dark eyes that have taken over her dreams. She's had weeks to prepare herself for this moment, and yet nothing could have warned her how her throat would glue together with things unsaid, how her heart would give a tremendous leap, as if straining to reach his.
He stands frozen for almost a full minute, simply drinking her in. Then he yells, "Open the gate!" and disappears from view. His voice is just as low as she remembered, but the slight tremor is new to her ears. There isn't much time to dwell on that. The huge door begins to swing open, but she remains where she is, uncertain, even when the guard lowers his weapon.
It's Monty who sees her first, drops everything and flies out. He hits her with more force than expected, and some of the tension in her chest eases as she grips him back just as fiercely. "We missed you," he says.
She doesn't have time to reply because others have come after Monty, and suddenly she's surrounded in a small huddle of bodies, being passed from one person to the next. Over Miller's shoulder, she catches sight of Bellamy walking to the entrance, pointing her out to her mother, whose face crumbles in relief and sheer joy. Abby weaves through the small crowd and takes Clarke into her arms.
"Welcome home," she whispers, and Clarke sighs because it's true, she knows home will always be where her people are.
Bellamy is still by the gate, stubbornly refusing to move another inch. He leans against the wall, deceptively casual if not for the white-knuckled grip he has on his gun. Their eyes lock and Clarke knows it's going to be her who caves first.
The last time she was here, she walked away from him despite his pleas. And he let her go, knowing it was what she needed. But this time, she won't walk away. This time, what she needs is right in front of her.
So she unwinds herself from her mother, links her arm with hers and strides forward, not stopping until she's at the entrance. The others drift back into camp, still glancing back, and her mother steps a few feet away while she stands in front of Bellamy, close enough to touch.
He studies her, gaze hard and careful, and Clarke knows she deserves that, too. So she waits, letting him see for himself that there's no trace of uncertainty, no doubt in her choice - because there isn't. Her frantic pulse is only confirmation that her head has finally caught up to what her heart always knew.
