Between Us

I See You

Bellamy Blake knows what it is like to fall from the sky.

That memory is like war; hard to live, even harder to forget. He might be on a different ship, but the wait is still the same. At least this time he has a proper harness, unlike the flimsy makeshift one he used to tether himself to the inside of the drop ship so very long ago. The edges of this one bite into the skin at his neck and waist, metal buckles pressing the air out of his lungs. He remembers the last harness he slipped his arms through.

"We're out of time. This is what Clarke would want us to do. If we wait, we die."

His heartbeat pounds at his temples and sweat makes his hands slick against the arm rests, but he forces himself to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

But this time he is not leaving. He is coming home.

Six years he has waited for this moment. They all have. And now it is here, staring back at him through a small window of red. But there is one, small spot of green, hovering like a beacon, calling a lost ship back to shore.

"Booster's a-go," says Shaw. He sits in the front, closer to the window, next to Raven. He turns enough to meet everyone's gaze, and for once, Bellamy is glad he can't read the expression there.

He doesn't want to know that Miles Shaw is afraid.

"Now you all know we have one shot at this," their pilot says. His voice sounds distant, like Bellamy is listening from under water.

Trapped in a box as cold water rushes in.

"One shot to break atmosphere, one shot to align the ship, and one shot to land it."

"Just another Tuesday for us," mumbles Murphy from beside Bellamy, but there is no mocking in his voice. With a sigh, he leans back and shuts his eyes. He may look relaxed, but Bellamy doesn't miss the tension in his friend's hands that sit, clenched, on his knees.

"It'll be dicey. We won't know how the radiation will affect the avionics, so if you're not ready . . . too bad."

"The radiation is already affecting the avionics. It's now or never."

Bellamy tries to swallow back the memory as it crystallizes before him. Sweat pools from his back now, gathering beneath his knees.

Shaw straightens in his seat. "Preparing a ten-second countdown," he says. "Hold tight."

"You know, you really don't need to narrate everything," bites out Murphy before he shuts his eyes.

The ship whirrs, and a bionic voice sounds from overhead. "Ten."

The tension in the room is palpable. It clings to Bellamy's skin and fills his chest like hot air, but he doesn't look away from that solitary point of green. He can't. He won't.

Vibrations pick up, starting in the arm rests before traveling the length of his seat, rattling his spine, his teeth, his blood.

"Nine."

Bellamy's grip tightens.

"Eight."

He tries not to think about dying.

"Seven."

Blue eyes. Dark hair. His sister. His responsibility.

"Six."

She will be okay. We will all be okay.

"Five."

"Don't give up, and neither will I."

"Four."

"Bring yourself home."

"Three."

"I still have hope."

"Two."

I'm coming, Clarke.

"One."

***********

She still has the radio in her hand when she hears it. Like a clap of thunder, cracking her silent sky wide open.

Everything in her ignites. It's like radiation is back in her blood, turning her insides to fire as something drops through the clouds, small and gray and getting bigger.

Clarke doesn't remember standing to her feet. She doesn't remember lifting the receiver again, or speaking the words she's only ever dreamed of saying out loud. She barely even hears them, too scared to blink. To believe.

"Never mind," she breathes. "I see you."

I see you.