Bellarke One-Shots [A Collection of Stories]

The Flame

{Luna}

Anonymous asked: I have a prompt for you! Clarke and Bellamy have a deep discussion regarding Luna's rejection of the Flame. I want to know how you think 3x14 is going to go down
- prompt from Tumblr

"Luna, please," Clarke begged, chasing after the barefooted woman. "You have to take the Flame. There's so much you don't understand."

Luna stopped in her tracks, her spine straight and her shoulders back. Turning around, she gave Clarke a steady stare before approaching slowly. Her footfalls were soundless against cold metal.

"How long has it been since you arrived here, Skaikru?" Luna's amber eyes glowed with hidden prudence as she spoke to Clarke, Bellamy, Octavia and Jasper. "Five moon cycles?"

Clarke opened her mouth, but so many words were lost on the tip of her tongue. Luna continued speaking, dismissing Clarke's attempts to justify herself.

"You haven't seen the destruction past Commanders have wrought. You haven't seen how much blood has been spilled in the name of tradition. Don't tell me what I do and do not understand, Wanheda, because I have seen what the Flame can do to people."

Then, Luna looked from Octavia to Jasper, her eyes stopping on Bellamy's. "You are all welcome here, welcome to food and drink, but if you ask me to take the Flame again, I will not hesitate to send you away."

Clarke dropped her gaze, examining the chip in her hand. She wanted to scream, wanted to shout until her lungs bled and her mouth ached. They had traveled so many miles only to come across yet another roadblock. Each and every obstacle was beginning to weigh down on Clarke's sanity. How much more could she take? How much longer until she broke completely?

Fisting her hand, Clarke looked up and saw Luna walking away from them, her auburn hair shining like burnished copper in the afternoon light.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Jasper asked, but nobody replied. Nobody spoke up. Nobody had a solution. For a moment, the world was silent except for the cry of seagulls, hopeless feelings hanging in the salty air. "Guys?"

Clarke sucked in a shaky breath, gathered herself, and strode away from the group. She had no idea where she was going. She didn't care. Once again, she had failed her people – she had failed everyone.

Walking until she could walk no further, Clarke came to a stop at the edge of the ancient helicopter platform. Fighting back tears of frustration, she raised her fist, ready to punch anything or anyone. She turned to her right, about to slam her fist into a metal container when a hand shot out and caught her punch.

"Bellamy," Clarke growled, struggling as he held fast to her closed fist. "You need to let me punch something."

"I'm not going to let you break your hand," he replied steadily. "If you want to hit something, hit me. I should be used to it by now."

They locked eyes as Clarke's shaking fist pushed back against Bellamy's palm. Despite all her strength, she failed to move Bellamy's arm even an inch. Her anger momentarily forgotten, Clarke dropped her hand.

In a desperate attempt to control her frustration, she took in a mouthful of air through her nose and exhaled. Turning away from Bellamy she muttered, "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

He waited for her to continue.

She felt his eyes on her, could almost picture the characteristic look of quiet solidarity on his face as he watched her.

"I can't fight anymore," she confessed, looking away from the ocean and back up at Bellamy. "Everyone expects me to be strong, but I can't. Not anymore."

Clarke bit her bottom lip, holding in tears. "I've – I've lost everyone I've ever cared about, people I loved and fought for," she thought about Lexa. "I failed all of them."

"Clarke..." Bellamy breathed, reaching out to wipe a stray tear from beneath her eye. His hand was warm against her cheek, his touch calming. It was a small gesture, a gesture steeped in kindness and comfort. "You haven't failed anyone. You haven't failed me."

"But I left you," she rushed on, brushing hair out of her face as the wind picked up. "I was a coward. I was afraid. You were right all along, you don't need me."

Bellamy tilted his head, his expression both empathetic and earnest. "No," he said in a deep and gravelly voice. "I was wrong. I do need you. Clarke, I have always needed you."

She looked up at him in astonishment. Those words, she had said those words to him so many times before – not once had he ever spoken them back. Seeing him here now, standing by her side, comforted Clarke in ways that she did not yet understand.

"Promise me –" she began, but Bellamy caught her hand.

"Anything."

"Promise me that you'll never call me Wanheda again," Clarke's voice cracked. Bellamy's eyes softened. "That name – it reminds me of those I've lost, people I've killed."

She reached for Bellamy, wanting to hold him against her just as she had done on the beach last night. She wanted him to bury his face in her neck, whisper soft, delicate things into her hair. Then, she remembered that Octavia and Jasper were nearby, that they were probably watching this little exchange.

Clarke pulled back before she could even touch him.

"I don't want to be remembered as the harbinger of Death." She murmured. Beneath her torn glove, Bellamy had found a small opening and was gently stroking the top of her hand, chasing away her grievances.

"I won't let that happen," his voice was low, rumbling. "They," he nodded at Octavia and Jasper. "Won't let that happen."

"We'll figure out a way to convince Luna," he went on, taking a careful step forwards, stopping a mere two feet in front of Clarke. "We'll destroy A.L.I.E. and then we'll get on with our lives – together."

"Is that a proposal, Bell?" Clarke asked, attempting to break the tension, not sure how she should feel with him standing this close to her.

"No," he chuckled. "It's my promise...to you."