A series of bellarke oneshots

Talk

Not mine

He hasn't talked since he and the forty-seven returned. After he was discharged from medical, he did his jobs, he lived his life, but he didn't talk. He also never left her side. Everywhere she turned, he was right beside her. Helping her, supporting her (all without words, she never thought she could miss a voice so much) and just being there.

He sleeps in her tent now. He never touches her, though. One night, the flaps of her tent had ruffled and he'd come in, carrying his makeshift mattress and his animal skins and he'd placed himself on the ground next to her bed. He'd looked so haunted, so scared, that she'd let him sleep there. He hadn't left. It was an unspoken (well, spoken was out of the question at the moment) agreement between them.

It gave her comfort, somehow, having him close-by at night. When she wakes from the nightmares, she but has to turn around and see him lying there, and know he's safe. Safe, but not alright. Never alright.

She hasn't seen him sleep. They go to bed at the same time, but if she wakes up at night, he's staring at her. When she wakes up in the morning, he's gone. The routine is the same every day. And every day, the bags under his eyes become more pronounced. Everybody tries talking to him. But he can't stand any company. He starts shaking the moment people come close, start talking to him, and he only stops the moment she lays her hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He can only ever look at her.

And however good that feels sometimes, it feels worse to see his sister so devastated because he can't even stand O's presence. The feeling is strengthened by the constant guilt she feels towards everyone he'd even been close to for doing this to him.

Because she did.

Maybe not directly, but she is responsible for it. And that will never, ever go away, and she will always feel the guilt. She will have to live with it. Just like with Finn's death. She was responsible for all the hurt, and deaths, of all the men she ever loved. And it was killing her. Her mom saw, of course, but had learned to back off after the first ten or so times when she completely snapped at her mother. She just can't deal with her mother right now, not when she tries to convince her she did the right thing for the right reasons, and that she shouldn't feel guilty.

As if that's so easy.

Bellamy isn't speaking.

Harper can still barely walk.

Monty will probably never be able to use his fingers

Her fault, all her fault.

She is skinning a rabbit when he comes sitting next to her. He doesn't say anything (of course), and he stares at the fire for a long time, a haunted look on his face. Clarke puts her hand on his shoulder, and he looks at her, his eyes glittering with fear. "Are you okay?" He shakes his head, his head hanging again. He touches the side of his head and Clarke understands. Flashbacks. He's been having them far more often. "Want to tell me about them?"

Then he does something quite unexpected. He turns to her, grabs her upper arms and pulls her closer, his eyes inspecting her face frantically. For a moment, she's confused, but then she realizes what he is doing. The flashbacks had been about her. So not so much flashbacks as daynightmares, if that is even a thing. He'd seen something happen to her. Clarke gently touches his face. "Hey. I'm okay." He shakes his head, releasing her and letting his head fall onto her shoulder. He shakes a little, and Clarke gently runs a hand through his curls to calm him down. "It's okay, Bell. You're going to be okay. I'll be here the entire – "

"Can't lose you, too."

She almost misses it. She almost misses the soft words whispered against her skin, and she would have, if she hadn't felt his mouth move. She suppresses a gasp, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling the soft hairs in the nape of her neck. "I can't lose you, either." she whispers back. She knows if she makes a big deal of him talking, he will stop. She's ecstatic that he is talking, but she's not about to stop that process by making a big deal out of it. He has to feel safe to talk. "I'm sorry, Bell. For everything."

"Not your fault." he murmurs.

"Yes, it is. I sent you in."

"Let you."

This is so much progress in one minute that her head is reeling. "God, Bellamy..."

He presses his lips to her shoulder, before pulling back and looking at her with such gentle eyes that she almost cries. "Anything for you."

She smiles, stroking his hair softly. "I'd do anything for you, too."

"Octavia?"

"Do you want Octavia?" He nods, and the light in his eyes that he used to have when talking about his sister returns, for the first time in weeks. "I'll get her."

She jumps up and goes over to fetch Octavia for him. When she's a bit away from him, she lets out a relieved laugh. He's talking again. Small sentences, true, and he frantically avoids the use of 'I' but he's talking.

And that's a start.