Soulmates: A Collection of Bellarke Fanfics

III. Those Five Words

Bellamy noticed the clinking of Clarke's — no, Josephine's— finger on her metal cuff. Instinctively, he started to count the taps as the dots and dashes of Morse code. He didn't need Josephine to narrate for him, but of course she did, because she never seemed to just shut up.

"B-O-O-H-O-O," she said, a coy smile on her lips. "That's harsh."

Bellamy felt his heart flutter for a moment, because that seemed so Clarke, sarcastic and witty and— wait. How'd she know what Josephine was saying?

"She can hear us?" He asked, gruffly.

"It would seem so, which means the wall separating our minds is almost gone. When that happens, she'll stroke out, I'll download, and you can say goodbye to your genocidal friend."

Josephine's tone of voice, not to mention the meaning of her words, annoyed and frightened the hell out of him. "Let me talk to her," he demanded.

"I'd have to give over control for that, so no."

"But she can hear me?"

"Yes, she can hear you." She said, and Bellamy felt his throat uncomfortably tighten with emotion. "For God's sake, just say what you want to say."

Josephine looked at him expectantly, but Bellamy was lost in his own thoughts. What did he want Clarke to hear the most? It was a hard question. Worst of all, it felt like he was picking his last words to her. If he couldn't save her, if he was too late, this would be it. This could be the last chance he had to say something meaningful, something memorable, something that would salute their companionship over the years. It felt all too much like a goodbye. And they had had too many of those.

He thought what Josephine had said earlier. "I guess you just care about her more." The words tied knot in his stomach, because could be really, honestly dispute them?

And because he cared about her more than anyone, choosing his possible last message to Clarke seemed impossible.

Bellamy tried to see Clarke's body as hers again, as his friend, his partner, his whatever undefinable person she was to him.

I'm sorry, almost rolled off his tongue. It felt honest. He was sorry for the life she was forced to live, for the burden that was thrust upon her at the young age of seventeen. Much of that weight was his fault. He hadn't been strong or smart enough to lead the hundred on his own. He had to lean on her. It was still something that haunted him to that day. He was sorry for the times he hurt her when they disagreed on what the right thing was. More than anything, he was sorry that she was taken advantage of like this, that she was so violated and hurt. He was sorry he couldn't protect her. It infuriated him to his core.

I'm proud of you, was another option that popped into his mind. Because despite all those reasons he had to be sorry, Clarke lead with integrity and honestly and intelligence. She carried everyone's burden, and somehow, kept her heart through it all. She always made sure their people could live, not just survive. She never lost her humanity. Bellamy truly believed that Clarke Griffin was the reason the human race was still alive, and he knew she was the only reason he was still standing. She allowed him to share his pain and stood by him with undying loyalty. Sure, they had their ups and downs, but he was certain that, through it all, Clarke was a freaking hero. And he admired the hell out of her for it.

Thank you, Clarke, seemed like something that needed to be said, as well. For all of those reasons— the weight she bore, the compassion she showed him, and the unconditional forgiveness and friendship she offered him for seven years— he was so grateful.

Of course, there was one more thing that occurred to him to say. It was actually the first thing that he thought of. But he knew the impact of those particular words would be monumental. Did he care at this point? His heart told him no.

So, Bellamy almost said, I love you.

Because he did. Truly and deeply. In the uncertain world that was Sanctum and mind drives and the Red Sun, that was one thing he was sure of.

Love almost seemed too weak of a word. Because he didn't just love her. He needed her. He relied on her. Clarke was a defining part of his life. In his mind, Bellamy and Clarke were synonyms. There was truly no him without her.

It's why they were always able to forgive each other and make amends. Without one another, they'd fall apart. It was easy to forgive the one person you couldn't imagine your life without.

He smiled when she smiled. His heart broke when she cried. Pride swelled in his chest when he saw her step up and lead her people with ease. When he couldn't deal with anymore tragedy, he went to her, and everything seemed okay again. She gave him hope and leant him strength and made him believe he wasn't the monster he was so sure he was.

Romantically, as friends, as soulmates, as whatever the hell you wanted to call it, his heart was full of love for this woman— the woman who used to be a girl he called princess, who he met when he was angry and selfish and didn't give a damn about anyone but his sister. That girl, with all her beautiful intensity and God damn righteousness, made him feel all kinds of terrifying things.

They had come so far since those times, but still, seven years later, Clarke continued to have that effect on him.

So, didn't she deserve to hear it? At least once? That Bellamy more than loved her fully and completely? That their connection was something made in the stars, something cosmic and epic and inescapable? That his soul just got hers?

But if he was going to say it, after all this time, it had to the perfect moment. And he certainly wasn't going to say it to Josephine, the bitch who had taken her away from him in the first place.

Somehow, the thought just fueled his determination to save Clarke. He needed to save her, so one day, at the right time, he could tell her all of that.

Bellamy didn't need anymore reasons to save her, though, because he had lost her before. He had spent six years mourning her in space, and it destroyed him. Days ago he thought he lost her again, and he had drowned in grief. Somewhere, deep in his bones, Bellamy knew he couldn't do that again. He wouldn't survive it.

So, he didn't say any of those things. He didn't admit the feelings that had been weighing so heavily on him for years. He didn't say how much he needed her, or how proud he was of her, or how much he loved her, or anything like that.

Because, after thinking through it, Bellamy came to the conclusion that Clarke dying was completely and utterly unacceptable. Wasn't going to happen. He refused to lose her again. He refused to say goodbye again.

Instead, he just kept steady eye contact with Josephine— with his Clarke— and told her exactly what was at the forefront of his mind.

With a glimmer in his eyes and an intense kind of desperation in his voice, Bellamy simply said, "I won't let you die."

And those five words encompassed thousands of others.