Work Text:
REWRITE THE STARS
By ChasetheWindTouchtheSky
The first thing that occurs to them is that the world doesn’t have to be as cruel as the one presented.
The events leading up to where they’re at are ones that Clarke never expected to ever be a part of – a world ending sentient AI, inter-Grounder war despite the technological attack, and Bellamy and herself going into a virtual reality of the thing the two of them know the least: computers. Even if Clarke didn’t know Bellamy as well as she does, she can tell he’s off kilter. He steps into the blindingly white room before Clarke does, his gun clutched closely to his chest as he does so, eye darting to see if there’s anything around that could cause trouble.
Clarke pushes past him when he takes too long clearing the area and he huffs when she does so, but oddly doesn’t say anything. Ever since the separation from Mt. Weather and then at Polis, she isn’t quite sure how to behave around him. They seem slightly off-balance, always on the verge of falling, holding their breaths before they do so.
Marching into the room, Clarke whirls around, trying to figure out where Raven sent them. “Where are we?” She asks, frowning at the computer systems around her. She wishes she understood what it meant, but all she could see is a sea of metal and computers she’ll never understand.
“Who knows,” Bellamy states, gruff. “We should’ve had Raven tell us more when we went into the City of Light.”
Sure, it would’ve been nice. But they never were given endless time to figure out their plans. The world was ending – then they had to react. There was nothing more than a few quick seconds, a description of what they need to find, and a shove into an unfamiliar world.
It’d been tense between the two of them for a few days now. Clarke isn’t even sure what the cause of it is this time. They’ve always been able to recalibrate after tragedy, but she wonders if there are too many for them to ever get back to normal. Bellamy’s only a foot away, arms crossed and jaw clenched like it always is when he’s processing something, and it feels further than she’s ever experienced. Even when she left after Mt. Weather, she held him close to her thoughts, as if he was lying next to her.
Now the world is ending again and she doesn’t have her best friend.
It’s a dizzying thought.
“What did Raven say we needed to find, again?” Bellamy breaks her out of her stupor, uncrossing his arms and trudging over to the machines.
It jolts Clarke back in reality. Like so many times on the Ground, she doesn’t have time to focus on her feelings about a situation – there’s always a new problem to face. “She said that we needed to find the main computer that A.L.I.E. keeps her code and put this USB in there so she can get into the system.” Clarke says, holding the small device in her hand.
“Well, which one is the main computer?”
When Clarke looks at the walls surrounding her, she doesn’t know. They all look the same. The screens that she saw growing up on the Ark surround her, but they’re cleaner, in need of no repair. They all look exactly the same. “I don’t know.” Clarke admits when she can’t seem to offer anything else that would be helpful.
He huffs in response and moves amongst them, as if he can glare them into submission. It’s endearing, but also painful. It’s as if he’s physically trying to get away from her.
So instead, she moves among the computers, doing her best to try and discern if they are the one Raven needs. After a few minutes of what feels like pointless searching, Bellamy says, “I think it’s this one.”
In the corner of the room is a small machine, riddled with ports and lights that are flashing. “Why do you think this one?” Clarke asks.
“It’s not on display. If I were A.L.I.E. and I was trying to think strategically of how to make sure people won’t find things I want, I would make it as minimal as possible.” Bellamy says, gesturing to the machine. “This one isn’t on display, it’s in the corner gathering dust. It’s the least likely choice.”
Clarke nods. “I think you’re right.”
Bellamy startles at that, turning toward her. There’s something in his eyes that she can’t quite figure out. Something brewing, as if there’s something he wants to say. But Bellamy’s never been quiet about how he feels about something. Except now he’s quiet and she isn’t sure what to do.
“Okay then,” he says, voice soft. Clarke isn’t sure what changed in that moment, but the world turned. “Let’s do it together.”
The word shakes her to her core. It’s as if they are back at Mt. Weather, deciding to fate of the world once more. Clarke has not been able to push past the bodies she sees in her dreams, but whenever she looks to Bellamy, they mute for a small while. Reaching down to the small machine, Clarke fumbles until the drive is inserted.
The room lights flickered.
“What was that?” Bellamy asks, a hint of frantic in his voice. “Was it the wrong one?”
“I don’t think so,” Clarke says, watching as the screens start to glitch around them. “That wouldn’t be happening if A.L.I.E. was in control, I think.”
She grabs Bellamy’s arm and pulls him with her, which he follows without any arguing. The two reach a giant screen surrounded by a cluster of smaller monitors. It sizzles and goes black, the lines of endless code that was once running through it, now removed. “Dammit, did we break something?” Bellamy grumbles, but before Clarke can answer, the screen flashes on again.
When it’s on, Clarke startles.
It’s her. She’s sitting alone in a café – the kind of build that she’s only seen through old movies and books on the Ark. Beside her is a half-drank cup of coffee and there’s a sketch pad in her hand. She tips her pencil so it slides across the page, her eyes focused on the work before her. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun and she’s wearing clothes that she’s never seen before.
She looks light.
Clarke knows the woman on the screen can’t be her, because she doesn’t look like that. When she gazes at her reflection, all she sees is the blood on her hands and the weight of the world. This girl – she has nothing of that. There’s a spot of charcoal on her cheek that she doesn’t notice and only pauses to take a quick sip from the drink next to her.
Clarke turns to Bellamy, who is clearly just as confused as she is. She opens her mouth to say something – anything – but then there’s another noise from the video and another figure comes into frame, seating down across from her. “Sorry babe,” Bellamy’s voice sounds and Clarke stills. “Professor Jaha cornered me after class again.”
The Clarke on the screen finally looks up, a bright smile stretching on her face. Something in Clarke’s chest aches. She knows it doesn’t make any sense, this isn’t real. She can’t be jealous of someone who doesn’t exist. A world that doesn’t exist.
“No worries,” screen-Clarke says, setting her pencil down.
“How late am I?”
“Two cups of coffee, three sketch pages, and a piece of pie.”
“How is that possible?” screen-Bellamy cries, but he laughs all the same. “I’m only,” he looks at a phone that he pulls out of his pocket. “Ten minutes late!”
“I don’t make the rules,” screen-Clarke says. “The next round’s on you. It’s your punishment for leaving me to my own devices.”
“You are so impossible.” He retorts, but it’s said with such love, that Clarke feels Bellamy shift next to her. Another tension settles around the two of them and she is very aware of her hands. She’s actively trying to make sure they don’t touch. The Bellamy on the screen stands, moving over to where Clarke remains sitting, smiling at him.
“You like it,” she teases when he leans down, cupping her face in his hands.
With the brush of his thumb, he swipes the errant line of charcoal. “Damn, you figured me out.”
Without another word, he dips his head down all the way and kisses her.
“What the hell is this?” Bellamy cries as he watches himself with Clarke in another universe. “What is that?”
“I-I don’t know.” Clarke says honestly, bringing her hands up so they don’t hover too close to him. “I—”
One of the smaller screens off to the sides fizzles as well, green code rolling down the black screen. Then it freezes. Then, there’s a blinking cursor and:
GOOD JOB. IN.
“Raven,” they say at the same time.
Bellamy moves closer to the small screen, clearly doing everything in his power not to look at himself with Clarke. Clarke isn’t sure why, but that hurts. Whatever alternate reality A.L.I.E. is trying to trick them with, it’s clearly not something that he wants. Clarke would never admit wanting. She isn’t a person who gets the luxury of want. But she wants him all the same, like something written in stars in the sky.
The screen glitches once more, and the two of them are standing outside the coffee shop, looks of terror on their faces. “What’s that?” Clarke asks, reaching for Bellamy, who pulls her close.
“I don’t know.” He responds, his hands reaching up and touching the side of her head as if it is something that makes himself feel better. Knowing that she’s there and he can touch him. Clarke can’t help but think that it’s not that much different from how Bellamy is now. Even while watching the screen, Bellamy hovers close, as if A.L.I.E. herself is going to bust in and harm her. “We need to find Raven.”
“Good call.” Screen-Clarke agrees.
Then, the world starts to open up. The ground cracks and separates, causing the two to stumble. Clarke’s feet slip as the world falls away, but Bellamy is there. Quick as he always was, he grabs her wrist before she can be lost to the world.
Screen-Clarke hangs there, eyes wide with terror as the earth settles. But Bellamy has her. He has her as she hangs, gripping his arm. “I got you,” he says, not a detectable ounce of fear in his voice. “Don’t worry, Clarke, I got you.”
The image shifts. A beautiful woman, dressed in red, stands off to the side, observing the two with no expression. As screen-Bellamy manages to hoist screen-Clarke up, the woman takes a breath and sighs. With a snap of her fingers, the screen goes black.
“Oh my god,” Clarke breathes as she watches. “That was A.L.I.E.”
“What the hell is she doing and why did we just watch—”
WEIRD.
Raven types on the screen, pausing the long lines of code.
ALIE HAS A DATABASE ON US. MOSTLY YOU.
Clarke shares a small look with Bellamy, who clearly can’t decide if he wants to focus on the screen that’s now fizzled to black or Raven’s words.
HISTORY OF VERSIONS.
“Version history?” Clarke says to herself. She turns to face the screen again, not even entirely black from where it showed another time the world ended. “Wait,” she says quietly. “A.L.I.E. ended that version. Does that mean she’s been putting us in different scenarios every time something goes wrong?”
Bellamy doesn’t answer.
“Oh my god,” Clarke breathes, returning to the screen. “That was us. That was a version of us that A.L.I.E. ran of us. You don’t think,” she’s having a hard time putting it into words, her brain is moving too fast. “You don’t think she’s rebooting us and putting us in different scenarios when we get close to stopping her, do you?”
Bellamy’s reaction is almost imperceptible. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Does any of this make sense? We have a sentient A.I. who has been trying to bring all humanity in the City of Light so that she can house them forever as their bodies burn. What if…” Clarke winces, a part of her not wanting to voice the theory because it seems to intimate. Too much like things can change if she says it. “What if we keep stopping her. What if she keeps trying to get people into the City of Light, but we somehow… I don’t know.”
“Clarke, are you seriously insinuating that was actually us?” Bellamy asks, gesturing at the screen. “Do you think that we have a world where we—” He breaks of his words and his gaze, as if it all is too much. Perhaps it is.
“Do you think of everything that’s happened, us being together and happy is the most unlikely?” Clarke asks, unable to stop herself.
She’s struck by the intimacy of it all. He’s only a few spaces away from her, but she wants to close it. She voices thoughts that she’s only had to herself and vowed to keep that way. But they’re here now, watching it, and she feels. She wants him in a way she’s never wanted anyone. In a selfish way. A way that makes her want to put this before her people.
In a way that some people could describe as love.
The two gaze at each other, as if they are waiting for the other to make the move.
A small ding separates them. Clarke shakes her head, turning her attention back to Raven.
NEED TIME. STAY ALERT.
Sighing, Clarke tries to tell herself that she should be grateful for a moment when no one is dying. When she isn’t supposed to be making decisions that will cause people to live or die. Except now? All she wants to do is run away. She’s faced with her biggest fear in a confined room with nowhere else to go: vulnerability.
When she lets her guard down, people die.
She can’t be the death of Bellamy Blake.
Bellamy looks as if he’s having his own sort of meltdown, which comforts her in a strange way. He is decidedly not looking at her, and even more so, not looking at the screen. In fact, he’s turned entirely around, hands on his hips and glaring at nothing in particular.
There’s a fizzling sound and the screen lights up once more.
Clarke can’t help it, she turns toward it. Sure, they may not be afforded happiness in this universe. But it’s nice to know, somewhere, they are.
***
Clarke wanders around the Ark as she always does this time on Tuesdays. Residents of the Alpha Station never come down to the Factory Station. There wasn’t a law against it, but it simply didn’t happen. In fact, if someone had asked her if she’d be wander around here a year ago, she would’ve been more confused than anything.
“Who knew the Princess of Alpha Station would grace us with her presence today?”
When the voice hits her, she can’t help but smile. Sure, at first it came as an antagonistic term, but now she secretly likes the fact that he says it. It makes her blush, but also gives her an opportunity to whirl around toward him and say sharply, “I thought we discussed this Bellamy.”
“You discussed. I chose not to listen.”
Bellamy’s leaning up against a wall, still in his guard uniform for the day. There’s a playful smile on his lips and she tries her best not to be affected by it. “Are you implying you don’t listen to me, Mr. Blake?” She asks, unable to hide her smile.
“Trust me,” he says, hoisting himself from the Ark wall and moving closer to her. “I don’t think anyone would be able to tune you out. You have a way of getting into heads.”
“Good opinions do that.”
“Or annoying ones,” he offers, reaching out to pull her closer.
Clarke allows herself to be moved, stumbling a bit until the two of them are facing each other. She puts a hand up to keep herself from falling directly into his chest, which he scoops into his. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” Clarke says, rising on her toes slightly.
“You say this, and yet here you are, wandering around Factory Station.” Bellamy grins, leaning his head down a bit. “I’d like to think it isn’t because of our inviting décor.”
“What can I say, I like a good metal wall.”
He rolls his eyes at her. Ducking his head close, his lips brush against hers. She lifts herself just a little more and—
“Blake!”
The two leap back apart, Clarke unable to stop herself from feeling a little foolish. When one of the lieutenants rounds the corner into the hallway they thought they were alone in, he groans. “Again, really?”
“Sorry,” Bellamy manages to have the decency to look sheepish. “Won’t happen again.”
The man shakes his head. “Sure it won’t. Ms. Griffin, don’t you have a shift at Ark Station Medical coming up?”
“How do you know my schedule?” Clarke asks, frowning.
“Let’s just say there’s a doctor there who would like it if you weren’t late again.”
Bellamy snorts next to her and she elbows him in the ribs. “I’m actually on my way.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the lieutenant grumbles as he walks away. “Getting to Ark Station Medical through the Factory Station? Makes sense.” His words drift down the hallway as he goes out of view.
Clarke whirls around to Bellamy. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because it is hilarious.” Bellamy says, reaching out and pulling her close again. “I suppose you should be going. If you want to make sure to be on time for your shift.”
“You are such a bad influence, Mr. Blake. Whatever am I going to do with you?”
Reaching up, Clarke locks her lips with his. She meant to make it fast so she can go, but it deepens as she grips the front of his vest and he places a hand on the small of his back in order to pull her even closer. Clarke breaks apart and Bellamy smirks. “Yeah,” he says, breathless. “That’ll show me.”
Quirking an eyebrow at him, Clarke detangles herself from his arms and strides down the hall, only allowing herself one quick glance behind her shoulder. He’s beaming at her when she does so and she can’t help the way her chest tingles. She never thought she’s find comfort drifting among the sky, but she’s grateful it came.
***
“I’m going to kill him.”
Glancing up from the textbook she’s reading, Clarke reminds herself that it’s a bad idea to laugh at Bellamy when he’s like this. She closes her book and jumps to her feet, grateful she’d just put the kettle on in their shitty apartment. Sure, it was close to school and sure, it was in their price range. But when the sink overflows and the ceiling cracks and there’s screaming into the night outside their window, Clarke wishes she was anywhere else.
Grabbing a mint tea bag – Bellamy’s favorite whenever he’s upset, although he’d never admit it – Clarke puts it in a mug and pours the hot water. When he charges into the kitchen, Clarke extends the mug out to him, which he startles at. Sheepishly taking it from her, he sighs. “Sorry,”
“Don’t be sorry,” Clarke offers, seating herself on a barstool as he sets a grocery bag on the counter. “Who are you killing? I’m glad we found the shovel, otherwise burying him would be challenging. Or suspicious when we go to Home Depot.”
Bellamy, despite his anger, laughs. “So, you’re unperturbed by the fact that I just openly said I wanted to murder someone, but more concerned we have the right equipment?”
“Ride or die, roomie.”
Despite himself, he laughs, shaking his head. “You are so ridiculous.” But it’s said with so much love, she can’t bring herself to care. Pulling out groceries from the bag, Bellamy sets them out in front of him on the counter like he usually does when he’s about to stress-cook. For all the coping mechanisms he could’ve had, this is the best case scenario. He’s an amazing cook, plus Clarke doesn’t to do any of it because she ‘has the knife skill of a toddler.’ Instead, she gets to be his sounding board – and usually there’s pasta afterwards.
When he starts slicing an onion, the rant continues. “Finn,” he grumbles, the knife colliding with the cutting board a little too aggressively for her preference. “He started seeing someone right after Raven broke up with him.”
Clarke frowns. “Why do you care? Raven’s not dating him anymore – the chances of us seeing him are small.”
Clarke is a little uncomfortable of the topic of the two-month relationship where she had the horrifying revelation that she was the ‘other woman.’ But Bellamy seems to think that it all comes down to Finn being an asshole, so she can’t complain.
“Because he’s dating someone in my Ancient Greece class and I have to see him making out with her whenever I leave. It’s my actual nightmare.”
Clarke understands his frustration, trying to shove her own feelings aside. “I mean, if we were going to murder someone, I suppose he’s a good target.”
Placing the onions and a few other vegetables on a saucepan, Bellamy deflates. “Raven said if anyone gets to kill him, it’s her.”
“That’s a bummer.”
“It really is.”
Bellamy continues to busy himself around the kitchen, every once and a while starting a sentence with ‘and another thing’ and going full into a rant. Clarke smiles and offers something whenever the situation warrants it, which is less time than she would’ve expected.
Watching him move around their kitchen gives Clarke butterflies that she desperately wishes she could tamp down. When the two of them became roommates, it was nothing more than something out of necessity. He was the angry older brother of the girl in her Natural Science class and she needed a place to live.
Clarke never expected to fall in love with him.
He didn’t need to know, though. They had a great system – they ate together, they watched weird indie documentaries together that their friends said were too pretentious, they explored parts of the city together, he cooked, she cleaned. It was perfect.
Except in the ways it wasn’t.
Bellamy reaches out and grabs Clarke’s wrist, a warm smile on his face. “Thanks for always being there.” He says, as genuine as a person can be.
Clarke is snapped out of her reverie and places her free hand on his. “Always.”
He resumes cooking, leaving Clarke to grip her own tea mug, the place where his hand once was feeling like it burns with all the words she was too afraid to say.
***
Clarke runs her hands down her pants, trying to get them to stop sweating with no success. Bellamy is pacing somewhere in the dorm room, trying his best to comfort the younger kids as they cry on their bunk beds. He casts a worried look in her direction, which she returns as subtly as possible.
Clarke knew Mt. Weather was too good to be true. They found themselves prisoners to their own experiments after they discovered the site upon landing. Everything from the Ark had gone perfectly – they landed on the right side of the planet despite out of date intel and they even managed to get inside with minimal fuss. But everything seemed slightly off. The sickly-sweet smiles, the quick embraces.
Now? Now the 100 are stuck in a dormitory while they pluck them out one by one for bone marrow extraction.
A small girl named Charlotte weeps on her bed, Clarke rushing over to her side. “It will be okay,” she says softly. “We will figure something out.”
“Will we?” Charlotte says through her tears, leaning into Clarke as she cries. Clarke grips the small girl, wishing there was something she could do in this exact moment to take it all away, but isn’t sure of what to do.
There’s an alarm sound and Clarke perks up, finding Bellamy across the room. She didn’t expect the stowaway who shot the Chancellor to be with his sister would be the person she confided in the most, but life is funny that way. His bravado and chaotic nature was only a veneer covering a deep-seeded protectiveness that she wonders if is something only siblings have. None of them would know.
The doors to the dormitory open and several armed guards charge in. “Get out of here!” Bellamy shouts, placing the young boy he was talking with behind him. “Can’t you figure out another way to get outside yourself?”
“This is the mouthy one.” One of the guards says, gesturing at him. “I think it’s his turn.”
“No!” Clarke shouts.
Before she can even realize what she’s doing, she sprints over to where they are flanking Bellamy, hands on either side of him and dragging him forward. With as much strength as she can muster, she lowers her shoulder and collides in with the one on his left. She isn’t powerful enough to knock him over, but at least catches him off guard enough to make him stumble. With a quick move, she shoves the other, who doesn’t let go, but pulls Bellamy with him as he loses his footing.
It takes a matter of seconds for her to startle them, just as it takes a matter of seconds for them to recuperate. Two sets of hands grab her arms and wrench them behind her back. “We just finished setting up the second station.” A guard says.
“Clarke, no!” Bellamy shouts, now recaptured. “What are you doing?”
“They can’t have you!” Clarke cries, doing her best to wrench herself out of their grasp, but knowing it’s to no avail.
“That’s where’s you’re wrong, girlie.” A guard says, his face too close to hers. She flinches as he leans so close she can feel his breath against her cheek.
“Get away from her!” Bellamy shouts, struggling with his own guards. “Or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?” The guard asks. “I don’t think either of you are in any position to negotiate.”
The man straightens. “Taken ‘em.”
The other Delinquents stand, as if they’re contemplating doing something too. Octavia moves toward her brother, eyes wide. “Don’t!” Bellamy shouts as they start to drag them away.
Clarke shakes her head at Wells, whose eyes are watering.
The two are pulled into the hallway. Clarke struggles with their grasp on principle, even though she knows there’s really nothing they can do. “Why would you do that, Clarke?” Bellamy hisses. “Why would you do something so stupid!”
“I will always fight for you.” Clarke states, wrenching her arm to no avail. The guard’s grip tightens when she does so.
Her words seem to stun him, because he doesn’t say anything else.
They’re dragged into the medical bay where, sure enough, there are two station set up. “We had some feisty ones.” One of the guards state when Dr. Tsing turns around. She smiles at Bellamy and Clarke and gestures to their respective beds. “Figured it’d be a good excuse to test out the new equipment.”
They’re pulled apart, both hoisted on the examiner tables face down. Bellamy’s fighting harder than she’s seen him, Clarke doing her best to do the same. In a quick flash, both manage to wrestle their hands out of the grips. Without thinking, Clarke reaches out to where Bellamy is, her hand extending and quivering. He grabs it, clasping their hands together.
It’s only seconds.
It’s only seconds before the guards rip them apart and strap them down to their tables. Clarke focuses on his touch. It’s what she holds onto when the strap goes around her head. It’s what she holds onto when the whir of machines start up.
It’s what she holds onto when she feels the drill.
***
It’s been two weeks since Clarke emptied out her savings account after the death of her father and shoved the contents in a portable safe. It’s been two weeks since she bought a plane ticket to Europe and lived from train station to train station, sleeping in parks when needed and eating fresh croissants and cheap coffee first thing in the morning.
The nightmares are still there. The pain. The hurt.
She thought running away would solve the ache. She thought being by herself would be easier. Her mother’s grieving, family shattered. Having one less person falling to pieces seemed like the best plan.
Turns out, it was the worst.
That particular Thursday morning, she finds herself propped up on a brick wall of a train station outside of Florence, rummaging through her bag as she tries to find her train ticket for the 3:00am train to the countryside. She thinks she’s alone, but another person strides up, running his hand through his hair.
He looks as good as she feels. There are deep circles under his eyes and he’s cursing under his breath. She’s surprised when she hears a faint American accent – something she hadn’t come across in the two weeks she’s been here. Pulling the backpack off his back, he searches, cursing every step of the way.
“Forget something?”
When Clarke speaks, she surprises herself. She’s barely spoken in the two weeks that she’s been traveling and it shows in her voice. It doesn’t even sound like her – or maybe it’s the new her. The version of Clarke Griffin who no longer has a father.
The man jumps, though. “I thought I was alone.” He says.
“Understandable. I’m very easy to miss.”
He eyes her, hand still in his bag. “I can’t find my ticket. I bought it a while ago and I don’t want to get fined.”
Clarke nods. “Happened to me a few days ago. You can actually pay for another one if you’re honest that you’ve lost it. When they take them on the train, just say you lost it and would like to purchase a replacement. It’ll save you the fine.”
The man blinks. “Really?”
Nodding, she returns to her bag where she pulls out an old pastry from the day before that she couldn’t bring herself to eat. The man shuffles on his feet after she stops talking to him, picking her pastry absently as crumbs fall to the ground. After a few seconds of clear debate, he moves to where she is and slides down the wall until they’re both seated shoulder-to-shoulder. “Here I thought I was the only crazy person taking a train at three in the morning in a shady off-the-road station.”
“There’s plenty of crazy in the world,” Clarke says distantly. “It would be absurd to think you have the patent on it.”
“Fair enough.”
The two sit side-by-side. It strikes Clarke how much she feels at home with him right next to her. How the loneliness starts to drift away in a way she has no explanation for. Also, she is totally comfortable. She would’ve expected that a stranger sitting next to her in a quiet train station would be cause for concern, but there’s something about this stranger that calms her.
As if they knew each other from many lifetimes.
It’s a silly thought, but one she likes to entertain nonetheless. His shoulder brushes against hers as he goes through his backpack once more, causing her to turn toward him. “Sorry,” he mutters, eyes staring at her.
She can’t break the gaze. It’s so intense and something that reminds her of a home that she thought she’d lost. “It’s alright.”
A horn blows, taking the two out of their small solace in an empty world. The man stands, offering a hand to Clarke. “I’m Bellamy.” He says, his grip gentle, but soft.
He doesn’t let go when she’s upright. “Clarke.” She offers.
“How do you feel about some company?”
If any other person had asked, she would’ve said no. But there was something about this person that felt safe. That felt like home. Perhaps the trains weren’t to see the world.
Perhaps they were to find it.
***
Memory after memory plays before them.
Clarke stopped trying to wipe her tears ages ago. They stream down her face as she sees all the hidden glances she never allowed herself to think about. The gentle touches that seemed not only to transcend this lifetime, but other ones.
They weren’t always romantic stories.
But they were always love stories.
The two of them circling together until the universe aligned so that they could meet. In tears and laughter they lived with one another. They may have started apart, but always ended side-by-side.
The screen fizzles once more and Clarke wipes under her eyes with her free hand.
It’s in that moment that she realizes that her hand is in Bellamy’s who is facing the screen with his own tears. She holds it, not wanting to let go. She thought there would be something about these memories that would tell her it is all a fantasy. That it was nothing more than A.L.I.E. trying to control the world.
Except he was always the same.
In every version, every reboot, he was Bellamy.
More important, in every version, every reboot, she loved him.
Even in the ones that didn’t end with them together, she could tell. The same feeling that she has for him now, she could sense with the version of herself on the screen. Clarke couldn’t help but be jealous of that Clarke. The Clarke where she was honest and open to his love. Not afraid of what it meant. What it would change.
“Clarke,”
When he says her name, she turns and realizes he’s looking at her. “Bellamy.”
Without a words, he closes the small gap between them and wraps his arms around her. He holds her there and she manages to wrap her own hands around his waist.
She doesn’t know what it means for them. What it means for the world.
But they always found each other. Together.
Their embrace is interrupted by another noise from the computer. They don’t break right away. The Universe has taken so much from them, they steal this moment.
When they do, Clarke wishes they had more time.
ALIE WIPING MEMORIES.
“Oh no,” she breathes.
CAN ISOLATE CODE. ONLY ONE.
Clarke feels like the world is changing again. Moving from under her feet. “Only one,” Bellamy repeats next to her. “You mean,”
“One of us will remember the next reboot.” Clarke finishes, words hollow. She can’t stop her tears.
Bellamy takes only a second. Then, he moves in front of the computer, starting to type.
CLARKE
Before he can hit enter, Clarke grabs his wrist. “What are you doing?” She cries, ripping him away.
“It has to be you.” Bellamy states. “I’ll get my memory wiped and you will find me.”
“What, no!” Clarke says, her voice rising.
“You’re the one who figured out what A.L.I.E. was doing. That she was catching us and resetting our worlds. You lead the 100 to safety. You got us out of Mt. Weather. It has to be you.”
“But I had you!” Clarke exclaims, her panic rising. “You were there and I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” Bellamy says, his voice calm. “I’ll have my memory erased and you will find me. And you will convince me. With you figuring out a plan, we can stop A.L.I.E. this next time. We may not have figured it out in time this round, but we will get her on the next reboot. It has to be you.”
“No,” Clarke interrupts, putting up her hands. “Please, we can figure something out. We just need a littler longer—”
HELLO?
Raven’s word pings and it’s as if someone has placed Clarke’s head underwater. She barely hears Bellamy, barely sees the monitors around her. All she has is flashes of their lives – of their worlds – that A.L.I.E. stole from them. Turning back to Bellamy, Clarke says, “What if you don’t believe me? What if I find you—”
“I will remember you.”
“No you won’t!” Clarke cries, tears streaming down her face. “That’s the point. You won’t remember me and I’ll be alone! Again!”
Bellamy reaches out and wraps her in another hug.
The fact is, she does know.
She doesn’t know it has to be her. There’s nothing she can say that will erase that fact. And, like so many other times, there isn’t another option. The only choice.
“You won’t miss me. You won’t think of me. You won’t know me.” Clarke continues, gripping him as tightly as possible. “Why is it always like this? Why do we only get moments?”
He continues to hold her, but reaches out and presses ‘ENTER.’
The message goes through. Raven’s code continues to run.
“Bellamy,” Clarke states. “I can’t do this by myself.”
“You’re not by yourself, Clarke.” Bellamy says, holding her tighter. “If those memories taught me anything, is that we always find a way back to each other.”
“Please don’t leave me,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. “This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair that we get endless stories where we’re torn apart. This isn’t…”
Bellamy pulls slightly away, placing his hand under her chin. “If history has taught me anything, it’s that world can be changed by a single person. Can you imagine what we can do with two?”
Clarke grips his shirt, unable to look away from him. She never allowed herself this. She thought she was cursed – destined to travel the world alone. She never expected that the stars to write their story again and again, a million different ways with a million different patterns. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispers.
The computers start to malfunction. The lights flicker. Code runs down the screen.
“Never.” He says.
“Please,” she says, closing her eyes against his chest. “I don’t want to be alone.” She begs. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t—”
Everything burns white.
***
Bellamy has a headache.
He isn’t sure why the dean called this last-minute staff meeting, but he’s annoyed. He has tests to grade, a lecture to prepare for, and not to mention Miller is having a party this evening he offered to help with. He doesn’t have time to listen to whatever ridiculous change they’re planning on making to the University.
When Dean Pike walks in, a figure is following him. He glances to his colleagues at his sides, who seem to be just as confused as he is. He tries not to stare, but there’s something completely enchanting about the figure. She has long, golden hair tied up in a braid that falls down her shoulder and piercing blue eyes that seem so familiar.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Pike states, nodding to his staff. “I know you all are in the midst of preparing for midterms, so I’ll make this as painless as possible. I’d like to introduce to you our new staffed Art Professor, now that Judy has taken to retirement. This is Clarke Griffin.”
Clarke steps forward and locks eyes with him.
It’s such an intense stare that he almost feels uncomfortable, but can’t bring himself to look away. Her eyes start to redden and water as she gazes at him, her mouth parting as she exhales.
When Pike turns to her, she coughs. “Nice to meet you everyone. I look forward to working with you.”
Everyone mutters an offhanded hello, Pike taking over the meeting for a few last-minute admin announcements. As soon as it’s over, Bellamy goes to grab his shoulder bag, when he sees a flurry of movement.
Clarke’s running to where he is. He isn’t sure what her plan is, but before she can do anything, her steps falter. She hesitates, stopping when they’re only a few feet apart.
“Hey,” he offers to her when she doesn’t say anything.
“Hey,” she responds, but there’s so much weight and pain in her words. He was right – she was tearing up in the meeting, her eyes still red and watery when she approaches him.
“Are you okay?” He asks when she doesn’t say anything.
“Yeah,” she responds far too quickly to come off as casual. “I-It’s just been… a long time. And really, really hard.”
Bellamy frowns. “I’m sorry?”
Clarke’s eyes widen and whatever internal turmoil she so clearly is going through melts away. “Sorry!” She exclaims, putting her hands up. “I’ve been looking for a job for a long time and I’m so glad to be here.”
“Oh,” Bellamy saying, laughing to ease a tension he doesn’t understand. “I’m glad you’re here too. It’s a good place. Well, good-intentioned. Maybe there aren’t any good places.”
Clarke laughs, but there’s something behind it.
There’s something about this woman. Something about her that makes his chest ache. Like he was homesick for something he never knew. All the frustration melts when he looks at her, his headache dissipating. He coughs in order to shake himself out of it, not able to stop himself from saying, “Do you want to get a drink?” When he realizes what he said, he quickly says, “A welcome drink. To the school.”
Clarke’s face does something indescribable. The tears are back and he doesn’t understand it, but what he does understand is there is something about this woman that makes him feel like he’s reading history all over again. “Don’t you have midterms?” She asks, holding her purse tightly.
Shit – he did have midterms. And papers to grade. And Miller’s party.
“Nothing that I have to do right away. There’s always time for a drink.”
She smiles. “Then I’d love to.”
He nods, gathering his things. When he sneaks a look at her, she’s holding herself as if she’s trying to stop herself from falling apart. Like she can keep herself together with nothing more than her own two arms.
“This may sound weird,” Bellamy says, frowning. “But would you like a hug? I know new starts are overwhelming. Trust me, I know.”
“Really?” Clarke asks, her voice small. She stares at him, watery-eyed and hopeful.
She moves and slots herself against his chest. He holds her there, expecting full well to feel awkward, but he doesn’t. He can’t explain it, just like he can’t explain anything that he’s feeling. She just fits, like a piece of himself that’s been missing his finally back in place. Together.
When they break apart, he finds his own eyes a little misty, which he tries to play off as a nose itch. “Ready for that drink?”
“I owe you one.” Clarke says, wiping her own eyes.
“Why? It’s my welcome drink to you.”
“I owe you a drink,” Clarke laughs to herself. “For being kind to me when I’m a bit all over the place.” She finishes quickly. “Can we just say I owe you one from a different lifetime?”
Bellamy laughs. “Fine. I’ll buy yours for your first day and you buy mine because I’m nice.”
“Deal.”
The two head out of the staff room, together.
Bellamy sneaks a glance at the woman next to him, that he can’t quiet understand. He has a sneaking suspicion that he’s going to enjoy trying figure it out. Everything that had been bothering him calms.
Like stars finally slotting in alignment.