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Bellamy wakes up to a pair of startling green eyes on a dirt-smudged face.
The eyes blink at him- wide with curiosity and wonder. For a while, that’s all he can see. But as he focuses past the vivid green, he’s greeted with a different green- the green of trees. The sharp glare of the sun blinds him, and he realizes he’s on Earth. Earth. And there’s a girl hovering above him?
…
Why is there a girl hovering above him?
He scrambles to his feet and the girl backs away cautiously. He glances around. Where was Raven and the others? Where was the ship? And why was there a girl staring at him like he was from another planet?
“Are you Bellamy?”
Her voice interrupts his train of thought, and it takes a moment to fully understand what she said. How does she know his name? Is she from the bunker? Does she know Octavia?
Wow, his brain really won’t shut up right now.
“Yes..” he replies, hesitantly. “How do you know that?”
Her stance seems to have eased slightly, and she moved closer to him.
“You look like him. In the pictures Nomon draws.”
Drawing? That doesn’t sound like Octavia. It reminds him of someone else… someone he knew 6 years before. But no, that isn’t possible. Is it?
Bellamy’s head is pounding as he tries to figure out a rational explanation for what the girl says. A lot of people draw, but how many know him? There’s only one name he can think of, a name that is impossible to forget, yet too painful to remember.
“Who-who is Nomon?” he says, his voice hoarse.
He’s pretty sure he looks like a desperate man- his eyes wide, his hair wild and woven with leaves, and his legs struggling to hold him upright. The girl seems to notice this, and her eyebrows draw up in bewilderment.
“Clarke…”
His breathing stops and the pounding in his head grows stronger. His vision blurs at the edges because no, no it can’t her, she can’t be alive, she can’t be so close when she had been so far for so long.
But his doubts are soon squashed, as suddenly a voice tears through his senses, laced with desperation and worry, but carrying with it so much familiarity that Bellamy wants to cry.
“MADI! Madi, where are you!?”
She comes into the clearing, not noticing him at first, only focused on Madi, the girl.
“Madi, you can’t just run off like that, okay? What were you doing?” she fusses, still not turning to see the man who gawks at her over her shoulder.
“I found Bellamy,” Madi says simply, shrugging.
There’s a beat of silence, and in that beat, Bellamy’s blood stops pumping, his head stops pounding, and the woman he watches meekly stutters,
“… w-what?”
She turns around slowly wanting so badly to see what awaits her, but also so scared that what she won’t see will crush the feeling of hope that grows rapidly in her chest.
But he’s there. And he stands there, like she does, a little broken, a little crumpled, but still standing nonetheless.
She breathes out his name, in awe and desperation. And suddenly she’s moving her legs, her shoes pounding the ground, and the wind whipping her hair as she sprints to Bellamy.
She crashes into him with the force of a breaking wave and his arms wrap around her, holding her tight to his chest.
He bundles her up and pulls her as close as possibly, burying his head in her neck, to make sure she’s real. And she is, she’s fucking real and solid, and so Bellamy knows she isn’t a figment of his imagination.
He weaves his fingers through the hair and the back of her head, and she presses her face into the junction of his shoulder and neck. It’s so familiar, so warm, even though it’s been six years and she’d only known him for 9 months before. They hold on to each other for longer than a while, because every time one tries to let go, the other just holds them tighter.
When they finally break apart, Bellamy laughs breathlessly, his hands still holding her shoulders, and his face a picture of amazement and awe. He slowly takes her in, and notices how much she’s changed. Her eyes still sparkle blue, and her hair is still blonde and wavy.. but shorter. And red? She looks older obviously, and a little rougher around the edges… But she’s still Clarke. Clarke. Shit. Clarke’s alive.
He sees tears forming in her eyes, and he feels some in his own as well. She’s smiling, her face bright and hopeful.
“You-you made it,” she says, her voice cracking with emotion.
“Yeah..” he stutters, still unable to process any coherent thought. He did make it. After six years, he is back on Earth. And she’s been here, alone. For six years, because he left her. For six years, when he was supposed to return after five. And so he’s slammed with a wave of guilt— it’s his fault… It’s all his fault.
“Clarke— I’m so sorry, I—I’m sorry for leaving you here and—”
“Hey, hey! It’s okay… it’s okay,” she says soothingly, and pulls him in for another hug. “You did what you had to do. You did what I wanted you to do.”
She breaks away and tilts his chin down to meet her gaze. She stares at him intently with her sharp blue eyes, willing him to understand.
“Thank you. Thank you… for leaving me behind.”
He nods imperceptibly, but his expression still looks broken and remorseful. He glances away, and finally acknowledges the young girl who had been waiting patiently a few yards away.
“So, uh, who’s this?”
***