Work Text:
„So what now?“ Diyoza asks as everyone around them seems to hold their breath.
„Now, you take that collar off of her,“ Bellamy replies, his voice calm as a storm rages inside him. He doesn't even take his eyes off of Clarke for one second, afraid that if he did, she'd disappear, or he'd wake up, back on the Ark, all of this just a dream. He sucks in a deep breath.
Diyoza stares at him for a few more moments, her eyes almost slits, surveying him and the cup in his hand. He can't blame her, to be honest. But finally, she jerks her head at McCreary and he yanks Clarke up begrudgingly, pulling an electronic device out of his pocket and a second later, the lock of the collar pops open. Clarke brings her hands up to it, the shaking of her fingers visible even from this far away.
“And now,” Bellamy continues and turns to face Diyoza. “Now, you let me make sure she's okay. And I swear, if she's not...” He lets the rest of the sentence hang in the air, instead giving the cup a shake so she gets what he means. Diyoza's eyes widen for a split second, but then she catches herself and crosses her arms.
“Fine. 10 minutes. Then we talk.”
Bellamy exhales a shaky breath and in three strides, he's over by Clarke's side, stepping between her and McCreary, his arm already around her waist to support her.
“Bell...” Clarke murmurs, the tears in her eyes threatening to make him cry, too.
“Shhh,” he hushes, curling his fingers around the fabric of her jacket. “Where's your stuff?”
Clarke whimpers and jerks her chin at the biggest building. It looks like an old, wooden church, and if this situation had been different, Bellamy knew he would've been awed by the structure.
Clarke slings her arm over his shoulder and he carries most of her weight, but he doesn't even notice. They make it past the Eligius people, up the stairs, through the door, inside.
The door falls shut behind them, muffling the noises from outside, the only source of light a fire pit in the middle of the room. Bellamy gingerly peels his arm from around Clarke's waist as she takes her arm from around his shoulders. The sudden loss of contact makes Bellamy reach out again, his hand coming up to her neck, up to that awful collar.
“What did they do to you?” he croaks, fumbling frantically to figure out the locking mechanism, finally finding leverage and popping it open. The device slides off from around Clarke's neck and falls to the floor with a dull thud.
But instead of answering, Clarke closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around him, pressing herself against him. Bellamy is overwhelmed by the sudden intimacy, her face buried into his neck, her fingers buried into his jacket, her chest flush against his chest.
She's here. She's alive. She's here.
The same thought keeps running through his head as his body catches up to what just happened and he wraps his arms around Clarke, too, leaning his cheek against her forehead, closing his eyes. He feels her chest rise and fall, feels her breath warming his skin, feels the flutter of her eyelashes against the skin of his neck. Before he can stop himself, he brings one hand up to her head and buries his fingers in her hair, trying to get her closer, closer, closer .
All of a sudden, he feels her starting to sob.
“Clarke...” he whispers as he takes his arms from around her and leans back, trying to get her to look up at him. He brings his hands up and cups her cheeks, a touch which Clarke's reciprocates without hesitation. But it doesn't make the sobbing stop. “Clarke, I...” Bellamy tries to continue, but his voice cracks and he feels the lump in his throat and the burning sensation in the corner of his eyes. A tear slips out between her squeezed-shut eyes, traveling across her cheek until it reaches his thumb and he brushes it away.
“I'm here,” he murmurs, his thumb still brushing across her cheek, trying to calm her down. God, it feels so good to have her back. “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”
Clarke manages to nod, inhaling a shaky breath. He keeps her there, her face in his hands, this thumb caressing her cheek, his eyes not leaving her face for even a second, until her breathing finally slows down. Until she finally opens her eyes.
I missed you. God, I missed you so much.
“Hey Princess,” he whispers, wiping away another tear from her cheek as Clarke looks up at him with reddened eyes.
“You're back,” she whispers back, her voice hoarse. The fire illuminates half her face, bathing her in warm, flickering light, and he isn't sure she's ever been more beautiful.
“Yeah,” Bellamy replies breathlessly, still not quite able to wrap his head around it himself. “Yeah, we finally made it.”
He feels the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, not able to contain the happiness that's bubbling up inside him despite everything that's going on outside this room, but for now, he chooses to ignore the rest of the world. Just for a little longer.
Neither of them says a word as they stare at each other. The crackle of the fire is the only sound in the room, Clarke's soft skin under his fingertips the only sensation he feels and cares about.
“I can't lose you again,” he blurts out before he can stop himself, the lump in his throat back again. “Ever.” The first years on the Ring come back, flooding his brain, clouding his vision as he remembers all the guilt, all the anger, all the endless sadness that tormented his every waking moment, how he wasn't able to forgive himself for leaving her behind for so long. How it took the effort of all of the others to pull him out of his depression because of that decision.
“I missed you,” Clarke says under her breath, now bringing her hand up to his cheek too but she hesitates, her hand hovering only millimeters from his skin. But it only takes a second before she continues and gently places her palm on his cheek.
Every thought vanishes. There's nothing left but Clarke right in front of him, her hand on his cheek, her gaze meeting his.
“God, I missed you so much,” Clarke half-sobs, half-laughs, as her other hand finds its way to the side of his torso, under his jacket, scrunching up his shirt in her fist. She steps closer, so close that he can see every single one of her lashes. He'd laugh too because she echoed his thoughts, but instead his breath gets stuck in his throat.
Clarke closes her eyes and leans her forehead against his, but Bellamy is too perplexed to do the same. He keeps looking at her now closed eyes, her nose, her lips, his hands still on her cheeks, back to her eyes. His head is swimming. None of this seems real.
But it is. It is. It is. It is.
Bellamy has never been as happy as in that moment.