[He adores Clarke, and it always breaks his heart to see her like this. It's almost worse with the empathy bond, knowing every nuance of her fear and grief, but he's glad for it, too. At least she knows that he's here with her, and there's no need to stumble through explaining what she's feeling.
The truth is, he doesn't know how to make this easier on her. There's no real way to assuage her grief. He knows from experience that she'll just have to work through it, bit by bit.
Bellamy can be here for her, though, let her break down in that way she rarely seems to allow herself to. He doesn't try to hush her or even say anything, just settles his chin on her shoulder, cheek pressing against her hair, and holds her. There's no point in hiding his emotions, either—love and echoed mourning—but maybe they'll help in their own way.]
[As a creature of forward momentum, Clarke doesn't like grieving. She doesn't like wallowing in the pain of the moment, unable to keep herself stable. She doesn't like being reminded of the pain running through her. It's a useless feeling: dwelling, being reminded of the pain. For all that she'll tear up, she doesn't like being weighed down in this way.
So, there's a hint of frustration, too. When Lexa had told Clarke that dwelling on pain was useless, it had spoken to a part of Clarke that was already there. She saw the inherent weakness in it. The problem is that she has a hard time turning off the need to care.
She does care.
More than just the fact of caring, she needs this from Bellamy, just like she needed it with Murphy (and he needed it from her). Needs comfort, even if she doesn't seek it out.
The problem is that Bellamy will also feel Clarke trying to seal away any open holes. She let herself cry, let herself openly grieve, and now she's trying to patch it all away. It finally ends with her pulling away. Not fully, not so much that he can't feel her anymore, but enough.]
Thank you. [As if that ends it. But there's a sense that Clarke doesn't like being in pain like this. It doesn't make her any good for other people.]
[Maybe it's better than the way he deals with grief, that immediate lashing out, but not by much. Neither option is really dealing, is it?
Back home, he would have let it go. There was always another crisis, always something else trying to kill them, always another war or the more mundane fear of starvation and exposure. That isn't the case here, though, and he doesn't want her running herself into the ground. He wipes a tear from her cheek, eyes still locked on hers.]
Go easy on yourself, Clarke. You don't need to deal with this alone.
I know. [A squeeze of his hand.] It's not just—it's not just losing her. [Her mother. She feels alone and lost in the world, aimlessly dangling in the wind. Clarke hates being like that.]
It's knowing that we need something else. Something that works for all of us. And I couldn't come up with it in time ... [After all, Murphy wasn't here like this for a while. She doesn't think the previous Murphy was lying about what he knew, where he'd come from.]
[He does, because he's been feeling the exact same way. He can't really force himself to relax and enjoy the relative peace they've been given knowing they have family and friends back home who can't.]
Maybe we should focus on the big picture. Table Riverstone for now.
I probably shouldn't have gone after Rey like that. [She's upset and she knows it. But there is a hint of frustration with Rey, over how their relationship has fallen apart yet again.] But I'm trying to create protections for everyone, and it feels like a losing battle. That's a part of the big picture, too.
[The responsibility she's taken on with the Displaced, even if she refuses to think of them as hers.]
Everything I've done since I've came back has been for our people. [Desperate, searching. Trying to be a better person, one who's deserving of her people, and who gives them better lives. Couldn't she do that?]
The Displaced aren't all my responsibility, but our people are.
[Even if she doesn't deserve to be the one making those decisions for them.]
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The truth is, he doesn't know how to make this easier on her. There's no real way to assuage her grief. He knows from experience that she'll just have to work through it, bit by bit.
Bellamy can be here for her, though, let her break down in that way she rarely seems to allow herself to. He doesn't try to hush her or even say anything, just settles his chin on her shoulder, cheek pressing against her hair, and holds her. There's no point in hiding his emotions, either—love and echoed mourning—but maybe they'll help in their own way.]
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So, there's a hint of frustration, too. When Lexa had told Clarke that dwelling on pain was useless, it had spoken to a part of Clarke that was already there. She saw the inherent weakness in it. The problem is that she has a hard time turning off the need to care.
She does care.
More than just the fact of caring, she needs this from Bellamy, just like she needed it with Murphy (and he needed it from her). Needs comfort, even if she doesn't seek it out.
The problem is that Bellamy will also feel Clarke trying to seal away any open holes. She let herself cry, let herself openly grieve, and now she's trying to patch it all away. It finally ends with her pulling away. Not fully, not so much that he can't feel her anymore, but enough.]
Thank you. [As if that ends it. But there's a sense that Clarke doesn't like being in pain like this. It doesn't make her any good for other people.]
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Back home, he would have let it go. There was always another crisis, always something else trying to kill them, always another war or the more mundane fear of starvation and exposure. That isn't the case here, though, and he doesn't want her running herself into the ground. He wipes a tear from her cheek, eyes still locked on hers.]
Go easy on yourself, Clarke. You don't need to deal with this alone.
[He means her grief, not Riverstone.]
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It's knowing that we need something else. Something that works for all of us. And I couldn't come up with it in time ... [After all, Murphy wasn't here like this for a while. She doesn't think the previous Murphy was lying about what he knew, where he'd come from.]
It feels like we're treading water.
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[He does, because he's been feeling the exact same way. He can't really force himself to relax and enjoy the relative peace they've been given knowing they have family and friends back home who can't.]
Maybe we should focus on the big picture. Table Riverstone for now.
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[The responsibility she's taken on with the Displaced, even if she refuses to think of them as hers.]
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The Displaced aren't all my responsibility, but our people are.
[Even if she doesn't deserve to be the one making those decisions for them.]