[ Bellamy dreams of rain sometimes. That first rainfall on the ground, soaking him to the skin like a baptism. He'd thought of that by the ocean, wishing for that kind of cleansing then. Looking out over the endless stretch of water, he'd thought back to those first moments on the ground; all the problems that had plagued them then seemed far more manageable in comparison. And he'd had less blood on his hands then. Two lives, he'd thought, instead of hundreds.
Holding Clarke by the ocean had been one of the last small, good things, uncomplicated comfort before they'd gone off to battle. All of them had thought that dismantling ALIE's hold on their people would be the end. Instead, Clarke had woken with news of something far worse looming in the future. He'd seen it in her face before she'd even spoken, dread building behind her eyes instead of the relief victory should have brought.
And now they have to do the impossible. Save their people again, somehow, when they're up against a phenomenon that's bigger than even ALIE had been. There are still ugly bruises on Bellamy's throat, the outline of Kane's fingers mottled purple, a vivid reminder of how close he came to death. (Part of Bellamy believes he'd have deserved it, quiet as it's kept.) He lingers, listening more than volunteering. Outside of their makeshift council room, reparations are underway. There's more to be rectified than the wreck of Polis, the abandoned skeleton of Arkadia, but it's easier to focus on the physical, rather than the strained relationships between their people. It's difficult to let Clarke out of his sight, or else he'd have left the room already, taken his helpless frustration to vent elsewhere. He doesn't trust his own contributions yet, even if he could see an angle to head off the destruction and death ALIE promised them.
But he reaches his breaking point anyway, helplessness building to something explosive and reckless in his chest. It's inevitable. He slips out the door rather than vent those emotions but can't push himself to leave. He walks right down to the doors, hanging haphazardly open, but no farther. If he's waiting for her, he's doing so unconsciously. His arms drop to his sides as she approaches, taking in her expression before nodding. ]
A break would be good, [ He agrees, hand straying to the gun at his hip, checking before he nods. ] You need to get anything before we go?
[ By which he means weapons, though anything they could find in the woods pales in comparison to what they've faced already, and will be facing soon. He can't summon the same anxieties about grounders (Ice Nation, though the correction always comes a beat late, even in his thoughts) as he had weeks ago. ]
no subject
Holding Clarke by the ocean had been one of the last small, good things, uncomplicated comfort before they'd gone off to battle. All of them had thought that dismantling ALIE's hold on their people would be the end. Instead, Clarke had woken with news of something far worse looming in the future. He'd seen it in her face before she'd even spoken, dread building behind her eyes instead of the relief victory should have brought.
And now they have to do the impossible. Save their people again, somehow, when they're up against a phenomenon that's bigger than even ALIE had been. There are still ugly bruises on Bellamy's throat, the outline of Kane's fingers mottled purple, a vivid reminder of how close he came to death. (Part of Bellamy believes he'd have deserved it, quiet as it's kept.) He lingers, listening more than volunteering. Outside of their makeshift council room, reparations are underway. There's more to be rectified than the wreck of Polis, the abandoned skeleton of Arkadia, but it's easier to focus on the physical, rather than the strained relationships between their people. It's difficult to let Clarke out of his sight, or else he'd have left the room already, taken his helpless frustration to vent elsewhere. He doesn't trust his own contributions yet, even if he could see an angle to head off the destruction and death ALIE promised them.
But he reaches his breaking point anyway, helplessness building to something explosive and reckless in his chest. It's inevitable. He slips out the door rather than vent those emotions but can't push himself to leave. He walks right down to the doors, hanging haphazardly open, but no farther. If he's waiting for her, he's doing so unconsciously. His arms drop to his sides as she approaches, taking in her expression before nodding. ]
A break would be good, [ He agrees, hand straying to the gun at his hip, checking before he nods. ] You need to get anything before we go?
[ By which he means weapons, though anything they could find in the woods pales in comparison to what they've faced already, and will be facing soon. He can't summon the same anxieties about grounders (Ice Nation, though the correction always comes a beat late, even in his thoughts) as he had weeks ago. ]