[ 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. ]
[Since coming down to the Ground, Clarke's had to revise her thinking so many times that it almost comes naturally to her now. If one thing doesn't work, try the next and then the next after that. She wants to live in a world where people don't kill to survive. She wants to live in a world where she doesn't kill to survive. But she saw a peace of that with Luna's haven, and she knew it wasn't for her. Abandoning her people to live out the rest of her life in a utopia wouldn't work. To some degree, she tried it once. It wasn't the same, but in her mind, it's practically the same.
The difference is this: Luna could stay away. Clarke was foolish to believe she had the resolve to last that long.
(In that realization, Clarke knows that Luna would not have been the best choice for a commander. She led her people well, but her people craved a certain ideal.)
Since Clarke doesn't live in an ideal world, she is certain to wear a gun. There are many people who are angry about what happened to them. While they recover from the loss of their minds and their autonomy, they strike out. It's not everyone. Thankfully, the experience has largely brought the people of this world together. But there are the minorities.
When Bellamy asks, she knows precisely what he means. She opens up her familiar blue jacket to him, revealing the gun in a holster inside. She retrieved the jacket on her way back to Polis, having hidden it somewhere if she would ever want it again. She had burned the rest of her clothes, but not that jacket. Never that jacket.]
You never know when you need to head out. A lot's happening outside of these walls. [And after nearly getting caught by Roan in the woods, she knows better than to think she can take it alone. Roan, who's currently actually healing from his injury inside of Arkadia isn't really the worry. But she knows that sharp words aren't going to save her from someone who feels too guilty to be alive. That's the case for many who have left the City of Light behind.
What isn't visible on the inside of the jacket, in a concealed pocket, she has the Flame. She keeps it safe for now, and she finds a comfort in having it so close.
She motions with her head that with that decided, they can get moving. Clarke thinks to muster up words, muster up anything, but it all feels ... empty. Pointless. Meaningless. No, she won't try for softer words. They need to talk plainly. They owe that to each other, and it will be easier without the protective walls of Arkadia around them.
(Somehow, it's like Arkadia protects them from themselves, too, and right now they can go without.)]
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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. ]
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The difference is this: Luna could stay away. Clarke was foolish to believe she had the resolve to last that long.
(In that realization, Clarke knows that Luna would not have been the best choice for a commander. She led her people well, but her people craved a certain ideal.)
Since Clarke doesn't live in an ideal world, she is certain to wear a gun. There are many people who are angry about what happened to them. While they recover from the loss of their minds and their autonomy, they strike out. It's not everyone. Thankfully, the experience has largely brought the people of this world together. But there are the minorities.
When Bellamy asks, she knows precisely what he means. She opens up her familiar blue jacket to him, revealing the gun in a holster inside. She retrieved the jacket on her way back to Polis, having hidden it somewhere if she would ever want it again. She had burned the rest of her clothes, but not that jacket. Never that jacket.]
You never know when you need to head out. A lot's happening outside of these walls. [And after nearly getting caught by Roan in the woods, she knows better than to think she can take it alone. Roan, who's currently actually healing from his injury inside of Arkadia isn't really the worry. But she knows that sharp words aren't going to save her from someone who feels too guilty to be alive. That's the case for many who have left the City of Light behind.
What isn't visible on the inside of the jacket, in a concealed pocket, she has the Flame. She keeps it safe for now, and she finds a comfort in having it so close.
She motions with her head that with that decided, they can get moving. Clarke thinks to muster up words, muster up anything, but it all feels ... empty. Pointless. Meaningless. No, she won't try for softer words. They need to talk plainly. They owe that to each other, and it will be easier without the protective walls of Arkadia around them.
(Somehow, it's like Arkadia protects them from themselves, too, and right now they can go without.)]