Archive of Our Own ^beta

This is not who we are.

Bellamy is looking at the grounder’s book when the hatch opens, instinctively turning to assess the intruder. It’s just Clarke. No threat, not anymore. One of the lackeys - Bellamy doesn’t actually know his name - stands in her way, but Clarke just stares at him. “Get the hell out of my way.” She demands, in a no-nonsense voice that suggests she isn’t having the best day today. Hell, since when was any day even half decent since they hit the ground? 

“Let her through.” He tells the blonde boy, only half-tiredly. Clarke walks across the cramped space and watches the grounder, with his limbs chained. Her eyes manage to be wide and narrowed - surprised and disappointed - at the same time.

“Well if he didn’t hate us before, he does now.” She says to - at, really - Bellamy through gritted teeth. It leaves him in a position where he can do nothing - so he tells himself - but grab her wrist gently and pull her away from the grounder and the lackeys. “Who cares.” He mumbles as he surges away from them, her in tow. 

“How’s Finn?” He asks, hand still on her wrist. 

“Alive.” She retorts. It’s short and simple, and she doesn't seem to happy about it, but she’s continued to talk before Bellamy can question her. “His people will care.” She tells him, in reference to the grounder. “How long until they figure out where he is?” Bellamy sets his jaw. “And what happens when they do? I mean - when they come looking for him? They will, Bellamy.” He sighs internally. 

“Relax, Princess.” The nickname falls from his lips despite - possibly because of - the fact that she doesn’t like it. “Nobody saw us take him. He was chained up inside that cave the entire time and thanks to that storm, we didn’t see a soul on the way back.” A clatter echoes through the dropship as Bellamy concludes his sentence and he resists the urge to curse. He fumbles with the sketch book in his hand to find the page that has him shaken up the most. 101 black marks contrast against the pale parchment, the top row crossed out. “In case you haven’t noticed, their people are already killing ours. How many more of our people need to die before you realise we’re fighting a war.” Clarke looks away and he knows he’s got her. He also knows that she won’t stop fighting him on this. 

“We’re not soldiers, Bellamy.” She tells him. He knows this. And who is he to make them soldiers? They’re kids, he knows that. Defenceless kids without parents; a ragtag, misfit family. But it’s his - his and Clarke’s - job to protect them. Until he leaves, at least. They’re not soldiers, but they have to be. 

“Look at him,” Clarke whispers, but Bellamy’s eyes remain glued on her. “We can’t win.”

“Right.” Bellamy allows. “We can’t. If. We don’t. Fight.” Clarke looks away and Bellamy knows he’s got her again. 

“Clarke.” Raven calls from below. “He’s seizing!”

“On my way.” Clarke calls, and without another word she’s down to the hatch, climbing down the ladder to her boyfriend and his girlfriend. Bellamy leans down and closes the hatch behind her, turning to face the grounder once more, his lips tight and eyes narrowed. 

********

And then there’s a strong banging from the other side of the hatch, not long after Bellamy had locked it to keep his sister - and any unwanted attention - out. Clarke’s voice makes its way to his ears and Bellamy doesn’t know whether he’s annoyed or relieved to hear it - does this mean that Finn is okay? From the tone, no. It doesn’t. Bellamy paces in a circle. “Open the door!” Clarke calls from below, and Bellamy would bet everything he had - albeit not much - that Octavia was right behind her. Miller kicks the case on top of the hatch away and unlocks it as Bellamy completes his circle, his face slick with sweat. Clarke’s head appears as Miller’s hand comes down on the rungs of the ladder, preventing her from climbing up much more. 

“Get out of my way, Miller.” She almost growls. Miller’s hand is hesitant on the ladder. Bellamy sends up a prayer to a God he no longer believes in. “Now!” Miller’s hand flies from the rung and Clarke is up on the floor immediately, his sister following. Then Clarke is in front of the grounder before Bellamy or anyone else can hold her back, waving the knife that was buried between Finn’s ribs at him. 

“What’s on this?” She asks, her voice low. Bellamy is right behind her, watching her carefully. 

“What’re you talking about?” He mutters, eyes not leaving her face. 

“He poisoned this,” She waves the knife. “All this time he knew that Finn was going to die no matter what we did.” This is no longer the fresh-faced girl that got off of the dropship that first day on earth, the girl who had hope that Jasper would pull through when Bellamy was perfectly content with finishing him off himself. “What is it?” She demands of the grounder, who remains stoic. “Is there an antidote?” The anger in her voice is evaporating, replaced by an uncertainty. 

“Clarke, he doesn’t understand you.” Octavia speaks from behind them.

“Vials.” Bellamy remembers, surging behind to grab the little box in the grounder’s possession. Clarke follows. 

“You’d have to be stupid to have a poison around this long without an antidote.” Clarke mutters, the vials clinking together in her haste to inspect them. “Which one?” Clarke demands. The grounder lifts his head but says nothing. Octavia hovers at Clarke’s shoulder, her eyes flicking between the vials and the grounder. Bellamy wants her out of the room - out of his sight - but he thinks that she just might help, so he says nothing. “Answer the question!” Bellamy commands from Clarke’s other side. 

“Show us.” Octavia says, a pleading note in her voice. Bellamy wants to tell her to shut up, they will not plead for anything from this grounder; but Finn’s life is at risk and - as annoyed as Bellamy is to admit it - if he goes then there’s a possibility that the mental stability of two of the most important girls in this camp will go with him. “Please.” 

“Which one?” Clarke yells once more. “Our friend is dying down there and you can stop that!” When the grounder remains impassive, Clarke’s eyes meet Bellamy’s, pleading and asking for help and there’s nothing he can do to deny it. His eyes leave hers and fall on the grounder again. He sniffs and rubs his nose as he walks away from the girls. “I’ll get him to talk.” He speaks gruffly. His arm moves back to resort to the only talking he can think of - violence - when Octavia clutches his bicep. 

“Bellamy, no!”

“He wants Finn to die, why can’t you see that?” He asks his sister. He turns to Clarke, who looks unsure but not exactly set against the idea, so much as disappointed in herself that she isn’t.

“Do you want him to live or not?” He leaves the decision to Clarke, as unfair as he knows it is, because he couldn’t possibly make this decision alone. 

“Clarke, you even said it yourself! This is not who we are.” Octavia attempts to appeal to Clarke’s better nature. “He was protecting me, he saved my life.”

“And we’re talking about Finn’s life.” Bellamy shouts at his sister. He feels like he's 11 again, fighting quietly with his sister over a toy (a fight that she would always win) appealing to their mother to tell them who should get it, and who was right. This was the same, except the mother was different - theirs was dead, after all - and they were fighting over much larger, more important toys. Toys that weren't toys at all.

“Do it.” Clarke tells him quietly but firmly. Octavia’s lips part and a surprised breath falls out of them. Bellamy himself stares at Clarke for a second before collecting himself. 

What seems like moments later, Bellamy stands facing the grounder, his eyes are on the man’s body, torn and bloody though it is. Bellamy knows whose fault it is - it’s him. It was Bellamy who inflicted the damage. It was Bellamy who gave the orders. 

Now it’s Bellamy standing at the back of the room as Clarke slides to her knees in front of the grounder, pulling out a number of vials and desperately, frantically asking which vial was the correct one to save Finn. 

She’s always so calm, it hurts to see her so distraught and frantic. 

If she reacts like this at a time like now, how the hell would he react if it was someone he cared about on that operating table?

This is not who we are. Her voice from earlier rings in his head. She looked so disappointed, so torn earlier, when they brought the grounder back. 

Now look at her, facing the grounder, looking up. Hoping for something good. 

She’s painfully naïve, Bellamy thinks. But he kind of appreciates it. It’s fresh, in the least. He can’t take the desperation clear in her features as she stares at the grounder, face upturned in hope. It’s the face that gives him hope. He doesn’t necessarily like Clarke, no, she’s annoying as hell and she argues too much and has too much to say. But he respects her, and he believes in her simply because she believes in them. She gives him a hope he’s never experienced, and it’s in moments like this when he sees it most. Despite her slumped shoulders and hanged head, she still manages to have an elegance to her stance that all other girls managed to lack. He’d put it down to her being privileged, but he’d seen privileged women on the ark that didn’t carry themselves the way Clarke did, so he knew it wasn’t heritage. 

It was leadership. He knew that. She was a born leader, and rightfully so. He watches her as she tries everything she can to get the grounder to relent and help her save Finn’s life. 

It is now. Bellamy had said to her earlier. He was right. This wasn’t who they were, not really. But it’s who they are now. It’s who they have to be.