Random Insanity

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Bellamy was in a hurry. The trading post would close in ten minutes, and he had to be there. He hurried through the quiet halls, his footsteps clopping loudly against the metal decking. The closer he got to the trading post, the more people in the halls. He had to slow down to weave in and out of them. A few older women gave him disapproving glares, but he ignored them. He was in a hurry—couldn’t they see that?

Finally, he pushed through the door. Many of the tables were already being folded up, traders packing their things. His heart raced. Maybe he was too late. He bit his lip as he wandered between the stands looking at the things people had to trade—bits of cloth, buttons, disassembled electronics, wire sculptures, books, tools. Lots of practical things, but not what Bellamy was looking for.

He was about to give up when he saw one last stand in the corner. A little girl dressed in a threadbare gray dress stood on tip-toes looking at the wares. She had short blond hair pulled into pigtails tied with pink ribbons. She looked to be Octavia’s age—around seven. Bellamy was eleven and knew a little about girls. They were a royal pain. He approached cautiously, eyes darting back and forth between the girl and the table.

He had lucked out. The old woman sitting behind the table smiled at him as he stared at the little trinkets and dolls. Things girls would like.

“Can I help you find anything?”

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Clarke digs her fingers through the newly upturned earth, picking out rocks and other debris. They have onions and potatoes to plant. Across from her, Finn smiles, but then his expression darkens as a shadow passes over her.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, “I need your help with something.”

“Help with what?” she asks without so much as a glance at him.

“I found what looks like a cache of medical supplies. But I’m not sure if any of it is worth bringing back.”

That gets her attention. She cocks her head, the sun behind him, blinding her. “The stuff would be well over a hundred years old.”

He shrugs. “It was sealed up pretty tight.”

Clarke pushes a strand of hair off of her face. If the cache was sealed like the Art Supply bunker, the stuff inside could still be good. And even if the meds have gone bad, there might be other salvageable items or equipment. The hair falls back into her face, and she tries to blow it away. Unsuccessfully.

“How far away is it?”

“It’s a bit of a walk. We probably won’t get back until after dark.”

She stands up, wiping her hands on her dirty pants. “You think it’s worth it?”

He nods. “We barely made it through winter. We need all the help we can get.”

Of course, he’s right. It’s pretty much what they argued about all day yesterday—she wanted more help with planting; he wanted more help securing the fence. “Okay,” she says, wiping the strand of hair away again. “I’ll grab my bag.”

She’s filling bottles of water when Finn finds her a moment later. “You can’t seriously be going with him?”

“Why not?”

“Because yesterday he was talking about burying you with the potatoes.”

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By Clarke’s calculations, they’ve been on the ground for around 380 days. It’s the end of September. Or maybe it’s early October. It’s hard to tell. The chill of autumn has chased away the sweltering heat of July and August, but summer is making a last stand. The sun that filters through the treetops tickles her skin, leaving little goosebumps down her arms. She glances to her side—those might be from another reason, though.

Next to her, Bellamy’s hair flutters around his head in the warm breeze. He repeatedly shoves it out of his eyes with a huff, but it does no good. Watching him try makes her grin.

“You need a haircut.”

He snorts. “Thinking of making a career change to hairstylist, princess?” he asks without any of his usual derision. He shoots her a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and releases a swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

Clarke looks away before he can see her blush. She’d never hear the end of it. If there was one thing Bellamy was good at it was teasing her. He knew how to push all of her buttons. Which, she has to admit, isn’t always a bad thing. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him still smiling. It looks good on him. She wishes he would do it more often. “Why are you in such a good mood?

“What do you mean?”

She doesn’t believe his innocent act for a second. And she’s not going to fall for his charm. Not much anyway. She narrows her eyes at him, hoping she looks more stern and less like he has her insides doing gymnastics. “You’re acting weird. What are you up to?”

“Are you always this suspicious?”

“When it comes to you—yes.”

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Three years after settling on New Earth, Bellamy and Octavia finally find themselves at ease with life and looking forward to the future. 
1079 words | [G]

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The little cabin sat on a hill surrounded by fields of wild grass and towering trees. It was small—only three rooms with a wide front porch and a vegetable garden out back. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Bellamy. It was more than he’d ever had in his entire life.

He reclined on the porch swing—his newest addition to the house—swaying lazily while he watched the sun set over the town below. A lot had changed in the last three years, mostly for the good, and they’d finally started to settle down. Started to accept New Earth as home.

The door creaked open. “I made lemonade,” Clarke said. “Or what passes for lemonade. Are those things even lemons if they’re purple?”

Bellamy laughed and accepted the cup of violet sugar water. Clarke eased down next to him, her belly pulling at her ill-fitting clothes. Any day now, they’d be adding a new addition. He kissed the side of her head. “If you want to call them lemons then they’re called lemons.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“You’re the princess so you get to name everything.”

Clarke leaned away to see his face better. “So we’re going with Hope if it’s a girl then?” she said with a smirk.

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Four years after they lost everything, Bellamy and Murphy have a quiet moment to remember and find hope for a future that may never happen. Canon-divergent from the end of season 4. A little glimpse of what life might have been like on the ring.
470 words | PG

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Bellamy pressed his forehead against the thick glass—the cold of space still leeching through, chilling his skin. He watched his breath fog the window, obscuring his view every few seconds. Not that there was much to see anymore. The Earth didn’t even look like the Earth. It was supposed to be green and blue, but all he could see was white—clouds of ash and nuclear fallout coating the planet. Occasionally, a bright spot of red flared where a fire ravaged the surface. Or a hurricane swirled the gray mess. But there was no green or blue. There hadn’t been for the last four years. Nothing could survive that.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

Bellamy glanced over his shoulder at Murphy leaning nearby then went back to staring out the window. “Go away.”

“Every year on the anniversary, you stand here and stare like you think the view might change.” Murphy joined him at the window. “News flash: it won’t.”

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An accident takes something from Bellamy that he can never get back, but he has Clarke to get him through.
1597 words | [PG]

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It hurts. Everywhere. Bellamy’s vision blurs. Sound is muffled by the fog in his head. He tries to roll, but it sends a stab of pain across his chest.

Ribs broken then.

He moans, getting the attention of whoever is with him.

“Don’t try to move.”

“Clarke?” he croaks. “What-”

Her hands press his shoulders down gently, but he’s too weak to fight her anyway. “Just stay calm and don’t move.”

She’s using her stern doctor voice. It’s a step away from her I’m-going-to-shoot-you-in-the-head-if-you-don’t-listen voice. He rests his head back as everything spins.

“You’re doing great,” she says—softly this time. “Real good.”

He’s so confused. “Is that a surprise?”

She blinks at him. “Do you remember what happened?”

He searches his memory for something. Anything. It’s all blank. He shakes his head slightly, sending waves of pain down his neck. “What happened?”

“There was an explosion.” She leans over him so he can see her face without moving. “You were hurt by the flying debris.”

“I don’t remember-”

“That’s probably a good thing.”

Now she’s scaring him. “Clarke-”

“Just stay still.”

“Why?”

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I’m not even sure why I’m here. I was on my way back to my quarters but took a wrong turn. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. But now that I’m here, I’m not sure what to do. The hall is dark—the power low to reflect the late hour—and it’s quiet. Everyone went to bed hours ago. I think about turning around. I think about going through with it. I think about running for my life because I’m sure this might be the biggest fucking mistake I could ever make.

All of this runs through my head in the matter of seconds. While my brain is trying to sort it out, my feet get a mind of their own. Next thing I know, I’m standing in front of Clarke’s quarters.

This is okay, isn’t it? We’re friends. After everything we’ve been through, it’s perfectly normal for one friend to call on another. I ignore the fact that it’s three in the morning. She said we needed each other. That had to mean something, right? And right now I need her. I need to talk to her. She always gets me like no one else can, not even Octavia. I need to talk to her. I need to see her face. To assure myself that she’s still here. That she isn’t some cruel prank my brain is playing on me. That she’s real, and she stayed this time.

She needed me.

And now I need her.

I hover in front of her door, rooted by indecision. On one hand, Lexa just died. It’s not like I’m asking her to marry me—I just want to talk. To spend time with her. We’re friends. On the other hand, the world is probably going to end in another month. There aren’t going to be many more somedays. I pull my hand back to knock, but then I hear footsteps.

My heart leaps into my throat as someone rounds the corner, but it’s just one of the guards. Probably heading home from the late shift just like me. He barely gives me a nod as he passes, his heavy steps scuffing the floor. I let out a breath. This is ridiculous. If I’m jumping like a startled school kid caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar then I know this is wrong.

I spin on my heel and force myself to walk away. Without looking back. This never happened. I won’t even think about how close I came to making a fool out of myself. I’ll go home, take a hot shower, pretend I can sleep in my soft bed, and when I get up, she’ll have breakfast with me and our friends. She’s real. She’s here. She wants to be here.

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I hear her laugh, but she snuggles in closer. The tension falls from my shoulders. The world has been trying to kill us since we set foot on it, but if it’s my time to go right now, I’m good as long as Clarke is by my side. I press a kiss to the top of her head as she returns to snoring. I listen to the sound of her breathing, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against myown until the darkness swells up and everything else fades away. It’s just me and her and that’s all I ever need.

I'm grouping everything from episode 15 (Perverse Instantiations part 1) and episode 16 (part 2) as the finale. They're really all one episode broken into two days. Anyway...






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