Lost Love Found [ #Wattys2015 ] {Bellarke}

Lost and Found

Clarke's POV

Clarke was awake and dressed long before Bellamy even stirred. He was still fast asleep, lying on his stomach, the muscles in his back rising and falling with each steady breath. As Clarke pulled on her worn boots, she noticed the faint scratches across his skin, the black and blue bruises of fresh kisses. She didn't remember how those got there. Much of last night was an erotic, sweaty, intoxicating blur. Last night was something she could never take back...

She wasn't sure that she wanted to.

Rising off of the bed, Clarke was careful not to wake Bellamy. She was determined to explore this house alone. If something were to happen, she didn't want Bellamy risking his life for her or for anyone else. Leon was hiding something. She knew he was hiding something. Bellamy and Clarke's arrival, their separation, Leon trusting them to wander back to Clarke's room alone – two out of the three things remained a mystery, an unrecallable chain of events. The third was just suspicious.

Before walking out the door, Clarke turned, moved back towards the bed and kissed Bellamy's temple, his black curls tickling her nose. The kiss was brief, quick, and he didn't move an inch.

Then, Clarke slipped into the hallway and was met with immediate darkness. It was still very early in the morning and very cold. She found it odd that such a grand house was not lit at all times, that it was not heated. Moving further down the hall, Clarke realized that she was in a wing of the house that hosted only bedrooms. Each door looked the same and every room behind every locked door was dark.

She found nothing on the top floor. So, she made her way downstairs, taking extra care not to make a sound. Every now and again she would look up and find a security camera. However, no one had come after her. And, every time Clarke looked, the cameras were never pointed at her – they were always pointed towards the windows or doors. It was obvious that whatever was outside was far more interesting than whatever happened inside.

Floor after floor, Clarke found that every door was locked, every hallway shrouded in darkness. In fact, the mansion appeared to be as quiet as death itself. In some parts, hallways were left undecorated, carpet-less and cold. Clarke felt the chill of the marble through the soles of her boots.

The house was undeniably eerie.

Finally, she came to a door on the ground level that was not locked. The handle twisted easily in Clarke's hand and the wooden door opened with only a small protest, a quiet creak. It swung back on its hinges to reveal a darkened staircase that spiraled downwards into nothing but shadows.

Clarke was unperturbed.

Taking one step after another, she refused to turn on her flashlight until she reached the very bottom. She told herself that she was not afraid of the darkness, that only children were afraid of such things.

As Clarke's hand slipped down the slick, slimy stone wall, she noticed that the temperature was falling rapidly. Her breath could be seen inches in front of her face. And, what was more, the darkness became absolute – almost suffocating in nature. It wasn't until Clarke's foot hit the last step of the staircase that something odd happened.

Stepping into the darkened corridor, every light flashed on instantly, sending Clarke tumbling backwards onto the bottom stair. A generator began to buzz somewhere in the distance. The lights dangling above the hallway were swinging back and forth, creaking loudly.

"What the hell?" She muttered, pushing herself back up, using the wall as a support.

She was beginning to second guess herself for wanting to come alone. With her luck, Clarke was going to end up dissected on a lab table and her blood fed to the Reapers.

As she made her way down the empty hall, she was preparing herself for some sort of confrontation. When she turned the corner, Clarke nearly fell to her knees. What she saw was far worse than any sort of confrontation she could've imagined.

The room before her was white, almost sterile looking. It lay behind large, transparent glass doors. And there was nothing in the room except for a large circular opening in the center, a work table with a solitary computer and a man seated in front of the screen.

It was a man that Clarke knew – she knew him.

She took a step forward, than another, until she reached the glass door. Her body was too numb to go into shock. And Clarke felt as though she were floating – felt as though she were in a lucid dream.

She placed a tentative hand against the glass. "Jaha?"

Clarke had barely whispered his name, but he must have heard her because he spun up and out of his chair. The look on his face was one of shock. He came to the door slowly, walking with a hesitant step. To her, Jaha appeared older, more fatigued the closer he got. His hair was graying and his eyes were glazed over – lifeless. Through the glass, he placed his hand over Clarke's.

"Clarke," he said in disbelief. "You shouldn't be here."

"I don't understand," she replied, amazed that she could hear him so clearly through the glass. "What, what are you doing here? I –"

"Listen to me, Clarke, you need to get out now," Jaha snapped, banging his hand against the glass. "It's not safe here. They will use you. They'll be able to control you..."

"Who are they? Use me how?" She demanded. Clarke looked for a door handle, running her hands along the glass, but couldn't find one. She smacked her hand against the door in frustration. "Jaha, let me in."

"I can't. If Ali finds you, if she has found out that I've talked to you... she's artificial intelligence she knows everything. She'll probably be here any second."

"Ali? The only person that I've talked to has been a man named Leon."

Jaha's eyes widened in fear.

"Leon is one of the people who created her. His wife, his daughter, all of the staff here are under some sort of mind control. He's placed computer chips under their skin. He's the one that got the missile."

"Missile?" Clarke repeated in confusion, but Jaha was no longer listening to her. He was looking at something over her shoulder and began to take slow steps backwards, placing his hands behind his head.

Clarke turned around and stifled a scream.

Bellamy Blake was holding a gun and it was pointed at her forehead.

"Bellamy, what the hell do you think you doing?" Clarke asked, her voice low, throaty, and confused.

He was unresponsive, his face devoid of any emotion.

She bent down, about to pull a dinner knife from her boot when, suddenly, a woman appeared to walk through Bellamy like a cloud drifting through air.

"Ah, Clarke Griffin, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," said the woman in red, sounding very much like an auto tuned computer. "Jaha's told me a lot about you."

"What have you done to him?" She growled, referring to Bellamy.

The woman clucked her tongue and turned around to stand beside Bellamy who still held Clarke at point blank. She reached out, running a pixelated finger down his cheek. "He's a part of the hive now, a handsome worker bee."

"You bitch. I swear to..." Clarke began.

"What God? You and I both know there is no such thing."

There was a long, drawn out pause. For a moment, the Earth stopped spinning and the birds stopped singing. Clarke looked at Bellamy, then back at the woman.

"What do you want?" Clarke finally managed, clenching her fists.

"Compliance, retribution – I want many things, Clarke. But most of all, I want to cleanse this planet," she said it with a smile, with a flat and streamlined tone.

Clarke had never before seen such a disturbing, twisted smile. It sent a solitary chill up her spine.