Lost Love Found [ #Wattys2015 ] {Bellarke}

Death Wields a Gun

Clarke's POV

"Bellamy, take her." Ali said, her voice as light and mechanical as ever.

Clarke watched hopelessly as Bellamy moved forwards without blinking, without a second thought. His face was that of stone and his movements appeared disjointed. There was no light behind his eyes – no color. In fact, Bellamy's pupils had dilated so much, that they had blackened his irises.

He was a living, breathing, biological automaton.

Backing up slowly, Clarke looked over her shoulder at Jaha, hoping that he would do something – anything. He didn't. He never even met her gaze because his back and head were turned. Leaning against the glass door, Jaha's body flinched when she called his name, but he continued to ignore her.

Coward, Clarke thought.

When she turned back to Bellamy, he was almost on top of her, his gun still aimed at her forehead. Acting quickly, Clarke ducked underneath him while reaching for the knife in her boot. She fell into a defensive crouch and waited for him to come closer. She glanced quickly to her right, contemplating whether or not to run for it.

Clarke knew she was fast but, with another look at Bellamy and his gun, she knew that she couldn't outrun a bullet.

"You're wasting precious time, Bellamy," Ali droned. "We have work to do. Get to it."

Clarke was expecting him to come at her, but not as quickly as he did. He rushed her without thinking twice. It was terrifying seeing the man she loved running at her with bloodlust in his eyes. There was no recognition as he tried to grab her and push the barrel of his gun to the side of her head.

Before he reached her, Clarke kicked the gun out his hand and made a dive for his legs. She caught him off-balance. He fell backwards against the marble floor and Clarke quickly pinned his wrists.

"Snap out of it!" Clarke screamed, her nails digging into his skin.

Bellamy's face contorted into something bestial. He brought his knee up and kicked her in the side. She fell over, hissing in pain. Then, taking advantage of the situation, Bellamy hauled her to her feet and pinned her against the wall. Clarke felt his chest heaving against her own.

She struggled and kicked despite his iron grip on her wrists. She fought and scratched at him until he bled, blood trickling down her arms.

It was only when his jacket slipped slightly that Clarke momentarily stopped struggling. She noticed the purple and black bruises on his neck. They were bruises that she had left on him last night – kisses.

For a moment, Clarke's heart clenched with longing as she gazed up at him. He too, was looking down at her, but he wasn't truly seeing her. Ali had taken away his freewill. She had taken away the one person who made Clarke feel whole. Now, she was entirely on her own without a friend, without a partner.

The notion almost brought Clarke to tears.

"Bell..." she whispered, leaning forwards until her body brushed his. Bellamy hesitated, dropping one of his hands and sagging against the wall, trapping Clarke.

His head was right beside her ear and she heard, as well as felt, him breathing heavily – resisting. Clarke's free hand found Bellamy's abdomen and her fingers splayed against his chest as she whispered to him.

"Blake 1," Ali commanded. "Override biological and mental functions. Reset chip."

It was then that Bellamy froze. His lips broke away from her temple. His hand found her bicep and roughly squeezed it until Clarke screamed in pain. Once more, his face was impassive.

"No," she gasped and started to flounder – like a fish on dry land. She began to fight. "Stop. Don't do this."

Clarke twisted one last time, scowling at Bellamy. However, he wasn't moved. He wasn't even looking at her anymore. He was looking at Ali.

"Very good, Bellamy," Ali praised, smiling like the devil. She was certainly dressed for the part. "Now bring her inside."

When he turned back to Clarke, she noticed him working his jaw. She felt his hand tighten around her wrist. Was he hesitating again?

"Bellamy... bring her inside."

Clarke gazed up at him desperately and shook her head. She silently pleaded with him, hoping that he could somehow understand her. But then, something happened. Bellamy looked down and jerked his head to the side. Clarke heard him mumble unintelligible words.

She took the opportunity to raise her leg and knee him where it hurts. Right now, he wasn't the Bellamy she knew. She could feel sorry for him afterwards.

Bellamy stumbled backwards, letting out a strew of curses as he folded in on himself. Then, without thinking twice, Clarke ran. She ran because her life and freedom depended on it.

"Shoot her!" Ali screamed hysterically.

Clarke heard the shot of a gun behind her.

She remembered falling to the floor.

She remembered blackness.

.    .    .

"Mom," Clarke said softly. "Mom, I'm scared."

Abby Griffin crouched down so she could look her daughter in the eyes. Reaching over, she tucked a loose, blonde tendril of hair behind Clarke's ear. And Clarke's upper lip twitched and quavered ever so slightly.

"Don't be. They're just checking to make sure your healthy, that's all. You'll be asleep so you won't feel a thing." Her Mom soothed, straightening Clarke's wrinkled clothes.

"But Mom –"

"Do you remember what we do when we're scared, Clarke?" Abby asked matter-of-factly.

Clarke let out a light and airy sigh. "We think about the people we love," she recited. "And say, 'love will bring us strength'..."

"...'Love will bring us home.'" Abby finished.

She leaned forwards and kissed Clarke's forehead. In turn, Clarke threw her little arms around Abby's neck. Then, she broke away, sniffled, and walked into the operating room alone.

.    .    .

When Clarke opened her eyes, she was staring directly into a bright, white light. It was one of the brightest things she had ever seen and it consumed her entire vision. It was warm, so warm that Clarke felt the heat deep within her bones.

This is it, she thought, this is what it's like to die.

She shut her eyes and thought about her family – her Mom, her Dad, even Wells who she considered family. Smiling, Clarke relished in the thought of seeing her father and best friend. She would finally get to hear her Dad laugh again after so many years apart. She would finally get to watch that football game with Wells.

Love will bring us strength. Love will bring us home.

Bellamy – If she died now, she would be leaving Bellamy behind.

"Bellamy," his name escaped her lips with ease, with a certain urgency. She didn't want to leave this earth without the one person she loved the most. "Bellamy..."

Clarke began to thrash and twist. She wouldn't die. She didn't want to leave Bellamy, not again. Trying to sit up, she found that she couldn't move. Clarke was bound to some sort of bed, her ankles and wrists handcuffed.

Was she not dying after all?

She remembered being shot in the back. If she were alive, she should be in severe pain. She should be –

"Clarke Griffin," said a familiar, male voice. Immediately, she stopped struggling and tried to follow his footfalls, attempting to locate the speaker. "I was hoping that we could discuss this on better terms, but alas, you had to go and make things difficult."

"You Griffins always do." He added.