The sky was a wash of purples and blues, each colour merging together to create and master piece, but all Bellamy saw was grey. All he ever saw was grey. The autumn leaves were no longer striking in their colours, now he only saw them for what they were which was a sign of the quickly approaching winter season. The sky was grey, the people were grey, the world was grey. That's all there was to it.
People moved around him, passing in a blur. Not that it mattered; everything had been the same since she left. There was no vibrancy, no life.
A hand swept across the back of his neck, brushing against the dark strands that he had left grown long enough to curl around the ears. Soft breath tickled his ear, "If you blink you'll miss it."
Bellamy's heart sank with the realization it wasn't Clarke. Of course it wasn't… she was gone.
Raven twisted her head so he could see her, in all her giddy glory, from the corner of his eye. Her hair was knotted in the usual ponytail with twists and a smile was plastered on her face, but it quickly sank when Bellamy refused to return it.
"That's my plan," he muttered. Crowds continued to pass by in a hurry, each person busying themselves with last minute jobs before night fall. Raven wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her warm cheek into his freezing shoulder blade.
"Aren't you cold?" Bellamy shook his head. He was past cold, numb at this point, but being numb was far better than having everything in burning intensity. "Well you should get inside or at least put a coat on." The sadness in her voice was touching.
Gradually Raven peeled her arms away from him, her warmth burned into his skin. She stood behind him quietly, not making another move.
He didn't answer. Bellamy knew what she was going to say and he didn't want to hear. He didn't want to hear anything unless it was her words and in her voice.
"NO," he hollered. Raven jumped back from him, her eyes wide with shock and her whole body trembling. It was a difficult thing to do, scaring Raven to the point where she was shaking.
"Shit," she mumbled, a small amount of frost appearing between her lips. "She used to call you that." Bellamy clenched his body at the phrase 'used to.' She used to be a lot of things…. She used to be right here next to me, he thought.
Raven sighed overly loud and resisted the urge to reach out for him again. Instead she turned away and paced back to the center of camp where Wick stood waiting for her, arms crossed against the brisk fall wind. "Why," he asked when she due close enough to hear.
The silhouette of Bellamy grew darker. She turned back to face wick and gave him a sad smile. "He helped me when I needed it," she justified, referring to the night when Finn was killed. "It's only fair that I help him now."
The air around them grew lighter as Wick reached out and pressed Raven against his chest, kissing the top of her head.
"You have such a big heart, so full of love and forgiveness."
A while ago Raven might have laughed at a comment like that. How could anyone in this world have a heart full love and forgiveness with what they had done, but that's exactly what they all have. Everyone in camp Jaha, as Raven had come to understand, was full of love to the extent that they would go to the extreme to protect each other. Clarke, whose heart was exploding with love, couldn't understand how someone could contain even an ounce of love after doing such sinister things.
Wick ran a hand down her back and looked back to Bellamy. Sometimes he would forget about her being gone and would go about a normal routine until he would remember…. Then the rest of the day would be spent standing just inside the fence waiting for the blonde girl to emerge from the trees.
"Do you think she's going to come back?" Raven had shifted in his arms so they were both facing the west to see the sun and its colours fade behind the woods.
A sigh escaped Raven and she leaned against Wick. "I don't know," the air was now stiff between them, "I hope."
Her hair was glowing golden in the bright sunlight. A breeze whipped through her locks creating a curly halo around her head. Bellamy couldn't see what was behind her, but he could tell they were outside. The air smelled of fresh pine and sweet flowers. That's what Clarke always smelt like….
"This was my favourite game with Wells," she glanced up and smiled so big that her eyes crinkled on the sides and her bright blues sparkled. "I always bet him," she giggled.
The chess board was laid out before her, an arrangement of white and black in the otherwise bright space. Black pieces were set closet to her and the white pieces at the other end. Everything else was blurred out so only the chess board and Clarke was in tried to move his hand, but it was surprisingly heavy and he couldn't seem to look down on himself. He could only see Clarke and the board.
With a great amount of effort he extended his arm and moved a white piece on the board. "No," Clarke shook her head and smiled. "You can't move it there." Her hand brushed against his and moved back where it was. "Here, you can could move it here, or here…"
Her voice drifted off until Bellamy couldn't even hear her talking anymore. All he saw was her bright eyes which shone every time she smiled.
"Bellamy." Her voice cleared through the fuzz. "Check mate," she mumbled.
Abruptly the scene changed and now he could see her lying on a field next to him. This time he could see himself, dressed in the same outfit he was wearing when the drop ship first touched down on the ground.
Clarke was beside him, her clothes; too, the same was when the drop ship came down to earth. Her hair was sprawled out behind her in waves and her eyes were continuously moving, almost like see was studying something above her. When he tried to shift his gaze above him he felt a working force against. Then she brought her hand up and started tracing in the air above her head.
"My dad taught me this trick," a small smile appeared on her lips. "You trace out the drawing before your draw it, that way it turns out exactly how it should be."
Bellamy's heart nearly stopped beating and his breath halted when Clarke turned her head so she was looking directly at him, her face less than four inches from his. "You're here…" His voice was raw and gentle all at once.
"I am," Clarke exhaled. Her voice was the same. Her eyes were the same. She was the same. She was here, in front of him. Bellamy shifted his hand and brought it up against her cheek, cradling her face between his hands.
"Don't leave again." Clarke gave him a sad smile and his heart exploded. When he spoke again it was the opposite of him. His voice was shaky and unsure. "Don't stop talking."
Her voice, too, was shaking. She almost seemed…sad. "In the sea of desks, there is talk of bags and games, and long pipes that leak dreams with the strike of match." A wind blew over her scene, stretching the sound of her voice.
"And there's loudness to the whispers I hear. Whispers shouldn't be that loud, should they?" A white blur started to overpower everything and Clarke was slowly, slowly vanishing.
"There's a girl over there who everyone knows, and men without ears who will stand by the door for a price." Vanishing….Fading….Disappearing.
"Clarke," he suddenly yelled through the whiteness.
"And long hallways; there are angry mobs of dwarves, and rats, and one single angel."
He couldn't feel her warmth anymore. He couldn't see her shining blue eyes, couldn't hear her soft voice. She was gone.
He woke with the feeling of emptiness and tear stains running down his cheeks. Jasper and Monty were kneeling beside the cot in the dimly lit tent, the newly rising sun illuminating the fret on each of their faces.
"What the fuck," he sputtered crawling back against the covers on the bed which were really just a bunch of scratchy blankets.
Jasper and Monty gave each a look a pity. "You were screaming," Monty said. All sense of leadership or even control was out the door. Bellamy was sitting at their mercy, with tear stains on his checks and the knowledge that he was yelling out for Clarke in his sleep. He didn't need Jasper or Monty or even God to tell him that, he knew that's what he was screaming about.
"Clarke didn't come back," Bellamy stuttered through his sentence. Forget trying to seem okay, he was surely and truly fall apart and he had nothing to lose now.
"No," Jasper mumbled. She wasn't real, Bellamy thought. But the poem…
Bellamy shoot through the tent, forgetting about shoes or even putting a shirt on. His demands on a pencil and paper echoed through the camp. Jasper and Monty ran after him, apologizing to poor people who he had woken. Finally Bellamy finally got a pencil and paper he scribbled down the lines of the poem from his head before they escaped him. I wouldn't forget, he ran that phrase through his head. He didn't know what link that poem had to Clarke, but he wouldn't throw it away.
"He's been like that for days," Raven trailed off as she gazed upon Bellamy who stood against the grey metal body of the arch, his hands moving to create loops and curves against the steel.
"He's healing," Monty answered simply, his arms braced against the chill of the fast approaching winter. The autumn leaves had since fall and the soon the ground would be coated in a thin sheet of white. "This is what he needs to do."
Octavia smiled and leaned back against Lincoln's chest. "Thank you," she mumbled quietly at Raven, "for being there."
Bellamy stepped back fixed his eyes on the grey metal, arches and strokes were carved into the frame. Loops danced across the steel and lines through in sequence to create the words from the poem. Through the droplets of white he saw the lines of the poem burning forever in the fallen ship. The last phrase, carved the big, stood out against the winter snow. Now it was time to find the angel