GRIM REAPER¹, bellamy blake

037 ━━ goodbye

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CAMP JAHA appears daunting from the outside. Barbed wire, large towers, guns, a massive electronic gate, and guards armed to the teeth as they approach the bruised and bloody children.

Iona had chosen to stalk behind Lincoln and Octavia, feeling more comfortable alongside her fellow Grounders, but it still felt wrong.

As she watched parents run towards their missing kids, enjoying their reunion, she realizes just how much she doesn't belong. None of these people are familiar to her and few of them observe her with anything beyond disgust, bordering on hatred.

She was overcome with the need to turn and leave, but once a hand was intertwined with hers, squeezing comfortingly, she felt her nerves ease off a little bit. Iona stole a quick glance at the man, who bore his gaze into the pairs of children and parents around the camp.

"We did a good thing," Bellamy said. It was far too clear he knew she was staring, and she immediately looked away. "We did what we had to do, and now look at the outcome."

"You did what you had to do," Iona corrected.

She looked at him, eyes searching his, and noticed the fleeting look of confusion before it faded into recognition. He hesitated for a moment- but she knew; that much was clear, and he sighed out.

He shrugged, but Iona recognized the far-away look in his eyes. The look of pain, of inner torment, of utter disbelief of his own capabilities.

"Yes, I helped her flip the switch. I didn't fight against it. I let those people die- those kids die."

Iona didn't saw a word. Instead- fighting against that side of herself urging her to leave it be- she chose to look down at their hands. She mimicked his actions from earlier, gripping his hand in a soft squeeze before dropping it, placing her fingers awkwardly against her thigh.

If Bellamy felt the action, he didn't let it show on his face, keeping that look on his face. He was completely zoned out, too lost in his own thoughts to recognize anything beyond that.

Iona didn't seem to mind, staring blankly at the camp before them. She'd made it just before the gate, turning around to look at the forest. Her home, her anchor, her title, her people; all of them lay beyond that green boundary clouded with saplings and blooming nature.

Her gaze would've lingered for longer, had she not saw Clarke staring back at it too. There was an unfamiliar look in her eye, but the longer Iona held her gaze, the more familiar the look became.

Monty had just hugged her goodbye, entering the camp with unsteady legs.

Once he walked past her, sending her a forced smile, did she finally slip away from Bellamy to approach the blonde leader. It was as if Clarke had expected her presence, because she waited patiently, staring at the camp with saddened eyes.

"What are you thinking?" Iona asks, sighing.

Clarke eyed her up and down, gnawing at her bottom lip as she, too, let out a quiet sigh. "I've got some things to do."

Iona hummed.

She could tell Clarke planned to get into trouble. After all, the woman was a magnet when it came to trouble. She created it, she waltzed into it, she found it. Everything related to trouble was also related to Clarke; it was her middle name at this point.

"A wise woman once told me," Iona smiled to herself, looking out at the forest for a quick second, before her eyes flew back to Clarke, "that if you plan on getting into trouble, bring some bandages."

Iona had a devious glint in her eyes as she quoted Reiki. For a second, she missed the woman- almost enough to go looking for her own version of trouble- and a saddened expression overcame her features.

Weak, she internalized.

Her face hardened as she reached for her knife belt, grabbing one she made herself. It was a jagged old blade, with a leather-covered handle and little symbols jotted into the metal. It had been her first creation (the first of many) and held a special place in her heart.

Regardless of her emotional connection to the blade, she handed it off to Clarke with a subtle wink. If anyone were to return with that knife, it'd be Clarke.

Then, she jokingly tossed a roll of gauze she kept in a satchel on her thigh and grinned, "Take care of yourself, yeah?"

Clarke held the weapon in her hands, her grip tense and unwavering, before nodding slowly. Iona awkwardly stood there for a second before turning, jogging back into the camp and searching for Lincoln.

After all, this whole situation has brough forth an entirely new appreciation for the Grounder man.

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