Bellarke Oneshots and Prompts

Terminal

A continuation of Phone Calls, which you so kindly asked for. I may have shed a tear or two writing this, so be warned.

Clarke wasn't expecting any visitors. She had planned on a peaceful night at home, with a cup of chamomile tea, a fuzzy blanket, and a book. In her new apartment, she had a picture window in the living room, giving her a beautiful view of the mountains from three stories up. It was everything she could have asked for.

She was just waiting for the tea kettle to heat up when there was a knock on her door. Her dog barked, startling her, and she stared at the front of the house as if it might not be real. Confused, she zipped up her hoodie and went to the front door, unlocking it and pulling it open to be greeted by none other than Bellamy Blake.

It had been a year since she'd seen him last, and he looked drastically different. His hair, once long and healthy, was cut short, and he seemed to hunch over as he stood (though it could have just been him trying to protect himself from the rain).

"Bellamy?" Clarke asked incredulously, not moving from the doorway. "What are you doing here?" The dark haired man looked up at her, and Clarke felt a pang in her heart when she saw those eyes that she loved so dearly.

"I--we need to talk," he responded quietly. As if in some sort of trance, Clarke stepped out of the way so that he could enter the building, and closed the door behind him. The black lab nosed his hand curiously, and he smiled, kneeling down to stroke its ears.

"Shoes off, please. I just mopped," she instructed, though her tone was soft. Bellamy obediently toed off his sneakers, and Clarke led him into the living room, where she nudged him over near the fire.

"You look like you're freezing. Why aren't you wearing a warmer coat?" she asked as he shrugged off his leather jacket.

"Thought it was warmer outside. I'm really sorry to bother you on a Thursday night; I know you probably had better plans. But I need to talk to you about something, because even though we're not together anymore, I still love you," he confessed. "Just bear with me for a minute."

"Please, let me go first," Clarke interrupted, putting a hand on his forearm. "I...I never should have left. I thought I was making the right decision, but it was wrong on so many levels. I didn't think it through well enough. I wasn't satisfied with my life, and I thought you were the problem, but you were the best part of my life, and I'm so sorry I left. I hope you can forgive me. I'd like to try again, if you would be interested." Bellamy stared at her open-mouthed. After all this time?

"Clarke, I..." he trailed off, and then steeled himself. "I can't. I'm sorry." Clarke's face fell, and she flushed a delicate shade of pink at the rejection.

"It's fine. It's been so long, I should have known that you'd found somebody else. I mean, it makes total sense. You're kind, and attractive, and girls moon over you--"

"Clarke!" Bellamy said firmly. It was the loudest he'd spoken all night. "It's not because I found someone else. I didn't. I've just..." he stuttered, hesitated. He had to tell her. "Do you remember the day you left?"

"Of course I do," she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"And I was still there, when you came to get your things?" he pressed.

"Yeah. You had a phone call." Bellamy took a deep breath.

"Yeah. It was the hospital. I had gone in earlier that week, remember? And they called that day to let me know that I had pancreatic cancer." Clarke froze, blue eyes meeting Bellamy's chocolate ones.

"What?" she questioned, shocked. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Because you had just broken up with me and were in the process of moving out?" he replied questioningly, and Clarke bit her lip. He had a point.

"But...okay. How is it now? What happened? Are you in remission?" She reached up to stroke his short hair, and he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, giving her a sad smile.

"No, Clarke. I came to tell you that it's terminal. We did surgery, chemo, radiation. None of it worked. There's nothing else they can do for me. This is it," he explained kindly, stroking her cheekbone with his other hand as her world imploded.

Bellamy had cancer? He had terminal cancer? She'd abandoned him on what was probably the worst day of his life, and didn't even say a word. How was she supposed to live with herself for that? She stared into his eyes, hoping that he was joking, that he would smile and say 'just kidding, princess' and kiss her and they would be fine. He would move in with her, and Lucy would love him (she was already laying on the floor with her head on his feet), and they would be okay.

"You...you're going to die?" Clarke whispered close to tears, and Bellamy nodded, looking concerned for her.

"Yeah. I'm gonna die." With that, Clarke burst into tears, throwing her arms around him and realizing that it might be one of the last times. She never thought about it when they were together, but they had a limit to how many hugs they were going to have. How many mornings they would wake up in the same bed, how many times he would call her princess and she would smack him lightly because she hated the nickname (she secretly loved it). But now she knew.

Bellamy held her tightly as she sobbed, his face buried in her hair that smelled of coconut and beaches--the most familiar smell he could think of. He whispered apologies into her ear as he rubbed her back, regretting not telling her sooner.

When she pulled away, her eyes were red, and Bellamy wiped a tear off of her cheek.

"What now?" she asked, and he frowned.

"What do you mean? There's nothing to be done. This is it. I've got three months, six if I'm lucky," he told her, seeming to have come to terms with his own demise already.

"I mean, what about us? I want to be there for you. Until--you know. As long as you need me. If you'll let me." Bellamy smiled and took her face in his hands, kissing her softly.

---

Four months later, and they had been through most everything together. Though the chemo had stopped, Bellamy was still sick often. Clarke was always there to make him food when he could eat, to rub soothing circles into his back as he heaved whatever he had in his stomach into the toilet bowl, and to bring him more blankets when he got cold due to his rapid weight loss. She was there to kiss his cheek when he came through the door after a doctor's appointment, and she was there to take him to every single one when he could no longer drive. She was there when he was admitted to the hospital, and she was there every day after. She was there for the last few days there, when he was so drugged up on pain medication that he couldn't see straight. She was there when he cried after his family left, never knowing if he was going to see them again, and she was there the last time he did.

The last hour of his life, his mind was clearer than it had been in the two weeks he'd been in the ICU. He knew what was happening. He wasn't scared; he told Clarke so himself. She fought back tears the whole time he was awake, and held his hand as they discussed politics with Octavia.

He was fading, and they both knew it. Octavia was either oblivious or she didn't want to admit it, and she kissed his forehead lightly before departing to get coffee from downstairs. Clarke and Bellamy exchanged a look when she left, and Bellamy smiled after his sister before meeting Clarke's eyes again.

"I'm ready, Clarke," he told her, and the tears spilled over as she smiled understandingly.

"I know. I love you so much, Bellamy. So, so much," she whispered, planting a kiss on his lips, which curved into a smile.

"I love you too, Clarke. Take care of her for me, okay?"

"Yeah, Bel. She'll be okay," Clarke promised, tears streaming down her face then.

She was there when his eyes closed. She was there when his heart rate declined, and she was there when it stopped completely. She was there when the machines made their high pitched, unwavering noise, and she was there when Octavia ran into the room, looking panicked. She was there when she dropped her coffee on the floor, seeing her brother laying so still. She was there when Bellamy's hand was no longer gripping hers, and she was there to comfort his sister as she sobbed into her shoulder.

She stayed to watch them cover his body with a sheet, and she watched as they took him out of the room. A week later, she was at his funeral when they put his body into the ground, and she was there every day after that.