[The words bring a fresh wave of tears to his eyes, but he nods at her, trying to figure out what else he can do beyond nod. Maybe it was just another small reminder of what'd happened. Blood lust is a word that comes with so many connotations, but there's little room for interpretation in this context.]
[She holds out her hands, and there is a definite part of him that feels relief, because she wouldn't offer if it were dangerous to touch her. Still, it takes him a few long moments to unwind his hands, and another couple seconds to reach out for her. Every single survival instinct inside him warns against it, reminds him of how terrifying it was not so long ago. But it's Clarke. He refuses to give up on the idea that this isn't still her, because that means she really is dead. Clarke would never hurt him. He has to trust that, and he has to show her that, and he has to do this for his own sake, too.]
[His hands are shaking a little when he takes hers again, and his eyes flash to her face, hoping there isn't a repeat reaction. He blinks through more tears, stubbornly holding her hands and trying not to let his grip go too tight or desperate. He shifts from the wall, carefully, slowly, testing his ability to lessen more of the distance between them, despite how much his brain is screaming at him otherwise. But he's already done plenty of stupid things for Clarke Griffin.]
( her eyes stay the same this time with her focus now being on Bellamy, rather than his pulse, or the beat of his heart. it keeps her eyes normal, her hands steady, and while she's still trying to figure out how to grapple with just how big and overwhelming her emotions feel right now, at least she's found some level footing for the moment.
she's not entirely sure what to say, if she should say anything. most of it would be reciting what Katherine had told her, and that wouldn't likely help the situation any, but it's the safest topic, it feels like. because the rest of her thoughts collide into being devastated about dying, in knowing that even if she wanted to, she could never go home, that she died, she died-
beneath it all, her grief continues a steady hum, a whisper against the rest in the reminder that Jason is gone, she had failed, and died for nothing. )
[The quiet isn't helpful, it's heavy, but it doesn't make things worse, not right now. There's more he wants to do. He wants to take more than just her hands, but she's already warned him her control is a new, infant thing. Slowly, he moves his thumbs along her skin, the gesture as much for himself as it is for her.]
You need to tell me what's too much. [His voice is hoarse, scratchy, dry like he's been in the desert for days and still scared of what all of this means. He doesn't know what he's doing, and he's still feeling too much, but he ignores it in favor of focusing on her.]
[He drops one of her hands and lifts his, hovering up near her face like he wants to touch her cheek. It feels weird to ask, but he doesn't want to startle her across the room again, doesn't want to trigger it.] Is this okay -?
( the pulse in his wrist is very apparent, but with it keeping a little distance, she continues to breathe, continues to focus, and nods. ) It's okay. ( there's a moment of quiet, considering. ) Just- I'll just need you to ask before touching me for a little while, until I figure this out. Anywhere that would put me close to your pulse. So your wrists, or your neck.
( another deep breath is taken, Clarke calming even further. ) It won't be like this forever, I just need to get better at it. ( she's trying to give herself leeway, knowing it's only been a day, but it's difficult to not be hard on herself about it; she wants to have better control than this. )
[Too much about this keeps being unnerving. He hasn't stopped crying, and he's not really sure when he will. But he's patient, still, while she answers him, and it's a lot better than flipping his shit. He waits a few more seconds, then tucks his palm against her cheek, slowly. Everything about him is trying his best to be slow and careful.]
You don't have to be an expert right away. [He tries to sound both teasing and chastising, but his mouth is still dry so the effect mostly fails.]
[Bellamy knows what he saw. The flash lingers in his head, and he knows it's still there inside her. If he's scared, there's no way in hell Clarke isn't. That's the part that fuels him.]
I'm - going to lean in more, okay? [And he lifts his other hand in a silent question too, to do the same as before to her other cheek.]
( it's almost alarming, knowing that it's going to be the thrum of a pulse at either side of her face, and Clarke takes a moment to make sure her own heart rate is lower, calm, and she clears her throat. she can do this, she can. )
Just - tell me, if it's too much. [A lot of this is for himself, he can't deny that. Touching her steadies him, proves she is real and solid and alive. But it's for her too. He wants to be a comfort, but he doesn't really know how else to do it.]
[Gently, he takes her face in both hands. He doesn't move after that, giving her what he hopes is enough time to adjust. Something like this would have been an overwhelming gesture for him years ago, so he channels that slowness towards her, knowing he'd appreciate it in reverse.]
[And then even more slowly, fighting back against how terrified he is, how hurt he is, he leans in. If it's too much, he hopes he'll notice it, but she doesn't stop him, so at last he closes that distance and quietly presses his forehead to hers. His vision blurs over again, but it's the most steady he's felt since she told him to come home.]
[Clarke is alive. He needs to remember that as the most important thing right now, because otherwise he's not going to be able to handle any of it. She lived. As far as he's been able to tell, she's still herself inside, and that has to be the biggest part that matters. Holding her here and close, despite how potentially dangerous it is, enforces all that.]
( when Bellamy tells her to communicate if it's too much, she imagines that he doesn't mean it in the way that overwhelms her. because it isn't the sound of Bellamy's pulse on either side of her face, it isn't the rush of blood in his veins, it isn't the warmth of his closeness, it's that she's so suddenly reminded of Jason that something in her breaks.
she had been trying so hard to keep her hands tightly wound around her grief, pushing it down to a dull murmur, but in one movement, one touch, Bellamy unleashes it. because it's something Jason did with her many times, a gesture that was given often, and all she can think of is how much her chest aches in his absence, how half of her feels so very absent. her grief had been crippling when she was still human, but it feels amplified now, bigger than her entire person, and Clarke wonders how she's meant to keep it all inside of her.
hands lifting, her fingers curl around Bellamy's wrists, and the tears come quickly, hot down her cheeks, and the sob rattles in her chest. it's a desperate noise, a broken one, and Clarke's grip tightens on Bellamy, gripping him like a lifeline as she cries. )
I promised. ( her head ducks down, away from his, because even just staying like that hurts so much more than she wants to admit. ) I promised to protect him and I couldn't. I couldn't keep my promise. ( every part of her starts to tremble, hands shaking as she holds his wrists. ) I tried to bring him back and I failed and died and I can't try again. I can't bring him back. I promised.
[Bellamy knows what he might have done before when this happens. Even now, that instinct is there, to pull her in close and wrap his arms around her. Her grip on his wrists is telling and he knows what it means, and the sounds that escape her cut through his chest in a way different from before. This is everything she's been trying so hard to keep away.]
Clarke. You didn't break your promise. [He does his best to sound like there is no room for argument here, his tone doing a better job than his voice which still sounds damaged, like his throat's been torn. He cups her face a little tighter with one hand, enough to get his point across hopefully without being too much, and the other moves slowly and gently towards the back of her head, but he doesn't pull her up to look at him, not yet.]
What happened - what's happening, it's not something you can control, okay? It's not on you.
[The choice to test the shard is on her, maybe, but he doesn't see it as a failure or a broken promise. Just dangerous desperation, born out of things that aren't her fault.]
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[She holds out her hands, and there is a definite part of him that feels relief, because she wouldn't offer if it were dangerous to touch her. Still, it takes him a few long moments to unwind his hands, and another couple seconds to reach out for her. Every single survival instinct inside him warns against it, reminds him of how terrifying it was not so long ago. But it's Clarke. He refuses to give up on the idea that this isn't still her, because that means she really is dead. Clarke would never hurt him. He has to trust that, and he has to show her that, and he has to do this for his own sake, too.]
[His hands are shaking a little when he takes hers again, and his eyes flash to her face, hoping there isn't a repeat reaction. He blinks through more tears, stubbornly holding her hands and trying not to let his grip go too tight or desperate. He shifts from the wall, carefully, slowly, testing his ability to lessen more of the distance between them, despite how much his brain is screaming at him otherwise. But he's already done plenty of stupid things for Clarke Griffin.]
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she's not entirely sure what to say, if she should say anything. most of it would be reciting what Katherine had told her, and that wouldn't likely help the situation any, but it's the safest topic, it feels like. because the rest of her thoughts collide into being devastated about dying, in knowing that even if she wanted to, she could never go home, that she died, she died-
beneath it all, her grief continues a steady hum, a whisper against the rest in the reminder that Jason is gone, she had failed, and died for nothing. )
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You need to tell me what's too much. [His voice is hoarse, scratchy, dry like he's been in the desert for days and still scared of what all of this means. He doesn't know what he's doing, and he's still feeling too much, but he ignores it in favor of focusing on her.]
[He drops one of her hands and lifts his, hovering up near her face like he wants to touch her cheek. It feels weird to ask, but he doesn't want to startle her across the room again, doesn't want to trigger it.] Is this okay -?
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( another deep breath is taken, Clarke calming even further. ) It won't be like this forever, I just need to get better at it. ( she's trying to give herself leeway, knowing it's only been a day, but it's difficult to not be hard on herself about it; she wants to have better control than this. )
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You don't have to be an expert right away. [He tries to sound both teasing and chastising, but his mouth is still dry so the effect mostly fails.]
[Bellamy knows what he saw. The flash lingers in his head, and he knows it's still there inside her. If he's scared, there's no way in hell Clarke isn't. That's the part that fuels him.]
I'm - going to lean in more, okay? [And he lifts his other hand in a silent question too, to do the same as before to her other cheek.]
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Okay. ( a beat, cautious. ) I'll do my best.
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[Gently, he takes her face in both hands. He doesn't move after that, giving her what he hopes is enough time to adjust. Something like this would have been an overwhelming gesture for him years ago, so he channels that slowness towards her, knowing he'd appreciate it in reverse.]
[And then even more slowly, fighting back against how terrified he is, how hurt he is, he leans in. If it's too much, he hopes he'll notice it, but she doesn't stop him, so at last he closes that distance and quietly presses his forehead to hers. His vision blurs over again, but it's the most steady he's felt since she told him to come home.]
[Clarke is alive. He needs to remember that as the most important thing right now, because otherwise he's not going to be able to handle any of it. She lived. As far as he's been able to tell, she's still herself inside, and that has to be the biggest part that matters. Holding her here and close, despite how potentially dangerous it is, enforces all that.]
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she had been trying so hard to keep her hands tightly wound around her grief, pushing it down to a dull murmur, but in one movement, one touch, Bellamy unleashes it. because it's something Jason did with her many times, a gesture that was given often, and all she can think of is how much her chest aches in his absence, how half of her feels so very absent. her grief had been crippling when she was still human, but it feels amplified now, bigger than her entire person, and Clarke wonders how she's meant to keep it all inside of her.
hands lifting, her fingers curl around Bellamy's wrists, and the tears come quickly, hot down her cheeks, and the sob rattles in her chest. it's a desperate noise, a broken one, and Clarke's grip tightens on Bellamy, gripping him like a lifeline as she cries. )
I promised. ( her head ducks down, away from his, because even just staying like that hurts so much more than she wants to admit. ) I promised to protect him and I couldn't. I couldn't keep my promise. ( every part of her starts to tremble, hands shaking as she holds his wrists. ) I tried to bring him back and I failed and died and I can't try again. I can't bring him back. I promised.
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Clarke. You didn't break your promise. [He does his best to sound like there is no room for argument here, his tone doing a better job than his voice which still sounds damaged, like his throat's been torn. He cups her face a little tighter with one hand, enough to get his point across hopefully without being too much, and the other moves slowly and gently towards the back of her head, but he doesn't pull her up to look at him, not yet.]
What happened - what's happening, it's not something you can control, okay? It's not on you.
[The choice to test the shard is on her, maybe, but he doesn't see it as a failure or a broken promise. Just dangerous desperation, born out of things that aren't her fault.]