Because of You

Face the Music

Before I'd even cut the engine, he was already stepping out, small droplets of rain collecting like crystals on his jacket. I was getting ready to head towards the hospital but hesitated, when I saw that Bellamy wasn't with me. Had he forgotten something?

"Aren't you coming?" I asked after one long, strange moment.

Bellamy shook his head. "Actually there's something else I have to do."

My eyebrows rose. "Out here?"

"Yeah."

I cast a slow, deliberate glance around the vacant lot, as if expecting his something else to materialize before me. When I found nothing, my attention settled back on him, utterly dumbfounded. "Bellamy, it's raining." I pointed out.

He didn't look up at the sky. "Yup."

My stupefied and blank look did not wander an inch from my face. "We're going to get poured on."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

I was too mystified by his behavior to even try to argue against that truth."Octavia's waiting for us," I said when he still didn't make a move toward the hospital, lingering instead by the car.

"She's already back home," he stated bluntly. "Maureen took her this morning. I just wanted to talk to you."

I opened my mouth to say something. Closed it. I stared at him, more than just a little perplexed at why he would be going to such elaborate lengths just to talk. Sudden frustration at the ambush replaced some of the tension in my chest."You could've just told me that," I finally said.

His pause, the way his eyes briefly skirted mine, told me what he wouldn't, and I felt my frustration evaporate. "You didn't think I'd come."

"I wasn't sure."

"Has there been a time yet when I haven't?"

He met my eyes at the reproach and nodded, consenting. "You're right. I'm sorry."

I waited. I knew the way he kept clasping and unclasping his hands was an indication of nervousness, and suddenly I felt my own compounded by his.

Yes, he may have orchestrated this for us to talk, but not for a conversation like the one we'd had in the car. This was different. Bigger. Important. And despite being scared, I asked the question I already knew the answer to, as evident to me as his discontented fists.

"Bellamy, what are we here for?"

Those dark eyes searched mine, full of an unyielding determination that did not make his face gentle, only resolved. "Look, I know I said I'd wait to talk about this until you were ready, but . . . I think sometimes it's talking about things that gets us ready for them."

"And you think this is one of those times?" I asked, my voice a whisper. Almost a plea.

"Yeah, I do."

I shut my eyes and shook my head, as if that would help clear it. It didn't. "Bellamy, I don't know if I . . . if I want to talk about this." Not yet. Not when Octavia's brush with death was still lingering so close at the forefront of my mind, still washing me in a silent fear I couldn't name and didn't want to face. Inside stirred all the emotions I couldn't place, tumbling together until a single one couldn't be separated from the other. Up, down, left, right, the natural elements of my own gravity had been completely thrown off. And yet, I was aware of something else, something small, an ember of . . . want, and hope. But that fear pressed against it, like a cold gust of wind.

"Why not?" he asked, a look of genuine confusion creasing his brows.

I looked at him pointedly, as if I expected him to see it in my eyes what I was struggling to put into words. "I don't . . . I don't think I can do this, Bellamy."