Sometimes you just gotta write your version of the finale of a show before it actually airs because you’re not sure you’re going to be able to handle the actual version of it.
“Talk to your mom yet?”
Clarke’s head jerks up from the radio in her hands, nearly dropping it in surprise. She rolls her eyes, hiding both her guilty expression and the immediate comfort she feels in his presence.
“Yep.” She can’t muster up much else. She’d become an expert at goodbyes at this point, the exact moment in the back-and-forth to switch off the part of her that was trying hang on to any ounce of stability it could find. However, she’d allowed herself to slip a bit, the conversation over the crackling radio to her mother, the person she’s said “final” goodbyes to the most. Recently, her vulnerability had been rearing its head more and more as the world began to end. Swell timing, she’d thought morosely.
“She take it well?”
Another example of Bellamy’s quick wit. Normally, it was a comfort to her, a reminder that there was someone to meet every sigh, every worry, every dilemma with a mind that existed on just the same wavelength. Someone who could somehow pull her back from tumbling into her darkest places with a few words that put a fraction of a smile on her face and a much more significant warmth in her chest.