(When you wanted to throw Natasha's things away, a small letter fell from one book) Dear Yura, if you are reading this, you probably found the book I was reading to you when you were small child. I loved those days, before I destroyed them. I am a unacceptable failure as a mother. I'm so ashamed of myself. I can't live with this feeling inside my heart. It's eating me alive. So... Maybe we will never see each other again. I'm so sorry. I'm so proud of you, my son. Can I call you that? Natasha
Yuri pauses at the letter for a moment, before tucking the book under his arm and scribbling out Natasha’s name. Just beneath it, he writes “Mama,” and looks at one last time before putting it in the book, leaving with just the book and the contents in it.
She asks the question even though she already knows the answer. She squeezes the crying baby in her arms more tightly to her chest and sucks in a sharp breath when the house shakes from the impact of another bomb in the distance.
“No, but I’ll be damned if we don’t try.” His voice shakes and his chin trembles, but he pushes it away. He has his family to think of and crying never solved anything anyway. He wants to call Octavia and tell her how much he loves her. He wants to apologize for not being around as much lately, but the cell towers have been down for weeks and he can’t so instead he grabs the little gray car seat with tiny pink flowers in the fabric from the hallway and sits it on the kitchen table. He swallows hard as he watches his wife try to soothe the agitated infant in her arms by humming softly to her. His stomach drops to his feet when he recognizes the tune. It’s the same one she hums to the fallen soldiers at the clinic when she knows their time is up. It’s the song of a soothing death.
“Clarke let’s go!” He hollers because he’s angry at her for giving up while they still have a chance. She’d never quit on him before, how could she quit on him now?
“Bellamy…” She trails off, her blue eyes are brimmed with tears and her voice sounds tired. He balls his fists and clenches his jaw so hard he fears his teeth may break.
“Get in the fucking car, Clarke. We still have time. We have to try. Some of the roads are down, but we’ll figure it out. We’ll get there. Just… Just get in the car!” The desperation in his voice stings his throat.
“Bellamy, please. She’s finally sleeping,” she whispers and turns to the side so he can see his daughter’s face. Her tulip lips are open slightly and her round face is slack with peace. He reaches with a gentle hand to brush over her wispy black hair and bites down hard on his bottom lip. He looks back up to Clarke and nods, taking her hand and leading her into the bedroom.
They sit on the violet bedspread and lean against the sturdy, wooden headboard. They don’t speak. They don’t have to, everything they have to say is in the desperate way their hands cling to each other and in the looks they give in between staring at their sleeping daughter. Bellamy lets himself cry when Clarke starts humming again. He joins her this time because now the song is for all of them and he figures Clarke deserves to hear someone hum to her too.
The next bomb is much closer and Bellamy can see the fire it caused burning fiercely through the window. He grips Clarke’s hand tighter and takes a shaky breath.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you too,” she whispers back.
The small smile she gives him is the last thing he sees.
So, this is an AU where Bellamy and Clarke are the family that never made it to the bomb shelter. You hate me? I just killed three people so that’s fair. I’m sorry.