[ OPEN ] Hot Springs Episode!

[shri]

CHARACTERS: EVERYONE
WHERE: The Second Flight
WHEN: DAY :022
SUMMARY: The Sauna!
WARNINGS: Nekkid times.

[ A few hours after the murder, she hasn't blown the ship up, and here they are. Another knock knock on everyone's brain: ]

( For those of you that are interested - I have secured us a place at the Sauna. Free for us to be use without interruption from outsiders.

You are to be clean before you come in. )

[ Maybe you're here because she bullied you, maybe you want to soak - maybe you're the poor bastard that is standing guard at the door. Either way, welcome to the Suana, have fun. Or don't. ]

Comments

[skaikru]

( the history of their disagreements could be mapped as a series of yelling, tears, and olive branches extended after the fact. and standing naked on the side of a pool in a towel, shifting her weight between her feet, bellamy's rather reluctant invitation into the water feels a lot like a peace offer. a seat at the war table left open for her, a door nudged ajar to a much-needed heart to heart. something that wants to be a sigh of relief swells in clarke's lungs, though that feels a little preemptive.

she doesn't require being asked twice. testing the waters of his inclination to talk to her had really just been a nicety, and on the opposite end of the spectrum, for the first time all evening clarke doesn't hesitate to step into the water, even if eventually shedding the towel leaves them naked and exposed; unresolved tension like raw nerve endings, a million thoughts bubbling over that haven't the eloquence to be voiced aloud. without any preamble, clarke steps into the water, keeping her towel firmly affixed until she's standing on the carved out ledges and the warm dark water is lapping somewhere around her knees. even if there's a somewhat awkward twist-and-turn-and-sit maneuver and her towel partially dips into the water in the name of preserving modesty, ultimately settling into the bath at a comfortable distance from bellamy feels like settling in at home.

but then the silence stretches. uncomfortably. and clarke cannot be immediately moved to break it with the latent fear of this conversation veering as spectacularly off the rails as the last. it should be different, right? just the two of them. but the cloud of confrontation hangs over her head like an unwelcome thunderstorm, and clarke chooses her words carefully. )

I'm not sure if I see the point of this. ( the saunas, a statement illustrated by idly flicking the surface of the water and watching the ripple effect carry across the length of the pool until it's swallowed. )

[deployed]

[ On some level, Bellamy knows Clarke's trying. He understands that she's arrived here to brazen through a confrontation and make amends one way or another. Bellamy can't help but admire that about her. Clarke has an unwavering conviction in all that she does. She enters into stubborn pursuit of her desired outcome with every intention of bending the world into place.

Right now, Bellamy isn't inclined to make it easy for her. Even the flash of bare skin that has him hastily averting his gaze until she's settled doesn't knock that inclination out of him. That doesn't mean he's not aware that the sight isn't going to stick somewhere in the back of his mind, but Bellamy is trying not to let his thoughts circle back around just yet. ]

The pool, or the conversation we're about to have?

[ Addressing it is likely the best approach. Bellamy can't stall forever, but he still hasn't come up with a real answer for her.

But like Murphy, she has been sorely missed. Clarke settling in beside him is a balm against an ache Bellamy has been determinedly ignoring since he sought refuge in Lakshmi's tent. Being close to her is calming. It always has been, even in the face of the inherent awkwardness of their situation. ]

[skaikru]

( the pool. obviously the pool.

clarke fixes him with a wounded sort of expression, visibly a little shaken with the ease he rips off the conversational bandaid. but if they're not tiptoeing around the discussion or easing into it like a warm sauna bath, then she can just bypass that rhetorical question and dig right into the meat of this reunion. despite the privacy they'd been afforded in the tents, it feels like she hasn't had a chance to look bellamy in the face in ages, or at least not a chance to really look at him and take it all in. tired eyes, sweat and steam hair bordering on too-long, a quiet sort of resignation. )

When I told you to leave, I meant for you to come back.

( it's funny, right? how one can say meant for and have it come out sounding like wanted; like it hurt when you didn't. clarke is on the fence as to whether or not she has any business being hurt by his absence, especially when it seemed like such a small thing compared to bellamy's pain over his sister, easily eclipsed by murphy's longing for emori, and insignificant when placed alongside lexa's struggle with her own mortality. but hurt was hurt, even when swallowed. )

[deployed]

[ The link between their minds heightens everything. Bellamy can't ignore her. He'd have heard what Clarke meant even without the connection, but it's impossible to miss now. Her pain slices into him, exacerbating what he's carried with him since he left Lexa's tent. His awareness of their nudity is swallowed up by the clash of emotions thrumming between them. Clarke's hurting. Bellamy's hurt, and all he has to hide it behind is the smoldering remnants of his anger. (It's still too close at hand, too ready to flare back up.)

This isn't completely about the tent. It's about walking out of the Polis throne room consumed in guilt and grief and alone. She'd told him to go then too. ]

Did you really think I could come back to sleep after what happened?

[ Neither he nor Lexa could have left well enough alone. Bellamy can't say he'd have stayed if that's what Clarke had asked of him, but he knows that being in close proximity would have sparked another argument.

But still, it's hard not to resent the repetition of history, of being sent away while Lexa remained. Bellamy's shoulders are tense as he looks away from her. He scrapes fingers through his hair, trying to tame sodden curls. ]

You have to know that I couldn't.

[ The urge to yield is strong. Bellamy has never liked seeing Clarke upset. He likes feeling it even less, but he holds himself in check for the moment. ]

[skaikru]

( they've done harder things. touched down on earth, carved a livable camp out of a treacherous wilderness, waged a war they were woefully underprepared for. pulled a lever. fought grounders, fought the mountain men, fought each other, fought off the creeping shadow of loss and forged ahead anyway. pulled a lever. walked away. come back.

but if coming back to the tent after the night they'd had was the tipping point for bellamy, she'd respect that enough not to question it. clarke doesn't know if it would help smooth over the disconnect, or level the playing field to tell him she'd essentially sent lexa away too. maybe not as sharply or directly as she'd told bellamy to take a walk, but stubbornly hunched shoulders and a resigned shade of frustration in her tone had the other woman up and taking an evening stroll shortly after murphy and bellamy had left. she doesn't think it would help to say i'm on your side or recount her immediate and vehement defense of his reasons, his right to hope, and so she doesn't.

really the only thing she can say here is — )

I know. ( intimately familiar with the desire to run from hurt. i'd just hoped, a twang of yearning hanging in the air between them.

clarke's eyes are latched onto his face, open and uncertain. searching for a solution to their disagreement between his freckles and the grim set of his mouth. the urge to align themselves is strong, trying to tug her hands from the rock ledge serving as their seat. a strand or two of damp hair is still askew, and she wants to fix it for him. )

Hey. You know that Octavia's going to be fine, right? ( there is a weight to her name on clarke's tongue, needing to be said; deserving to be, after the vitriol simple descriptors such as her and your sister had been thrown around in the tent. that familiar blossom of homesickness is wilting in clarke's chest, but she can still summon the strength to smile sadly in an attempt to cut the tension. ) And you are going to see her again. Probably after she defeats this Enemy for us.

[deployed]

[ Whatever passes between Clarke and Lexa should be outside of Bellamy's scope. Maybe it would help him to know. He wants to ask. But he doesn't let himself. All Bellamy can think of is sitting by Lexa in the garden, talking carefully about what he felt for Clarke and what that meant for Lexa herself. When Bellamy had envisioned possible fractures between the three of them (four of them, really) he hadn't expected it to come so quickly and over Bellamy's naive, desperate hope that he can still leave this place.

What he wants to do is acknowledge the sense that the two of them will always, inevitably, come back together. Of course he would come back to Clarke one way or another. But he doesn't say it. They're sitting together here, now. That's illustration enough.

In the moment, he can't distinguish between his own hurt and Clarke's, or his yearning and Clarke's yearning. There's water droplets clinging to the nape of her neck, beading along her bare shoulders. Bellamy wants to reach for her, but that's nothing new. After a long, breathless pause his gaze drops. ]

Murphy said that too.

[ Murphy had been apologizing, trying to erase some of the damage done. It still feels like a wound being ripped open to hear Octavia's name. ]

He didn't realize she might not want to see me when we make it back.

[ How could Murphy have known? But it would be enough to know that his sister was alive. Maybe even happy. He thinks Clarke must understand what it is to love someone like that. ]

I'm not angry at you, Clarke.

[ Hurt is different. He doubts Clarke will appreciate the distinction. ]

[skaikru]

( there's coming back and then there's coming back. as civilly as they're speaking and as honest as they're being, clarke still feels purposefully kept at arm's length, and as detached as the words coming out of bellamy's mouth in comparison to the storm of misery he's harboring behind a thin veil. and she wants to press forward, to smash whatever blurry window has obstructed their conversations, rip that curtain aside. clarke wants to crowd in and put her hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently until bellamy fully understood that she'd weather that storm with him. then longer, until he knew what it was to hate a family member; they could hurt you in the worst possible way, but you still loved them. his sister, her mother.

but at the same time, she's unwilling to disrupt their careful calm they've established; the tentative peace. so clarke settles for staring at him, eyes big and sad, mouth slightly open — a dozen probing questions on the tip of her tongue. are you sure? are you okay? are we? but arguably the most pressing to sate her curiosity: )

Then what are you, Bellamy?

[deployed]

[ Clarke's intentions manifest nearly as a physical touch. His skin prickles at the ghostly sensation of hands. Bellamy breathes out hard. It's difficult to be this close to her. He feels like he's sitting too close to a campfire, and the heat of it is threatening to scorch his skin. Clarke's presence has never been easy for him to ignore before but now she's crowding everything in his head.

And he nearly says it. He nearly offers her a single truth that's gone unspoken between them for ages. I'm in love with you, he almost says. The weight of the admission is heavy in his mouth. He's in love with her, and it had hurt to be sent away in Polis and it hurt to be sent away in the wake of Lexa and Murphy's castigation. It had been like missing a step in the dark and tripping, landing hard enough in the dirt to knock the breath out of him; the ache and pain of it lingered for days after. ]

I don't know.

[ A cop-out. Bellamy knows it. But he also knows Clarke might just let him get away with it. Admitting he'd been hurt and how that hurt had turned to anger and mellowed into exhaustion is too much to explain succinctly.

Had this been easier to do on the beach? Everything he and Clarke had ever done had been with disaster nipping at their heels. It was strange to have time like this to talk slowly, to circle around the idea of expressing forgiveness with any kind of deliberation. When Bellamy looks at her, his face is shattered open, giving away too much even without the added weight of emotions barely held in check. ]

[skaikru]

Bellamy.

( a weighted reiteration of his name; please and tell me and why? all wrapped up in three syllables and whined in a low, pleading voice. punctuated by a notable shift in their proximity, clarke scooting closer and leaning in. it isn't quite the soft touch on the shoulder or the careful brush of hair out of his eyes she'd considered for a split second before, but it's a physical bound across the metaphysical gap between them. and she's so tuned in to their conversation at face value, pushing for the open and honest communication they'd thrived upon, that no matter how loudly bellamy tends to leak his emotions, unspoken tongue weights roll off her shoulders like droplets of sweat coaxed forward by the hot steam bath.

for all the advantages of the symbiote, what good were words if not spoken aloud? no matter the anger and frustration they'd held for one another, once they'd started being honest, they hadn't stopped since. and so clarke pushes, her focus a sharp and commanding presence until bellamy actually meets her gaze and just looks...

wrecked.

it gives her pause. it makes her chest hurt. and some of the demand for the truth slips. covered in blood and dirt and darkness, hurting all over; their backs to a tree, a dead body some fifteen feet away. can we figure it out later? whenever you're ready. clarke's sigh is short but full of relent. she won't push when it feels like it would cause him pain, but remains bent close, eyes wide and imploring even as she nods. )

Okay. ( that's how they reconvened in times of disaster: okay, and the rest was digested separately. needing one another allowed for a great many things to be swept under the rug, but they do have time here. ) I'm sorry. If I hurt you, I'm sorry. I don't ever want to do that.

[deployed]

[ What she's doing is giving him a pass. Bellamy understands that. Clarke could drag the truth out of him, but he knows she's as reluctant to deal with it as Bellamy is. When he says it aloud, everything will have to change. His hand finds hers in the water, aware of the moment their knees bump, of how close they're sitting, of all the places they're touching mentally and physically. He feels like he's strangling on everything that he should tell her now, but he just squeezes her hand tightly. ]

It's okay.

[ It's what Bellamy will always say. He'll always say it and he'll always mean it, no matter how he's been hurt. ]

I'm sorry I didn't come back.

[ Even if it had been the right thing to do to keep the conflict from escalating and give himself time to cool off, he knows it hurt her. And he knows the distance he kept since must have hurt her too. He's sorry for that. ]

Now, can we relax?

[ Probably not, but Bellamy needs to at least attempt to break the tension. ]