Clark stared the guard down. No way was he stopping her from going through the gate. She was the mighty Wanheda, the—
"Princess?"
The Princess of the Hundred, apparently still a thing, at least to the few people who got away with that nickname without being thrown to the Mountain Men for lunch. That few being one.
"Let me pass," she said again.
"No one is to speak to the prisoner."
Clarke sighed. "Firstly, he's not dangerous. Second, I'm Wanheda, so you should fear me. And lastly, Kane said I could speak to him, and since Kane and my mother are a thing, and Kane's Chancellor…you probably don't want to cross me."
The soldier wasn't buying it. Any other day, and Clarke would have appreciated his loyalty. But this was today, not any other day. A radio call to Kane finally did the convincing and Clarke was allowed to enter the prison cell.
Bellamy met her at the door. "What are you doing, Princess?" He sounded wary, untrusting. Hadn't they finally gotten beyond all that?
"I came here to talk to you."
He sighed and turned away. "If you're here about the Hundred splitting from Camp Arkadia, I'm a bit tied up at the moment. Maybe we can talk later?"
Clarke stomped her foot angrily. Bellamy turned to face her, an amused expression on his face. "I always said the Princess had a temper."
"Enough, Bellamy," Clarke snapped. "Stop it. Just stop. I can't keep doing this, and we don't need to."
"Doing what, exactly?"
"Pretending nothing is wrong! That everything is fine!"
"Generally speaking, everything being fine is the definition of nothing being wrong," Bellamy supplied helpfully.
Clarke let out an animal-like growl of frustration and reached out to slap him.
Bellamy caught her hand, holding it between the two of them. Her hand shook with anger; his hand shook with fear. "I'm not pretending," he assured her. "Not around you."
"So can you drop the tough guy act and talk to me? We don't have much time."
"What makes you think it's an act?"
"I know you."
Three simple words deflated his entire demeanor. His shoulders slumped, head suddenly became heavy, and their hands dropped. "I know."
"Nobody else knows. Not the same things, not the same way."
"I know you too, Princess."
The words, spoken so softly, with defeat, but form the heart—they brought unwanted tears to her eyes.
"You're scared."
"So are you, Rebel King."
"Yes. Did you expect me not to be?"
"I want you to admit it to yourself, not just me."
"I did."
"Out loud, Bellamy."
"What do you want from me, Clarke? You want me to say the words? Fine, here you go: I'm scared. Actually, I'm terrified. I have no say, no power, no freedom, and it scares the heck out of me. Happy now, Princess?"
She wasn't, not at all. As Bellamy spoke, she watched his walls crumble. He sat on an overturned crate, apparently unable to stand. Shaking hands clasped together, elbows on his knees, his head hung and he stared at the floor, defeated.
"No," Clarke said quietly. "No, I'm not happy. I'm angry."
Bellamy looked up to watch her face harden into that all-too-familiar expression. He was too tired to muster what Clarke called the Stubborn Selfless Hero. "Clarke," he drawled gently. He could tell this was taking a toll on her. It wasn't supposed to. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his Princess more.
"Don't 'Clarke' me," she snarled, on a role now.
He put his hands up in surrender but made one last feeble attempt," It's your na…" Her glare silenced him.
"Nothing about this is ok," she continued. "It's not like you killed someone."
"I have, Clarke." Subdued, regretful, broken.
"But this isn't about that."
"I know that. But maybe it should be."
And Clarke didn't point out that he'd lost enough when Lincoln died, and Octavia left, and his mentor tried to kill him, and he had to kill hundreds of innocents, and half his "children" were slaughtered in horrible ways, and Finn was killed after he gave him a gun. He knew all that already. "I talked to Kane," she said instead.
"Clarke, I told you to stay out of this." Exasperated, meeting her gaze now, hands out in a frustrated gesture.
"I can't, ok? Not when Kane thinks he can have you shock lashed for something so small."
"It wasn't small, Clarke. And he can."
"Why do you keep saying my name?" Angry, but with nowhere to direct it.
"Because it sounds nice," he confessed. "Because I'm just glad to have you here, in front of me, to say it to." Because she'd left him, he wanted to add, but they'd worked that out weeks ago and he'd cried and basically been a total wuss.
"Kane says you were right," Clarke pressed on, not sure what else to say. "But he also says crime can't be ignored, or we'll have a rebellion. He think she Rebel King is a symbol, thus a good example."
"Lucky me. A symbol."
"Sucks, doesn't it?"
"When all this is over, we're taking the kids and founding our own camp."
"I'll be right beside you."
He gave her a rare grateful smile. "Why are you here, Clarke? To tell me there's no hope?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"I tried to talk Kane out of it," she said instead. "He wouldn't listen."
"Look, I appreciate you trying to help, but if you're not careful I could end up with worse," he cautioned. Realistically, he usually did when it came to the Princess. HE could handle it, but he wasn't about to seek it out.
"Then I went to the med bay to see if there was something I could drug you with. What? I'd make sure it was undetectable."
"You could be caught," he nearly snarled.
"It's worth the risk, ok?" She watched his entire expression soften and those deep brown eyes melt.
"No, Princess, it's not," he corrected quietly. "Not to me."
Clarke was stunned into silence. Then, tentatively, "I was wrong. Sending you into Mount Weather wasn't worth the risk either."
"It was the right decision."
"Was it?"
"It was the only option."
"I just, I don't know anymore."
He gave a joyless chuckle. "Yeah? Welcome to earth, Princess."
She flinched, and he wanted to apologize for his words, but he couldn't, because he knew they were right. "Killing is bad," he said at last. Killing innocents is worse. That we do know."
"Knowing and doing are so different down here."
She sounded like she might cry.
