A/N: The feels, y'all. The feels. Small one-shot that follows the last Bellamy & Clarke scene of the season (!), with a look at some of Bellamy's thoughts and reflections from 1x08 and 2x16. Read and review, please!

Also, I may or may not have listened to RAIGN's "Knocking on Heaven's Door" on repeat as I wrote this (I did).

"I think we deserve a drink." Bellamy stood next to Clarke, just outside the gates of Camp Jaha. His mind flashed back to the drop ship, of how far they had come. Of how much (how many) they had sacrificed.

"Have one for me," Clarke said evenly beside him.

Bellamy kept his eyes forward, refusing to look down at her. Monty looked back at them from the edge of the gate (she must've told him).

"Hey. We'll get through this."

"I'm not going in, Bellamy." she turned to face him.

Bellamy took a deep breath, he wouldn't let her (she couldn't). He turned his shoulders to her, "I get it."

He reached back to that moment that he's certain changed everything. She was desperate and so was he and he would do anything now, say anything now, to make her stay.

"If you need forgiveness, I will give that to you." (Please, take it.) "You're forgiven."

He saw the darkness inside her, brimming within her, threatening to collapse her from the inside out. He recognized it, had drowned in it. It was the same darkness that had trapped him. Convinced him of his evil-ness and worthless-ness. Clarke had needed him then. Not in the same way she did now, but she had needed him for the remaining one hundred to survive, he knew that. Perhaps though her light had sent something into his darkness. Without her even knowing it.

"Please, come inside." (Please, come inside.)

"Take care of them for me." She shakes her head, eyes pleading, that same desperation she had shown for him all those months ago. Begging him to let her go. She shouldn't (she couldn't) stay here. He saw that. He didn't want to though.

But that was the difference between them. Bellamy had reached for the light, that girl of light. Even though he didn't (could never) deserve it. It changed everything.

Everything in him fell.

"Clarke-"

"Seeing their faces everyday, will only remind me of what I did to get them there." her voice faltered (it never faltered).

The faces of those he killed flashed through his mind. He remembered every one of them. He remembered every justification he had given himself for their deaths. Perhaps that was the darkness, still weighing him down. Ignorant, ignoble, innocence, it gave to him. Perhaps Clarke's goodness couldn't withstand the weight of the dead inside her heart. He wondered if it would ever be made lighter.

(Please, come inside.)

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know." Bellamy reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly, trying, trying, trying to take some of the weight away from her. Anything to make her stay. He crushed her hand in his and tears finally sprang to her eyes, but not from the pain.

She stood on tip toes and pressed her lips to his cheeks for a long moment. He felt that light seep into his skin and he wanted to push it out, if only to give it back to her. All of it. She could have it, she needed it.

"Whenever you're ready."

(Whenever you're ready. Please, come (back to me) inside.)

Clarke had given Bellamy what he had needed that night in the woods, as the fresh blood had dried on their hands. And Bellamy (hated that he) wasn't what Clarke needed. Too much blood covered her. He wasn't sure he could even see her clearly anymore.

(But he remembered. And he knew who she really was. Maybe more than anyone.)

"May we meet again." She breathed out before pulling back (pulling away) from him, and the darkness pulling her under as she stole one last look at him. She turned and walked toward the woods, where that darkness (in time) would either release her or devour her (she wished, truly wished, for the latter.)

"May we meet again." Bellamy whispered. He began to make his way back to the gate. At the threshold he looked behind him. He could still see her. She was at the edge of the woods, her body almost hidden by the afternoon shadows.

"We will," He said out loud, "We will meet again."

Clarke turned her ear to his voice, although it could've been the wind (it wasn't).

She never looked back again.