AN: Ok so I haven't actually written a fanfiction in two or three years and I haven't written anything in general for about one year now but I got into the 100 and I was like damn I gotta make shit happen with Bellamy and Clarke so then I found this prompt on tumblr and I figured, well, better late than never (even though I'm practically terrified haha). I can't say this is my best work because that would be a lie. I haven't written in so long so I feel like I rambled a lot in this oneshot, but I seriously want your guys' honest opinions and constructive criticisms. I always am looking for ways to improve, especially after going so long without writing. Thank you guys for reading :)

(Also, after an anon messaged me, I fixed some stuff so there's an extra paragraph in there. Thanks lovelies).

(PS I don't own shit)

"She stared into the fire for some time, thinking about what she had in her life, and what she had given up; and whether it would be worse to love someone who was no longer there, or not to love someone who was." (Neil Gaiman)

Clarke wrapped her blanket around her tightly, effectively trapping in her body heat, as she sat down in the center of camp in front of a warm fire. Fall was coming to a close, but all she could remember were the summer months in which she had fled. After the 47 had been rescued, Clarke had found herself unable to set foot in Camp Jaha. She stood at the entrance, leading all of the soldiers and captives back to the rightful place. She saw faces of Arkers light up as they became reunited with their loved ones. She saw other faces fall upon realizing no one was going to return to them.

She couldn't bear it. She couldn't walk through camp again and be the same person. She was no longer the leader that everyone needed, she didn't entrust herself to that job, nor was she the friend that could be counted upon. It was for this reason she told herself she needed to leave, it was the reason she told him she'd needed to leave. Yet, as much as she tried to ignore it, as often as she spent running from it, she knew there was more to it than just that.

She was terrified.

She didn't know how to act. Nothing at camp was going to be the same, because no one came out of this war unscathed. Each one of them had made defining choices, diverging their paths, forcing them to be at odds more often than not. Octavia disowned everyone but her brother and Lincoln. Jasper refused to look at Monty, and Monty was losing himself because of it. And Clarke? Clarke had massacred. First she killed her own people and then she killed theirs. Some blamed her for what she did, others respected her for her actions in Mount Weather. As for herself, however, she would never be able to handle the guilt that consumed her to this day. They couldn't look at her the same way, and she couldn't look at herself in the same way either.

And then there was Finn. God, Finn. They went through so much shit. First, she thought he was a holy light on this unfortunate planet. She'd idolized him and his peaceful ways and heroic gestures. Then she only saw the darkness in him, and refused to let herself see him as anything other than the God he turned out not to be. Seeing him strung up, however, for all of the grounders to see, that's when she truly saw him for who he was. A human being. A balance of light and dark. And she loved him for it. But she loved him too late.

She told herself she did what she had to do, giving him a peaceful death. She did it out of love she thought, but it didn't stop the nightmares. She feels him in every step she takes, she hears him in every decision she makes, and it kills her. She'd let herself feel that pain everyday she was out there, all on her own. She honestly had no intentions of returning to the people she had grown to love. And yet here she was.

Bellamy was the one who found her.

She was camping out in the trees, taking a short rest, when suddenly there was an arrow in the bark to the left of her head, barely missing her blonde locks. It was only when she swung down to the ground, knives in hand did she see who the offender was.

"Bellamy?" she questioned, as if she didn't believe it was him in front of her.

"Princess," he breathed out, his own disbelief seeping into his words. He dropped his bow and ran to her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her tight to his chest, giving her no room to move. He was so warm and safe and she hadn't felt this content in years but she was also terrified because she knew what he wanted from her and she didn't know what to do. She wasn't ready to face her demons. She never would be.

"Come back with me," the plea left his lips and Clarke stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the feeling of safety because she knew it was the last time she was going to feel it.

"I can't."

He pulled back, and she was cold once again. His eyes peered down on her in shock and anger and hurt and a million other indiscernible but certainly not positive emotions and she couldn't hold his gaze.

"Fine," he growled out, "Your mom's worried sick, you know. But the Camp's working towards recovery. We've started building stable shelters for the winter. Octavia doesn't stick around much anymore and Jasper won't look at Monty. Raven's leg is healing and Wick is taking care of her," Bellamy shoved information at her, with the unspoken statement "but it's not like you care" and yet, all she manages to say is, "I know."

He stares at her and she looks up to see confusion and anger overtaking his features. She flinches in anticipation for the yelling, but it doesn't come, so she continues, "I've been watching over the camp. From the trees. I wanted to make sure everyone was alright."

Bellamy never once raised his voice, instead his every word came out barely a whisper, and yet Clarke couldn't have been more terrified, "Of course you have Princess. Of course you would be there the entire time, right under our noses," he paused, letting out a bitter laugh before continuing, "We weren't alright Clarke. We needed you but you left. You couldn't face your fears so you left me to pick up your mess. But I didn't care Clarke. I thought it was what was best for you, but I can't take this any longer. I can't stand around and pretend like this is ok. That you not being there with me is ok." With that he turned around and started to leave.

"Wait," Clarke called out to him. He stopped, freezing in place. He was waiting. Waiting to see if his words stuck. If she was going to apologize and follow him. She herself wasn't sure, but she was scared, so terribly scared, so she shouldn't have been all that surprised when her next words were, "You should camp here tonight. It will be dark soon and I don't want you getting hurt."

Another bitter laugh escaped him, but he continued walking, never turning around as he called back, "Too late."

Two days afterwards, she walked into camp. She was greeted by surprised faces and a flurry of limbs as her mother swept her up into a bone-crushing hug.

Abby began sobbing into her shoulder, but the only person Clarke could focus on was the tall, curly haired figure as they made eye contact. They're gaze holding out for what seemed like forever before he turned on his heel and walked into a tent.

The large fire crackled and grew, consuming the oxygen surrounding it, and pulling Clarke out of her thoughts. She looked around and saw Bellamy himself, talking animatedly with Monty about something. She remembered how rough it was for them at first. Never arguing like they used to. Instead he acted as if she weren't there, ignoring her whenever she neared him. She remembered how hurt she felt when she saw girls coming in and out of his tent, or when she refused to let her stitch up a hunting wound, instead hunting down Jackson in the dead of the night. She wanted to be mad at him. She wanted to scream at him, call him childish, but was running away not equally as childish? So, she kept her mouth shut. She stopped trying to get his attention and, although she couldn't help but try to pick him out in a crowd, she no longer tried to make eye contact like she had when she first arrived. The interactions she prompted became fewer and further between, eventually disappearing altogether.

For reasons unknown (Clarke liked to hope it was because he missed her), as they neared the cold months, he began to warm up to her. Bellamy would ask for her advice on a camp matter, or would silently leave her some food in the med bay after a long day of work. Nothing outright friendly, but anything was better than him avoiding her.

One fateful night in particular, Clarke had fallen asleep in the med bay while waiting for a patient to awaken from unconsciousness, so she could instruct him on how to take care of his wounds. Memories of Finn took hold of her as she slept, as they so often had, and her dreams were filled with warped visions of the man she loved dying over and over, shouting angrily at her, pleading with her to stop and save him. Bellamy had walked in, a small dish of food forgotten as he woke her from her nightmares and held her, whispering soothing words into her ear as she sobbed into his chest.

"He would hate me," she squeaked out after her tears had subsided.

"I don't think Spacewalker was capable of hating anything," he chuckled lightly, remembering the peace-loving brunette, "let alone you."

"You do," she choked out in response.

"I what?"

"Hate me. I left Bellamy. I ran away. I told you you couldn't run away from Jaha, all those months ago, but I did the exact same thing and you hate me and I can't even blame you," because I hate myself a little too she opted to leave that part of the statement out.

A deafening silence then overtook them. She didn't know what she expected him to say or do, so they just sat there, him holding her. After a while, Bellamy squeezed her closer, and said, "I don't think I'm capable of hating you either Princess."

They sat there for a long time, holding on to the comfort of silence and good company. Eventually, the patient woke up, and Clarke pulled herself together in faux confidence as if nothing had happened. Bellamy stayed seated as she instructed her patient on how to keep his wound from getting infected, and how many days until he could start work again. Eventually the man left with a nod at both Clarke and Bellamy before disappearing.

Bellamy stood up to leave as well, he almost made it out before turning around and holding her gaze, "He'd want you to live you know."

Clarke shook her head at him, confused, "I don't understand."

"You, Clarke. You've been blaming yourself for too long. You aren't living anymore Clarke, you're just surviving and it kills anyone who loves you to see you like this," his eyes shone, but with what she could not discern, "He really did love you Clarke. He'd want you to move on and be happy. He'd want you to live," and with that, Bellamy Blake walked out of the door and into the night.

After that night, all barriers between them seemed to have disappeared. They talked like before, argued like before, even slipped out of camp a few times, and yet everything they did took on a different meaning. Beneath all of the familiar banter, blossomed a deep connection that Clarke was truly afraid of.

A spark flew from the fire, and she watched it fall to the floor, before looking up again at Bellamy. He turned his head and grinned once his eyes landed on hers. He motioned for her to come join him with his free hand, the other holding a mug of sorts. She grinned and her stomach knotted in anticipation.

She often felt guilty for feeling these things for Bellamy. She felt like she was betraying Finn, or tarnishing his memory, or tarnishing the memory of them. But Bellamy's words came to the forefront of her mind and she felt a little more at ease.

He really did love you Clarke. He'd want you to live.

She stood up with a smile on her face, her blanket still wrapped around her, and she awkwardly waddled over to her friends. Bellamy let out a laugh as he watched her make her way over to them, only causing her grin to grow. She plopped herself down next to the people she cared about most, and chatted easily with them, forgetting all of the baggage she seemed to carry everywhere she went.

At some point in the night, Bellamy's hand found hers, and his fingers wound around her own.

She didn't let go.