Chapter 1:

Clarke hesitantly wiped the back of her hand across the permanent worry lines on her forehead. Thin beads of sweat smeared into her skin along with the remnants of crimson that lingered on her post-operation hands. Her tentative gaze met hazel eyes as she exited the drop ship, "I—I tried." She stammered, "But it…I couldn't save her." The boy looked at her as if it were her fault, as if somehow Clarke was the one who decided to venture out the gates despite multiple warnings and precedent rules only to be impaled by a sharpened spear—as if she were the one who fashioned and threw the spear that killed the girl laying on her medical table. Even as she managed the pulsating anger, frustration and exhaustion from her long night Clarke felt responsible in a way that did not make sense.

But she mostly felt angry because accidents such as late-night-rendezvous-turned-grounder-attacks in the forest should be prevented, should be impossible. If they were going to survive the winter, they needed to start listening instead of relishing in the former moto of the camp. "Whatever the hell we want" died with whatever ounce of youth she still had in her heart and it pissed her off that select few were still not convinced of its extinction. It fueled the fire, so to speak, when she watched Bellamy peck another one of his girls on the cheek as she exited his tent.

Where the hell was he?

She longed for an initial metric unit of anger for his actions but she could not manage it. It made her alarmingly sad to watch him bid his goodbyes to the girl. She was the prettiest, by far, but Clarke imagined she was not smart. God does not give with both hands—somehow that saying prevented her from going completely postal every time she saw one of the slim brunettes sneak away in the middle of the night. Damn right she was jealous, although, she didn't know what she was specifically jealous of when it came down to it. Bellamy was attractive, denying it would be foolish but she never thought she would want him. A casual wink here, a sly comment there and she was under his spell unwittingly and quite unwillingly without much forethought or warning. It would be easy to pinpoint her jealousy directly to the girls who embarked and disembarked as he desired but the burning in her chest told her it did not end there. No, Clarke was also jealous of him.

Being a leader proved to be the hardest thing she'd ever done in her entire life. That being said, when Bellamy decided he was done for the day—he was typically done for the day. Oh, sure he had to worry about rations and battle strategy but she had to worry about health and wellness along with his daily worries. He had time to have a sex-life, although she would categorize his as a healthy sex life. It was damn near destructive, really. If she wasn't dealing with camp issues, she was dealing with medical issues and if she wasn't involved in either of those activities, she was attempting to sleep in preparations for those activities. She wanted what he had; a release.

Theoretically, it was a matter of time before she lost her mind. She was a sex-deprived, teenage doctor with raging family problems and a community to lead, who'd been in prison less than two months ago worrying about the 100% chance that she was going to be executed…and that was just the short version of her screwed up psyche. Unfortunately, she didn't have the luxury of a mental health day or an outlet. The only time she would ever be able to relax happened to be when she was six feet under with the rest of their dead.

Octavia jogged over to her, "I heard about Clarisse. Are you okay?" She was taken aback by the brunette's compassion. She simply nodded in response. "You don't look too good."

"I'm just tired." Clarke said, leaving out the "of everything" that begged to complete her statement. She tried to push Bellamy out of her mind for the sake of the camp. For the sake of the camp, she did not want to lose her temper and fight with him. In the same breath, she would explain that she desperately wanted to fight him. She wanted to slam her fists into his chest until he hissed with pain because it would make her feel better to know that he hurt, too.

Because he was going to be able to sleep tonight.

And she would just be lying awake looking at the holes in her tent.

Because he'd just been lost in a pleasurable moment.

And she couldn't save an innocent girl who just wanted to have a little fun with her boyfriend.

Her eyes narrowed when he moved into her line of sight as if she were drawing a target on his head—that perfect nest of unruly curls that needed to be tugged and tangled. She gritted her teeth, unaware that her eyes darkened at the sight of him. She heard Octavia release a breath, "Don't kill him." Her tone was dry as she departed.

Clarke whispered, "No promises."

Fuck, Marry or Kill.

The little game popped into her head as Bellamy moved closer to her. Odd, really, how she would even think of the game in a time like that. It was most likely because she was highly confused by the cocktail of emotions running through her head. His lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet them as he looked down at her. She blinked, "I don't want to talk to you."

"Good thing I don't care what you want. What happened?"

She exhaled, "I'm sure your guards could debrief you."

"I want you to debrief me. What happened?" He emphasized his question, small amounts of annoyance seeping through his calm demeanor. "Someone died and you're giving me the silent treatment? Very mature, Princess."

"Don't call me princess." Clarke growled before something clicked—or snapped—in her. The leader in her stepped forward, absolving her of the complicated feelings and leaving the ones that mattered. She was angry. She was betrayed. She was hurt. "Let's not talk about maturity, Bellamy. Let's talk about the fact that people aren't listening to a damn thing we say. They're still sneaking out of the gate and I think the next person should set an example. Not Jason, though." The hazel-eyed boy had been through enough tonight. "Clarisse was his girlfriend and I think he's feeling pretty punished right now."

"Good plan."

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Don't act so surprised."

"What is your problem with me?" He asked, "You weren't agitated when you were talking to Octavia. So, I'm taking this attitude personally…"

Clarke's jaw dropped, her eyes fluttering as if he should know. "You weren't there, Bellamy. How many times do I have to tell you I need you before it registers? You. Weren't. There. I can't do everything by myself so when someone sneaks out the gate and gets stabbed, I expect you to be there attempting to help and when someone dies…I don't expect you to be fucking one of your conquests. That's my problem and yes, please take it personally."

He reached forward and she was almost tempted to let him but she stepped back, her hands up held up as if she were prepared to push him away. "I'm sorry, Clarke."

"Not good enough."

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