Bellamy found her at the bar, although she wasn't drinking. Instead, she had a pencil in hand, drawing on a sheet of paper. He walked up behind her, careful not to make noise, and peered at her drawing. He gasped when he saw it. She turned over her shoulder to see his pained expression upon seeing the graphic, and detailed depiction of Atom. In the drawing, Atom's eyes were open, clouded blue. His face marred by radiation burns.
"Clarke," Bellamy let out a soft whisper, "What is this?" Looks back down at the picture. She had been working on the knife that was coming out of Atom's neck. She didn't respond to Bellamy, just looked wearily back at him. No longer studying her picture, he was studying her face, searching for whatever she was thinking.
"Clarke? It wasn't anything you did- I mean, he was already dying-" She cut him off, shaking her head.
"No, I know, I don't feel guilty about it, it was better that I did what I did. Otherwise, he'd suffered a lot longer." Bellamy's eyebrows pinched together at her words.
"Than why...?" Clarke looked down at her hands. Avoiding looking at him or her picture.
"It helps, I think. I still think about all of them. Sometimes drawing them, remembering them, helps; oddly enough." Clarke tells him. Bellamy nods, and she looks up surprised. For some reason he gets it. Understands the need to mull over acts they regret. He knows she doesn't regret this particular act, she regrets the act being necessary. He knows that this particular moment, for her, was only the start of a series of actions she felt were necessary. For Atom it was a mercy that guided Clarke's hand.
He doesn't ask more, and she doesn't tell him anything more. They sit in silence, while she finishes.