They'd moved back into the schoolroom, he and Clarke, so she could clean and bandage the stab wound in his thigh.

The one she'd given him.

Bellamy had fervently hoped it would be Abby who tended to him, who stitched him up and added yet another scar to the dozens already covering his body. But Abby was busy with the other walking wounded.

So while he was still trying recover from the shock of seeing Octavia not only awake but on the ground, Clarke had helped him up and pushed him toward the schoolroom. And before he knew it, he was seated on a chair more properly sized for a 10-year-old, facing Clarke as she knelt on the floor in front of him and worked on his leg.

Or, as he determinedly focused on his wounded leg, not facing her.

Guilt and pain overwhelmed him. Christ! He'd almost strangled her.

The horror of it clawed at him, running up his spine and clutching at his heart. It terrified him to consider what the outcome might have been had Murphy not attacked him, had Clarke not had enough presence of mind left to activate the gas canister.

She'd be dead right now. At his hands. And Bellamy knew that would have been the end of him.

He shuddered, his whole body twitching involuntarily.

"Hold still," she said quietly, finishing up the stitches. "I'm trying to fix what I did to you," he heard her audible swallow, "not make it worse."

Bellamy risked a glance at Clarke then, but her shoulders were hunched, her face hidden as she bent to her task.

"Clarke." Her name on his lips was so soft he fairly breathed it out. When she looked up, when he saw the anguish in her eyes, his guilt and remorse doubled.

"This is barely a scratch," he assured her, his voice trembling. "You shouldn't feel bad about it."

"I keep hurting you, Bellamy." She choked out the words.

"I'm fine!" he insisted. "And you were just defending yourself. Fuck, Clarke! I almost killed you. If Murphy hadn't jumped me..."

She shook her head. "I know it was just the toxin."

"You'd still be just as dead!"

Clarke shrugged, her small smile wry as she bent again to pull the last stitch through. She tied off the thread and covered his wound with a bandage.

"Lots of people have died, Bellamy," she said finally. "Every day more and more of... our friends are gone. It would have just been my time."

"Shut the fuck up!" he hissed, angered by her fatalistic acceptance of what he'd almost done.

Clarke's head snapped up, her jaw dropping at his tone.

Then her shoulders tensed and she shrugged as she opened the med kit and put away her supplies.

"You know it's true," she said, her hands finally empty as she finished her task. "There are hardly any of us left now. Sometimes I can't believe I'm still around. That I've been spared this long. When so many others," her eyes closed briefly as the words tumbled out, "others who were better, more deserving than me, are dead. It doesn't seem... right."

"Clarke." His voice trailed off as he tried to think of a way to explain that he didn't think he'd survive if she died all over again. He could hardly explain it to himself.

He tried another tack.

"Of course you deserve to live. You've saved so many people, sacrificed so much. Suffered so that others would have a chance to live..."

"And I've killed a lot of people, too. You know that. You were right. People do die when I'm in charge."

Bellamy sighed. This again.

"Jesus, Clarke, I said that years ago. At a time when I was angry and... hurt." He shrugged. "Why the hell are you bringing it up after all this time?"

"I've never forgotten anything about that day," she said quietly. "Even if you have."

Bellamy reached out and grasped her hands, gazing at her intently. Clarke seemed startled by his sudden tight clasp.

"Forgotten?" He shook his head. "The truth is... I think I remember everything we've ever said to each other. Every conversation we've ever had. That first year on the Ring, they all kept playing over and over in my head." He drew in a raspy breath. "Back when I thought you were dead."

That was when Bellamy knew he was going to have to tell her, even if it he didn't really understand it himself. He moved his hand, slowly reaching out to gently stroke across her jaw, thumbing along the bruises that circled her neck, only now beginning to reveal themselves.

The evidence of his brutality.

"I couldn't go through that again, Clarke," he said softly. "It was hard enough the first time. But now that I have you back, the thought of losing you again..."

He shook his head as his voice trailed off, his mind boggling at the impossibility of imagining the unthinkable.

Clarke's brow furrowed and she searched his face, but then she sighed and shook her head. Clearly rejecting his words.

"Of course I know you didn't mean to hurt me, Bellamy, but if something happened to me I also know you'd be just fine."

"How the hell can you say that? You didn't see me, on the Ring..."

"That was then, this is now. You have a whole other... life to live, whether I'm here or not." She paused, swallowed. "You said it yourself. You don't need me anymore. But you were wrong about one thing. I have noticed."

Clarke moved to rise then, but Bellamy still had hold of her arms. He tightened his grip, keeping her in place.

Christ! He had said that, hadn't he? How could he explain to her that it was just him blurting out in toxin-induced anger the mantra he'd been repeating to himself for weeks now? Hoping that if he told himself often enough he might actually begin to believe it.

"It's not true," he said, shaking his head, the words coming out cracked and broken. "I've been trying not to need you, but... that's never gonna work."

They stared at one another, and when he saw her confusion he wondered how to explain the inexplicable. In the end, he knew there was only one way. Just like there was only one truth.

"The thing is," he swallowed hard, forcing out the words, "I'm pretty sure I'm always going to need you."

Clarke's eyes widened, and he could see her struggling to accept this new idea.

"But you have... a different life now," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't you think I know that?" he said, his voice low and ragged. "That I haven't been trying to figure out what to do?"

"Are you done in here, Clarke?"

Abby spoke from the doorway, startling them. Bellamy and Clarke immediately pulling their clasped hands apart.

"Yes, I'm done, Mom. Do you need my help?"

"No, but we've had some new arrivals. A group of children. I thought... you two might want to talk to them."

They both nodded.

"We'll be right there," Clarke assured her, and Abby eyed them for a moment before retreating from the doorway.

"We should go," Clarke said, and Bellamy noted that she was back to not looking at him.

"Clarke," he said, grabbing at her arm urgently before she could rise.

Her head tilted up as she gazed at him from beneath her lids.

"Yeah?"

"You know this conversation isn't over."

She stared at him for a moment, then gave him a brief nod.

"Okay," she said.

Okay.

For now, he supposed, that would have to be enough.