"I think we deserve a drink," he said as he paused by her side.

"Have one for me," and her eyes followed the line of people as they moved through the gates of Camp Jaha, and she watched as a woman cried tears of joy and happiness as she embraced another, she watched as a man fell to his knees as hurt and loss and anger slipped past twisted lips.

"Hey," he said, and she knew she heard the weariness in his voice, the pain and the tired. "We can get through this."

And she knew she felt the pain in her own heart, she knew she saw the shadows that clouded her vision, that burnt into her mind, that would torment and terrorise and shatter her heart.

"I'm not going in," and she couldn't quite look upon the pain she saw anymore, couldn't even stand to look his way in that moment, and so her eyes fell to the ground, to the grass and rock and dirt underfoot.

"Clarke," he said, but she wasn't so sure that she heard correctly, she wasn't so sure his voice didn't break, didn't begin to fray and splinter. "If you need forgiveness," and he turned to her, his eyes began to understand the pain she must have felt, the decision she knew herself about to make. "I'll give that to you."

And she didn't realise her eyes had met his, that he looked to her with pain open for her to see, and she knew she felt the tears begin to well, begin to cloud her sight.

"You're forgiven," and his voice came more quietly now, more pleading.

And she couldn't bear to look him in the eyes, couldn't bear to see his pain and the desperation that lingered across his face.

"Please," he whispered, "come inside."

But she knew she wouldn't.

And so?

"Take care of them for me," and she didn't quite realise her head nodded an acceptance of what it is she knew she chose to say, to do.

To embrace.

"Clarke," he stepped closer.

"Seeing their faces everyday is just going to remind me of what I did to get them here—"

"—What we did," and his head shook, he moved closer still, and she thought she sensed a want and a need to reach out, to hold her firm, to keep her rooted in place lest she run, lest she flee, lest she turn her back. "You don't have to do this alone."

But her gaze turned back to the gates, and she took the short moment she stole to see the pain, the damage and the life that still lingered in those that continued to mill about at the entrance to Camp Jaha.

She turned back to Bellamy. Her mouth opened once, and she wasn't quite so sure what to say, what to do, what to voice in that moment.

"I bear it so they don't have to," she said simply, the words pragmatic, detached, selfless and foul on her lips.

She saw the acceptance then, and she saw his head tilt ever so slightly as he gazed at her, as his eyes began to water and as his lips slackened.

"Where are you going to go?" he asked, and she knew she heard the fear in his voice.

She took the time to think, to just consider, but the only thoughts that filled her mind, the only thing that consumed her was the pain and the guilt and the anguish.

"I don't know," she said as she looked back at him.

And she saw Bellamy fragment, she saw the resolve begin to crumble and the hurt and pain begin to bleed openly upon his face and so she stepped forward, she took him in her arms and she pressed her lips to his cheek as the tears began to fall from her own eyes.

"May we meet again," she whispered to him, and she knew she felt his heart beating furiously, she knew she felt his arms close around her and she knew that if she looked back, if she took in Camp Jaha and those she rescued, that her own resolve would have crumbled, would have shattered and left her lost and empty.

And so Clarke stepped from Bellamy, and their eyes met just once more before she began to move towards the trees. And her feet felt heavy then, they felt wasted and broken and tired, and she felt her step falter just once, just for a moment, just for long enough that she thought she heard Bellamy's voice echo out to her. But the wind caught it and stole it from her mind.