Polis had never been so void of noise. The wind had ceased, the sun was hazy as it sunk in the sky, and the prairie grasses bowed low in sorrow. Years later, grown adults who were children at the time would speak of the silence with wonder. Some would embellish and say that even the crickets were quiet that night. Maybe they were. But no one was listening for insects or caring about the world outside the fortress the night Monty Green died.

It wasn't a surprise the killing hadn't stopped. A.L.I.E. was vanquished, but death was an enemy they'd never really eliminate. It was a surprise, though, that Pike overcame his severe blood loss long enough to crawl out of the tower and take one more life. It's moments like these that freeze people. When you've been through the ringer, danger doesn't seem as threatening or weighty. Besides… it couldn't be real. Octavia sliced him cleanly. He'd fallen and whimpered like the coward he was, crying and spitting as they filed out of the chamber. It was fitting. It was justice. Charles Pike would die alone.

Hours had passed since Clarke returned from the City of Light. Apologies were exchanged. People were reunited. Bellamy even ordered fires to be built throughout the courtyard. Although it would be somber, they'd celebrate tonight. Unity at last, despite the incoming apocalypse. Food was salvaged from the commissary, and the aroma of smoked meat and root vegetables wafted among the tents.

Clarke gazed from a guard post in the highest corner of the retaining wall, arms clamped over her ribs. The glow of the fires painted her face with shadows. She was thankful for the gentle light after the glaring brightness of A.L.I.E.'s world. A day ago, this would have been a bloodbath. Tonight, these people were alive and together: two things Clarke still found surreal. A fraction of a smile crinkled her lips as she looked down to see a trio of delinquents scuffing across the pavement. Harper gripped a bottle of something they'd scavenged as Monty and Raven flanked her. Good for them. They deserve a little relief, Clarke thought.

From her vantage point, she could see her mother and Kane tidying the triage tent. After tending her own wounds, Abby saw the multitude of formerly chipped minds and bodies needing medical aid. Kane helped with lesser injuries while Abby performed quick sutures and applied creams and balms. Clarke let her arms drop to her sides. They work well together. Kane seems okay. More than okay. Whatever makes mom happy.

Her perch in the sky also let her see Bellamy. He must have twisted his ankle during the fight. Though he tried to hide it valiantly, the limp was obvious from where she stood. Of course he wouldn't visit triage. Blood still caked his cheekbones, and his hair had seen better days. Having discarded his jacket, the purple lacerations on his arms bulged and shrunk as he moved bundles of blankets for later that evening.

She was startled when he looked right at her. Clarke was cloaked in darkness and far above him, but Bellamy's eyes sparkled up at her in the moonlight. He looked encouraging and desperate all at once, touching her heart without asking first. She cocked her head about fifteen degrees. Maybe he was searching the sky and not for her. But the exhaustion had gotten to him. His freckles meshed together in a faint smirk as he also cocked his head the full fifteen. Clarke let out a quick breath and shook her head. If anyone's a mystery, it's him.

A lull settled over the camp as the weary people finally slept. Clarke swore she even saw a star twinkling. This is just like that holiday Christmas I read about on the Ark. Raven, Harper, and Monty had finished their bottle and decided to snore where they sat by the embers. It was kind of adorable, watching Harper's head drop onto Monty's shoulder. And then, of course, Monty slumped over onto Raven.

Something clattered at the foot of the tower. Probably a pigeon stuck in a pipe, but the noise ripped Clarke from memory lane. Her pupils dilated as she scanned for movement, but everything was drenched in blackness. And then it happened. Pike emerged from a door and glided across the courtyard like watercolors bleeding over a canvas. One would never guess he was on death's door, he moved so fluidly. She watched the whole thing, her brain screaming at her to scream. But Clarke was frozen, body and soul. She'd used up all her energy and was powerless. In a single motion, he cut off Harper's right hand and slit Monty's throat. If he'd calculated it more carefully, he could have stabbed Raven in the same swing.

Clarke's shaking hand rose to clang the bell hanging next to her, but the ringing never came. Bellamy had shot him three times in the skull. He fell forward into the ashes and convulsed. Monty gurgled as Harper silently grabbed a blanket and bound her stump, racing for Abby's help. She was unexpectedly quiet for having just lost an appendage. The shock was dulling her senses. Bellamy lunged over Pike's limp form to lift Monty, but his eyes had already rolled back in his head.

Bellamy held his arm and whispered faithfully, repeatedly, until he was gone: "Don't be afraid. It's okay. It's almost over. Shhh… Don't be afraid. Don't…"

Twelve days. If it wasn't so embedded in his mind, he might have forgotten what Clarke's voice was like. She hadn't said a word since, and Bellamy had run out of ideas to coerce her. Pike's body was long gone, left to be eaten by the forest beasts. Monty was sent on his way like all the dead who'd gone before him. Harper was healing. But it was hollow to Clarke. Sound was damp, clothing was itchy, and all 24 hours felt the same. Bellamy brought meals she picked at to appease him. Each night before leaving her tent, he told her to yell if she needed him. The yell never came.

A council of higher-ups finally voted to destroy all of A.L.I.E.'s paraphernalia, including the chips, as a precaution. Raven spent days ripping out useful wires and piling the rubble in the Polis incinerator. Kane figured he'd wait until midday before firing it up. It would be less conspicuous if people were talking and eating, and less disturbance meant less stress on an already anxious group. He saw Bellamy with a covered plate on his way to Clarke's tent. He nodded. Bellamy nodded back. Kane grabbed his ration and headed back into the bowels of the tower.

"I'm here with food." No answer. "Clarke?" He cleared his throat for no reason. "It's me… Rabbit for lunch." Still nothing. Bellamy pursed his lips and shifted in his shoes, head hanging low while he fiddled with her fork. Don't push it. She'll talk again.

"Clarke… this plate's hot. Can I bring it in?" She normally came and unzipped the door so he wouldn't spill. He let out a frustrated sigh, instantly regretting it and hoping she hadn't heard. "I'm comin' in."

Her bed was pristine and empty. It didn't look like anyone lived here. It was too neat - almost staged. One pair of ragged boots by the door. Three shirts stacked on a stool. Maps folded on the corner table where he left the food she never ate. Wait. Is she not wearing shoes right now? That's her only pair...

He ducked out of the tent with a furrowed brow, scanning the tables for blonde waves. A high-flying bird caught his eye, causing him to squint up at a high noon sun. It wasn't a bird. Kane must be firing up the incinerator. Black smoke belched into the blue sky. See you in hell, A.L.I.E.. But then the terror rushed over him. Icey blood. Prickled arm hair. Clammy hands. Swollen throat. He just knew. No. No no no no no...

He tripped over benches and overturned a dish cart as he tore through the courtyard. Bopping and weaving through people like clockwork, he breached the edge of the crowd and sprinted the rest of the way. Down the basement steps, three at a time. Steel-toed boots clattering like horse hooves. The hallway stretching to the incinerator was long and straight; he traversed it in seconds.

Kane was bug-eyed as the door bashed in behind him. "What the hell? What are you doing?"

Bellamy's eyes darted, fingers twitching and ready to work. He settled on the iron door and grappled at the latch.

"Whoa, it's already lit. Don't open that!" He grabbed Bellamy's shoulder. Bad idea. Kane flew back onto the control desk, no match for Bellamy's adrenaline rush.

The heat hit him in the face as the door gave way. The circular chamber contained a roaring fire that was growing every second. She was lying motionless on the opposite side, face to the wall. Crossing the room in two strides, he scooped under her shoulders and turned her over. Clarke weighed nothing to him. Kane was wiser now and moved as Bellamy carried her out, kicking the door shut behind him. Breathe for me, God, please breathe.

"I'm going for Abby," Kane shouted and bounded down the hallway.

Bellamy didn't hear him. He sunk her to the floor gingerly, neck cradled in one giant palm. "Clarke, can you hear me? Clarke? Wake up!"

He took a knee and rattled her shoulders. No movement. His head fell to her ear as he gripped her collarbone. "Not now, Clarke," he begged. "You're not s'posed to go like this."

She sputtered. His eyebrows shot skyward. "Yes! Come on, breathe for me." He forcefully patted her cheek five or six times to energize her before crashing to the concrete himself. One leg sprawled behind her, allowing Bellamy to lean her back on his knee and force a full cough out of her lungs.

She opened her eyes, mumbling and wheezing. "How did you… oh my God, you..." She trailed off, gasping.

Bellamy realized he hadn't breathed in so many minutes. It came in loud gulps and swallows. His head fell back in relief, eyes closed in a moment of thankfulness. He continued to pat her back firmly, rubbing circles into her spine. Clarke coughed a hundred more times and traded the carbon for oxygen, gripping his thigh for support. She finally seemed to be choking less and inhaling more.

"Hey, hey, there ya go. Keep doing that." He attempted to move from behind her, but she gripped his knee. "I'm not goin' anywhere." He shifted to sit in front of her, one hand on her forearm.

"Kane," she got out, voice raspier than normal.

Bellamy searched her bloodshot eyes. "What?"

"It was Kane… he… lured me here. Knocked me out. Tried to... "

Bellamy stopped her with a hand squeeze and a nod that said, You don't have to finish. I get it. I understand.

Kane denied everything: flat out, passionately proclaimed he'd never harm Clarke. That he hadn't seen her for days prior to the incident. Bellamy lurked in the corner, scowling and telling him to "Shut up!" as needed. Since he didn't kill her, the council decided to imprison him for the time being. Although Kane's chip was out, he must still cling to A.L.I.E.'s ideals. He'd be transferred to the Polis dungeon, ironically down the hall from the incinerator.

"Thank you for what you did." She was determined to leave the infirmary and go for a walk today.

Bellamy watched intently from a chair as she laced her boots up on the bed. "You already thanked me, and I said you would have done the same thing."

She half smiled and began doing up her coat buttons. "Maybe, but I wouldn't have figured it out as fast. I can't believe you just knew where I was."

She seemed bewildered, but Bellamy relished hearing her speak again. He didn't interject for fear of cutting her off. "Sometimes I just know things. I knew something happened to you."

Clarke stood, using the bed frame to steady herself. Bellamy rose in case she needed an arm. She didn't.

"Guessing my mom said I couldn't leave unchaperoned?"

"Good guess."

Six hours later, dusk was licking at the forest edges. They'd walked and sat, walked and sat, walked and sat for ages. They talked about flowers, nuclear fallout, the science of zippers, the best meals they'd ever eaten, their memories from the Ark… everything. Clarke never realized how eloquent he was. When given the chance to speak, he actually knew more than just ammo and combat strategy. Plus he wasn't brooding like usual. Lingering pauses between his sentences let her focus on what he was saying, and more so, how he said it. He was so wise and… gentle. Lexa would have liked this Bellamy.

"We should head back. It'll be dark before we know it." He stood first, backing up his words with action.

She sat for a moment longer. Just like he had all day, Bellamy offered his hand. Clarke actually did feel tired. It's amazing what smoke inhalation and a near death experience can take out of you energy-wise. She jokingly accepted his help, hiding her true need. He held on for a minute after she was up, ensuring any dizziness had passed. Polis loomed in the distance, and she started on her way.

Bellamy took a step and stopped. There was no good way to ask, but he made his voice as tender as possible: "Can I ask you about it?"

Clarke stopped but didn't turn. Her head cocked fifteen degrees again, silently asking, "About what?"

He dropped the blade of grass he'd been picking at and walked until they were shoulder to shoulder. They both stared at the tower listlessly. "What really happened, Clarke?" He paused for a breath. "Look. I know it must be hard to talk about. I just…" He didn't want to say it. She could tell, whatever it was. He twisted his head toward her but avoided her eyes. "I don't understand how he did it."

She looked off to her left, pretending to peer into the woods. Bellamy knew she was faking. Another beat, and the silence was killing him. "Sorry. I… I shouldn't…" He ripped his jacket zipper up the rest of the way pretty violently. "Let's go, Princess." He was off: punching through the meadow, crushing violets as he went.

"What do ya want to know?"

The monotone question halted him. It was Bellamy's turn to fake-look at the trees. His head eventually turned back toward her, chin almost touching his left shoulder, eyes down in reverence. "What did he do to you?" The first firefly of the evening almost landed in her golden hair as she picked at a fingernail.

"He asked if I could calibrate the incinerator, and I said he should ask Raven. He said Raven was busy… that it was a simple procedure but he was bad at technology. So I went, and… and he knocked me out and put me in there." She was quiet for a moment. "... And then you came."

He turned on his heel to face her. The yards that separated them felt like years. Wetting his bottom lip and swallowing, he weighed the risk again. "But… is that exactly what happened?"

"Do you not believe me?"

There it was. Now she's defensive because she thinks I'm calling her a liar. The anger lit up in his gut, but it was born out of concern. "Of course I believe you, I just… Come on, Clarke. You've taken guys twice your size. I know he's a familiar face so your guard wasn't up, but…" He looked up as a hawk soared overhead and let out timidly, "Shouldn't he have a busted nose or at least a scratch on him?"

Their eyes locked for what seemed like the Ice Age. "Are you saying I didn't fight?"

"No, of course not, but how…" She was tearing up. He cursed himself for thinking his curiosity was more valid than her trauma.

"Are you saying I didn't try? That I wanted it?"

"What? No. No! Clarke…"

Her hands trembled as she held them out, spitting questions into the air. "That I should have known? Should have screamed? That I knew and didn't say anything? That I should have saved him?" She inhaled loudly and then yelped, stifling a sob.

"Save Kane? From what?"

"Not Kane… me. I should have saved… myself."

He took a step toward her, studying all the micro-movements she didn't know she was making. Flinches and winces and attempts to hide the truth. She hadn't misspoke. She meant "him". Bellamy's abs were tight. He was trying so hard to understand. "Clarke… talk to me." He took another hesitant step toward her, but she took a step back.

Clarke could barely make him out in the twilight although the moon was growing brighter every minute. "Don't. Just… we need to go, Bellamy." She trudged two steps forward, and he side-stepped to meet her. Three feet away now, she could see his face and the longing on it.

"Clarke."

"We're going. Or at least I am."

"Clarke..." The first one was a command. The second was a plea.

They were angry tears now. She leaned away as she passed him and started striding toward Polis. His guard training was in full force. Two leaps backward and a dextrous arm was enough to grab her wrist and whip her around. Clarke flung her own arms like he was a wasp, making him recoil.

"Do you really think Wanheda would go down that easy?" She was yelling in a meadow in the middle of nowhere, and Bellamy was paralyzed watching her. "That Kane, of all people, could overpower me? That I wouldn't insist he get Raven to work the incinerator? That I wouldn't ban Raven from salvaging parts? That I would allow anything of A.L.I.E.'s to be saved? Really!?"

He grimaced.

"Do you have so little respect for me that you think…." She broke. Her initial rage was depleted, but she hadn't made her point yet. She needed to make him regret this.

Bellamy shook his head, eyes glistening in the dark. He was saying "no" to all of it. He took a step, hands extended at his sides in surrender.

"Do you think I could live with it? We killed hundreds of people in Mount Weather, but this was the last straw. One of our own. One of the bravest ones among us. And I watched!" She focused on a rock, eyes welled up and ready to storm.

He knew now. She'd given her secret away, and with every additional question she laid down, he inched a little closer. His friend was panicking.

"I let it happen. I stood there, like a mountain, doing nothing. The Mighty Wanheda in her finest moment!" She was flailing her arms in grand gestures, openly sobbing as she cut into herself with the words. "If you'd let me burn, I could have paid for it. Kane never would have known I was in there if you wouldn't have burst in, thinking I needed saving. Thinking you're my protector. That it's your place. Thinking I deserved to live. Do you think I don't deserve the fire? That I don't deserve to be dead like him?"

One step and his biceps were around her. One arm surrounded her shoulders. The other traveled around her hips. His cheek against the side of her head, feet in a wide stance to steady them both. She gasped audibly, contorting her shoulders to escape and throwing punches into his stomach. He gripped tighter, her shirt bunching in his fingers as he held on. She stopped holding her legs rigid to maybe fall out of his grasp, but he clutched her waist and held her an inch above the ground.

"Shhh, Clarke. Stop fighting. Please…." Now his own voice broke. You're totally worthless. She tried to kill herself because of Monty. How could you not see it?

She stopped struggling and whispered weakly, "Bellamy, you don't have to…."

His arms shrunk back to hold her head in his palms, one hand stroking her hair and the other warming her left ear. His torso crunched to adjust for her height, covering as much of her as possible, shielding her from the guilt. She surrendered and wailed into his neck, muffling her cries. Afterward, he'd always consider this sound to be one of the saddest he'd ever heard. She tried to hold every sob in, as if she didn't deserve to be weeping. And every sob, he quieted her. Hushing into her ear with small, urgent words and murmurs of comfort.

It's moments like these that can freeze people too. One minute he was caressing his friend and showing her that she, Clarke Griffin, was worthy of love and forgiveness. Worthy of living. And the next moment… he didn't know what was happening. He felt sick with the not-knowing of it. The questions Clarke had stopped asking invaded his own mind.

Why are you doing this? Why didn't you take her back hours ago? Did you want more time alone with her? Why is she hanging on your shoulder blades? Why are you touching her ribs? Why do you like it so much? You should stop. Stop running your hands over her. Just step away. Don't lean into her softness. God, she smells like the roses outside Arkadia.

The loss of innocence immediately haunted him. He didn't mean it. Rather, he did, but it wasn't intentional. He never brought her to the meadow to take something from her. If anything, he wanted to give to her… whatever she needed, he would give it up to her.

Clarke sniffled and noticed he'd stopped moving. Her self-awareness kicked in, and she politely shrugged one shoulder to signal the end of her need for pity. He was still. She shrugged again with an ounce more force, pulling away enough to catch his eyes. She shouldn't have. What Clarke saw stole her innocence too, and her mouth opened a sliver. Her hands dropped from his back and reached to lightly press his chest away. His big eyes looked so confused. He leaned in to say something he hadn't come up with yet.

"Bellamy, they'll wonder where we are if we don't..."

"Clarke…" Her name was husky and caught in his throat. She could feel a heart pounding through his thick jacket. His lips were near her ear again, taking her back to when he pulled her from the fire.

She felt a twinge and almost leaned into him but caught herself. "Bellamy, what are you… what are we..."

His voice came again in a whisper. The last syllable accidentally brushed his lips against her earlobe: "I wish I knew."

She held her breath and stood still as he kneaded her shoulder with his thumb. Clarke's eyes were wide. His hair felt like silk and smelled like amber. Bellamy tilted his chin, ever so slightly, and did something he never knew he wanted to: he touched her skin with his lips. Bottom lip first, and then both hovered over the patch of paleness on her temple. She moved her hands to conceal her shudder.

A part of him wondered if he should pull away, but a finger raked the curls above his collar. Her hands are in my hair. I've never been this terrified. She gripped a fist of ringlets, and he sucked in air.

Bellamy's inner voice stopped talking as lips trailed down her face, passing eyebrow, lashes, cheekbone, jaw… he stopped at the jaw, being so confident as to pucker into an actual kiss. Just like the one she'd planted on his neck last summer. He pulled away, waiting for a response. None came. He did it again, begging for affirmation. His hand slipped down her shoulder around to her back. The fresh contact made Clarke flinch, moving her head the few degrees he needed. And yet, he doubted.

"Clarke," he breathed, eyes closed in fear. "You're my best friend."

She closed the gap with a short but lingering kiss, her lips above his. Clarke pulled away first while Bellamy's neck craned to prolong it. His top lip had stuck to hers, and it sprang away lightly. He rested his nose on hers, blinking as her fingers dug into his neck. The ice was finally broken.

He descended again, her top lip shaking as his full ones embraced hers. He grazed each corner of her mouth, pushed on the center, and then dropped his jaw to take all of her in. Large hands ran up and down her arms all the while, tugging her elbows closer. He daringly slid his tongue along her bottom lip and sucked on it for a moment. Arkadia roses. His urgency suddenly shifted from desire to devotion. Bellamy's head fell to rest in the crook of her neck, kissing the place where his mouth touched. He was done taking. His hands unclenched from her waist and formed into the hug they'd shared many times before. Once she wasn't breathing as heavy, Bellamy delicately released her and backed away completely.

Clarke tucked a strand behind her ear and exhaled, stealing a glance at him.

He couldn't contain a boyish grin as he stood head down, hands in his coat pockets, kicking at a stone. Since when am I shy? A long breath puffed up his chest, and he let it out into the night in a sharp burst.

"This was not on my agenda for today, I swear." His giddy eyes rose to meet hers. They dimmed when he remembered. "Clarke…" He paused for the millionth time that day, lips pursing in reluctance: "... What happened isn't your fault."

Her head fell in defeat, recalling the reason all this happened in the first place. Now you know I'm suicidal. I can't handle you being weird around me. I need you. Please, you're the one I really need.

"We don't have to talk about it anymore if you don't want to, but for the record… we need you here. We need you alive." His hand unconsciously drifted over to envelop her tiny hand. "I need you alive."

Clarke reached out for his other one in acceptance, marveling at his thumbs dwarfing her own. But then Bellamy let her hands drop. You really are a monster. She was distraught just now. How could you benefit from her tragedy? How can you even know if this was authentic?

She saw the hope flicker from his eyes and knew what he was thinking. Clarke leaned up and kissed the patch of freckles on his left cheekbone. It felt like the wind, it was such a light touch.

That's when Bellamy knew.