"I don't want to be near anyone I actually like."

()

Bellamy raised his eyebrows and held back a small smile. Always nice to know where he stood with Clarke. Their relationship wasn't a friendship, it was a power play.

"Be ready to leave in ten."

()

Bellamy was ready to leave, with a bag filled with rations and a belt stocked with weapons. He took one last look at the camp that he had built from the ground up. The buzzing of the delinquents concentrating on their work made him proud. He glanced at he drop ship, where Octavia came walking out of, disgruntled. Her eyes locked with his and changed her expression to a blank one. Blood was thicker than water and the two had a bond so strong that Bellamy knew she understood what he was about to do. That didn't mean it didn't hurt though. Actions cut deeper than words sometimes.

()

"Jesus fuckin Christ," Bellamy silently complained to himself. "Why does she look so damn stressed out all the time?"

The two had been walking through the woods for a little under an hour, and neither had spoken to the other since their departure. Clarke was busy focusing on the map that she held so tightly and Bellamy followed behind her, sulking into a pool of his own sorrow.

"Fuck it," he decided. "This could be the last time I ever see a human."

So he opened up to her. A little. He allowed himself to smile when she tripped over tree stumps and offered her his water when she ran out of her own. He sang obnoxious songs over and over until they stuck in her head, making her flash an irritated smile. He tried to step on her shoelaces when we walked past her so she would have to retie them, and he showed Clarke the the pretty plants she was missing when she kept focusing on only the map. And when they decided to split up but stay within shouting distance, he put his hand on her back and slipped to the other side of her.

It was about as open as he could get to Clarke Griffen.

()

When Bellamy found the guns, he had hope for the first time since he saw Octavia on the dropship. For a moment he wasn't afraid. Pure glee spread through his face and he turned to look at Clarke. They were going to live. Thrive even.

()

When Clarke found out he was leaving the camp, she disagreed but didn't push it any further. Bellamy thought she would. He expected her to steal his rations so he would be forced to return to camp, or at the very least convince him to stay.

"This is what I wanted," he reminded himself, as he painted a target on the curtain in front of him. "The camp will live without me."

"Bellamy what are you doing?" Clarke rose her eyebrows in worry, confused as to why the man was hastily painting an 'X' with his fingertips dipped in oil.

"You have to learn how to shoot a gun."

"That's a complete waste of bullets."

Bellamy turned around and in all seriousness, said "Clarke. You are an essential asset to the camp. You need to be able to shoot a gun."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Yeah? Well, don't get used to it."

Clarke fell silent as she handed Bellamy a gun. He was happy to be holding a weapon in his hands again. He felt in control, proud, and wanted to show Clarke how good of a shot he was. But when the first two bullets were duds, he held back his complaints and rolled his eyes instead.

"Try yours."

Clarke, holding a gun for the first time and trying to position it correctly, glanced at Bellamy, who had his mouth tightened, trying to hold in his laughter.

"I hate you." She lowered her weapon and shoulders in defeat, and Bellamy felt a pang of guilt at the sight.

"No, sorry, sorry, uh… try again." Bellamy crossed his arms before walking towards her. "Ok, just put the gun on- yeah like that. You got too much tension in your shoulders- don't freak out, a gun never killed anybody. Hold out your arm a little more to the right. Uh, my right. Jesus, Clarke, here!" Bellamy uncrossed his arms to guide Clarke, making adjustments to her stance. He noticed Clarke was holding her breath at his touch, but continued anyways. She needed to learn how to use these weapons. She needed to stay alive. He stood back to watch as he rested his hand on the small of her back. Bellamy wondered how someone so small could be so powerful. Her hair was thick and unbrushed, and her waist slender and-

"Holy shit," Bellamy screamed inside as Clarke lined up the shot. He jumped his hand away from her and shook his head in disbelief. He opened up the smallest amount possible and now he was facing the consequences. It shouldn't even matter that he would never see her again. The last thing Bellamy wanted was to start thinking about Clarke's waist.

()

After the gun fired, Clarke beamed at Bellamy, and Bellamy, without thinking, beamed right back. She rarely smiled but when she did it became infectious. They had the same twisted humor. Maybe it was their way of coping.

()

The delusions had worn off and a dead teenager laid in front of the two, who were recovering by leaning their backs on a tree. Bellamy had blood and tears dried to his cheeks, and bruises were beginning to form on Clarke's stomach. Bellamy failed to hold back his tears.

He cried for his mother and her undying love, for her body floating through space and time and black holes. He cried for Octavia and how he failed her. For the three hundred people he had killed and for the dead teenagers he could have saved. He cried because he didn't know what fresh hell tomorrow would bring, if he would be dead in less than 24 hours. He cried because if he died he would be happier. There was something inside that he could only express by sobbing into his own hands.

"I need you."

He needed her too. How beautiful is it that someone could make your heart beat so fast, when you don't want it to beat at all. It made him cry harder.

()

When they left camp they were reluctant allies.

But they returned as friends.