Clarke sat on the steps outside, broom in hand, basking in the fresh morning sun. She'd gotten up early to start on the checklist of duties she'd made, the first being sweeping the front steps of the recently fallen Autumn leaves.

She gathered the piles of leaves into a garbage bag and was about to head back inside when she heard a voice call out "hello?" from behind her. Turning, she saw a scantily-clad brunette, hair mussed and makeup slightly smeared, barefoot with heels in hand. She couldn't help but grin at the sight; the walk of shame had claimed another victim.

"Hi. I'm Clarke, the new manager of the Ark. It's nice to meet you," Clarke greeted, walking over to shake hands.

The brunette narrowed her eyes in reply, clearly sizing her up. She shifted her heels to her other hand and returned Clarke's gesture. "Raven. I'm going inside. Haven't slept for twenty-four hours."

Before Raven could take her first step, Wells bolted out from behind the house and leaped at her. She stumbled backwards and fall to the grass with a loud yelp, Wells atop her prone body, licking at her face.

"Hey, off boy!" Clarke commanded, though she couldn't keep the mirth out of her voice. It was an extremely silly sight, seeing her hefty Samoyed soaring through the air and landing on the minute brunette. She pulled him off of Raven while letting go a giggle at the incredulity on Raven's face.

"W-w-when in the hell did we get a dog?" Raven sputtered and skittered away from Wells.

Clarke, still giggling, had to take a moment to gather herself. "I'm sorry. He's mine. His name is Wells, he's really a sweetheart – he loves making new friends."

Raven got to her feet and eyed Wells warily before giving his head a hesitant pat. "Sorry, Wells – not much of a dog person."

Wells barked in reply and Raven recoiled her hand like it'd been bit. She shook her head and muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs to the Ark.

Once Raven had left, Clarke wrestled Wells to the ground and began rubbing his belly. "You silly dog. Don't scare away all the residents, you hear?"

Wells barked in agreement.

Bellamy woke to the sound of his cellphone's alarm. That meant Jasper and Monty must still be asleep, the resulting relief making him laugh.

He then remembered why he'd set his alarm for eight on a Saturday; Octavia had slept over at her friend's house.

He dressed in a hurry as he rang Octavia's number.

"Hello?" came a groggy voice from the receiver.

"Octavia? Where are you?" he asked frantically.

"Ugh – it's my brother–"

"Who's that you're talking to?"

"Nobody. What do you want?"

"To know where you are."

"Why?"

"Octavia..."

"Ugh, fine. Just a sec." The line went silent. He imagined Octavia walking over the passed out bodies of teenagers on the floor after a night of drinking and debauchery, and his temper rose.

"Octavia. Are you there? Hello?" His voice rose in volume with each word as he paced his room restlessly.

"Hey, shut up in there, will you? I'm trying to sleep!" he heard Raven shout. He ignored her and left his room, heading down to the first floor.

"Okay, um, I'm at – what was that? – okay, it's thirty-two Monroe road." Octavia's voice came out muffled, and Bellamy had to confirm the address again to make sure.

"I'll be there in half an hour. Don't go anywhere."

He heard a faint "Take your time" and the dial-tone quickly followed.

He reached Monty's door and knocked.

"Monty, wake up! I need your car." There was a loud groan in reply. "I'm coming in," he warned before entering the room.

Monty groaned, covering his head with his pillow when Bellamy turned on the light. "Dude, go away."

"Where's your car keys?" Bellamy asked, already searching the room for the black dongle.

"Not here. Jasper took the car already."

"Fuck! When did he take it?"

"I dunno man. Like an hour ago?"

Bellamy rubbed his forehead in annoyance. He really needed his own car. He turned off the lights and left the room, racking his brain for an idea of how to get to his sister.

He ran into Clarke near the entrance.

"Whoa there, slow down," she said, concern showing at his disheveled appearance. He certainly must be a sight, with his bed-head and scrappy clothing. She, however, looked adorable: her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she was dressed in a black floral shirt under jean overalls that cut into shorts – her working-outside clothes, probably.

"Hello? Earth to Bellamy."

"What?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "I asked if something was wrong."

"Oh. Nah," he replied, but decided to elaborate when she arched her eyebrow in disbelief. "It's my sister, Octavia. She's stuck in town, at a...friend's house."

"Need any help?"

He sneered. "Well, unless you had a car, princess, then no."

She drew her eyebrows together and pursed her lips. "No need to get snippy. And for your information, I do in fact have a car. And I'm willing to share, if you stop being such an ass."

Bellamy raised his eyebrows. The princess had a car? Of course she did.

"Alright then, prin–err, Clarke. I'll take you up on your offer."

She squinted at him for a few seconds before nodding and walking back towards the entrance. She turned to look back when he didn't follow – he was too busy watching her butt wiggle in those short jean shorts.

"You coming?" her voice lilted as she smirked, a single eyebrow raised. He gulped and quickly nodded.

How did this woman affect him like that? It was frightening.

As Clarke made a left turn into the street that the sign had told her was 'Monroe Road', she hazarded a glance at the man sitting next to her. He had his chin in his hand, elbow leaning against the car door as he looked out the open window.

The drive had been awkward to say the least, with her attempt at smalltalk falling flat on its face. He seemed reluctant to tell her anything about his sister other than that she was being a pain in his ass, and any inquiries to his past resulted in the shortest possible answers. Where are you from? Here. Where are you parents? Not here. How old is your sister? Eighteen. At least that answer was useful, even if it was just one word.

"Are you mad about last night or something?" she asked, watching him out of the peripheral of her vision. He turned to look at her, eyes scrutinizing.

"No," he replied, looking back out the window. Well, that was disappointing. She was sure she'd get more than a one-word response after that pause he'd given her.

"Well what's up with all the one-word answers then?"

Didn't he understand she was just trying to get to know the people she now lived with? And it's not like she was the one being an asshole. What was his problem?

He gave her a look that said he was just as irritated. "Ever think it's because I just don't like you? Or are you just too used to being treated like a princess?"

The dam in her mind that held her back her anger overflowed. "Seriously? Here I am, helping you out, driving you to wherever this tramp of your sister spent the night, when you were rude to me right from the beginning, and I'm unlikable?" She grew angrier by the second. "And what the fuck is up with your stupid nickname, princess? Is that your way of trying to act more mature than me? Because trust me, buddy, it ain't workin'."

She huffed, taking a turn to the right as the road ended. She had no clue where she was going, but she wasn't in the mindset to care.

"Take that back," Bellamy said darkly, pinning her with a stormy look.

"What?" That's all he had to say?

"What you said about Octavia. Take it back."

She looked at him incredulously before it dawned on her. "Oh. That she's a tramp? Well, sorry, but maybe if you told me a bit more about her when I asked, I would've called her lovely instead."

He continued to glare at her for a few more seconds before resuming his previous position. She nearly threw her hands up in surrender.

Bellamy was simply impossible.

Bellamy stewed in his thoughts as he looked out the window, watching for house thirty-two.

Clarke was a bitch. He knew he was being irrational, but he couldn't help but hold onto those four words. He wanted to convince himself of them, in an attempt to make them true. He wasn't even sure why. Either way, the words were beginning to take hold, and he relished in the anger that coursed through him.

It probably didn't help that his sister had been out all night, and that Clarke's words had got to him. The idea that she'd been with a boy – it left a really bad taste in his mouth, and he just wanted to bust down the house's door, march in there, and drag Octavia out kicking and screaming. And maybe lay the kid out for good measure.

"Here," he growled when he spotted house number thirty-two. Bellamy was out of the car and heading towards the door as soon as Clarke pulled to a stop.

Bellamy knocked as loud as he could, bellowing his sister's name. The door opened to reveal a muscular shirtless boy rubbing at his eyes.

"You Octavia's brother?" the boy asked sleepily. Bellamy just shoved the kid out of his way.

"Octavia, get down here!"

"Dude, what the fuck is your problem?" The kid got in Bellamy's face, giving him a shove backwards. Bellamy raised his fist, about to retaliate, when he saw Octavia run down the stairs. The moment he looked away, he felt a fist pummel into his face.

Bellamy heard a voice cry, but his ears were ringing and it was hard to determine whose it was.

He tuned out the voice, focusing only on the boy who'd punched him, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The boy hesitated at whatever the voice had said, and Bellamy swung his fist in a wide arc, landing square on the kid's nose. He felt the bone break under his knuckles.

The boy stumbled backward and fell to the ground, holding his hands to the bloody river coming from his nose.

He felt a body crash into his own and little fists bang against his chest.

The ringing in Bellamy's ears began to dissipate as the world came back into focus. He looked down into his sister's eyes. He steeled his gaze, grabbed Octavia's hand, and lead her outside to Clarke's car.

"What the fuck, Bellamy!" Octavia yelled, struggling against his grip. "You're hurting me!"

He immediately let go.

They reached the car and he opened the back door. "Get in."

He wiped away the blood that leaked into his eye.

"You're a fucking psycho."

Clarke turned to look at the person that had slipped into the backseat. His sister, judging by the resemblance to her brother. She also shared his pissed off look.

The passenger door opened and Bellamy sat down, body slouched and facing away. She flicked her vision from the side of his face to the house. "Uh, Bellamy? Why is there a man with a baseball bat coming towards us?"

"Shit! Clarke, hit the gas!"

Bellamy turned to face her, and she gasped at the sight of the deep gash over his left eye.

"Go!" The guttural rage in his voice made her shiver.

"Hey you fucking kids, get out here right now! You broke my son's fucking nose!"

Clarke needed no further encouragement as she floored the gas pedal and peeled away from the sidewalk.

"What the hell happened?" she asked shakily as she sped down the street, glancing in her mirror to see the angry father still running after them. Thankfully, he was no longer in the race.

"He punched me, I broke his nose," Bellamy replied as he motioned to the blood pouring out above his eye.

"Right, I think I gathered that." Clarke opened the glove box and gave him a bunch of tissues, which he used to partly stifle the bleeding.

"My brother's a psycho," the girl in the back piped up, crossing her arms and glaring disapprovingly at her brother. "That's what happened."

Clarke looked pointedly at the man in question. "Yeah, I gathered that too."

"Whatever. He hit me first."

Clarke just responded with a hum, figuring there was more to this story than he let on, but she decided not to push. If the previous car ride was any indication, Bellamy was in no mood to talk. She looked into the rear-view mirror, caught his sister's squinting gaze, and smiled. "Hi, by the way. I'm Clarke."

"Octavia," she replied. "You his girlfriend or something?"

Clarke snorted as Bellamy went into a coughing fit. "Definitely not. I'm the new manager at the Ark, actually."

"Oh, cool," Octavia said, turning to look out the window, chin in hand. The resemblance really was uncanny.

The drive home only took fifteen minutes – minutes Clarke felt with every second. When they reached the Ark, she blew a sigh of relief. Bellamy was out the car as soon as she'd parked, making a beeline for the safety of home. She knew how he felt – she wanted to get as much distance away from the situation too. Not that she was going to let him go without an explanation. Also, that cut looked pretty bad; she'd need to check it out.

Clarke jogged after Bellamy, managing to reach him at the steps.

"Bellamy, wait." She grabbed his arm, causing him to turn and look at her. "Let me take a look at your eye."

She saw the gears turn in his head as they both glared menacingly at each other – a battle of wills, which she didn't often lose.

He sighed. "Fine."

"We're going to talk," he said to Octavia as she brushed past him and into the Ark.

"My room has a first-aid kit. Let's go." Clarke walked to her room without looking back.

"So the princess is also a doctor."

Bellamy yelped when he received a sharp pinch in response.

"Don't harass the person with the needle." Clarke glared at him as if she was annoyed, but her smirk said otherwise. "And I'm not a doctor. I went to med school, but I didn't finish."

Bellamy nearly did a double take at that. "Why?"

He realized how unfair it was that he wanted to know more about her past when he hadn't told her his, but he couldn't help his curiosity.

Clarke raised an eyebrow. "Because," she replied curtly, emulating the way he'd acted in the car, chin in hand and everything.

Bellamy laughed at the display. "I deserved that one."

Clarke only quirked her lips as she focused on finishing the stitches.

"Okay, all done," she said, snipping the thread. "Try to avoid getting into any more fights – doctor's orders."

"Thought you weren't a doctor," he replied, giving her a wink.

She poked his arm with the needle.

"Ow!"

"I warned you."

"I'm an injured man!"

"You're an idiot who got into a fight."

" 'Least I won."

"Sure, and now you've got the scar to prove it."

He grinned. "It is pretty bad ass, isn't it?"

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Totally not my point."

"But you were thinking it."

She held up the needle, eyes promising pain, and he immediately backed up to the door. "Okay, okay, I'm an idiot and I won't fight again."

"Pinky-promise?"

He eyed the sharp silver object in her hands. "If you drop the weapon."

She shook her head. "Big baby."

Clarke put away the needle and Bellamy walked over, clasping his pinky with hers.

He smiled deeply, genuinely; she did the same. There was tension, a spark connecting, jolting his heart. He saw himself in her eyes – he loved that. Wanted to see that more. His arms twitched, finger pulled away, and he drew nearer.

She pulled away.

She was breathless, averting her eyes.

She felt it too. It scared her too.

"So, guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Y-yeah. My sister, too – she's waiting. Well, probably not waiting, but–" He was rambling. "Bye."

Reaching the door, he quickly shuffled out.