...

"That stupid Silverscum! Ugh." Clarke was so angry she didn't know what to do with all her negative energy. She already hated that man, more than she ever thought she could hate anyone.

How aloof he was, how unwilling to give this a chance, give them a chance. He had made no attempt at trying to figure it out together. It was all on her now. And that word he had used: "mind-raped."

She took a deep breath, stomping up and down in the little cabin she had been allotted, Wells watching her as she paced.

"I don't think I have ever heard you use that word," he remarked, grinning, and she stopped in her tracks and glared at him with misdirected anger.

"What?!"

"Silverscum?" He chuckled, not at all offended by her grim mood. He knew her too well, knew not to take it personally. "I thought you were above curses that involved the other person's background. Wasn't it you who explained that whole business to me? How before the Last War, people had used religion and race and what not as markers for inferiority or superiority, and how it had been our downfall? Didn't you tell me that getting rid of those markers had done nothing for any of us since we had just replaced them with arbitrary others?"

She looked to him grumpily. She didn't like to be lectured on her own points, not even by him. But yes, she remembered.

...

They had sat in Preparation - like so often - and had gotten their history lesson on the Last War, which, ironically, had not even been the last one, and Shannyn had been strangely agitated hearing about it all.

Race. Religion. Abby, her mom, had once told her about that, too. How she should never take anything for granted, how she needed to keep her eyes and mind open to not fall for the mistakes of their ancestors like everyone else had done.

"They call it Gold and Silver now, Clarke, as if brown and black and white and red and yellow don't matter anymore, but they're fooling themselves. Nothing has changed. Some will always be 'more equal than others'. Now there's the mind-bonds and the Eternal Weapons, and after that, it'll be race once more, or something else entirely. Just watch, and please be careful. No war will ever be the last one, but we can at least do our part to protect our people…"

Clarke had talked about it with her friends. But they had merely given her strange looks and shaken their heads before changing the subject to safer matters.

...

Wells was right. His words got to her more than she let on. She had never used that word before, Silverscum. She shouldn't have done it now, no matter the circumstances. Despite everything, the Silveren were still people, not much different than them.

She sighed, letting herself fall onto the bed, stretching her tired arms and legs. Her whole body was sore from the long ride, and she was so ready to just close her eyes and sleep. Tomorrow was another day, her problems weren't going to run away from her anyways, so she might as well get some rest.

She looked over to where Wells was still sitting at a little table, a few papers in front of him, though she could tell that he, too, was tired. He had that slightly vacant stare he always got whenever he was conversing with Maya over their link, and Clarke waited until he was back from wherever he went for that before she asked him to let her get some sleep.

"We should really discuss a strategy for you first. Something to suggest to the General before the briefing tomorrow." He looked at her expectantly, but she shook her head.

"I'm so tired, Wells. I can't focus on anything right now. Can't this wait till after I've gotten some sleep? Please?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You always put everyone else's well being before your own, and now? What happened to selfless Clarke?"

She shot him an annoyed glance. "She decided to be a little selfish for once, now that everyone wants a piece of her and doesn't even treat her like a human being anymore," she quipped, making him smile at her sadly.

With a sigh, he got up, walked over to her and placed a light kiss on her brow. "Alright, alright. - I'll come back in the morning then. Before the meeting starts. Get some shut-eye, okay?"

She pressed her lips together, trying to smile for him. When he started walking toward the door, she rolled onto her side, facing the bare wall, and waited till she heard the light click of the door as it fell shut again behind her best friend.

She was alone.

She swallowed, trying hard to force unbidden tears back. What was she supposed to do? She hated this. All of it. And especially him, Bellamy freaking Blake. But what was worse, she hated herself too. For still longing for Wells. Why couldn't she make herself stop? Why…

Who is he?

She almost choked on a gasp when she heard (felt?) Bellamy's voice in her mind, and she quickly scrambled into a sitting position. As if he could see her in her bed; which of course he couldn't.

None of your business, she huffed, biting her lip when she realized she had engaged him when she should have probably ignored him, or pushed him out of her thoughts. What had she divulged to him already?

I'm only here because of you. Remember?

She snorted, feeling herself grow angry again. I told you that I didn't do anything!

How do you explain this, then? We don't do this

You don't 'do' this?! Well, excuse me! From what I hear what you do is way worse. Those weapons of yours... I don't need to tell you this. You should know best. I can feel your pain, she retorted, anger getting the better of her once more. She liked the feeling of triumph she felt at throwing the words at him. She was fully prepared for him to lash out with more accusations or maybe even threats. But she was met with complete silence.

She probed his mind, right there at the edge where she could feel his presence linger, but there was nothing. Nothing else to say, huh? she challenged. You know nothing about real pain, Bellamy. Not until you've seen your family get torn open by one of those weapons you wield. Not until you've seen their pain before they die… She felt an unbidden sob build up inside of her, and she knew she wouldn't be able to contain it.

I'm sorry, princess.

Don't friggin 'princess' me! she yelled, exasperated at his stupid term of endearment, but also startled at his words, and she was met with a feeling of amusement in reply that made her even angrier.

With all her concentration on her barriers, she forced herself to close her mind off, and was relieved when she finally felt alone in her head again. No voices, no foreign feelings. But loneliness. And too much time to think about her miserable life and her miserable love.

It was not as great of a trade as she had thought. A part of her almost wished he was back in her head…


How is she holding up?

Wells closed his eyes, focusing inward when he heard Maya's voice.

Eh. You know Clarke. She's tough.

He was laying in bed, arms crossed under his head, just staring at the ceiling. He was worn out, and honestly? He didn't want to discuss their friend right now. Instead, he tried to direct their conversation into different territory.

What are you wearing?

What?

He knew she was giggling incredulously. He wished he could wiggle his eyebrows at her suggestively, but over time, they had learned to listen for other cues; and to be more blunt when needed.

Come on, Maya. You know what I mean. You wearing those nice tight pants? - Please, he begged and smiled to himself when she finally said she was. He could just picture her. Wearing her comfy flannel pajamas, but telling him about the sexy lingerie she was pretending to wear. Telling him how she touched herself when he knew full well that she was probably too tired to even move. But he would take it. If he didn't have to talk or think about Clarke and her stupid partner, either, it was a win in his book.

Do you like her, Wells? Clarke...

Maya's question pulled him right out of the moment.

She's my best friend, of course I do… - Back to those panties of yours, can you-

I'm serious. I'm not judging you, I'm just… She trailed off and he sighed. The flirty atmosphere was gone, he might as well just sit up and talk it out with her. He could sense jealousy. He also knew she could sense his growing annoyance. Sometimes he really cursed his connection with her. It had been so much easier before they had become bonded.

Sh… don't say that. Don't even think it. This leads nowhere, you know that.

Of course Maya had picked up on his thoughts as well. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. There was no hiding them.

Ya. Alright. Fine. I'm sorry. Listen, he paused, trying to focus on the one place he still had to himself. I do like her. Of course I do. We've been through a lot together, you know that. He tried to show her some pictures from his memories and she got the message. A flickering weapon, screaming people. He had been there when that Bearer had destroyed Clarke's childhood. He had been there for her ever since.

I remember.

This was going to be hard. Maybe impossible. He had to focus. Focus. But I don't love her. Not in that way, anyways. She's my best friend, though. So, yeah…

You're right. I'm sorry. Maya seemed genuinely remorseful for having put him on then spot like that. I don't know where this suddenly came from. Honestly, I just think I'm a little, I don't know, jealous? That you two get to spend so much time together. That you get to be by her side through this while I

He smiled. But you are who's always on my mind, gorgeous! he said, and he was relieved when he heard her light laugh. I love you, Maya.

And I love you, Wells.


They had come at night. It was the reason why she was afraid of the dark now. Even after all these years. Not because of monsters under her bed, nor because of tales of deformed scary things lurking in the forests out there. No. The reason she was forever scared to go out after sunset was the one fateful night when monstrous humans had come for her family.

She could see it all again, feel it. She knew she was dreaming. That happened sometimes, that she was aware; but the lucidity didn't make it any more bearable.

How they came at their little house, her mom screaming, her dad being dragged out. And then…

A blazing light brightened the scene, a man with his arm on fire - or so it seemed - lashed out at her dad. The sound her father made when he fell… She bit hard into her hand to stifle her own cries, hard enough to draw blood.

She hid under the porch, from where she saw and heard it all up close.

It had been her hiding spot when she was a little kid. She and Wells had always played under there.

Her father's blood dripped through the cracks. She saw the side of his face lying against the cool wood. She heard the men's voices.

She saw it: the weapon. Dangling off of their leader's arm like it was part of it. So bright she couldn't look directly at it.

Suddenly there was such pain.

Clarke. Wake up!

She woke up with a gasp. She scrambled up in her bed, completely disoriented for a moment. She looked around wildly, half expecting Wells or someone else in her room. But nobody was there. She was completely alone.

Bad dream.

Not a question. A statement. It was him. Bellamy... He knew. He had seen it. He had seen her dream.

Clarke stood up, running a shaky hand over her face, pulling her long woolen sweater around her more, clutching it with icy hands. It was cold in the cabin, and she felt oddly violated. He had seen her dream.

I'm sorry.

She took a deep breath, wiping away the tears that were running down her cheeks. She didn't even remember when she had begun to cry.

Are you okay?

He was still there. She scoffed. Why was he still in her mind space?

Get out of my head, she ordered him, anger tinging her words.

I'm not doing anything.

You saw it! It came out as an accusation. She tried to shove him away on a mental plane, which made him recoil. She could feel his pain intensifying, like she had broken a hole into a barrier instead of pushing him further away. She was confused by this. She tried again.

Stop.

Get out! She was yelling now, frightened and unsure, and she lashed out one last time, icy hot pain exploding around her, making her slump down on her knees and hold her head, her arm, her body.

Stop!

Only then did she finally realize that it hadn't been him in her head after all. She had somehow invaded his. With a jolt, she pulled away, leaving the pain behind and his voice, returning to the dark cool cabin and her own thoughts.

What the hell just happened?

She was shaking. Her breaths came in quick succession, as if she had just overexerted herself. She couldn't stand up for another few minutes. She had to wait for a while, until her breathing was calm again, and the shaking slowly subsiding.

When she finally managed to walk over to the small kitchen, she made herself a tea, then sat down in one of the two crappy chairs they had provided her with and rested her head on her arms for a while.

It was not until at least an hour later that she finally dared to carefully reach out again, into that small shared space of their minds.

Are you there? Are you okay?

No reply. Just emptiness. She sighed, ready to leave it be. Why would she want to talk to him anyways? She was mortified that he had seen what he had seen: Clarke at her most vulnerable moment. He had no right. Someone just like him had destroyed her family, a Weapon Bearer had killed her dad, an Eternal, and now she had not one but two of them in her head: one a memory, one very very real.

How was she supposed to live with that?


He had lain awake, the pain making it impossible for him to get comfortable, to sleep for longer than just increments here and there. He had tried to concentrate on something else to make it a little more bearable, when suddenly, strange images had appeared in his mind. Things he had never witnessed, feelings he had never known. Not his, then. Hers.

She was cowering under wooden planks, a porch. He followed her frightened gaze and saw it all as if with her eyes. Terrible images. A nightmare? No... Not just a dream. Somehow, he knew. He called her name, to wake her. Once, twice. She didn't seem to hear him. She was captured by the horrors in her mind.

Until finally, he did get through to her.

...

She had made him pay dearly. He closed his eyes, his breathing still erratic, still too shallow. He couldn't get it under control.

He had tried hard to keep his pain contained, locked away somewhere deep inside of him. When he had realized she was aware of it somewhere at the edge of their shared mind space, he had briefly wondered whether he could somehow use it as a weapon against her, before he had closed it off even more, shielding her from it as best as he could. Why? Because nobody deserved to feel pain like that. He had injured so many, he had inflicted Eternal Wounds, wounds that didn't heal and hurt almost as badly as his. It was his job.

And he had always known that he didn't want to do any of it.

But now she had barged in, Clarke of the Golden. She had torn down his barriers, so strong, so powerful, and she had unleashed that pain, allowing it to freely course through his entire body, mind numbing, blinding, and he didn't know how to put those barriers back up. He couldn't function anymore. He couldn't…


"Sir. We have a bit of a problem."

General Gustus closed his eyes, tiredly rubbing over them with one hand. He shook his head. He was weary. War did that to you. Having to write yet another letter to another family who had lost another daughter or son didn't help matters.

"What is it, Sergeant Murphy?" he asked the young soldier in front of him, finally looking up at the other man.

"The prisoner in 1103, Sir."

The Eternal. Gustus groaned audibly. He had known from the start that nothing good would come of leaving him alive for much longer than it took for them to dissect him.

"He's scheduled for another meeting with the girl?"

"Is that a question, Sergeant?"

His annoyance must have been rather obvious, for the soldier hurried to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Sir. Of course not. The meeting… I'm," he was stuttering, "not sure what to do. The prisoner seems to be in… distress…"

The General rolled his eyes. It was like pulling teeth. That kid still needed to learn so much.

"Obviously, Sergeant. You've never met an Eternal before, have you?"

The man pressed his lips together. "No Sir."

"They're always in 'distress.'" He slowly pushed his chair away and got up, crumpling the letter he had tried to write in his hands. He would have to try again. With a little more… feeling.

"Yes, Sir. So I've been told. But this… seems to be different. He's not exactly responsive."

The General looked up, suddenly more interested. "Huh," he made. "Has anyone touched him?"

"Not that I know of, Sir."

The Sergeant had turned the slighted shade of pink. Gustus was sure the kid himself had probably touched the prisoner. But he didn't really mind. A little bit of roughness here and there was not the problem.

"Well then… I'll consider this a good thing. Bring the girl over. I want to be there. If he's truly in such a bad state, it should be easy for her to break him down and give us all the information he could possibly have."

He smiled to himself as Sergeant Murphy gave him a resounding "Yessir" and saluted before making his way to the door.

This day might turn out to bring some good news after all.


Clarke yawned. She felt groggy from her early start. She was following the same soldier they had been following before, Wells by her side once again.

"Hanging in there?" he had asked her upon picking her up, and she had given him an unconvincing lopsided half-grin.

"I'm trying."

Normally, she would have told him all about last night's strange happenings. Even after he and Maya had bonded, she had still told him - them - pretty much everything that happened to her. For some reason, and she couldn't quite put her finger on what that was, she suddenly didn't feel like she could - or should - do that anymore.

Maya wasn't here. She was back home, working at the military headquarters' hospital section.

"Ma'am, we are here." It took Clarke a second to realize the soldier meant her, and she stifled a laugh.

"I don't think I've ever been 'Ma'am-ed' this much before. Makes me feel like I'm actually a respectable woman," she whispered to her friend, making him grin.

"Aren't you, Ms. Griffin? You've always seemed impeccably respectable to me."

"That's not saying much."

He raised his arms, chuckling. "Alright, alright." He nodded over to the other soldier by the half open door. "Let's go in."

She inhaled deeply, letting the air out slowly as she walked through the door, bracing herself. She was going to meet General Gustus first, and a few of his staff, before she would be sent back into the room with him.

"Ms. Griffin?" A middle aged man with black hair and a dark tattoo on his face held out a hand that she reluctantly took. He squeezed it a little too hard for her liking, but she put on a brave blank face and nodded.

"General Gustus," he introduced himself, then pointed out the other few people in the room, naming them all. "And I believe you've met Sergeant Murphy before."

She nodded again, trying to smile at the soldier, though she was wary of him ever since he had slapped her link-partner.

"Shall we?"

She gave a nod and followed the General over to a half circle of chairs and sat down next to Wells, waiting.

"As I'm sure you've learned by now, your… quite peculiar bond is of utmost interest to us. A game changer."

Her tongue felt heavy when she got out a small and quiet "Yes," and she waited for the man to continue. Wells's presence by her side somehow didn't feel as reassuring as it usually did. She wiggled uncomfortably in her chair, only stopping once she noticed what she was doing.

The General tapped a paper lying in front of him, indicating that there was also a copy on her table. She picked it up gingerly, her eyes briefly flying over a few bullet points before the man finally went on.

"This is a list of questions we have. Things we need to know and that we've been trying to find the answers to for a very long time. I don't need to remind you how vile the Silveren technology is that enables them to create the Eternal Weapons." He paused for a moment, locking gazes with her. She stared at him so hard, she couldn't see him anymore. "When you go in there, I want you to poke his brain for those answers. Dig in there. Get them out. With that information, I believe we have a real chance of finally ending that war, Clarke. You will make that possible."

"But... I'm not sure I can…" She trailed off, suddenly feeling sick. It was too much pressure. "What if I fail?"

The General broke into a smile. "You won't. He won't be able to put up a fight. Major Jaha here will go in with you. He'll guide you through this. We all know you've only been bonded very recently." He sounded so sincere, so friendly. "Why don't you give it a try."

Of course she didn't actually have a choice…


When Sergeant Murphy led her into the cell, Clarke felt the change in temperature immediately. It was colder in here. Wells gave her arm a quick squeeze when she stopped walking and she looked at him questioningly.

"You got this, Clarke. I'll be right here. You don't even need me as chaperone, though... It's your second date after all." He smiled at her, trying to lighten the mood with his stupid joke, but she couldn't find it funny and couldn't reciprocate that smile.

She resumed walking, however, until she stood right in front of the chair they had chained Bellamy to yet again. She felt the peculiar urge to reach out and touch him, and awkwardly wrung her hands to stop herself.

He sat slumped over even more than the last time she had seen him. She wasn't even sure he was… conscious.

"Bellamy?"

Murphy awkwardly cleared his throat. "He probably won't respond. He's been out for a while," he casually explained, and Clarke felt weirdly exasperated about his lack of concern. What was wrong with her? This was the enemy. Did she honestly start feeling compassion for him? Was this a side effect of the stupid link?

"Try it with your mind," Wells whispered, his eyes on the Silveren. "Can't believe that Silverscum is really linked to you," it escaped him and she shot him a quick sideways glance. She suddenly realized that this was the first time Wells was in the same room with her link-partner and it was a weird thought somehow. Part of her had almost wished she could keep this to herself.

She tried to focus back on Bellamy and used what Wells had called her "inner voice" to speak to him. She concentrated hard, though she didn't even really know what she was doing, and was surprised when she did suddenly touch on something that sent a jolt of pain through her, so strong that she fell backwards and would have fallen to the ground had it not been for Wells's quick reaction to pull her by her arms.

"Whoa, you okay?" He looked at her with concern as she clung to him, disoriented and panting, but she nodded and inhaled deeply.

"I was just… caught off guard, I guess."

"Did he do anything?" Wells looked angry on her behalf, but she shook her head mildly. "Listen," he implored her, "you gotta remember: you are the one in control. If he tries to hurt you or pull you in too much, you come back here, you hear me?"

She chuckled. He made it sound like she knew what that meant. But she still had no freaking idea. This was all so new to her, so strange. And honestly, she wasn't so sure that she was the one in control. Regardless, she knew she had to try again. The General and his staff were in the other room, behind a two way mirror, watching her every move. They relied on her for important information. They had said she might help end the war.

And she did want that more than anything.

Bellamy.

She waded through the pain, shielding herself as best as she could. It wasn't hers. It couldn't harm her. But it was so vast. There was no barrier at all, she suddenly realized. She had had no trouble entering his mind, she had no trouble going deeper now.

She saw images. Blurry, but there, like she was walking through an underwater movie. Pictures changing lightning fast, so quickly she started to feel dizzy and overwhelmed. Ready to throw up.

Bellamy?

There was no answer. Still.

Are you okay?

Of course he wasn't. That much was quite obvious, had already been obvious from the outside. Still, she went on, prodded his mind here and there. It was so much information, too much, and she didn't understand any of it. It wasn't at all like clear thoughts or anything. She couldn't just sift through his brain and take the answers straight from there. It was as if she needed a translator of sorts.

She'd need him.

Bellamy. Bell!


For a while he didn't feel anything other than the pain. It didn't even dissipate when he lost consciousness. It was as if he was trapped in a bubble and everything was just that one sensation.

All he wanted was for it to end. For everything to end. He wanted to die...

He had always hung on to life with a fierce hunger to live, and to stay alive. The prospect of having to commit suicide upon imminent capture had always been looming over him. Maybe that's what had made him cherish every moment, no matter the pain.

But this… this was different. It didn't allow for anything else beside the hurting. And he was done. So done.

Until he felt her. She was calling his name. It sounded almost intimate. So close…

Bellamy...

He clung to the thought of her, tried to focus on her voice. It was so hard…


"I can't reach him."

Clarke had emerged back into the outside world, frustrated with her non-existent progress.

"Try again."

She glared at Wells angrily. Easy for him to say. But this was not Maya, this was not even a Golden, and she simply couldn't do it.

"No."

He raised his eyebrows warningly. "This is not the time to suddenly become selfish-"

"Excuse me?" she interrupted him, glaring at him incredulously, then she cocked her head, realization dawning. "Is this you talking, or Maya?"

He made a face at her, absently playing with the rolled up cuff of his shirt; she didn't need more confirmation. She sighed, shaking her head, defeated. "He's so deep under." She looked straight at the mirror, knowing the General was watching her. "I can't get any information out of him."

Suddenly, she heard static noise, then a disembodied voice: "Sergeant Murphy, some cold water. And the satchel."

While Clarke frowned, alarmed, the Sergeant nodded and left the room briefly. She swallowed, suddenly very uncomfortable.

"What are they going to do?" she whispered as quietly as possible, and Wells beside her answered without moving his lips much, as if he didn't want to get caught.

"You know it."

She frowned, not quite comprehending. "What's the satchel?"

He gave her the briefest of side glances, and she froze.

"They're not going to… torture him, are they?"

"Clarke..." He sighed wearily. "It's standard procedure."

"No." She turned around, toward the wall with the mirror, looking at her own reflection. She was determined. "Excuse me? Sir?"

"What are you doing?" Wells hissed exasperatedly. He had grabbed her by the arm, trying to make her stop, but she shook him off.

"Torture is not going to help anything," she hissed back, then louder, "Sir, I know you can hear me. If you're going to torture him, I'm out. I will not stand by and watch you do that."

The com system crackled again. "Ms. Griffin, we are just trying to offer a bit of help to… accelerate things a little. I'm sure that's in your interest as well."

"I have a bond with this man! If you're going to torture him, you may as well do it to me."

"I thought your connection was quite superficial?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line, trying her best to rein in her rising level of rage. Coldly, she said, "Pain won't change anything. It's the reason I can't get through to him." She raised her chin defiantly, challengingly. "I'm asking you for more time. And… I believe there's a special kind of bandage the Eternals keep on themselves? For when they're not carrying their weapons? I'm asking you," she thought for a moment, then amended, "I'm begging you to please allow me to use it so I can bandage up his arm. Then I'll gladly try again."

Her heart was pounding against her ribcage, she was so nervous. Clearly, she had overstepped the boundaries. She wasn't even military and had dared to put the General on the spot. But she knew she was right. And she hoped he would see that, too.

There was a long pause, in which Sergeant Murphy came back, clearly waiting for the General's orders, and Clarke felt her legs start shaking like crazy.

"Sir?" Tell sounded slightly confused.

Another bout of static, and Clarke closed her eyes in anticipation, when she heard the General's booming voice. "Hold off, Sergeant. And bring Ms. Griffin the prisoner's bandage."

"Yessir!" Murphy looked somewhat disappointed but did as he was told.

"Ms. Griffin. Clarke. You have one chance. If your approach does not bring us answers quickly, we will go with mine."

Her eyes sternly staring at her own reflection, she nodded.


They were still all there. Clarke was acutely aware of their presence just behind the mirror as she carefully touched Bellamy's left arm, the bandage lying ready across her lap. She didn't know what she was doing, just like so often within the last few days. She didn't know whether there was a special way to bind the arm, so she had to go with the standard approach, just wrapping it around and around until the strangely gleaming scar-like mark on his arm was all covered.

I hope this helps, she told him, not expecting a reply, but she could hear his breathing normalize immediately.

They want me to ask you questions. They need information. If I don't give them anything, they'll torture you. They really don't care. They'll probably kill us both. She gave a small unhappy chuckle. No one is gonna trust me again anyways. - Ugh. Why did I have to screw this up so badly? Bonding with a Silveren. It's worse than I had ever imagined.

I'm sorry.

She started. There you are.

I can't give you that information. You know I can't.

She sighed. She kept her eyes closed, because she didn't want to tip anyone off to the fact that she had made contact with him.

When he stirred, she warned him. If they know you're conscious, they might do something. I don't want-

Are you worried about me, Clarke?

She opened her eyes, huffing, and saw him smile at her. She bit her lip, glaring at him. His face was handsome under the grime, his greasy hair falling into his dark eyes. He didn't smell very good. They weren't treating him very well at all. She bit her lip, angry at how her people treated their prisoners. But it was war.

She should have been repulsed by him, but she wasn't. She shot him a glance.

I'm simply… looking out for myself. If they hurt you, they hurt me. I can feel your pain...

You are worried about me. His smile widened, and she caught herself thinking that it was a very handsome smile. But even monsters could look like angels, she reminded herself, and hardened her own expression quickly.

I will need that info.

And I can't give it to you.

We have the chance to end this war. We can show them that we can work together! Use this stupid link for something good! She was pleading with him, she didn't even know why, and it angered her.

We are just two people. I didn't choose this. He tapped his head with his chained hand as if she needed to be reminded.

Why are you still talking to me telepathically then? she challenged, and he grinned.

"I also didn't choose this," he said out loud, lifting his bandaged arm an inch before letting it sink back down on his leg, grimacing as he did.

"Then let's do something to stop it from happening to others. Tell me how you do this. How we can destroy the technology." She looked at him intently, unaware of her hand resting on his arm until she caught him gazing down on it. Quickly, she took it away, heat flushing into her face as she did.

"You're not that naive, princess, are you?" he asked mildly, and her features darkened. He looked up to the mirror, staring straight at it when he said, "They're simply going to use it to make their own version of the weapons." He looked back to her with a drawn expression, shrugging. "They're not interested in ending this war, princess. They just want to fight it on their own terms."

"Murphy."

The other voice didn't quite register with Clarke until the soldier was already by her side, excusing himself as he pushed her to the side a little to get to Bellamy.

The Silveren looked up to the other man, grinning knowingly, before his arm was grabbed hard and Tell started tearing at the bandage. Bellamy was still smirking, although Clarke could see the strain behind the mask.

"Stop it!" she pleaded, helplessly. But of course the Sergeant didn't listen to her. He had his orders, and she was no one to him. She was searching for Wells, but he had gone over to the other side of the mirror. She was alone in this.

Suddenly, she felt an immense pain shoot into her, and she yelled out, making the soldier jump and shoot a glance over to the mirror in confusion.

"Continue." It was the General.

Clarke was panting, assessing herself. The pain had vanished as quickly as it had come. She was fine. Still standing. She looked over to where Bellamy was sitting and saw him panting, bandage half unraveled, but hanging in there. She squinted at him, suddenly suspicious.

Was that you? she asked, seething, and she pushed herself past a startled Murphy, grabbing Bellamy's shirt, pushing against his chest. Did you just… send your pain my way?! To assault me?!

He smirked, making her even angrier.

"Sergeanf Murphy!" The General's voice sounded distant. Clarke was too focused on her link-partner to pay much attention. "Get her away from him and continue."

I was trying to help you. I…

Chill, princess. Just trying to show you something.

Show me what? That you can hurt me?

That they don't care about you. They won't stop for you, you realize that, right? They'll end up hurting you, too.

Like you'd care about me getting hurt. She clenched her teeth. She didn't want to let him get to her.

I do, actually.

She cocked her head. The sincereness she'd felt in his statement had caught her by surprise.

"Ma'am. Please. I don't want to hurt you."

"What?" She turned in confusion to see Sergeant Murphy standing beside her. His words had jolted her out of her mind conversation. For the first time, she looked at him directly, really taking him in. He didn't look like a bad guy. He had a very young face, soft features, and a sensitivity in his eyes that, under other circumstances, could have made him look friendly. But his actions spoke a different language.

"Could you please step away?" He was indicating Bellamy, and she shifted her weight, contemplating.

"I…" She wavered, unsure of what to think or do next. There was simply too much going on in her head, in her life. She didn't need to put herself on the line for this Silverscum; even if he happened to be her partner. It was not like she had chosen him or anything. She stepped away eventually, arms spread away from her body as if inviting Tell.

"Go ahead. I tried. Looks like he wants it the hard way."

Sounds kinky. Bellamy grinned.

Shut. Up. She didn't grace him with a look. Part of her felt bad already, however. She never used to be someone who just stood by passively while something atrocious was about to happen.

It's just a bandage, she tried to remind herself, but she didn't actually believe it. She knew better. She asked to be excused, looking over to the mirror, wondering what Wells behind it thought of all this.

"You may go while we prepare him for your next meeting. We will make this a set appointment, Ms. Griffin. Every day at the same time, you will meet with the prisoner. Until he'll finally give up the information we need."

She nodded. Of course they wouldn't let it go.

See you in your dreams, princess.

She rolled her eyes, then walked over to the door and out. When she heard it fall shut behind her, she briefly leaned against it for support, taking a few deep breaths. She was ready to cry. She was ready to run away.

You should.

She closed her eyes. Why are you still there?

She could feel his amusement briefly, before he seemed to vanish out of their shared mind space. At the edges, she felt his pain rise to old levels, and she choked down a sob.

No. She didn't want him to suffer through that. But it was his own fault. Right?

Right?