Title: "The Earth is Not A Cold Dead Place: Your Hand in Mine"

Author: Lila

Rating: PG-13

Character/Pairing: Bellamy/Clarke/Finn

Spoiler: "We Are Grounders, Part II"

Length: Part III of IV

Summary: Clarke makes it back from Mount Weather; Bellamy and Finn are waiting for her.

Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.

Author's Note: More "Sons of Anarchy," hence the delayed update, but I've finally run out of episodes on Netflix and now have time to write. I'm also somewhat contemplating an AU fic where Bellamy is the tormented leader of a motorcycle club and Clarke his feisty doctor of an old lady. We can call it "Sons of Arcadia," right? In the mean time, thank you for the support for this fic. I've enjoyed writing it and appreciate the feedback. Housekeeping Note: this fic has expanded to four parts rather than three. I had to change the chapter names to reflect the change, but it doesn't affect the overall trajectory of the story. Just means there's more of it. Title courtesy of Explosions in the Sky. Enjoy.


The first night is hard.

As a council member she gets her own tent – she's relieved – she might be glad that her mom is alive, but it doesn't mean that she wants to bunk with her. But she doesn't want to share space with a stranger either, even after six weeks in isolation, so she smiles politely and thanks the young guard who shows her to her new home.

Finn fusses over her – does she have enough blankets? does she need a glass of water? – and stands awkwardly by the exit when she declines his ministrations. He doesn't say anything, but Clarke knows what he wants, can see it in the widening of his pupils, the way his eyes can't keep away from the deep scoop neck of her shirt.

Clarke wants it too. She's missed it, hands on her skin and lips slanting over hers, but it's too soon. She's only just come home, started to figure out who she is now. She isn't ready to share herself with someone else.

She pushes to her feet and pads to Finn, lays a hand on his cheek. He turns into her touch, presses a kiss to her palm. "Not tonight," she says. "I need some time to readjust, okay?"

"Of course," he says, smiles into her palm. "We've got nothing but time."

"Goodnight, Finn."

He drops a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I love you."

It's those words again, the ones he says so easily, words Clarke's not sure she understands. She thinks of her parents and the way they looked at each other. She thought she understood love, but it's betrayed her like everything else.

Finn doesn't wait for a response, just promises to pick her up for their breakfast meeting before slipping through the tent flap. Clarke watches him leave, then studies the close confines of her quarters. There's a bed, a small table and chair, a bin for storing her things. She drops her parka on the chair and toes off her boots, lies back on the mattress and studies the ceiling. It's more a teepee than a tent, made of a thin animal skin and neatly stitched together with some kind of sinew. It's the kind of shelter Native Americans built hundreds of years before the wars, and she wonders how the Ark survivors put it all together. She has a lot of questions about this place, wonders if she'll ever get answers.

Sleep doesn't come easy and after an hour of tossing and turning, she laces up her boots and tugs on the parka.

The moon is a golden sphere in the sky and she stops for a moment to watch the clouds ghost across its surface. It's beautiful, haunting where the forest was soothing, but it still takes her breath away. There are so many things she's remembering about this world.

She finds Bellamy by the fire, staring intently into the flames. He glances up as she wanders over and offers a small smile. "Can't sleep?"

Clarke shakes her head. "A lot happened today. My brain won't shut off."

Bellamy chuckles. "I know what you mean. The second I close my eyes, planning the patrol schedule is the only thing I can think about."

"Is that why you're out here?"

"Kind of. I have watch in thirty. Figured I'd just push through."

Clarke frowns. "If you fall asleep on duty, kind of defeats the purpose doesn't it?"

Bellamy smirks. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Clarke sucks in a ragged breath. They've already been there; she's seen him dead enough for one lifetime.

"Hey," he says softly, reaches out to lay a hand on her wrist. "You did the right thing."

"I closed the door on you," she whispers. She expects tears but instead a tight fist closes around her heart, sucks the air from her lungs and the heat from her skin. She shivers and burns all at the same time. There's no taking back the things that she's done. "I closed the door and left you to die."

"I did the same," he says. She can't see his eyes in the darkness, but she knows him. He won't lie to her anymore. "I wouldn't send out a search party when you and Finn didn't come back from the hunting trip." He pauses, studies the ground. "I had to think about the greater good."

Clarke understands the greater good: eighty-two teenagers in her charge and all of them relying on her to keep them alive. In truth, it was never really a choice. Bellamy looks up and Clarke can finally see his eyes in the firelight, dark and warm and full of understanding. "It's not easy being in charge," she reminds him.

Bellamy laughs and then Clarke joins in, because it's not really funny, the decisions they've been forced to make, but there's no one else who understands the absurdity of their lives.

"I'm glad you're here," he tells her, keeps looking in her eyes. They're still dark but heated too, and Clarke realizes he's never let go of her wrist. His thumb is working small circles against her pulse and that tight fist around her heart lets go entirely.

"I'm glad you're here too," she says with a smile and he smiles in return.

The moment doesn't last – he has guard duty and she really does need to get to bed – but it lingers even after she disappears into her tent.

When she closes her eyes she can still feel the burn of his fingers on her skin.


They assign her to the infirmary.

Clarke finds out her assignment during the Council's daily breakfast meeting, pauses in bringing a spoonful of mushy grain to her mouth when Kane announces her placement. She understands their logic. She is Abby's daughter, but it's also the reason she's willing to give up something she loves if it means avoiding the woman she's trying to hate.

"There are over two hundred citizens in this camp," Kane adds. "There's no lack for work."

Clarke studies him, wonders how much he knows. She doesn't remember him and Abby being friends, but she also never thought she'd see a two-headed deer. Still, she can read between the lines, the truce he's trying to broker between mother and daughter, and she puts down the spoonful of porridge and accepts. "When do I start?"


Kane wasn't lying about the number of patients. There are few serious ailments, but seemingly endless amounts of minor injuries. There's a brief orientation with Jackson and a tour of the medbay and then a pretty brunette named Kendra is sitting on her table.

"How can I help?" Clarke asks and Kendra holds out her hand. There are callouses across the palm and open blisters on the heel. "Ouch."

Kendra sighs. "Tell me about it. I thought I'd pitch in, but chopping down trees is killer on my manicure."

"I'm sure," Clarke says, turns Kendra's hand to get a better look at the open wounds. They look painful, but they're not infected yet. "What have you been doing?"

"We're trying to elevate this place beyond a tent city. You know, real buildings? Maybe even a bathroom some day." Kendra laughs. "Bellamy has this grand idea for some kind of Roman throwback, streets and houses and a market right in the middle."

"Bellamy designed the camp?" Clarke reaches for a pot of seaweed paste and dabs some on the wound. She doesn't know why she's surprised. She's seen his influence in the perimeter wall, the regular patrols and rations system. Of course he'd have a hand in creating their home.

"Yup. He built a model and everything." Kendra smiles. "I like a man with a plan."

Clarke doesn't respond, just concentrates on tying the bandage around Kendra's hand. She doesn't know anything about Bellamy's life here or whom he shares it with, isn't sure she wants to know.

"He talks about you a lot."

The comment catches her off guard. She and Bellamy are partners, maybe even friends, but definitely not whatever Kendra is implying. "We ran the old camp together," Clarke says flatly. She snips the bandage and ducks her head to check her work, but mostly to hide the flush staining her cheeks.

"Uh huh," Kendra says as she inspects her hand. "Whatever you say."

"You can go back to work." Clarke doesn't mean for her words to come out clipped and it only brings a knowing smirk to Kendra's face.

She hops off the table, that smirk only widening. "Later, Doc. Thanks for fixing me up."

Clarke waits a beat before seeing her next patient, rests her hips against the table and rubs her eyes. She tries to bring Finn's face to mind. She only sees Bellamy's smile in the firelight.


The Grounders arrive the next morning.

Lincoln leads with two hooded figures following in his wake, and so many things click into place: the food, the furniture, clothes and medicine and even the tents keeping them warm.

"We're allied with the Grounders?" Clarke asks Finn as their former enemies walk freely through the gate.

Finn raises a hand in welcome. "Lincoln has been helping us. We probably wouldn't have survived this long without him."

There's a loud whoop and one of the Grounders takes off at a run and launches herself at Bellamy. Her hood falls back to reveal dark hair and sparkling blue eyes and Clarke watches as brother and sister reunite.

She lets out a relieved breath. She hadn't wanted to ask about Octavia, missing from the dropship when the door slammed closed, and she's so very grateful that she doesn't have to mourn another person she loves.

"Clarke!" Octavia yells, lets go of Bellamy and runs towards her friend.

There's a lot of hugging and laughing and mutual exclamations of "I'm so happy that you're alive!" before Lincoln drops a hand on Octavia's shoulder and reminds them that there's more pressing business at hand. "We can hold the reunion later," he says and Octavia detaches from Clarke and curls into Lincoln's side.

Clarke watches them as the group marches towards the Ark, the easy way Octavia's head rests on Lincoln's shoulder as his arm curves around her waist. It's supportive, not possessive, the way he holds her up, how she leans into him. Clarke catches sight of Finn up ahead, talking animatedly with Lincoln's deputy. She wonders if they'll ever fit together that well.

Booted footsteps match her pace and Clarke turns to see Bellamy fall into line beside her. His jaw is tense and his eyes are practically boring holes into Lincoln's back, but he hasn't said anything in protest. "They're sweet together," Clarke says, tries to relieve all that tension. She's afraid his jaw might crack if he doesn't ease up.

"I'm working on it. I know he'll keep her safe, but it's hard letting go."

Clarke glances at him, sees the boy he was when his mother laid Octavia in his arms, sees the man he is without her, sees an entire life focused on one thing and now that thing has moved on. "Cheer up," she tells him. "Now you have two hundred people to boss around."

He smiles, just a small one, and Clarke has to fight to keep her face blank. "We're going to be late," he tells her and Clarke holds up a hand in a mock salute.

"Yes, sir, Councilor Blake."

He shakes his head but the smile grows larger. Clarke ducks her head to keep him from seeing the same grin on her own face.

The room is nearly full when they arrive, and Clarke slips in an empty chair next to Finn while Bellamy takes a seat across the table. There's still the ghost of a grin on his face and Clarke watches for the change, his jaw to set and his eyes to narrow when he spots his sister, but his expression remains the same.

When he takes his seat at the table, he's no longer glaring.


The alliance is tricky.

The Ark has the guns, but the Grounders have the advantage. They know the land and its secrets, have encountered the Mountain Men before.

Yet, the animosity that used to push them apart has been replaced with mutual need. Their leader is being held at Mount Weather along with the rest of Clarke's people and they're just as desperate to get her back.

"How did the mission go?" Lincoln asks once Clarke's explained her miraculous return. He turns his gaze to Finn, and across the table Kane frowns and looks pointedly at Bellamy. He crosses his arms over his chest in response, but doesn't say anything.

"Mostly as planned," Finn starts. "There were ten guards on the perimeter when we tripped the alarm. Twice that many once it went off."

Lincoln looks pained. "That's more than we anticipated."

"They're green," Bellamy interjects. "Barely cadets let alone real guards."

It's Finn's turn to cross his arms. "They're still guards, Bellamy. They have better weapons than us. You know that every life matters."

Across the table Bellamy's face turns to stone as his eyes flare to life. They're dark and pulsing and for the first time since those ugly, early days, Clarke is afraid of what Bellamy might do.

She tries to diffuse the situation but Kane interrupts. "Finn, we appreciate your input, but let's leave military matters to members of the Guard." He turns his gaze to Lincoln. "You've encountered these people before. What's your assessment?"

The discussion turns to how their combined forces can combat a better armed enemy, how they can leverage their limited resources to rescue their people. Both Bellamy and Finn are largely silent, but while Bellamy contributes the occasional comment, Finn fumes.

He's still seething when the meeting breaks. The Grounders agree to stay and train the Ark citizens in the finer points of stealth warfare in exchange for riflery practice.

"I cannot believe what Kane said to me," Finn complains as they walk towards the mess tent. Clarke nods along, exhausted after a long day in the infirmary and the extended council meeting. "Just because I wasn't in the Guard doesn't mean I lack an opinion."

Clarke holds back a sigh. She knows all about his opinions, the ones he freely volunteers even when he conceals the most important truths. "He's not known for his tact. My mom used to complain sometimes after meetings." She stumbles, confronts the name she's tried to hard to ignore, but Finn doesn't seem to notice.

"And of course, he's all about Bellamy. The guy washed out of of cadet school but he still knows everything."

"Bellamy was in the Guard?"

Finn finally slows down, a frown curving his mouth as the conversation shifts. "Yeah, before they found out about Octavia."

"No wonder he's so good at being in charge." Clarke remembers the beginning, the complete insanity of whatever the hell we want, but everyone eagerly falling in line with one look from Bellamy.

"Sure, as long as there's a war to fight."

Finn sounds like a broken record, and it doesn't help the flare of irritation bubbling up through her. He has no idea what it's like to make the tough choices, to shut the door knowing it means certain death for someone else.

"It was a low blow," she says, halts in her tracks so Finn has to face her. "You might not agree on strategy, but that doesn't mean he plays fast and loose with people's lives. You can't…" She sucks in a breath to stop her voice from shaking. "You can't accuse people of things like that. You don't know what it's like."

"Hey, hey," Finn says, rests his hands on her shoulders and pulls her towards him. "I wasn't talking about you. There was nothing else you could do."

She knows that well, the impossible choice she had to make, but it's not the point. Finn's never had to make one, doesn't know what it's like to close his eyes and only see the dead. There's so much more she wants to say, but it's not worth the effort when he'll never understand.

She pulls back and looks up at him, takes in the sweet planes of his face, wonders how something so familiar can seem so foreign. "Just go easy on him, okay?"

Finn sighs. "I'll try, but he drives me insane."

Clarke pulls away and steps to his side to finish the walk to dinner. She spots Bellamy as soon as they arrive at the mess tent, laughing with a blonde girl in the firelight.

She grits her teeth as she takes her place in the dinner line. He drives her insane for completely different reasons.


With the Grounders comes a peace offering from her mother.

They've been keeping to their separate corners of the medbay, Jackson running interference, but a few days after Lincoln and company's arrival, Clarke arrives at her workstation to find her mother waiting.

Abby is pacing nervously in front of her daughter's table, clutching a notebook in one hand while her eyes dart wildly around the room. She stops as Clarke approaches, skids to a halt in front of the table.

"Hi, honey," are the first words her mother has said to her in over a week.

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest and regards her mother from three feet of space. "What do you need?"

Abby sighs and holds out the book. "Lincoln brought this for me. Please, take it," she adds when Clarke doesn't immediately respond.

Clarke takes the notebook and flips through the pages. It's filled with sketches of plants and jotted notes explaining their healing properties. "He gave this to you?" Clarke thinks back to the plague, wonders how many more lives she could have saved with this knowledge. It's more valuable to her than anything else on earth.

Abby nods, points to the table. "He brought me a blank notebook too. I was going to copy it, but I think you might enjoy it more." For a moment, Clarke disappears into her cell, her white, white room, the reluctant deals she struck with prying guards. This time it's her mother, but the trade is no less devastating.

"Please?" The catch in her mother's voice is what makes Clarke hesitate, question the anger she's been cultivating these long weeks. "I'm trying here."

Abby's eyes are teary, but her jaw juts out in the stubborn way that Clarke knows well. She's not giving up until she has her daughter back. The memory of her mother's arms lingers, at eight and eighteen, the way a simple hug could make everything seem okay. She's not ready to give in, but some of the fight slips away.

"Okay," she agrees, picks up the blank notebook and case of charcoal pencils. Her fingers tremble with the urge to draw, to do so much good with what used to be a hobby.

"Great," Abby says and forces a watery smile. She stays an awkward minute, studying her daughter's face while she decides what to do. Clarke stares back, forces her arms to remain at her sides. Finally, Abby holds out a hand and Clarke takes it, recognizes the determination in her mother's grip.

Abby squeezes her hand; Clarke squeezes back. It's a long while before either lets go.


It opens a door, changes the shape of her day.

There's the hour in the morning she spends copying Lincoln's book followed by the early shift of patients. It's mostly cuts and bruises, but eventually more critical cases trickle in, and it results with Clarke in Abby's half of the medbay later that week.

"Everything okay?" Abby asks, looks up from the seaweed she's mashing.

Clarke bites her lip, contemplates how to proceed. It's such a loaded question with so many possible answers, so she ignores the subtext and gets to the point. "I'd like to shadow you."

"Oh?" Abby puts down the mortar and pestle, watches her daughter with hopeful eyes.

Clarke nods. "If I'm going to be a real doctor, there's so much I need to learn. I'd like you to teach me."

"Of course!" Abby eagerly agrees, excitement lighting up her face.

"I'll start tomorrow then," Clarke says, but she doesn't leave.

Instead she takes in her mother's smile, knows she's wearing the same one.


There are twice as many Ark survivors as there were juvenile delinquents, and they fill all age brackets. There are ten kids under the age of fifteen and the camp has pulled together to figure out how to educate them. Which is why Clarke is tasked with teaching them basic first aid, training them to treat themselves and take some of the pressure off the medbay.

She finds them in a field on the east side of camp, only fifty yards or so from the wall, but hidden by a copse of trees.

They're standing in a neat line watching Bellamy demonstrate some kind of a maneuver. He's holding a stick in his hand and uses it to cut a precise arc through the air. "Your turn," he tells them and the kids pick up their own sticks, try to mimic his movements as he walks through the ranks and critiques their form.

Clarke just stares, the sack of medical supplies abandoned at her feet. They may not be in space any longer, but they also don't need to train a child army. She can't believe Bellamy is repeating whatever the hell we want all over again.

She picks up her bag and stalks towards him, waits patiently while he adjusts the way one of the girls holds her stick. She can't be more than twelve and her blonde hair is pulled back in an intricate braid. It's suddenly too much, a pretty little girl with a knife in her hand, and she grabs his arm. "I need to talk to you."

Bellamy squints at her in the sunlight. "Hello to you too."

Her fingers tighten around his bicep. "Now."

He sighs, but doesn't pull away. "Let's take five," he tells his students and jerks his arm free, leads her to the shade of a large oak tree. "What are you doing here, Princess?" he asks and crosses his arms over his chest. It's a fighting stance, one she's seen before, but she doesn't back down.

"The better question is what you're doing. Training kids to fight? They're children, Bellamy, not soldiers."

"They need to be able to defend themselves."

"Which is why we have a Guard! Did you forget what happened the last time you gave a little girl a weapon?"

She regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth, especially when all the emotion drains from Bellamy's face only to pool in dark, burning eyes. It's like the council meeting all over again, but worse because the accusation came from her.

"Oh my god, Bellamy, I'm so sorry…I didn't mean…"

She turns to him but he steps back, out of her reach. "I guess we know how you really feel."

He turns on his heel and starts back towards the kids, but she's faster than he thinks and tugs hard enough on his arm to spin him around. "Listen, please?" He glares at her, every freckle flaring angrily against his skin, but he doesn't pull away. "I thought I saw you dead," she says softly. She's staring at the broad expanse of his chest, counting the loose threads in his worn jacket to keep from looking at his face. She doesn't think she can take seeing hate there. "When we opened the door and I saw the bodies…I left a piece of myself there and I'm still trying to get it back." She's clinging to his jacket now, gripping it tightly between white-knuckled fingers, but he doesn't push her away. "Charlotte's death isn't your fault, at least no more than it is mine, and I shouldn't have blamed you. I just…I saw the kids and I remembered the cliff and closing the door, and just…I don't want anyone else to die."

Bellamy tilts her chin towards his face, stares down at her with those dark eyes that she could drown in. "You want forgiveness, Princess?" His voice drops, low and rough, as his thumb smoothes along her jaw. "Okay, you're forgiven. You've punished yourself long enough."

Clark stares into those eyes and her world narrows, grass and trees and the bright, blue sky fading into the striking planes of his face. "Bellamy…" she whispers, aware of how close his mouth is, how his eyes turn even darker and he angles his head towards her.

But they're not alone, a mistake made more obvious when one of the kids clears his throat, and they spring apart, blinking rapidly as they find their footing. Wordlessly, Clarke gathers up her supplies and Bellamy turns back to his students.

"How'd it go?" her mom asks when Clarke drops the first aid bag on her table with a heavy sigh.

"I think it's better if we hold the sessions here." Abby doesn't question her decision and turns back to a chart, but Clarke braces her hands against the table, tries to even out her breathing.

She makes the mistake of closing her eyes. All she sees is the heat in Bellamy's.


They don't talk about it.

Bellamy keeps a respectful distance and it's like the moment didn't happen. Clarke sometimes wonders if it was all a trick of light, her mind accepting the forgiveness she's resisted for so long, except sometimes she'll find him watching her across the council table or the campfire and her skin will flush from nothing more than his eyes on her, his mouth curving into that smirking grin. But he doesn't try anything and her life fades into something resembling a routine.

There's council meetings at breakfast and long hours in the medbay until sundown. She eats lunch with Kendra, laughs at her stories about construction projects gone tragically wrong, and takes her evening meal with Finn. They talk about their days and what's new in the camp and most nights he curls beside her, kisses her deeply before they turn in for bed.

He hasn't pushed her, but she wonders why she doesn't give in. She doesn't remember much about that night, just the desperate feel of his hands tangling in her hair and his hips pressing her into the mattress. It was all raw and bleeding but there was comfort in each other. She feels that same pull, the way he makes her feel safe and protected and not alone, but the frantic want is gone. Some nights she does little more than stare at his sleeping face and tells herself that it's enough.

She ignores the way she remembers every second of that moment in the sunlight with Bellamy.


"I have a surprise," Finn tells her one night, appears outside her tent carrying a torch. "You game?"

Clarke smiles and pulls on her parka. Things have been so busy lately, between working on her medical book and teaching first aid and Finn's civic responsibilities; they haven't had much time alone. "Can I have a hint?"

Finn laughs, starts for the gate. "Then it wouldn't be a surprise."

Clarke follows obediently, doesn't pull away when he takes her hand. She lets him lead her, doesn't ask questions as they disappear deeper into the forest. After a half mile, he pulls out a strip of fabric and asks her to hold the torch. She doesn't like the idea of not being able to see, but doesn't feel like fighting either, so she takes the torch in hand and lets him cut off the light.

"Tada!" Finn exclaims and pulls off the blindfold. They're standing at the lip of a steaming pool surrounded by bright torches.

"Finn, what is this?"

"It's a hot spring," he explains, slips off his jacket and starts working on his boots. "I found it a few weeks ago." He pulls his shirt over his head. "I was waiting for the right person to share it with."

Clarke swallows hard as he works on his pants, shrugs out of her parka and makes a big production of unlacing her boots. He's reclining in the water when she looks up, but his chest is wet and gleaming in the firelight. "Come join me," he says softly, doesn't take his eyes off her as she starts on her sweater.

He keeps watching as she sheds the rest of her clothes, his eyes widening as she steps into the water.

It feels heavenly, warm and bubbly and soothing to her muscles. "This is amazing," she says as she slides down next to him. There's a submerged rock that Finn's used to create a bench and the smooth heat of the stone feels good against her skin.

Finn laughs, deeper than usual, and drapes an arm over her shoulder. "Only the best for the Princess."

Clarke knows he was the first to use the nickname, but it doesn't feel right coming from anyone but Bellamy. She ignores it, rests her head on his shoulder like they did the first night in camp. "Thank you for bringing me here. I needed this."

Finn picks up one of her hands, twines his fingers through hers. "I've been thinking…maybe we should move in together."

"What?" Clarke tries to pull her hand away but Finn holds on tight.

"We spend most nights together already," he points out. "We're getting closer," he adds, runs the fingers of his free hand down her bare thigh. "Why not?"

There are so many reasons: she likes her privacy, she has a reputation to maintain, he's not Bellamy, but she sticks to the party line. "I'm not ready." She lays her palm on his cheek but he doesn't turn into her touch.

His face is blank, but there's pain in those dark eyes. "Do you love me?"

"Finn…" Clarke starts, but his face breaks into the saddest of smiles and he shakes his head. She stops, blinks back the tears pooling in her eyes. She does love him, just not the way he means.

"Do you love him?"

She wants to feign ignorance, pretend she doesn't know what he's talking about, but she cares about him too much to lie. "I don't know."

That sad smile doesn't falter. "I think you do. That night at the dropship, you didn't hesitate. The Grounders were coming and everyone could have died and all you could see was him."

"You were the one who saved him," she reminds him, hears the desperate note in her voice. Her life is just beginning to right itself; she can't lose her only constant.

"For you!" he exclaims and lets go of her hand. He takes a calming breath and drops his arm, leans back against the rim of the pool to stare at the star-filled sky. "I saved him for you."

She tries one last time. "I care about you."

He leans in and kisses her, hard and furious and filled with everything he feels. "I want more."

There are tears in his eyes when he pulls away and they dress in silence, his gaze carefully averted as she slips into her clothes. He's silent on the walk back too, but always the gentleman, he escorts her all the way home.

She makes it inside before the tears flow freely. Finn was never entirely right, but it doesn't make it hurt any less to be left behind.


She finds Bellamy by the campfire.

He glances up as she approaches, drops the twig he's been meticulously stripping of its bark. "Princess."

"Bellamy."

There's a ring of logs around the fire, but the temperature currently hovers somewhere just above freezing and not one else is out. She has her choice of seats; she takes the one directly to his left.

"Can't sleep?"

The truth is yes, she can't sleep, hasn't been able to sleep since that day on the training field when she drowned in his eyes. But it's not why she's here, two days after she broke Finn's heart but realized the truth in her own. She inches closer to him, slides until she's pressed up against his side.

"Clarke…" he starts, but she ignores him, shifts so she's peering up into his eyes. He looks terrified, his face entirely absent of its usual knowing smirk. "Don't start something you can't finish," he tells her, but she just shakes her head and presses her mouth to his.

His fingers tangle in her hair and his mouth slants over hers and it's everything she hoped it would be and more.

She ignores her promise; she hopes it never ends.


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