Title: "Hunger of the Pine"

Author: Lila

Rating: PG-13/Light R

Character/Pairing: Clarke, Clarke/Bellamy

Spoiler: all aired episodes

Length: multi-part

Summary: 85 years after a nuclear war, Jake Griffin discovers that Earth is habitable and sets out to prove it. He takes his daughter with him. Clarke survives the trip and grows up Trigedakru. She becomes Trigedakru. But then, another dropship lands and she has to make a choice.

Or, a reimagined version of seasons one and two where Clarke is raised on the ground and all roads still lead to Bellamy Blake.

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

Author's Note: Among other things, the length of this fic got INSANE. Figure one more chapter for this part, then we move into reimagining season two. Thank you as always for the support. Comments and reviews are *so* appreciated.

It's strange waking up in her own bed.

Clarke stretches to greet the day and finds her thighs are sore and there's a chafed spot of skin on her left breast. She smiles, a secret smile she's seen lovers share, and rolls deeper into her blanket. It's a good kind of hurt.

It's just before dawn and the sky is still deep shades of navy and gray. She quietly grabs a change of clothes and packet of tansy leaves and treks to the pools. In summer, the Trigedakru usually use the fresh water ponds, full of cool spring water that flows down from the mountains, but Clarke's more interested in soothing her sore muscles. She sinks into one of the hot springs, despite the sticky August heat, and lets out a sigh as the hot water starts to ease the ache.

She sips her tea and watches the sun rise over the mountains, paint the horizon in vibrant splashes of red and orange. It never fails to amaze her, how much beauty she can find in this world. She's lost so much, and yet, each day starts fresh and new, brings a chance to do things differently. She thinks about Bellamy's hands on her skin and his mouth on her breasts. Maybe this will be a year without war.

A splash startles her and tea spills over the rim of her mug. She hisses and glares at the newcomer, rubs her hand to soothe the burn.

"You do know it's the hottest month of the year." Lincoln slides into the pool and rest his arms on its edge.

"No one invited you in." She continues glaring as she blows on her tea.

He raises his eyebrows. They have no quarrel, but her behavior says otherwise. "You're hiding something."

Clarke sighs. Three days could pass and he'd still be in this pool staring at her, unwilling to break. Lincoln's patience is a thing of legend. Magic, she thinks, and her cheeks flush.

"Lexa's had me spying on the Sky People." The words are more clipped than she intended.

Lincoln nods. "I heard. It was a wise choice. You can learn more inside their camp than in the trees." He studies her face, his eyes turning soft at whatever he sees there. "What did you learn?"

"They're just kids. Some of them aren't more than ten years old and they're the enemy." She pauses, blinks back tears she wasn't expecting. "I'm so tired of people dying."

"The girl's still alive."

"What girl?"

"The one in the ship. We found her this morning. She might not survive the night, but we left her alive."

Clarke grimaces. "I'm surprised you didn't kill her outright."

"Her head was bleeding. I felt she was no threat." He frowns. "My kru did not agree."

She sighs. "And so it goes."

Lincoln is quiet a long moment. "When I was a boy, I saw a ship fall from the sky. The man inside was hurt, his body broken, but I couldn't get him out. I brought him food and water, but I didn't speak his language, could not communicate with him. On the third day, I told my father. He made me kill him."

"I've never heard that story before."

"It happened before you came to us, before I left for the sea. I want to believe this time will be different, but our people have long memories."

"I fell from the sky too," she says softly. "Maybe they'll remember that."

"Maybe."

Lincoln leans his head against the lip of the pool and closes his eyes. Clarke watches the sun finish its ascent into the sky, harsh, bright light blinding her eyes like her first morning on earth. She wills her history to repeat itself.

The rest of the day is uneventful.

Clarke spends the morning writing her report for Lexa, sacrificing one of their rare sheets of paper to record everything she saw and heard: that there are approximately 100 people in the camp, the average age is fifteen, and leadership is shared by Bellamy, Wells, and Octavia. That they are passable hunters and builders, even without any real weapons or tools. That they long for peace and fear war. She tells Lexa nothing of the time she spent searching for herbs with Wells or the triumph in Octavia's eyes when she slammed an opponent into the dirt. She mentions nothing of Bellamy or the way he moaned her name in the torchlight. She does nothing to put her people in danger, but the things that matter, she keeps to herself.

The afternoon is spent in Nyko's hut, tending to minor injuries and setting a broken arm, and it's only in the hour before sunset that she finds time to sneak her sketchbook. The paper is thick but smooth, made from reeds she and Lincoln harvest from the river. Making paper is a slow, time-consuming process, but worth it if it means she can draw.

She wants to sketch Kolya on their last day, sunshine in his hair and laughter in his eyes, but every time she tries to recreate the lines of his face, it's Bellamy appearing on the page. Kolya's shaved head becomes Bellamy's dark curls and his smooth cheeks are peppered with freckles. Mostly, it's the eyes. Kolya would never look at her with that kind of heat in his. Or hold so many secrets. She knows Bellamy is hiding something, felt it in the press of his mouth over hers, saw it in the dark depths of his eyes. She worries it will tear their world apart.

That night, missiles rain from the dropship. Clarke watches in horror as the sky turns the color of new blood. Somewhere in the distance, she hears a scream.

Lincoln comes to stand beside her. He looks worried. "Disha ste foto," he says. This is bad.

It could be beautiful, the play of light and color arcing across the sky, but Clarke sees only death in the endless expanse of red. She takes Lincoln's hand. "Gloab ste ona faya." The world is on fire.

The first spark has been lit. She tastes ash on the wind.

It's nearly dawn when Damon arrives on his red horse, his crow mask dripping with early morning dew. He brings three warriors with him bearing the marks of the boar and dog and hawk. Symbols of war, bringers of death. Clarke searches for Lincoln in the crowd. He's the only other Trigedakru sympathetic to the Skaikru.

But Lincoln is missing and Indra orders the gates flung wide, murmuring to Damon about strategy. It's the most animated Clarke's seen her in days, and while it's good to see her nomon resembling her old self, she wishes it could be under different circumstances. She hurries to follow Indra and Damon into their tent.

"Tu stegeda don fayad," Damon says. Two villages were burned.

Clarke gasps and reaches for her medical pack. Indra stops her with a heavy hand. "You will stay here to help our people." Clarke doesn't miss the way she emphasizes the last two words, but it's not about choosing sides. It's about stopping the death before it starts.

She searches for something to say, but comes up empty. She wants to believe it was an accident, like Jasper at the river, but she saw the dropship fall and the rockets light up the night. She heard the blasts and saw the fires. For hours the sky was tinted a pale shade of red. Like blood. The Sky People did that and hers will make them pay in full.

Indra's storms from the tent, eyes flashing with excitement, and it makes Clarke feel slightly nauseous. Killing more people won't bring Kolya back. It won't ease the grief her nomon carries in her heart. Still, Indra seizes the opportunity to strike back, to make others feel her pain, and her voice carries through the camp.

"Frag em op hogeda," she cries. Kill them all.

Damon and his kru respond in turn, roar like the monsters they are, masks dark and sinister as they ride into the forest. Clarke watches the last of her hope disappear into the dust kicked up by their horses' hooves. They are merciless and relentless, won't stop until every Skaikru is dead and bleeding into the late summer soil. She needs Lincoln more than ever.

He isn't at the pools or Nyko's hut, so she sneaks out of camp for the journey his refuge. The pools were always her safe space, but Lincoln has his cave. She expects it's where she'll find him. Indra is distracted by battle plans and an upcoming visit from Anya; the village's civilians are rushing to organize provisions for the rapidly mobilizing army. She needs to get to Lincoln and fast. It's an hour's walk from tonDC and clearly marked with a spray of lilies by the entrance. She whistles three times to identify herself. Lincoln looks worried when he greets her in the doorway.

"I'm glad you are here," he says and seizes her elbow, practically drags her into the cave. Clarke's been there before but the artwork is always changing, and she catches a glimpse of an atom bomb sketched across the far wall. The detailing is very good and she's proud of how far Lincoln's skills have improved, but the image itself makes her sad. She can't believe her people have survived this long by making the same mistakes.

The interior is how she remembers, sparse but comfortable: a bedroll and furs, a small table and chair, food and water and Lincoln's bow and quiver. It's the visitor that takes her aback, long dark hair and blue eyes and a mouth tight with pain. Octavia. She's sprawled across a blanket, her ankle chained to a lock in the floor. Her mutinous glare turns to surprise when she sees her friend.

"Clarke, you have to help me!"

Clarke stares at Lincoln. "What were you thinking?"

It's his turn to look mutinous. "I found her in the forest." He points to a large bump on Octavia's head. "She is hurt. I brought her here so she could heal."

Lincoln might have had good intentions, but he's speaking only Trigedasleng and has communicated none of them to Octavia. She thinks she was kidnapped by a hulking grounder and imprisoned in his lair.

"I'll handle it," Clarke says to Lincoln and gestures from him to unlock the chain.

She kneels down beside Octavia. "You're okay," she says in English. "He's my friend and he was only trying to help." Gently, she probes at the bruise on Octavia's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Octavia manages a small shrug of her shoulders. "My head hurts like a bitch. I did something to my leg too."

Clarke looks at Lincoln. He couldn't have stabbed his prisoner, right? "She hurt her leg trying to escape." He pointedly looks at Octavia. "Another injury we must heal."

"If you hadn't kidnapped her, this might not have happened!" Clarke snaps at Lincoln. Octavia's eyes flick back and forth between them. Clarke breathes in, calms the anger erupting in her chest. She isn't mad at Lincoln. She thinks he's an idiot for kidnapping Octavia, but she isn't mad. Mostly, she's concerned about how the Sky People will react when they realize Octavia is missing. "I'm sorry," she says and examines the leg wound. It's not deep enough to need stitches, but also won't stop bleeding. She didn't bring many medical supplies and Lincoln's tools are also limited. Cauterization and yarrow paste will have to do.

Lincoln has never been one to hold a grudge and calmly accepts her apology. "Tell her that I'm sorry for scaring her. She is a brave warrior and I did not want her to die," he says in Trigedasleng. Clarke doesn't know why he's pretending he can't speak English, but doesn't correct him either. She's kept her own secrets from the Sky People.

Octavia listens intently while Clarke translates. "Tell him thank you," she says to Clarke, but looks directly into Lincoln's eyes. They exchange a small smile that jogs Clarke's memory – seeing them getting along reminds her why she's there.

"Indra sent the Gang of Four."

"Branwada," Lincoln hisses.

Octavia can't understand what they're saying, but recognizes the dread in their tone. "What?" she demands, face clouding with worry when neither responds. "This is about the flares, isn't it?"

Clarke tries for a reassuring smile. "It's nothing to worry about."

All the color leaves Octavia's cheeks. "I've been missing over twelve hours. My brother will be out looking for me." Clarke feels herself grow pale. She'd been too concerned with stopping a war to realize one had already started. Most of what she knows about Bellamy is rooted in his love for his sister. He'll comb every inch of the woods until he finds her, even if it kills him. With the Gang of Four out there, it very well might. Octavia pleads for their help. "You have to find him before it's too late."

Lincoln hesitates, debating the risks. He knows finding Bellamy is the right thing to do, but so is defending their village. Kolya might have speared Jasper, but the Sky People fired those rockets. Neither side is entirely innocent.

"Yu gaf chit in ste suba," Clarke says. You wanted to know what I'm hiding. She looks deep into Lincoln's eyes. "Do em gon ai." Do it for me.

If he's surprised he doesn't let on, gives her a look that means "we'll talk about this later" and smiles at Octavia. "Osir gonplei nou ste odon nowe," he says, a blush high on his cheeks, and Clarke watches in amazement as he ducks out of the cave with his spear in hand. He also has things he'll need to talk about later.

"What did he say?"

Clarke puts the water on to boil and rolls up Octavia's pants leg to fully expose the wound. "He says he hopes you feel better."

"Oh. Okay." Octavia leans back on her elbows, the same flush staining her cheekbones. It makes her even more lovely, makes Clarke grateful she snuck home from the cave under the cover of darkness. She'd have so many questions to answer if Indra caught her looking like that.

While the water boils, Clarke sterilizes her knife over the fire. It would be nice to have wine or something to numb the pain, but they'll have to make do. "Why were you out in the woods?" she asks Octavia. Even with her self-defense training, she can't imagine Bellamy would let his sister go wandering about on her own. Or maybe that was the problem, Bellamy trying to tell his sister what to do.

Octavia sighs loudly. "Bellamy was being an ass."

So the latter. "He is protective," Clarke points out. His devotion was one of the first things that drew her to him; even with that cut on his forearm, he still put Octavia's health first.

"He lied to me," Octavia explains. "He did something to come to the ground, something terrible, and he blamed it all on me. He stole the radio, he tried to kill Raven…he's not the person I thought he was."

Clarke swallows hard. The radio, the one thing she asked him to do…it explains that look in his eyes when he kissed her goodbye. He walked away knowing he'd destroy her only chance for talking to her mother. "I asked him to tell my mom that I'm alive," she whispers.

Octavia lays a hand over Clarke's. "He thought if the Ark found out earth was habitable, they'd come down and kill him for what he did." She laughs harshly. "He said he did it to protect me, but we both know he was protecting himself."

Clarke nods mutely. She can't believe she was so stupid, gave so much of herself to a boy that lied to her face. She wonders if she should have told Lexa about his skills with the hatchet or the power in his words. She wonders if she put her people at risk because she let herself be weak.

A heavy silence fills the small cave. They can keep waiting, but they need to deal with Octavia's leg at some point, and now is as good at time as any. Clarke plucks the knife from the fire. She hands Octavia a piece of worn leather. "Bite down on this." The blade is a molten orange and Octavia's eyes go wide as it inches closer to her skin. "This is going to hurt," Clarke says and presses the blade to the open wound.

Octavia screams, tears pouring down her cheeks, and she bites almost clear through the leather strap. Clarke strokes her hair until the pain is tolerable, feeling very close to tears herself. It's not easy watching another person suffer.

She smoothes yarrow paste over the burn and wipes away the tears. "All better now," she whispers.

Octavia nods briskly. "Thanks." She takes long, deep breaths to calm down and watches Clarke with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. "I'm sorry about your mom."

Clarke forces a weak smile, suddenly exhausted. "Maybe there'll be another radio."

Octavia looks equally exhausted. "I hope so." She glances at the pile of furs and woven blankets that make up Lincoln's bed. "I can't keep my eyes open much longer."

Clarke pulls Octavia to her feet and draws back the top layer of covers. Sleep has never sounded so good. Maybe when they wake up, this entire day will have been a dream. Lincoln finds them still linked together, hands clasped tight as they huddle in his bed. There's a funny look on his face when he spots Octavia under the furs. Clarke barely catches it as she blinks away the remnants of her nap. "How did it go?"

He holds up the foghorn. "I created a diversion."

She lets out a relieved breath. No matter how angry she is with Bellamy, she doesn't want him dead. Far from it. She wants to know why he did it, look in his eyes and see if they can fix things. Octavia said he did something terrible to come to the ground. Clarke's willing to listen if he's willing to explain.

Their chance never comes. Octavia is screaming and Lincoln's war cry rings through Clarke's ears and then the world goes black.

Clarke pieces the world back together when she wakes in the dropship.

Dull metal walls. Dim lighting. Some kind of whirring noise. Rain splattering angrily against the roof. Wind howling. The storm a few days earlier was a precursor to something even bigger. Hurricane season is upon them and the timing couldn't be worse. She groans and tries to roll over.

"She's awake!" a voice calls – Octavia, she thinks – and then strong hands are gently pushing her back to a prone position.

He's blurry, but she recognizes Wells staring down at her. "Don't try to move yet. You took quite a blow to the head."

That much she knows, and she figured out where she is, but not why she's there. "What happened?" Her voice is a creaky rasp.

Octavia squeezes the water from a rag with enough force to turn her knuckles white. "My brother," she hisses, pauses to regain her composure before wiping the blood from Clarke's forehead.

"He found you."

"He found all of us. They tied up your friend." Octavia glares at someone across the room. "Monroe got a little too excited – you can thank her for the bump on your head."

"Where's…where's my friend?" There's no way she's giving them Lincoln's name when they're keeping him prisoner.

Octavia's grip tightens on the rag. "They took him upstairs. Bellamy says it's to get information but I think he wants revenge."

"Help me up."

"You shouldn't move yet – " Wells starts but Clarke ignores him, braces a hand against the cold metal floor and pushes to a sitting position. Her head aches so much she almost cries out.

"I need to get up there," she insists.

In the background, the whirring noise intensifies. "We have a bigger problem," Wells says.

Clarke turns to find Finn is lying a table, a Trigedakru knife lodge between his ribs. A dark-haired girl is working on a radio a few feet away. A radio! Talking to her mom is still possible, but not until she fixes Finn.

"What happened?"

Wells sighs. "He got stabbed during the rescue mission. Bellamy carried him all the way back. Just in case, I have him drinking bloodroot tea, but I don't know what to do about the knife."

"Let me see." Slowly, and despite the pain in her head, Clarke examines the wound. There's no fluid leaking and Finn's breathing is shallow but steady. If they can take out the knife without severing arteries or blood vessels, he should be fine.

"What do you think?" Wells asks. Octavia wipes Finn's forehead with a damp cloth.

Clarke straightens. "I want to see Bellamy."

The girl at the radio comes alive. "No way! Not until you help him." She's like a wild animal, all tense limbs and wide eyes. Frantic. Everyone is concerned about Finn, but this girl looks like she's losing her mind. Clarke can sympathize, but Finn's injury can wait. She doesn't know how long Lincoln has before he starts losing limbs.

"Not before I see Bellamy."

The girl gets in her face, her sharp chin jutting angrily. "I didn't risk my life coming down here so you could – "

"Raven, enough," Wells interrupts.

"You're the girl that came down from the Ark?" Raven nods. "My friend up there is the reason you're alive. I'll help Finn, but not until I make sure that my people are okay."

"You have five minutes," Raven says and twists away, stalks back to the radio and fiddles with the dials.

"Take her upstairs," Wells says. "I'll handle Raven."

The climb is slow but Octavia is patient. Every rung she climbs feels like another stab through the base of Clarke's skull, but she makes it to the third level. Octavia and Bellamy are already fighting.

"Get out of here, O," Bellamy snarls, stopping short when he spots Clarke behind her.

For a few seconds, his eyes go wide with more than surprise. Guilt, Clarke thinks. Maybe regret too. She might have fallen for it if not for Lincoln hanging from interlocked seatbelts at the back of the room.

She hurriedly checks him over. "Laik yu ok?" His arms are spread wide but she can't see any visible wounds on his chest. He nods. "Ai na fis disha." I'm going to fix this. His smile is as tight as the bonds holding his wrists.

Despite the pain in her head, she makes it across the ship to where Bellamy and Octavia are arguing. "You and me, we need to talk," she says, grabs his bicep for good measure. It's hard and solid beneath her hand. She ignores the memory of those arms holding her just a few days before.

"Clarke, I – "

"Now."

He nods to a boy in a black knit cap and pulls Clarke into a far corner. He frowns when she pushes her hair back off her face.

"I'm sorry about that," he says and tries to touch her forehead, but she shrugs out of his reach.

"Let him go."

His hand falls to his side, dark eyes pulsing. "He kidnapped my sister. She admits to falling down a hill, but I saw her leg."

"It was an accident," Clarke insists. She wants this conversation over. With Finn awaiting treatment and Lincoln tied up, there's no time to waste.

"Like Jasper? When is it not an accident with you people?"

Clarke feels like she's been slapped. "You people?" she echoes. "I thought we were on the same side."

"Your people killed three of my people. Finn has a knife in his chest." He takes a step closer. "I look out for my own."

She narrows her eyes. "Fine," she hisses. "But I'm doing the same. Let my friend go or I don't help Finn."

"Help Finn and then we'll let him go."

"If anything happens to him, the deal is void."

She holds out a hand to shake on it and Bellamy takes it. His grip is firm, his skin rough, and it brings back a memory of those hands sliding up her inner thighs. Bellamy is close, so very close, his eyes hot and his mouth a fraction of an inch from hers, and their gazes lock. Clarke licks her lips and Bellamy's eyes linger on her mouth as he takes a step back.

It doesn't take long to get the knife out of Finn. Wells brings a torch for more light and Octavia soaks everything in a liquid called moonshine and Raven works on the radio, trying to contact the Ark and their medical team. From the angle of the knife, Clarke knows she needs to go slow and steady, and she takes a few deep breaths to calm the fury gathered in her chest. She's so angry with Bellamy but Finn comes first.

Clarke counts to three and pulls on the knife. It slides out easily, coated in blood, but without causing any more damage. Octavia hands her a suture needle and wire and Clarke quickly closes the wound, smears yarrow over it and presses on a bandage from her pack. Finn is pale and slightly feverish, but his pulse is still steady and his breathing is even. Clarke thinks he'll be okay once he's had time to recover. Her work done, she climbs the ladder to the third level to collect Lincoln.

"Finn is fine," she says and grits her teeth against the pain in her head. When they're back in tonDC, she might sleep for the rest of the week. "I'm taking my friend home."

Bellamy storms over to her. "Did you know about this?" He holds up Lincoln's notebook, flips past a drawing of Octavia to a rough sketch of the dropship camp. There are one hundred lines on the opposite page, twelve crossed out.

"He's a scout," Clarke says. "It's his job to monitor what's happening here."

"How long have you been spying on us?"

Clarke raises her chin. "From the moment you landed." He looks stunned. "What did you expect, Bellamy? You were strangers that invaded our territory. Of course we wanted to know more about you."

"Is that why you came to our camp?" It's his turn to look like he's been slapped.

Some of the fight goes out of her. She's still angry, but he's a terrible liar and that face reveals everything he thinks and feels. The betrayal is real. She lied to him just as much as he lied to her. "Yes," she admits. "But that's not all of it. I might be a grounder, but I was born in the sky. I wanted to know about you too."

"I guess we showed our true colors."

She glances over his shoulder at Lincoln, arms trembling from being strung up. "I guess we did." She stares at Bellamy, unsure what to say next.

"Clarke!" Octavia pokes her head through the hatch. "Something's wrong. Finn started seizing."

He's doing more than seizing. Foam is leaking from his mouth and he's struggling to breathe. She quickly instructs Wells to turn him on his side to drain the fluid from his lungs.

"Branwada," she curses. The symptoms can only add up to poison.

"Clarke?" Wells' brow is knotted in confusion, probably because she's muttering to herself in Trigedasleng.

"Keep him comfortable," she says. "I know what to do."

The hatch is locked when she gets to the third level, Octavia on her heels. Her vision is spotty too, but she blinks a few times and bangs on the door.

Finally, black cap opens the hatch. Clarke pushes through and hurries over to Lincoln. "What were you thinking?"

He does his best to shrug. "I was protecting us."

"What the hell is going on?" Bellamy demands.

"Where's his pack?" Bellamy gestures to black cap and Clarke digs through the bag until she finds the medicine case.

"Which one is it?" she asks Lincoln in Trigadesleng. Usually, she preps the antidote packs, but Lincoln had enough medical training to make his own.

He shakes his head.

"This isn't the time to be a martyr! The Gang of Four killed three of their people and they want revenge." She glances around and even Bellamy looks murderous. "They could kill you and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

Still, he shrugs. "If they kill me, they will have the retribution they seek. The Trigedakru will be safe."

"Enough," Bellamy interrupts. "Finn is dying and he's not talking." He picks up two seatbelts and ties them together. "We need to try something else.

Octavia lunges at him. "Didn't you hear what Clarke said? He saved my life!"

Bellamy's eyes are hard. "Clarke's been spying on us from the moment we met her. We can't trust anything she says."

"Is that true?" Octavia's voice is small, her eyes shimmering with betrayal. "Did you lie to us? To me?"

Clarke glares at Bellamy. Now isn't the time to discuss their mutual betrayals. "I was sent to spy, but I never lied to you." She looks at Lincoln. "He was trying to save your life, just like I taught you to defend it."

"Okay," Octavia says firmly.

"O, come on. You can't believe she's telling – "

"They saved my life. I won't repay them with torture."

"Clarke!" Wells' voice breaks through the open hatch. "Finn's having trouble breathing. We need that cure now."

"Bell, no! He doesn't even speak English!" Octavia tries to get between her brother and Lincoln. Black cap grabs her.

"I'll make him understand," Bellamy says and pulls the makeshift whip tight. He looks at Clarke. "You don't have to be here for this."

She practically spits at him. "You're not who I thought you were."

He pauses, regret flickering in his eyes, but then he sets his jaw and lets the whip fly. "I know."

Clarke feels each blow personally, like it's her chest being lashed and torn. Lincoln is like her brother; his pain is her pain.

"Stop," she begs and Octavia tries to get away, but black cap holds on tight.

"Not until he talks," Bellamy says, chest heaving. He wipes a hand over his brow.

"Tell them," Clarke pleads but Lincoln keeps staring with glassy eyes. His jaw locks with the effort to keep from crying out.

Raven arrives and shocks Lincoln with live wires. Bellamy finds a screw and pushes it through Lincoln's palm. Clarke watches silently while Octavia screams and wails. No matter how angry she was before, she'll never forgive Bellamy for this.

It ends only when Octavia sees an opening, grabs the knife and slashes a deep incision in her forearm. Lincoln pulls at his restraints and growls.

"Beja," Clarke says. "Tell me." She holds up each of the small glass bottles. He nods at the second.

She clasps it in her fist and turns to Bellamy. "Let. Him. Go."

They release his arms and tie him to the floor while Clarke treats Octavia and Finn. The dropship shakes from the force of the storm and Clarke fights the urge to scream. She's not happy about being trapped in a tin can with these people.

Still, some of them are kind. Wells brings a blanket and Octavia rounds up medical supplies. She sits with Clarke while she tends to the wound on Lincoln's hand and smoothes yarrow paste over the welts on his chest.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Ask him yourself. He speaks English."

"Really?" Clarke nods. "I'm Octavia," she says softly.

Lincoln groans, his voice heavy with pain. "Linkon," he drawls. They share another sweet smile. Clarke would leave them alone if not for the hole in Lincoln's hand.

"I can take over," Octavia says. Her color is high but she looks determined.

Clarke swallows down her smile and hands over the rag and yarrow paste. "Your brother and I have unfinished business."

"Good luck."

The pain in her head has faded to a hollow ache, but her vision is clearer and she makes it down the ladder in half the time it took her to climb it. The storm has calmed some and she finds Bellamy in the open doorway of the dropship, watching the rain. He's deep in thought when he turns to face her.

"You forgot this." She shoves the bloody screw in his direction.

He swallows hard as he takes it from her. "Who we are, and who we need to be to survive, are very different things."

"No," she says softly. "They're not. The choices you make, that's the person you are. There's always another way."

"You told me that you're tired of losing people." He looks exhausted when he meets her eyes. "Finn was dying – what would you have done?"

She's quiet a long moment while she tries, and fails, to come up with a response. "I don't know."

He smiles, a tiny quirk of his lips that makes him so beautiful her heart aches for what could have been. "It's not easy being in charge."

More silence passes.

"When can we expect retribution?"

"You won't, at least not from us." He looks up in surprise. "Remember? I don't want more blood on my hands."

"I remember." He clears his throat, stares out into the drizzle. "So I guess this is it?"

"I guess it is."

Heavy footsteps sound behind her. Lincoln is there, leaning heavily on Octavia, but walking on his own two feet. Clarke braces her shoulders to bear his weight. She can feel Bellamy watching her as they step out of the dropship.

She holds her head high, doesn't look back as she walks out of his life.

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