When you have a friend, you have someone you can confide in. You don't have to keep things bottled up. You can let it out, get perspective, and trust in the fact that someone might see a solution you can't.

Who did I talk to?

I was afraid that my judgement was becoming impaired, influenced by our microcosm society and the harsh conditions we were dealing with. The last time I spilled my guts to someone, it turned out badly. That was the only way I could define what happened with Finn. Something that didn't turn out right.

So now I was at a loss. We could communicate with the Ark, but I couldn't bring myself to confide in my mother. I didn't think we had that kind of relationship anymore, and the thought of putting all my thoughts onto a wire where anyone could listen left me cold.

What to do? How to clear my head?

My hand twitched. I wanted to draw. I just wanted to sit down somewhere and sketch whatever came to me. In those moments there was nothing but me and the paper and the pencil. Those were the calmest moments of my existence.

Everybody was taken care of. I could probably find Monty or Jasper again and talk about those medical supplies. Time was critical. Then again, if I burned out and became a basket case, I'd be no help to anybody.

One hour. I could do that. Get something to eat, sit in my tent, and just lose myself.

I went to that temporary place I called home and went in. Most people kept a few extra bits of food in their tents. It was a rough way to live, especially after being on the share system all our lives, but that was reality. I carefully dug out my precious sketchbook salvaged from the art supply store and a few of the pencils Finn gave me. If nothing else, he gave me that much.

Then I went to the other side of the tent, where I slept, and looked under my pillow for the tiny horde of nuts and berries I kept.

Nothing.

There was nothing there.

I pulled up the blankets, the extra jacket I managed to score, the makeshift bedding—nothing.

Stolen.

"Goddammit!" I threw the pillow across the tent in an impotent show of fury. Unbelievable! Just...no, it was totally believeable. Someone just came in and stole my food. Bunch of delinquent, lowlife, sonsof-

I sat back on my butt and clapped my hands over my cheeks. Why? It wasn't like that little bit was going to keep anybody fed for long. Couldn't I just have one thing to myself? One thing?

No. Of course not. That would be too nice. I buried my fingers in my hair, fed up. Just fed up. How was I supposed to—Okay, get a grip, I told myself. I was not going to lose it over a few nuts and berries. There were bigger things. Yes, I was tired and hungry and lonely, but I could not go ballistic over something this small. Death and dismemberment, maybe, but not this. Clarke Griffin was not weak.

I forced myself to breathe in and out, feeling the hot anger recede just a little. It didn't disappear, so I snatched up my tiny sketchbook and pencils with more force than necessary. I propped it on my knee and started to draw Finn's face with the blue he gave me. In minutes he was there, with that long hair I first saw him in. I drew everything—his jaw, his eyes, his neck, his smile.

He looked so happy and carefree.

The jerk.

I stabbed his eye with the pencil, digging it around for good measure. When that didn't seem enough, I did it to the other eye.

And then I proceeded to jab the pencil into his stupid face over and over. I missed once and poked myself in the thigh, but it was worth it. Kind of cathartic.

"Well, if that's not symbolism, I don't know what is."

My head jerked up. Bellamy was sitting outside the tent, holding the flap just out of the way so he could watch me. It gave me the perfect side profile. "How long have you been there?" I snapped, embarrassed to be caught doing something so childish.

And didn't he have anything better to do? a small inner voice added peevishly.

He quirked a brow. "Long enough to know the Spacewalker is not in your good graces."

"Neither are you." My eyes widened. "No, don't come in!"

"Relax, Princess. I come in peace." He was too big for the tent, hunched over to fit in. I don't know where his jacket went. He kept losing it despite the cool weather. How he managed to get it back all the time, I didn't want to know.

He had something in one hand. It looked like... "Is that food?"

"Jasper's first attempt at drying meat out into jerky. It's not half bad." He sat down across from me, taking up more space than just the physical. It was like the whole world shrank down to make him seem larger.

I wondered how he did that. It would be a neat trick to pull off now and again.

He held out a stick. My stomach rumbled in response, and suddenly I didn't want to fight anymore. "Thanks," I said tiredly, reaching out for the stick.

Our fingers brushed.

Why did the smallest touches feel like they meant something monumental? Sometimes I just didn't get human chemistry.

I set the sketchbook aside, next to my thigh.

He half-smiled, bringing out the lines on the side of his mouth and drawing attention to his freckles. Taking his own stick, he nibbled at the meat.

I took a bite. "Oh, man," I nearly moaned. "This is the blandest, best thing I've eaten in a while."

"Funny how our standards have fallen, huh?"

"Food on the Ark was never that good anyway." It was amazing that I could joke like that, considering the mood I was in. The meat changed everything.

We ate in companionable silence. We probably would have enjoyed it more outside with the trees, but then Bellamy would get called away and people would wonder why I wasn't attending to patients. No, I liked it better in here, in a kind of bubble that wouldn't last but still meant a lot.

After a few minutes, Bellamy gave up sitting and lay down on his stomach, sighing like he'd been awake a thousand years. He propped his head on his hand and nodded at my sketchbook. "That's pretty good."

Should I try to hide it? No, no point. He'd already seen everything, and it wasn't something I was ashamed of. "Thanks."

He finished the stick and carefully set it aside. "So what did Spacewalker do to piss you off?"

The casual question was anything but. "Nothing you need to worry about."

I wasn't aware he was moving until he stilled. "Really." He stared at me intently. "So he did something you think I shouldn't know about."

"Because it's none of your business."

"Or because you're wondering how I'll react. I won't kill him, Princess."

"It's something I have to deal with on my own, without your input."

He shifted. "Did you tell him flat out that it was over?" He cocked his head. "Or does he think there's still a chance? Can't imagine Raven would take that very well."

"There is nothing going on between me and Finn. Not anymore."

"But does he know that?" Bellamy insisted.

"Yes!" I nearly shouted at him. But what it the truth? Why would he leave me a flower if he didn't think I'd be happy?

Ugh. Men.

"Maybe you should make sure to spell it out for him. Some guys can't take a hint."

I glared. "Yeah, I wonder who else could fall into that category?"

Both brows went up. "I can take hints. I can also think critically and take responsibility. I shouldn't have kissed you like that today, for example."

"Was that your half-assed way of apologizing?"

"Just making a point." He turned and stretched out on his back, hands folded behind his head. His shirt rode up to expose a bit of his hip.

I found myself arrested by that patch of skin. When I looked up again, Bellamy's gaze was knowing. "I said I'd let you choose and you will. All I have to do is wait."

"You said you'd leave me alone."

"I said I wouldn't touch you. I didn't say you couldn't touch me."

I shook my head. "You're so full of it. What makes you think I'd ever do that?"

"There's a lot to be said for the human touch." He extended his arm flat, laying it on the ground palm up. Inviting. "See for yourself."

He was almost touching my knee, so close I could feel his body heat. My fingers twitched. I stared at the limb he was offering me, my whole body focused on it. He wasn't asking for anything in return. That didn't make sense, but that wasn't the primary thought in my head. I just...wanted it. I wanted to hold on to someone, even if it was Bellamy. Just sit there and feel flesh and bone and blood and skin. I wanted it, strangely, as much as I'd wanted Finn that night.

Bellamy said nothing. He didn't move. Just looked at me.

I inhaled, struggling for sense. In the end...I failed. I slowly reached out, knowing this was bad, and I took Bellamy's hand in mine. I lifted it until it was on my knee, his long fingers relaxed and in the air. I closed both of my hands over his one. The rasp of skin against skin and my own breathing was all I could hear.

He was warm. And rough. And real.

Unexpected tears stung my eyes. The world was too much sometimes. I didn't know how much until right then.

I bent my head so he couldn't see.

He curled his fingers until he was clasping mine.

We sat there like that for a year or so. It really did feel that long. Like each heartbeat had a month between them. My life boiled down to this tent and this hand that I held in mine. Human connection.

If he was playing me, he was doing a good job.

But for once, I didn't think he was playing me. Because when I peeked at him through my hair, he was just as arrested at the sight of our handholding as I was. Bellamy Blake needed this as much as I did.

Something softened in my chest.

"You're right about Finn," I said after a while, my voice low and raspy. "I need to spell it out for him."

He swallowed but remained silent.

His skin was so much darker than mine. I spent just as much time outdoors as he did, but all I ever got was pink. I had seen this hand torture, cause pain, and sooth. He'd seen mine take a life and then save one. This hands had seen a lot since we came to Earth. What else were they capable of?

I was almost afraid to find out.

"You'll be fine, Clarke." Bellamy's voice was low and thick. It filled the confines of the tent with no effort at all. "You always bounce back."

"Not always."

"Then you know where to find me."

I let him go reluctantly, withdrawing one finger at a time. "Thank you." I needed to say that. I glanced at the tent flap, knowing what I had to do. "I have to go."

He sat up slowly, an unreadable expression on his face. "Okay."

The spell was breaking, and part of me didn't want it to. "I'll talk to you later about the packs."

He nodded.

It was my tent, but this time, I was the first to leave, feeling Bellamy's eyes on my back the whole way.