Title: "We Own the Sky"

Author: Lila

Rating: PG-13/Light R

Character/Pairing: Clarke, Bellamy, Bellamy/Clarke (the rest of the cast in minor roles)

Spoiler: N/A

Length: multi-part

Summary: When Jake Griffin dies, Clarke goes home for the funeral and uncovers a secret she won't let stay hidden. What's intended to be a short visit turns into a lengthy stay, especially when a former love comes back into the picture. Or the "Sons of Anarchy" AU where Bellamy's in a motorcycle club and Clarke's the high school girlfriend that got away.

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

Author's Note: First and foremost, thank you for the well wishes. I had my surgery, spent a few days recovering, and I'm now mostly back to normal life. It's amazing. Second, this chapter can be subtitled #JusticeForIrisWest, because much as I love "The Flash," I hate how the boys are keeping secrets from Iris and acting like she's a little lady that can't handle the truth. Blech. If she can attend grad school full time and hold down the fort at a Pulitzer Prize winning newspaper, she can handle Barry's secret. But I digress…after an interlude at the cabin, this chapter returns to the real world and the aftermath of both Myles' death and Bellarke's reunion. As always, thank you so much for the wonderful comments and feedback. Enjoy.


It's nothing Clarke hasn't seen before – opening the front door, locking it firmly behind her, dropping her keys on the hall table – but it feels different with Bellamy at her side. He follows her into the house, smiles down at her when she pushes a wayward lock off his forehead. "You need a haircut," she says, does her best to smooth his dark curls.

He nuzzles his rough jaw into her neck. "Later." He gives her hip a nudge and flips her around, so her back slams into the door and he has better access to her skin. "Much, much later."

"Ahem." Raven clears her throat and stands in front of them wearing a cynical expression. Clarke remembers the last time her friend found them together and reaches down to clasp Bellamy's hand, put up a visible united front. If Raven notices she doesn't comment, just runs the short distance between them and throws herself at her friend; Clarke's back slams against the door for a different reason.

Clarke slowly returns the hug, stomach knotting as she remembers all the things Raven's suffered for her: a man died on her front lawn, her house was a crime scene, her friend disappeared without a goodbye. "Everything's okay here?" The people that tried to kill her are still out there. Her stomach clenches tighter at the thought of them trying again.

Raven nods. "The police have been stopping by. They took the tape down last night. I'm so glad you're okay."

"I'm sorry I didn't call," Clarke whispers.

"Octavia activated the phone tree and made sure that I heard." Raven turns to Bellamy and actually smiles at him. "I'm glad you were with her."

Bellamy drapes his arm over Clarke's shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple. "I am too."

Raven's eyebrows rise suggestively. "Looks like someone got down to business in the woods."

Clarke opens her mouth to tell Raven that it's none of her business, but a tall, blond man wearing nothing but a pair of boxers steps into the hall and diverts their attention. "Hey, Reyes," he says, absently scratching at his head. "Where's the coffee?"

In all the years of their friendship, Clarke has never seen Raven blush, but her face turns the color of a tomato and she suddenly finds the floor fascinating. Clarke studies the newcomer with interest. In high school, Raven had favored floppy-haired navel-gazers, but this guy is all lean muscle and scruff, the kind of man that works with his hands, and she's never seen her friend so out of her element.

"I'm Clarke," she says and extends a hand, watches Raven continue to examine her toes.

"Kyle." His handshake is firm and it makes Clarke like him instantly. He nods at Bellamy. "Hey Blake."

"Wick," Bellamy nods back. "Reyes," he says to Raven, doesn't bother keeping the smirk off his face.

"Wick and I work together," Raven says hurriedly, flicks away the hand Kyle lets rest low on her hip. "He's helping me fix the furnace."

Kyle rolls his eyes and puts his hand back. "Right, I'm helping with the heat." He does something with that hand that makes Raven squeak, and Clarke and Bellamy exchange a knowing look.

"I think that's our cue," Clarke says, takes Bellamy's hand and pulls him down the hall to her room. There's a crash somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen, and Clarke flops down on her bed with a groan. "I hope they didn't break anything." She tugs on Bellamy's hand but he stays rooted in place.

He offers her a regretful smile. "I actually have to go."

She grips his hand a little tighter, heart plummeting through her chest from the constant risk that comes with loving Bellamy Blake. She bites her lower lip to keep it from trembling, and his smile softens as he brushes the fingers of his free hand down her cheek. "It's just a meeting," he says gently, but with confidence, like he believes he'll come back to her. "I'll see you later," he whispers, brushes a kiss over her forehead.

Clarke doesn't let go of his hand, follows him out onto the front step and watches him roar away until his taillights are a red blur and the only sound is the distant hum of a neighbor's lawnmower. It reminds her a bit of the cabin, all fresh air and blue skies, and she tilts her head back to bask in the sun. It's nice, for all of ten seconds before she spots a dark stain out of the corner of her eye. It mars the otherwise smooth surface of the driveway and she tracks its progress into the grass, a bucket resting beside it, and her hands begin to shake.

She sinks to her knees, chest heaving, can't seem to stop staring at that stain even though it's a struggle to breathe. She thought she could leave the shooting behind when they left the cabin, make a fresh start the way she's doing with Bellamy, but it's impossible to forget when faced with solid proof. She grabs the bucket, relieved to find it filled with soapy water, and scrubs desperately at the driveway. The bubbles turn a filmy red and it only makes her scrub harder, so her arms ache and tears burn her eyes. She's dimly aware of footsteps behind her, and Kyle calling out a quick goodbye, and especially Raven's arms wrapping around her.

"Shhh," Raven murmurs. "Just let it out." Clarke buries her face in her friend's shoulder and sobs.

"Where's Kyle?" Clarke asks when she pulls back, wipes the tears from her cheeks.

"He went to work."

"I didn't mean to scare him away."

Raven shrugs. "It's not a thing. He's free to go where he pleases."

Clarke's eyes water again. She might be off the hook when it comes to Raven's love life, but not the mess she brought into her house. "I'm so sorry," she says, gestures in the general area of the lawn. "I put you in dang – " Her voice breaks and she furiously brushes at her cheeks.

"It's okay," Raven says and squeezes Clarke's hand.

"No, it's not. Because of me, someone died at your house. You could have died. Why are you letting me off the hook so easy?"

Raven draws her knees to her chest, glances at the stain on her driveway. "I was pissed at first." She shakes her head, pulls her knees in closer. "But every time I tried to get mad, really mad, I couldn't feel it. I realized no matter how much I blamed you, it would never be as much as you already blamed yourself."

"You should. Myles died because of me." She pauses to study the pavement. "I ruined your driveway too."

"Nah. Nothing a little elbow grease can't fix."

Clarke casts another look at the stain, all that's left of a boy with gangly limbs and a crooked smile. It's hard to believe that two days ago, she was teasing him about carrying her groceries. "He was a good kid."

"Yeah, he was," Raven says softly. "I like to think of him as Myles the Friendly Ghost now." Her face is serious but her tone is light, and it makes Clarke smile just the tiniest bit. She laughs, a small rumble of her shoulders, and when she looks up, Raven's smiling too.

"Want some help?" Raven asks, cocks her head towards the bucket. "I started last night, but got distracted." Her cheeks flush again.

"I'd like that."

Together, they dump the bucket and fetch fresh water, scrub at the stain until only a slight ring is left. Clarke sucks in a breath and for the first time, she considers dropping her crusade. She stayed in Arkadia to bring her father's killers to justice, and it's already cost someone his life. She glances at Raven, the girl that took her in, gave her the forgiveness she doesn't deserve. She leans into her friend, lets Raven carry her yet again, and it's a choice she doesn't want to make. She already lost her father. She'll never forgive herself if it means losing another person that she loves.


After Raven leaves for work, Clarke takes a long shower and scrubs the stench of death from her skin. She keeps seeing the dark stain on the driveway, the permanent reminder of the tragedy that constantly trails in her wake. Her dad's death isn't on her, but Myles' is, and it's not over yet. When she dials her mom's number, she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crying again.

"Hi Mom," she whispers and sinks onto the couch.

"Oh, honey," Abby breathes. "It's so good to hear your voice. You're okay?"

"I'm at Raven's."

"It's okay to stay there?" In the background there's a loud bang that makes Clarke jump.

"Where are you? What was that noise?"

Abby's voice is calm, soothing, when she comes back on the line. "I'm in my office at the hospital. It was just the door closing. I'm more worried about you."

Clarke twines the phone cord around her finger and avoids the question. "I'm fine. Wells is coming over later to talk about the case."

"Good, good," Abby breathes. "He stayed over last night, on the couch of course. He's a good man. I'm glad he's a part of your life."

"He is a good man," Clarke agrees. The cord tightens around her finger hard enough to hurt, gauge a red welt into her skin, but it doesn't distract her from the news she still needs to share. "Bellamy and I are back together." Her mother is quiet and Clarke pushes forward. "It's still new but it's real. I wanted you to know."

"You remember what happened last time, right?" Clarke cringes while she waits for the inevitable lecture, but Abby doesn't yell. She doesn't sound angry either, but concerned, like this time her daughter will end up in jail or even worse.

Clarke blinks to drive away the memory of Myles dying in her arms. "It's different this time," she says, surprises even herself at the confidence in her voice, realizes just how much she wants it to work.

"If you say so," Abby replies, but she still sounds worried.

Outside, a car door slams dully. "Wells is here. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Tell him hi for me." Abby pauses. "I love you honey."

"I know," Clarke says through a veil of tears and hangs up before she says something she regrets. She wasn't prepared for this, any of this, but especially the onslaught of emotions that interacting with Abby brings. Her anger is a fiery thing, burning wild and raw deep in her chest, but her mother is a steady strength, cool hands and kind words and arms that hold her so tight she sometimes can't breathe. It makes it even harder to keep her at an arms length.

She's just wiping her eyes when Wells knocks on the front door wearing a grim smile but determined expression; he makes her check the peephole before telling her to open the door. Clarke rolls her eyes at him. "I lived on my own for ten years, Jaha. I know a thing or two about personal safety."

He ignores her and throws his arms around her for a forceful hug, buries his face in her neck and acts so unlike his usual controlled self that she awkwardly pats the back of his head to let him know that it's okay. "I didn't get to do that the other day." He pulls back to examine her face. "Something's changed."

She flushes and closes the door behind him. "I'll tell you about it."

Wells follows her into the living room. "You're sure you want this?"

Clarke can't help the way her eyes sparkle or the enormous grin that breaks out across her face. Even if she can't see herself, it's the same look she wore in the cabin, a girl in the blush of new love. She doesn't duck her head, lets Wells see how she feels, how she's let Bellamy back into her life.

"I think I always have."

Wells sighs heavily, like he did in high school when she told him that her thing with "that Blake kid" was serious, but he doesn't try and talk her out of it this time. "You're the grown up," he says and starts for the living room. "I'm here when you need me."

"Hopefully it won't come to that." She curls into a corner of the couch and pushes her damp hair over one shoulder.

"How are you doing?"

"Okay," she confesses, tugs on a loose thread in Raven's grandmother's afghan. "The shock's gone, but the guilt's setting in." She meets his sympathetic eyes. "I'm learning to live with it."

"It wasn't your fault."

Clarke takes a breath, prepares to tell him the truth she already told the Skaikru. "Yes, it was. Diana Sydney is running an organ trafficking ring out of St. Finneus'. A doctor and security guard are in on it, maybe Chief Shumway too." Her voice trembles as she recounts what happened to Myles. "The Mountaineers were providing security and they tried to kill me because I saw them at the hospital." She lets her theory hang in the air, waits for Wells shocked rebuttal, but he calmly nods instead. "You knew?"

Well's normally impassive face turns various shades of guilty. "Bellamy told me."

"When?" Clarke snaps.

"While you were at the cabin," Wells says carefully. "We're looking into it."

She drops the blanket and crosses her arms over her chest, cheeks flushed with fury. "Were you going to mention it to me?"

"Clarke – " He starts.

"No," she interrupts. "You do not get to keep this from me. I'm the one that figured it out. I'm the one that almost died!"

"We're just trying to keep you safe."

"Last I checked, I'm capable of thinking for myself and making my own decisions." Wells expression changes, something like fear setting in, and Clarke loses some steam. "I get it," she says softly. "I know you were scared – I was too – but that doesn't mean you can cut me out of the decision making process. It's my life, my dad…this princess in the tower act? It stops now."

"Okay," Wells says, both looking and sounding defeated. "I get it. No secrets from here on out."

She falls back on the couch cushions. "But do tell, what have you learned so far?"

"Not much," Wells admits. "Our forensic accountant is looking at the hospital's financials. I'm hoping she'll find something we can use."

"What about Emerson?"

Wells sighs again. "Nothing conclusive. He has an alibi. It's probably fake, but they're willing to swear to it in court."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she curses and Wells doesn't look any happier. "There's nothing you can do?"

"If Mel finds something, we might be able to get a warrant for the hospital's accounts, but until then, we can't do much but wait and see. I don't think they'll try anything again, but we're putting protection on you either way." He pauses, looks pained when he speaks again. "Is Bellamy staying here?"

Clarke smiles kindly, understanding the effort it took for him to ask the question. Bellamy and Wells have never been friends, jealous of the hold the other had on her heart, and it makes that heart both swell and clench – she loves that they're working together, but wishes the circumstances were different. "I think so. Yes."

Wells exhales deeply. "You'll never hear me say this again, but I'm glad to hear it. I still think he's an asshole but I trust him to protect you."

Clarke lightly swats his shoulder. "Look at you. Soon, you'll be making each other friendship bracelets."

He rolls his eyes and pushes to his feet, bends to press a kiss to her cheek. "Call if you see or hear anything." He looks at her sternly. "Anything."

"I know, I know," she huffs as she walks him out. She watches the straight line of his back as he treads to the cruiser, solid and steady like he's always been, a source of strength through all the trying times of her life. She'll need him even more in the coming days. But she needs herself too, the brain that got her through med school and residency, the skills she learned from ten years on her own. She's not the same girl that wouldn't take off her sundress at the reservoir. It's time she remembered that.

She calls the hospital and takes off the rest of the week. It's a Thursday and she plans to use the next three days to her advantage, starting with Raven's color printer. She wedges her desk between the bed and window and turns the blank, white wall into her version of a corkboard. There are photos of the important players, and all the public records she could locate online, and an entire post-it pad worth of notes. She finds some twine in the garage and connects the dots, Sydney and Tsing and Emerson, but her gut aches because she still can't prove that they're guilty.

She's studying her work when Bellamy comes in just before midnight. "Hi Carrie Mathison," he says and drops a kiss to the top of her head. "Uncovered any conspiracies while I was gone?"

"Hmmn," Clarke says absently, eyes flitting between Diana Sydney and Carl Emerson's shifty expressions. "Sorry." She steps away from the corkboard. "What were you saying?"

Bellamy smiles. "Nothing important." He nods at the wall. "You've been busy."

"Just doing my part." She watches him carefully, waits to see if he'll admit to maneuvering behind her back, but he smiles wearily as he drops her keys on the nightstand. He's unscathed but exhausted, and Clarke contemplates delaying the confrontation, continues to mull it over when she retreats into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Even if she doesn't agree with the boys' decision, she understands it. As teenagers, Bellamy had always swept club "business" under the rug, and she'd never pushed to know more. It was a part of him that terrified her, even as she got caught up in the thrill of being with a man on the other side of the law, but she knew, even at eighteen, that the slightest hint of truth and she'd find herself burned away to ash or wearing the same broken expression as Aurora. But she's not a teenager anymore and she's seen things – survived – things and she can't let it go.

He slides into bed next to her. "I had a key made," he says and brushes a kiss to her neck.

"I was going to do that tomorrow," Clarke says, inhales sharply as his mouth moves down the column of her throat.

"What else did you do today?" He sucks softly on a pulse point, gentle enough so it won't leave a mark, but hard enough to make her moan.

"I saw Wells," she manages to say, tilts her head back into the pillow.

"What'd he have to say?" He feigns ignorance and trails wet kisses down her shoulder, like he's not keeping anything from her, like there are no secrets between them.

Clarke grows tired of the game, annoyed by his charade and her own behavior. If she wants him to be honest with her, she can't play coy with him. "You should have told me that you're working with him."

Bellamy sighs and rolls to his back. "I was trying to protect you."

"I get that, but you can't keep things from me." She shifts to her side and their shoulders brush.

"I thought you didn't want to know," Bellamy says softly. "You said what the club did stayed with the club."

"I'm not that girl anymore," she reminds him. "I'm a part of this now and I need to know what's going on. Emerson's on the loose, and Diana Sydney and her crew aren't in jail." She reaches for his hand, draws it under the waistband of her pajama bottoms to rest over the phoenix branded into her skin. "I'm part of this life now. There can't be secrets between us."

"You're sure?" he asks. "If we do this, you're going to need to know everything, not just what you think you can handle. All of it. That's the only way this can work."

Clarke hesitates a few seconds, not to debate her choice but prepare herself for the aftermath. There'll be no going back from this, no way to be with Bellamy and live in the vague. She'll be all in, the way she wouldn't let herself fall ten years in the past. "Okay," she whispers. "Tell me everything."

It starts with a deep breath and fear in his eyes, but Bellamy doesn't back down. "Emerson's a sneaky son-of-a-bitch," he says, watching her carefully, relaxing only when she gives him a small nod. "We're working on a permanent solution." He doesn't need to elaborate for Clarke to understand that Emerson will no longer be amongst the living.

"Wells says he has an alibi." Her lip curls in disgust. She can't believe Emerson's caused so much damage and still roaming free.

Bellamy rolls to his side and curves a hand over her hip so she turns with him. "We're going to keep you safe," he promises.

She's not worried about staying safe – she's seen the club, knows what they can do – she's worried about the people she loves. "Do you think he killed my dad?" If Jake died because he figured out Diana Sydney's scheme, the Mountaineers likely masterminded it.

He pauses, like he's trying to avoid telling the truth, but their agreement hangs heavy in the air and he brushes his fingers lightly over her skin. "Yeah, I think he did."

The truth hurts but it's better than living in the dark, and she knew the cost when Bellamy agreed to her terms. She just didn't think it would be such a sharp stab, knowing Emerson killed the best person in her life, that he tried to kill her too, and he's out there somewhere, alive and free while her father is rotting to dust and bones under six feet of hard-packed earth. She's unprepared for the tears that spill down her cheeks, and she sobs a little harder when Bellamy pulls her into his arms and tucks her into the curve of his chest. "I'm going to fix this," he whispers into her hair.

Clarke wipes her tears and rests her forehead against Bellamy's. "We're going to fix this together."

"You're sure?" he asks one last time, gives her a final out. Knowing is one thing, but doing is an entirely different kind of sacrifice.

She slides against his hips and rises over him, bends at the waist to bring her mouth down to his. "Together," she promises and seals her vow with a kiss.


The next morning, Clarke stumbles into the kitchen to find Raven drinking coffee at the kitchen table. She slides a mug across the table when Clarke slips into an empty chair, stoically regards her while stirring half & half into her coffee.

"Saw Bellamy this morning."

Clarke blows on her own coffee. "He stayed over last night."

"Is it going to be a permanent thing?"

Clarke doesn't like Raven's accusing tone or the disappointed look in her eyes but she remembers their conversation only a few days ago, in the same kitchen, discussing the same fears, and she decides not to hold it against her friend. She smiles hopefully. "I thought he and Wick could carpool, save money on gas."

Raven's fingers tighten around the handle of her mug. "I like Bellamy. He's not a bad guy. But the life he leads? It's no good for you."

"It's different this time," Clarke says again, still surprised by the conviction in her voice.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Raven smiles tightly but she doesn't sound convinced.

Clarke hides her face in her mug and takes an enthusiastic gulp. She hopes she does too.


Wells calls later that day with an update from Mel. She's found something but it will take a couple days to get a warrant for the records and comb through them. Clarke squeals like when she was twelve and got tickets to NSYNC for her birthday while Wells winces and says he'll call back when he has more news. She's just starting to update her corkboard accordingly when her concentration is broken by the rhythmic tap of stiletto boots on Raven's slate walk. After a quick trip to the peephole, she opens the door.

"Hi Aurora – " she starts but the other woman pushes past her and takes stock of the house, the afghan tossed casually on the couch and Raven and Kyle's empty beer bottles languishing on the coffee table; on the walk to the kitchen, she surreptitiously closes her bedroom door to keep Aurora's prying eyes away from the corkboard. "What are you doing here?" she tries again as Aurora slips on rubber gloves and starts washing the coffee mugs in the sink.

When she's finished, Aurora calmly strips off the gloves and rests her hips against the sink, watching Clarke with open disgust. "You in the habit of opening the door for strangers?"

She looks so much like her son that Clarke has to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. "You're not a stranger and I checked the peephole before I let you in."

Aurora glances around the kitchen, noting the window over the sink and the backdoor that opens to a small yard. "This place isn't safe."

Clarke holds her ground. "There's a patrol car outside and I'll call Sterling if I go anywhere." She raises her chin. "Bellamy and I talked about it. We're in agreement that it's fine to stay here." Aurora cocks an eyebrow and Clarke resents her even more; it's a skill she always wishes she possessed. "Bellamy and I are a team," Clarke adds, raises both eyebrows and stares back.

Aurora regards her for a long while, her eyes lingering for an extended moment on Clarke's face, before crossing her arms over her chest. "Get dressed," she says and starts putting the cereal back in the pantry.

She could protest, but she knows she'll lose anyway, so Clarke meekly goes to her room to change. When she comes back dressed in jeans and a tank top, she finds Aurora sitting at the kitchen table cleaning a gun.

"What are you doing?" Clarke hisses and looks left and then right, even though they're alone in the house. "Put that away!"

Aurora calmly continues cleaning the gun. "You need to protect yourself."

Clarke doesn't disagree. She has Bellamy and Wells and there's a self-defense class at the local Y that she signed up to take, all the right precautions without keeping a firearm in her house. "I don't need a gun." The chair squeaks painfully across the floor as Clarke plops down in it.

"This is a Glock 19, the compact version of the 9mm." Aurora looks pointedly at Clarke's tightly clasped hands. "It's good for people with small hands." She runs a finger over the chamber. "It holds a fifteen round magazine, but you can go as high as thirty-three." She slides the gun across the table. "Give it a whirl."

"I'm not touching it."

Aurora smiles tightly. "Someone tried to kill you, sweetheart. The boys are doing their best, but nothing is absolute. You need to protect yourself," she says again.

Clarke stares at the gun gleaming an oily black on the same table where she shared a cup of coffee with Raven that morning, where Myles ate breakfast just two days earlier. It makes her chest ache thinking of never having that time with Raven again.

"Pick it up," Aurora prods and Clarke slowly wraps her fingers around the grip, tests its weight in her hand. It's lighter than she expected, less than a pound unloaded and they haven't put the bullets in yet. "How's it feel?"

Clarke studies the trigger and the barrel, tries to memorize every millimeter of the weapon in her hands. "There's no serial number," she snaps.

Across the table, Aurora shrugs. "If you use it, you won't want it traced back to you."

"It's illegal to carry a concealed weapon without permit!" Clarke carefully puts the gun back on the table.

"You planning on telling anyone about it?"

"No, but – "

"But nothing. You need a gun, end of story. Get your purse."

"This is insane!" Clarke sputters, but Aurora looks at her like she's a moron and she hangs her head while going to get her things. She's silent in the car, hunting for state license plates on the highway, feeling very much like she's seventeen-years-old again. She and Bellamy had been reading on his bed – Rebecca and some old journal of his dad's – when Aurora had caught them. From the expression on her face, they probably should have been naked, but she'd only stared at them down and ordered Clarke to get in the car for an equally silent ride home. Ten years later, the issue over the journal is still a mystery, and Clarke makes a mental note to ask Bellamy about it later.

"The TonDC reservation?" Clarke asks half an hour later when Aurora stops the SUV beside a scraggly meadow.

"We have a relationship," Aurora says and gets out of the car. She pulls a sack of empty beer cans from the trunk and trudges into the field in those ridiculous boots. "You coming?" she asks and cocks an eyebrow again.

Clarke sighs and follows her onto the sad excuse for grass, watches Aurora set up the cans on a series of posts, realizes she's not the first person that learned to shoot in this field. She imagines smaller versions of Bellamy and Octavia standing in the same meadow, legs braced and arms steady as they blasted away at Pabst and Coors Light empties. No matter her problems with Abby, she's grateful it took her this long to end up here.

Aurora comes up behind her and pulls the gun from her purse, shows Clarke how to load the clip and click the safety off. She shows Clarke how to stand and aim, how to minimize the recoil. "You ready?"

Clarke's hands are sweaty from gripping the gun but she resists the urge to rub her palms on her jeans. She can do this. She has to. If it's her life or Emerson's, she'll choose herself every time. "Okay," she says softly, lines up the target like Aurora showed her and pulls the trigger. She misses the can by the long shot and the recoil hums down her arm, but she's too distracted by the adrenaline rush to notice. "That was amazing," she says, can't keep the grin off her face, feeling a little like when she won the science fair in the eighth grade, like she was on top of the world, like nothing could stop her. But reality sets in and she realizes what she did – she fired a gun! – and guilt seeps through the rush. "Am I horrible for feeling that?" she asks, winces when she realizes she said the words aloud.

Aurora's face is impassive as she comes over. "It's no small thing, discharging a weapon," she says, frowning when she sees just how off the mark Clarke's attempts were. "Your aim is shit. Keep practicing." She crosses her arms and gestures at the cans. "We don't have all day."

Clarke grits her teeth, tamps down the urge to remind Aurora that it's her first time firing a gun but then she remembers how the other woman looked at her in the cabin's kitchen, the pride in her eyes because she didn't give up, and it gives Clarke the confidence to try again. She keeps missing but Aurora is patient, even sharing pointers and tips until she hits every can. Before they return to the car, Aurora even throws an arm over her shoulders and squeezes briefly, and Clarke realizes what happened at the cabin wasn't a fluke. Aurora will never be easy, but she's family, and she'll always have her back in that controlling Blake way. It's something she'll need to get used to, how the Blakes insert themselves into every aspect of her life, because five minutes after Aurora drops her off, another one shows up to tell her what to do.

"Shit!" Clarke exclaims and stuffs the gun in the back of her jeans. She'd been debating where to store it – hall closet, nightstand, her purse – but the loud pounding on her front door doesn't let up and the decision gets delayed.

"I know you're in there, Clarke," Octavia shouts. "Open up."

Clarke opens the door to find Octavia and her Reaper boyfriend on the front step. The former is holding two sacks of groceries and the latter is holding two cases of beer, and they both look a little annoyed.

"You gonna let us in?" Octavia cocks her head at the bags. "This shit is heavy." As if Clarke needed further demonstration, the boyfriend shifts the enormous cases of beer he's carrying.

"Of course, of course," she says, holds open the door and follows them into the house. Octavia is unpacking her groceries and the Reaper is making room in the fridge for the beer and it's a little bewildering but also inspiring, the audacity of Octavia barging into someone else's house and commandeering the kitchen.

"Is that a gun in your pants or are you happy to see us?" Octavia cocks an eyebrow, the same irritating trick she inherited from her mother, and glances at the gun sticking out of Clarke's waistband. Even her boyfriend cracks a smile over his beer.

"Shit!" Clarke swears again and pulls the gun to safety. "Your mom forced it on me. Give me a minute to put it away and I'll help with..." She gestures in the general direction of the groceries lining her counter.

Octavia's eyebrow rises even higher. "I'm making dinner, Clarke," Octavia says all matter of fact, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Go put away your gun, then come help me with the pasta."

The blood drains from Clarke's face and her fingers tighten around the gun in her hands. "Anything but lasagna, okay?" She'll never forget the scene on Raven's driveway, the red tomato sauce mingling with Myles' blood.

"Mac and cheese, okay?" Her teasing tone has been replaced with sympathy and Octavia's smile is kind. "Go," she says gently. "We'll handle dinner."

It's almost thirty minutes before Clarke comes back, after she's hidden the gun in her nightstand and washed her hands repeatedly to remove any traces of gunpowder residue, after she's taken a series of deep breaths until she remembers who she is. It's just a precaution, a means of defending herself, but she can't stop staring at the pine drawers on her side of the bed.

She retreats to the kitchen before it drives her insane, finds Raven there, arguing with Octavia about how much cheese to add, and Kyle rinsing the noodles while Lincoln chops vegetables for a salad.

"I didn't realize we were having company," she says, wishes she were wearing something other than the dusty jeans and tank from target practice.

"I didn't either," Raven says pointedly, but Kyle swats her behind before she can say more.

"Clarke suffered a trauma, Reyes," he reminds her. "She should have people around."

Raven mutters under her breath about Blakes in her house but doesn't protest further, although she does insist on adding cayenne pepper to the cheese sauce. "Everything's better with a little kick," she says and Octavia mumbles something under her own breath. "I didn't hear you, Blake. You wanna say that a little louder?" Raven snaps, but without heat, igniting the same stupid argument that's raged since Octavia beat her in a drag race the summer she turned thirteen. Raven had been horrified to lose; Clarke had been horrified that she actually competed against a child. Arkadia, she'd thought, already feeling the itch to run.

"Ignore them," Clarke tells Kyle and steals a pepper from the cutting board. "I'm Clarke," she says to the muscled mass of tattoos taking up half the space in the kitchen.

"Lincoln," he says, continues chopping tomatoes with an efficiency that would make Aurora swoon.

"How can I help?" she asks but the various cooks in her kitchen ignore her, so she takes a beer from the fridge and takes a seat on the back steps, where Bellamy finds her a few minutes later.

"Hey," he says and sits down beside her, beer in hand.

"Hey," she exhales, already feeling better just from hearing his voice.

"How was your day?"

"Your mom took me shooting."

He takes a sip of his beer. "Really."

"Really. Turns out I'm not such a bad shot."

He chuckles lightly. "So how was it?"

She presses closer into his side. "Amazing. Terrifying." She represses a shudder. "The gun's in my nightstand. It's loaded, but the safety's on." She represses another shudder. "I hope I never have to use it."

"You won't, but just in case, I'm glad it's there."

Clarke thinks she is too, but she doesn't want to talk about it anymore, the illegal weapon she's storing in the same drawer as her vibrator. She makes another mental note to pick up a lockbox tomorrow. John Blake's journal flits through her mind, but she has enough on her plate and the sunset is lovely, the air is cool, and Bellamy's warm and solid at her side. The past can wait for another day, especially when the future looks so beautiful.

They're still watching the sky when Octavia calls them inside for dinner, and a star shoots across the horizon, a bright white spark arcing through the inky blue night. Clarke wonders if it's too late to make wish – for her father's killers to pay, for Myles' death to mean something, for all the people she loves to stay safe and whole and alive – but it's gone before she has the chance, a thin whisper of shimmering dust. For a moment, tears prick her eyes for another thing that she's lost, another chance gone to make things right, but then Bellamy's helping her to her feet and she can hear Raven and Kyle's laughter through the open door and she blinks the tears away and snuggles into Bellamy's side. There are still things she wants but when it comes down to what matters, she has everything she needs.


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