I AM SO SORRY IT HAS BEEN SO LONG! For the last month I was studying for finals, taking finals, and then in Rome and Ethiopia over holidays. I still have about five days left until my new semester starts, and only just now am I getting shit (ie; updating stories) done. This one is far overdue, of course. I apologize I didn't really have anyway to contact my people here. If you want to stay updated, you can follow me on my Wattpad account (my pen-name is FrostedGemstones) because it has like a twitter capability there where I can send messages out to my followers, and i managed to update them about my lack of writing activity. The site itself might have some scary fanfiction (1D...shudder) but that little thing right there makes up for it a little.

Thank you to everyone that reviewed, hopefully you're still with me: Molnia, Nicole1120, JordanneP, RainPrincess1986, Kait, and xxDeadInsidexx.

Kait:I alway come back to unfinished stories; I could seriously never be so cruel as to leave a story unfinished unless I had an extremely good reason only a step below dying!


"Remember, keep those doors closed. Food, warm clothing, only what's important now! Terry, you know better. Put that down." Bellamy barked, catching the thirteen-year-old attempting to shove some figurine into his pocket. Guiltily, the boy put it back on the shelf, face reddened with embarrassment.

Bellamy gave him a hard glare, but was assured he wouldn't do something so idiotic again, before checking his list. A gust of cold wind blew through the tunnels, and he shivered, zipping up his newly acquired parka up to his neck and flexing his fingers through his gloves in an attempt to get the blood running.

"What did I say about that door?" He growled, and Monroe sprinted past him.

"I'll get it." She called, sighing in frustration too.

Bellamy felt like smashing his head against a wall. He hadn't forgotten how difficult it had been to lead a group of children that were delinquents. But leading a group made up mostly of non-delinquent children? Completely awful. He found most arrogant and disrespectful. He constantly had to remind himself that they weren't used to having to do all this merely to survive, and most were actually good kids, because they'd never found themselves in the Box. It didn't mean he wasn't tired of them trying to undermine him half the time.

He spun around to the sound of wood breaking, and saw a kid breaking apart an antique chair that once had intricate wood details and a soft padded seat. Now, it was in splinters on the ground.

"Paul! What are you doing?" He roared, grabbing the rest of the chair from the boy's hand, attempting to set it back up on it's remaining two legs.

"Firewood." Paul replied, a little confused at Bellamy's tone, "It's just a chair."

"Did you forget we live in a forest now? This is history." Bellamy said, teeth gnashing. And it wasn't even about the history of it, although Bellamy was sure some carpenter had spent days detailing it, but about the honor of the owner's before it. Maybe this had been a lady's favorite tea chair, or a teenager's seat where she did her hair up every morning. They deserved the respect that stupid kids didn't destroy such things.

"It's a chair." Paul repeated, his tone growing hotter.

"Go find Lincoln. You're now on haul duty." Bellamy commanded. There was a tense second between him and the fiery teen before Paul loped off, glaring reproachfully at Bellamy.

"These kids!" Bellamy huffed as Monroe returned, shaking his head; "You'd think they'd never taken orders in their life!"

"Don't mind Paul, he was richer on the Ark. He probably never did." Monroe waved her hand, "And…it takes a while of getting used to, you know? You, a delinquent, as a leader."

"I'm a great leader." Bellamy said, a little offended.

"You also shot Chancellor Thelonius." She offered unhelpfully, "But hey, you know." She added with a shrug.

Bellamy glowered.

It had been a month and a half since Clarke's father's death date, and they'd voted to go through the mountain for supplies. Well, that wasn't quite true. At first, there had been a slight vote against it, and they'd fared well for about two weeks. Then, a brutal snowstorm hit and everyone realized they were in far too much over their heads. The vote had been taken again amongst the council, and this time it had been unanimous. To survive, they'd need to loot the mountain.

No one had been overly happy about it, so it was easy for Bellamy to step in and take the lead job. Everyone looked at him as though he'd been assigned some boring or dull duty, and no one really envied him. He'd also been chosen because he had pressured for a sense of dignity as they looted, that they leave much of it undisturbed and only took what was necessary. The wounds and idea of death was still too fresh to take more than that.

But it was hard. Bellamy often came across something he cool like a large and soft sofa, and thought it might be nice for the main room. Or a painting that would look awesome on a wall. He had to keep himself in check though; they weren't ready for many things they'd grown used to on the Ark in terms of living conditions. Perhaps next spring, when individual houses were constructed, and what they'd done was not quite as lingering, they would come back and distribute things like furniture or other things.

He had found himself the leader of mostly non-Skybox children. Anyone who'd been in the Mountain wasn't rushing to go back, sans Monroe, Lincoln, and Clarke. Those three were strong enough to realize he needed a little help, and he knew Clarke felt guilty enough she'd never let him in alone…except for today.

"I found this blanket!" A girl called to him triumphantly from a room, "There's not much else useful in this room." She said.

"Good." He nodded, checking off another room number on his sheet. He'd go through it later, but it was easier to have multiple people sweep it first. A couple trinkets occasionally made it back, but a lot they either caught or were respectful enough to leave it be.

"Do you think the medical hut could use it?" She asked, rocking back on her feet, "For Timothy?"

Bellamy gave a sad smile, "I think he'd like it. He'll be warm, at least."

Winter was nothing like anyone had expected. Mostly, it was the sickness it brought. On the Ark, most things were pretty sterile, and there wasn't much of anything to get sick from. Apart from the few that guarded the tree, really no one got sick. If they did, they were swiftly quarantined and over the illness within a couple days. Here, people fell ill left and right and it spread like wildfire. The medical hut was over packed with people, and the majority of them were quite ill. The youngest was a boy named Timothy, who'd gotten sick just after December 1st, and still hadn't come back from it. He was why Clarke wasn't here today helping him, the boy's condition was far too serious to leave. Neither her nor her mother could do much to help, she'd told him.

They weren't going to let the others know, it would only cause panic.

So Bellamy smiled at her, and checked his list. "We're nearly done. You can start heading back with that. Wouldn't want it getting wet. Tell the others to start packing up. That was the last room." He told Monroe, and watched as his workers trickled out of the mountain with warm jackets, blankets, pillows, or entire cots (if they could manage). They also were bringing back food, medicine, and useful books. Bellamy signaled to Monroe as she arrived back at his side, and they both began to re-sweep the rooms. They both had sharp eyes at this point to things tucked away that might be useful.

In the third room Bellamy looked through, he found some oil pastels. Glancing around to make sure Monroe wasn't going to pop in, he shoved them down his shirt and zipped up his jacket.

They only found a handful of thing that the first team hadn't caught, and he was pleased. His team was becoming more thorough with their movements. He met up with Lincoln at the gates, who had a bag of confiscated items that they stored in a broom closet. He was also glad to see the bag was getting smaller.

The first day had been the worst, three whole bags of things confiscated. He'd taken the whole team promptly to the graves, and made them read off the names while he talked about those he'd known or heard stories about, and made the kids realize that these people had died suddenly and they'd killed them. It didn't matter who started it or who was in the wrong, but they needed to understand these had been people too and they were the rightful owners. They should thank their lucky stars every day they got the chance to use things like blankets.

The trek back to Camp Jaha was difficult. The snow bit his nose and fingers like a dog, and he pulled his scarf around his face so only his eyes peeked out. Back at the camp, no one lingered outside. A few people looked on from the entrances to the larger hut, with blankets wrapped tightly around their shoulders. Kane was already working with Octavia to sort the items brought back into groups. Bellamy nodded to him as he passed and went to the medical hut.

"You shouldn't be in here." Clarke's voice stopped him before he even got both his feet in, "You'll get sick too."

"Did Timothy get the blanket?" He asked, his voice a mere croak. Two more people had been shoved into the already cramped space.

"Yeah." Her voice softened and she wiped a tear from her eyes, "I don't know what I can do. He's dying, Bell."

"Have you eaten yet?"

"I've been here. I'm needed." She said firmly, starting to go back to where her mother and Sinclair fluttered around to the dying people.

"No, let's get food. We don't need you getting sick either." He said, and raised his voice, "I'm forcing Clarke to eat." He called to Abby. She looked up, startled.

"What? Oh, yes. Please. I can't get her to leave either." She said, a hint of a smile on her lips.

"I'm far too busy to eat, Bellamy!" Clarke protested as he literally dragged her from the tent, handing her a jacket near the door.

"Do I look like I care?" He scoffed, pulling her toward the food hut. Monty was on food duty today, and it seemed they were serving a kind of stew or broth. People lined up, bracing and shivering in the cold to get their portions. Monty saw them, and waved them to the front of the line. Most people had strict food times that they could go, to crowd control, but the leaders got food whenever they could. Monty handed them two bowls.

"Clarke lives. I didn't think we'd ever see her from the medical hut."

"Har har, very funny." Clarke said, her tone dry, "People are actually-," She realized she was in a public place, and sighed, "Thanks Monty." She settled for, albeit in a muttered tone.

They weaved through the people and out into the cold and back to the main hut where they sat on Bellamy's bed. She at first just glared at him, until it was obvious he wasn't going to let her go back to the medical hut. He watched as she took a sip, tentative at first, but then hunger took over and she down the entire bowl.

"Have mine." Bellamy offered, handing his half-eaten slosh to her.

"What? No. You've been trekking through the forest all day. I know how exhausted the team makes you." She said, poking his side.

"And you've been standing all day too. You're much more important to us right now than me." He said. Clarke smacked his arm.

"Don't say that."

"It's true. So many people are falling sick. We need probably another doctor for things to even start to be fair."

Clarke's jaw twitched, but she didn't disagree.

Bellamy looked around, and when he was sure everyone was basically minding their own business, pulled the oil set from his shirt. Clarke's eyes grew wide and sparkled with recognition.

"Bellamy, you shouldn't have." She whispered, "No one else can take things from the cave like this." She hissed, but didn't let go of it. He gave a casual shrug.

"Being the leader has its perks." He said, "And you, of all people, need a little joy in your life." He said, and he felt her hand slip into his own. A rush of blood raced through his whole body.

"Thanks." She said, squeezing his hand, "Really."

"Anytime, Princess."

There was a commotion down the ways, near the medical hut, and Clarke sat up, her hand jerking out of his. Wick came rushing down, and grabbed her arm.

"Clarke," Was all he said, the terror in his voice a clear indication of the situation. She shoved the oil paints under Bellamy's pillow, and strode through the people. Bellamy followed behind, elbowing his way through the crowd that filled in as she walked.

The medical hut was full of shouting and Bellamy could only see a sliver of the action, but it was centered on Timothy. He was coughing violently, blood staining his little fingers, and Abby was yelling something about a high fever. His dazed eyes looked around and met Bellamy's, and Bellamy took a sharp intake of breath. It was the strangest feeing, like a cord snapped, and an ominous coldness overtook Bellamy's whole body.

He stumbled away, trying to catch his breath, shocked. The feeling of a string being pulled taut and snapping was so much clear in his brain, like a pounding, and he didn't even grab his hat or scarf. He just took out running out of the camp. The guard didn't even notice him leave; everyone was crowding around the medical tent praying for a miracle.

Bellamy reached the cave in record time, sliding down the slippery and muddy slope to the waiting area. He didn't even greet Finn or his mother or anyone else, but grabbed Finn's shoulders.

"Where to people arrive when they die?" He demanded, his grip tight on Finn's shoulders.

"What?" Finn asked. Bellamy could feel the stares of many people at his back, but didn't care.

"When people die. Where do they arrive at?" Bellamy asked, his voice sharper and more impatient, half-shaking Finn.

"Over there, by that rock formation." Finn stuttered out, "Why?"

Bellamy shoved him away, sprinting over to the rock Finn had pointed out. He watched, holding his breath, praying he was wrong. Dead people gathered behind him, whispering quietly in confusion. It was the strangest thing; one moment there was nothing there. The next, in the span of a blink, was Timothy with blood all down his chin and chest.

"Oh, oh dear." His mother whispered, stepping in front of Bellamy to pick up the five-year-old. Bellamy snapped his eye shut, shaking his head.

"Bellamy?" The child whispered, bringing him back into focus.

"Timonthy…" Bellamy whispered, "You're safe now, it's okay." His legs felt like jelly as he stepped forward, using part of his sleeve to wipe away the blood from his chin and fingers, although there was little he could do.

The anguished sob of a mother broke his thoughts as Timothy's mom, who had died in the Ark's falling, stumbled forward to embrace the boy. Aurora handed him off, tears glistening in her eyes. The mother turned to Bellamy, face ashen.

"How did he die?" She demanded.

"A sickness. The cold, the winter…" He found himself fumbling, "I don't really know. We tried to save him." He found the words pouring out before he could catch them.

"Is it bad up there?" Someone asked, frowning. Bellamy was pretty sure they had been killed in the culling.

"So much sickness, and I don't know what it is. No one seems to, except Lincoln, and he doesn't know how to stop it." He said, looking at the place Timothy had appeared with a frown, "There will be more." He felt it in his chest like a rock lodged deeply in there.

"Are you okay?" His mother asked, cradling his jaw.

"I felt it mom. I looked at that kid up on earth and knew he was going to die and there was nothing I could do. I felt his life line snap." He whispered, "The least I could do was be here. I wish…I wish I had been wrong."

"You can feel when people are dying?" Finn spoke up, "Shit…"

"Does your book say anything about it?" Maya asked, and he noticed her hovering close for the first time.

"I think so. I recall something. I guess I didn't really think…" He pulled out the book of Hades from his jacket pocket; flipping through the pages to find the journal entry he vaguely recalled reading. How could he have forgotten this? Then again, there were thousands of years worth of notes and scribbles, it was easy to loose it in the sea of information…

"Here." Bellamy said, "It was written in Latin, and I skimmed it. I can feel everyone's lifeline. In the beginning of my reign, I'll only be able to feel it clearly when someone's about to die, a forewarning of sorts. It says when I become skilled in all ways of Hades- I don't know what that means- I'll be able to look at almost anyone and tell exactly how and when they'll die. The almost is asterisked with the notice that some destinies are more set in stone than others, I guess that some might change depending on things." He held the page with his finger, closing it slightly, frowning. He didn't know how he felt about being able to sense everyone's death dates. He didn't want to look at Miller and know that his friend was mortal and was going to die. Or maybe, everyone he cared about would be long dead before he 'mastered' that.

"Is there more?" Maya prompted, ever curious.

"Yeah." He flipped the book back open, "On that note, it says I can also kill others. I suppose that would mess up the death date idea, because I can't tell if I'm- as death- is going to off someone. But I do have that power, obviously…as Hades." He winced deeper. He'd killed before, sure, but the idea of having such ultimate power now…? This unsettled him. He liked being mortal before, where there was a bit more chance to life and death. The guy made it seem as though it was only a simple snap of his fingers, which maybe it was, and someone was dead.

"Do you think you could reverse it?" His mother asked softly, "Heal people? The Romans hailed Hades as a grateful god too, because he controlled the plant life." She reminded her son. He gave a warm smile to his mom, not for the first time pleased he got the love of history from her. He'd been so caught up in thinking about his newly read powers he had forgotten that.

"I'm really not sure." He was positive there was nothing about bringing people back to life in here, he would have seen it and remembered it clearly, "Most of the pervious Hades didn't like going up there and socializing much." He pointed above him, "I'm a unique case."

"Wouldn't that be wonderful." Timothy's mother sniffed, "No other boys like him would have to suffer." She whispered, rubbing his ginger hair affectionately.

"It's a nice thought." Bellamy agreed, a bit wistfully. It sounded too good to be true.

There was a hesitant tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Greg standing behind him.

"Bellamy? I'm sorry to interrupt, but perhaps you've come at an opportune time. The boat's done."

It took a couple moments for the words to sink in, and when it did, Bellamy whipped his head around to see the shiny new boat bobbing in the water, painted an array of colors by Charlotte and a few other dead children she'd befriended down here. It brought a wide grin to his face.

"Looks marvelous Greg." He praised, stuffing the book back in his pocket, and going over to admire the handiwork. No detail had been missed, from the woodcarvings at the hull and front, to the comfort of the seats and the stick the new Charon would use. It was a pretty darn good boat, if he did say so himself.

"So…?" The question hung in the air, a palatable excitement rustling through the crowd. Bellamy gave a slow shake of his head.

"I need to get back and mourn with the living." He cast a sorry gaze to Timothy, "A child's death is going to really hurt everyone, you know? I'm their leader first and foremost because they're not going to be around as long."

"No, please." Greg said, "Mourn with them. We mourn here, but you do need to be up there. I'm sure we can wait another day."

Even those that seemed to protest were pacified by Greg's words, the wise old man having a calming effect on the crowd. He was well respected, Bellamy could tell. And he was grateful. It was an emotional day, and Bellamy was a little irritated and didn't really want to explain himself.

"Won't they be wondering where you've gotten off to?" His mother asked gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah…" He sighed, "I just…I wanted to be here if…" he motioned to Timothy. Timothy's mother gave a coo of gratitude.

"You have a large heart, Bellamy." She said, "He really liked you, up there." She looked at the ground above her, "I'm glad to be reunited, but I wish it wasn't like this. You need to make sure it won't happen again."

"I will do everything I can." He was serious in that promise. He turned back to Greg and Finn, looking at the boat thoughtfully.

"I don't' know when I'll be able to be back." He stated honestly, "But you need me here. Things are tense up there, lots of sickness and cold and I don't think Timothy will be the last, although if anything, hopefully the last child. I don't want to keep everyone waiting but…" He gave a moan of frustration. The pull to both his leadership jobs were taking the toll on him, the stress and guilt of being one place and not the other constantly ringing in the back of his mind.

"I get it." Even Finn's voice was understanding, "Greg's right. We can wait. Is Clarke keeping healthy?"

Bellamy didn't want to answer, but his frustration flooded out, "You know her. I have to forcefully pull her away to even get her to eat. She'd run herself into the ground if it meant saving two or three lives."

Finn shook his head, "That's what I was afraid of." He said, sticking his hand in his pockets.

Bellamy held a sharp response on his tongue. Instead, he turned promptly on his heels, in no such mood to let anything else about Clarke slip- and was about to call to Wells and his last chosen judge over to discuss about the next time he visited when Finn gave an audible gasp.

He turned, and saw a figure emerging from the entrance from the upper world. An instinctual pull forced him to move. He waved his hand, and felt powers unknown draw from it, and blinked in surprise, realizing he'd vanished all the spirits from sight. They were still there, individual presences of the deceased pressing against his brain, their essences still existing, merely not in sight. Finn's was the most persistent, annoying like a mosquito, his incredulous question ringing high pitched through Bellamy's own mind-

"Can she even be down here? Is she trapped now?"

"I don't know." Bellamy replied with a low mutter, just praying that his reflexes had been quick enough and all the person saw was a very empty cavern, and Bellamy standing at the center of it. His own mind was racing frantically to answer Finn's question, and he was terrified to realize he didn't know at all what happened next.

He walked casually toward them, trying to think of anything he could say that wouldn't sound totally weird about the fact he was wandering a cave. Literally nothing came to mind.

The girl turned, her eyes flashing suspiciously, looking Bellamy up and down. He coughed.

"Hi-," He began, but she cut him off.

"Bellamy," she asked with little preamble, "What is this?"

Bellamy could feel his mother's invisible hand on his shoulder, her fingers quivering. He understood. All he could manage was a little and unsure lick of his lips.

"About that, O…"


I know, I know...I'm sure a lot of you were hoping it was Clarke. Her time is not here yet; it would be a missed opportunity if she found it by accidentally stumbling onto it. No, I have a much more dramatic plan for her MWAHAHAH. But what now? Has Octavia accidentally signed her own death warrant? I suppose you'll just have to wait...

You guys won't have to wait eons for an update because I had a total writing splurge and already wrote the next chapter, so it should be up within a reasonable amount of time (reasonable as in less than a month, I have many other fanfictions to tend to). I'm also writing what might be anywhere been a one-shot to a three-parter Bellarke AU that occurs on the Ark. Be on the look out for that!

In my personal life, relating to this DID ANYONE ELSE SEE THE TWO MIN LONG PROMO FOR SEASON 3 OF THE 100? It was seriously everything I wanted and didn't want to see at the same time XD At least we know it's not going to disappoint; I mean, I didn't think it would, but sometimes by the third season some TV shows loose it's spark that made it so good in the first two. True, it hasn't aired but I mean, c'mon...those promos were incredible and it was like shorter than most songs.

In a personal and also unrelated 100 note, I saw the new Star Wars movie. *star eyes* I'm so obsessed. You have no idea. And I'm such Rylo Ken trash...sigh...Anyone else with me?