IX

"Never thought I'd see that." Somewhere in the progress, Octavia had reached them.

As Clarke looked around, emotions threatening to overcome her judgment, as if they already hadn't, she noticed they were so many more people than she could have ever anticipated.

There was Lincoln and Wick and Raven.

And Raven, Raven who was shaking so badly.

Suddenly, instinct kicked in.

"What happened?" Clarke asked, the magic of the moment lost.

For a second, no one replayed, too perplexed to say anything. Clarke's eyes traveled back to Bellamy and he understood.

"We were caught in a storm-"

"That storm? As in the last night storm?"

Clarke could hardly believe this. How had they even survived that, not that she was complaining.

"Yes, and she got sick."
Clarke wondered as to how she had been the only one to get sick but decided against asking.

"We have to go back inside." The blonde instructed, for the first time since forever, turning towards the two red-haired siblings that had doored her for the few days.

Farah only nodded.

"What do you mean, inside?" Octavia asked, in a slightly defensive tone.

"You'll see." Was the only response Clarke gave her. She moved her eyes across the field, for a moment meeting Iskender's blue eyes.

She looked away, not bearing the cold look she had received.

Bellamy looked dumbstruck at the imposing structure staring back at him.

Whatever previous joy he had at seeing Clarke was long since forgotten. The memory of her lips on his, however, wasn't as easy to loose, even if his conscious had other problems to worry about.

He stared back at the blonde, but she was too busy having some kind of unspoken conversation with the red-haired man.

So Bellamy focused his attention on Raven, and her apparently small figure shaking uncontrollably. She was leaning on Wick for support but it didn't take a genius to figure out she wasn't going to stand for much too long.

"Ok, where to?" He launched the question to no one in particular, hoping everyone would come back down to the ground.

Luckily, someone did.

The red-haired girl, had grabbed the hem of his shirt as she pulled him straight ahead. Everyone else seemed to follow without question.

"Where are we even going?"

"Hospital." The foreign man said, taking the lead.

No one said anything after that.

The fact that they hadn't been allowed to wait for Raven, or any news about her, in the hospital was weighting down on Clarke as guilt.

But she wouldn't let the terrible thoughts threatening overcome her. It was too dangerous to give yourself up as bait to depression, not when everyone was looking up at you.

She wondered if they would still look up at her after what she had done.

Everyone had gathered in the small apartment and though the blonde had tried to make conversation with all of her friends, every subject seemed to die out seconds after it had been brought up.

It resembled a badly injured patient in that way, the way they would somehow struggle to hold onto life, if only to loose the battle in the end.

Clarke hated thinking that way.

"It's fine. She survived much worse." The blonde said, the words sounding like a conviction to herself rather than everyone else.

No one answered for a while.

"Of course she will." Bellamy joined in.

There were not many things to say at that moment, but she appreciated the effort. She looked up at him, and just as always, they locked eyes.

This time, however, there was something different. There was no hesitation, no secrets in their stare but something that resembled puzzlement more than anything.

They didn't pull away until someone cleared their throat.

Of course, Clarke knew her friends. She knew they wouldn't shut up about what they had just seen, no matter the situation they were in. However, she dreaded the moment of questioning.

"So, you fled from the City of Light?"

It was, surprisingly enough, Bellamy who found this new topic of conversation.

And Farah wasn't going to answer their questions, they were too many and too new for her.

So Iskender cleared his throat and nodded.

"Yes." And after a moment's pause. "It's not all it's built up to be. I don't know what stories you've heard, but I can assure you there's nothing even remotely safe in a society obsessed with perfection."

Bellamy nodded, his curly hair slightly moving.

Clarke didn't fail to notice that, as dirty as they all were, there were no more open wounds marking them.

Even the all too familiar scar at the base of Bellamy's nose had slightly faded.

Clarke smiled, unconsciously, at the thought of peace.

"And you came across this place?"

Their conversation was all kinds of awkward, but Clarke couldn't blame anyone. After all, they were strangers.

"Maybe you should just rest?" Clarke suggested, seeing how most were barely keeping their eyes open.

She could only imagine the horribleness they had to endure to survive a storm.

It had to be at least almost midnight when Iskender announced that they could apparently request a few extra rooms.

It was about getting as many people to stay as possible, he had explained, as he arranged for seven more beds.

Now, they were at the entrance of yet another wing, and Clarke was having a mental debate on where she should sleep.

It was funny, but she felt like an intruder with her new friends just as much as she felt with her old ones.

"You didn't have to do this." Jasper said, looking from Iskender to Farah and back again.

"It was nothing." Farah whispered, just loud enough for Clarke to hear as well. It was the first time she had spoken since this morning, and her voice was stronger than most times.

Jasper nodded, obviously taken aback as well.

"Well, we'll just let you rest, then." Iskender said, his firm voice hiding the doubt . He looked at Clarke, who couldn't bare the eye contact so she turned around.

Only then, she caught Octavia's knowing eyes.

So she decided to just look at the wall in front of her as she spoke.

"I'm going to stay with them tonight, if that's okay."

Farah nodded, but Iskender said nothing.


There was something going on with that Iskender guy. Bellamy couldn't but his fingers on it just yet but whatever he had done, it obviously made Clarke uncomfortable.

But Clarke was sleeping just next to them, so there was nothing to worry about at that moment.

He was worried, nevertheless.

He had been twitching and turning all night and by the time he finally gave up on falling asleep, he was already out in the barely lit hallway. He expected that.

What he didn't expect was a wide awake Clarke to come out of her room.

"Isn't it a bit too early?" Bellamy asked teasingly. The memory of their kiss was replaying itself in his head and the urge to kiss her again was overwhelming.

"Bellamy!" She obviously hadn't expected to bump into him, either. "What are you doing here?"
"I couldn't sleep." He answered, truthfully.

"Me neither."

There was a long pause through which no knife could cut trough. The tention between them seemed filled with something entirely new.

"What's on your mind?"

"I'm not sure." Her lips were trembling horribly and Bellamy suddenly realized she was cold. He, however, had nothing on him but some shirt. "I guess, a little bit of everything."

Bellamy nodded, before stating the obvious. "We should get inside, you're cold."

Clarke didn't even bother to argue, simply nodded.

"Would you come inside as well?"

This was not an invitation. Not that kind of invitation, anyway and Bellamy had to remind himself that as he agreed.

Her room was exactly like his, small and crammed but somewhat cosy nevertheless. He found himself a spot to sit, a chair somewhere in a corner just as Clarke sat down on her bed.

The covers were shamelessly messy, the sign of her incapability to lay still.

"Why can't you sleep?" She continued their hallway conversation.

"The same, I guess."

"It's not your fault, Bellamy."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't your fault those people died either. But you still blame yourself."

"I pulled the trigger!" Clarke protested, louder than it was really necessary.

"We pulled the trigger!" Bellamy answered in the same tone. "Damn it, Clarke. You don't blame the shooter, you blame the maker."

"Is it really like that?" Without Bellamy realizing, Clarke had gotten up and was now staring him straight in the eye.

If he were to get up at that exact moment, there was no way to avoid collision. So instead, he didn't.

"Yes." He answered, although lighter than planned.

"Those people had helped us. Those people had given us the chance and as a thank you, I murdered them."

"We, Clarke! We did it! Together." He had gotten up, and the height difference seemed to work in his favor.

She stared at him, not losing her nerve.

That is, until her eyes slipped lower on his face, tracing the features.

There was no more hesitation when they kissed this time. But there was passion for definite. If Bellamy hadn't known better, he would say they were still arguing, even when they couldn't use words.

She pushed him against the door, and suddenly her lips weren't enough.

He threw her on the bed, but she turned them so she was on top.

Bellamy took a second to wonder whether he should just let her have her way, before deciding against it.

He flipped them both again, so he was once again on top.

Clarke grunted from beneath him and he couldn't help but smile mischievously, just as she started working her way down his neck.

The covers were now tangled around there, limiting their moves so Bellamy peeled them off, along with his shirt.

He just hoped these walls were thick enough.

Clarke woke up to a knock on her door.

She tried to get up, before realizing something was stopping her.

Someone.

As everything from last night came back to her, she found herself tangled in a mass of hands and legs. She moved as gently as she could and fought her way to the cold floor.

He was stubborn even in his sleep.

She took the blanket and wrapped it around herself before finally opening the door, just the tiniest of bits.

Octavia was impatiently waiting on the other side.

"Morning." Clarke greeted, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could. Honestly she couldn't imagine a little sister's reaction to this particular situation.

"Oh, no. Don't you start with that. We have no news on Raven, Wick is going crazy, Jasper and Monty won't go out of their rooms and my brother isn't even answering the - "

She stopped, seemingly to take a better look at Clarke.

"You did not just... You know what, never mind."

And with that, she left.

Just as Clarke closed the door, she found herself looking at a very hot, very naked Bellamy Blake.

"Tell me she did not just figure it out."

"I swear I didn't say anything. She just knew."

"Yes, I know. Octavia just knows a lot of things."

"Is there even a point in hiding... whatever this is." Clarke asked, wrapping her insecurity in indifference.

"I think we'd better decide what this is, before deciding not to hide it."

She gulped, slightly turning away as he searched for his clothes, meanwhile throwing hers at her.

They got dressed in less than a minute, which left them with nothing else to do but walk out of the room.

Just as Clarke was opening the door, Bellamy stopped her.

"I don't know how to act." He stated, his words slightly mumbled.

"As always." She answered, hating the discomfort he was in.

"That's he thing, though. I don't want this to be just an 'as always'."

Clarke was left speechless for a moment, before his words fully registered.

"I don't want it, either." She finally said, his response being a surprisingly sweet, short peck which Clarke didn't hesitate before deepening.

She was once again against the door and she loved it.

Yeah, okay, murder me. I totally deserve it. But I have been so busy lately, I might just vomit the stress right out. Also who invented mind-torturing cells named classrooms. And who invented hiatuses?

Not that this is any excuse, but I swear I'll make it up to you. The best is yet to come.