Chapter 9:

Blonde hair fell into her face, obscuring her vision yet again. Letting out a frustrated noise, Clarke pulled her hair back into its usual style, her fingers getting caught in the tangled mess.

Her bag lay at her feet, packed. Clarke was ready to go. The whole day was spent packing and unpacking and packing and unpacking and packing and unpacking, alternating between supplies she would need for a three day trip with Bellamy, and supplies she would need for a three month trip alone. Once the sun set, and oranges and reds and purples filed through the door of the supply tent, she finally finished packing. Ultimately, her bag was filled with only enough supplies for a three day trip.

"Hey." Octavia greeted, walking through the door.

"Hey?" Clarke inquired, as if trying to confirm that Octavia was actually speaking to her and not to someone behind her, even though she was the only one in the tent.

The young not-delinquent-turned-warrior stood confidently. Although her face was devoid of paint, Octavia seemed as fierce as ever. Intricate braids were twisted into her dark brown hair, a mark of patience and precision that was matched in the look she gave Clarke.

"I need to talk to you." She said flatly.

Swallowing, Clarke nodded warily. She wasn't sure if she could take any more confrontations or verbal assaults, but after everything she and Octavia had been through together since Day 1 on the ground, Clarke couldn't deny that she badly wanted to mend their broken friendship.

Cocking her head towards the door, Octavia strode out of the supply tent. Clarke followed, leaving her bag behind. Together, they walked towards the downed Ark in silence. It wasn't until they reached the door of the Alpha Station that Octavia stopped and turned to face her.

"I heard about what happened with Jasper." She said straight-forwardly before advising, "Just give him a few days."

Like brother like sister, Clarke thought. "That's exactly what Bellamy said."

Octavia's eyebrows rose slightly at the mention of her brother, and she prompted, "So are you two good now?"

Clarke found herself looking towards the gate, not trusting herself to speak. She settled for a half-hearted headshake.

"Hey." Octavia said, urging Clarke to focus back on her. "Bell wants to fix things just as badly as you do. You two will work things out. You always do."

Giving her a weak smile, Clarke wished she could believe the girl in front of her, the girl who had changed so much over such a short period of time. Clarke's thoughts went to when she first met the Blake siblings, bright-eyed and fresh-faced and full of vitality as they hugged in the Drop Ship. Through her memories, she watched as the girl who lived a life hidden in the shadows became the first to step into the warm sunlight and soft dirt of Earth.

Clarke's memories were a palette of color, and that memory in particular rested with the most vibrant shades. She was grateful that out of all of the memories that were burned into her mind, that memory of Octavia would always be there too.

Remembering where and when she was, Clarke finally asked, "What did you need to talk to me about?"

A sly smile flashed across Octavia's face, so quickly that Clarke wondered if she had actually imagined it.

"You'll see." She teased obscurely, walking inside and beckoning for Clarke to follow.

They walked down one of the hallways of the Alpha station that had both remained intact and upright. They stopped at a door on the far left.

Octavia knocked thrice, then once, then thrice again. She stepped aside, and after a few moments, the door opened.

What? Clarke thought.

The room was pitch black, and for a second, paranoia gripped at her. Was Octavia planning on getting back at her for what happened at TonDC? Or in Mount Weather? Was Jasper waiting for her inside?

Wait, where's Murphy?

"Go ahead." Octavia suggested, giving her a firm but gentle push into the dark room.

Waiting for her eyes to adjust, Clarke's pulse quickened as she mentally prepared herself for the worst. Something in the darkness rustled, and Clarke mentally cursed herself for leaving her knife back in the supply tent.

Harsh florescent lights flickered on, beaming directly in her eyes (Raven and Wick's doing?), and she was bombarded with what seemed to be torn up leaves of different colors. The 48, plus some people Clarke assumed had come down with the Ark, grinned at her as they yelled enthusiastically.

"SURPRISE!"

Standing with her mouth open and her eyebrows drawn in confusion, Clarke barely registered Octavia hugging her and whispering, "Happy Birthday Clarke."

Dazed, Clarke stuttered, "Birthday?! B-but my birthday was months ago..."

Raven, who stood a few feet away and was now tossing the leaf 'confetti' into Wick's face, shouted, "Does it look like we care? C'mon, Monty made moonshine!"

"Shh!" Monty shushed her promptly, adding, "What Abby doesn't know won't hurt her, but if you yell it out to the whole station, we're going to be the ones getting hurt."

My birthday. Clarke hadn't even thought about her birthday since getting on the Drop Ship. It seemed like a silly thing to celebrate, after everything they had been through. There were more important matters to worry about than birthdays. How old was she again? 18? 118?

"You alright?" Octavia asked, noticing Clarke's bothered expression.

"I-I don't—" She was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. Her people had thrown her a birthday party. "I don't deserve this." She asserted.

Mass murderers don't deserve birthday parties, she thought.

Before Octavia could respond, Monty walked over to them, handing them both moonshine-filled cups. "Happy Birthday Clarke." He said, giving her an easy smile.

"CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG!" The enthusiastic cheer roared through the room, and Monty was instantly off, simultaneously trying to quiet the crowd and catch a glimpse of the idiot who thought he was brave enough to chug the famously strong drink. Lincoln, looking out of place and excited all at once, said a quick 'Happy Birthday' to Clarke before pulling Octavia away to see just how much the kid could drink.

Standing alone, Clarke stared down at the cup in her hand. Her translucent reflection stared back up at her, and she thought it looked nothing like a girl whose friends had just thrown her a surprise party. No, it looked like a girl who had pulled too many triggers and taken more lives than she had birthdays. Clarke found herself mesmerized by the swirling liquid, watching as it slowly…changed color? Had Monty changed his formula? The clear moonshine was gradually turning a rich, deep, thick, familiar red that had been painted over her hands many times before, sometimes as a byproduct of saving a life, and more often a result of taking one.

"Looks like you finally got that drink." A low voice quipped. Clarke blinked at the comment, causing the moonshine to revert back to the clear color it had always been.

Clarke didn't mean to roll her eyes at him, but she did.

"Did Octavia make you come?" She asked, irritated as well as glad to see him.

Bellamy, to her great amazement, smiled, leading Clarke to wonder exactly how many cups of moonshine he had already downed.

"Believe it or not, Clarke, I came all on my own." Smirking, he took a generous swig. "Besides, there was no way in hell I was going to miss seeing the look on your face."

Yeah, that's definitely not his first cup of moonshine, she decided.

Clarke tilted her head disapprovingly at him and shot back, "Well, did the look on my face live up to your expectations or…?"

"Not exactly." His smile faded. "You looked confused, then stupidly happy, then…really sad." He downed his drink, a little too eagerly.

"You're drunk." Clarke declared, somewhat amused, but also somewhat annoyed that he could read her that easily.

Confirming her suspicions about his intoxication, Bellamy swayed towards her, accusing, "And you're not enjoying your birthday party."

She crossed her arms defensively. "I am enjoying it."

The skeptical look on his face told her that he didn't believe her for one second.

"Forget it." Bellamy said. "Forget every single thing that's happened since we came down here." His words were beginning to slur. "Pretend you're on the Ark, and—and everyone's alive and everyone's happy. Just for tonight. One night, Clarke."

"I can't just forget everything that's happened to us. It's not that easy." She argued stubbornly.

He reached out and tapped the cup in her hand, causing a few drops to spill over the edge as he narrowed his eyes. "That's what the moonshine is for."

When she didn't reply, he sighed heavily. "Clarke, look around you. You're not as alone as you think you are."

"I am." She immediately retorted. "I chose to leave. I chose to do this on my own. Coming back doesn't just magically change that." She looked around at all of the people celebrating, throwing their heads back as they laughed and drank. "I don't deserve this, Bellamy. Not after everything I've done."

Bellamy let out another long, exhausted sigh, as if he'd had this very conversation too many times before. He gestured around them. "They're all alive because of everything you've done. You think they threw this party because they really care about your birthday?" He asked sarcastically. "They threw this party because they care about you. They think you deserve this, Clarke." He paused. "Isn't that enough?"

"Do you?" She asked bluntly, pointedly ignoring his question. "Do you think I deserve this?" Her eyebrows raised, daring him to answer honestly.

He looked at her so intensely Clarke wondered if he was actually seeing double, and was just trying to determine which Clarke was the real Clarke.

The clarity of his answer was certain, absolute. "Yeah, I do."

Clarke stared at the drink in her hands for two whole seconds before downing the whole thing.

Bellamy smiled smugly, remarking, "Wasn't sure you had it in you."

She smiled back, a full on grin that was equal parts a reaction to the moonshine and to Bellamy's smile.

Just like that, they were transported back to the Drop Ship camp, to the night they celebrated Unity Day. In that moment, with him, Clarke had been happy. In this moment too, she was happy.

And then she looked past Bellamy, and saw Dante.

He was covered in blood, staggering towards her.

The sound of her cup clattering to the ground, along with whatever Bellamy was saying, was muffled, as if she had just plunged into a bottomless lake.

"Dante…" She whispered, fear underlining the name as she spoke it.

"You killed me. You shot me…and now...now you're having a party?" The blood seeped into his white shirt. "How could you do that Clarke?"

Her breathing was shallow, irregular. "You know why I had to shoot you." She said, trembling and oblivious to the now dead-silent party around her. "Cage would have never stopped." Her hand gestured, emphasizing her words.

"You don't know that for sure, Clarke. You'll never know that for sure because you didn't give my son a chance."

"I gave him plenty of chances!" She cried. "He wouldn't have stopped."

"Clarke!" He shouted her name like a curse, and she felt the world shaking around her.

"Clarke!" Someone else's voice, a deeper voice, shouted her name like a plea.

Looking up and blinking rapidly, Clarke saw Bellamy staring down at her, concern in his eyes. All traces of moonshine were gone from his now deadly serious, sober demeanor. His hands were on her shoulders, and his mouth was moving. Clarke closed her eyes, trying to give her ears a better chance at making out his words.

"Clarke—listen—me—he's not—real—not real." His words were gradually growing in comprehensibility. Looking around at the stunned, murmuring party goers, he lowered his voice and said, "I'm going to take you somewhere quiet, okay? Just breathe, you're going to be okay."

She felt herself moving away from the bright room and down into a hallway and into another room, one much smaller in size. Two hands lightly pushed down on her shoulders, causing her to sit against the wall. A door shut somewhere far away. Or was it close by? She couldn't tell. Bellamy sat next to her, his shoulder touching her own. He didn't speak, giving her a few minutes to determine exactly what was reality and what was illusion.

"I—I saw Dante." She eventually confessed in a quiet, timid voice. Never before had Clarke been able to talk about the chilling hallucinations she sometimes saw, and now, sitting side by side with Bellamy, she found that the words spilled out anxiously. She knew that he, of all people, would understand, and so she continued, "He was covered in blood and he told me—he told me that I didn't give Cage a chance. That I was wrong—that maybe-maybe Cage would have stopped if I just gave him a chance."

"Clarke."

"What if he would've stopped? What if I didn't give him a chance to stop?"

"Clarke." Bellamy repeated, more forcefully.

"What if—"

"Clarke. Cage never would have stopped, you know that. He chose not to save his own father's life. Cage never would have stopped." Bellamy said it in a way that sounded like he had repeated it to himself a million times before.

Exhausted and shaken and frustrated, Clarke confessed weakly, "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"Then don't." He said simply. "Your problems will still be there in the morning. Just close your eyes and think about something else." Bellamy straightened against the wall, and he spoke using a mild tone he probably used when calming Harper down after a bad dream. "Think about your first dance or your first kiss or the best birthday you ever had."

She wanted to protest, but couldn't find the energy to as images of golden, happy memories she forget she even had saturated her vision against her will.

Bellamy looked towards the closed door of the supply closet. "I can leave if you want me to."

"No." She said resolutely. "No, it's okay."

Almost instinctively, Clarke leaned her head onto his shoulder, too tired to care about what she was doing. She waited for Bellamy to shrug her off and scoot away, but his only reaction was to become very, very still. Clarke closed her eyes involuntarily, remembering her first dance, an unbelievably fun one Wells had asked her to go to with him.

Before drifting off, she heard Bellamy whisper, "Happy birthday, Clarke."

For the first time in months, Clarke had a good dream.

Standing alone in a large celebration hall, Clarke stood in a bright blue and green dress, one as luminescent as the forest Finn had shown her long ago.

"Hey kiddo."

She looked up to see her dad, smiling widely as he walked towards her.

"Dad?"

Clarke ran at a full sprint, crashing into him and hugging him tightly.

After a long time, and much to Clarke's reluctance, her father pulled away.

Grabbing her hands, he placed her left hand on his shoulder and clasped her right, holding it out to the side.

"Dad, I don't understand..."

"Shh...honey. Listen."

A soft, melodic tone hummed through the air, and her father began dancing slowly with her. They stepped flawlessly back and forth. He spun her until she was breathless with laughter and dizzy with joy. They didn't speak, not wanted to disturb the smiles that seemed to be permanently etched onto their faces.

At some point, the music faded, and her father began fading too.

"I love you dad." She cried, but for the first time in a long time, her tears were tears of joy.

"I love you too, kiddo."


When she woke, she was back in the medbay. Clarke wondered how long past sunrise she had slept, dreaming of her father. A folded note sat beside her pillow. Rubbing her eyes with one hand, she unfolded the note with the other. Chaotic but balanced scribbles covered the page, handwriting that could have only belonged to one person.

A (probably) hungover Octavia should be on the cot next to yours. Make sure she doesn't stand up too fast.

I hope you

I may have had too much to drink, don't tell Octavia that I said

About last night,

Just tell Octavia that's the last time she's ever drinking Monty's moonshine. I mean it.

-Bellamy

The three lines in the middle had been furiously crossed out. It was as if he had started each sentence firmly, got lost in the middle, and ended up abandoning the thought altogether.

She was trying to guess how he might have ended those sentences when a body stirred in the cot next to her.

Octavia groaned.

"What…the hell…does Monty put in that moonshine…"

Clarke grinned before telling Octavia to go back to bed unless she wanted to face the world's worst hangover. Grabbing Bellamy's note, she left the medbay and set out to find him. She wanted to thank him for being there for her last night, for listening to her, for letting her fall asleep on his shoulder.

She figured Bellamy would probably be awake by now, and she doubted he'd mind if she went into his tent to talk to him.

Sighing, Clarke felt herself smile slightly. It finally felt like things were getting back to normal between her and Bellamy. She felt surprisingly light as she walked through the quiet camp.

Maybe she could do this after all.


A/N- Lmao at me for discontinuing this fic for like two days before I wrote another chapter. I started this, I'm gonna finish it. Replying to your reviews is on my to-do list, right after not failing school, eating, exercising, and sleeping, so I apologize if I don't get to you. PLEASE KNOW that I read and reread every single review like a million times, they mean the world to me. Everyone who was pissed bc of the way they thought Clarke was being treated, I hope this chapter makes up for it. Tbh, her people are NOT hating on her. If you still don't understand why some people struggled with her return, then message me and I'll explain. I've been wanting to write this scene for awhile, but didn't know if anything had ever been canonically said about Clarke's birthday. Mister Jason Rothenberg said that Clarke DID have a birthday on the ground...they just forgot to write a scene about it haha. So here it is! At all of you Bellamy Blake fans...you're the best. I seriously love your comments and i'm so glad to see i'm not the only one who thinks he is one of the best characters ever written.

When I was editing this, I LOST LIKE TWO HOURS WORTH OF EDITING UGHJFDKSLAJ;FDKLA;. So save your work, folks.

PLEASE REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW, your reviews encourage me to continue writing and to put chapters up faster. Right now, I'm aiming for one chapter a week. Next week is fall break, so count on one. As always, negative and positive are welcome. (Side note- I get your reviews sent to me by email on my phone. It's an...interesting experience waking up to negative reviews at 3 in the morning. That being said, I appreciate the constructive criticism lol, it keeps me on my toes). If you have questions about characters/content, message me or leave a review. This chapter wasn't necessarily extremely angsty but I hope you enjoyed it anyways. More angst is coming, don't worry. ;)

!IMPORTANT! In Bellamy's message, the three middle lines are supposed to have strikethroughs through them. I cannot for the life of me figure out how to do it on this stupid website so if you know how tell me and I'll change it.