...

"Wells."

The voice sounded so close, yet he was far away, and unwilling to emerge.

"Wells."

...

They found him soon after Clarke and her partner had left on their trek into the unknown. He was sitting in one of the pews, munching on a bird he had managed to kill earlier that day, when they came. The chewing was tough and tedious, he was already so over this meat based diet that part of him was almost relieved when the door opened and he saw the soldiers coming for him. At least they wouldn't serve small game in whatever prison was waiting for him.

At some point before, he had briefly wondered whether he should try and run, too. But there was no place for him to hide, nothing to be gained. He wasn't free in his head anyways, fleeing wouldn't have changed that. So he had waited patiently.

...

"Come on, Wells."

The voice wasn't Maya. Slowly, he let his eyelids flutter open and blinked a couple of times until his vision cleared enough to see.

"Dad?"

The tall man in front of him, sitting on a small stool, smiled at him sadly.

"Son…"

Wells moved to get up, slowly, and they hugged each other, just a moment. It was so good to see his father, to feel his arms around him after so much time had passed. They hadn't seen each other much in the last few years, ever since Thelonious Jaha had been appointed commander, really. He was one of twenty, with every commander representing one of the Golden states, and his life had been too busy ever since. Making decisions for a whole people was never easy, but when you had a vastly different opinion than most of your fellow commanders, things were even harder.

Thelonious was one of the few higher ups who believed that the war was wrong and that there was another truth out there. Wells didn't know how many lives had been spared because of his father's veto against many a military operation, but it was a large number.

Wells looked at his dad, saw how much he had aged since the last time he had seen him, and he felt a pang at the realization. One day, his dad would be gone. Who would be the voice of reason then?

...

When his father had first become commander, Wells had urged him to keep his opinion quiet. He hadn't wanted him to get in trouble with the military, with the other commanders. He had been worried about his father's safety. But the man had refused. Of course.

Then, when the day of Wells's tryout came, and he got back from it with an established link, Thelonious had looked uncharacteristically upset, even for him.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Wells had frowned at the old man's sad expression.

"It's screwed up, son." Thelonious had grabbed him by the shoulders, staring him straight in the eyes. "I never wanted this for you. For anyone."

"What are you talking about?"

"This!" He had made a wide gesture, only confusing his son more. "It's sick. The bonds... What they make you do. You, Maya. And there's many more out there that don't have a choice but to be forced into a link. We should fight this, try to suppress it, instead of trying to actively bring it about."

"What do you mean, 'actively bring it about'? Either you have it in you, or not; Maya and I are thrilled that we do!" Wells had exclaimed, angry then with his father, but Thelonious had shaken his head sadly. He had known better.

"Neither of you had a choice in the matter. Having someone force their thoughts on you? And then being forced to join the military? Maya wanted to be a doctor, Wells, remember?"

"She can still become one! The military-"

"Exactly. The military," his dad had interjected, rolling his eyes and pressing his mouth together in frustration. "They control everything. People need doctors that are on neither side. Have you noticed how almost all the important positions these days get filled by people in the military? And almost every hospital, every administrative bureau has a link-partner working for them."

"Dad..."

They had both sighed. Thelonious had run a hand over his hair absently, then looked directly at his son.

"I'm not here to argue. I know you don't see it that way, Wells. And I'm just here to say goodbye."

"You're leaving." It hadn't been a question. He had always seen it coming.

"The people voted for me to become their commander. I intend to honor that, to do my best to make this war stop. I'll be leaving for the capital soon."

And he had. He had left and Wells had thought he would never see him again. Even back then he had already begun to doubt. His father's words had stirred something in him.

...

"Are you really here?" he was asking now, and both of them chuckled. It wasn't a very happy sound.

"I am."

"I guess that means I'm screwed."

"You really are, son, you really are."

"When?"

Thelonious sighed at hearing his son's question. He knew what his son meant, of course… The reprogramming, the reason he was here. So that he could see his child one last time before he might not recognize him anymore. He gave Wells a long look, his mouth working as he tried to make himself say it. "Tomorrow."

Wells's eyes flickered as he inhaled sharply. "They let you visit?"

His father smiled. "I am part of command. And Maya contacted me..."

That was a surprise. I still love you. Even if we don't agree anymore… she piped up somewhere in the back of his mind, and he sent her his heartfelt gratitude.

"So this is goodbye again then, huh?"

Thelonious nodded, and Wells felt his heart grow heavy, a lump in his throat.

"I'm proud of you, son."

"Proud?" Wells grinned incredulously.

"You stood up for Clarke. In the end, you chose the right side. That takes more guts than I ever had."

Wells's expression grew wistful. He shook his head. "No. You've always been the stronger one. Fighting for the right side since day one. I… had to slowly open my eyes and see… But you, you knew. I'm sorry this has to be goodbye, dad. I wish I could come with you, inform the masses about how screwed up both factions in the war really are. And how much beauty they're missing out on."

"I'll tell your story," Thelonious whispered, leaning in, his voice thick with unshed tears. He gave his son another hug. Then, louder, he said. "I have to go, son. I'm sorry."

Wells nodded, waving without enthusiasm. He tried hard to keep tears at bay. "I love you, dad."

"I love you, too. I always will, Wells."

"I'll probably come back as a heartless empty shell, though, standing only for the cause you're fighting so hard." Wells gave an upset chuckle that his father answered with a warm, if sad, smile.

"You'll always be my son. I know you'll still find it in you, the things you truly believe in. When it comes to it, you will know."

With that he left, leaving Wells alone, shackled by his feet to the bed he was laying on. Wells hoped his father was right, but he doubted it.

Tabula rasa. He would be a clean slate, a wild card. Would he really remember it deep down, what he had believed in? Friends above military? That the war was wrong? Probably not...

But at least his father would continue on.

At least Clarke was free.

There was still hope, the world would go on, even if it would have to be without Wells Jaha as he now was.

…

Clarke and Bellamy lay entangled on the floor. Cold had gradually crept into their bones, but they were still sleeping. Bellamy's body was starting to send out a warning, forcing him awake. But he fought the feeling, he was so exhausted. He wanted to escape the world out there for a little while longer. He wanted to feel Clarke against him for a few more minutes.

Then he saw the images again. Foreign, rough. Horrifying.

She was dreaming her dream again, her nightmare. He saw her younger self hiding again. Blood dripping from her hand where she had bitten herself. This time, he also saw them hit a woman that must have been her mom, over and over. She was laying on the ground, arms outstretched, begging for them to stop, but they went on until she was quiet.

By then they had already killed her husband, or rather, the Eternal had killed him, a garish happy grin on his face as he lashed at Clarke's dad not once, but multiple times, leaving a handful of gleaming oozing wounds on the man's body.

Bellamy knew all too well what that felt like. How every cut with the weapon sent an involuntary surge of endorphins, of serotonin through an Eternal's brain, making them the perfect killing machines. Because only when they hurt others, did their own pain leave completely, did they finally feel themselves again. The weapon came at a huge cost. It became part of its bearer.

Once they cut someone to turn them into an Eternal, the wound on their arm would stay open forever, part of the silvery metal staying inside of them, almost functioning like a magnet, fusing them to the blazing steel of the Eternal Weapon's long strong blade.

Some Eternals lived for the kill, loving every bit of it, like it was a sick game. The one in Clarke's dream - in her memory - was one of those, except, when Bellamy looked again, the man suddenly had his face, and as he looked on in horror, Clarke started screaming in the real world and he told her to wake up!

…

She came to, shaking and crying, and completely out of it. The dream…

"You're alright, Clarke. It was a nightmare…"

His voice was calm and low, and soothing. He had his arms around her; her head slowly came to rest on his chest and he was holding her there, just holding her, and despite the fact that she had just seen his face in her dream in such a gruesome distortion of the truth, she felt safe with him. Listening to his steady heartbeat, she was safe.

"It's over now…"

She was quietly sobbing. A hand against her mouth, she was suddenly self conscious and worried she would get spit all over him, but he didn't seem to notice or care. All she could feel was his firm hand against her head, and his strong heartbeat in her ear. Eventually, she was calm enough to slowly disentangle herself from him, and she got up to get dressed.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, wiping her eyes and trying to smile, but he still looked at her concerned when he pushed himself up on his arms, grimacing a little as he did. She looked at him, his face, his eyes, and suddenly she realized that he had seen it. Again. Her dream.

"I'm sorry, I didn't," she stammered, unsure of what to say or how best to word it. How did you explain your dreams to someone? This was exactly what she had never wanted to have to do. What she had feared. "I don't actually see you like… that. It's… a memory, actually. The Eternal…"

"I know," he allowed as her own voice trailed off. She watched him stand up slowly, noticed that he was shivering in the relative cold, and she realized that she, too, was cold now that she wasn't lying pressed against him anymore.

Bodyheat really was a great way to keep warm…

With jittery movements, she started looking for the rest of his and her clothes, and shily handed him his shirt when she found it by her things. He gave her a blank look that made her feel like she had to explain.

"You're cold."

He rolled his eyes at her and smirked briefly, awkwardly, before taking the shirt and putting it on quickly. She stared at his arms as he did, the muscles working with his movements, the sheen on his left side, and she shook her head to make herself stop before he noticed.

But she was too late. As his gaze met hers, she saw him retreat internally. It was a flicker in his eyes, a darkness, before he looked away, and she felt the need to take his hand, touch his cheek.

"Look at me," she said. "Please."

When he did, she smiled up at him warmly, a foreign boldness taking over as she told him, "I don't see you like that."

"It's what I am, Clarke. I'm sorry my people did that to your parents, to you. I'm so sorry for what you had to endure because of someone like me. How could you ever not see that when looking at me. I'll be your constant reminder."

"Stop!" she said a little too harshly and he pulled away yet again, grimacing. Softer, she added, "Please." Geez, she smiled to herself, he really was incredibly sensitive. That was certainly new to her. "I don't need a constant reminder. It's all in here already," she tapped her temple, seeing him clench his jaw as she did. "You have shown me that the Silveren are people, too. You've reminded me of that. It's only been a few weeks, but when we first… connected, I thought this was the worst that could have happened. I thought my life was completely over. But then… I don't know, you slowly stole your way into my heart…"

She bit her lip, worried that she might regret having been so open about it. She wasn't even sure why she had told him all that point blank. She barely knew him. He was still a stranger, still an enemy soldier. But her heart had made a decision for her and there was no going back.

She heard him breathe, saw brightness in his eyes again, though it was probably just a trick of the light.

"I think I may be falling in love with you, Clarke," he quietly rasped, his hand in her hair now, playing with a strand before swiping it to the side. She took another step toward him, holding onto his chest, pulling herself up to her tiptoes, and kissed his cold lips. She pushed herself against him, wanted to feel him once more, and all words, all thoughts were put on hold once more as she fumbled with his pants, wanting more, wanting him, when suddenly, they heard a loud clatter and they stopped what they were doing, alert and wary, listening into the quiet of the tall building. She stared at him, wide eyed and worried, as he gave her a sign to stay put, making his way toward the other end of their aisle, poking his head out briefly, then hiding pressed against the shelf, motioning for her to stay completely still.

Clarke's heart was beating too fast, she felt a panic approach. After all these years, she still had trouble dealing with situations that seemed even the slightest bit too similar to the day her dad had died, too unpredictable, too scary. She was breathing too fast. She couldn't think anymore. Were the troops that had surely been sent out to capture them already here? Had they really caught them this quickly? What would happen next?

She kept her eyes trained on Bellamy, who was holding her gaze as if trying to calm her over the distance. Wild dogs, he informed her, surprising her with that strange information, a pack of them. - I freaking hate those beasts.

She watched as he crept back toward her, inch by inch, almost in slow motion, while she tried to get her breathing under control. Dogs… she had heard about that. How places got deserted because of the war - just like this one - and how the pets were left behind; how some of them formed packs, growing wild again, sometimes, when food was scarce, desperate and rabid. Dangerous.

But at least no people. They hadn't been found by either faction.

Bellamy got back to her finally, putting an arm in front of her as she tried to move. He put a finger to his lips, motioning for her to stay quiet. He frowned at her.

You okay?

I thought they found us. Gave me a scare.

These beasts are not much better. They're a freaking pest. Honestly, I'd have preferred people.

She raised an eyebrow at his words, her rate of breathing involuntarily picking up again. If he was freaked out, so was she. Clarke closed her eyes.

Didn't mean to worry you. We'll take care of them. He gave her a concerned look, then gently touched her cheek when she wouldn't look at him.

She forced herself to return the gaze and knew she was an open book, that he could see right through to her core. She was not meant for a life on the run, she was not meant for escaping and hiding from soldiers and wild animals. She had no formal training of any kind. Unless you counted basic nurse training that she had only half heartedly gotten into because of her mom persuading her it would be a decent job to have.

You're stronger than you think, Clarke. Formal training isn't everything. You have fight in you.

She wasn't sure she wanted to hear that.

I don't want to have fight in me.

Having that can be a good thing...

She glared at him, unconvinced. Bellamy sighed.

Okay, you stay here. I'll try to get them to leave. They've already picked up our scent. I'll lead them away from here. I'll be right back.

He gave her one last imploring look, waiting until she had nodded at him, then he broke into a sprint and was out of her sight before she could even think another coherent thought. She tried to blend into her surroundings, holding onto the shelf behind her for support, and waited with bated breath for any noise, any sign of him.

At first, there was only the sound of his steps and a low growling. Sniffing. She felt her heart in her throat when the animal noises grew nearer. The panic was coming back. What if they found her before Bellamy got to them. What was he even going to do? What if the dogs bit them, tore them apart? She closed her eyes, controlled her breathing. She forced herself to shake off her vivid imagination. Suddenly, she saw the head of one of the dogs poke around the corner and it stared straight at her, amber eyes gleaming dangerously. He growled, showing long teeth, then he started running abruptly.

…

Clarke wasn't entirely sure what happened next. It all went so fast. The beast was on her in seconds. Her hands grappled for something to fight it off with, but there wasn't much there, just a few cans that she tried to throw at the creature in an attempt to ward it off. But soon, she was face to face with its snout, yellowed teeth just inches from her cheek, dank breath making her nauseous. In a last effort, she managed to shove a can right between its teeth, then ducked away as the angry animal tried to spit the offending object back out.

She quickly scrambled away, stumbling and falling as she went, when she saw Bellamy coming out of nowhere to her aid. He was yelling, an angry, feral noise, as he was racing toward them, the dog and her, and the animal finally turned its attention to him, away from her.

His mates soon followed, suddenly appearing from everywhere. Clarke heard - or felt - Bellamy say something, but she couldn't comprehend a word. Everything was whirling around her. The dogs, Bellamy, her thoughts. She was watching as if she wasn't involved, as if this was a movie and not her life.

Bellamy was holding something in his hands, shiny, like a pipe, and he was fighting the dogs off with lithe movements, whirling around as he did. For a moment, Clarke stood lost in time and just stared in a mixture of fascination and horror. She realized with sudden clarity that until that moment, she hadn't ever seen Bellamy fight, hadn't seen him be what he was: a soldier, a formidable one, even without his Eternal Weapon.

Then, finally, it all was over, the tumult abruptly died down, the last dogs fleeing, and except for Clarke's and Bellamy's labored breathing and a dying dog's yowling whelps, the building returned to its previous quietness, almost eerily so.

Clarke shot a glance in his direction. They were both leaning against the shelf, Bellamy right next to her, still holding a large pipe from a clothing rack he had just used to scare the dogs away from her, to beat them with, to kill them. The unlucky ones lay in the aisle with them, dead and broken, and she shot a glance at them, too, almost feeling sorry for them for a moment.

"You okay?" He was staring at her, eyes wide, a strange worry in his features, and she nodded slowly. "Guess I should apologize. Didn't quite go as I had hoped," he admitted, "They got way too close to you. I really need to step up my game." He looked at her, a sad frown appearing on his face. "It's not the dogs you're still scared off, is it?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing before she was able to try and answer. She didn't want to hurt him, but yes, he had scared her. His movements, his force. He had resembled the Eternal in her nightmares, in her darkest memories so much.

He smiled a small smile, then slowly got to his feet, rubbing his face as he did. "I'm sorry. For everything. I'll… give you some space."

He looked so lost that it pained her.

"No, that's not it," she quickly blurted, forcing herself off the shelf. She walked up to him before he could go anywhere, and as he saw her approach, he inclined his head warily, gauging her.

I can feel it, you know? He smiled sadly as she hung her head.

That's not fair.

Maybe not. But it is how it is…

He turned to leave when she did something she hadn't done in a while. She extended her mind power and attacked his barriers, making him flinch away as she did.

Don't, he said, why…

But she didn't want to hurt him, she just wanted him to see. To know.

You're not him. I know that. You're still an Eternal. And yes, I can't help it, that does scare me. It terrifies me. But what terrifies me more was the sudden panic I felt at the thought of losing you.

They looked at each other, lost in each other for a while. Clarke felt her heart beat too fluttery in her chest. Then Bellamy spoke, and the strange tension resolved.

"To a pack of rabid dogs to boot. How rather unpoetic," he stated drily, rolling his eyes at himself, and she had to chuckle.

"Well, yeah. Would have totally been no problem for me if it had been something a little more grandiose," she joked and was glad when that got a laugh out of him. Quickly, her smile grew a little more wistful. "We'll be okay, won't we?" she whispered, and he gave her a small smile and a half sideways hug.

"I hope so, princess."

He leaned in and briefly kissed her forehead before making his way over to the restroom area to pick some of their newfound things up.

"Let's get our stuff together," he said over his shoulder, "and find somewhere else to stay…"

She nodded, then, with a sigh, followed him. She could use a change of scenery.