Sinclair drove up front with Monty. The others were asleep. Or pretending.

Clarke's shoulder brushed against his every time they turned left, and Bellamy was glad for the reminder that she was here beside him.

She was home.

Part of him wanted to thread his fingers through her hair, hold her, breathe her in, just for a second. But things were still…mending between them. And his hand was still fucked up. It ached dully the entire trip, and he sort of debated cutting it off. He would spill less blood with one hand.

"Tell me about her," Clarke whispered.

He frowned. "Who?"

"Gina."

The name sent a painful jolt down his spine. He looked away, the heat rising up behind his eyes again, prickling the nerves. What gave her the right?

"Bellamy. Please? If she was important to you, she must have been someone worth remembering."

Clarke clutched his knee, and he closed his eyes, breathing out his nose. He didn't have to tell her anything.

"At least...tell me something she'd want to be remembered for."

Finally, he turned back to her. "Patience," he managed, voice dangerously low. "She was patient with everyone. Jasper. The Grounders….me."

"You?"

"Yeah. Because half the time when I should have been thinking about her, I was thinking of a way to bring you back."

It came out a little more bitter than he intended. But it was true. He'd wasted a happy period with Gina thinking of a way to find the fire and heartache that was Clarke Griffin.

Clarke shut her mouth, blinking once, mind reeling for something to say. "Bellamy, you know what ALIE said isn't true, right? She was just—"

"I know exactly what she was doing Clarke. And she was right. Gina was…she was too good for me. I didn't deserve her. Didn't love her the way I could have, at another time, in another place." He looked down at his fractured hand. "The world could use more people like her. And less people like me."

Clarke did object to that. "Shut up, Bellamy."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she was fuming. Angry as fuck.

"I know everyone hates us right now. But I don't hate you," she said sternly. "The world needs you. Your heart. Your courage. All of you. Okay?"

He hated it when she got all preachy like this. But he also loved her for it.

Because that made perfect sense.

She dropped her voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you lost her that day. I didn't know who she was to you. And it all…it makes a lot more sense."

"Doesn't excuse any of it. She would hate what I've become."

"But that's just it, Bell. You haven't become anything. You always do what you think is best for our people. It began with Octavia, but then you started caring about all the 100. The Ark. Our families."

"You," he said.

She gave a watery smile. "Me."

She sat back, resting her head near his. It reminded him of a cold night, sitting against a tree trunk, discussing his fate. It was a fond memory, one he treasured. He'd made a friend that night. And, he realized now, he'd also fallen in love.

Clarke sighed. "You made mistakes. So did I. But I see the good in you. I've seen it all along. And Gina…she must have too."

"You see the good in everyone, Clarke."

She smiled, because he wasn't wrong, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the persistent contact of her shoulder.

Clarke was home.

What do you mean this didn't happen?