a/n I'm so grateful to all the folks who have been so encouraging about this story, and Stormkpr most of all. Please enjoy some angst and fluff and reunions! Happy reading!

The month that follows is one of the worst months of Clarke's life. And that's impressive, really, because her shortlist of horrific seasons is already far too long.

There is at once too much to do, and not enough to do. There's too much that feels like work, and obligation – too many disputes to settle, supplies to distribute, meetings to attend. Most of all, there is too much pressure to maintain a carefully calm expression, to give the impression that everything is under control, every minute of every day. There is absolutely no privacy in this overcrowded bunker, and she feels like she is at work and on display every single second – even when she tries to sleep at night, surrounded by friends and strangers. It reaches the point where taking a shower feels like a well-earned vacation. The queues are long, but it is worth it, for a couple of precious minutes behind a locked door where no one can see her vulnerable face as she relaxes and breathes in the reassuring scent of that shampoo.

At the same time, there is not enough to do that is enriching and relaxing and good for her soul. She hasn't had time to pick up a pencil, to start with. When she has time to sit down for a meal, she sits with the same few people every time. They are people she loves – Madi, Raven, Jackson and Miller for the most part – but they are not people she can depend on for emotional support. There are two people on her very short list of genuine support network members – Bellamy, and sometimes her mother. And neither of those people are here now.

She tries to follow her own advice of forging new friendship, reaches out to that sharp-eyed woman who leads Blue Cliff. It turns out she's called Layla, and has a fierce sense of humour and justice that makes her not unlike Raven. And so she becomes another person Clarke sometimes shares a meal with.

It's not the same, though. It's not the same as moonshine and planning and general all-round encouragement with Bellamy. And it's certainly not the same as a heartfelt radio call.

She still uses the radio, just as a bizarre coping mechanism that never works as well as she would like it to. She waits until everyone else in the dorm is either out or asleep, and then whispers unheard words to a man she hopes is still alive.

"Today sucked." She murmurs to him tonight. "I'm sorry, I know I said that yesterday. It sucks most of all because I know I can't tell anyone it sucks, you know? Anyone except you, that is. I know I should be grateful we're all alive. I guess I feel kind of... guilty? For how much this is getting to me." She gives a self conscious laugh. "I really miss the dropship right now. Does that sound crazy? There was always some good company, something fun to do to take our mind off things. And less pressure – we were only trying to keep ourselves and a hundred kids alive. This is – it's big." She concludes, inadequate.

She gathers her thoughts, tries for something brighter.

"I hope you're doing OK, Bellamy. I hope the serum worked for Octavia. I'm not sure what's worse – the idea that you're alone out there, or the idea you're stuck with her and she's hurting you. I just – I just hope you're alive." She always finds herself saying that, somewhere along the line. However hard she tries to reassure herself that he must have made it to the bunker in time, the doubt still lingers.

She is surprised by a voice.

"Clarke?" It's Madi, stirring on the mattress that should have been Bellamy's but has become hers.

"Hey, Madi. You're OK. You can go back to sleep."

Madi does not follow that hint. She sits up, frowns at Clarke. "Were you calling him again?"

Clarke does not pretend to misunderstand. "Yes. I was."

"Why do you do that? What's the point of calling him if you know he can't answer?"

"I don't do it because I think he'll answer." She explains, aware even as she speaks that it sounds a little crazy. "I do it because it's... comforting. It reminds me I'm not on my own. That he's still supporting me, even though he's not really here."

"How is he supporting you if he's not answering?" Madi asks, more confused than critical.

"I guess it's about reminding myself that he exists. That he's still out there. That there's someone in the world who sees me as a person he wants to have a chat on the radio with, rather than the leader of the human race. And remembering all the good conversations we've had, all the times we've supported each other. It's about holding onto those good moments and reminding myself there are more of them to come."

Madi nods, thoughtful. Silence falls for a moment.

And then the child speaks. "I still think I hear my nomon sometimes, even though I know she's – she's gone. Is that – am I crazy, Clarke?"

Clarke hugs her tight. "Not at all. It's normal to do that a bit, when you're grieving. Or when you're missing someone, whether they're alive or dead."

"It's kind of like you're doing with Bellamy." Madi offers. Clarke nods, keen to encourage the child to keep working on processing her feelings.

But there's one bit of this conversation she's much less keen on. It's got her wondering once more whether Bellamy is still breathing.

…...

Bellamy knows he ought to be grateful he's still alive, but he's really struggling for gratitude right now, if he's being honest.

For starters, he feels absolutely disgusting. He's been wearing the same clothes since he left Arkadia, and hasn't been able to wash them or himself since the death wave hit. He hasn't been able to shave or trim his hair, either, so he's pretty sure he looks and smells like a yeti by now. Is a yeti the right word? He's not quite sure. He seems to remember they were hairy and used to exist in stories on Earth before the bombs.

He feels rather fidgety, too. It's been over three weeks since they locked the door, and he's sick and tired of this tiny space, and of not knowing what's going on in the world outside. He knows the death wave is burning less fiercely, if it's burning at all. He hasn't heard any loud noises or felt any surges of heat for a few days, now. But he knows it won't be safe to open the door until the month has passed that Raven calculated.

In the meantime, he tries to keep himself busy. He does workouts he remembers from his time on the guard, sets of exercises suitable for the tiny space. They give him something to do, and he likes to know he's keeping fit, but they make the personal hygiene situation even worse.

Octavia joins him, though. That's a good thing. Enthusiasm for physical fitness and enjoyment of combat training feel like the only things they genuinely have in common, these days. At least their relationship seems to be better right now than it has been at any other point since they came to the ground. But maybe that's not saying much.

"Stop pacing, Bellamy." As if on cue, Octavia snaps at him loudly.

Then she realises what she's done, and softens, a guilty look on her face.

"I just mean – if you're bored, let's train. That could be fun, right?"

He resists the urge to point out that it stopped being strictly fun after about the eighth day, and instead became simply habit. He resists the urge to snap straight back at her, too. He's rather sick of this dynamic they have going, where she screws up or lashes out but then apologises or hates herself or both.

He'd rather she didn't screw up in the first place.

He knows that's uncharitable. He knows she's struggling with guilt and grief and her emotions are still out of kilter. He gets that, and he's trying to be compassionate. But it's tough, being locked under the ground here with an obligation, while the woman he'd be with by choice is a day's drive away, probably worrying that he's dead.

As if reading his thoughts, Octavia tries again.

"I'm sorry, Bell. Really. How about we try to play a game? Or we could tell stories. You used to love telling me stories when I was a kid."

He snorts. She's no child any more. She's a frankly terrifying young adult. And it's not like telling some ancient myth is going to turn back the clock.

"You could tell me a different story." She suggests, voice softer. "Tell me about some of the things I missed by running away? Tell me how our friends are doing. Tell me a happy story about all these radio calls you and Clarke have started sharing."

He shakes his head. "I can't do that. I can't face it." He admits, voice raw with honesty. "I'm going crazy, cooped up in here and worrying about her."

Octavia isn't surprised by that confession. They've been doing a lot better at openness and communication, these last three weeks.

She frowns, starts speaking quietly. "She wouldn't want that for you, I'm pretty sure. I know you're a worrier, big brother. You always have been, and I guess that's my fault – or Mum's. But you're more than just her bodyguard."

You are more than your sister's keeper. Isn't that kind of what Clarke was trying to tell him, that day? That she sees him as having meaning in his own right, beyond his role protecting others?

"Yeah. I know. I can't wait to just get a drink with her and tell her all about this month." He says, running a hand through his too-long hair.

Octavia laughs. "Sounds like a great first date. Hey, let me tell you about a month I spent doing workouts with my sister and sleeping three yards from the bathroom bucket."

That has him laughing, too. He never thought he'd see the day when he and Octavia could laugh openly together once again, but this month has sort of forced them to that point, and he's strangely grateful for it.

A few seconds pass. The laughter falls away. Bellamy gathers his courage, says something he knows is long overdue.

"It wasn't your fault, you know. Or Mum's. It was the Ark's fault, for forcing us into a situation where we had to hide you, where our lives had to revolve around you. For making it so that the best a Factory Station boy could hope for was becoming a guard and protecting people for a living, too. The Ark has been trying to teach me I have no worth outside protecting others all my life."

He pauses. He frowns at his hands. He picks some dirt out from under his fingernails, then takes a deep breath.

"Clarke was the first person to teach me different from that." He concludes, proud of himself for getting the words out.

Octavia doesn't roll her eyes, nor laugh at how stilted his attempts to talk about his emotions always are. He's glad of that – this whole ordeal does seem to have taught her a softer side.

On the contrary, she pats him lightly on the shoulder.

"Just think. Only a week and then we can get out of here. And then you can tell her that."

He smiles slightly to himself, goes back to staring at his hands. That does sound like a good plan, he has to admit.

…...

Clarke tries not to get too obviously excited, as the day that will mark a month since the death wave grows closer. She cannot afford to let on that she is struggling, that she will be relieved when all this is over. But all the same, she is excited, and she can almost feel the tension ebbing away as they grow ever nearer to opening the door.

There are things to be done before then, of course. She goes to plenty of meetings about their exit strategy, wonders how Monty and the agriculture team are getting on with their fertiliser project in Arkadia. She has no way of asking them, of course – she will just have to hope the rover Miller drove here in is working when they open the door, so that they will be able to go to Arkadia to ask for an update in person.

She has the everyday things to deal with, too. Things like feeding Madi, and helping out in med bay, and occasionally walking into Jackson and Miller making out in a storage closet. She's happy that they've got together, of course. It seems to have been heading that way for a few weeks, now.

But she's fiercely jealous. She can't help wondering whether Bellamy would be making out with her in a storage closet, if he were here now.

No. That's not a useful or productive train of thought. She refocuses on her footsteps, notes that she has nearly arrived at engineering. Good. She's here to speak to Raven.

She knocks at the door, hears Raven call out in welcome. She pastes her leadership face carefully on, because she doesn't want even Raven to see how she's struggling to cope with the exhaustion and anxiety of living like this. And then she opens the door.

"Hey, Raven."

"Clarke. How's it going?"

Clarke just nods. That's more or less an answer, right? "How did you get on with that modelling?" She asks Raven.

The modelling in question is a project to predict how the landscape will look after Praimfaya. Clarke doesn't entirely understand it, but she gathers that Raven has put some data into a computer – things to do with the terrain and the locations of the various nuclear reactors – and that this will supposedly work through some scenarios to tell them just how thoroughly screwed they will be in their search for farmland when they return to the surface.

"I got on very well." Raven says, but she doesn't sound happy about it.

"What do you mean? What's the answer?"

"I got on well – the project went really smoothly. But the answer's not great. You want the good news or the bad news first?"

"The bad news." Clarke answers, automatically. Life on Earth has made her that kind of person.

"There will be no useful farmland round here at all. Polis will be in the middle of a desert."

Clarke sucks in a breath, tries not to panic. "But you said there was good news?"

"Yeah. According to the projections, the whole of Shallow Valley should have survived intact. Which is mad – the whole valley? - but it's definitely true. I ran it a couple more times to check."

Clarke can't decide whether to rejoice or despair. Shallow Valley is a good-sized piece of land, from what she's heard since she found herself on speaking terms with so many grounders. The remains of the human race could certainly survive there, with careful rationing and allocation of land, at least until the agriculture team have fertilised more of the desert.

But it's miles away, across the wasteland.

"So Madi will be able to go home." Clarke says, because that seems like a place to start. Madi is rarely far from her thoughts, these days.

"Yeah." Raven nods, smiling. "Could be worse, huh? We'll be OK. When we open the door, we can send a couple of people out in the rover to check that the projection is right. And then if all goes to plan, I guess we just have a long walk ahead of us."

Clarke frowns at her, dubious. She's all for Raven being a proud and ambitious person, but she doesn't think that walking the whole way to Shallow Valley in a leg brace is a terribly practical idea.

"Or we could do shuttles with the rover, drive people there in groups." Clarke suggests instead.

Raven snorts. "Clarke. There are thousands of people in this bunker, and hundreds more in Arkadia and the Azgeda bunker. That could be months or even years of rover trips."

"We've got more than one rover. There are others at Arkadia, and the truck."

She's spoken too soon. The rovers are purely theoretical, until they open the door and check that they are still working. This whole entire plan is purely theoretical, until they are actually outside and able to see the world left behind by the death wave for themselves.

She learns this, all too abruptly, one week later. She learns this when she tries to open the door, and finds that it will not budge an inch.

…...

Bellamy is up bright and early, the day that marks a month since the death wave hit.

OK, that's not quite true. He barely sleeps that night, too excited and restless to switch his brain off. So he lies there on his pallet, planning out every conversation and confession he wants to share with Clarke, every joke he wants to make with Miller, the hearty handshake – or perhaps familial hug – he hopes to exchange with Kane. And when it is more or less morning, but still early, he gets up, and packs up his bedding, and sits to wait for his sister to stir.

He tries to keep busy, knows that being idle this morning will only drive him further into nervousness. He packs his meagre belongings into his backpack, and scavenges a couple of other bits and pieces that look useful, too. He takes every pencil he can find in the bunker, for example. He figures Clarke could use a cheerful gift at a time like this. She seemed to like the shampoo, from what she said during their radio calls.

At last, Octavia rolls over and blinks up at him.

"Time to go?" She asks simply.

He nods.

They are out of there less than ten minutes later. Bellamy isn't even surprised by that – he knows they are both keen to leave that cramped bunker behind forever.

But then he reaches the surface, and sucks in a startled breath. This doesn't look like the planet Earth he remembers. He knew it wouldn't, of course. He was expecting wasteland of some sort or another. But this feels more extreme than wasteland, somehow. This is more like desert, with scorched earth and trees of crumbling charcoal.

"Better hope none of those fall and crush us." He says, as lightly as he can, with a nod at a nearby tree trunk. He has always made jokes to handle difficult situations in the past, but he finds it doesn't work quite so well, now. There's something about the idea that these unrecognisable structures used to be trees that is really troubling him.

Octavia doesn't even blink. She's difficult to startle, these days.

"Lead the way to the rover." She says simply.

He does. He hopes to high heaven it has survived, but his optimism is fading fast as he takes in the landscape around him. Could a fragile bundle of electronics, a complicated and precise engine, really have survived a disaster like this?

He wonders about asking Octavia, but it seems wrong to break the tense silence between them, somehow.

It's odd, navigating through this changed landscape. The shape of the terrain has more or less survived, and the layout of the charcoal tree trunks goes some way to reminding him of the old forest. He thinks he's going the right way.

He prays he's going the right way.

He is going the right way. For the first time in as long as he can remember, he gets a lucky break. He sees the cave ahead, and feels his hopes rise ever so slightly. The structure of the cave looks unchanged.

"I left it in there." He breathes, gesturing forwards.

"Smart move, Bell. Let's go see."

Octavia runs ahead. He's not sure whether that's childlike enthusiasm returned to her, or just eagerness to be running after all that time cooped up. Or maybe it's even worse – maybe it's the anxiety of the morning, boiling over as frantic movement.

He follows more slowly. Now that he's here, he almost doesn't want to know. There's a tiny part of him that would rather be in that bunker, still, worrying about what was yet to come. There's a bliss that comes with ignorance, he thinks. Now he's on the point of finding out whether or not they have transport, he can't bear to hear bad news.

"Looking good!" Octavia's excited voice calls from the cave. "Come on in! It looks OK."

He does break into a run, now. If Octavia is sounding so positive, surely that has to be a good sign?

He almost crumples in relief when he gets into the cave and sees the rover. She was right – it does look good. It's maybe a little more scratched than he remembers, but the structure still looks perfectly sound. There's no sign of substantial damage at all.

But that doesn't mean the engine is still working, he reminds himself. He has very little idea how this thing works, whether it depends on some fiddly parts that are particularly vulnerable to heat.

There's no point standing around and procrastinating. He knows this, but still he struggles to move forward. He takes a deep breath, forces himself to climb into the driver's seat and try starting the engine.

Nothing.

He takes another deep breath, tries again.

Nothing.

"Bell?" Octavia's voice has the slightest shake of fear.

It's a silly thing, he thinks. She's killed countless warriors. He followed her to Earth without looking back. They ought to be brave – in fact, he's pretty convinced they are brave. But right now they're both trembling because a damn rover won't start.

He just doesn't know what they'll do if they can't get the rover to start.

He tries again, prays hard, turns the ignition.

Again, he is met by silence.

"What about the battery?" Octavia asks quietly. "Was the battery charged when you left it here?"

"Of course it was." He snaps. "It was early evening, I'd been driving in the light all day. Of course the battery was charged."

"Could it go flat while it was parked up here? I don't know how these things work. Could the battery have drained?"

He shrugs. He has no clue at all. It's a tempting idea, but he thinks it might be tempting because they're desperate, rather than because there is any actual sense to it. He supposes he's never seen anyone leave a rover parked in the darkness for a month, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

"What are you suggesting?" He asks her mildly. It takes him a great deal of effort to phrase it like that, rather than yelling a demand to know what the hell they should do now. Clarke would be proud of him, he thinks in passing.

Clarke will be proud of him, if only he can start this damn rover and ever see her again.

"We push it out into the sun." Octavia suggests, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

Bellamy doesn't hesitate. It's worth a try, even if he thinks it's a crazy scheme. What have they got to lose? If they're going to trek through the wasteland with barely any rations left, and most likely die along the way, he figures they may as well spend a couple of hours uselessly charging a knackered rover, first.

The two of them get behind the rover and start pushing. It's a good job they've been keeping fit this month, Bellamy thinks. He wonders about saying that, but decides against it. That's another example of him being flippant under pressure, and he's not sure it would help. Now he comes to think about it, he's pretty sure Clarke is the only person who ever did appreciate him taking the piss when things get desperate.

The rover inches slowly forward. It's heavy work, and most likely pointless. Bellamy keeps telling himself that, carefully and often. He cannot afford to get his hopes up.

At last, the rover is out in the light. Bellamy stands back, wipes his sweaty palms off on his disgusting shirt.

"I guess we have a couple of hours to kill." He says lightly.

"Yeah. Any ideas?"

"Do you think there's still that river over that way?" He asks, pointing north a little to where he remembers a river in days gone by. "I'd like to wash before we get there. I feel pretty gross."

Octavia gives a hollow laugh. "I'm pretty sure there are no rivers anywhere, Bell. Take a look around you. Does it look like there are rivers?"

Huh. So much for trying to lighten the mood. It's like he thought – only Clarke appreciates that. So it looks like he's destined to spend the next two hours sitting here and fretting about whether the rover will start.

To his surprise, Octavia has more to say.

"She won't care. You know she won't. She'll be too desperate to hug you anyway."

"I've missed people other than Clarke." He says, defensive, but trying to buy into this slightly teasing conversation. It seems more fun than sitting around and staring at his own shoes while they wait, after all.

"But she's the one you want to hug." Octavia accuses him, grinning. "And kiss. But maybe wait until you've washed before you go any further than that."

He laughs. Not because it's the funniest thing in the world, not by a long shot. But because it's funnier than dying of dehydration while they sit by a rover in the desert, and funnier than Octavia beating his face to a pulp, too. It is, in short, a funnier conversation than he would have imagined them ever having, in these circumstances.

He only hopes there's some element of truth to Octavia's words. He only hopes Clarke will greet him with a hug, and that things will go back to normal. He hopes it won't be like the last time they were separated, when she left after Mount Weather and everything went so wrong between them. It shouldn't be like that, he hopes, because this time, they split up more or less on good terms.

Apart from the fact she was angry with him for not coming home.

It'll be fine. They'll be OK. They'll hug, and maybe even kiss, and work it out.

They'll hug, just as long as he can get this damn rover started.

…...

He lasts a whole hour, in the end. He chats lightly with Octavia about nothing, tries the radio a couple of times with no success. He's not surprised about that – he knew the radiation would still be blocking the signal, because that was Raven's prediction. But all the same, trying a call or two helps pass the time.

When that first hour is up, he gives up and strides to the driver's seat.

"Bell?" Octavia asks, unsure.

"Figure I might as well try now. How long does it even take to charge a completely flat battery far enough to start the engine?"

She shrugs. Exactly. Neither of them knows. He's been taught how to drive, but he's no mechanic. And Octavia has barely ever even ridden in one of these things.

The rover starts first time. After all the failed attempts, the sweaty pushing, the hour sitting and fretting in the sun, it is as easy as that.

He gives a slightly hysterical laugh. Octavia jumps into the front passenger seat with the kind of energy and enthusiasm he hasn't seen from her in quite some time. He shakes his head, still laughing, and starts driving in the direction of Polis.

There are no roads. But there's nothing much in his way, either. There are only the crumbling charcoal tree trunks and the occasional boulder. So he simply takes a direct course towards where he knows Polis ought to be.

The two of them chat a bit as they go. Now that they are confined in a moving rover rather than a stinking bunker, the atmosphere between them is even lighter. Octavia talks about how she looks forward to seeing Indra again, and Monty and Harper and Jasper when they are all together again. It occurs to Bellamy that he's maybe been a bit selfish in insisting that they go straight to Polis, rather than Arkadia. But in his defence, they're actually on the list for Polis. It's not as if he's only going there to see Clarke.

At last, the Polis tower appears on the horizon. Thank goodness – they must be going the right way. He picks up even more speed, trusts that the way ahead will remain open and flat and clear.

Polis is a mess, they realise on arrival. The buildings are sort of half-standing, with roofs or windows ripped off by the force of the death wave. A few of the more flimsy ones have even tumbled to the ground, and the streets are littered with debris.

"We should leave the rover and go on foot." He suggests, when they're close, and when he's ready to admit that he cannot really drive any further through this chaos.

Octavia nods, eyes wide, as she gazes out at the scene before them.

They each grab their precious few personal belongings and start walking. Bellamy supposes it's a little foolish that he's carrying three pencils and a non-functioning radio through the aftermath of a nuclear apocalypse, and yet it's hardly the most foolish thing he's ever done. He walks briskly, urgently. He needs to get to the bunker, needs to check that everyone inside is OK.

He needs to hug Clarke.

He wonders for a moment why they haven't seen anyone yet. If they're all alive, and they know this is the day to open the doors, where are they? Surely everyone must be eager to get out. Does that mean something has gone wrong? Does that mean -?

"Slow down, Bell." Octavia places a hand on his arm. "You don't want to fall. Look, the temple's right there. It's still standing. So they must be OK."

He doesn't necessarily follow that logic. Things could go wrong other than the temple collapsing, he fears. But all the same, she's right. He doesn't want to fall. He's already sweaty and filthy – he doesn't want to be sweaty, filthy, and bleeding to boot.

Within seconds, he is striding into the temple, taking in the scene before him. A large column of stone seems to have fallen across the bunker door. That's unfortunate, he decides, and yet encouraging at the same time. That must be why they've not seen anyone. They're simply trapped by one block of stone. He can deal with that.

Without stopping to think too hard, he grabs a nearby piece of metal that looks sturdy. He thinks it's probably part of some relic of Becca Pramheda, but in this moment, he doesn't greatly care. He just needs to lever that damn rock off the door. Octavia helps him, tucking the makeshift crowbar in place, and then they're both leaning on it with all their weight.

They do it. They lift the column, shove it to one side. Good god, but this has been an exhausting day. What with pushing the rover out of the cave and now this, Bellamy figures his back will be sore tomorrow. He's used to life being tough on the ground, but all this urgent lifting after a month of measly confined workouts is not doing him any good.

"Next time we get stranded in a death wave, remind me to take a spare key." Bellamy jokes tiredly, nodding at the locked door. Yet another obstacle to worry about.

Octavia huffs a little, and stamps on the door hard with her booted foot. That's one way of knocking, he supposes.

It works. Within minutes the door is cracked open, and Miller's stunned face is looking up at them.

"You made it!" He cries, flinging the door fully open with a grunt. "My god, you made it. And you got the door clear? We figured something was blocking it."

Bellamy points at the offending column, notes idly that one of his fingernails seems to be bleeding a lot. Ah well. He's had worse wounds.

And then Miller has made it all the way up the ladder, and is hugging them both fiercely. It's a new experience, this, Bellamy muses. He's counted Miller a close friend for quite some time now. But he's not used to sharing enthusiastic group hugs with him.

"How is everyone?" Bellamy asks as he pulls away. "All OK in there?"

"It's a bit cramped, but we're doing fine. Everyone's physically OK. Clarke and Indra have been working too hard, but that's nothing new. And – uh – I guess me and Jackson are together now."

"You guess?" Octavia teases, eyes bright.

If Miller objects to being teased by someone he hasn't always been on good terms with, he doesn't show it. Clearly this is a day for joy.

"I guess." He repeats. "You know how it is. Do people really label things in the middle of Praimfaya?"

Bellamy snorts. Yes, that's an issue he's familiar with. No one seems to have much time to define relationships when they're struggling to survive.

Miller continues speaking. "Come on in. I'm hoping you two might have some hope of convincing Clarke and Indra to slow down."

"Not likely." Bellamy hears Octavia mutter.

"We'll try." He says firmly. "I'm just happy to hear they're OK." It occurs to him, though, that Miller hasn't actually said much about whether Clarke is OK. He's only said that she's physically fine, but working too hard. And now he comes to think about it, he fears that might be code for her not being particularly OK after all.

He doesn't have time to think about it much. Miller leads the way down the ladder, followed by Octavia. Bellamy closes the door behind them. And then there's an inner door, forming a sort of radiation airlock. The moment the outer door is closed, almost before he has managed to jump down the ladder, the inner door is opening.

And then Clarke is flying into his arms, all bouncing blond hair and flailing limbs as she quite simply throws herself at him.

He laughs a little in stunned joy as he staggers backwards half a pace, clips his calf on the ladder. This reminds him of that first hug they shared at Camp Jaha, except that this time, he is more than ready to catch her. He hugs her back, hard, buries his face in her neck, takes a deep breath of a scent that smells suspiciously like that shampoo he bought her. He weaves a hand into her hair and just holds her head close against his chest for several long seconds. He's honestly never enjoyed a hug more in his entire life.

"You're OK." She mutters, still hugging him.

"Yeah. You?"

She doesn't answer. He tries not to dwell on that, tries to concentrate on running his hand over her shoulders and nuzzling closer into her neck than he really ought. But then she pulls away, takes a couple of steps back, reversing awkwardly until she's standing next to a small child. And now he's looking at her, rather than holding her, he realises it.

There's something wrong with the look in her eyes.

She looks sort of cold, and distant, and he doesn't like it. She's not making eye contact like he's used to seeing from her, not going through life with that challenging gaze. She looks calm, sure, but she doesn't look happy. And that's pretty damn weird, he thinks. If ever there was a time when she should look happy, he'd like to hope that this would be it. He doesn't think he's mad to believe he's special to her, and she's literally just found out he's still breathing. He'd have thought that merited a slightly more openly emotional facial expression.

He brushes that thought aside. He watches Octavia greet Indra, shakes her hand himself. He greets Raven, learns that the child at Clarke's side is a young girl named Madi whose parents died in the death wave, and who Clarke has adopted.

Huh. That's quite a big item of news, he thinks. He's not sure what to make of it, is sort of too shocked to figure out whether he's happy for Clarke that she's got herself a little family now, or disappointed to find that he might not be so uniquely close to her, any more.

No. That's silly. Her daughter is not competition. He should simply show Clarke he still wants to be in her life. And anyway, he likes children.

It's just a big deal, OK? It's a substantial new development, and one that he sure as hell wasn't expecting.

"Bellamy?" Clarke says his name, and he gets the feeling he's supposed to have been listening.

"Sorry. Just – a lot to take in." He says, inadequately.

Clarke has a child.

She doesn't visibly react. She just keeps talking, and it worries him.

"You should take a shower." She suggests. "There are spare clothes as well. Indra's in charge of supplies. She'll get you everything you need."

"I do kind of stink." He agrees, trying to laugh at himself and not entirely succeeding.

Clarke nods. Indra frowns. Silence begins to grow taught between them.

He takes a risk, steps closer to Clarke. He lowers his voice, and tries to look her right in the eyes, but she's not having any of it.

"Are you doing OK?" He mutters, aware that they have an audience, but not seeing a better solution. They had an audience of sorts on the road to TonDC, he remembers, or when she was in that rover with Roan, and yet she still managed to be honest with him on those occasions.

"I'm fine." She says, eyes on the floor, and it's obviously a lie. "You should take a shower."

He's a little hurt by that, really. They were doing so well at honest conversation over the radio, and he's disappointed to think that has all vanished during just one month apart. And he has to admit that he's offended to think she cares more about him needing a shower than him showing up here alive. He imagined rather more hugging before she started fixating on his unwashed state.

But more than anything else, he's worried about her. She's obviously not fine, and he needs to help her out. That's what they do for each other. So it is that he hunts urgently for a strategy.

"You're right, I should go have a shower. But can we find some time to talk after that? We should catch up. You need to tell me everything that's happened in the last month. That's what we do, right? We share every tiny detail about our day. And since the radio cut out, I figure you have a lot of days to catch me up on."

She glances up, then. She actually meets his gaze for a fleeting second as her eyes graze past and back to the floor.

"That sounds good." She admits at last. "I – I've missed you."

He sighs in relief, tries to smother the sound and ends up laughing nervously instead. Thank god. I've missed you isn't much. It's pretty self-evident, he thinks. And yet it's three whole words about her emotional state, and he'll take that for the victory it is, at this point.

He hugs her again. He holds her tight, because he's missed her, but also because he wants to whisper a few private words to her without their friends overhearing.

"I'm so sorry I left you to do this alone. But I'm back now, OK? And you know you can tell me all about it."

She makes a bit of a snuffling noise, and he wonders whether she's crying. It's no problem if she is, he decides. He'll gladly hold her all day, let her hide her face against his chest for hours if that's what she needs to do.

"It's good to be back." He concludes in a heartfelt whisper.

"Welcome home." She offers, squeezing him tight.

Huh. That's a funny thought. He hates Polis, mostly. And he certainly doesn't consider this grey hole in the ground a very comfortable place. But he has to admit that he does feel like he's just come home. He supposes that's normal – that's how it feels, to be surrounded by family.

a/n Thanks for reading!