Fire and Ice

by PenguinofProse

Roan wins the conclave, but chooses to share the bunker with Skaikru essential personnel. Clarke finds a pretext to save Bellamy, but he's not happy about it. Angst with a happy ending. Heed the content notes!

Here's another time jump! It feels way too long since I last posted one of these. We're diverging from canon during "Die all, die merrily". Huge thanks to Zou for betaing this. Happy reading!

Echo has a substantial role in this fic. Please don't hate on her in the comments thank you.

Content note: multiple secondary character deaths, canon-typical references to violence, canon-typical depictions of low self worth and suicidal ideation. One rough consensual sex scene.

Clarke has never been so ashamed of herself for acting with integrity.

As she watches Roan stride into the bunker as if he owns the place, she feels sick to her stomach. She supposes he does own the place, now. If he's here, that must mean he's won.

She's so bitterly angry with herself. If only she'd done what she instinctively wanted to, and seized the bunker for Arkadia, her people would be safe right now – and the human race would survive. But some tiny voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like her father had to go and insist that she was better than that. That she was honest, and that she should honour the terms of the conclave.

Look where that's landed her.

Even as Roan walks towards her, she is already calculating the damage. She will die, but that honestly doesn't bother her so much in this moment. She's tired of this life. She's more upset that her mother will die, that Bellamy will die, that the human race might well die out altogether because Azgeda do not exactly have any expert engineers to keep this place running.

And there's another thing, she realises too late – Octavia must be dead, too.

"Clarke." Roan greets her, with that smirk of his that is almost a smile.

She's in no mood for smirking, today. "Roan. I guess I have to congratulate you. Give us a moment to finish setting up med bay and we'll be out of your way." With that, she spins on the spot, keen to get back to her tasks.

"Not so fast." Roan stops her with a hand clasped around her forearm.

She freezes, puzzled. She's not known him to act quite like this before.

"You're not going anywhere." He declares.

Clarke panics. She didn't think Roan was like this. She didn't think he would hold her here and use violence against her. She didn't think -

"Clarke?" He sounds concerned, and it's such a contrast that it puzzles her.

"What do you want, Roan?"

"I want your help." He says mildly. "And I want to honour the spirit of our old alliance."

Oh. Right. He doesn't mean her any harm at all – that must just be her worries getting the better of her.

She tries to collect herself, frowning hard. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe you've turned me soft, skygirl. Or maybe you've shown me there really is more to life than my people. But more than anything, I have no idea how to run this med bay. So I want you to stay, and your mother and the rest of your medical team. Your farmers and engineers, too. All your essential personnel. Your lives in exchange for helping us keep everything working around here."

She agrees, of course. She's no fool. And this might not be perfect, but it's a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

"You've got yourself a deal." She confirms easily.

He nods. "Good move, Wanheda. Leave your med bay and make me a list of names. You've got ten minutes."

…...

It's the easiest list she's ever written, in some ways. It's obvious which names should go on it – she knows exactly who the essential personnel are. But in some ways it's the hardest list she's ever written, which is really saying something. Because it has to be so absurdly short – she knows she cannot risk sneaking extra people onto it.

All the same, she does what she can. She includes Monty on the agriculture team, even though she knows he's not strictly necessary. She puts Niylah down on the grounds she is informally training as a nurse, and also as a sort of collective apology to the whole of Trikru.

And then she adds Bellamy's name to the list.

…...

Roan doesn't argue, as she reels off the first sixteen names. He nods his way through the list of medics, even seems to recognise the names of most of the engineers.

But then she hits name seventeen, and a stumbling block.

"Bellamy Blake?" Roan asks, incredulous. "You're telling me your bodyguard is essential personnel?"

"He's not my bodyguard." She defends him instinctively, because he is so much more than that. "He's – he's a weapons technologist. You'll need him to operate all the weapons in the armoury." She takes a deep breath, really tries to sell the lie. "That's why he comes with me on missions so often. He's our best with the guns. Best with the vehicles, too. He occupies a very special role between the guard and engineering."

Roan snorts, unimpressed. "You're saying that because the man can drive and work a gun, I need to feed him for the next five years."

"Because he's a weapons technologist." She reiterates carefully. "And he can teach your army those useful skills, too. He's the one that taught me my way around a gun."

" A weapons technologist. Right. You Skaikru are quite something."

She waits with baited breath. She wonders whether it's worth adding something about Bellamy's loyalty, or his accuracy, or his other many good qualities.

She wonders whether it's worth getting down on her knees and telling Roan that Bellamy is essential personnel to her.

"Sure. Bellamy stays." Roan says, dismissive. Winners can afford to be dismissive, she thinks sourly. She doesn't much like the balance of power, here.

But all the same, she sighs in relief. She nods, expresses her gratitude, and runs from the room.

She's going to need to warn Bellamy about this, she fears. There's no way that weapons technologist lie will fly unless he's had time to prepare his story.

…...

Roan's strategy for locating the people on Clarke's list of essential personnel is quite a simple one, it turns out. He takes Clarke and a few of his warriors up topside, and asks her to point them out to him. Clarke thinks it's perhaps a little unusual that the king himself wishes to go out on this errand. But she's in no position to argue with him and anyway, she's beginning to suspect he might prefer her company to that of the war chiefs inherited from his mother.

Maybe there was more to his offer of safety for her people than just pragmatism and essential personnel.

They only have to face a few angry grounders on the way. It's all eerily easy, everyone respecting Roan's victory in the conclave. And it has Clarke thinking all over again how straightforward it might have been to save every resident of Arkadia, if only she was prepared to ignore the rules and sell her soul.

They don't spend long on the surface. Most of the essential personnel were already inside the bunker preparing it, after all. They find Jaha loitering by the rovers, Jackson taking the final few medical supplies inside.

The last person they need to find is Bellamy, because of course he is. For a moment, Clarke honestly wonders whether Roan will give up and leave him out altogether. She knows he wasn't entirely sold on the idea that Bellamy is necessary, knows that it looks like a lot of fuss, right now, to scour Polis for one man just because he happens to have some military use.

Clarke presses on, doesn't give Roan the time to decide to turn back.

"He'll be saying goodbye to his sister. Do you know where she died?" She asks, even as the words try to stick in her throat.

"Yeah. Just down here. It was Luna." He says heavily.

She nods, walks the way Roan gestures. And sure enough, there at the end of the rubble-strewn street is Bellamy, crouching over his sister's body amongst puddles of black rain.

He's not crying. That's the first thing Clarke notices. There's not so much as a trace of a tear. He's just crouching there, rocking slightly, eyes wide and empty with shock.

"Bellamy?" She calls softly.

He looks up, sharp. Panicked, even. That worries her even more.

"Clarke? Roan? What are you doing here?"

"We're here for you." Roan says briskly. "You've got a space in the bunker with us."

Bellamy frowns. Clarke jumps in to explain.

"Roan has decided that Azgeda will share the bunker with some essential personnel from Arkadia. I told him you had to join us because of your expertise as a weapons technologist." She tells him, with careful emphasis, willing him to buy into her plan.

He doesn't. He doesn't even vaguely cooperate. And that surprises her, really, because they've always communicated very well in the past. Must be the shock of his sister's death, Clarke thinks, as Bellamy starts shaking his head.

"What? I'm not -"

"You are. You're essential personnel. You're a weapons expert." Clarke reminds him firmly.

"I'm not -"

"Look, Bellamy. You're coming with us." Roan bites out. "I don't care whether you know one end of a gun from the other. I know Clarke is making this up as she goes along. But I also know she's not going to let me close that door unless you're on the inside. So let's go."

"I'm not coming." Bellamy mutters, eyes on his sister's crumpled body.

"Bellamy -"

"I'm not coming." He repeats, bitter. "Do you even care, Clarke? Have you even noticed that she's dead, that everyone we care about apart from a few doctors is going to die? Or are you too busy making your alliances and your deals?"

She blinks, stunned. This isn't the warm-hearted Bellamy she knows so well and loves more than she ought. This is some stranger, and she doesn't like it. She understands that he's upset, but why on Earth is he taking it out on her?

"I'm trying to save you." She points out, hurt.

"I don't -"

"You're coming with us." Roan informs him, gesturing to a pair of his men. "Let's go."

Clarke never thought she'd see the day when Azgeda guards would forcibly march Bellamy away from his sister's dead body and to safety.

She doesn't like it. She doesn't like it at all.

She trails behind on the walk back to the bunker. She's not sure what to make of Bellamy's behaviour. He doesn't struggle as he walks with the guards – he simply carries himself with a heaviness Clarke is not used to seeing. So it is that she leaves him to his wretched silence and sticks with Roan, instead.

"He's an ungrateful bastard." Roan says dispassionately.

"He's just mourning." She rushes to defend him. "And in shock. And -"

"And you love him. So I guess I'm going to keep him alive whether he's grateful or not." Roan concludes, quelling.

Yes. That does seem to be what's ended up happening, here.

…...

Clarke doesn't see Bellamy at all in the first few hours after Roan locks the door. She's too busy setting up med bay, and introducing Roan to the rest of the Skaikru survivors, and generally making herself useful.

Also maybe avoiding the issue. There's that too. She's desperately hoping that if she gives Bellamy a couple of hours to calm down and for the shock to wear off, they might be able to get back to hugging and mutual support when she tries talking to him again. Heaven knows they could both use a hug, just now.

At last the moment comes when it can be put off no longer. She's taking inventory of the medical storage closet when her mother approaches her to start a conversation.

"Leave that, Clarke. Go get some rest."

"I'm almost done. Just let me -"

"Clarke, please." Her mother swallows. "I'd rather do it myself, honestly. I'd – I'd like a quiet moment in here alone."

Clarke nods. She can understand that. Marcus was one of the people she couldn't find a pretext to save. Maybe if she'd begged Roan, she wonders, or if she'd invented another non-existent area of expertise.

Maybe the people she couldn't save will haunt her for the rest of her life.

"I'm sorry." She offers inadequately, the tears welling up at last. "I'm so sorry, Mum. I didn't – I couldn't -"

"It's OK. It's OK, Clarke. You saved who you could. You did good, honey."

Clarke tries for a nod, but she can't do it. She simply cannot make her neck form the motion. She cannot force herself to agree with her mother's kind words.

She finds that she is pulled into a hug instead.

"You've done so well, Clarke. I'm proud of you. But now it's time to go get some rest."

Clarke can agree with that. It's only sensible, after all. However tired and emotional she is right now, she still has the pragmatism to realise that a good night's sleep will help a great deal.

So it is that she finds herself heading down the hallway to look for Bellamy at last.

It was some Azgeda war chief who allocated the rooms, and who decided to put all the younger members of Skaikru together. Clarke's not complaining – she cannot think of people she would rather live with through these five hellish years than Monty and Bellamy and Jackson. They're all good and dependable friends, and she's going to need company like that if she is to make it through this.

She's feeling pretty relieved as she opens the door. It's all going to be OK. This is her home now, and these are her people. And they're good people who she -

She's wrong. She's so utterly, heartbreakingly wrong. There is nothing OK about this at all.

The scene inside the room is not a pretty one. Monty is weeping quietly, curled in on himself in his bed, arms hugged tight around his own body. Jackson has colder eyes and a stiffer jaw than Clarke has ever seen on him – and he's been a family friend since her youth, so that's saying something.

And Bellamy? Bellamy is the worst of the lot.

He's still not crying. He's pacing the room, stopping every so often to punch a wall. His eyes are not blank like they were earlier – they're full of fire, angry and hurt and seething.

Nothing is ever going to be OK again.

"Clarke. Hey." Jackson greets her weakly, arms outstretched before him.

She's half way over there for a hug when Bellamy stalks between them, physically blocking the hug with his broad shoulders and glowering expression.

"There you are." He spits at her, accusing.

She shakes her head. She doesn't get it. She just doesn't get it. What the hell is wrong with him?

"Bellamy? What is it? What's -?"

"Care to tell me what the hell I'm doing here? Why I'm now best friends with King Roan himself? And what's all this about me being some kind of mechanic?"

"I was just trying to save you." She half-chokes on the words, upset and confused.

"That's not your choice." He barks at her. "You don't get to lie for me, then hole me up in here like some kind of caged pet."

"I don't – I'm not -"

"I'm taking a shower." He announces, then strides straight out of the room before she can reply.

He's not carrying a towel, Clarke notes. But then again, she could probably have guessed the shower thing was a lie anyway.

In the silence he leaves behind, Monty's weeping sounds too loud. Jackson's hug feels too cold, and the room feels too cramped, lacking oxygen somehow.

"Do you know what's wrong with Bellamy?" She asks Jackson quietly.

"You mean apart from losing his sister and most of his people and moving in with strangers?" He asks wryly.

"We're not strangers." She points out, defensive.

"Right now he thinks you are. He thinks you're on Roan's side – Roan who won the conclave that killed his sister."

"I know that." She snaps, because she's upset, not stupid. She knows all that. She just misses Bellamy – her Bellamy.

She gives up on understanding Bellamy and goes to give Monty a hug. There is too much sadness here to dwell too long on the grief of one angry man.

…...

Bellamy doesn't come back that night. By the time Clarke wakes up the following morning there's no sign of him and she's worried out of her mind. She should never have let him wander off last night when he was so upset. What if he's hurt himself or done something impulsive and foolish?

She scours the hallways and the atrium, stops by the office to check whether Roan has heard any news of Bellamy's whereabouts.

Roan only smirks. Clarke's getting sick of that already. And then he sends her on her way with nothing more useful than an instruction to come back and help him with some decision making after she's eaten her breakfast.

She takes the hint. She goes to breakfast. And there, in the middle of the canteen, sits Bellamy.

He's sitting next to some young Azgeda woman Clarke doesn't recognise, eating his porridge with a too-careful smile on his face. His laughter when he reacts to his companion's jokes seems too staged, somehow, and his joy does not show in his eyes. He looks like she remembers in the early days of their acquaintance, she thinks – all sharp edges and ostentatious smirking.

Clarke strides straight over there. She's never been one to back down from a fight.

"There you are. We were worried about you." She tells him.

He shrugs carefully, looking every inch the confrontational man she first knew at the dropship. "Here I am. What did you want?"

"Bellamy. Don't be like this." She mutters, frustrated.

"Like what, Clarke? I'm making new friends. Here – this is Layla. We had a good time last night."

That's it. That's the moment she figures it out. There's a reason he's wearing his dropship smirk – he's doing it again, what he did in those early days. He's running away from his feelings, sleeping with everyone in sight, living life fuelled by lust and anger and pushing away his emotions.

She could honestly scream. Haven't they learnt to do better than this, by now? Haven't they learnt to support each other and yes, even to love each other?

She shakes her head. She won't rise to this. She won't fight with him here in the damn canteen.

She takes her breakfast and eats at the other side of the room. She can watch over Bellamy from here, at a distance, just to make sure he's OK. She may be incredibly frustrated with him, but she's also seriously worried about his wellbeing, right now.

…...

She tries to corner him that night in the dorm.

"How was your day?" She asks him. That seems like a safe place to start.

She's wrong, it turns out.

"Just great." He spits out. "What did I do? Oh yeah, nothing. Sat here and stared at the walls."

"What do you mean?" She asks. It's been a busy day getting this place up and running – he must have had assigned tasks.

"I mean I've got nothing to do, have I? Since you invented me a job that doesn't exist. I even went and asked Roan what he wanted me to do and he had nothing."

She gulps. She didn't foresee this. She's a bit annoyed with Roan, really – she thought he would want Bellamy to start training his guards in Slkaikru weapons.

"Maybe you could help Monty tomorrow?" She suggests mildly.

"Yeah. Great. I'll fetch and carry seeds for a bunch of farmers. That'll be productive."

"Bellamy -"

"Just don't, Clarke. Just don't."

No. She's not having that. She's never been one for following his orders before, and she's not about to start now.

"No, Bellamy. Listen to me. I know you're upset. I get it. Your sister's dead and Roan's alive. And I acted without consulting you. So I get it if you're angry, or if you need to channel your grief into yelling at me or sleeping with Layla or whatever it might be." She heaves in a shaking breath. "Just – just know that I care, OK? That's why I did it. And as long as you're safe on this side of the door I regret nothing." She concludes, absolutely certain of it.

He sighs. He breaks. Just for a moment, he sags, resting his head in his hand.

"Pretty sure I've got nothing but regrets." He mutters into his knees.

She lets out a shaky laugh from sheer relief, starts walking over to him. This is going to be OK. They'll figure it out. She was right, it seems – this is just his grief and shock manifesting itself in unpleasant ways. And she can work with that, can -

"Clarke." Roan bursts into the room, breaking the moment.

"What is it?" She bites out, frustrated. She can already see Bellamy's shoulders stiffening all over again.

"I need you to come talk me through this inventory."

She nods, resigned. They owe Roan their lives. So she supposes she's obligated to follow obediently in his wake.

…...

Clarke doesn't see much of Bellamy for the rest of the week. When he's in the dorm at all, he's stony-faced and silent. As far as she can tell, he's off with Layla and various nameless young Azgeda most of the time. But she keeps an eye on him as best she can, makes sure he's eating meals and so on.

She still wants to take care of him, even if he's not interested in her concern.

She does see a lot of Monty and Jackson, though. That's a good thing. She hugs Monty tight while he mourns Harper, sits with Jackson's hands clasped in her own while he mourns Miller. That's a relationship she never even realised existed, she has to admit, and it makes her all the more sad for Jackson – he lost Miller right at the start of their romance, just as they were falling in love.

It makes her even more determined to take care of Bellamy as best as she can. She won't lose him – she's set on that. He might be distant from her, right now, but he's here.

As long as he's alive, she regrets nothing.

She's getting good at repeating that line to herself.

…...

It all comes to a head when she sees Bellamy sitting with Echo at breakfast. Clarke was prepared to sit back and watch over him from afar when he had clearly spent the night with this Layla, or with some nameless stranger.

But this is the final straw.

It's not that she's jealous, nor anything so straightforward. Sure, she wishes it was her and not Echo, but there's more than that going on here. She's worried about what's going on in Bellamy's head that he's suddenly sleeping with Echo to take his mind off his grief when she was such an enemy to him, only a couple of short weeks ago. She just finds it a very odd development, and wants to check he's thought this through and isn't doing something he'll regret.

There's that, and there's also the envy burning in the pit of her stomach. All she did wrong was save his life without consulting him, as far as she can see. But Echo literally tried to murder his sister, and suddenly he's fine with that?

It's implausible at best, in her well-considered opinion.

So that's why she marches up to him straight after breakfast and has it out with him.

"What are you doing, Bellamy?" She asks, her excessive concern spilling over into frustration. "I get it. You're feeling angry and guilty and a thousand other things. But why does that mean sleeping with Echo is a good move?"

"She knows her way around the bedroom." He says smoothly, offering a small shrug. Damn him. This is worse than the man she used to know at the dropship. At least he occasionally looked her in the eye.

"That's not what I'm talking about, Bellamy. I'm saying you hated her, just the other week. Why are you suddenly hooking up with her? Are you – are you punishing yourself or something?"

He snarls. He actually full on snarls. "What if I am? What's it to you?"

"I – I -"

She never manages to answer his question. She doesn't manage it because suddenly his mouth is on hers, his teeth biting at her lower lip as he forces the kiss deeper, harsher, more urgent. And then he's looping his hands around her wrists, tugging her into a nearby storage closet without pausing for breath.

She doesn't argue. She doesn't want to argue. Maybe it's sick and twisted, but after a fortnight spent craving a hug and a hint of the connection she used to share with this man, even this stilted moment of passion feels better than nothing.

She kisses him back, even. She doesn't try to do more than that – doesn't try to put her hands anywhere – because she senses that's not what he wants. He wants to hold her down, and that's fine. She'll take it, if that's what he needs.

He gets rougher. He tugs her hands over her head and pins them to the wall behind her, and she likes it. She craves the possessiveness of it, is desperate to have the reassurance that she still means something to him – even if only like this. With his other hand he grasps at her upper arm, digging his fingers into her flesh so firmly she thinks his nails will leave marks.

Good. She hopes so. Then she'll have proof she isn't imagining this moment.

There's more. He's kissing roughly down her neck, then he's sucking a robust bruise into the skin just above her breasts. She gasps, loudly, and flinches instinctively.

All at once, he freezes. He pulls away, eyes dark, seemingly unable to meet her gaze.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." He chants, running his hands through his hair and tugging, hard.

"You're OK." She takes a risk, reaches out to place a soft hand on his forearm. "You're fine. And I'm OK. If – if you want this, that's OK. I can give this to you."

He laughs a cold laugh. "Do you have any idea how sick that is, Clarke? I can give this to you? Do you even hear yourself? God, you should be slapping me across the face, not telling me I'm OK."

"I can't do that." She says, shaking her head fiercely, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "I've been so worried about you. If some rough sex in a storage closet is going to help, I'm down for that." She swallows guiltily. "Honestly, I liked it. Is that wrong?"

He snorts. "I don't know. But I shouldn't have put you in that position. I'm so sorry."

"I forgive you." She says, as she always will.

He shakes his head fiercely. "No. You can't. You mustn't. Not yet."

She sighs. They're a mess – she's worked out that much at least. She's sat here craving the validation of some rough sex because she feels like she doesn't deserve anything else, she muses. And he seems to think he's supposed to act like a monster then stew in guilt. He appears to have decided that forgiveness is not for him.

She thinks maybe there's a better way of figuring all this out than biting each other's necks, actually.

"Tell me about it." She whispers. Just that – a simple plea.

He shakes his head, jaw tight.

"OK. Don't tell me about it. But I'm going to sit here for a while." She decides, sinking to the dusty floor.

He acts on her implicit invitation. He crouches slowly at her side, then sticks his legs out before him, one at a time, as if considering the action carefully.

And then he says something that surprises her.

"I never wanted our first time to be like that."

She laughs. She can't help it. Sure, it's a grim thing to be laughing about. But she thinks it's a laugh of shock more than amusement.

"I think we're past the point of worrying about things like that, Bellamy." She takes a shaky breath. "Maybe we have a go at figuring out a few other things before we revisit hooking up in storage closets."

He looks at her sharply. "You're not angry with me? You should be."

"I'm furious with you. But I'm also worried about you and want us to fix things. And Earth has taught me that wasting time on being angry with the people I care about is a bad idea."

He nods slowly. "I've learnt that too. Or – I should have. It doesn't seem to have sunk in yet."

She reaches out for him again, squeezes his arm softly. "That's OK."

"No. It's not." He tells her, audibly furious with himself. "I just – I was so angry with you. Again. Why does that keep happening to us?"

"Earth." She says simply.

"I hate it. I hate it." He repeats frantically, tears brewing in his voice. "I didn't know what to think. You're you . I hate being angry with you. But you stopped me saying goodbye to her. You stopped me staying out there with her. You made all these decisions without me, you teamed up with Roan. And – I don't know how to deal with you saving me." He admits, swallowing loudly, tears running unchecked down his face. "I'm supposed to save people. That's what I've always done – I protected my sister and then you, too. Who am I if I'm not saving anyone? If I'm just sitting around with nothing to do because you saved me?"

Clarke hesitates, trying to process all that. It's a lot of words for a guy who didn't want to talk about it, she thinks. But she's not surprised – Bellamy has always been like this, bottling it all up inside then letting it spill over into a great emotional mess. She doesn't love him any less for it. If anything, in this moment, she loves him more for showing her he's still the same guy.

She decides to start small, in the end. She hands him her handkerchief – tattered and threadbare, but more or less clean.

"You're still you." She says softly while he wipes his face. "You were always more than your sister's keeper to me. I didn't save you because you always save me. I saved you because I think the world is a better place with you alive."

"Why? Why save me? Why me out of all the people from Arkadia you could have lied about on that list?"

She takes a deep breath. Should she -? This is definitely not the right moment. Bellamy is crying in a storage closet. It's hardly the stuff of romantic daydreams.

She can almost remember what it used to be like, to enjoy romantic daydreams back on the Ark.

"The truth, Clarke." Bellamy insists, surprisingly firm despite the tears.

Another deep breath. "Because I love you."

That has him crying all over again, a fresh storm of sobs. But it has him leaning close to her, too, bending low to rest his head on her shoulder despite his greater height. She takes his hint, wrapping an arm around him, hugging him tightly at her side.

He cries for a while longer. He doesn't say anything about love – but she rather thinks the tears and his desperate desire to get close to her tell their own story.

And what if she's wrong? What if he doesn't love her, but is just moved to learn that he is loved at all? She can cope with that, too. As long as he's alive – and maybe one day feeling rather better than he has felt since his sister's death – then she thinks she can probably cope with almost anything.

They sit there for several long minutes. Outside, around them, the bunker goes on working. Clarke knows she should probably be helping Roan with some important task to earn her keep, but she finds that she doesn't feel too guilty about it.

She's exactly where she wants to be – in the place she needs to be, even.

It's Bellamy who breaks the moment at last. He pulls her in for a more conventional hug, despite their awkward position tangled on the ground. He presses a lingering kiss to her temple, eyes filled with guilt and gratitude and everything in between. Then he stands up, holds out a hand to her and helps her to her feet.

"Come with me to see Roan?" She asks. That's where she needs to head next, if this early morning support session is through.

Bellamy stiffens at once. Oh. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say.

"Bellamy? You were saying you had nothing meaningful to do. So I thought maybe we could fix that."

He nods, the angry expression on his face quite at odds with the sign of agreement. "I don't like him." He says robustly.

"That's OK. It's understandable."

"I know I'm supposed to be grateful. But it's sick. What are we? Some kind of hostages? Pets? Slaves like Riley and the others?"

Clarke frowns. She can see where Bellamy got that from – she's been feeling a strong sense of obligation and frustration, too. But angry talk like that could be dangerous, given their situation. And besides which, she knows how badly things can go wrong when Bellamy is angry.

"He honestly is trying to do the right thing in an impossible situation. Isn't that all we've ever done? He's doing his best." She reaches out to squeeze Bellamy's hand. "He's still the same guy who helped you save me from his own men."

That does it. That has Bellamy nodding, sagging a little in resignation or relief or possibly both.

"I still don't like him." He argues. But it's a little lighter, now – almost a tease rather than such a furious protest.

"I know. No one said you had to become best friends. But will you come with me and find yourself something useful to distract you?"

He nods, making a game attempt at a smile. They head down the hallway together, then up the stairs to Roan's office. Bellamy is surly while they speak to Roan, but not actively rude, and Clarke decides that counts as a victory, today.

He is sent to spend the rest of the day cataloguing the contents of the armoury. Clarke thinks that sounds like a fantastically dull task, but all the same Bellamy sets to it with a spring in his step.

…...

They share a bunk that night. They don't discuss it, or bother with embarrassment or any other pointless faffing. Isn't life too short for such things, on Earth? They simply cuddle together in the narrow bed, sharing warmth and support and reassurance.

The last thing Clarke feels before she succumbs to sleep? Bellamy's lips pressed to the back of her neck in a slow, soft kiss.

…...

Clarke wakes up first the next morning. She lies there, carefully quiet and still. She suspects Bellamy didn't sleep much, recently, on his self-loathing-fuelled tour of every bed in the bunker. So she wants him to get as much rest as he can, now.

At last, she can delay no longer. Breakfast has already started, and the portions are strictly rationed in the bunker. If he misses this meal, Bellamy will be hungry – and probably miss out on some of his carefully calculated micronutrient intake, too. Clarke's not sure she can do much about his grief or anger, but she can sure as hell ensure he stays physically healthy.

That's why she starts shaking gently at his shoulder, pressing kisses to his cheek. Light intimacy like this seems to be allowed between them, now, as far as she can tell.

"Bellamy? I'm sorry, but it's time to wake up."

He blinks his eyes open slowly. He smiles at her right away, bright and confident and almost fierce. Then he gets on with taking in his surroundings, glancing around the rest of the room.

"It's past time to wake up." He corrects her. "Everyone else is already gone."

"Yeah. I thought you could use the sleep."

Another big smile, but softer this time. A kiss on her cheek in turn, too. She wonders when they'll progress from that to revisiting hooking up in storage closets.

No. Best not rush anything. Bellamy needs his time to heal.

"Thanks. I do feel better. What are your plans for the day?"

"I've got a shift in med bay then after lunch I said I'd help Roan with long term strategy. You?"

"I still have some stuff to do in the armoury. Do you – uh – that meeting with Roan – do you -?"

"Do I need your help figuring out a long term strategy? Of course I do."

He looks happier than ever at that – the idea that he is needed, rather than only wanted. The idea that being a weapons technologist might be a real job, even if it has nothing to do with guns. Even if it's really code for dad of the delinquents or something else equally intangible. Clarke thinks that makes perfect sense – she's still a medical apprentice, not a chancellor, and yet here she finds herself in charge. Job titles are a load of rubbish on the ground, she has long since decided.

It's a good breakfast, all in all. Bellamy looks happier and healthier than he has done, of late, and he tries to make some light conversation with Monty and Jackson as well as Clarke.

The best thing about the meal? That Bellamy is right here, where he belongs, amongst people who love him, and not fleeing from their arms because he hates himself.

…...

Bellamy stops sleeping with nameless young Azgeda, after that. He doesn't even seem to speak to them any more, which Clarke thinks is something of a shame. In an ideal world, they would all learn to be friends and allies rather than swinging between sex and stony silence.

But it's fine. They have time to work on that.

Instead of sleeping with them, he shares a bed with Clarke now, every night without fail. They never do anything more than simply cuddle and sleep, perhaps with a few passing kisses thrown in – pecks on the cheeks or neck or lips, but never anything lingering or particularly sexual. She supposes that maybe she's a little disappointed about that – she loves Bellamy in every way it is possible to love a person, and she really did enjoy that hot and heavy hookup in the closet even though it barely got off the ground. But she can be patient. He's working through a lot of baggage – as are they all.

And besides which, she doesn't need either confession or consummation to know he's in love with her. It's absolutely obvious in the way they are so close to each other, now, and even more devoted than ever. She's not going to push him for some difficult words or big gesture just for the sake of it.

…...

It's been a couple of weeks since that encounter in a storage closet when Echo approaches Clarke. And it's not some kind of accidental meeting in the dining hall – quite the opposite. Echo knocks on the door of Roan's office deliberately.

"Clarke. Good. I've been looking for you." She says, as if that's a perfectly normal thing to say.

It's not, to be clear. Clarke could swear Echo has never looked for her in her life before. But she nods in what she hopes is an encouraging fashion and waits to find out what the hell is going on.

"How's Bellamy?"

Clarke frowns. Is this jealousy? "I think he's doing a little better." She says – that seems both vague and honest, she decides.

To her surprise, Echo looks noticeably relieved. It's the first truly open and readable expression Clarke thinks she has ever seen on the usually strait-laced woman's face.

"That's good." Echo says. "I hoped you'd say that. I figured he was probably happier now he's with you."

There's so much to unpack there Clarke doesn't even know where to start. Echo cares how Bellamy is coping? She put that much thought into his state of mind?

She thinks that Bellamy and Clarke are together?

She supposes they are, more or less. They love each other and share personal space a lot. Isn't that being together – or at least as close as anyone could get whilst fighting grief and guilt as they are?

She collects herself, has a go at speaking. There's one very obvious question that presents itself, she thinks.

"Why do you care?"

"Sorry?" Echo asks, not sounding sorry at all.

"Why do you care how he's getting on? You tried to kill his sister. You've never been friends."

Echo comes out fighting. Maybe she ought to have expected that. "Maybe I'd like to try being friends." She bites out, sharp. "Isn't that the point of this? Friendships between Azgeda and Skaikru? Bellamy's a good guy and I don't want him to be hurting. Even when we're been on opposite sides, I've always thought he was a good guy."

"Too good, sometimes." Clarke finds herself saying.

Echo snorts. "You can say that again. So there it is. I'm not trying to cause trouble. I'm trying to do what Roan would want and look out for your people – because they're my people now, too, whether you like it or not."

Clarke nods. It's a long time since she's had a conversation like this – a robust argument with someone who is ultimately on her side. It reminds her, in a way, of how she used to bicker with Bellamy at the dropship for the purpose of sharing ideas and ultimately doing the best for the kids.

Is that what's going on here? Echo needling her into doing the best for Bellamy and the rest of her people?

She tries to find the right words. She doesn't know Echo well – all she knows is that she comes across as rather an intimidating woman. So she's really not sure what an overture of friendship would look like, in this context.

"Roan's lucky to have you. You're very loyal." Clarke tries.

Echo snorts, but she nods at the same time, and the look in her eyes is at least a little proud, she thinks.

Clarke presses on. "You're right. Friendships between Azgeda and Skaikru will be important to make this work. Do you want to come to lunch with me and Bellamy and Monty today?"

That's a hit. Echo's face lights up, visible even through that carefully calm mask she wears. Clarke knows what that feels like – to feel obliged to pretend that she is beyond reach of emotions.

"I'll see you there." Echo says, level, nodding firmly. She tries a smile, and it looks a little out of place on her face, but it's a start, Clarke decides.

Maybe this alliance can grow into more of a friendship, rather than this strange hostage situation.

…...

Bellamy doesn't get better all at once but in dribs and drabs, odd off-beat lurches of progress followed by long periods of feeling like utter shit.

Clarke hates it. She hates watching him feel so sad and angry and guilty. She'd do anything to help him cope – after all, he has helped her cope many times before now. It's not that she feels obligated to pay him back in kind so much as she chooses to out of love. So it is that she treasures every fragment of grief that he feels able to share, and does her best to support him.

Today is a good day. Today he's talking. They're sitting side by side on the bed that has come to be theirs, holding each other tight. Clarke is half in his lap and half hugging his waist and frankly she can no longer tell whose limbs are whose.

Good. That's as it should be. That's why Bellamy feels so comfortable talking, she likes to think.

"You know I cried for six hours that first day?" He says, in a detached sort of a voice.

"What?"

"Crying. Weeping. Six hours. What's confusing you?"

"That first day in this bunker? You cried for six hours? How did I not notice?"

"You were off working for Roan. You were doing what you thought you had to do." He says sadly.

"Yes. But – six hours? I should have noticed something."

"Actually it was more like six and a half." He says, very quiet.

She hugs him tighter still, presses a kiss to his neck. "I'm so sorry."

"No. Don't be. I'm not telling you to be sorry. If anything I'm sorry. I guess I'm trying to explain why I was such hard work to begin with. Why I'm still relying on you so much. I – god – I expected you to act like my parent or something. Sometimes I think I still do. It's pathetic."

"You're fine. You're OK. There's nothing pathetic about you. And when I do take care of you, that's because I want to. I love you." She reminds him. It's perhaps only the fourth time she's said it, and he never says it back. But he does always follow it with a squeeze or a kiss or even just a relieved smile, so she doesn't mind too much.

"Thanks. I -" He cuts himself off. She wonders whether he was going to say it, then.

No. No sense sending herself mad worrying about that. He'll say it when he's ready – when he feels like he deserves to love again – and that's fine.

"I could see you fussing over me from the start, even when you were keeping your distance." He says now. "Thanks for that."

"It's OK. Any time." She swallows hard. "You want to tell me what you were crying about back then? Or is it too late now?"

He shakes his head. "No. It's not too late. I want to talk about it, if you'll listen."

She simply nods.

"I felt like I was drowning. In guilt, I guess? Or sadness? Or maybe everything. I felt so guilty that I'd let her fight, and guilty that I was alive when she was dead. And even then I felt awful for how I was treating you when I knew you were just trying to do your best in an impossible situation. I knew it would be better if we faced it together but I just couldn't forgive you for being alive and being friends with Roan when Roan's alive because – because she's dead." He concludes, stumbling to a halt as the words finish pouring out of him.

Clarke takes a deep breath, considers her response. One thing at a time, she decides. That's always the best recipe for success.

"We're good now, Bellamy. We're facing it together now. So you can definitely stop worrying about that part."

He hums a happy noise, presses a kiss to her forehead.

"I understand what you mean about feeling guilty for her death. But try looking at it this way – she'd be dead either way. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. Even if she didn't fight, she'd be dead. There's no way I could have squeezed another name onto that list. I couldn't convince Roan I was in love with everyone, could I? We both know that's why he saved you and it had nothing to do with weapons technology. And I'm so sorry, because I know it hurt you, but I'd do it again. Protecting you will always be my number one priority." She concludes, tearful.

To her surprise, Bellamy sits quiet for a moment. He doesn't normally sit quiet when the conversation between them is in full flow. They have always been a team who bounce ideas around rapidly, when they are talking at all.

But he's silent now.

At last, he speaks.

"Thank you. I – I never looked at it quite like that. And I guess I'm still not sure I'm worth saving. I don't understand why protecting me is your number one priority – even over the whole human race, it sometimes seems. But – thank you for it. I've never been anyone's number one priority before. It – god, Clarke – it's everything. It makes me think that one day I could see myself the way you see me, too."

She nods, crying in earnest now. He's weeping too. But she thinks they're both crying the healing kind of tears, as much as letting out their sadness.

She's not surprised to hear him say it. It's been a long time coming, hasn't it? They've been heading this way since she yelled at him not to open the dropship door.

"I love you." He says simply.

She grins to herself. Of course he loves her – she's known it for months. And that emotional speech he just gave about seeing himself in a better light through her eyes, that really sealed the deal.

But it's still good to hear it said.

"I love you too." She reminds him, just in case he's managed to forget that in the last few minutes.

He laughs, a joyful sound despite the tears, and pulls her in for a kiss that lingers rather longer than their usual attempts.

Monty walks in two minutes later, of course. That seems to be how their luck works. But she's not complaining – love and a hint of lingering is still a pretty good evening, in her book.

…...

Clarke hasn't forgotten her resolution to be better friends with Echo – and it seems that Echo has made a similar resolution and decided to stick to it, too. They eat meals together quite often, and share the kind of stilted chit chat you might share with someone you barely know but are determined to befriend come hell or high water. They sometimes attend their physical training sessions together, or wave at each other in the halls.

Today it is time for the next chapter in their friendship, it seems.

"You should come to the rec room tonight." Echo informs Clarke in that slightly brusque way of her, as they eat their morning porridge.

"Should I?"

"Yes. A lot of the younger generation are planning to hang out. You should bring the rest of your dorm and make friends."

Oh. Wow. This is big. This is an invitation to hang out with the group, isn't it? This is real progress.

"Sure. I'd like that. I didn't know you guys had parties." She offers lightly.

Echo shrugs. "I wouldn't call them parties. We don't have anything to drink, do we? But Layla managed to figure out how to turn on the music so we hang out and dance and chat."

Clarke nods. "That's pretty impressive. Monty could probably take a look and see if there's anything else fun in the rec room."

"There's one of those screens, but we don't know how it works." Echo says, unconcerned. "If he wants to fix it he'll have friends for life."

A screen of some kind. A TV? Some way to watch movies? This is promising, Clarke thinks. "I'll let him know."

It's an interesting idea, Clarke thinks. Friends for life. She knows all about that – making lifelong connections in the midst of desperate circumstances. That's how she became such fast friends with Monty and fell in love with Bellamy.

It's still strange to think of Azgeda like that, after all the violence. But perhaps they will get there. Bellamy did threaten to hurt her, in the early days, and now he shares her bed.

"Great. And don't worry about Bellamy – everyone knows he's taken now."

Clarke splutters out her water with a laugh. That hadn't even occurred to her, honestly. She is so secure in their relationship these days – and has so many other worries to concern herself with – that it never even occurred to her to consider that the Azgeda at this party were likely the same young people Bellamy was sleeping with a few months ago.

How times change.

"I wasn't worried, but thanks. Thanks for looking out for us."

"Any time."

"Thanks for looking out for him. I can see it now – that's what you were doing when we first arrived here and he was angry with me, right?"

Echo snorts. "I was doing my best. Roan did tell me to make friends, and I do like to follow orders."

"And thanks for saving him in Mount Weather that time. I never did thank you for that."

Echo narrows her eyes. "He told you about that?"

"He tells me everything." Clarke says simply. It's not precisely the truth, of course – he doesn't tell her when his socks need washing, or what he really thinks of the cooking down here. But it's true in spirit. He tells her everything that matters to him – he always has done, since that first night they slumped together beneath a tree by the supply depot and he told her he thought he was a monster.

She surprises herself by wishing that Echo could experience a relationship like that, one day. She thinks that kind of open and supportive communication is something everyone deserves to know, at some point in their life.

…...

It is Abby's idea to send a team to the island and Becca's lab – but it is most definitely not her idea to send Clarke.

All the same, it is Clarke and Bellamy who are going. That becomes clear within a few moments when an impromptu meeting starts up in Roan's office.

"We'll be fine, Mum." Clarke tries.

"We'll take care of each other out there." Bellamy adds.

"I just don't see why -"

"It has to be us." Clarke interrupts, before her mother's new favourite rant can begin. "You know it does. We know the way. You said it yourself – there might be valuable medical equipment in the lab we can still use. And only a few Skaikru can drive the rover – if the rover even works since the death wave."

"A perfect job for a weapons technologist." Bellamy adds, brow cocked. Clarke is pleased he can joke about that, these days.

"But we have no idea what's out there. We haven't opened the door since Praimfaya hit." Abby protests.

Clarke rather thinks she should have thought of that before she suggested sending a team out, really.

"We know enough to suit up and open the door. Then we'll judge whether it's safe to keep going." Bellamy says in that calm, confidence-inspiring way of his. Clarke reaches out to squeeze his hand, grateful for his steady presence.

Then Echo speaks up.

"I'll go with them." She offers. "Three is better than two. That way if anyone has an accident one can stay with them while the other goes for help. That's the first lesson of fieldwork, isn't it?" Clarke can see the sense in that – but she also wonders if it might be a bit of a waste of time, because in her experience accidents on Earth do not come singly.

"You can't drive the rover." Abby points out, a little dismissive.

"I learn quick." Echo offers, totally matter of fact.

Yes. Clarke rather supposes she does.

She takes that lead and runs with it. "So it's settled. Me, Bellamy, and Echo. We'll leave tomorrow. And we'll take care out there. If the rover hasn't survived, we won't be going anywhere."

Abby doesn't look happy about it, as such. But she does stop arguing. It gives Clarke an odd sort of flashback to simpler times, struggling for leadership at Camp Jaha.

Isn't it wrong to be feeling nostalgic about something so utterly grim?

…...

The rover has survived, it turns out. More than that – it still works, starting first time with only a slight spluttering sound. Bellamy looks so smug about it that Clarke wants to kiss him right there and then. There's something very attractive about him when he's getting cocky – and when he's feeling affectionate towards his precious rover.

She doesn't kiss him, though. She's wearing a helmet, and it turns out helmets make kissing something of a challenge.

"Cute how excited you are about this heap of junk." She teases instead.

He grins at her sharply. "Jealous, Princess?"

She flushes hot inside her helmet, shakes her head sharply. She's not sure why – he must know the truth, so there's no sense denying it. But something about his tone has her feeling flustered and somehow coy, all at once.

With that, they set off. To begin with, Bellamy drives while Echo observes – she did say she would soon learn how to drive this thing, after all. Clarke sits in the back and watches the view pass by.

It's not a nice view, to say the least. It's horrific – the Earth has become a scorched wasteland she hardly recognises. And yet she enjoys just sitting and watching the world go by. It's a moment of calm, some time to just be alone with her thoughts.

They swap drivers a couple of hours in. They don't have enough oxygen tanks for their suits to hang about, so they plan to keep moving whilst rotating who drives. It is Clarke's turn next, so Echo can watch and learn for a little longer. And then Echo herself takes the wheel, and doesn't crash into any scorched tree stumps, so they count that a success for her first time.

"I guess driving used to be harder when there were more obstacles around." She says wistfully.

Clarke nods. "Yeah. Bellamy didn't seem to care though – he never had his eyes on the road even when this was forest. I used to worry about that a lot."

Bellamy snorts from his place in the back of the rover. "I can't help it if I was staring at you all the damn time."

They all laugh – Echo perhaps the loudest of the lot. Clarke gets the feeling she's new to having friends, actually. Maybe that's an odd observation. But there's something about the spy that always gives the impression she is scared to laugh – or at least scared to get laughing wrong. Clarke has seen her hang out with Roan or Layla or Ivon, yes, but she has never seen her laugh with them.

They pass the rest of the journey in a similar fashion – sad observations about the devastation around them, light-hearted laughter and jokes amongst friends.

It's a twisted paradox of a way to pass the time – but isn't that just how it goes, on Earth?

…...

They have a surprise waiting for them when they arrive at the lab. To be clear, Clarke is already surprised enough to see the lab intact. She's been surprised by other things today, too – the dried up ocean turned to desert, the dark shape on the horizon which might be a sandstorm.

But this is the biggest surprise of the lot.

They open the doors. They park the rover, wash off under the decon shower, and walk into the body of the lab.

"How's the radiation looking?" Bellamy asks, nodding to the geiger counter in Clarke's hand. "Can we lose the suits?"

"Yeah. We should -"

"Clarke? Bellamy?" That's Raven, running into the room at full pelt despite her leg. "Echo?"

"Raven?" Clarke asks in turn.

A shocked silence falls. The four of them look at each other, confused.

And then, it seems, they decide to do something more useful than standing around and saying each other's names.

Raven moves first, reaching out to pull Clarke into a hug. Bellamy follows, wrapping his arms around both of them. Only Echo keeps her distance, and Clarke figures that's no surprise – she's barely met Echo before now, and these are certainly strange circumstances to further the acquaintance.

At last, they pull apart.

"You're alive." Clarke starts there. "What happened? I thought... I thought you expected to die."

"I changed my mind." Raven says with a small shrug, as if it's so simple.

Clarke knows it must be a hell of a lot more complicated than that. Raven was planning to float herself – so how did she end up surviving here instead?

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bellamy offers, soft.

Raven simply shakes her head, a firm smile pasted over her face. "No. Thank you. I fixed the code eating away at my brain as well." She says, evidently determined to move swiftly on.

Clarke frowns. In her experience, running away from difficult emotions is not helpful. She learnt that after Mount Weather. But she can hardly force Raven to talk against her will.

Then comes the next surprise of the day, when it is Echo who speaks up and addresses Raven directly.

"You'll come back to Polis with us? We could use another engineer."

Raven nods at once. "Yeah. Sure. Why are you guys here together? What did I miss?"

"Azgeda took the bunker with a small group of Skaikru doctors and engineers." Echo explains.

"And one weapons technologist." Bellamy adds, almost managing to say it brightly.

Raven only nods. Apparently this does not count as any great revelation, compared to some of the revelations they have known on Earth.

"You guys must be tired from the drive." She says simply. "You can take your suits off in here. There's oxygen to refill for the way home. I guess I'll be using that spacesuit after all. I can modify it for the radiation and we'll head back to Polis in a couple of days."

Clarke smiles. It's nice to hear someone else giving the orders for a change, she finds herself thinking. Raven knows this lab well, and so Clarke can perhaps relax for the duration of their short stay.

"Get some rest. There are no bedrooms down here but there are a couple of couches around the place."

"We'll share." Bellamy says, reaching out to wrap an arm around Clarke's shoulders.

Raven grins. "I thought you might say that. It's good to see you guys figured it out. Echo – there are two couches in the office – you want to share that with me? I'll show these two to their room."

Clarke has never seen Echo look flustered before, she's pretty sure. But she could swear that's the look her newest friend is wearing in this moment. She may not have the most expressive of faces, but there's definitely a slight blush rising in her cheeks.

…...

There is a strange sense of timelessness in the lab. Clarke supposes it is probably only late afternoon or early evening, now. But they have already eaten their rations and retreated to their makeshift bedrooms for the night. She supposes there isn't much else to do around here besides catch up with Raven – they spent a long time talking this afternoon, and plan to spend even longer speaking in the days still to come. And she's tired from the journey, too. Or maybe she's only as tired as normal, but now she's away from the pressure of the bunker she finds that she is relaxed enough to truly feel ready for bed.

She slumps on the couch she is to share with Bellamy. She really doesn't know how they're both going to sleep on this tiny thing. Sure, they are used to sharing a bed in the bunker. But this is going to be even more restricted. She leans back into the cushions, stretches her arms out above her head with a yawn.

This feels almost like her old living space with her parents on the Ark.

"This is how I imagined our first time." Bellamy says quietly, coming to sit by her side.

"What do you mean?"

"That time I... accosted you in the storage closet. I said I never wanted our first time to be like that. I wanted it to be more like this." He says, voice low and rough. "Privacy. A moment of peace. And I know this isn't some soft double bed but it's better than that concrete floor."

She nods, peeps a small smile at him. "You're right. It's probably the most romantic setting I've ever seen on Earth."

"You didn't want forest sex with glowing bugs flying all around us?"

She shakes her head sadly. "There's no forest left now, so I guess it doesn't matter."

"Still matters to me." He tells her firmly.

She nods. That's the thing about her and Bellamy, isn't it? Everything about her matters to him, and him to her. Even the things they are too exhausted or empty to care about themselves.

"So are we doing this?" She asks, trying for a brighter tone.

"Do you want to?"

"I wanted to the first time round. You're the one who needed to do some soul-searching." She reminds him, more affectionate than annoyed.

He nods, swallows hard. "It's silly, right? But I got it so wrong that first time I'm almost scared to try again."

"Come on. Let's do it. I trust you." She reminds him.

That's it. That's what he needed to hear. All at once he's leaning in, kissing her soft and slow and tender.

They keep it simple. They kiss for a while, sneaking gentle touches over their clothes. They strip each other naked, one garment at a time. They stretch out over the couch as best as they can, Clarke on her back, Bellamy nestled between her hips.

"What if I fall off the couch?" She asks.

He laughs and visibly relaxes. Good. That's what she was aiming for. "Then I guess I'll lift you up again." He says simply.

"You wouldn't just join me on the floor? It looks like a soft carpet." She muses, with a fleeting glance down to her right.

He snorts out an even louder laugh. "We can fuck on the carpet later, Clarke. We're staying on the couch for now."

With that, they get started in earnest. Bellamy sets a brisk pace, with every appearance of eagerness. It's still like that hookup in the storage closet they cut short a couple of months ago, in many ways. There's still passion and urgency, and Bellamy gripping her tightly by the waist. But he's gripping with the soft palms of his hands, now, not with sharp nails. And he's moving urgently as if he's excited, not as if he's angry.

Clarke relaxes and really lets herself live in the moment for the first time in months. She doesn't need to worry about Bellamy – he's obviously doing fine and enjoying this. Anyway, he's pretty sure he'd be annoyed if he realised she was worrying about him. He'd say something about how he doesn't deserve her concern, after he was so rough with her last time.

She's not sure what she makes of that. It was a complicated situation. She was consenting, even if she wasn't initiating. But this is a thousand times better, so probably best put that other occasion behind them.

Forgiveness is what they do best, isn't it?

She tears herself away from that train of thought and remembers her resolution to live in the present moment. This feels every bit as good as she always knew it would – all warm soft skin and smooth hard muscle. It smells good, too. She's got used to waking up with her nose pressed against Bellamy's neck, these last few months. But now the smell of sex is mixed up with his usual scent and it's driving her wild.

She comes first. She remembers the likes of Bree bragging about that back at the dropship – how Bellamy was always such a patient and considerate lover. Then he's there, too, grunting loudly as he thrusts his hips a couple more times then collapses onto her chest.

"That was really good." Clarke offers, rubbing a hand over his back. He's slightly clammy from the effort, but in a good way, she thinks.

"Yeah? You had fun?"

"Yeah. You always remind me how to relax and enjoy myself." She tells him honestly.

He sits up so she can see his smile. "Thanks, Clarke."

She takes a deep breath, tries to decide how to phrase her next point. "Can we put that storage closet behind us for good now? We've both screwed up and forgiven each other so many times, Bellamy. We let go of the anger we felt for each other when you were with Pike. Why can't you forgive yourself for this?"

"It's different." He says shortly. "It wasn't just a case of hurting you. I was... disrespecting you, too. I felt like you forgave me too easily for that part."

She simply shrugs. "I get what you mean. But life is too short for us to let this hang between us. I know what you did that day was wrong. But we've both forgiven people for worse." She says, thinking of that time his sister beat him to a pulp.

His sister, whose death sent him half unhinged.

He nods. He presses a kiss to her lips, slow and thoughtful – almost like a question.

"OK. I'll try. Maybe we should go back to that storage closet sometime and make some happier memories there."

She snorts out a messy laugh. "We'll have to. There isn't a lot of privacy in that bunker and I'm not going five years without getting this again." She says, giving him a pointed little slap on the butt to punctuate her point.

He grins. "Give me a minute and we can try for round two."

"Thank god. I thought you'd never ask."

…...

The two days they spend in the lab feel like something out of a dream – a strange one, perhaps, but more bright and hopeful than anything else Clarke has known on Earth of late.

There is a quietness to the place which she simply loves. There are no crises to solve, no people to lead. Raven spends some time fixing up her spacesuit, some time sharing stories with the group, and a lot of time talking quietly with Echo. Clarke rather wonders what that is about, but she tries not to pry. Clarke and Bellamy spend a lot of time having sex, and some time sketching or reading or pursuing other quiet – and beautifully futile – hobbies. It is lovely to be able to do something absolutely unproductive for a couple of days and know that it genuinely doesn't matter. They can waste time without shame, and act simply for the sake of pleasing themselves.

But on the second evening, as they start to drift towards supper, Bellamy speaks up.

"We should go back to Polis tomorrow." He offers quietly.

"I wish we could stay." Clarke dares to admit. She has loved this little oasis amongst the desert wasteland that now covers the Earth.

"We promised Roan – our lord and saviour." He points out, deeply sarcastic.

She frowns at him. "Bellamy -"

"I still don't like him. I'm still jealous." He bites out. "I'm jealous that he's alive and O is dead. I'm still jealous that you get on so well with him, even though every surviving member of the human race knows you're with me. I'm jealous because he saved us." He swallows loudly. "He saved us. Saving people is what I do – or it's supposed to be. But I couldn't save you and I couldn't save O. Roan saved all of our people who are still alive. Every time I look at him it's a reminder that I failed."

"I get that. It makes sense." She says simply. "I found it tough to figure out how I fit in when he's in charge, too."

Bellamy nods, jaw tight.

Clarke presses on. "You never had any reason to be jealous over me. Never. I get on well enough with Roan but we could never fit together like I do with you. He's all sharp edges and ice. He's not warm like you. Being with you is like sitting at a campfire after the longest day on your feet."

Bellamy smiles cautiously at her. "You're saying that dating me is like sitting down?" He gathers himself far enough to tease.

She resists the temptation to roll her eyes at him – but barely. "It was supposed to be a compliment. A metaphor."

"I know." He sucks in a loud breath. "I think you're like that for me, too. Or maybe it's like – I thought it was just normal to walk through the forest in the dark. And then you lit a flashlight whether I was ready to admit I wanted one or not."

"So I'm a flashlight? Thanks. Is that better than sitting down?" She teases in turn.

He snorts out a laugh, pulls her in for a kiss. "OK. Enough metaphors. Time for supper."

"Time for oral before supper?" She counters swiftly.

He grins. "Sure. Hang on. Get on the couch and -"

They are interrupted by the noise of Raven knocking at the door.

"Guys. Food. Echo said if you're not there in five she'll eat your portions herself."

Clarke simply shrugs and grabs Bellamy by the hand, starting to lead him towards the door. It's a little frustrating that they were interrupted before they even got started, yes.

But it is far from the worst thing that has happened to her, this year.

…...

There are changes, when they get back to Polis.

Raven moves into their dorm. That's the biggest and most obvious change, of course. Monty and Jackson are over the moon to see her. Roan is relieved to have another engineer. Even the Azgeda war chiefs stir themselves to say that they have heard great things about her work and reputation.

Echo moves in, too – but that is smaller and less obvious, somehow. She's subtle about it. She doesn't make a display of bringing her belongings over, nor does she spend lots of time in the dorm during the day. She doesn't even spend every night there, actually. It's just that, more often than not, she will stay up late chatting to Raven in a quiet whisper and then the pair of them will fall asleep in adjacent bunks.

Clarke really wishes she knew what the hell was going on with that.

She knows she can hardly talk. She had an odd dysfunctional but devoted relationship with Bellamy long before they got together. So if Raven and Echo are suddenly close friends and sleepover buddies, ever since they shared that office in the lab, then that is none of her business. She is happy for her friends, and she can leave them alone to mind their own relationship.

It's just that she wants the best for them, damn it. She wants to know, because she wants to know whether they're doing OK. In particular, she wants to know whether Raven is talking with Echo about her intention to float herself and then her change of heart – because she is absolutely convinced that Raven must talk about this with someone.

She asks in the end. She does much as Echo did, when she asked after Bellamy all those weeks ago.

"Is Raven doing OK?" She asks Echo simply. "I know it's none of my business whether anything is going on with you two. I just want to be sure she's got someone to support her."

Echo nods. "She's getting there. I think we're doing OK together. Thanks."

So that's a useful answer, Clarke supposes. She's still feeling pretty curious about the relationship that seems to be unfolding right under her nose, but at least now she knows everyone is more or less well.

The last change is the most surprising of the lot. One week after their arrival back in Polis, Bellamy shakes Roan's hand.

It's the silliest thing. They're just agreeing plans about training the Azgeda warriors with weapons. It's hardly some groundbreaking treaty.

And yet the two of them look absolutely smug at this progress with their friendship, Clarke thinks.

…...

They go back to the storage closet the very next day.

It's Clarke's idea to go – or rather, it is Clarke who actually says it out loud. She thinks Bellamy's heated kisses and wandering hands in their rather public dorm are a suggestion in themselves, really. So it is that they agree to meet there after their work shifts. Clarke will be in med bay, and Bellamy training with the Azgeda warriors.

Clarke wonders how long it will be until she thinks of them simply as the warriors, rather than still mentally labelling them as Azgeda. Aren't they supposed to be one big happy family, these days? Or at least learning how to move that way?

She has a good shift in med bay. Some of that calmness of the visit to the lab seems to have stayed with her, somehow. But all the same she is happy when it is over and it's time to meet Bellamy.

He's brought a pillow.

It takes her a while to get her head round that, really. He's in the closet already, pacing exactly one pace at a time in each direction while he waits for her – that's all he has space for, within these walls. And in his hands he's clutching the thin pillow that usually sits on the bunk they share.

He's brought a pillow.

"Why have you got that?" She asks, frowning.

"It's a pillow." He says, as if that ought to be obvious.

Yes. It is a pillow. She can see that – and that's not the question she asked.

"But why bring it? This isn't going to be comfy anyway." She gestures to the small, cramped floor space.

He frowns. "I know. I know it's not like in the lab. But – I wanted to bring some of that with me, even though we're cramped in here. I still wanted to make it nice for you."

She kisses him. How can she not, when he's acting like this? When he's being so effortlessly, uselessly kind? When he's showing thoughtfulness in everything he does?

He kisses her back, brings his hands up to cup her head, the pillow falling to the ground with a muffled splat. Maybe it just sounds loud because of the bare concrete walls, she wonders.

Then she stops wondering anything much at all and gives herself over to pleasure.

She's getting much better at this, she thinks. Specifically, she's getting better at switching her brain off, and leaving her habit of overthinking at the door and simply enjoying the ride. It's certainly a skill they practised a lot, in those few precious days in the lab.

She focuses, now, on Bellamy's hands as they pull her hips close to his. Then she loses herself in the touch of his fingertips as he begins to explore under the hem of her shirt. Then she decides it's her turn to get curious, as she starts stripping his clothes off and upping the pace.

She can't lie down completely, here. She does the best she can, keeping her legs up out of the way, getting her torso flat and her head on that precious pillow. Bellamy shifts awkwardly into the gap she has made for him, kneeling between her legs.

"We should try standing up some time." He muses out loud.

"We should try hanging a sock on the door of our dorm some time." She counters. Surely that would work? She suspects their friends would be more than happy to give them occasional periods of privacy, if only they asked.

Might be a little more comfortable than this closet.

They make the best of it. Sex isn't about the location, Clarke decides. It's about the setting they make for themselves through mood and communication and atmosphere. And this is absolutely lovely, with Bellamy taking his time yet kissing her urgently, too.

She's not going to last long. She's been looking forward to this all day.

"I was thinking about this at work." Bellamy hisses breathlessly, as if he can read her mind. "Got a semi while I was demonstrating one of the rifles. I couldn't stop thinking about teaching you how to shoot at the depot that time."

She laughs, or possibly gasps – or maybe half way between the two. If ever she writes an official job description for his weapons technologist role, she'll be sure to add gets hard holding guns onto the list of requirements.

That sends her careering closer to the edge, as it happens. It seems she gets rather aroused at the thought of that day too – or more specifically, at the thought of Bellamy's fantasies stemming from that day.

He's moving faster, now. She can feel that he's losing it, his hips shuddering almost of their own accord. But she beats him to it, just by a few seconds. She's still pulsing around him when he comes and goes still.

She always knew they'd be great at this. Working together has always been their strength.

…...

There's another change in the weeks that follow – a change even more subtle than Bellamy's vague attempts to be polite to Roan. It takes Clarke a while to notice it, honestly. It's a development she just never expected to see.

Bellamy's role as a weapons technologist actually turns out to be real.

He spends ever more of his time actually teaching people how to operate guns, and it catches Clarke rather by surprise. She doesn't know why that should be the case – he always has been good at teaching folks how to shoot, right from their early days at the dropship. She supposes it's something to do with his fury when she first included him on the list – she never expected him to get over that anger so thoroughly that he would feel ready to take up the mantle she had invented for him, and that had caused such strife between them.

But it has happened, and she's so incredibly proud of him.

It's when the warriors he is teaching start approaching him in the dining hall that she knows he has really succeeded. She thinks it's a great sign that his students are eager enough that they want to stop him with a question on their way to eat their supper.

But one day, one of his pupils goes one better. He's an older guy – sort of fierce and grizzled-looking, Clarke would say. She doesn't know his name, but she has seen him sit with some of the more conservative – and hostile – Azgeda warriors before now. But today, of all things, he chooses a seat right next to Bellamy and simply digs into his meal as if it's nothing. As if sitting next to the young weapons instructor is a perfectly normal thing to do.

"Good session earlier, Marius." Bellamy offers, tone level. Clarke gives him an encouraging nod for that – he sure looks like he could use one.

The man called Marius wears a half smile, now. "Thanks. Listen – a question for you, Bellamy. What exactly is the difference between automatic and semi-automatic? There are all these new words to learn along with how to use the guns." He says, trying to laugh at himself and not quite succeeding.

Clarke jumps in. "You're right. I could swear it took me longer to learn how to talk about a gun than how to shoot one."

Marius is smiling more genuinely now, apparently buoyed by that shared experience.

Bellamy shrugs. "It doesn't matter whether you learn all the words, as long as you can hunt and defend yourself and use the gun safely. But semi-automatic describes a weapon that loads itself, and fully automatic both loads and shoots itself."

"And how did you learn all this? You know all of the words as well as how to use all of the weapons in the armoury?" Marius presses, evidently impressed.

"I wasn't the biggest weapons expert in Skaikru. But I learnt a lot of these things when I was a young man training to be a guard. Your people learn how to use bows as teenagers. I learnt how to shoot."

"So it is much the same." Marius concludes, looking thoughtful.

"Yeah. Definitely. It's a similar process – our people just used different weapons."

"We have much in common." Marius decides, nodding calmly.

"I hope we'll have even more in common in future." Clarke tries. "There will be no one left to fight when we open the doors – maybe we should focus on other things we share beyond teaching our children how to fight."

Marius does not run screaming from the table. He does not take umbrage, or suggest that learning how to fight is the defining skill of any young man or woman.

Instead, he gives another of those thoughtful nods.

"We also teach our young people about our history. Do you Skaikru do that?"

"Yes. I love history." Bellamy offers.

"And we have ceremonies to welcome them into adulthood. Scars to mark their coming of age. Do you do anything like that?"

"We don't have the scars. But we mark the day they were born each year and our young people come of age when they're eighteen." Clarke explains.

Yet more nodding. "You will teach me all your words, Bellamy kom Skaikru. And perhaps I will teach you some Azgeda history."

Bellamy reaches to shake Marius' hand. "That sounds like a deal."

…...

Clarke gets her answers about Echo and Raven's relationship in the end – or rather, she gets the answers she is dying to know, but is aware she has no right to ask.

They're together in every sense of the word, it turns out. Clarke realises that when she tries to meet Bellamy at their favourite storage closet for a hookup, and finds that the place is already occupied.

"Hello?" Raven's muffled voice calls from behind the door.

"Hey. Sorry. I'll just -"

"Clarke?" That's Echo.

That's Echo, followed by a stiff silence.

Then it breaks, all three of them falling into giggles – Clarke on her side of the door, Raven and Echo locked in their privacy.

"Don't tell us you're surprised." Raven manages to say through her laughter.

"No. I'm not. Sorry. I'll leave you to it."

"Give Bellamy our best wishes." Echo adds, prim, but Clarke can pick out the teasing tone in her voice, too. They know each other pretty damn well, these days.

"I will." She says easily.

She walks off down the hallway smiling more broadly than she has smiled since Praimfaya, she's pretty sure. It's good to see two of her friends finding happiness together – particularly because she knows they have both known more than their fair share of hurt along the way through life.

This bunker is almost cheerful, these days, and that's something she certainly never expected.

…...

Clarke's favourite thing about watching the residents of the bunker come together as one people? It's the way Bellamy chips away at his hostility towards Roan, one gesture of friendship at a time. She loves everything about it – the way it represents an improvement in Bellamy's state of mind, as well as the actual progress with their relationship.

Bellamy doesn't make a big fuss of it, of course – he's Bellamy. He just starts acting more patiently with Roan, more warmly.

So it is that the day when they are truly friends almost takes Clarke by surprise. It has crept up on her so slowly that she didn't realise they were quite there, yet.

"We're heading to the rec room tonight." She informs Bellamy at the dinner table.

He nods. "Great. Are all the others coming, too?"

She nods. "I think Raven has some movie night planned. Echo has all her old crowd lined up. And no way are Monty or Jackson going to say no to a movie."

"What about Roan?" He asks. "We should get him to chill out more often. And I have a funny story from training this morning he needs to hear."

She blinks at him, genuinely shocked. Is that a thing? Bellamy and Roan share funny stories, now? No, it's more than that – Bellamy has a funny story that he is specifically saving for Roan? Something that happened and made him instinctively think of his newest friend?

"What's it about?" She asks, trying not to sound offended. It's fine if he has in jokes with friends who are not her – obviously it is. It's just a new development and she doesn't quite know how to deal with it.

He hears everything she's not saying, of course. "Nothing much. Don't worry, you're not missing out on all the fun. But this one war chief who's always telling him his mother would be disappointed managed to fall over his own bootlaces."

Clarke snorts out a laugh. Maybe that's unkind, but she thinks it's not so unforgivable in the grand scheme of things. And it sounds like the man they are laughing at really is unpleasant. Mostly she has to admit she's laughing at the sheer joy of knowing Bellamy and Roan share things like that these days – not just funny stories, but getting off their chest such complaints as critical colleagues or difficult relationships with their mothers.

Across the table, Bellamy simply smiles at her.

"You're right. We should invite Roan. He needs to take a break sometimes." Clarke agrees.

Bellamy smiles wider, and gets on with eating his meal.

…...

It's on the first anniversary of the death wave that it really hits her – grief and guilt and sheer exhaustion in an odd, painful storm.

It confuses her. She thought she was doing OK. She looked after Bellamy for a couple of months, then watched over Echo looking after Raven. She's been trying to encourage Roan to take care of himself, too, as he gets used to running this place, and -

And now it's finally hitting her. A delayed reaction, now that she has run out of other people to focus on, perhaps.

She wakes up, a year to the day after the door was locked. A year to the day after she implicitly condemned so many people to death. She cries softly in Bellamy's arms, wonders what to do next. Is she struggling in a long term sort of way, like she was when she took of into the woods after Mount Weather? Or is she just sad today, because of the anniversary?

She doesn't know. All she knows is that she's weeping.

She should stop. She has to pull it together – those other people she has been looking out for still need her. Bellamy still needs her, she figures, and any minute now he's going to wake up and freak out over her crying.

She tries to pull away from his arms, thinking she might run to the bathroom to wash her face. But that wakes him up, and before she knows it, he is hugging her tighter than ever.

"Hey. Hey, you're OK. I've got you. Big day, huh?"

She gasps, nods, cries – all at the same time. Has he noticed the anniversary, too?

"You're OK, Clarke. You're allowed to be upset about it."

She shakes her head. "No. It's silly. We'll be out of here in four years." She manages to mutter through the tears.

To her surprise, Bellamy laughs. It's not a loud laugh – or a particularly amused one. It's more of a wry chuckle.

"I don't think that's the healthiest way of looking at it, Clarke. I think – that's why I was struggling so much when we first found ourselves here. I was trying to look to the future but it seemed too far away. I was trying to focus on saving some of the human race to repopulate the Earth, but all I could think about was that my sister wouldn't be there." He manages, shaky but sure. "It got better when I started thinking about now. When you showed me I could be happy here, to some extent."

"What do you mean?" She asks. Her tears are drying now, as she calms a little with Bellamy's soft tone and understanding words.

"I mean I try to focus on what's good here and now. I can't do anything about what's outside, or what's waiting for us in four years' time. But I can make sure my relationship with you is as good as can be. I'm a lot happier since I started making friends with Roan. I guess I mean kind of living in the moment? Or counting my blessings? I'm trying to look at how great my life is right now rather than worrying about the future."

She swallows hard. She hadn't thought of it like that – if only because they live in a grey hole in the ground and most of their loved ones are dead.

But he's right, she realises. There are good things here, too. There are friends. There is food on the table. There are even storage closets for a sneaky hookup, she notes, and an amused smile sneaks its way across her cheeks with that thought.

"I'm not trying to tell you what to think." He continues, suddenly rushing. "I know you're upset today and that's OK. You stay so strong for everyone else, all the time, and sometimes I wonder if you need to let it all out. I just – yeah. It worked for me. And you showed me that idea, even if you didn't realise you were doing it. So I guess – I want to do that for you, too."

She nods, tries to analyse that suggestion. It's tough, because her brain keeps interrupting her with utterly unwanted content, reminding her that one year ago all her people died but for the seventeen she managed to squeeze onto a list. Blaming her for the hundreds of others.

But Bellamy's onto something, she thinks. Here and now is not a bad place to be. They are safe, and physically well, and they have each other. They have the promise of a brighter future ahead, yes. But there are also good things about today.

There are good things about today even though it started with tears.

After all – they're still breathing, aren't they? Isn't that what a life at Bellamy's side is like? Taking one day at a time and making the best of it, even if it begins with sadness. Knowing that a moment of grief does not define a day or a week or a month or a year. That's one of the reasons she loves him – because he brings brightness, even in the darkest of times. Because he's not some prince come to whisk her off to happily ever after, not the hero of a happy ending.

It's because Bellamy can make a happy now – or rather, they have learnt how to make a happy now together.

Thanks for reading!