Bellamy Blake supressed the cold rush of air that slithered down his spine. The cigarette burning in the night sky, brushed past his lips as he took a strong, long whiff before exhaling deeply.

It was another shitty day. His mind wandered with thoughts, racing very much like his life depended on his next move. Everything was fair game now. It would be days before he had to visit Lexa again. Explain how they were about to start a war. Explain to the leader of all twelve clans that taking down Arkadia is going to be tougher than they could have ever imagined.

Jaha was cunning. He thought quickly, and carefully. If their little show-down at the hospital, Raven and Finn trampling in like distressed citizens, didn't tip him off then they were in more trouble than they thought.

They needed Jaha's wits to be in tune with them. If he was to think that Skicru members felt safe coming back to Arkadia, after destroying their chips, after leaving the town behind them, then he would have to certainty change that.

He would have to deliver a message.

Skicru was the enemy in his eyes. Members would never be permitted to entering Arkadia after abandoning it. Jaha would be on edge. He would feel like at any moment Bellamy would be back. Striding into his glorious mansion, ready to put a bullet through his head.

All in due time.

For now, Jaha needed to be paranoid. He needed to turn his attention to Skicru. Because as cliché as the saying went, that closer he was focusing on the notorious Blake, the less he'll be on the grounders who were gathering up an army, preparing for battle.

The battle of a lifetime.

The wind picked up. Dispersing the sweat that rolled down his bare shoulder blades, his chest, the curve behind his ear from his earlier work out session with Miller. It was cooling him down, until it couldn't anymore. Until the heat struck back up, faster than his heart pounded from the punches he slammed against the punching bag.

Even in the dark, he saw the flash of gold. Her head bobbed as she sprinted through the trees, finally coming to the clearing. He watched as she slowed to a walk, before halting completely. With her jacket, hugging her curves, her full breasts, she leaned against the light post.

The look in her eyes was all too familiar.

She was debating. Whether or not to enter. Whether or not it was worth it sneaking off from her mother's cruel eyes, and the people who basked in her glory. Practically kissed the ground she walked on. Their Princess.

The hate in his mouth tasted just as bitter as he felt. Despite it all, he smirked.

Sending Finn and Raven to Ark Hospital wasn't simply to tip off Jaha. He told them exactly which doors to enter from. Which wing to go to. Which way, down the hall, to walk in order for those blue, haunting eyes, to see.

Thankfully, it worked out. The Princess had seen them. And like he knew, she took the bait.

He saw her pale lips part, he saw the gulp of air she took in, before letting it all out.

Then, like the innocent she was, she walked up, slowly, closer and closer until she was in front of the doors of The Dropship.

His smirk widened.

Welcome Princess. Welcome to the King's Castle.

The memory fucked him up.

With a heavy sigh, he chanced a glance at the girl who's burnt his mind without a single care. The Princess, was tucked in his bed. Golden hair in tangles, sprawled over his pillow, her scent coating the sheets.

Fuck, his bed.

He shook his head, scoffing at how suddenly the weeks turned to months, turned to now. He couldn't believe how quickly this girl managed to worm her way into everything. More importantly, he couldn't fucking believe how he managed to let her get away with it.

This is the same girl he heard about time and time again. The same one who killed a criminal out of mercy, out of pity. The same who looked at his sister like a warrior, not like the broken soul he knows she is. The same one he lured to join his team.

The sounds of her tears, the way her jaw shook as she sobbed hard, and fearfully into his chest, was nerve racking. He fisted his hands, wanting to strike at something. Anything. The echoes kept coming back to him, her wails haunting him as he watched her sleeping form shiver.

He leaned his back further against the wall. Bracing himself, for at any second he might do something stupid, like walk out and into the first unfortunate soul and beat him to a pulp.

No matter how much he wanted, how careful he was not to let his mind wander, he couldn't forget the words she spoke.

This girl, the one he manipulated, the one he tricked, the one who managed to break him down when no one, not even Gina could…

The girl that killed her own father.

Clarke gasped as she shot up from the warm, plush mattress beneath her and into a sitting position. Placing a hand to her chest, she struggled to control her breathing. When she was finally inhaling and exhaling properly, she shifted her eyes around the room, allowing them to slowly adjust to the darkness.

The entire day was a blur. Or was it yesterday.

She wasn't sure. They had made it to Mount Weather Castle, she was sure of that. Then she was promised answers, so she went to collect. And then, she swerved until she found the source of the heat that was radiating into her back.

She was in Bellamy's room. She fell asleep on his bed. After she had cried, like really badly, ugly cried, into his chest.

Then he fell asleep next to her.

The heat that made its way up her neck, reaching her cheeks was burning like a furnace. She was thankful, yet again, for the bleak darkness that shadowed it.

Her eyes remained on his sleeping form. Watching the rise and fall of his strong chest, that she was now very familiar with.

Soft black curls, plastered against his forehead. Clarke bit back the urge to pry them away, then caress the sharp cheekbones he had luckily inherited, or let her fingertips dance across his freckled cheeks.

And just as she was about to give in to her desires, a thought hit her.

He knew.

He knew what she had done. What had been haunting her for months and months. The reason for her lack of sleep, proper sleep. The reason behind why she couldn't stay with them. Even after the war was over, even after they won, or lost, or fell back into a corrupted system with an evil leader.

She couldn't stay. Not after what she had done.

Killing her father, even out of what she believed was humanity, would never be okay. Bellamy had looked at her, he saw in her eyes the truth and he still stayed.

It must take a monster to know a monster.

But Bellamy Blake wasn't a monster. He just wanted people to think he was. Clarke Griffin, she was the true beast.

Arkadia had been nothing but deceiving. It took away both her parents. Her father died at her hands, at theirs. Her mother can't look at her the same way, and she didn't even know about the horrors Clarke endured, about the knife her daughter quickly slashed across her husband's throats. Her best friend, a victim in a fight, a victim in a game that they'd been playing all along.

Tears began building up in her eyes. Her head started to throb just at the thought of another cry fest. She winced, rubbing at her temples. There was no way she was getting rid of this headache, and there was no way she was able to sleep it off. Not with the image of Bellamy's shocked face embedded in her mind. Or the wistful smile her father gave her, right before he took his final breath.

"It hurts because you're giving yourself a nose bleed thinking. Stop." The deep voice, raspy and laced with sleep, said from beside her.

All of a sudden, the pain slipped. Clarke cursed her heart, and then she cursed him over and over until she was satisfied that lighting will strike him soon enough.

"Why didn't you run?"

"It's my room Princess. You think you can run me out of the only room with its own private bathroom, you're going to have to do a lot more than confess your sins."

Clarke's gaze met his own. As always, he remained impassive, as if nothing could get to him.

"Uh, well speaking of," she gestured awkwardly to the bathroom, before shifting off the bed and walking into the smaller room.

Once inside, she flickered on the light, exhaling deeply. She had been lying down next to Skicru's leader. The man who made her life a living hell, who was so bipolar that he made Jasper's inability to say no to moonshine look okay.

The washroom was magnificent, like everything else in the castle. The sinks were porcelain glass, beaming brightly against the bold light. There were distinct architectural designs plastered against the tiles, giving it the surreal feeling of the past. Of a time where there were no worries other than the superficial and incredibly insignificant problems.

In the corner sat a tub, big and wide. The knobs a shiny gold that had Clarke in a debate of whether to be dazzled by its beauty or throw up at the fact that there she was mere inches away from something so expensive, so useless while people starved to death.

From the corner of her eye she caught what was Bellamy's jacket. The same one she had worn a couple nights ago. Like muscle memory, his scent suddenly intoxicated her, barely letting her stand upright.

She needed to remind herself, constantly, how stupid she was. How stupid he was.

The cold titled floors soother the soles of her feet. The sweat that built up between her thighs, and the uncomfortable ache at the back of her knee made her feel more disgusting than she looked.

It was the jeans. She slept in them and they pricked at her legs, causing subtle pain to shoot up and down her calves.

A thought crossed her mind that made her entire body quiver.

If she took them off, it would feel incredibly freeing. She's sure Bellamy wouldn't care. He was a man, a very strong man, but he would not falter at the sight of her pale legs. He had seen many in his time as leader of Skicru, no doubt.

In comparison she would be nothing but a little girl in his eyes. So, Clarke had nothing to worry about. It wouldn't be sending the wrong message, nor would it be hinting at something.

But if she took off her jeans, then she would be left in just her t-shirt which just barely sat at her hips, displaying her less than colorful underwear. Glaring at the black jacket, sitting, taunting her, she groaned.

When Clarke emerged back into the room, he was sat up with his back along the headboard. The light came in from the opened bathroom door. It casted a shadow, outlining the curves of her thighs, the dip at her knee, and the large, bulky jacket that fell on her, engulfing her tiny frame.

Bellamy tried and failed at keeping his face emotionless. She caught the gleam that covered his brown orbs, the twitch in his lips, his fingers.

Had this been another situation, she would have relished in it. Teased him even. Made him suffer. But this wasn't another situation.

Besides, he probably hasn't been laid in a while. It had nothing to do with her at all.

"I see you've made yourself comfortable." He said, finally grasping his I-don't-give-a-shit attitude. "Nice jacket."

Clarke rolled her eyes. Walking until she was back on her side of the bed, she hopped in, pulling the blanket to cover her legs, but not before enjoying the softness of the bed sheets first.

"Sleeping in jeans should be a crime." She argued, settling deeply atop of the pillows.

Bellamy didn't respond.

A million thoughts crushed her mind. Maybe he didn't want anything to do with her anymore. Maybe he doesn't even want her joining their fight, joining the war. Maybe he was debating the right moment to kick her out and–

"You gonna explain, Griffin? Or are we going to sit here in silence until you pop that vein on the side of your head from thinking too much?"

"W-what do you want to know?" She asked.

"Everything."

She sat silently for a few moments. Debating where to start, how much she should actually tell him, what was worth actually mentioning.

"Any day now."

Clarke shot him a disapproving look. "Oh sorry, I was just deciding if I should just flat out tell you or if I should ruin your days with my cryptic speech and push and pull thing I do when I'm not entirely sure if I could trust you or not."

"Cute."

"Maybe we should make a deal."

"No." He responded firmly. "We've made enough deals, and if you hadn't noticed Princess, we're terrible at keeping them. Tell me what happened."

"Only if you tell me about Gina."

Bellamy froze. His jaw clenched and unclenched, like he didn't believe the words she spoke. His wide eyes did nothing to conceal his hurt either. For a second, one simple second, she felt guilty.

Then, the moments in which she pleaded for his ear. Pleaded for him to trust her, or to listen long enough to understand her, made their way to the surface.

Clarke played dirty. But if she was going to unleash the gore that was her past, she expected to be treated with some respect. Some form of decency.

Getting her own view of Bellamy's past, would only be fair. Besides, she knew a lost soul when she saw one. He needed someone to listen to him talk about her. Someone who wouldn't judge him no matter what he did.

Clarke was the perfect person, considering.

"How do you know about her?"

Clarke scoffed, the blanket like silk, rubbing her bare legs. "You know the answer to that."

"I'm going to kill Reyes." He seethed.

"Hm. Sure. Right after you tell me what happened." She echoed his earlier words. He caught on, like she knew he would and shot her his menacing glare.

"Doesn't work on me." She jibed.

After another wave of silence, he spoke.

"This isn't a damn heart-to-heart. You wanted answers, I gave them to you. You cried your eyes out over your father's death and your supposed contribution to it, and I'm here to listen. If you don't want to enlighten me, don't."

Clarke gaped at him. Anger coursed through her, she was sure she was shaking. Like clockwork, she threw the blanket up and over until it landed on his lap. With struggled movements, she managed to slip off his jacket and furiously throw it at him.

"Jackass." She mumbled, getting up and out of the bed.

"Hey," he called after her. Clarke continued to pad her feet on the floor, closing the distance between the bed and the door.

Just as she was about to grip the doorknob, he caught her arm. However, Clarke didn't turn to face him. Holding her ground, she thrashed against his grip, but it only caused him to tighten his palm, wrapped around her forearm.

"Let go."

"Be smart, Griffin."

Clarke laughed dryly. She quirked her brow at him, "Be smart? Really? I have been nothing but, and you, well you've been a huge asshole so excuse me."

She went to move again but he pulled her back.

"Let. Me. Go."

Bellamy's jaw locked, the sharp line more prominent than ever. "Come on, get back in the bed and calm down. If you don't want to tell me about your dad, you don't have to."

This time, when Clarke laughed it wasn't in dry humor or sarcasm. It was dark. Sending a threatening shudder through her veins, encasing her to the bone.

"You think I don't want to talk about my dad? My, how generous of you Bellamy."

"Griffin—"

"I'm just some dumb bitch right? You think I try to make these deals with you for some ulterior motive. Like I'm going to sharpen my knife and stab you in the back when you aren't looking, but guess what, dick? We aren't all like you. Yes, I killed my father." She huffed out. "We were surrounded, seconds from being killed. Locked in a bathroom so foul, so dirty you wouldn't last a second in it." The memories started flooding her. It soaked its way to her core until it was as if she was there again. Watching it all go down.

"We heard the door, the entire metal door, jiggle. They were about to launch in when somehow, it must have been someone, lead them away. We waited until it was safe enough to leave. My father was bleeding out of all three stab wounds. But not quick enough. Not slow enough so that I can help him either. We moved out. I tried to get him to a secure location but it was too hard for him. They were seconds away from us. If—"

Hot, salty tears caught at the corners of her mouth. She felt the weight of Bellamy's hand leave her arm. Through blurry eyes she watched him part his lips, ready to speak but she interrupted.

Continuing, she said, "If they caught him, while he was still in that condition, Jaha would've strung him up. He would have made an example out of him. That even those within the inner circle of council members weren't exempt to the laws."

"Atom." Bellamy whispered. It might have been his tone, or the softness in the touch that barely grazed her wrist, but something let it all loose again. The tears began overflowing, tumbling down her lids like some kind of race. The strong presence in front of her wasn't as comforting as it once had been.

Clarke felt like she lost her voice, but nonetheless managed to gasp out her final words.

"He smiled at me. Like he was trying to make what I did okay. It wasn't okay." She hiccupped. Bellamy took a tentative step forward, almost asking if he could hold her. Clarke shook her head, stepping briefly back and out of his reach.

With her vision impaired, she wouldn't have been able to claim if the look he gave her next was of defeat or relief. Either way, he remained standing in front of her, waiting until she calmed down enough that the blood rushing to her ears settled.

"It sucks, Griffin. I know, but you did what you had to. Who we are and who we need to be are two different things."

"You can't honestly believe that."

"I have to."

She bit back a retort. He ducked his head back, peering at her under the curtain of blonde hair that covered her face, sticking to her wet cheeks.

"Can we head back now," he nodded towards the abandoned, cold bed.

Glaring at him, Clarke begrudgingly complied.

"Fine." She muttered, staggering to catch her breath.

"Thank God." He groaned under his breath.

Under the covers, she rested her head timidly on her pillow, unsure of whether to face him or away from him. He made the decision for her when he gave her his back. The tears continued to rush out.

The darkness surrounding them was daunting. It was like she had just released all her worst nightmares into the atmosphere and it was slowly sucking her soul out. Telling Bellamy, the truth was probably the worst thing she could ever do, but if her initial plan had been to fight Arkadia, avenge her father and take off, then she needed to be on his side.

She needed him to let her be on his side.

"I never meant to pry with Gina." Clarke could've sworn she heard his breath hitch at the name. It ate at her in a way she was not at all comfortable with. "Sometimes," she sighed, urging her heart to stop stammering. "Sometimes, Bellamy, it's nice to talk to someone."

She felt the bed move. Cautiously, she moved as well. They were facing each other now.

"What do you want to know?" There was a gravel in his voice she never heard before. She'd be lying if she said it didn't break her heart, even a little bit.

"How did you meet her?"

Bellamy's brown eyes bore into her oceanic ones, searching for something. What she wasn't quite sure.

"She came to The Dropship. Last of her family died. Got screwed over by the council, same as everyone else."

"How long were you two together?"

"Just over a year."

"She put up with you for an entire year. God, she deserved a damn medal."

The corners of his mouth lifted. She fought back her own smile, watching carefully as his experienced face fell into the same harsh lines of his sadness.

"And she—"

"I let her go when I shouldn't have. She begged me, and like the fucking idiot I am, I said yes. Two hours later, her body was buried beneath rubble."

The image shattered Clarke. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"You loved her?" She whispered, edging her face closer to his. The freckles were more visible, even in the dark. There was also a light scar on his upper lip, definitely adding to his alpha-male bad ass leader status.

"I did." He confirmed, lowly.

"You'll love again." Clarke's breath fanned his bottom lip, his chin, and his jaw. "She gave you something, Bell. She gave you hope and the ability to know love. You'll carry that with you, always."

"You called me Bell." He mumbled. Their faces an inch a part now.

Her cheeks blazed up. She was well-aware what she had called him. It felt natural, it slipped so easily that she didn't notice until she was a second away from saying it.

"So?"

Underneath the blanket, she felt his rough, callused fingertips, graze her thigh. Eyes widened, she looked on as his face remained raw. He didn't have his usual smirk, and he didn't act repulsed by it.

"So." He murmured back, hands now flat against the scratchy skin of her thigh, graciously running them down to her knee, before feeling their way all the way up until his forefinger and thumb played with the elastic of her under garment.

His cold hands were a different kind of bliss. The kind she wanted, so badly, but suppressed long enough to know that it was wrong.

She was leaving. Either by death or after the war has ended. No matter what side won.

"Good night, Princess."

The firm clutch on her seized. Just like that it disappeared. And just like that she missed it terribly. Then he was pulling off his side of the blankets, and getting out of the bed.

"W-what?" She let out, trying to resettle herself.

Bellamy pulled on his boots, tying the laces before shrugging on the jacket she threw at him before. Yanking the drawer of the nightstand open, he grabbed a couple of items, securing them in place.

Clarke continued to watch him in silence. Confusion, and something else she did not want to acknowledge soared through her.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours. Sleep." He commanded, except he held a different pitch. This time, she was sure it sounded like he cared.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow." He answered, throwing his side of the warm bedspread so that it covered her as well.

Half-way through his stride, he stopped, turned to face her, and with those warm eyes he conveyed what she was greatly denying.

"Your father died a hero. Never forget that."

The click of the door sounded after him. It reverberated against the walls, thundering to the inner parts of her she kept hidden.

Clarke pressed herself deeper into the bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, wondering how much she missed about Bellamy Blake when he wasn't such a dickhead.

And like that she found herself believing him. Not because she actually thought her father died a hero. But because, Bellamy believed he did.

And that was good enough for her.