A/N: As always, merci beaucoup for all the reviews, favourites and follows – I really appreciate and love getting them - the support is totally awesome! Please let me know what you think of this chapter – it still loosely follows the thread of the original story but we're slowly getting there. The next few chapters will begin the thorough divergence from the plot we know, and I'm excited to see what people think!

Also – really sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out – had a bit of an uninspiring week, but I'm picking it up again and hope I don't disappoint anyone. I seriously hate making commitments and breaking them! It's a fair bit longer as an apology of sorts!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the characters, events and world of The 100 – that honour goes to Kass Morgan and the writers for the (amazing) TV show.

Chapter Seven

Clarke

"This is actually kind of fun," Clarke admitted, feeling surprised at her pressing need to say it out loud.

They'd been playing more truth than dare, thankfully, but there was a lot Clarke was discovering about the other two girls and it felt nice. Different, but nice. She was also discovering she liked 'girl time'. Her interactions with Wells had always been pretty gender neutral – chess, watching sports, talking politics. The idea of gossiping, boy-talk and braiding hair had never passed her mind – but when Octavia had shuffled closer and started pulling on the front of her blonde locks, she'd let it happen.

Now her hair was littered with little plaits, tucked into her wavy mass, and Octavia had declared her officially 'grounder-girly for your grounder man'. She'd protested that statement, even while secretly wondering what Lincoln would think of Octavia's work.

Octavia grinned at her from the foot of the bed where she was lounging horizontally across the furs. Her head was propped up by her elbow and she'd formed a little nest for herself, borrowing from the abundance of coverings Lincoln had supplied

"I told you so." She somehow pulled off a look that was part indulgent smile, part eye roll, without looking like a complete idiot.

Clarke laughed lightly and looked to Raven, who was watching them both quietly from the chair Octavia had long vacated. Her eyes had turned a little bit distant and Clarke worried it was because of her. Because of unaddressed issues that might have developed between them despite this camaraderie. They hadn't once mentioned Finn since Lincoln's firm declaration, and luckily he'd left the girls to their own devices and they hadn't seen him once.

"Everything okay, Raven?" she asked cautiously.

Raven shook her head lightly, like she was emerging from a trance. "Sure," she smiled, but Clarke noted it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Okay," Octavia burst out, "Let's address the elephant in the room. The big boy-shaped elephant." She sat up and glanced fervently between them. "The floppy haired elephant. The elephant named…"

"Alright, Octavia," Clarke interrupted, laughingly. "We know which elephant you're talking about." She pushed herself up on the pillows behind her, looking at Raven alertly.

"I've never really had this," Raven said hesitantly, talking slowly and evenly, "I mean, I've had friends, but I've never had girl-friends, if you know what I mean."

Clarke nodded her head in agreement alongside Octavia, wondering where this was going. She too was surprised how much the three of them had in common in this regard, though for apparently different reasons.

"Growing up," Raven continued, "I only had Finn. My mother would have sold me for rations if given half the chance – instead she traded away my rations. Finn was the boy next door – he gave me his rations – he made sure I was fed and in doing so he kept me alive. For me, he was my family. He was everything…But I wasn't everything for him."

Clarke's stomach sank at the sorrow and betrayal she detected behind Raven's statement. "I didn't know," her honest but guilt-laden words felt stuck in her throat, "I didn't know you existed, Raven."

"I know that." Raven nodded, her eyes slightly glassy. "And it's okay – I'm learning to make do without him – that he isn't everything. I'm learning that I can do better."

"Too fucking right." Octavia mumbled.

"I'm really sorry." Clarke added sincerely.

"I know that, too." Raven offered her a small smile, "Kind of helps that you've clearly got something going on with Mr Tall, dark and savage."

"Ooh, I like that nickname – very apropos!" Octavia piped up, and Clarke felt herself blush. She was doing a lot of that lately.

"About your mother too." She inserted, hurrying to get the topic away from her complex love life. "I'm very sorry you had a mom like that."

Raven grinned. "We can't all have Abby for a Mom! She really loves you, you know that?"

Clarke grimaced, her mood instantly turning black. "I used to know that."

Deep furrows appeared on Raven's forehead and she emphasised her words, her face glowing with sincerity. "She does."

Clarke wondered how Raven could possibly know her mother well enough to know this. She was the chief medic, so their meeting wasn't entirely out of the realms of possibility. But something told her it was a recent admiration Raven had developed. Recent and under strange circumstances.

Coming to a sudden realisation, Clarke grumbled. "She helped you come down here, didn't she?"

Raven nodded enthusiastically. "She was going to come too but the guards were closing in and she had to distract them so I could finish fitting the pressure regulator."

When Clarke continued to frown, Raven added firmly. "You're lucky. She's willing to die for you, not many of us can say the same."

Clarke took a deep breath to calm the anger that recently swarmed inside her at thoughts of her mom, and turned her solemn gaze to her lap. "But she didn't die - my father did - and she's the one who betrayed him to the council. I don't know if I can ever forgive her for that."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Raven and Octavia pass stunned and sympathetic glances between themselves, and she distractedly fretted with her hands. She wasn't liking the new direction the conversation had taken either – she really didn't want to talk about her mom. It felt like her recent past was a minefield and no one had given her a map to navigate a safe path.

"Well, Bellamy was my best friend." Octavia anounced into the convening silence. Clarke jolted her eyes to the now grinning girl.

"I don't know whether to feel sorry for you, or sorry for him." Raven replied.

Clarke couldn't help but laugh as Octavia scowled playfully at Raven. It lightened the mood slightly, though there was so much that could darken it she was actually feeling better for having talked some of it out. She couldn't change everything that had happened – she just had to find ways to deal with it. With the help of some new friends, maybe.

"Wells was mine," she offered sadly.

"Can't say I liked Jaha Jnr all that much." Octavia told her, her tone frank. "But I'm sorry you lost him all the same."

"Me too." Clarke tipped her lips up at the honest statement.

"Enough with the heavy," Octavia cheered, rubbing her palms together. "Let's have some more fun."

Clarke grinned at the younger girl's enthusiasm. "Your turn, Raven."

Raven smirked, but this time Clarke was thankful the happiness reached her eyes. "Dare."

"I dare you to steal Miller's hat – but in a flirtatious manner." Octavia announced.

"Dammit," Raven huffed, "I've already had to ask him where the bathroom is, knowing full well there is no bathroom, and then offer him my nuts in exchange for his because I 'like his more'. He's going to think I'm genuinely nuts after this."

She rose to her feet, muttering darkly, and Octavia excitedly jumped to hers. They snapped out of the tent in two polar opposite moods.

"This I have got to see," Clarke announced to the empty room. She got up from the bed stiffly, holding her side to resist straining the wound, and wandered after her two companions.

The chill in the air had lifted slightly with the suns appearance, but she still shivered from the loss of the warmth her tent provided. Activities in the camp were still buzzing – the hunting party having come back with several wild pigs they proceeded to butcher and hang on the drying racks to heat. The air tasted of salt and smoke, but the over-riding scent of cooking meat made Clarke's stomach rumble in response.

Miller was conversing with two guys in a huddle, Sterling and Dax she thought, and he was waving his arms around animatedly. Not angrily though, more like he was entertaining them with a story. She hoped it wasn't about Raven, because who knew what she'd do if she heard.

As she watched, Raven approached him from the side, her movements slow and practised. Miller sensed her and abruptly stopped talking. He turned to face her, raising one eyebrow in enquiry. Raven didn't say a word, just smirked as she reached his elbow and leaned into him, bracing one hand on the curve of his arm, and bringing the other up to gently sweep his hole-ridden beanie hat from his head. He let her do it – his eyes locked with hers in silence.

"Thanks," Raven sighed, tipping her face close to his so their cheeks almost touched, before she spun on the spot to return.

Miller shot out an arm to stop her, pulling her back into him with a palm spread at her waist, and whispered something heatedly into her ear. Whatever he said made Raven jerk back, but that wasn't done in anger either, more astonishment. She threw him a perplexed look and pushed away from his firm hold.

Raven rushed towards them, Miller grinning cockily at her speedy departure. Clarke supressed her own giggles, but Octavia had no such compulsion and was overcome. They burst out in infectious gales as Raven came to a disgruntled stop.

"What did he say?" Clarke smiled encouragingly.

"I'm not repeating a word of that for my own sanity." Raven turned a sly glance on Clarke. "You hungry?"

"I could eat." Clarke replied warily.

"I dare you to walk over and ask for some meat, enough for two, and then walk back to the tent, devouring it all while rubbing your extended lower stomach." Raven demanded.

"I don't have an extended lower stomach!" Clarke said, horrified.

"Puff it out, girlfriend."

She completely ignored Octavia, who was now bent in two with puffs of air surrounding her like little clouds. The minute Raven finished, Octavia started cackling again and Clarke rolled her eyes.

"Really, Raven?" she grouched, torn between annoyance and admiration at the tactics being deployed, "You sure I shouldn't ask for meat for three and pretend I'm having twins?"

"Excellent idea, Mommy Clarke!" she trilled.

Clarke sucked it up, or out as the case may be, and stomped towards the food area, thoroughly disregarding the snickers behind her.

Bellamy

They had reached the reported location of the bunker in good time – though neither of them had spoken much to each other along the way. Instead of the silence being uncomfortable, Bellamy had found it a relief. It gave him a chance to think without anyone demanding something from him. It also allowed him to take his measure of Lincoln, the newest member of their motley crew.

He was something else when it came to navigating the terrain of the forest, and Bellamy was a little bit in awe. He made no noise when he walked, and although he seemed relaxed, Bellamy got the impression he was more alert than a starving owl watching for mice. Those skills right there were something they definitely needed if they were going to survive on Earth.

"Over here." Lincoln called, pulling him out of his musings.

Bellamy's eyes swept over the derelict ruins of Roman-esque pillars in the distance, over the large body of water surrounded by leafless trees and yellowing marshland, to where the grounder stood kneeling, brushing plant life away to reveal a metal hatch.

He strode over to help lift the heavily rusted doorway, grunting with the effort. The dark passageway it revealed smelt heavily of damp and rot, and didn't in any way look inviting. But it felt a little like finding a pirate ship with unknown booty to plunder.

Bellamy eagerly jumped down onto the first step and started making his way into the dank space ahead. Lincoln followed cautiously, his eyes swinging around and swiftly over the ragged corpse collapsed on the bottom of the stairway. Bones outfitted in a decaying uniform. Bellamy wondered if the guy had died of natural causes, or if he'd starved when supplies had run out, or even killed himself in the echoing halls of loneliness that must have developed.

The weak light from their entrance revealed a large, dirty red and white sign proclaiming 'EMERGENCY AID DEPOT.' At least he knew they had the right place. He opened up his backpack and took out two of the emergency torches – he turned them on and handed one to Lincoln who grunted his thanks.

They walked slowly through the square halls, glancing around at the revolting remainders of the protected bunker. The elements had completely ravished it – walls had caved in and everything was broken to pieces – it was all destroyed. Water dropped from gaps in the ceiling, and streaked in grim lines down the cement walls to run in rivulets and form dirty looking pools on the exposed floors – exposure then, Bellamy thought. If the water could get in, then so could the radiation.

"Careful." Lincoln's deep voice echoed off the walls enclosing them. Bellamy sidestepped the jagged piece of metal he was about to walk into and nodded his thanks.

"So much for living down here," he voiced his thoughts, "This place is disgusting."

He picked at the empty storage containers frustratingly, and glared at the rotten remains in the ones left partially open. "Everything's ruined, and if it's not ruined, it's already been taken."

"Blankets." Lincoln stated calmly, his face tilted to view the contents of one of the few closed plastic storage boxes.

"Fantastic." Bellamy snarked. Blankets were great – Clarke wanted blankets. They needed blankets. What he really wanted was some weapons – something to defend their camp. Keep them alive for more than the mere two weeks they'd been on the ground.

Lincoln rose one brow in response and straightened up. "If you do not want to freeze to death, then yes, it is fantastic."

Bellamy sighed. "I was hoping for something a little more helpful."

"Not freezing to death is helpful to your survival." Lincoln added.

"No shit." Bellamy muttered. Lincoln snorted and shook his head at him.

Bellamy wandered off, pulling the lid off one of the numerous large metal vats taking up the space. He dipped a finger in the dark liquid. "Grease." He muttered in disgust.

He kicked out carelessly at the drum in frustration, and watched it keel over, splattering the already filthy floor with more sodden muck. But when several metallic clanks were heard, large objects spilling onto the floor, Bellamy took a closer look at the contents the liquid had been obscuring.

"Oh my god." He gasped. He crouched down and reached for the nearest black assault rifle, feeling giddy. "This is what I'm talking about!"

Lincoln frowned at him thoughtfully. "So this is the kind of helpful you meant."

"Not being speared to death is helpful to my survival too." Bellamy told him seriously.

"My people have a story, a warning told to children and adult alike." Lincoln stated, his words uncertain. "If one of us was to touch a gun, any weapon other than those we make by hand, the mountain men would come for us."

"Hate to tell you this," Bellamy rose, gripping the slick weapon carefully, "But I'm not a grounder – stories like that don't frighten me."

"They should." Lincoln replied.

"Who are these mountain men? And don't tell me they live in the mountain – that part was pretty clear."

Lincoln's words were again cautious. "They are the enemy."

"Not big on sharing, huh?" Bellamy laughed lightly, and gestured between them. "Something tells me the three of us – me, you and Clarke – need to have a proper sit down when this is through."

Bellamy meant every word. As a grounder, there was countless information he knew, probably things he didn't even realise he had stored away, that could benefit them. If he was serious about leaving his people, then he should be serious about helping them survive.

"That is probably a good idea." Lincoln agreed.

"See if you can find something to carry the blankets back," Bellamy said, "I'll sort out the guns so you don't have to touch them."

"There was an insult in there somewhere." Lincoln stated.

Bellamy shrugged and smirked. "Like I'd insult the dude who could kill me with his bare hands."

"That would indeed be unwise." Lincoln grinned good-naturedly.

Bellamy laughed and turned away to complete his task. He began searching for something strong he could use to cart around the guns – there was no fucking way he was leaving them behind. Lincoln could believe in his folk tales all he liked, but Bellamy was not buying it.

He spied some army-issue mesh – the kind used to camouflage soldiers and equipment in forestry. He tore it away from the debris it was settled over and tugged it back from a few loose rocks. His head began pounding when the movement jarred him so he fell against the wall at its release.

He thought that maybe the confined space was getting to him. Or the damp – it was even odds. His vision blurred and he shook away the nausea. Not that it helped any – if anything it made him feel worse.

He dragged the mesh netting over to Lincoln and began throwing the guns from the first barrel into the spread fabric. One after another he grabbed them from all the oil vats and threw them to the floor. The fumes from the oil made his stomach revolt and he stood up suddenly when the last one was secure in the make-shift carrier, swaying from the momentum.

"Is everything alright?" Lincoln watched him strangely. He'd fashioned a similar carrier from some nearly unrecognisable flags – for some reason this felt odd to Bellamy. The red, the white and the blue – Earth wasn't about nations anymore, it was just about survival. He shook his head again in denial.

"I need some air." Bellamy rasped.

He blustered away from Lincoln and his assessing eyes, pushing his feet to work properly as they stumbled blearily towards the surface. He emerged in the cool air, drinking it down in huge gulps. This stopped, along with what felt like his heart, when footsteps met his ears and he looked up into a familiar face.

Raven

The girls had given up on playing truth or dare when it became apparent they were each trying to dredge up as humiliating a dare as possible for the other, and if one of them chose truth it was no easy admittance. Octavia had been made to follow Jasper around for fifteen minutes straight, repeating every word that came out of his mouth. When it had turned dirty she'd sent them looks that should have killed. If only looks could. It had been fun – really fun - but they'd all started to get tired and were lounging around sleepily, listening to the familiar humdrum of camp.

She might have dropped off for a little while, but she jolted awake when the tent flap was pushed violently aside and someone came charging in. He bent low over the two girls in the bed and waved his arms widely to encompass the room.

"You can't change the tide if the moon won't cooperate!" he yelled frantically, "It's basic physics!"

"What the hell, Monty!" Octavia griped, wiping sleep from her eyes.

He nodded at them like he'd made total sense – hadn't abruptly ended their nap – and then fled the scene. All three girls shared a what-the-actual-fuck glance, and she and Octavia clambered to their feet. The noises from camp had taken on a curious tone – it sounded like people were both having a party, and attending a funeral. Weeping – jubilant shouts – strange mutterings and wailings. All of it echoed around them – it sounded like pure mayhem.

Clarke slowly rose, looking worried. "Stay in here," Raven told her, "We'll check it out."

Raven and Octavia strode out of the tent into chaos. By the fire, several people stood muttering to themselves – others were wandering around having serious debates with invisible people. One boy was stripping gleefully by the meat racks, and several people were weeping as though their life depended on it. Raven startled and looked beside her when someone wrapped their arm around her shoulder.

"I want to give Earth a giant hug." Monty sighed into her skin.

She shrugged him off and stuck her head back in the tent. "Scratch that, get out here."

Clarke exited and stared about her in wonder. Three of the delinquents sailed past, their arms extended out like aeroplanes. A girl by the fire looked down at her hands and started cackling madly. "What the hell is going on?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." Raven told her.

Miller rose from his place at the fire and knelt before Clarke. He grasped her hips before planting his face in her stomach, mumbling a litany of words neither of them understood at first. He moved his face back and repeated himself.

"Baby! Baby, baby, baby. Little grounder – little spear – little boots – little ears!" He chanted.

She met Clarke's eyes and tried not to laugh at the horrified expression she sported. She was so going to remind Miller of this when he came to his senses. Repeatedly. Clarke removed Miller's arms and pushed him away in embarrassment. He kept up his mumbling – crawling to the person next to him.

Jasper came running out of the dropship, stuffing his face with a packet of rations, and the minute he spied Octavia he headed determinedly for her.

"I love you and I want you to know this." He announced loudly to Octavia and everyone in the vicinity.

They all laughed at his bold behaviour. He started staring outside the walls distractedly, gingerly peering through one of the gaps as though fascinated.

"Is this all you've eaten?" Octavia asked him, grabbing the nuts from his loose grip. He nodded furiously, reaching out a hand to touch her hair.

"You're totally bombed." She decided on a chuckle.

Jasper suddenly went totally still and screamed, "Grounders!"

Some people started to stare – others lit up in panic. They all looked around – searching for the cause of his statement. When Raven realised there was nothing there, she knew it was a figment of his imagination. They were all hallucinating because of the nuts - perfect. She was glad the three of them had abstained from the ration packs and eaten the meat instead – too busy talking for the most part.

"Here buddy, take this." Octavia sing-songed, picking up a stray branch from the floor.

"A stick?" Jasper looked incredulous at her offering.

"No," Octavia soothed, "This is an anti-grounder stick."

She led him to one of the vacant seats and gently pushed his shoulder until he sat in it. "If you sit right here, holding this stick, the grounders can't come near you."

"Makes sense." He mumbled, gripping the stick for all he was worth. His hands shook and his big eyes darted from side to side, eyeing everyone suspiciously.

Monty started sidling up to her again, his eyes fixated on her boots. Raven backed into the tent with Clarke and Octavia following quickly. They waited approximately five seconds before bursting into peals of laughter.

"Oh my God," she breathed, "This is just too funny."

"Bellamy's going to kill us." Clarke wheezed.

"This is epic," Octavia squealed.

Lincoln

Lincoln had started lugging the satchels of blankets and guns to the surface to save time. He was eager to get back to Clarke and he had no reservations about showing it. He did, though, have serious hesitation about them bringing the weapons back to the delinquents, and he would tell Clarke of those hesitations when next he saw her. For now, he had to respect the wishes of her co-leader.

If he was to continue to stay with Clarke, he knew he needed to earn the trust and respect of her partner. Together the two of them held total sway over the camp – separated, it didn't appear to do anyone any good. He didn't want to break the precarious friendship the two of them had, but he would not be leaving Clarke's side. They needed to be united.

When he reached the grassy bank with the last of their load he found Bellamy, stumbling around drunkenly, peering into the misty distance as though he saw a ghost. Or several ghosts if the rapid movement of his head was anything to go by.

"Bellamy?" he asked, instantly stiffening and searching for others – for an unseen enemy. There was no one around – he heard no shuffling – detected no immediate danger.

"Please. Kill me. Kill me!" Bellamy yelled. He fled into the woods and Lincoln gaped after him, unsure of what was happening, before hastily deciding to follow the younger man.

Bellamy hadn't gone far. He'd sunk to his knees on the forest floor and was gripping his head in his hands – his face looked fevered and Lincoln started to get a nasty suspicion.

"I deserve it!" Bellamy wailed, "I can't fight anymore."

"I will not kill you." Lincoln told him calmly. "No one is going to kill you."

"What am I supposed to do?!" Bellamy asked desperately. He was looking right at Lincoln, but something told him he wasn't actually seeing him. Whatever he was seeing was torturing him.

"Stay calm." Lincoln muttered in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

"How about you follow your own advice?" The insipid voice startled Lincoln. Usually he was so aware of his surroundings, being caught off guard was a truly rare occurrence.

He turned slowly, gritting his teeth in rage. He wanted to say he hadn't expected something like this to happen – and to some extent, he hadn't. He hadn't thought the spacewalker besotted with his Clarke was brave enough to make this move. But he also recognised obsession when he saw it – maybe because he saw something of his own feelings for the sky people's healer reflected back at him. The difference was, he wasn't unhinged by them.

Finn held the gun Bellamy had unknowingly brought with him to the surface, and he had Lincoln locked in his sights.

"You followed us."

Finn smirked nastily. "I followed you."

"To what end?" He slowly edged away from Bellamy, who was now sprawled on the floor in an indelicate heap.

"Yours." Finn smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile – it was twisted. Warped. Unnatural on the boy's usually jovial face.

"She doesn't want you." Lincoln growled.

"She will." Finn assured him. "Once you're a fleeting memory, she'll turn back to me."

"You're deranged." He stated. Realising it was very true.

"You don't know her like I do." Finn spat. Lincoln watched as he heaved in great breaths and his eyes narrowed in spite.

Lincoln laughed dryly – remaining calm in the face of danger. "You don't know her at all if you think she'll forgive you for shooting me."

"She will if it's self defence." His nasty smile was back.

"I haven't harmed you." Lincoln sneered. Repulsed by the lies and scheming before him.

"She doesn't need to know that part." Finn pulled the trigger and the gun jammed.

Lincoln didn't waste any time – he dove for Finn, disarming him by kicking the gun to the other side of the clearing as they grappled for dominance. The other boy was in fighting form for once, and sent a sharp elbow to Lincoln's skull when he took him bodily down. He rolled away, a little dazed and his ears ringing.

Finn leapt for the gun, but Lincoln recovered enough to grab his ankle, bringing the boy forcefully down to the floor again. He crawled forwards, avoiding his kicking feet and sent a punch to Finn's solar plexus that had him curling over into a ball. Lincoln leaned back and Finn struck out, hitting his hip with a booted foot. He grunted, annoyed, and kicked back savagely.

The ricocheting sound and subsequent dirt cloud of a bullet hitting the dirt by their side had him scrambling back and crouching defensively. Bellamy stood scowling down at them. "What the hell is going on? What are you even doing here Finn?"

"He attacked me." Finn gasped.

"I asked why you were here." Bellamy stated firmly. Finn moaned in pain and avoided his gaze.

"Finn, even if Lincoln wasn't around, Clarke still wouldn't be with you. You're not thinking clearly." Bellamy's voice was stern and unsympathetic.

"You're the one that's not thinking clearly," Finn howled, "Letting a grounder into the camp – letting him shack up with Clarke."

"Who Clarke shacks up with is none of my business. It's also none of yours."

Lincoln smirked at Finn as he scrambled to his feet.

"I'm not living in a camp with a dirty savage." Finn spat. "It's him or me."

Lincoln growled low in the back of his throat. He should have killed the imbecile when he had the chance.

"Then I guess you need to find somewhere else to live." Bellamy responded slowly.

Lincoln's eyes shot to him. Was he saying what he thought he was? The support was something he hadn't expected to receive from the leader…not least for a long while.

"What?" Finn looked as astonished as him. Maybe even more so.

"You heard me." Bellamy stated unequivocally. "You have to follow the rules the same as everyone else. The grounder is off limits. You don't want to abide by that, then you're not welcome."

Finn glared at Bellamy with manic eyes. "Clarke will never let you get away with this."

"I think your inadequate knowledge of what Clarke would or would not do has been well established." Lincoln pointed out.

Finn turned his black eyes on Lincoln and he could practically feel the barely contained rage. The jealousy. But also the fear. "This isn't the end of this."

"I would be a fool if I thought it so." Lincoln acknowledged.

Finn tramped away in the opposite direction to camp while Bellamy and Lincoln watched tensely from their respective positions. When he was out of sight, Bellamy heaved a great sigh and dropped to the floor.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lincoln offered sincerely. He wasn't talking about the fight with Finn, but the nightmares plaguing Bellamy's soul. "It was the jobi nuts."

Bellamy looked at him, as if checking to see if he was being ridiculed. He took another deep breath and muttered. "My mother raised me better, she raised me to be good. If she knew what I've done…I'm a monster."

Lincoln nodded solemnly. He sat down, leaning against a tree base and stared into the canopy of leaves above them.

"When I was a boy, a ship fell from the sky like Raven's. The man inside was badly hurt, his body broken. I couldn't get him out…I bought him food and water. I didn't speak your language yet so I couldn't understand him. But I wanted to. On the third day I told my father. He made me kill him. The world has been trying to turn me into a monster for as long as I can remember."

Bellamy stared at him. "So what you're saying is, everyone down here is a monster?"

Lincoln shook his head in reproach. "No, what I am saying is that we are not the sum of our actions. One bad action does not make us inherently bad. Neither does many bad actions. It is our intentions that decide this."

"Why Clarke?" Bellamy asked abruptly. Lincoln understood that he was curious about the relationship – he doubted a single member of camp wasn't. To them it felt sudden – it may even feel that way to Clarke. But it had been building for a while for him.

"I was a scout sent to watch you when you first came," Lincoln admitted, "I saw how she battled you for what she knew was right. Battled to keep everyone safe and alive. How she saved lives – cared for your people. How she tried to save the young girl who took her own life. She is extraordinary. She is beautiful."

He didn't just mean physically, but he somehow knew that Bellamy understood this when he nodded in response.

"So you knew about her and Finn?" Bellamy queried, a strange look on his face.

Lincoln frowned at the reminder. "Yes."

"Dude," Bellamy laughed, "I don't know how you haven't murdered him by now."

Lincoln sent him a genuinely perplexed look. "I do not know how I haven't either."

Clarke

Clarke watched Octavia lead a weeping girl back to the fire – gently coaxing her to stay within the camp's protective walls. The darkness had settled in fully, and bright torches shone around them, illuminating the weary occupants, winding down after a day of both excitement and confusion.

Raven stood next to her, hugging a still high Connor.

"Tell me again." He pleaded with her.

"You are the most beautiful broom in a broom closet full of brooms." Raven sighed. Clarke rolled her eyes and looked up at sounds coming from the gate.

She nearly cheered when Bellamy and Lincoln strode back into camp – inordinately pleased to see the pair of them, even though it hadn't been nearly as long as she thought it would be before their return.

Lincoln paced straight for her, stopping when he was so close they touched from thigh to ribs. He leaned his forehead against hers and placed his palms gently against her cheeks.

"I have missed you." He whispered. Clarke melted into his embrace at the tender words.

"Me too." She told him.

"Alright, love birds," Bellamy joked, "We've got some serious things to discuss."

"In Clarke's tent." Lincoln stated. He lifted her into his arms and walked the short distance to the semi-private shelter.

Bellamy followed behind them and she could see him smirking as Lincoln practically tucked her back into the furs that made her bed. She looked down at the haul he was lugging behind him, finally noticing they hadn't returned empty handed, and trying to figure out what the odd shapes were. The minute it clicked she gasped.

"Guns, Bellamy?"

"Protection, Princess." He corrected.

She wanted to argue, but she also knew it made sense. They needed a way to defend themselves. They may have decided to move camp, and therefore remove themselves from the grounder's immediate territory, but they'd still committed what Lincoln called an act of war. They had no way of knowing what would happen next.

"We need to control who has access." She demanded.

"And train everyone to use them properly." He countered. "I know. Already thought of that."

"Okay, Bellamy." She answered with a small smile. "We'll sort it out tomorrow."

She looked to Lincoln, who didn't exactly look thrilled at the topic of conversation.

"You understand why we have to have them, don't you?" she asked softly.

"I understand," he affirmed, "But I do not like it."

Clarke took his hand in hers and ran her thumb over his skin. "Maybe you can teach me some of your fighting skills too."

Lincoln looked to her and smiled back. "I can do that."

Clarke's cheeks warmed and she forgot Bellamy was there until he cleared his throat loudly.

"There's something else you should know." He told her.

"Okay." Clarke drawled.

"Spacewalker attacked Lincoln." Bellamy stated.

Clarke looked to Lincoln in shock, and saw the truth boldly written on his face. "Oh god. He followed you?"

"I don't know if he's coming back – he said he wouldn't stay in the camp if Lincoln did." Bellamy warned. "But he's pretty unstable at the moment. You need to watch out – both of you."

Clarke nodded, squeezing Lincolns palm. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and gently kissed her lips, as though trying to wipe away the worry she felt. "I am fine." He told her firmly.

Bellamy looked like there was something else he wanted to add but he wasn't sure of himself. Clarke watched a myriad of emotions drift across his face before he settled on determination.

"This town you and Raven were talking about – we need to send out a scouting party. Gotta make sure it's liveable."

Clarke beamed at him in appreciation. "Tomorrow, Bellamy. We'll sort everything out tomorrow."

"Right." He said. He mock saluted them and left for his own bed.

Clarke sank back into her furs with a small sigh. "Will you stay?" she asked Lincoln.

"Where else would I go?" he looked confused.

Clarke chuckled in amusement. She watched as he began undressing – stripping down to his boxer shorts. His tanned skin was a map of scars and tattoos. Assorted tribal looking bands wrapped around his left bicep, daggered spears down the inside of his right arm, and running down his upper chest from his collar bones. More tribal scroll work across his right hip and back. Small raised circles across his shoulder blade.

When he bent over her and shuffled her along, joining her under the covers, she was distracted by the urge to touch every single one of them. Taste them even.

He smiled down at her, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, her cheekbones and then her lips. The kiss lingered – it was sweet and affectionate and it told her that he really had missed her. His hand caressed the edges of her bandage, before he toyed with the braids in her hair.

"You need sleep." He declared.

"It doesn't even hurt anymore." Clarke lied in protest.

His gruff chuckle sent a flurry of warmth to her heart. "Sleep, my Princess. There is always tomorrow."