A/N: Thanks for all my new follows and reviews!

As usual, special thanks to AvengerGirl17, strangeJenny, PenguinofProse and Cherrypinkrose for all their various forms of aid in making this chapter the best version of itself.

Italics are flashback. And I still own nothing related to The 100.

Enjoy.

Chapter Four

"Don't say it," Clarke muttered darkly, staring out the window of Murphy's truck. The interior reeked of cheap cologne, and if she'd had any other alternative she would have taken it in a heartbeat. He was doing her a favour though since her car was in his shop…again…

"Well I'm going to say it anyway. Would it kill you to get an oil change every once in a while! It's no wonder you said it was making strange noises."

She glared at him through the dimness of his truck, her blue eyes shooting daggers. "I'm keeping you in business John."

Murphy scoffed at the first name they all knew he hated hearing from anyone but Emori. Clarke only used it in moments like these when she was trying to get a point across to him. With a shake of her head she went back to staring out the window, street lights passing in a blur.

Her day had started out completely normal. Roan had left the house on time, Madi had no fashion conundrums, and she had even managed to keep her coffee in the cup instead of all over her clothes. However, her mood had soured at work. She'd been sketching between clients and soon realized that every single one consisted of dark curls and moody eyes. Lincoln had watched on intently as she'd crumpled up her drawings and violently shoved them into the trash. His gaze had been worried, but upon seeing her seething glare he'd immediately thrown up his hands in surrender; refusing to remark on what he'd just seen. Then everything got ten times worse when her car refused to start and Murphy had to come and pick her up while one of his guys towed her car to the shop.

"Why did this have to be tonight," Clarke whined, throwing her head back.

"I'm not the one who invited you. The mood you're in I wouldn't invite you anywhere." Murphy's dry reply brought her head around, but he didn't even shrug. He was like that though. For all of her ire and spite he never backed down. His sarcastic personality was just what she needed sometimes because he didn't let her wallow.

"Here's my stop."

"Finally," Murphy breathed. "Get out!"

Clarke just laughed, grabbing for her purse. "You know you love me."

Murphy glared at her wink, shaking his head and muttering under his breath something about loving her to death.

As he drove away, Clarke marched towards the entrance of Ice Nation Pub. It was a favorite hangout for local officers, and a place that she and Roan came to often.

The faint scent of cigarette smoke mingled with that of freshly baked pizza and washed over her as she walked through the front door, her eyes scanning the bar for Roan before finally catching his gaze. She smiled and began to make her way over to him, when she saw a dark head of curls she would know anywhere. Her steps faltered, Roan's eyes holding a hint of concern. Clarke made a slashing motion, pointing to the restroom before making a mad dash for the back of the pub. The door banged closed behind her as she practically fell against one of the sinks and tried to catch her breath.

A familiar numbness began to spread through her veins and she finally looked up, groaning when she got a good look at her reflection, her hair falling in messy waves to her shoulders. She wished she'd changed out of her work clothes. The black tee sporting the shop logo paired with her black skinny jeans and heeled boots made her look like some edgy teen with an axe to grind. Her only saving grace was her ever-present leather jacket and the lipstick she knew was buried at the bottom of her purse.

She was in a daze as she pulled her phone out with the pale pink lipstick, and called Octavia.

"What's up?"

"Is Bell-" her throat constricted on his name, so she cleared it and forced herself to continue on. "Is your brother dating a cop?"

"Yes," Octavia replied hesitantly. "Why?"

Clarke was silent, her brain refusing to articulate a response.

Octavia swore. "Azgeda Province," she swore again. "Does Echo know Roan somehow?"

"Looks like it," Clarke wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

"Where are you?"

"In the bathroom at Ice Nation's...turns out I'm not so sure I can face him."

"Listen up bestie," Octavia's voice turned scolding. "You are Clarke Griffin. You are a badass who has faced death and destruction and survived mostly in tact. Suck it up and get out there. You are both adults and if all else fails Roan will have your back."

"Right," Clarke sucked in a deep breath. "I'm a grown woman."

"Yes you are!" Clarke was pretty sure she could hear laughter in O's voice.

"Thanks O,"

"Talk to you later," Octavia signed off.

Clarke closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She gave herself one more quick once over, running a shaking hand through her hair before squaring her shoulders. She wouldn't let him see her squirm.

Chin held high, Clarke exited the bathroom and found that Roan had moved to the end of the bar nearest to the bathrooms, waiting patiently for her. Her eyes drifted to where Bellamy stood making conversation with one of Roan's best officers, Echo, her hand secured in his.

From this vantage point she could study him unnoticed. He looked older. His jaw shadowed with an overgrowth of stubble that one might call a beard. His form was no longer long and lean, but larger - muscular. There wasn't the old cockiness in his stance; instead he seemed calm and grounded somehow.

Her gaze drifted from Bellamy to his date. Echo was quite possibly the most attractive woman Clarke had ever seen Bellamy with, and that was saying something. Glancing down at her attire again, she couldn't help feeling a tiny bit inferior.

But she took one last deep breath as Roan straightened to greet her. She braced herself, plastered on a smile, and just put one foot in front of the other.

Bellamy subconsciously glanced over when someone called a greeting to a new arrival and promptly choked on his sip of beer.

He'd know Clarke anywhere.

Looking as fierce as ever, her blonde hair cropped short and wavy, all in black, and heading to the bar.

"Bellamy?" there was concern evident in Echo's voice at his spluttering and coughing, and he wanted to turn to her, he really did, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off Clarke.

Who walked right up to the arrogant ass of a lead detective that Echo served under.

"Bellamy?" it was more insistent this time causing Bellamy to blink.

Nope. Clarke was still there and being greeted with an intimate press of lips against lips.

His stomach dropped. He had only come out with Echo tonight in a vain attempt to take his mind off of Madi being on the girl's soccer team, which he was now wishing he hadn't agreed to coach, and the underlying meaning that he would presumably also be seeing Clarke at her games. Now Clarke was here in front of him, only two days after he had found out she lived in the same city and long before he was in any state of readiness to see her again.

The universe really wasn't happy with him at the moment.

A hand waved in front of his eyes and he physically jolted. He glanced at Echo, eyes wide, but drawn immediately back to Clarke.

"It's Clarke," his voice hitched on her name.

Echo's gaze followed his. "Roan's Clarke is-?"

"My-" Bellamy inhaled sharply. She wasn't his anything. "She's Clarke," he settled on.

"Well that's unexpected," Echo stated. "I know Clarke. I like Clarke. Anyone who can handle Roan is someone worth knowing," there was a joke in her voice, but Bellamy was still struggling to remove his eyes from the one person he had once barely managed to convince himself he would never see again.

"So she and Roan...?" he really should have been able to finish his sentence, despite the sick feeling the question gave him.

"She's been coming around as Roan's plus one pretty much since he joined the squad five years ago," Echo informed him. "They were army buddies. We don't know when exactly, but somewhere in the last couple of years they actually became a thing."

Bellamy stood in silence, mind blank, he wasn't sure for how long, feeling strangely numb until Echo tugged on his hand for his attention.

"Do you want to go say hi?" Echo wondered, concern shadowing her eyes when she finally managed to pull his attention to her.

"I..." he trailed off, glancing back to the bar, completely unsure as to how he wanted to proceed. Actually seeing her again had completely disrupted all his previous thoughts and feelings on the matter. Clarke and Roan were still there, leaning into each other as they spoke, and equal parts of him wanted to intrude and completely avoid them at the same time. Roan took Clarke's leather jacket and bag as a beer was passed over to her and then the choice was taken away from him as she turned and eyes the colour of a bright, clear sky met his, even more vivid than his memories had allowed.

A sense of familiarity and rightness, of serenity and lightheartedness washed over him. Her eyes never left his as she came over and the tentative smile on her face had the past threatening to overflow from where Bellamy had kept it tightly locked away in one corner of his mind.

"Bellamy," hearing her say his name, her voice huskier than he could recall, sent a shock through his system.

The years fell away for a moment and he felt the beginnings of a smirk pull at his lips, but then her eyes shifted off him to the woman at his side and there was only a gaping emptiness. "It's Echo, isn't it?"

"Seems it really is a small world," Echo spoke with a small, amicable smile.

"You know each other?" Roan glanced between Bellamy and Clarke.

Clarke looked up, meeting Roan's eyes. "We do."

"Oh?" Roan's scarred eyebrow raised up, curiosity in the phrase.

"Bellamy is Octavia's older brother," Clarke supplied.

"Oh," Roan glanced back at Bellamy, scanning him from head to toe quickly, and his tone now had Bellamy's hackles rising, the idea of Roan somehow knowing their business rankled him. There was a moment of yawning silence while Roan scanned Clarke's face, looking for something.

"I understand you're fostering one of Bellamy's students?" Echo tried to break up the quiet.

"Yes, Madi," Clarke immediately lit up at the mention of her daughter, in a way Bellamy had never seen, her smile a combination of beaming, proud and bashful.

"How great is that kid though," Roan winked at Clarke, though the question was clearly directed at Bellamy.

"She's really great," Bellamy agreed, watching the way the corners of Clarke's smile softened into genuine fondness.

"Clarke's doing fantastic with her," Roan hugged Clarke closer to his side, grinning proudly down at her. "She's such a happy kid these days."

"Speaking of Madi," Clarke turned her face back to Roan. "She wanted you to text her what time you're leaving tomorrow to see if she can get a lift in the morning."

"Your tin can in the shop again?" Roan teased.

Clarke rolled her eyes at him. "I love my car thank you very much."

Roan chuckled at her and took a sip of his beer. "Where's she need to be? I'll take her."

"Tuesday morning is swim squad," Clarke seemed to remember suddenly where they were and apologised to the couple across from them.

The simple domesticity of their conversation seemed to be sucking all the air out of Bellamy's lungs.

"I swear Blondie," Roan shook his head at Clarke, still chuckling. "If your mechanic was anyone other than Murphy, they would have told you to give up on that car years ago."

Clarke glanced at Bellamy at the mention of Murphy and he couldn't help the slightly bitter twist he felt tug at his lips. "I know you guys hang out," he told her.

A shadow that Bellamy thought might be caution flashed through her eyes and his stomach sank when it occurred to him he might not be reading her as easily as he once had. His hand squeezed on his beer bottle as he struggled for something coherent to say, something that didn't show his inner struggles.

"Well, we should all mingle," Roan clinked the neck of his beer bottle to Bellamy's, then Echo's and nudged Clarke into a faint farewell before they moved off.

"That wasn't too bad, was it?" Echo nudged Bellamy lightly, teasingly, and a small, dark voice popped to the forefront of Bellamy's mind, asking if Echo really knew him at all, before he shoved the darkness away - none of this was Echo's fault and he wouldn't lash out at her like some teenager.

"I'd classify it as a mild disaster, actually," he murmured, his eyes drifting over to where Clarke now had her back to him, and something in him sank a little more when he saw Roan drop a quick kiss to Clarke's hairline.

The nagging tune of his FaceTime app pierced through his dreamless sleep and Bellamy let out a heavy sigh.

A one-eyed squint at the clock read the time as 3:30am and a noise that was a cross between a groan and a sob came out of his throat. An hour. One more hour until he needed to be awake for the morning's training.

The tune became more insistent and Bellamy pushed himself up to reach for his glasses, pulling his phone over with them. Dread instantly twisted in his gut when Clarke's name came into focus on the screen.

Since thanksgiving, their contact with each other had consisted of liking - and occasionally commenting on - each other's social media photos, memes sent through messenger, and once she'd greeted him over his sister's shoulder while they were having a video call, but Clarke had never outright contacted him.

He hit the answer icon and saw nothing but ceiling, causing the dread to sink straight into terror.

"Clarke?!" his voice was a demand. The only response he got was some shuffling and a thud followed by swearing. He broke out in a cold sweat as he called her name again.

"Sorry, sorry!" the video whirled briefly before her face came into focus. "Why's it so dark?"

"What? Oh," Bellamy flicked on his reading lamp, blinking against the sudden brightness. "Are you okay?" her eyes looked misty, but he couldn't immediately see anything out of the norm.

"I stubbed my toe," she pouted adorably, something he might have appreciated as being cute if his heart wasn't still racing.

Bellamy was silent for a moment. "Please don't tell me you called me so early because you stubbed your toe!" he couldn't keep the harsh tone out of his voice. "I swear Clarke, you just took years off my life!"

"Early?" she looked confused, then horrified. "Did I mix up the times?" she seemed to fiddle with her phone for a moment. "Shit, Bell, I'm so sorry."

His almost calmed heart rate skipped alarmingly at the shortening of his name. "It's fine Clarke," he sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his face, dislodging his glasses in the process. "Just tell me nothing is wrong, please?"

"Octavia is fine," she was quick to assure him and a little pang of surprise followed by guilt passed through him as he realised he hadn't even thought it could be related to his sister.

"What about you Clarke? Are you alright?"

"I'm good," but her eyebrows drew together slightly.

Bellamy let out a long exhale and became acutely aware of how tense he had been, something he would have to put aside to consider later. "What's happened Princess?" he prompted after a stretch of silence and his insides gave a peculiar jolt when she suddenly started beaming at him.

"Should I let you go back to sleep? I really didn't mean to wake you."

"No," he groaned. "You'll just have to entertain me for the next hour instead, as punishment. Now please Princess, tell me why you woke me."

She gave a little giggle and then shook her head at him. "I was calling to tell you I figured out your secret," a mischievous glint entered her blue eyes.

"My secret?" Bellamy's eyebrows rose. "What secret? Are you drunk or something?"

"You're a total nerd, and I may be a little tipsy," Clarke declared followed by a sheepish grin. "I found your books. Most guys hide their dirty mags under their beds, you can't imagine my surprise when I found comics and history books instead."

"Why were you looking for dirty magazines under my bed?" his brain seemed to have gotten stuck on that one comment.

"I wasn't," she pulled a face at him. "Focus Bellamy. Why are you hiding your books in boxes under your bed?"

"Just haven't unpacked them yet," he tried for, but her face clearly told him she wasn't buying it.

Bellamy carded his fingers through his already sleep tousled hair and took a deep breath. "I told you about our mum," Clarke nodded her affirmation. "It doesn't take much to imagine that money was tight on what was primarily a retail salary. We lived out of apartments my whole life and more often than not O and I shared a room. There was never space for my books so they lived under my bed, and after I moved over here and Mum and O downsized, they lived under O's bed."

"Downsized?" Clarke sounded a little choked.

"I refused to give Mum any of the money I was earning over here, so she made sure to get an apartment that didn't have space for a third bed," Bellamy admitted. "I slept on the pull-out couch in the living room whenever I was visiting."

Clarke continued to frown at him for a while. "I don't know what to say to that," she finally confessed.

"Most people ask why I wouldn't give my mum any money," Bellamy's mouth twisted bitterly.

"I would assume you didn't want her to waste it on booze," she commented dryly. "I also assume you did let Octavia have access to your money."

"Smart Princess," it made Bellamy smile again, her instant belief that he wasn't being selfish, and he was reminded that her own mother had basically used money as a form of blackmail.

"While we're on the subject," Clarke rolled her eyes with a huff. "I love your sister, she's amazing, but she'd make a great con-woman."

"What now?" Bellamy was startled and a little offended.

Clarke laughed and his mood instantly lightened. "I can't prove it yet but I swear she rigged our Kris Kringle draw."

Octavia had sent him an email about it and suddenly Bellamy knew exactly what Clarke was trying to tell him. "You have me? That explains why you're snooping around my room."

"You're not going to try and deny that she didn't just give you me, are you?"

He started chuckling but was laughing in seconds. "No way she pulled that off on her own, I'd say everyone but us was in on it, even if it was O's idea."

Clarke shook her head at him, laughing lightly. "Which brings us back to you being a nerd. I thought I could just get you some kind of history book, but your collection is so varied I have less of an idea than when I started out. And I never pegged you for superhero comics, don't even try to tell me it's because of the Avengers movement," she glared at him. "Or I will slap you next time I see you."

His cheeks heated enough that Bellamy really hoped it wasn't obvious on her tiny phone screen. "It's the mythology of them that appeals to me."

The laugh that came out of her next sent a shiver down his spine. "Now that is something only a nerd would say," she insisted, smiling broadly even as he pouted at her. "In all seriousness, is there something you want, because you seem to have everything but Harry Potter here," she shot him a little glare. "If you tell me you don't like Harry Potter, this budding friendship of ours may have to be over."

A little jolt of alarm shot through him even as he was feeling mushy over the 'budding friendship' comment. "We're friends?" he wondered, sounding awestruck even to himself.

"Aren't we?" the little furrow appeared between her eyebrows again. "Did I completely misread the situation?"

"I don't exactly advertise my shitty childhood, Princess, I just didn't want to assume," Bellamy admitted, a somewhat dopey feeling consuming him as he smiled gently at her. "I wasn't sure if you still didn't like me or not."

"Murphy is an asshole more often than not and I'm still friends with him," the phone moved with Clarke's shrug. "But you changed the subject."

"Did I? From what?"

"Harry Potter,"

A lopsided grin split his lips. "You really think I wouldn't like Harry Potter, given everything else you would have seen in my collection?"

"I knew it," Clarke grinned triumphantly. "Let me guess, you're a Gryffindor," she rolled her eyes at him.

"What makes you think that?"

"Courage, daring, a little reckless and short-tempered, sounds like a Gryffindor to me. Everyone always seems to want to be red and gold."

"I'll have you know I would have been just fine with Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw," Bellamy huffed. "What are you? Gryffindor or Ravenclaw?"

"Not telling," she shot him a toothy grin. "Where are your books? Do you want a couple for your KK present?"

"They're here with me, I'm rereading them," he admitted. "I don't care what you get me. You're an artist, you could probably just draw me something and I'd be fine with it."

Clarke sighed heavily, rolling her eyes at him again. "You're worse than Murphy, aren't you? By the way, pray you never get Murphy for things like this, he's impossible to buy for."

"Noted," he paused. "Should I be asking if you want something in particular? Because I already had something in mind."

"Is that so?" curiosity was stamped all over her face.

"Changing the subject now," he grinned when she pouted.

"You have one more game before you break up for Christmas, right?"

"Yeah, you follow soccer?" Bellamy was curious.

"Not religiously, but my dad used to like it so I remembered most of the rules when I started watching your games."

"You watch my games?" he was oddly touched, even Octavia only watched his games haphazardly these days.

"It's becoming a thing in the household," Clarke smiled and nodded. "I pulled up the game from before thanksgiving and Murphy ended up watching it with me, since then everyone seems to be congregating at our place to watch, including your sister. Who doesn't know it was my idea, I think we should pretend not to get along a little longer just to annoy her for rigging the KK draw."

"Vengeful Princess," he chuckled. "I like it. But she won't know until Christmas and I'm not being rude to you to annoy my baby sister."

"Fine, fine," she sighed dramatically. "Just don't say anything then, we'll surprise her or something."

"If you say so Princess," Bellamy glanced over when there was a knock at his door and Miller stuck his head in.

"I saw the light, want coffee?" Miller wondered.

Bellamy motioned him in. "Miller meet Clarke Griffin, Princess, this it Nathan Miller."

"Hi Nathan," Clarke waved through the phone at the new arrival.

"Miller is fine, and you're the infamous Clarke," Miller chuckled. "I thought you guys didn't get along."

"Infamous?" Clarke wondered.

"I have a group chat happening with Octavia, Monty and Jasper, your name comes up a lot these days."

Clarke's expression turned pinched. "If they uploaded those photos from the other night, Bellamy, I swear it was not my fault."

"What photos? What happened?" Bellamy demanded, turning her back to fully face him.

"It's Jasper's fault, that's all I'm saying on the matter," Clarke sniffed. "You have company now, I'll talk to you another time. Nice to meet you Miller," she called to him. "Talk to you later Bellamy." With that, she was gone.

"What photos?" Bellamy turned to Miller who was already disappearing out the door.

Roan's soft kiss on her hairline and his strong arm banded around her waist, supporting her, supplied a surge of warmth that managed to starve off some of the panic that was clawing at her insides and weakening her knees.

It had been far harder than she had ever imagined, seeing him again, talking to him, pretending to just be a past, casual acquaintance. Just as it was immediately apparent to her that the years had changed him just as much as they had changed her, based on the simple fact that he had seemed so calm.

Bellamy had always shown some kind of reaction, he had been horrible at completely hiding his emotions even when he tried, and he certainly always had something to say. But now, there had been no hint of anger, almost no reaction to her presence at all besides the way his eyes had seemed to track her across the room when she had first turned to him and the brief beginnings of a smirk when she had first said his name.

That he had only said two sentences in her company had blown away the tiny hope she had always secretly harboured that one day they could somehow return to each other's lives.

Clarke didn't think she had ever been so thankful to Roan in all the time she had known him, and that was saying something. He had seen her struggling to keep her armor up and trying to soldier on, at the end he had basically been physically holding her up, and his support was what was still holding her together now.

A deep inhale and she gave in to the magnetic pull to turn and check that Bellamy was still right there. Then she met the smouldering russet of his gaze over her shoulder and the furious bitterness she saw there devastated her. Sucking in a desperate breath, Clarke immediately faced forward again.

"As soon as it doesn't look like you're running away, we can get out of here," Roan spoke quietly into her ear.

Reacting out of pure anxiety and thankfulness, Clarke reached up and kissed him.

"Thank you," she whispered, hearing the broken tone in her own voice.

"Bellamy, are you okay?" concern was furrowing Echo's brow when Bellamy moved his eyes back to her, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

"No, I'm not," he bit out, the seething anger was back, firing his blood.

Echo gave him a look that invited him to talk to her, but he wasn't sure he could. Not clearly and concisely. Certainly not while Clarke was still within his sights and it would be too easy to march over and start a fight.

But then the idea of fighting with Clarke again put him at odds with himself. Was it immature of him to want to start an argument just to see if she would react the same? Hope was rearing its unwelcome head at the thought that hashing it out could be good for both of them, maybe it would even create a chance for them to have some kind of relationship again. Loudest of all however, was the furious part of him that wanted an opportunity to see if he could hurt her.

His body almost moved on its own, poised and ready to do battle. He hadn't felt like this in years.

Then Murphy's words filtered back to him, about not wanting Clarke to get hurt again, and some of the fight went out of him. Something had happened to Clarke in the last six years, something neither Murphy nor his sister was willing to tell him about. It was the only thing that made any sense to him in that moment, because the Clarke he had known had never needed protecting. Occasionally she would need back up, but never protection.

Bellamy took a long pull on his beer and met his girlfriend's eyes. "I'm not sure I should be, but I'm still angry," he admitted to her.

Echo studied him for a moment, likely noticing the way his eyes kept shifting back to Clarke, and the anxious tapping of one finger against his beer bottle. "Is it really anger, or is it hurt?" she finally asked gently, and Bellamy bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to stop himself from lashing out when she was clearly just worried about him.

"They're usually tied together, aren't they?" he was being purposefully vague and they both knew it. "I'm still hurt because of the past. But I'm also angry because she seems completely fine even though I know she's not," he reluctantly elaborated.

"What makes you think she's not fine? She seems the same as every other time I've seen her."

"It's something Murphy said, something O implied," Bellamy frowned and couldn't help but watch Clarke for a moment, conversing with Roan and his colleagues as if she was one of them and her world hadn't just shifted.

Bellamy's quiet, comfortable world was feeling a lot like glass that had fractured without falling apart.

"Do you want to leave?"

Like a magnet, his eyes went to Clarke. If they left, how long until he saw her again? The question shook him, given his unstable emotions. Six years with no word and he still didn't seem to want to leave the room while she was in it.

"No," feeling like he had to justify himself, Bellamy went on. "I don't want it to seem like I'm bothered by her."

His eyes travelled down to the beaded and braided leather cuff he wore on his right wrist. Once its presence had been necessary for his sanity, now wearing it was a habit, as automatic an action as putting on his watch or wearing socks with his shoes. He was always acutely aware of the ink on his skin beneath it, but now that ink felt fresh, as if it was branding him all over again, and he had to wonder, given Clarke's new occupation, if its counterpart had been altered on her body.

Occupation? Bellamy's head shot back up.

"Why isn't Clarke in the army anymore?"

"I don't know the details," Echo's brow was still furrowed as she met his eyes. "Roan had an honourable discharge for medical reasons, he also received a medal for whatever led to it. As far as I know Clarke was stationed at the same base but she wasn't under his command."

"Was she a tattoo artist when you met her?" Bellamy knew he was asking these questions with a laser focus that had to be surprising her.

"I really can't remember," Echo apologised.

He really couldn't help the sigh of frustration. Clarke was right there, he could just ask her, but the idea that she might not tell him, might not confide in him left him hollow.

Rubbing at his sternum, where the hollow feeling was growing, Bellamy finally put a name to it. Vulnerability. He had locked many things away six years ago, defending himself against feeling them ever again, but Clarke made him vulnerable. She always had, and it seemed she always would.

"I don't want her to be unphased," Bellamy finally spoke the words aloud, meeting Echo's eyes guiltily. "It's petty, I know it is. But if she really is okay, then what about me? What does that mean for me, for what used to be such a big part of my life? I wasn't okay," he shook his head at his admission.

What he wanted most right now, was to talk to his sister.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please leave a review.