Okay, so Sci Gov is actually called Go Sci. Gah! But I am not going to change it because I don't want that to confuse anyone. Sorry I messed that part up, my source was apparently untrustworthy. Or I just accidentally did that. My apologies. I'm still calling in Sci Gov, though. But I'm aware of it being incorrect. Oh well. Also a good song to listen to is Disciple X- Dear. It sounds like it would go well with Bellamy. Or Clarke. Is the character development going well? Oh, and I have yet to edit this so ignore any mistakes. Please review! They mean a lot :)

He had lied.

Bellamy's shoulder wasn't fine. Grabbing Clarke, he'd felt the skin that had started to knit back together tear open again. He didn't have to check it to know it was bleeding, but the pain wasn't as disabling as it had been, so he'd endure it.

"You saved my life today," Clarke's words echoed in his head and try as he might, Bellamy couldn't snuff out the glimmer of pride it invoked. But it didn't last long. So he'd saved someone's life; that did nothing to compensate for the one he took.

Miraculously, no guards had come charging down the corridors yet and though a small relief, Bellamy wasn't interested in testing it by sticking around. Clarke followed close behind as they slunk down the corridor, treading lightly and ducking their heads when someone passed. A few curious stares lingered on them which made Bellamy's skin crawl inside his suit. They were too obvious and far too exposed.

"Do you know where we're going?" Bellamy asked Clarke in a low whisper. He'd been in Mecha before, but not often and he was finding it hard to focus over the weight of the suit and his own throbbing arm. He was disoriented and tired. Hunger gnawed at him but the thought of eating another protein packet make him cringe. At the very least, he craved a safe piece of floor to lie down on, where he didn't need to worry about guards stepping over him.

Clarke eyed him warily and he didn't miss the glance she threw at his shoulder. "Repairs, I think."

"You think?"

She just grimaced, but kept walking, down the main corridor that branched off into dozens of directions.

"Wait," she said, holding up a hand as they came to a bend. Around it lay an open area, almost like a commons room if not for the small counter a few people were lined in front of. Bellamy recognized it vaguely.

"The Exchange," Clarke informed him.

Bellamy smirked, casting her a sideways glance. "I think you mean the Black Market."

She looked up at him. "If it were one, don't you think the Council would have picked that up by now?"

"Contrary to what you may believe, not even the Council can follow everyone all the time. Or is the fact that we're still alive not proof enough for you?"

Clarke gave a subtle shake of her head, but didn't contradict him. "I just pointed it out because I think we're getting close."

Bellamy glowered at her, irritability bleeding into his tone. "Again with the think. Is there anything that you actually know?"

She didn't flinch under the heat of his stare and replied indignantly, "I know staying in this corridor dressed as spacewalkers is liable to get us both caught. But I think we're getting close to Repairs." With that, she started around the bend.

Bellamy's hand shot out and he clamped it around her wrist, dragging her back next to him. "What are you doing?" he hissed quietly. "You can't just walk out in front of all those people."

Clarke shook off his hand and spoke evenly, looking up at him with those blue eyes. "If we don't then we're both dead anyway."

Bellamy looked back at the small row of people, holding a variety of items in their hands to trade off. "And how do you suggest we get over there without getting caught?" he asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Clarke faced the room. "I suggest we walk quickly."

She led the way, lowering her head as she took a few cautious steps forward, and Bellamy watched for a moment as she walked ahead of him. A meter. Two. He glanced back at the people lined up.

One man's attention had drifted towards her, quickly followed by another. A boy clutched by the wrist pointed. One woman's gaze turned dark. By the time Clarke was halfway across the room, eyes were following her in her wake and Bellamy felt something twist inside him.

Murmurs erupted, but Bellamy's gaze had settled on the person behind the counter, a black woman, as she raised some sort of device to her lips.

A warning went off in his head, the world blurring at the edges, and Bellamy burst into action. Screw it, he thought as he ran forward, brushing by Clarke and grasping her arm. "Run!"

She looked back, just for a second, and picked up her pace. Voices raised behind them, commanding them to wait, to stop, and Bellamy hurled mental insults at them as he ran. Always did people tell the runaway to stop. Never once did the runaway listen.

Their footsteps reverberated down the wide corridor and Bellamy expected to see guards come pouring from the end of it, but they didn't, and as they ran farther from the people behind, the only sounds he became aware of was the echo of their feet, pounding in unison and his own hammering heart. The suit seemed to gain ten pounds and he felt as if he was dragging his entire body.

When the corridor split in two, Bellamy paused, glancing anxiously from one direction to the other. His eyes bored into Clarke. "Which way?" he barked.

She gulped down breaths, blonde hair sticking to her forehead. Her eyes scanned the corridors and her eyebrows knitted in confusion. She hesitated.

His voice turned steely. "Which way, Clarke?"

"Right," she said, and turned down that channel. Bellamy followed after, hie heart rising to his throat. They passed more entries and no sooner had they started running again that they were forced to stop and Bellamy wanted to scream in frustration. The pain in his shoulder had disappeared, hidden behind the mask of adrenaline.

Then Clarke was tugging on his suit, making his eyes snap to her. "There," she breathed and they were running again, down a new corridor with the words Repairs-Sect 6 guiding their steps. Work rooms lined the inside of the corridor, not just one door embellished in the walls but multiple. Bellamy felt his frustration return. "Which one is it?" he growled at her, as if this were her fault. It wasn't, Bellamy knew, but that did nothing to ease the panic in his voice.

Clarke turned in a fast circle, head whipping in all directions. "My Mom said she had someone working on it. She. Not the Council."

Bellamy's annoyance transformed into full-fledged anger. "Good distinction. Now tell me why it matters."

"Because," Clarke looked at him. "It means the Council probably doesn't know about it. Which means this person will be working somewhere private, Somewhere isolated, somewhere..." her gaze trailed away from him, down another corridor that didn't lead anywhere but to a rustic door. Her eyes lit up. "Somewhere like that."

A moment later, they both stood before the entrance, a small window allowing some visual into the room. Bellamy peered into it. His heartbeat rattled in his chest as his eyes landed on a metal frame, sides opened like some steel bird preparing for flight.

He felt a smile creep onto his feet. "Right was a good call," he said.

"It was only good if we know how to bypass the lock." Clarke lifted her eyes to him again. "Do you?"

Bellamy's elation at seeing the escape pod receded and he slammed a fist against the window. Pain shot up his arm, but he didn't care. Everything he wanted was just beyond a door. A stupid, old door.

Clarke frowned. "I'll take that as a no." She ran a hand through her hair, and her gaze dropped low. Bellamy didn't know when he'd started recognizing her expressions, but he knew this one. She wore it when she was trying to figure something out, siffling through their options like paper.

"My Mom wouldn't have told me about the pod if I couldn't get to it," she mused aloud.

Bellamy pursed his lips to keep down a retort. "Unless it was a trap," he said, matter-of-fact.

Clarke sighed, but put a hand over the panel. "I don't think so. But it's not like we have much to lose."

"Nothing but our lives."

"No more than usual."

She punched in a code, and a red light flashed. Anxiety thrummed inside him as Clarke tried again, and again, and again. Every time, that insufferable red light illuminated the panel and Bellamy was considering hitting the window again when she gave one more attempt, and the red turned to a brilliant green.

Bellamy looked over at her in surprise. Or maybe it was subtle admiration, he couldn't tell the difference. "What was it?" he asked her.

She let out a shaky breath as the door opened. "My father's execution date."

A twinge of anger lit inside Bellamy. It was brief, but it was there and it was directed straight at Abby Griffin herself.

Clarke went inside first and Bellamy scanned the vacant area behind them before following her. The workroom was a mess; arrays of tools occupied a good portion of the floor and Bellamy could recognize bolts and blow torches. Recognition stopped at a myriad of other gadgets he had never seen before in his life.

The pod resting in the center of the room seemed larger than it had before, and Bellamy couldn't keep himself from making his way over to touch it, fingers grazing along the cold metal frame.

There was actually a way to the ground, and here it was, resting just beneath his hand.

"Okay, we're someplace safe," Clarke said, voice shattering the stillness he hadn't noticed until it was gone. Bellamy lowered his hand and turned to her.

"I need to check your wound."

At the mention, Bellamy registered the pain in his shoulder and winced. He unfastened the suit and zipped it down, shrugging his good arm out and easing the material off his injured one. It burned, but it didn't cripple and regardless of the stain of red painted across the bandage, he took that as a sign of improvement.

Clarke discarded her own suit, retrieving the supplies she'd kept inside of it. but her own hiss of breath made Bellamy look more closely at her, scanning for injuries over the length of her body. Her shirt was free of scarlet, pale skin untainted with blood, but then Bellamy's eyes found her hands, pausing on her fingers curled the wrong way.

He took a deep breath and watched as she placed one hand over the other.

"What're you-?"

Pop.

Bellamy flinched as she reset her fingers, the joints snapping back into place. Clarke let out a muffled cry but didn't scream and once again, Bellamy found himself baffled by this girl. She was strong. He wouldn't pretend not to see that anymore.

When she looked back at him, Bellamy caught the beads of sweat on her forehead, but she just walked calmly towards him, rising up on her feet to get a closer to see his shoulder.

He pulled off his shirt so she could view the wound more clearly yet when she leaned over, Bellamy had the sudden urge to move away. He felt the heat of her breath against his skin as she peeled off the soiled bandages and unwrapped the new ones. He was getting used to the sting of disinfectant and didn't even shift snap at her as she applied it.

Only when Clarke was done wrapping did she look up at him and Bellamy glimpsed a spark of surprise, passing over her face. But just as quickly it disappeared as the door behind her suddenly opened and she whirled around.

Bellamy's eyes snapped foward, to the small person who stepped inside, stopping just in front of the entryway. Dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, her tank top and cargo pants mottled with grease stains. In her hand she clutched a wrench with bloodless fingers, but they tightened even more as the girl's gaze met his.

A scowl appeared between her brows, but Bellamy could see the panic beneath it, fueling the anger in her brown eyes.

He went to move forward.

"Take one step," the girl hissed maliciously. "And I'll have you floated for breaking and entering."

Bellamy heeded her warning and stilled. "Who are you?" he asked.

"You bust into my work space and you demand to know who I am?" She shook her head. "No. Trespassers first."

Before Bellamy could say anything-devise some elaborate lie-Clarke spoke up. "Griffin," she said. "Clarke Griffin."

The girl's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Clarke? As in Abby's-daughter, Clarke?" She appraised her. "Your Mom said you were on the dropship."

Clarke licked her lips. "She lied."

The suspicion didn't ebb. "If that's true, I'm surprised I haven't seen your face plastered to every digital billboard yet." Her tone was accusatory.

But Clarke remained impassive, calm and collected as she said, "Over two thousand people learning of a potential threat? The Council would be overwhelmed with false sightings and leads. They'd follow each one but," she glanced across at Bellamy, "Not even the Council can be everywhere at once."

The girl's scowl didn't let up as she looked between the two of them. "Don't suppose you have any ID?"

Bellamy tensed. But Clarke just raised her arm, the one with the wristband on it. "Right now, my profile is reading spikes in norepinephrine and cortisol. Stress hormones that elevate the heart rate and raise blood pressure. They must think there's something making me afraid."

The girl studied the bracelet for another moment before looking away-to Bellamy. "And you? It's not often I find a half-naked intruder in my space."

Bellamy struggled for a lie. "I'm a...friend." It wasn't a term he used often and it slid awkwardly off his tongue. Since he was a kid, Bellamy had adapted the belief that anyone he let too close to him was in danger of discovering his sister. Friendship had its costs and since Bellamy was a child, he could never afford the trust entitled to it.

But he could see it in the girl's dark eyes that she didn't believe him for a second. "That bandage looks ugly. I wonder what it's from."

Bellamy shared a glance with Clarke. "I-"

She cut him off. "Seems bad. You know it's funny, because Abby mentioned the guy who had attempted to assassinate the Chancellor was injured himself. Bullet wound. Ouch. But that's probably just speculation, right?"

Bellamy stopped hearing her. The guy who had attempted to assassinate...The weight in his chest threatened to leave him and he couldn't keep himself from asking, "Wait-What do you mean attempt? You mean Jaha's alive?"

Tension charged the air, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

The girl smiled, and there was something derisive in the tightness of her lips. "You're a lousy shot."

Bellamy abruptly felt lightheaded as the realization struck him with the force of a dozen bricks. From the corner of his eye, he saw Clarke look at him. Then she was in front of him, staring into his eyes. "Do you know what this means?" she asked, voice earnest, almost kind. "You're not a killer, Bellamy."

He looked away from her, at his hands, as if expecting to see red there like he did in his nightmares. But there was just skin. Clean, freckled skin.

Even if he had killed Jaha, that wouldn't make a difference now. Not after everything he'd done. "It doesn't matter," he muttered. "So I won't be executed for his murder. The Council still has a variety to choose from. Impersonation, assault and battery, attempted assassination, theft, trespassing, illegal usage of air..." he drifted off when he caught the girl watching him, her scowl replaced with a look reminisent of respect.

"Seems Shooter here has been busy," she mused.

Bellamy glared at her. "We answered your questions. Now you answer ours. You can start by telling us who you are."

She shrugged, loosening her hold on the wrench. "Raven Reyes, Zero-G Mechanic."

Bellamy frowned at her. "Aren't you a little too young for a mechanic?"

Her fiery gaze returned to his and she approached him. "Aren't you a little too lively for a dead man?"

Clarke stepped between them, facing away from Bellamy as she fell into role as mediator."Look,...Raven," she said. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, okay? I just came here to ask for a favor."

The mechanic's eyebrows shot up and she gestured at Clarke with her wrench. "A favor?" she repeated incredulously. "I get that your Abby's kid and all, but that doesn't automatically bump you up to my VIP list."

Clarke didn't back down, continuing as if she hadn't heard her. "I need you to send out a public feed. To everyone, on every screen."

Raven stared at her, hand falling to her hip. "I'm a mechanic. Not a technician."

If Clarke was irritated, she didn't show it. Instead her voice was even-toned and to Bellamy's surprise, diplomatic. He watched her as she retrieved the hard drive from her back pocket. "All you need to be able to do is circulate this feed through the Ark," Clarke said, brandishing the silvery item. "Can you do that?"

Raven eyed it a moment and shook her head. "Why should I? As far as I'm concerned, I'm already going behind the Council's back with rebuilding a pod and I make it a rule not to do more than one illegal thing at a time."

"This isn't a personal request," Clarke replied, her patience waning. "I'm talking about people's lives here."

"Is it about the air?" Raven asked, and the question made Clarke freeze in her place. "You know?"

That smile returned. "Why do you think I'm building a pod anyway? Radio feed is dead and Abby needs some way to find out if the Earth is survivable. As soon as she gets me my pressure regulator, I'm out of here."

"And if you don't make it?" Clarke asked. "If you can't make radio contact, either? Then what? People will be killed. Don't you even care?"

The smile vanished from Raven's face and in its place fell something dark and angry. "Maybe it's escaped your attention, but I'd be aiding criminals. A fugitive on the run," she nodded towards Bellamy, "With Jaha's shooter as your partner. It seems the daughter of Abby Griffin doesn't keep very good company."

Bellamy glowered at her and took a step forward. "You do not want to-"

Clarke put her hands between them, keeping them in their designated corners. "You're right," she deadpanned and Bellamy couldn't deny the jolt of anger that surged through him. His glower turned on her.

"We're both wanted by the Council," she said. "But we wouldn't be if they'd done their job and if the Chancellor had been a fair leader. And by fair, I mean not keeping secrets from his people and not murdering those who wanted to share them with everybody else."

Raven studied her, looking at the both of them from beneath dark lashes. She twirled her wrench in her hand. "I sense a vendetta. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested, but I don't do those sorts of things."

The last remnants of Clarke's diplomacy disappeared. "Don't you get it?" she hissed, finally partaking in Bellamy's own anger. "The Council will murder people. Innocent people. And I just want to give them a choice. A chance to give their life instead of having it taken from them."

The mechanic looked unconvinced. "But they'll still die," she stated bluntly.

Clarke nodded and though Bellamy didn't have a clear view of her expression, he could imagine what would see there; determination, passion, and that cold, controlled fire, burning in her eyes. "Yeah, they'll die. But at least they'll know what it is they're dying for."

"And if your Mom is right?" Raven proffered, crossing her arms over her chest. "What if your expectations go south? Then you'll be responsible for causing a panic, and that alone will be enough to tear this ship apart."

Clarke's voice turned flat. "Then I'll be the first one in line to float myself."

A silence swept inside the room and Bellamy's gaze burned into the back of her head. Though her words must have ignited some fear in her, Bellamy didn't doubt their truth. Clarke had told him her life wasn't her priority and she'd meant it, just like she meant it now.

Raven's eyes narrowed but there was a smirk, toying at the edges of her lips. "Let me guess what I'm supposed to get out of this-some sort of moral satisfaction, right? Are you really gonna play the honor card?"

"That and the fact you'll be heading to the ground soon enough," Clarke said. "The risks for you are minimal."

Raven exchanged a look between them, but her gaze settled on Bellamy, eyes filling with disdain. He couldn't fault her for it; the feeling was mutual. "Fine. But that's just what you want. What's he after?"

Drawn to the pod behind him, Bellamy looked over at it, small and rustic with the words Mir-3 printed on its side. "That thing holds two, doesn't it?"

Her smirk transformed into a smile, one carved out of disbelief. "Dream on, Shooter. The only other person who's getting on that ship with me is Abby."

Bellamy clenched his fists, until his nails bit crescent moons into his palms. His ticket to the ground was right there, just a couple meters away. He wouldn't let it go so easily, and he definitely wouldn't let it go without a fight.

It took effort to keep his intentions from his features.

"Does that mean you'll help?" Clarke asked, pulling the attention from Bellamy.

Raven stared at Clarke pointedly for a moment, quiet, pondering. She gave a noncommittal shrug. "I guess I owe your Mom, so I'll get out your feed. I don't plan to hang around here long enough to see the outcome anyway. But as for you," she glared back at Bellamy, aiming her wrench at him as if she were wielding a weapon. "If you try to steal my ship, you won't have to worry about the Council; I'll kill you myself."