Merry almost Christmas! Okay, so like the show, I'm hoping to convey Bellamy's feelings more through action than actual words. And dang, I keep changing what I want to do with this fic; I never even thought about including this part. Oh, and side note: if no one experiences Bellarke feels in this chapter, I'm quitting fanfiction to take up knitting. Please review!

A ringing tore at Bellamy's ears. It numbed him to other sounds, if any existed, and his vision blurred, the tang of smoke stinging his eyes. The pungent stench of something burning filled the air.

Bellamy was lying on his back, staring up at the metallic ceiling. It took a minute for understanding to dawn on him. The Exodus ship. The explosions.

Slowly, he pulled himself up, blinking to clear out the haze. In front of him, the Mess Hall was unrecognizable. People littered the floor around him, faces streaked with grime and tracked with tears. Some were sitting like him, others were lying down, emotionless. Lifeless.

A thought hit him, disturbingly cold in the hot room. Clarke.

Bellamy surveyed the area, the ringing in his ears already dulling enough for screams and cries of pain to penetrate through. He caught the sight of red and tried not to linger on it long, turning in a full circle.

He suddenly paused at the wall behind him, on the limp figure that lay at the base of it. Blonde hair spilled over the ground and a bad feeling settled in Bellamy's chest, but he forced himself to move. Pain shot up his spine but he promptly ignored it. He didn't waste any time. He didn't even have to look to know it was her, and a blast a fear rattled through him, at the thought of what he might find.

Her hair covered her face and with gentle fingers, Bellamy gingerly swept it back. He swallowed. Definitely Clarke.

He cupped the side of her head, careful not to jostle it in case of injury. Her eyes were closed and when he supported her head he felt something wet. He pulled back his fingers, now slick with blood.

That fear intensified.

"Clarke?" he asked low but forcefully. "Clarke, can you hear me?"

Her lids fluttered and Bellamy let out a quiet sigh of relief. "You're gonna be fine," he told her, unsure if she could even hear him. He tried to consider what the best way was to handle this, even finding himself asking what Clarke would do. But that offered little help; he wasn't the doctor in their partnership.

Either way, Bellamy knew sitting in the middle of a group of hurt people waiting for the rest of the Guard to show up was not the best idea, so he carefully slid an arm beneath her legs and the other behind her back. He hefted her up, pulling her close to his chest.

His legs shook but didn't buckle as Bellamy took a few cautious steps forward, glancing back to make sure no one was watching him. They weren't; everyone was too preoccupied. Tending to the hurt, the bleeding, the dying. Bellamy could have sworn he caught sight of Kane kneeling over an older woman.

Bellamy shuffled forward and when he looked down, he nearly tripped. A body blocked his path and he almost bent over to check on them but stopped when he saw the person's face.

It was that guard, the one that had attacked Clarke. The one Bellamy had wanted to kill. It seemed he didn't have to bother after all; Bellamy stared at the piece of warped metal that stuck from the guard's neck. Puddles of dark red dampened the floor around his upper body, dyeing his blonde hair a brilliant scarlet. Blue eyes stared up into nothing, and Bellamy couldn't even bring himself to feel sympathy for the dead man. In fact, the only thing he felt was a small bit of resentment, in the dark wish that he hadn't been the one to kill him himself.

Putting that out of his mind, Bellamy kept walking until he reached the outer corridor and went into the nearest room, unconcerned with any people being inside it. Most Arkers were gathered in the Mess Hall anyway, and the ones that weren't usually watched the Celebration in the confines of their apartments. But after that explosion-or whatever it was- Bellamy knew They had a handful of minutes before the Mess Hall would be filled with guards and those certified to aid the injured.

Inside, Bellamy discovered some kind of recreation room, with chairs and tables placed in rows. A screen hung on the farthest wall, but other than that, eveyrthing seemed a bit sparse and empty.

Bellamy gently laid Clarke on the floor, wary of her injury. He scanned the place, hoping happen across something he could use to support her head. But there was no pillow, no cushion, so he settled for just staying where he was, hands resting under her neck. The sight of blood was unsettling him and again, Bellamy hated that he had nothing to staunch it with. He knew head wounds could bleed more than others, but that didn't make him feel very reassured. Blood was still blood.

Ten minutes passed and Bellamy's arms were beginning to cramp but he didn't care. Worry nagged at him and if there was anything he hated feeling, it was helplessness. It was very similar to how he'd feel on the rare occasions Octavia would fall sick. That made it nearly impossible to get medicine and often, Bellamy would have to fake an illness to get her any.

That wouldn't help him in this situation though and with Clarke, all he could do was stay where he was and wait, while hoping no one came in here to find them sprawled out on the floor.

As more time passed, Bellamy's concern mounted. He looked at Clarke. It was weird to see her in this state. He'd grown so accustomed to her straightforwardness, her annoying confidence, that to see her like this, so vulnerable, was bewildering and it didn't feel right.

He was on the verge of trying to wake her again when her eyes suddenly opened. Her gaze met his and Bellamy found himself staring into pools of blue.

Some of his fear instantly began to ebb. "Hey," he said, almost conversationally.

Clarke smirked. Or winced. "Hey..." She looked around but the ceiling didn't reveal much. But when she turned her head, he felt her flinch. She sucked in a sharp breath. "Ow. What happened?"

Bellamy didn't retract his hands from her neck and though she clearly noticed, she didn't tell him to remove them. "You hit your head pretty hard, that's what happened. Some kind of explosion. How do you feel?"

Clarke frowned, reaching up a finger to touch the tender area. "Awesome."

Bellamy couldn't stop the small smile he felt on his face. Her poor attempt at humor actually made him feel a little better. "Well it looks great." His amusement dissipated. "There's some blood, but not much. Are you dizzy or nauseous or anything?"

Surprise flitted across her face but before Bellamy could comment on it, the look was gone. "No to the first one. Yes on the dizziness."

He tensed. "What does that mean?"

Her pained tone turned light. "It means that I was just thrown against a wall, Bellamy. It's probably just a minor concussion."

Bellamy's voice turned disapproving. "Aren't doctors supposed to sound more confident in their diagnosis?"

"I never finished my training."

He nodded. "Right, because that's the problem."

Clarke grinned, but there was something solemn in the air around her. Understandable, considering they'd just come dangerously close to being blown to bits; had stood next to some people who undoubtedly had.

"Who do you think orchestrated that bombing?" Clarke asked, like she'd read his mind.

Bellamy shook his head, slowly withdrawing his hands from her neck. She didn't seem to need them anymore and he didn't know why the sudden loss of contact made him feel colder.

Bellamy replayed the deafening roar of the explosion in his head. Already he had developed a theory as to who ordered the bombing. It was neither hard to guess nor was it a stretch of the imagination to think the real person that had wanted Jaha dead was also the person responsible for the explosion. It was almost convenient. If he was right.

Bellamy looked at Clarke warily. She still didn't know but he saw no reason to keep it from her anymore. "I think Shumway might have had something to do with it."

Clarke blanched and for a second, Bellamy felt his worry return at her sudden loss of color. "Commander Shumway?" She asked.

"Do you know any other?"

Her lips parted in shock. "But I heard him talking about you. That he was planning to have you floated."

At that, Bellamy scoffed, but it wasn't out of amusement, just plain irony. "He wouldn't want to risk me ratting him out. I doubt he'd even bother waiting for a trial; he'd just shoot me where I stood and write it off as self-defense."

Clarke gazed upwards, pondering the information, expression complacent. "He was the one who gave you the gun," she realized. It wasn't a question.

Bellamy's grimace was answer enough.

"Why? Why did he want you to kill Jaha?"

"We didn't exactly swap background stories." At the bite Bellamy heard in his voice, he added a less sarcastic comment. "I don't know why he wanted him dead."

Clarke looked at him, clearly trying to gauge his expression. But if she caught something, she didn't make it known. "Well we won't find out much about anything if we stay here." With that she started pulling herself up, but Bellamy quickly rested his hands back on her shoulders, stopping her before she could do any damage. "As you so clearly pointed out earlier, Princess, you were thrown against a wall. Shouldn't you be, I don't know, resting?"

Clarke winced at the pain, shutting her eyes for a moment before giving a very small shake of her head. "No time. You were the one running around septic. What's a little bump on the head?"

Bellamy stifled the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm surprised your stubbornness hasn't gotten you killed yet," he said, and a piece of him felt angry at her for it. He quickly shrugged that feeling off.

Clarke didn't seem to have noticed as he helped her into a sitting position. "I think that's something we have in common." She felt around the bruised part of her skull again, keeping her other hand splayed against the floor for support. It wasn't really necessary, with Bellamy at her back, making sure she didn't keel over.

When she lowered her hand and looked down, blood glistened on her fingertips but unlike him, she seemed unconcerned. "Good; it's not too deep," Clarke murmured, her tone switching to a leveled one and Bellamy was struck by how similar it sounded to Abby Griffin. "No vision abnormalities. I can't check for anisocoria, though."

Bellamy gave her a vexed look. "Ani-what?"

"Anisocoria," Clarke repeated. "It's when the size of the pupils are uneven. It can be caused by blunt force trauma to the head."

Irritation leaked into his voice."Okay, but what is it?"

It's a condition," she told him calmly, "that could mean a compressed nerve or possible swelling on the brain."

None of that sounded good. "Obviously you can't check it," he muttered. "But I think you're forgetting you're not the only one with eyes. Here," Bellamy moved around until he was facing her more clearly. Without really thinking about it, he took her chin in his hand, grip gentle but strong, and looked at her.

The action seemed to have taken her off-guard and him too, but he ignored it. Looking past the blues of her eyes, Bellamy struggled to focus on the pupils, never having looked at someone so intently before. He glanced from one pupil to the other, noticing how they became dilated the longer he stayed there, but nothing more. He was very aware at how close he was to her and that the cold he'd felt earlier was long gone.

Bellamy dismissed that, though, and studied her carefully, annoyed at the weird feeling that had suddenly taken residency in his chest. It made him hold his breath as if some unseen force were squeezing his lungs, wrapping covetous hands around his heart.

Frustrated with himself, Bellamy leaned back a bit abruptly, breaking his gaze from hers. "They look fine," he said, his voice husky to his own ears. He cleared his throat. "No, anipsycho or whatever it's called."

Clarke pursed her lips and he swore he saw her swallow. "Then I'm fine." She tried to stand. "Let's go."

"Wait," Bellamy said, and he felt a wave of deja vu crash over him. It was like they were back in the storage locker again, bickering over staying and leaving. But the roles of the injured had been reversed and unlike then, now Bellamy honestly wasn't looking for her to get lost or die.

"That's it?" he asked her, reproachful. "You know you're fine?"

Clarke made a sound of exasperation. It was quiet, but Bellamy still heard it. "You can ask me a list of dumb questions to ensure I'm not disoriented if you want. But either way, I'm going to find out what's happening."

Bellamy silently appraised her, standing so he could help her before she tripped. Clarke used his arms as leverage and he pulled her the rest of the way up. She swayed for a second and Bellamy was worried she'd fall, but her feet managed to right themselves.

Without another word, Clarke ambled towards the door, testing her balance before walking more regularly. Bellamy fell into step beside her, not even bothering to make objections.

If she was so willing to walk back out into a potentially hazardous zone, then he didn't doubt that she was fine.

The Station was in lock down. That was the first thing they'd found out as they left the recreation room. If they'd been much farther from the Mess Hall, they would've been locked out. Now, they were locked in, and Bellamy decided that the latter was probably worse. It made it easier to figure out what exactly was going on, but it also made it easier for any guards to find and arrest them.

Selfishly, he hoped that the explosion had caused a great enough disruption to make the Council momentarily forget about his existence. Unless they thought Bellamy was the cause of bombing. Then he was screwed.

Apparently, the world shared his sentiment, because no sooner had Bellamy peeked down the corridor that led to the Mess Hall when he spotted the black gear of guards. Drawing up against the wall, he cursed under his breath.

Clarke tried to catch a look of it herself but Bellamy pushed her back. Bellamy sagged against the corridor, suddenly feeling tired. "This isn't going to work," he whispered. "Those guards are stationed at every exit, making sure nobody else comes or leaves without authorization. They'll consider that bomb an act of terrorism and we both know who will be the first one blamed for it."

Clarke didn't contradict him. She already knew. "Maybe..." she trailed off, hesitating. "Maybe it's time."

"What, to die?"

She looked up at him, brows furrowed in an odd mixture of sympathy and acceptance. "To turn ourselves in."

Bellamy waited for the punchline. Clarke was bad at jokes, but this was probably her worst, because it seemed to have no punchline. Instead, she just stared at him, waiting, and he finally took in the seriousness he saw there. She wasn't kidding. She was actually considering this.

It instantly felt like all the time they'd spent together dissolved and he was once again looking at a stranger.

"What?" The word barely made it past his lips but it fell cold and flat.

"You just said this wasn't going to work and you're right. The more you try to avoid the guards now, the more the Council will think you're involved in the bombing."

Bellamy felt dumbstruck, as if she'd slapped him. "So you think turning ourselves in is the answer? That's the same as asking me to agree to mutual suicide."

Clarke shook her head, and smarted at the pain it caused her head. "Our chances are-"

But Bellamy was quick to cut her off. "I'd have no chance!" He nearly yelled and it took restraint not to shout the words right there at her. "You're not the one who shot the Chancellor," he said, tone mockingly slow.

"No," she agreed. "I'm just the one who revealed confidential information to everyone aboard, in addition to being identified during an illegal spacewalk." Clarke simpered. "We don't have a choice. But it's possible that under the...unique circumstances, the Council might let you explain."

Bellamy stared at her, silenced by his own disbelief. He stood there, body tense, every part of him carved from stone. "Are you insane?" he finally asked, grappling to keep his voice beneath a shout. "They aren't going to let me say one word between here and the floating chamber and we both know that." He shook his head and what he said next surprised even him. "Was this your plan the whole time?"

As soon as it was out, he instantly wanted to take the last bit back. He heard the ludicrousness in his own words and he knew it, but for that brief second in time, they seemed logical. He was too blinded by incredulity and a cold sensation that was suspiciously close to fear. Rationality abandoned him, but a piece of it came back when he saw the flash of hurt cross her eyes.

"Fine," Clarke said, her voice losing feeling and Bellamy felt his regret grow. "Then don't. You can do whatever you want. But if you wait around to be caught over going to them willingly, it will be worse for you."

Bellamy let out an aggravated breath. It almost sounded like a snarl. "Look, I didn't mean that. But come on, Clarke; even you have to admit this is nuts."

Her gaze narrowed. "At what point has any of this been sane, Bellamy?" she challenged. "It has risks. A lot of them. But I don't know what else to do. If you have an alternative, please tell me. I'm listening."

But that was the problem. He didn't have one. She knew it. He knew it. Which left them at a standstill. "Clarke..."

She pinned him with a hard look, that fire awakening in her eyes, blue flames dancing in the hearth of her irises. "I'm doing this with or without you. I'll just be the one to mention Shumway to the Council."

It wasn't reassuring to him and it only made Bellamy angrier. "That's an effective way to implicate yourself."

Her hands curled into fists, but Bellamy thought it was more out of desperation than hostility. But still, she spoke levelly. "That doesn't matter anymore. The fact remains that we are going to be found sooner or later. But it's better for the both of us if it's on our terms."

Bellamy glowered at her. "Define 'better,' Clarke. Because the second they have us, the first thing the Guard is going to do is try to pull up my file only for for them to figure out it's not there anymore. Are you going to tell the Council that you were the one to delete it? You know what that'll lead to. You'll have to spill about breaking into Jaha's quarters. Which, technically, is the one thing we actually haven't been charged with yet."

Clarke's face fell and for a moment, Bellamy thought he'd won. But her next set of words quickly dashed that hope. "That will still happen when we're caught," she pointed out, and he hated that she supplanted if with when, making it something inevitable. "But if we come forward with the information, the Council may not think we had anything to do with today's attack."

Bellamy tossed up his hands. "That's great. Then they'll just float us for everything else."

"Unless we can use Shumway as a bargaining chip."

That made Bellamy pause. "What?"

He thought he detected some smugness in her tone. "We may be criminals, but we aren't terrorists, and something tells me the Council would be very interested in that information."

Bellamy's mind blanked. Oh. He couldn't deny that that, in theory, would give the both of them an advantage. It was a vital piece of intel, regardless of whether Shumway had anything to do with the actual bombing or not. He was a threat to the Chancellor, and that alone might be enough to make the Council listen.

Bellamy didn't know how long he looked at her, but Clarke never broke away, cemented in her resolve.

He couldn't keep refusing to see her point. She was right, and after raging an internal war, he accepted it, if not a little begrudgingly. Their window to get on the Exodus ship had closed. Every option of theirs had closed, trapping them inside a hopeless scenario where escape was impossible and where staying meant death.

"You better be right about this," Bellamy chastised.

Clarke said nothing and though he was sure she was afraid, she didn't show it.

Bellamy stole another glance around the bend. The guards were still there, four backs facing them, blocking the mouth of the corridor. He pulled back, pressing himself against the wall. "They'll want to interrogate us," Bellamy said. "They'll take us to the Prison Station to do it, so we have that to look forward to, at least."

In the wake of a quite possibly lethal decision, Clarke offered him a small smile. It disappeared in the next instant, as both of them nodded to each other before turning onto the corridor.

It didn't strike Bellamy until the first guard turned and met his eyes that the only reason he'd agreed to this was that something inside him trusted Clarke.

And he wasn't surprised to find that, just as he'd thought as a kid, the cost of trust was high.