Soul Fate Determination

by LaughingSenselessly

Clarke Griffin knows a few things about soulmates: They are the people you're fated to spend your life with. They will have a soulmark matching yours. It means they're the love of your life. And no one else, absolutely no one, could be a better match for you than them. At least, that's what people say. - Soulmates AU, except Clarke and Bellamy are not soulmates.

3. determination

A/N: *blows kiss to the sky* to everyone who has left reviews, shared this story with others or otherwise supported yours truly 3 you make it worth it for me, and i'm crossing my fingers this last part makes it worth it for you.

*blows another kiss to the sky* to Sjaan (tumblr readymachine) for combing through my typo-infested drafts and being an all-around amazing beta reader 3

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Clarke drags her feet through the lavish door of the Griffin mansion. She barely has the presence of mind to thank the doorman as she wanders to the base of the staircase, then sinks down to the bottom step. She kicks off her professional black heels and leans back on her hands.

One week. She's been back one week, and it already feels like it's been a year.

The evening she left Bellamy behind, she'd barely made it to her meeting at Polaris with the board. It'd been decided there would have to be a press conference for damage control.

The next day Clarke had caught a flight to visit her mother, who was gaunter than last time they'd seen each other. Before Clarke could say anything, Abby cut through the pleasantries.

"I saw the news. I heard about what you're doing at the company—"

"I don't want to talk about that," Clarke said firmly.

"Clarke, you don't want to end up in here—"

"Why not?" Clarke said cheerily. "What's so scary about it? Since you're clearly doing just fine. Aren't you?"

Her words were a challenge. Abby was quiet for a moment. Then she asked Clarke how her time on the farm had been. They chatted amicably about the work Clarke had done there. Any time Abby seemed like she was going to ask about her second soulmark, Bellamy, or the company, Clarke just had to ask how things in prison were going to shut it down and they'd steer back to small talk. Rinse and repeat.

It was sort of a hellish conversation.

When their time was up, Clarke hugged her goodbye and waved as she was led away. She waited until she was back in the car to dissolve into tears.

Once she was cried out, she got back to business. She set up a meeting with her faculty to confirm she was coming back in the fall and then headed to Polaris headquarters for the press conference preparations.

Today, she had stood back while Lexa made a statement to the press, her eyes lowered to her shoes while camera flashes went off in her face. When Lexa was finished, she stepped up to the podium and said her piece, about how the research was important and that they were going about it ethically.

Voices rose from the audience of journalists, questions on top of questions.

"What's the end goal of this research?"

"Will you be pursuing more human trials at this time?"

"Do you have a personal investment in this work?"

That last one was asked quite a lot. Clarke answered the questions as best as she can, sticking to the answers Polaris had prepared. The weight of accusing stares had followed her back inside the building afterwards.

Now she's home, and for the first time in a week she doesn't have a thing scheduled tomorrow. Which means maybe she can finally relax and call Bellamy. They've only corresponded by text for the past week. It's disorienting, to go from spending nearly every waking moment with him, to barely knowing what he's up to. She misses him, but reminds herself that this is life now.

She takes her phone out of her purse, but then the butler comes up to her and quietly tells her a visitor arrived for her several hours ago and is waiting in the parlour.

She already knows who it is. She squares her shoulders and thanks him before walking in.

Finn's already half rising from the couch when she walks in. The way he looks at her is more intense than he did before. Before, it was flirty, mischievous; she could brush it off. She can't brush it off anymore, because now he looks obsessed.

She shifts uncomfortably.

"Clarke," he breathes. He runs a hand through his hair, flashing his soulmark—the clock face. It jolts her.

"Why aren't you covering it up?" she asks as they both sit down. "Haven't you always covered it up?"

"Why should I, anymore? I found you. No one can pretend to be my soulmate anymore, so it doesn't matter how many photos people take." He smiles. "Don't you think it's funny we both hid our tattoos from the world? No wonder we're soulmates."

Clarke does not smile, and his fades. His eyes narrow. "Do you want me to cover it up?"

"No," Clarke lies. "No, of course not, Finn." The words feel wooden from her mouth. He seems to think so too.

"Then you could at least pretend like you were happy to see me."

"I'm trying, Finn. It's an adjustment."

"Yeah, and I get that. It's an adjustment for me, too." He pauses. "Except I can't help but think there's another reason you're having trouble adjusting. Bellamy Blake."

Clarke forces herself to maintain eye contact. Finn, like the rest of the world, has seen the photos of her with Bellamy in the village, holding his hand. It's kind of irritating that everyone assumes something from this, and even more irritating that for once they're actually right. She keeps her tone even. "He's my friend."

Finn bats this away like an irksome fly. "Yeah? Tell me you didn't have sex with him, then."

Clarke's mouth opens and closes several times at the question. She looks down at her feet. "I can't tell you that."

A long pause. Then: "Well, at least tell me it was a mistake." Silence. "At least tell me you were both drunk, and you did it once and it was really bad and you both laughed it off and decided you were more like brother and sister."

Clarke drags her gaze back to his. He curses.

"Okay, so the opposite, then. And here I was, not believing the tabloids..." He shakes his head. "Well? Are you still with him?"

Clarke has the urge to say they were never together in the first place, not really. But she's pretty sure no one would understand what they were. Even she can't put it into words half the time. So she just settles on, "No."

"Thank God."

She frowns. Why is she the only one getting interrogated? "Are you with anyone?"

"I was," Finn replies. "I broke it off as soon as I heard about you."

Clarke studies his face, but he shows no signs of regret. She wonders if he feels it inside anyway, though. She wonders if that person he was with is heartbroken. Or if he's just talking about a fling.

"Did you care about them?" she asks him, her curiosity overpowering her. She needs to know—how normal people feel when they leave someone for their soulmate.

"Of course I do," Finn replies with a shrug. "And it sucks, but that doesn't matter in the grand scheme of soulmates. We went into it knowing that. Doesn't everybody?"

Clarke hadn't gotten the memo on that one. She'd hurtled into a friendship with Bellamy completely blind. Not caring about soulmates or about fate or about the infinite wisdom of the universe tattooed on her wrist. Maybe if she had, she would've guarded her heart a little better.

After a long silence, Finn says softly, "I want to get to know you better, Clarke. You've got what, almost two months before your school starts up again, right?"

She looks at him sharply; she hadn't realized he knew the details of her school schedule.

"I have a vacation planned," Finn tells her. "The Bahamas. A couple of weeks. I was gonna go solo, but now… I want you to come with me."

Clarke feels rooted to the spot. "I can't. I have things to do. I have to prepare for school again."

"Okay, fine. It's just an offer. Think about it." He rises from the couch.

But, as he starts to walk out, Clarke begins feeling guilty. Finn left a relationship for her. He's invested, like any other normal person would be. Does she owe it to both of them to give him a chance?

Besides, Wells was one of the best parts of her life. If the universe says Finn's on the same level… then shouldn't she at least explore this? Why does she keep resisting it when logically, she knows it's the right thing to do?

But even these thoughts don't change her mind. At least until she realizes—Bellamy. Bellamy will be on this vacation, as part of Finn's detail. She'll see him every day. At the very least, there'll be that. And that alone is reason enough to make her open her mouth.

"Wait!"

—

Bellamy has a tiring first week back.

First, he has to wait hours for the tow truck to come, and then the next day he goes to the shop, where he's told there's nothing to be done for the Rover.

"In order to get it in working condition again, we'd have to replace pretty much all its parts," the mechanic tells him. "The money it'll cost you to revamp this thing could buy you two brand-new luxury vehicles."

It's basically what Raven had already told him. Still hurts to have it confirmed. "Can I sell it back to you for parts at least?"

"Even the salvageable parts it has aren't worth much," the mechanic says. Bellamy feels somewhat offended by this. "It's pretty much scrap metal. But we can make you an offer."

They do. Bellamy takes it and walks away without looking back.

Octavia's in town visiting their mother with Lincoln, and she offers to help him with car-hunting the next day. He regrets accepting it when he realizes she's taking it as an opportunity to roast him for going off with Clarke.

"Seriously, what did you think was going to happen?" Octavia demands for the hundredth time as they take yet another truck for a test drive from the dealership. Bellamy makes exasperated eye contact with Lincoln through the rearview mirror. "Even if she didn't have a second soulmark, in what world would she be happy with someone like us?"

That stings. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We were the housekeeper's kids, Bell! She'd be laughed off the rich people block if she dated you. No wonder she tried to keep you and her a secret. She was using you for comfort, I hope you get that."

Lincoln shifts uneasily in the back seat.

"Octavia, that's enough," Bellamy growls.

"Isn't he such an idiot, Lincoln?" Octavia twists in her seat to look at her soulmate. "Tell him what an idiot he is."

Lincoln, as always when they are arguing, wisely says nothing.

Thankfully, the subject changes. Octavia tells him how their mother has been acting weird lately.

"But supposedly not drinking," Octavia adds. Bellamy's hands tighten on the wheel. "I'm not sure I believe her, Bell. You have to do something."

In the end, Bellamy ends up buying a sensible, silver sedan from a secondhand dealership. It has no personality whatsoever, but it doesn't matter. It just has to get him where he needs to go, and most importantly it won't hurt when he has to get rid of it. He's tired of putting his heart into everything.

Then he packs a bag and comes unannounced to his mother's door, because Bellamy knows he has to be the one to confront her. He mentally prepares for it.

His mother is on her way out for work. She's cagey at the door, but eventually lets him in. This is the first time Bellamy's seen his mother since leaving half a year ago. He can tell right away she's hiding something because she doesn't hug him, doesn't say much at all.

She somewhat reluctantly leaves for work, and Bellamy searches her whole apartment top to bottom. He only finds one travel-size bottle of whiskey in a cabinet in the bathroom, but he pours it out in the sink despite knowing Aurora is going to scream at him later for it.

And when she comes home, they get into it. His mother angry that he snooped around her apartment, that for Pete's sake, it's just a tiny bottle! Bellamy loses his temper a little bit, tells her she needs to get some help, except he doesn't say it in a nice way. She accuses him once again of being like his father. The screaming match is probably heard from two floors up. Octavia arrives just when Aurora throws her hands up and storms to her bedroom. Bellamy doesn't follow her, although Octavia does. Instead, he works off his anger by cleaning the kitchen.

Eventually Octavia comes out, glaring at him. "You were way harsh. You made her cry."

Bellamy pauses in the middle of sweeping the floor. That does make him feel bad. Still… He gestures to the emptied bottle of whiskey. "You're the one who asked me to do something. There. I did something."

"Not like that."

Bellamy doesn't respond. He silently listens to his sister chew him out for being a jackass for the next ten minutes, while he finishes sweeping the floor. He regrets making his mother cry. He regrets that Octavia had to see it. But regardless of how blunt he was about it, the wake-up call was needed. If Bellamy has to be the monster in order to keep his family alive, then he will.

The next day Octavia and Lincoln travel back home, and although he loves his sister dearly, he sort of breathes a sigh of relief.

His mother doesn't speak to him for days, although he comes back to her apartment with groceries since the fridge was damn near empty. Then he does another grocery run, and shows up unannounced at the fire station in town with as many boxes of cookies and frozen dinners as he can fit into the trunk of his car. Gina's old colleagues remember him well, and welcome him and the gifts warmly.

"We were just talking about how we miss when you used to bring us snacks," Gina's best friend tells him, after a big hug. He stays at the station for an hour, where they tease him, and ask him how he's doing, and thankfully don't bring up Clarke Griffin. They show him the big commemorative plaque Gina had received posthumously, now displayed prominently in the foyer.

"She got it at the big city awards dinner this year," they tell him. "We were going to invite you, but, well…"

He'd been gone. With Clarke. Guilt threatens to overtake him again, at least until one of them says, gently, "She'd have rather you were on break taking care of yourself than there, I bet."

Everyone chimes in with their agreement, and hell, he does not deserve this treatment. He has to excuse himself quickly after that before he has a full breakdown.

Then he has to meet the real estate agent. To sell his and Gina's house. After that meeting he really does have a breakdown, alone in the master bedroom.

Throughout all this, he barely talks to Clarke. Texts here and there. He sees her on TV, dealing with the press. She looks as worn-out as he feels. He doesn't want to bog her down with his problems too, so he tries to keep the interactions to a minimum.

He really fucking misses her, though.

Then his meeting with Eligius comes up, the one he'd set while still at the farm. No one has told him exactly what it's about.

He decides to ask Raven if she's heard anything, so he can have some idea of what to expect. He has no clue what it might be otherwise. He'd given everyone appropriate notice he was going on leave. People had been understanding at the time. His soulmate had just died, after all. What could he have done wrong?

"Finn fired you," Raven tells him bluntly.

"Come again?"

"Don't act like it's a surprise," Raven snorts. "We all saw the photos of you and Clarke holding hands on the little vacation you took together for half a year. Do you really think he wants one of his soulmate's old flames around all the time?"

"We weren't like that."

"Then what, friends with benefits?"

"No," he says, annoyed. "We're friends. Period."

"Friends who had sex on a regular basis. Don't deny it. Clarke told him."

He's quiet for a second. Clarke told Finn? Why? "It wasn't a regular thing."

Raven actually laughs. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?" Yeah, he's well aware. She scoffs at his silence. "Well, whatever it was, it's over. You know that, right?"

Her voice is angry, and he gives her a second look.

Her past relationships were always a mess, and she was very close to Finn. And for Finn to tell her something that intimate… Bellamy suddenly suspects he's not the only one unhappy with who Clarke's soulmate turned out to be.

Mind spinning, he goes to Eligius corporate headquarters in his best white collared shirt and pants. He remembers to iron this time.

In the underground parking lot at Eligius, he finds himself checking a gossip website. It's a little pathetic, but he hasn't seen Clarke in two days, and he's gotten used to seeing her all the time. He'll take anything, even paparazzi photos.

And there are. Photos of Clarke's and Finn's soulmarks side by side. Finn's clearly done hiding his, as well. The gossip sites are having a field day. Explosive headlines about how Clarke got a second soulmate, and how perfect is this match? No sightings of them together yet, but we're already swooning!

It's like the speculation about her and Bellamy has already been forgotten; this news is too exciting not to talk about, apparently. Plenty of commenters sneer at Clarke and her past mistakes, how she doesn't deserve Finn—Bellamy puts his phone away then because it makes his blood boil. They've got it backwards.

He takes the elevator up to the office of one of his superiors at Eligius, Pike, who sits him down and tells him the news. It's exactly what Raven had said.

"Collins didn't give a reason. We asked if there was something lacking in your performance and he said no."

Well, he can breathe a sigh of relief at that at least.

"I suspect," Pike adds, "it was for personal reasons."

Bellamy looks up sharply to find the older man studying him, hands clasped on the table. Everyone knows Finn and Clarke are soulmates now from the tabloids, from the press. And Bellamy hates that even at work it's following him.

He supposes he now knows how Clarke has felt her whole life.

"You're an asset to this organization, Bellamy," Pike says after a long moment. "I'm sorry executive protection hasn't worked out, but there's plenty of other places to take your career at Eligius. We'd be glad to have you again in one of the paramilitary units."

Bellamy had done paramilitary training under Pike a few years ago, and had been on one of the units for a few weeks. But he'd left quickly; the work was dangerous, and often turned his stomach. They'd been contracted out to governments and intelligence agencies, transporting criminals, guarding weapons, protecting high risk assets.

So no, he's not keen on a repeat. But other than that thought, truthfully, Bellamy has no idea where to go from here. His six months away have completely disoriented him from the act of living.

Pike clearly notices his indecisiveness. "You can think about it. In the meantime, over the summer, there's a short contract open at a detention center for a guard position. If you're interested in keeping some inmates in line. But you have to decide on this one fast," he warns. "It starts in a few days. You have to pass your routine competency test first, so there's a time crunch. But I'll happily give you a recommendation if you want it."

Bellamy hesitates for a moment. If he accepts, he's not going to have time to see Clarke before leaving.

But that's no excuse. He nods. "Thank you, sir."

—

The first thing Clarke notices on the flight to the Bahamas is that Bellamy is not part of the detail. She keeps thinking that perhaps he's just on a part of the plane she can't see.

Roan, who's come on the vacation with her, seems to hear her unsaid question somehow. Quietly, he tells her Finn's chief of security let him go.

"Did he do something wrong?" she asks anxiously. If Bellamy got in trouble with Eligius, he certainly hadn't told her. Roan gives her a bored look.

"I can't be sure, but I'd say he did at least one thing Finn didn't like."

Clarke turns red and leaves.

She marches straight up to Finn, though, who's enjoying a glass of wine by the window. She plops into the seat across from him and folds her arms.

"You fired Bellamy."

He blinks lazily at her and doesn't deny it. "So?"

"Just because of me? You know how hard it is for him to get jobs because of me and now you let him go?" She's practically spitting fire.

"You sound like you need a drink." He pours her some wine and pushes it towards her. She doesn't take it. "Eligius asked me if anything was wrong with his work and I told them not at all. In fact, I specifically said he was a great bodyguard. Even though I could tell half the time he wanted to strangle me." He chuckles a bit at her expression. "I'm joking, princess. I didn't say that last part. I just told his boss I didn't need his service anymore. Are you happy now?"

Clarke's not. He shrugs.

"Do you really think he would want to work for me now anyway? I'm surprised he didn't resign first, honestly."

Clarke blinks, having not considered that angle. But she should have. Why would Bellamy want to sit back and watch Finn and Clarke get to know each other? She knows she wouldn't have. In fact, she didn't. She'd practically ran away after Bellamy married Gina. Maybe Finn did them all a favour after all.

She picks up her wine and drinks the whole thing in one go.

—

When they land, she shoots Bellamy a text, asking whether he found himself another job yet. He doesn't respond right away.

Meanwhile, Finn whisks her away to the resort.

Clarke tries to enjoy herself. It is a beautiful beach resort, and the views are gorgeous, and she knows the only views she'll be getting when she goes back to school is X-ray angles. But she just cannot shake off the sad mood.

While sunning on the pool deck, her phone buzzes, and she snatches it up so fast she scares off a bird that had been settled nearby. It's Bellamy, telling her he's gotten a job in a detention centre. A long way away from home, even when she gets back.

A lump grows in her throat. She types back several cheery emojis that are pretty much the opposite of what she feels inside. Tries to think of something else to say.

Finn swims over to the edge.

"Not to sound like a boomer, but get off your phone," he says, splashing her with water. She goes rigid, having not expected it. The water's icy. He guffaws at her expression.

"You need to loosen up." He pulls her into the water.

"Finn—!"

it's too late. She's in, and it's cold as hell. She shoves his chest.

"You're such an ass!" She looks down. Her phone's now at the bottom of the pool. "And you drowned my phone!"

He's laughing at her. "Relax. I'll buy you a new one tomorrow. That one looks like it's seen better days anyway."

She holds herself rigidly in the water, and he grabs her shoulders and pulls her in further. This little—

He kicks away from her before she can shove him again, splashing her even more. He's so annoying.

"You look like you're ready to kill me, princess," he muses, settling on his back with his hands behind his head. He winks. "My last words would be thank you."

He's a relentless flirt, and it breaks down her anger a bit. And she would never admit it, but the water feels good on her sun-heated skin. She sinks further into the water with a sigh.

"That's right, Clarke," Finn says, watching her. "Let yourself enjoy life. I promise it won't hurt."

—

She and Finn have a gigantic beachside house to themselves. In the middle of the night, she wakes from sleep because she hears someone creeping into her room.

Then a hand lands on her shoulder. She goes into autopilot.

Her hand grabs for the decorative, pointy seashell on the bedside table and swings it right at her attacker's face in the dark. It hits the target with a crunch.

"What the hell!"

She blinks, orienting steadily. "Finn?"

"What're you doing, trying to break my nose?" She drops the shell and turns on the bedside light and there he is, fully dressed, now trying to control a steady drip of blood from his nose.

"Tilt your head up," she instructs, throwing the covers off her legs. She runs to the washroom, brings back some towels for the blood. "Let me have a look."

He does. Not broken, she thinks with relief. Her aim hadn't been great. It's just a nosebleed.

Clearly Finn doesn't find this as reassuring. Muffled, he says, "Do you know how much this nose is worth?"

"Well, you should've thought of that before you decided to attack me in my sleep," Clarke snaps. Her heart is only now slowing down, adrenaline only now settling. It's okay. She's okay. No one's here to hurt her.

Finn studies her, and then his voice comes a little kinder. "What kind of life have you lived that that was your first thought, huh?"

She looks away, not able to stand his pity. "It had its moments." She frowns and looks back at him. "What were you doing here, then? It's the middle of the night."

"Oh, that." He removes the towel from his nose. It's stopped bleeding. "We're gonna sneak out." At her raised eyebrows, he clarifies. "We're gonna lose the bodyguards."

"What's the purpose of that?"

"For fun? What else? Besides, there's this amazing cave I wanna show you not far from here. It's not roomy enough for the bodyguards."

"Finn, that's not safe. What if there's someone—"

"Come on, here?" Finn rolls his eyes. "No one even knows we're here. Live a little, princess. Be a rebel."

Maybe it's just out of guilt for nearly breaking his million dollar face, but Clarke relents.

—

And it works out fine. They tiptoe quietly out of the house, although Clarke gets the sense they're not really slipping under the bodyguards' radar at all. Roan's snoring too loudly in the foyer to really be convincing. Clarke rolls her eyes at him pointedly as she passes and is certain she sees his mouth twitch.

But Finn shows her the cave, and the crystals in the rock glow in the moonlight, and it's actually pretty cool.

Throughout the rest of the vacation, Clarke learns a few things:

Finn can definitely be annoying. But he's charming in his own way.

He makes her laugh, a lot, even when she's annoyed with him, especially then. When she seems in a dark mood, he can often pull her out of it for a while. It always comes back later, when she's by herself, but in the moment, he does make it better with his antics.

At the very least he is entertaining, and sometimes she can see what fate was trying to do here. If her cushy, perfect life had gone as planned, Finn feels like someone she might've fallen for easily.

But life hadn't gone as planned. So it's going to be harder.

—

It's near the end of the vacation, and they're sunning at the beach in their gigantic sunglasses, when Finn says, "Listen, Clarke, I know you'll be in med school. But I want to keep doing this when we get back home."

"I'll be busy," Clarke says evenly, to disguise the fact that her heart is beating far too fast.

"I know that. I'll come visit you, make sure you take your head out of the textbooks once in a while." He winks, and god, he's cheesy. Clarke smirks and glances at her new phone.

Bellamy had rarely texted since he began his job. He's been busy, she knows. He sold the Rover and his old house, bought a new car. It seems he's moving on with his life. If he can, so can she. She owes it to both of them to make the most of their sacrifice.

"Are you going to answer?" Finn asks. She pockets her phone.

"Yeah, okay. Sure."

He rolls over and before she can react, kisses her. It's so fast and surprising that she doesn't have time to think about whether she likes it or not before he's pulled away again.

She touches her lips slowly as he goes on like nothing happened. "What are the odds I can convince your faculty to give you another month off with me? What do you think, are they Finn Collins fans?"

Clarke rolls her eyes, and then her smile fades when she spots someone across the beach that makes her bolt into a sitting position.

She can't see the girl's face, but she recognizes the clothes. They're burned into her retinas at this point. Blue henley, dark jacket, hair pinned up in a highly specific way.

It's the girl from the village near Monty's farm who'd taken a picture of her. And now… she's standing staring directly at her.

Clarke squints. She's pretty sure she's smiling.

Clarke's on her feet immediately, ignoring Finn's questions about what's wrong, where's she going, Clarke slow down, and takes off down the beach as fast as her feet will take her. But there's too many people here, crowds she has to push past, a volleyball game that she has to zigzag through, ignoring annoyed shouts from bystanders.

By the time Clarke, out of breath, hits the spot on the beach where she'd swear she saw her, she sees no sign of her at all.

Roan's at her side immediately. Clarke doesn't even know where he'd been standing watch, but it probably wasn't hard to keep up with her. "What's wrong?" he asks, scanning the area.

"There—there was a girl. She looked like me." She knows how vague and unhelpful that sounds, but still. It's the only words coming from her scared mouth right now. But Roan just listens, dark eyes narrowing, as she stumbles into her explanation of how she'd seen her before.

"I know it sounds stupid, but I have a feeling it's more than just a fan. And if she's followed me to a different country…" Panic threatens to close her throat. Roan sort of gives her a look like he knows she's on the verge of a breakdown.

"Alright, princess. Calm down. We'll find her."

He turns around, but another thought occurs to Clarke. "Roan. Remember when you were hired for me? My mom said there was one person part of the original soulmark trials that was never accounted for. What if…"

She doesn't finish her sentence. But Roan nods.

"Like I said, we'll find her."

Roan presses his earpiece and begins to speak to the team in low tones. Clarke sinks into the sand, ignoring the curious looks of bystanders. Clarke Griffin's insane run across a busy beach is going to be on a gossip site tonight, she's sure. But she can't bring herself to care right at this moment.

Finn finally catches up and kneels beside her. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours, princess?"

His voice is more gentle, but Clarke shakes her head rapidly. Terrified. She can't speak. She keeps thinking about that day when she was a teenager when her innocence was taken away forever. She can't go through that again. Not again.

A quiet sob escapes her. Roan hears, wheeling around, his eyebrows raised.

Clarke's surprised herself, too. She's not usually one to have a public breakdown and he knows that. Definitely not when there are tons of phones being pointed at her.

"Let's get you back to the house," Roan says, and grabs her hand to pull her up.

—

Roan comes back hours later, shaking his head.

"We searched all over. We didn't find anything."

Clarke hugs herself. "She was there," she whispers, half not even believing her own words. Maybe the stress is starting to get to her. "I swear."

Roan gives her an odd look. "I believe you. We're going to beef up your security for the rest of the trip."

—

That night, Clarke has a nightmare. She's back in her kitchen at the old Griffin mansion with everyone she loves. There's a girl with a blue henley and jacket and pinned up hair, holding a handgun, her back to Clarke as she points her gun at Jake Griffin. Clarke begs and begs her to stop, but she can only watch as her stalker shoots her father. Then she shifts her aim, shoots Wells next. Then Abby.

Bellamy is last. Clarke falls to her knees and begs her not to kill him, that she'll do anything for her not to kill him too. The girl doesn't listen. She shoots him too, right in the heart.

Then she turns to face Clarke. And it's her own face, grinning maniacally back at her.

Clarke wakes up screaming loud enough to bring half the security detail to her room and Finn, too.

She pushes everyone away, half-sobbing and half-ordering people to get out. Slowly, the bodyguards relax again and slink out of the room.

By the time she collects herself, she's embarrassed. Finn's still in the room, watching her with new eyes. It's the worst nightmare she's had in a long time. Very few people have seen her break down like this. Usually it was Bellamy.

She wipes her tears away, and crisply tells Finn she's fine now.

"You want me to stay?"

She just wants to be alone. "No, but thanks."

Finn nods and leaves. Clarke ends up watching TV for the rest of the night—documentaries on the History channel.

She must fall asleep at some point, though, because she wakes in the morning with sun streaming through the window and a little deer made out of scrap metal on her bedside table.

There aren't any more sightings for the rest of the trip.

—

When Clarke gets home, it's time to pack to go back to school. Before she can, though, Roan sits her down.

"If your stalker is the same person involved in the soulmarks experiments, her name is Josephine Lightbourne."

The name means nothing to Clarke. Still… "Do you know anything about her? Family? Home addresses? Work?"

Roan shakes his head slowly. "We know things about her past, but Josephine's trail went cold about seven years ago." He holds her gaze until Clarke counts back silently in her head and gets it. This woman disappeared off the grid when Shumway, Dax and Sydney had died in the Griffin mansion by Clarke's hand.

Clarke swallows and lifts her chin. "Give me all the information you have."

Roan slides a folder over to her, evidently prepared for that request. Clarke flips through it. Josephine's photo jumps out to her immediately. Wavy blonde hair, a thin face with blue eyes and a cunning smile, dressed in graduation regalia from an Ivy League university, where—Clarke scans the page—she'd graduated top of her class in biology and criminal science.

Roan clears his throat. "Another thing."

Clarke looks up.

"I've made a shortlist of candidates to replace me," he says. He'd already gotten a contract in his new job before all this, Clarke knows. His last day is in two weeks and she's been trying not to panic about it. "To be clear, I think you should hire a whole security detail for when you go out from now on. Especially if you've got a stalker. It sounds like you're going to have a lot of public engagements this year with the company and school and… Finn, so having a whole team is important. But you'll need a chief of security to manage them. I've got a few people in mind back at Eligius. You want to meet them?"

Clarke looks back down at the folder, all the information on Josephine Lightbourne she now has to read. She only has a few days before school starts up. She has to finish packing and prepare for the latest Polaris board meeting and see her mother before she moves and run all kinds of errands. She doesn't have the time to sift through applications. "Pick whoever you think is best and I'll meet them tomorrow. If I don't like them, I'll get you to choose another."

Roan nods once and leaves her to her reading.

—

The next day, Clarke's got her living arrangements at school arranged, her packing done. Her last stop before meeting her applicant for chief of security is Polaris for a visit with Jaha.

Jaha's waiting for her in the lab when she arrives. "Clarke. I trust you're well?"

Clarke nods automatically. "What've we found out since we last met?"

They start walking between rows of lab tables, microscopes and other equipment. Jaha tells her how Sinclair had developed an algorithm to sort through the soulmarks data, but they hadn't found anything new from it. Nor have they been able to isolate a gene that decides soulmark either.

"To conclude," he finishes, "unfortunately, with no fresh data and without being able to test any idea we have, we're at a dead end."

Clarke wheels around, stopping them in their tracks. "What if we could test it?"

Jaha watches her. "Are you suggesting another human trial?"

"Yes. Don't look at me like that. With ethics approval."

"Ethics is unlikely to approve any more human trials without substantial evidence that it will go better than last time." She doesn't say anything. Jaha goes on. "To what end are you doing this, Clarke? Are you going to make a product out of this? Tell people they can change their destiny, for a price?"

Clarke scoffs bitterly. She doesn't know what she's going to do with it. This is essentially a passion project and Jaha knows it. Still, she says, "People would buy it."

"Perhaps. Which would make it useless."

Clarke's had enough of his cryptic remarks. "Submit the proposal to ethics. I'll write a letter to them myself." She starts for the door. Jaha calls after her.

"And what will you do if they still reject you?"

Clarke doesn't give an answer. Because she doesn't have one.

—

She's in her study working on her next speech for the next Polaris press conference when one of the housestaff appears at her study door. "Someone here for you, Ms. Griffin. Sent by Roan to meet regarding the position as your chief of security."

"Send him in." She refocuses on the screen, and doesn't lift her eyes until she hears footsteps approaching. She freezes.

Because she recognizes the cadence of those footsteps.

Black laced boots stop at her doorway. Her eyes drag up to meet a very familiar gaze.

"Bellamy?" she asks disbelievingly. She hasn't seen him since—since two months ago, when they left Green Farms. They've chatted over text only, the occasional phone call, but they've both been so busy, and now he's here and wait, he's wearing his Eligius-issued jacket—

Her mind catches up to the implications of him being here.

"No," she says automatically.

He crosses his arms, a bored look on his face. Maybe it's just because it's been a while since she last saw him, but he looks good. Really good in that uniform. "You haven't even heard what I have to say yet."

"I am not hiring you as my bodyguard."

"Your chief of security," he corrects loftily, striding over to stand over her desk, over her. She wishes he wouldn't. Firstly because now she has to tilt her chair back a little to make eye contact and it feels a little bit like she's relinquishing power to him, and she's thrown off enough already.

But also because him being so close has her mind going a little hazy.

"I want the job," he tells her, and she blinks out of it. "You and I both know no one else is going to be able to do it like me."

His words hang in the air like a double entendre.

She crosses her legs under the table. "I said no, Bellamy."

He leans over her desk, large hands bracing on either side of her laptop. "Why not?"

"First tell me why you want it."

"Because I need a job," he says slowly, like he's explaining to a child. "Spacewalker fired me, remember?"

"So what? I thought you had work at that detention centre."

"That was a summer job," he scoffs. "You wouldn't believe how many of the inmates recognized me because of you and took me less seriously because of it. That place sure isn't hiring me again." Dark smile. "It's still not easy. Because of you, I'm back to square one. If you want me unemployed, then I'll walk out."

He's guilting her. Deliberately. But it also sounds like a threat. Clarke's eyes narrow in suspicion. He wants the job, she believes that, she just doesn't believe the reason he gave.

Is he trying to rub it in Finn's face? That's possible, especially with the attitude he's giving her right now, but her instincts tell her there's something deeper.

"I don't want you as my bodyguard," she tells him, testing the waters. "You're my friend."

"Really? You've been jumping at the bit to give me money our whole lives. Now's your chance, and you're not taking it?"

She glares at him. The selfish part of her has started mulling it over. Bellamy, part of her security team? He'd be around her a lot. She could stop missing him all the time. They could talk, and she could see him every day. She dives further into this bluff. "Well, let's talk about pay then."

His answer is immediate. "Let's."

She doesn't let her shock show on her face. Not a bluff, then. She tells him an amount. Bellamy shakes his head.

"That's triple what you paid Roan. Pay me the same."

"Double," she says. He shakes his head, firm.

"Pay me the same."

She grinds her teeth. "I'm not going lower. Take it or leave it. That's the offer."

Bellamy pushes off the desk and starts walking out the door. Clarke narrows her eyes, trying to decide if he's bluffing.

But what if he's not? What if in the end he truly won't get a job? He didn't really enjoy hopping between odd jobs at Eligius, she remembers that much. And they certainly didn't pay as well.

She thinks about inmates at that detention centre giving him a hard time, taunting him, probably fighting back, too. She wonders how many times Bellamy got hurt in that place because of his association to her.

In the end, despite the fact that she hasn't figured out his game yet, that's what makes her call to him. "Wait."

He stops at the doorway.

She can't help herself. "One and a half times more than what I paid Roan."

"Goodbye, Clarke." He opens the door. Clarke grinds her teeth.

"Fine. I'll pay you the same," she spits, and then Bellamy turns around, a victorious glint in his eye.

—

Clarke calls Roan after Bellamy has left. He's off at Eligius sorting the details of his resignation, so she can't see him in person.

When he picks up, she snaps, "You're a jackass."

"Did you say yes?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good. I'll get the paperwork done," he says. "Now stop pouting. We all know I did you a favour."

—

Clarke stays pissed at Roan for a little while. She hardly talks to him when they run errands. Roan seems perfectly fine with this reaction, which pisses her off further.

Then it's time for her to fly back to her med school. Finn had lent her one of his private jets to take her to school, for security reasons, and she can't say she's not relieved about it.

On the tarmac, she catches sight of Bellamy rolling up with his single carry-on suitcase.

She looks at Roan. "Wait, why is he here already? I thought you weren't leaving yet."

Roan seems amused at her panic. "I'm showing him the ropes before I leave. Handover."

It makes perfect sense, but still. She looks at Bellamy. He avoids her gaze.

On the plane, she stretches her legs and puts in earphones, pretending to listen to music when in reality she's straining her ears to hear Roan and Bellamy's conversation on the other side. She hears some stuff about the layout of her school, her daily schedule, the tricky places to keep watch on campus, the house security system, and information on the rest of the hired security detail, who Clarke will meet once she arrives at school.

She finds herself studying Bellamy for much of the flight. It's a little strange, actually, to see how her best friend who wears his heart on his sleeve can retreat into a mask of himself. It's actually sort of jarring, although it shouldn't be. She'd just forgotten during the time they were away.

—

Clarke's house on campus once again has an adjoining, separate part of the house for her bodyguards, connected by a door in the wall between them. Once they've moved in, Roan and Bellamy go on that side, and Clarke's alone on her side. Again.

Both of them accompany her on her first few days of classes. She ignores the curious stares of classmates, the whispers, too, when Bellamy is seen by them.

In Roan's last few days of work he introduces her to the rest of her security detail: Miiller, Monroe, Fox, Sterling and Atom.

Clarke takes them all in with wide eyes. "There's a lot of you."

"They don't always have to be with you," Roan replies. "But they're in town, and they've signed on for a part time contract with you. Whenever you go to any kind of public event, they'll make sure you're safe. Bellamy will manage the team."

Bellamy, as always, says nothing.

—

And then, finally, it's Roan's last day on the job. That evening after she's finished her classes, she's faced with the prospect of saying goodbye after more than seven years.

They're alone in the foyer. Roan hands her back his copy of the house keys. Clarke takes the keys and puts them in her pocket to give Bellamy later.

"Goodbye, Roan," she says.

Roan nods at her, then slowly turns to leave. Clarke can't take it anymore.

She takes the few steps forward it takes to hug him around his middle. He returns the embrace, and she rests her head against his chest and tears up a little. But when she steps away she's cool as a cucumber.

"Don't be a stranger," she tells him.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He studies her. "You're in good hands. I can leave with a clear conscience."

Clarke nods, then just decides to ask the question that's been burning at her for the past two weeks. "Why did Bellamy agree? Because he heard about Josephine?"

"He agreed even before I told him about Josephine." Roan shrugs. "But then again, kid's always been a masochist."

Clarke frowns. Roan watches her puzzlement, seeming more amused by the second. He opens the door. "Take care, Clarke."

—

The next day, on her way to class, Bellamy falls into step beside her. She gives him a sidelong glance. He doesn't return it. He's too busy scanning the area. Now that Roan's gone, she has to wonder if this is going to be awkward.

But as she finds out over the course of the day, Bellamy is the perfect, professional bodyguard. He's at her side when she's out on campus, drifts away a little when she's talking to people, and disappears to his side of the house entirely when Clarke comes home from her classes.

She hates when he disappears.

A few days into this new normal, she's alone on her side of the house, doing a reading for the next day. But in truth, she's long since stopped reading and is only listening to Bellamy walking around on his side of the house. He's making dinner and she can smell how delicious it must be. She wonders if she could beg him to give her some. Or, even better, to ask if they could make dinner together one of these days.

But she has a feeling Bellamy would flat-out reject the idea. And who is she, anyway, to try to encroach on his life? Or at least, what little of it he has in his downtime?

Something occurs to her then. She frowns and sets down her pen. "Bellamy? If you're not busy, can you come over?"

She makes sure her voice is loud enough to carry, and a minute later, he's knocking on their adjoined door.

She opens it. He's dressed in sweatpants and a soft looking tee. She hastily focuses and realizes he's carrying a plate of food. A delicious looking chicken stir fry. He hands it to her. Before she can give him thanks, he says flatly, "I thought you said you weren't going anywhere else tonight."

Oh. He thinks that's why she called him over. "I'm not. I just… remembered we never talked about your vacation time. It wasn't in the boilerplate contract, but me and Roan negotiated time off later on. So how many months, yearly, do you want?"

Bellamy doesn't say anything for a second. Then: "I don't need any vacation time."

She blinks. "You don't need any—?"

"That's right," he replies shortly. "Good night, Clarke." And he swings the door shut in her face.

She stares at it, and it finally clicks. The reason he's gone and signed a legal, two year contract to be her chief of security.

Suddenly Roan's comments about him being a masochist make much more sense. Bellamy's found a way to let her move on while not doing it himself. To watch from a distance as she lives her life, and never give himself a chance to rebuild his own.

And she just let him.

—

The next morning, as they're walking across campus to her class, she brings it up.

"I know what you're doing."

He barely reacts. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. And I'm not letting you do it. I'm not letting you waste your life on me."

"Don't flatter yourself," he replies, scanning their surroundings. "You're just a job."

She's not fooled. "Bellamy, what if you went back to school?"

His jaw tightens, and she knows she's hit a nerve. "This again?"

"Bellamy, I know how much I'm paying you. I'll let you out of your contract a year early. You can go to a smaller-size school and still keep your rainy day fund."

"I don't want to."

"Don't lie to me." She's seen him peer curiously at her textbooks. She's seen the look on his face every time they enter the library; like he's itching to go take a look at the classics section. Not only that, but… "Octavia told me you used to write college essays and fill in applications. You just never sent them."

"Fine, say I go to school. And then what, Clarke? Then what do I do?" His voice is cutting, mocking, but there's something under it. Something vulnerable. And she seizes onto it.

"I don't know. Maybe you're happy with that? Or maybe you get a job with it, or get your Master's? Maybe you teach?" His footsteps falter for a millisecond before resuming a brisk stride. She presses the advantage. "Come on, Bellamy. Lecturing a hall full of kids, giving long speeches on the myths you love until they all make fun of you for being so into it, doesn't that sound good?"

"No."

"Or you could do something else with it? The point is you live, Bellamy. For yourself. You're still allowed to do that. Move on."

Move on from me, or neither of us will.

No response. It frustrates her. But they've reached the med building, and she can tell he's not going to talk to her anymore. Fine.

That night, she does some research. It doesn't have anything to do with medicine or biotech or business or anything else in her own life. She looks up arts colleges, and starts making notes on applications timelines.

—

A few weeks later, Jaha calls her up. "Ethics said no."

"Please tell me you're not serious." Clarke rubs her eyes, hunched over at her work table. She'd put so much effort into that proposal. She'd even sacrificed her pride and got Lexa's input on it. All wasted, apparently.

"We talked about this. There's no reason for them to approve another trial. I have to advise against pushing for it. It'll only attract more bad press."

Clarke thanks him and dials up some of her contacts at Polaris next, to find out the names of the people who were on the ethics committee. Then she arranges to set up a meeting with some of them in person. Maybe if she can show herself as really genuine they'll reconsider.

Miller, Monroe and Sterling accompany them for the outing. In the car, she listens to Bellamy talk, telling the team all the exits, vantage points, and possible security risks associated with the building they're heading to. Apparently earlier in the day they'd scoped the whole place out, including who would be working at the time. She has to marvel at the amount of work Bellamy put in for an hour long meeting.

As for the other bodyguards, she finds that she likes them. They crack jokes, and are nice, and make her laugh with their banter in the car and the way they rib Bellamy, although he never cracks a smile.

"He doesn't have a sense of humour, but that's okay, we still love him," Monroe whispers to Clarke. Clarke smiles back although Monroe's wrong. Bellamy has a delightful, unexpected sense of humour. It's just that usually he keeps his commentary to himself.

Once upon a time, he had shared it with Clarke. Because she'd asked him to.

But gazing at the back of Bellamy's head, she realizes with a pang to her chest that somewhere along the way she's lost that privilege.

—

Later that day, Clarke leaves the room the private meeting had taken place. She feels Bellamy's curious eyes as he falls into step with her. He clearly is wondering how that went. Well, if he's not going to share what's going on in his head, she's not going to share what's in hers.

She gets in the Eligius issued BMW after the whole vehicle is checked over by Monroe and Miller, which takes forever. When she's seated, she irritably yanks at her seatbelt. She's irrationally angry at everything. "We're going to the shopping mall," she says curtly to Bellamy in the driver's seat. He startles a bit.

"That wasn't part of the schedule."

He would've wanted to scope out the mall, too, she knows. Too bad. "Well, I don't always go by schedule," she snaps. She lists off the address. The other bodyguards are completely silent, and she regrets her rudeness. Not only because Bellamy doesn't deserve it, but because it makes it very clear how the meeting went.

As in, not her way. The clinical trial she had proposed is definitely not happening.

She takes out her frustration on her credit card at the mall. As her frivolous purchases and expensive clothes pile up, store attendants tripping over themselves to get her whatever she wants, she can feel Bellamy's disapproval radiating her way. She's acting like the spoiled diva princess the world makes her out to be. Well, so what? Maybe she is that person. Maybe she can't help that. Maybe it was decided from the moment she was born into a filthy rich family with star-studded friends and soulmates, and being friends with Bellamy had only ever masked that truth.

She gets recognized quickly as she walks around the mall, and she instructs her bodyguards to keep people away from her. She lets them manhandle those who get too close while she picks out designer handbags. She tests dozens of perfumes until she gets a headache, then buys them all, ignoring the phones pointed her way. She doesn't give a damn. Not today.

—

Finn calls her that night.

"You hired Bellamy."

So the photos have already made the rounds. Clarke's making herself dinner, but she grabs her phone to Google herself. Sure enough, headlines screaming things like CLARKE GRIFFIN'S SHOPPING SPREE! And CLARKE GRIFFIN'S NEW BODYGUARD IS A LITTLE FAMILIAR jump out.

"So what?" she says dully. "Roan hired him for me. Said he was the best."

"And you didn't think anything was wrong with that." Silence. "Clarke, we talked about why I let him go, remember? You're hurting him just by letting him in. And it wasn't professional of him to accept the job either."

She laughs bitterly. "He's made it clear he's going to be very professional. And I trust him." Even if she's lost him as a friend, he still makes her feel safe.

"You trust him? Clarke, he's got history with you."

Clarke's tired of this conversation. "I'm not changing my mind, Finn. If you're not going to trust him, trust me. I barely even talk to him anymore. He's my bodyguard and nothing else." Her words are razor sharp. She wants him to hear her. Finn sighs.

She hears a creak on the other side of the wall and realizes Bellamy heard as well.

—

Finn surprises her by showing up that weekend to take her for a night on the town. Clarke is determined to throw herself into it, to have fun. She orders Bellamy to stay at home.

He stares at her, a little shocked. "I'm your chief of security."

"We'll have Finn's entire guard detail. I'll take Miller with me for personal protection." She lifts her chin haughtily. "Take the night off."

She doesn't think she imagines the flicker of hurt in his eyes, perhaps the first show of emotion since this whole game between them began. But what else is she supposed to do? She can't enjoy herself if Bellamy's there. Forcing him to stay home is better for both of them.

—

Clarke continues to spiral a bit as the fall semester goes on. This city's got a healthy community of socialites, and Finn drags her to plenty of parties. Eventually she starts going to them by herself. When an infamous hotel heiress invites her over for a party, Clarke agrees without hesitation.

Bree's place is decked out. The party is going strong by the time Clarke arrives. Her bodyguards, as per usual, melt away. Except Bellamy. For whatever reason, he's apparently decided to put himself in the close proximity position today.

She ignores him. Just as he always ignores her.

Bree, along with her posse, finds Clarke at the door and hugs her tight even though they've only ever met in passing before. "Oh my god, you made it! I didn't believe you were going to come. Everyone used to say you never came to parties."

Clarke shifts a little uncomfortably. It's true; in the past she's avoided the socialite crowd. It was silly, looking back. She thought if she shunned them, that she wasn't one of them. But—she rubs her clock face soulmark absently—clearly that wasn't true. It's time to stop pretending.

She accepts the drink Bree hands her. Bree's eyes shift behind her. "Well, hellooo."

Clarke stiffens. Bree's looking at Bellamy. Well, looking is an inaccurate descriptor for what she's actually doing. Undressing him with her eyes is more like it.

Clarke's temper rises. She turns to Bellamy and says something she has heard plenty of people say to their bodyguards that she thought she would never:

"You can go wait with the other security people."

Her voice comes out more haughty than she intended. Bellamy arches a brow at her. For a second she thinks he will disobey her.

But he doesn't. He spins on the heel and strides away, hands in his pockets.

Clarke isn't the only one watching him go.

Bree pushes her shoulder teasingly. "You didn't have to make him leave. You should give him the night off. Let him have some fun." Her tone implies exactly what kind of fun Bellamy could have, and with who.

Clarke doesn't crack a smile.

"I really don't know how you never jumped him," Bree adds with an arched brow. Her whole posse is silent, watching Clarke. It's a challenge. For Clarke to either admit she's slept with him, the way everyone suspects, or relinquish claim to him completely.

Instead of answering, Clarke tips back her drink, which is strong enough to make her eyes water, and also hopefully enough to forget that she has never had any claim to Bellamy.

The night wears on, and Clarke does eventually forget about it. She forgets everything, actually, which is the exact point of coming here. She drinks and dances with random people and drifts from party game to party game. Periodically she glimpses Bellamy at the wall, watching, and she'll do another shot just to spite him. Or to spite herself. She doesn't know the difference anymore.

A strange sadness overtakes her then, and she sulks in a corner for a while. At least until Bree finds her again in the crowd and grabs her arm, tugging her along.

"You look like you could use some cheering up," she says in her ear.

She tugs Clarke up a spiral staircase to a bathroom, where there's three neat lines of white powder on the counter.

"What's that?" Clarke asks uneasily.

They laugh like she's said the funniest thing ever. They push her playfully.

"It's salt."

"It's parmesan."

"It's baking powder."

"Come on, Clarke, you know what it is."

They laugh and laugh. Clarke stares at it for a second. Well, it's not like it'll be the first time she did this. She steps forward. But then a hand seizes her wrist from behind, wrenching her back.

She turns to find that Bellamy has appeared in the doorway, a dark expression on his face. His eyes shift to the others. "Get out."

Bree pouts. "You can join in on the fun, if you want—"

"I said, get out."

His voice is commanding, authoritative, and does funny things to Clarke's body. The others immediately file out. Bellamy pushes Clarke into the bathroom and closes the door behind them.

Clarke giggles to herself as she hears the lock click into place. Trapped in a bathroom with Bellamy Blake. How thrilling.

Bellamy slowly turns back to her. "Clarke, what the hell are you doing?"

She steps into his space and slides her hands up his chest. "Did I ever tell you how sexy you look in this jacket?"

He bats her hands away. "This has to stop."

"Come on, loosen up," she whines, the same words Finn has said to her countless times at parties just like this.

"You've been going off the rails lately. You're going to hurt yourself. Trust me, this—" he gestures to the drink still in her hand, to the lines of powder on the counter. "—this doesn't end well. Ever."

His voice wavers a little, and that's ultimately what snaps Clarke out of it. He's talking about his mother. She wishes she could ask how Aurora's doing. But she knows Bellamy would deflect. Clarke isn't special enough for him to tell things like that anymore.

"What do you care?" she says softly, and watches him flinch.

"Obviously I care, Clarke."

"You could've fooled me." She hugs herself and sits down on the edge of the bathtub, feeling small and sad. "I can't tell what you're thinking these days."

Bellamy stands there, his hands on his hips, his jaw working before he speaks again. "I'm your bodyguard, Clarke. There are boundaries. I can't—I can't be that person to you anymore."

She stares down at the tiled floor, and mulls that over. So that's why he's shut her out.

She wishes having answers made her feel better. But it doesn't. More than anything, Clarke hates that he did this—on purpose, basically. Becoming her bodyguard forced a barrier between them. The message is clear. We have to grow up.

She doesn't want to fucking grow up. She wants to stay on the rooftop under a blanket with Bellamy Blake and talk about the most inconsequential things. She wants to be able to kiss his neck just because the slope of his Adam's apple is so beautiful, and not have it mean anything more than that. She wants to run away from Roan together, and drive around in the middle of the night in the Rover with her feet propped up on the dash. A lump grows in her throat.

"I miss you," falls from her lips, and she sounds like a child.

His eyes instantly soften. "I'm right here."

She shakes her head, eyes burning inexplicably. He's never been further away.

When she doesn't respond, Bellamy takes a few steps forward and kneels in front of her. "Clarke."

His hand skims over hers where it rests on her bare knee. It's the smallest brush of his fingers over her knuckles, but she has been absolutely deprived of it, so it jolts her. She can't even remember what life was like before she knew that touch.

"Why can't we have this?" she bursts. "I don't see what's so wrong about us being in each other's lives. Like normal people, not like this."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't. Why don't you spell it out for me," she adds, angry. "Say it."

"You're soulmated," he says, and it's exactly what she'd feared his reply would be. She waves a hand as dismissively as she can.

"You can still have friends when you're soulmated."

He watches her with dark eyes. "You can't have friends like us."

A silence falls. His eyes are on her, caressing her. She turns her head to the side, trying to shake off the response her body has. Because she knows he's right. It wasn't fair to Wells and it still isn't fair with Finn.

Clarke had thought she could have both her soulmate and Bellamy in her life but she's not sure anymore.

"Then maybe you should leave," she says, her voice horribly distant.

"Fire me and I will," he replies quietly.

A tense silence falls.

Despite her own words, though, Clarke doesn't actually want him to leave. But she wants to want it. For Bellamy's sake. She opens her mouth and tries to say it: You're fired. Don't come back, ever. Or neither of us will move on.

Her heart collapses in on itself even thinking those words. She presses her lips together. The agony of wanting him to leave but also never wanting to let him go is tearing her apart. She can tell from the look in his eyes that he feels the same.

Because of this, Clarke is not sure she'll ever be able to fully give herself to Finn. Because of this, Bellamy's never going to live his life. And eventually, he will resent her for it. Maybe Clarke will resent him in return.

Clarke used to wonder about people who were in relationships with partners other than their soulmate. How could they stay together knowing this was most definitely not the right person for them? That it would end badly?

But she understands it now. Because she has fallen into the same absurdly predictable pattern—it's obvious that Clarke and Bellamy's inability to let each other go is going to destroy them.

And yet they still. Can't. Let. Go.

Bellamy sighs when she doesn't say anything. "We should get back, or people will talk." He rises from his kneeling position, tosses another glance at the lines of powder, then wipes them off the counter with his sleeve. "Don't do anything else stupid."

—

To Bellamy's relief, Clarke finally ends her streak of recklessness. She stops partying, stops pretending to be the spoiled little princess he knows she isn't. In return, Bellamy tries not to be so cold towards her. It's hard, though. Because if he stops being cold, he falls into old patterns with her too quickly. And that's dangerous.

Bellamy knows this whole job was a bad idea. His sister had told him as much over the phone when she heard.

"She's got a soulmate, Bell," Octavia had said. "Face it. You don't mean as much to her as she does to you. Stop embarrassing yourself."

Octavia doesn't get it, though.

At least this way he gets a piece of Clarke. Just a tiny piece, but it's appropriate, and no one would say he's taking her away from her soulmate if he's just her bodyguard. And besides, what else is there for him to do? Gina's gone; she doesn't need him. Octavia definitely doesn't need him. His mother pretends she doesn't need him.

But it's ingrained in Bellamy to be needed. If he's needed, then it's worth getting out of bed every morning. So when Roan cornered him at Eligius headquarters to ask, it was the natural thing to say yes.

He just didn't expect it to be so painful.

It's especially painful every time Finn visits her. There's a rhythm to it now. Finn will show up bearing expensive gifts: jewellery, clothes, Broadway tickets. He'll give Clarke one of his cheesy lines like how he's been waiting for Clarke to play doctor on him or something. Then Clarke will shoot Bellamy a glance before ordering him to take the night off.

She's trying to spare his feelings. But those nights off are absolute torture, because then he's alone with his thoughts and his imagination running rampant thinking of all the things Clarke could be doing with Finn Collins.

—

It's a cold day in mid-November. The weather's just about as miserable as he feels inside today.

Because it's the anniversary of Gina's death. He almost can't believe it's been a year since the last time they spoke. It feels too short, and too long, simultaneously.

He braces for Clarke to say something about it, but she doesn't. She goes about her day as normal. Bellamy's relieved. She probably doesn't even know the exact date Gina died.

In any case, Bellamy does his job like it's any other day. He's diligent in checking public spaces before she walks into them, blocking someone who has recognized her as Jake Griffin's daughter when she mutters she's not in the mood for talking. He forces himself to be extra keen, to keep his own thoughts at bay.

Although he knows they're going to swallow him up tonight and there's nothing he can do about that.

After Clarke's done her classes she tells him that instead of going home, they're going to one of the campus libraries to study. This isn't abnormal in itself, except instead of heading to the medical sciences library, she sets off in a different direction.

"Just changing it up," she explains in a cool voice, keeping her eyes ahead. "I'm getting tired of studying in the same couple of places."

The library she's chosen has a much more inspired architecture than the bland, modern medical sciences one. It's atrium has a high ceiling peaking with a latticed skylight on top, fluted Greek-style columns, classical-inspired marble statues in the foyer. He feels like he's stepped into another world, but tries not to gawk at all the splendor. Instead he follows Clarke to the small shop just inside, where she proceeds to buy several pre-wrapped sandwiches.

"Dinner," she explains, pressing a few into his hands. His brow furrows.

"We're not going home?"

"I'm studying late tonight. I have so many finals coming up and I'm falling behind."

They take the elevator up to the third floor, where he follows her to a private study room she must have pre-booked. Three of the walls are glass, and inside, it's the perfect view of the books.

He itches to touch them. But he can't leave Clarke. He makes to stand outside the door, but Clarke beckons him inside.

"I'll be here a while. Sit down."

Her words are bent into an order. He clenches his jaw. She knows he hates when she gives orders, which is probably why she gives him so many. Maybe she thinks if she irritates him enough, he'll resign on his own, and she won't have to face the decision of firing him.

This game of chicken between them is getting exhausting.

Clarke bends over her notes and it's quiet for a little while. Bellamy watches her work. She seems distracted, though. Contrary to what she'd been saying about how much she needs to study, she stares at the same page for over an hour, and he's pretty sure she's somewhere else in her head.

Her phone buzzes, jarring them both. Clarke picks up and instantly stiffens.

So does Bellamy. The room and the library are so quiet he can hear Finn's voice from the tinny speaker.

"Hey, sorry to call you while you're busy. I just miss you."

"It's okay." Clarke massages her temples. "I mean, I'm about to walk into a seminar, but it's okay."

Bellamy blinks. What? She's sitting in this study room with textbooks all over the place, half-eaten sandwiches strewn on the table. She's clearly not going anywhere—

All his half-baked suspicions finally click together.

He hears Finn go on. "I'm hoping you blew me off today because it's something interesting."

"Oh, very interesting. The seminar's on… stem cells." Oh, the bullshit of it all. "I promise it was a really good reason to blow you off."

"Good. Well, I found out I can take another day off next week, so I'll come then instead. Date night?"

"That sounds good, Finn. I have to go."

"Alright, alright, fine. I'll just sit here and drink champagne and think about you examining me. Gloves off."

Bellamy's glad Clarke is too busy rolling her eyes to notice he's rolling his eyes, too, because then it would be obvious he's eavesdropping. "Goodbye, Finn," she says, and hangs up.

Slowly, she looks at Bellamy. Bellamy crosses his arms.

"Well, why'd you lie to him?"

"I wanted to study," she says, looking him right in the eye, chin lifted. He finds himself growing angry.

"You're not studying. You've been staring into space for two hours."

"It's a bad study day."

"No, it's not. That's not what this is about." When she doesn't respond, he demands, "Why are we here, Clarke?"

Clarke chews her lip and looks away. It's confirmation. All of tonight was a careful, orchestrated decision. Clarke chose not to study at home because at home, he can disappear. She chose not to leave campus because then, she'd need her whole detail. And she chose this particular arts library because she knew its splendor would distract him from his thoughts.

Clarke knows exactly what day it is.

He glares at her. "I don't need you to watch me, Clarke. I'm not going to do anything."

"I didn't think you would," she says at once, not bothering to deny it. "I just wanted to keep you company."

He doesn't like being deceived. He also doesn't like the soft, sympathetic look she's giving him. "Let's go home. Right now."

"No."

He can't very well make her go. She's in charge here. He literally signed a contract so she could be in charge of his every move. He doesn't have room to complain and that kind of pisses him off even more.

Clarke's expression shifts, a little more uncertain, like something's occurred to her. "Is it… is it worse with me around?"

Her voice is a little tentative. Maybe some guilt in her eye too, as though she's remembering what Bellamy and Gina's last fight was about.

That's not her burden to bear, though. "No."

Clarke stands up abruptly. "Then let's go for a walk."

"A walk?" he repeats, slowly.

"Yes. I need a change of scenery." She doesn't wait for him. She strides out the door, and he hastens to follow.

Clarke seems to know her way around this place despite never coming here before. He has a feeling she did her research. She takes him around the stacks, through a certain aisle, and then sits down on the floor against a bookshelf. "I'm gonna sit here."

He looks at the books they've stopped beside despite already knowing what he's going to find. The mythology section.

"You might as well sit down," Clarke says. "I'm going to be here for a while." She opens her own textbook and starts reading without waiting for an answer.

Bellamy grinds his teeth and looks at the books. They're calling his name. He wishes he were here without his Eligius jacket, with a backpack instead, maybe. He wishes he didn't have a responsibility in the world. He wishes he had a different sort of life.

But this is the one he got. So he pulls a worn book off the shelf and sits across from Clarke.

They read in silence for hours.

—

Months pass. The year ends and folds into the next.

Clarke has an event coming up, the first public one in a while. Meaning Bellamy's got his hands full with preparation. They're going to be joined by a larger team of security and it's up to him to manage them all.

It's an annual charity event that was started by Clarke and her mother in Jake Griffin's honour. Clarke's been slaving away with organizing it for months.

He watches her agonize over invitations to A-listers and celebrities and rich people, and as the event draws closer even more stress seems to pile on her shoulders.

"You're doing your best," he tells her gently when one of the bands cancels on her last minute and she puts her head in her hands.

"That's not enough," she replies. "It has to be perfect."

Bellamy doesn't say anything. Last year, Clarke had left this event in the hands of Jaha while they were away on the farm, and Bellamy suspects she now feels she has to do even more to make up for it. Nothing he says will be helpful, so he just leaves her dinner on her kitchen counter every day until the event.

—

"This is mind-numbing," Miller says. "I can't believe rich people do this all the time. Maybe I don't wanna be rich."

Bellamy gives him a wry glance. It's true that this event is dull as dishwater. Which basically means Clarke did a fantastic job organizing it to rich peoples' tastes.

But he, too, is starting to relax a bit. The event is in full swing, and they're just watching over things in between check-ins. Bellamy leans against a wall next to Miller, who's started scrolling through his phone.

"Hey, check this out," Miller chuckles, and Bellamy blinks back to reality to glance down at his screen. A headline jumps out. TWENTY-FIVE THINGS YOU DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT CLARKE GRIFFIN'S BODYGUARD, it reads, accompanied by a photo of Bellamy walking next to Clarke down a street on campus, both their gazes downcast to avoid attention.

"The fact that you read this garbage explains a lot about you," is Bellamy's disinterested response. Miller ignores him as he scrolls through the article, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Did you know you're Wells Jaha's half-brother? Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Jesus Christ."

"And before you worked at Eligius, you were a stripper… Fascinating stuff… Maybe you can teach me some moves, I'd love to surprise Bryan." Before Bellamy can give in to his urge to smack him, Miller's smile fades a bit and he scrolls a little faster past the next fact. Curiosity gets the better of him. What fact is so weird or embarrassing Miller couldn't even say it?

He grabs the phone and scrolls back up. Fact #10. Bellamy had a fling with Clarke after his soulmate died, and boy, did they ever look good together. Too bad she's taken forever now!.

There's that picture of them in the village near Monty's farm, holding hands, to prove their point.

Bellamy hands the phone back to a silent Miller.

"I told you it was garbage," he says evenly, but can't quite force himself to meet Miller's eyes. "I'm going to patrol a bit."

He leaves without waiting for a response.

During his walk, he catches sight of Clarke herself, talking to some rich celebrity he recognizes from TV but can't be bothered to place right now. She looks radiant in her evening gown. Expensive. Untouchable. He's suddenly a teenager again, seeing her come back from her father's awards night, and getting a jolt in his body as he took her in, took in the vast impossibility of a future with her.

Finn appears at her side, holding a glass of bubbly that probably costs a month of Bellamy's salary. He says something to her, and she laughs. Bellamy can't look at her when she laughs like that. He looks somewhere else, and that's when he sees her.

A young, blonde woman, with her hair pinned up the way Clarke did when she was in that movie. She's standing on the balcony on the opposite side of the room. His hand moves to his gun before his brain even catches up. He's burned this woman's face into his memory. Josephine Lightbourne.

The girl's eyes shift to his, and widen infinitesimally. She twirls on the spot, and she's gone. Bellamy touches his earpiece. "All units. Doppelganger on the run," he says, the codeword for Clarke's stalker. "I repeat, Doppelganger on the run. Second floor, south balcony. Don't let her get out."

And he takes off.

—

Clarke notices at some point, after dinner but before dessert, that Bellamy vanishes.

Truly, one moment he's there, against the wall, scanning the room, and then the next time she sneaks a glance his way, he's gone. Clarke does a full walk around the room, forcing herself to talk to everyone who approaches, just so she can see if he's anywhere else here.

But he must have moved off the ground floor. It's a little disappointing. She likes having him around. Even if he's just in her peripheral vision.

However, that's not all she notices. There's a shift in the energy of the security people she does see in the room. They're talking rapidly into earpieces, walking fast, eyes alert. Clarke is sure something is going on.

But then the MC calls her name from the stage to deliver her remarks to the attendees, and she has no choice but to go up there. And she doesn't get a chance to figure out what's going on until much, much later.

It's Finn who receives her, after her duties with the event are done. "There was a sighting of your stalker," Finn tells her. "Sterling told me."

Her body goes rigid. She gawks. "Josephine? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Relax, princess. We knew you had some speeches to deliver, so we didn't want to worry you. Bellamy's off taking care of it." At her displeased silence, he says, "This is your dad's event. I know how special that is to you. I wasn't going to ruin it by telling you."

"You should have ruined it. I deserve to know."

"Don't be pissed, princess—come on—"

She doesn't let his charming nature wear her down, this time. She walks away from him, grinding her teeth, and waits for an update from her detail.

—

She has to wait a long time. As in, it's one in the morning, Finn's already grovelled for an apology, and she's returned home with Monroe, Sterling and Atom.

She paces her kitchen in her evening clothes, restless, until Miller calls her.

"We didn't get her," is the first thing he says, and Clarke's heart sinks. "This girl's crazy, Clarke. The way she was driving... She shook all of us off, even Bellamy eventually. Damn near caused a traffic accident more than once."

Josephine got away again. Fear rises in her throat, and she barely manages to tune in for the rest of Miller's words.

"The police have her description, but they can't do much, since she hasn't actually done anything yet. Bellamy's still out there looking," Miller adds. Clarke looks at the clock. Bellamy must have been at this search for hours.

"No. Tell him to stop. She must be long gone."

"I'll tell him," Miller agrees. "But I don't think he'll stop."

—

Clarke gets ready for bed, but she doesn't sleep. She stays on her computer, a renewed attempt at research on Josephine Lightbourne. According to the files Roan had given her, she'd had a prime symbol soulmark. Josephine's ex-soulmate must be out there somewhere, if she can find them.

She opens up a soulmate dating site. There are tons of these, to connect people to their soulmates. She uploads a photo of Josephine's now erased prime symbol and waits for the algorithm to find a match. It doesn't.

She lets out a frustrated breath and keeps looking.

It's four in the morning when she hears Bellamy get in. She waits to hear his footsteps go further into the house, but they don't.

Eventually she gets up herself and goes to find him.

She finds him sitting in the front foyer with his back leaning against the front door, his forearms resting on his knees. He's staring off into space. The only light is from the moon outside, cutting dimly across his cheekbones, and illuminating the tear on his jacket sleeve.

When he sees her coming down the hall, his eyes seem to take on a shine.

She sinks on her hands and knees in the foyer and crawls to sit across from him.

"Don't," he says, watching through half-lidded eyes, voice hoarse. "Don't do that."

"Don't what?"

"Get on the floor. You know I hate when you ruin your dresses for me."

A small laugh escapes her. "Bellamy. It's not a dress, it's a nightie." She probably should have put something on over top of it, but then she dismisses the thought. This is Bellamy. She has nothing to hide.

He doesn't say anything for a minute. "I couldn't find her."

"Who? My little stalker?" She tries to sound casual about it and fails. The fact that someone's out there, apparently always seeking her out and able to evade her security, is scary as all hell. "I didn't even see her."

"It was my job to catch her and I didn't."

He sounds so guilty that she has to lie. "Well, she doesn't worry me. So she shouldn't worry you. You tried your best."

He's silent for a second more. "I hear you in your nightmares sometimes, Clarke. These walls are thin." She can't speak, but he goes on, dully, as if reciting. "I hear you begging her not to kill anyone else you love. I hear you crying in your sleep and I just sit there on my side of the wall and tell myself I shouldn't go over to your side and get in your bed and help you through it... the way we used to help each other."

He closes his eyes as he confesses that last bit. She bites her lip, eyes burning, body burning, and looks away. She hadn't realized her nightmares were so loud. She hadn't realized he thought so often about the same things she did.

"I wish I could've caught her," he says, and she looks up at him. His eyes are still closed, lashes casting long shadows over his face. "At least to end your nightmares."

"They wouldn't have ended. They would've just become about something different. Really, it's nice that they're getting predictable now." She half-smiles at him, and after a moment he scoffs, opening his eyes to smile back.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's a real comfort." They sit there on the floor in companionable silence for Clarke doesn't know how long. Just that she starts to fiddle with the hem of nightie and trace the hairline cracks in the floor before he speaks again.

"How's Spacewalker doing? Do you like him?" He seems to sense her hesitation. "Don't lie. It won't hurt me."

"He's fine. I like him fine." Although tonight she didn't. But there have been other times that she liked him so much it surprised her. Sometimes it feels like the world is simply bending her towards him.

Bellamy releases a sigh. "Good. That's good."

He looks lonely and sad despite his bravado. She scoots closer and puts her hand on his cheek. He finally opens his eyes.

"You're special to me, Bellamy," she tells him, with a fierce softness. "No matter how many soulmates the universe decided to throw at me. I could have a hundred soulmarks all over my arms and still none of them would touch the place in my heart for you."

He inhales sharply, eyelashes fluttering. "You shouldn't say things like that."

She probably wouldn't if it was broad daylight outside, and he probably wouldn't have said what he had either. There's something about darkness that strips away the barrier between them. "It's true."

He's silent, gazing at her, and then quite suddenly he presses his forehead against hers. Just for a few seconds, a few seconds that she leans right back, marvelling in how after all this time he is still the greatest balm to her nerves. And even though this moment only exists right now—in this strange vacuum of time between night and dawn—she knows that his breath on her cheek, the smell of him, the warmth of his gaze, will stay with her and calm her for days to come.

—

A few weeks later, Clarke has a breakthrough. She approaches Bellamy with it.

"I know who Josephine's soulmate is."

His eyebrows raise. "And you know this how?"

"Miller's dad." He's a policeman in their home city. "I asked him to look one more time, see if there were any criminal records. There was a restraining order that wasn't filed properly. Gabriel Santiago got it against Josephine."

Understanding dawns on Bellamy's face, then something grim. "You want to go talk to Gabriel."

"He might have answers, Bellamy. He might be able to give us something."

"Or he's just as dangerous as she is."

Clarke had considered that, too. "He's married to someone else, with kids. He can't be that close to Josephine."

"Why?" Bellamy asks quietly. "It's impossible to be close to someone once they're married?"

Clarke flushes at his meaning, at his meaningful gaze. "Okay, fine. But it's worth the risk."

Bellamy studies her another moment and nods. "Let me see his file."

—

They go on the weekend, Clarke and her bodyguards. Clarke has his address. He lives in a middle-class neighbourhood, the sort of place with three story houses and white picket fences and trampolines in the backyards.

Clarke waits in the car with Bellamy while the rest of the team scope out the place first. When Atom radios the all-clear, Bellamy looks at her.

"You sure about this?"

She's absolutely not, but... "I have to know if he can help us." If he can stop her nightmares.

Bellamy holds her gaze another second before nodding. "Eyes sharp," he says, and gets out of the car. Clarke follows suit.

Bellamy sticks close to her side as she walks to the door. Each step makes her more anxious. She rings the doorbell.

They only have to wait half a minute. They listen to the sounds of running within the house, of little feet and children laughing. Then heavier footsteps coming to the door. Clarke braces herself. In her peripheral vision, she watches Bellamy casually put his hand in his jacket pocket.

The door opens. A tall man opens the door, matching the description perfectly.

"Gabriel Santiago?" Clarke asks, and watches his face change from friendly, to wary. "Can I have a minute to talk?"

—

Gabriel lets them come just inside. Clarke catches a glimpse of his wife before she's ushering the kids away, leaving them alone standing in the entrance to the house. There, Gabriel hears the whole story, the whole time rubbing at his wrist, and the prime symbol soulmark. And then sighs.

"I can't help you."

Clarke deflates. Bellamy says, "There must be something you can tell us."

"I wish there was. But whatever you know is what I know. I met Josephine in passing when we were teenagers. She claimed to be my soulmate. She was… obsessed with the idea. Wouldn't leave me alone. It got to the point where she was stalking me. Eventually she threatened my girlfriend." His eyes flicker in the direction his wife had gone. "I got a restraining order. I haven't seen her since. I'm sorry she's doing it to you now, too."

Clarke glances at Bellamy. He nods near imperceptibly; he believes Gabriel, too. There's nothing else to learn here.

Clarke turns back to Gabriel. "Is there anything else you know about her that might help us?"

"Yeah." Gabriel leans back, a humourless smile twisting his features. "Don't underestimate her."

—

They travel home. The trail goes cold from there, although Clarke keeps searching.

And then Clarke nears the end of her first year of medical school. Final exams approach fast, and it's not fun. Exams are a not so fun thing she has to deal with before she gets to go with Finn on his world tour for his new blockbuster movie.

She snaps at everybody when they try to interrupt her studying, including Finn.

"Alright, princess, I'll leave you alone," he says. "Just think… right afterwards, you get to come with me to the world premiere for my new movie…"

"That's not helping. That's actually more stressful to think about."

Finn laughs and sends her a care package full of expensive spa products to "de-stress" or something. She doesn't need to de-stress, she needs to pass.

Her clinical exams are a bigger issue than the written ones she's studying for; at least the written ones, she can prepare for on her own. But she can't do that with the practical ones. She tries practicing with her classmates, but she doesn't know them well enough, and they keep asking casually prying questions. She supposes she can only blame herself for not trying harder to get them to like her as a person rather than as a celebrity.

She voices that to Bellamy one day, and he scoffs. "That's on them if they don't like you, Clarke."

"Well, how am I supposed to practice for this?" she asks despairingly. He's silent for a second. Then:

"Practice on me."

She swallows and swivels in her chair. "That's not in your job description," she says evenly.

But a lot of things aren't in the job description. Like stopping her from going into a spiral. Bringing her dinner when she's stressed. Spending an entire night when he was supposed to be off-duty looking for her stalker.

Bellamy watches her. "It's just an offer. Take it or leave it."

She takes it.

In those few weeks before her exam he spends a lot more time on her side of the house. She's glad it's him helping her instead of Finn. Finn would sit here and crack lewd jokes about her playing doctor and comment on how kinky it was that she kept putting her hands all over him. Clarke would laugh. She wouldn't be able to keep herself serious enough to study.

But Bellamy doesn't do that; when it comes to work, he's as serious as she is. He doesn't make it weird when she has to pull up his shirt to listen to his heart, doesn't smirk when she instructs him to open his mouth so she can look at his uvula. He sits completely still when she has to get right up in his face to use her ophthalmoscope. In fact he doesn't blink at all, making it much easier to get a good look at the back of his eye, even though she knows from experience how uncomfortable it is.

He reads her preparation guide while she's practicing on him and makes sure she comments on everything in the checklist. Sometimes he'll even pretend to have a problem to make sure she's paying attention; like she'll tell him to walk around the room for the knee exam she's practicing and he'll add a slight limp that she barely catches. Or she'll be listening to his lungs and he doesn't inhale when she presses her stethoscope to the left side. It keeps her on her toes.

Then there'll be other times when they're out and about and Bellamy will say, "Hey. What nerve is this?" And points to some random part of his body. She'll look down and tell him and he nods, satisfied, and she sort of has to hide her smile that he's picking up so much of this just by helping her.

A few days before her exam her entire security detail shows up at the house.

Clarke frowns. "I'm not going anywhere today, you know."

"Oh, we know," Miller says, throwing his jacket on the hook. "We're not here to work."

Monroe, Sterling, Atom and Fox follow suit. Clarke looks at Bellamy, who's standing there with his hands on his hips and looking right at her.

"You said it'd be better if you could practice on different people," he says gruffly. "So I just…"

She's never wanted to hug him so badly as she does right then.

—

Bellamy gets so invested in Clarke's studying that even he feels nervous when she goes into her first four-hour exams. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He paces around campus for a little while, then heads back to the house for tea to give himself something to do. She'll do well, he knows. She'll pass the year just fine and move on to the next.

And he'll be here, always right here.

He goes to the mailbox and notes there's one large manila envelope addressed to him. He rips it open and finds it full of smaller letter envelopes.

He throws them on the kitchen table and makes his tea before sitting down to look at them. He intends to tear one open, at least until the logo on the envelope catches his eye.

It's a university logo. An arts college. His mind blanks with confusion, refusing to sort it out. He spreads the rest of the envelopes on the table. All of them, from universities and colleges. Not huge, prestigious ones, but small or mid-sized universities. He recognizes them, though, because many years ago he'd considered them as an option, in moments of weakness.

His heart is beating too fast. He rips one open, and a letter spills out. He picks it up with trembling fingers.

Dear Mr. Blake, it reads. Congratulations! We have reviewed your application and supporting documentation and are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to our program…

He drops the paper like it's on fire and reaches for the next one. And the next. A few of them are rejections, but many are not. They are acceptances to various English and literature and history programs across the country. So many applications he can't wrap his mind around it. He never would've dreamed of spending so much money just on applications—

Clarke.

His disbelief and shock quickly become eclipsed by anger. Clarke did this. Clarke went behind his back and messed around with his life. God knows how long it took her to put together his applications for him.

She can't have done it alone.

He drops the envelopes and calls his sister.

When she picks up, he spits, "You gave Clarke my college application stuff?"

"I was wondering when you'd call, big brother," Octavia says in a bored tone. "She asked for them, so I told Mom to give them."

"You didn't have the right to do that."

"I do what I want," Octavia replies. "Now suck it up and go to college. Or at least go be mad at the person whose idea it was. Clarke clearly wants you off her back. Maybe you should take the hint."

She hangs up on him, which is her favourite thing to do since she just fucking loves getting the last word. Instead of calling her back, Bellamy looks at the letters again. Each one has a deadline to accept within the next month.

He stuffs them back into their envelopes.

—

He's waiting for Clarke when she comes out of her first exam, looking tired but relieved. He barely manages to keep his temper in check. She's still got a few more exams to go and it doesn't matter how angry he is, he's not going to mess this up for her.

She does seem to notice he's quiet on the way home, though. "Are you okay?" she asks him, and he shrugs.

"I'm fine."

He knows he's not being super convincing but it's the best he can do right now. He stays out of Clarke's way for the rest of her exams week.

Then, she looks so beaten down and tired after her clinical exam that he keeps quiet even then. He gives her the night to rest and sleep.

It's the morning—Saturday—and he listens to her walk around on her side of the house. From the sounds of it, she's busy, packing things for her upcoming trip to Finn's movie premiere, and on the phone with her people at Polaris. It doesn't quiet down for a while. When it does, he gets up from his couch and knocks on their adjoining door.

She answers with her hair wrapped in a towel and eyes lit up. He holds up the envelopes.

Her smile falls. "Bellamy—"

"You," he says, quietly, "don't get to decide what I do with my life, alright? If I want to spend it protecting you then I will. If I don't want to go back to school for my own damn reasons then I won't. I don't need you to treat me like a child and keep questioning me and then, when I say my decision is final, to go behind my back and do this. And I know you're thinking I won't stay angry," he adds, seeing her expression flicker, "You're thinking I won't be able to resist and that I'll take one of these offers. I'm going to tell you right now, I won't do that. Because one of these days you have to accept that you can't just make me do everything you want me to do."

She has grown paler throughout his little speech, and when he's done, having finally said his piece, she cries, "But I—I don't want you to do this for me. I want you to do this for you."

Because she has a very specific idea of what she wants his life to be and it's so goddamn idealistic. There's no future for him there. He sees that even if she doesn't.

He drops the envelopes at her feet, turns on the heel and walks back into his side of the house.

—

Clarke doesn't leave her house until two days later, when Finn comes to pick her up for the premiere. That's the first time Bellamy sees her since confronting her, and he avoids her gaze yet again. He's still mad.

He and the rest of Clarke's and Finn's details get on Finn's private jet. They spend most of the flight in a huddle, because there's a lot of details to iron out for the event. But Bellamy can't help but sneak a glance at Clarke every once in a while.

Finn's got her feet in his lap, massaging them. The guy's clearly obsessed with her, and Bellamy wishes he could say it only started after their matching soulmarks were revealed, but that's not the truth. Finn always had a thing for Clarke. And Clarke, well—he still remembers her saying Finn wasn't that bad. She seems to be more relaxed with him each day. It's happening, right in front of Bellamy's eyes. The way the universe said it would.

He sure is starting to hate the universe.

—

At the premiere, as usual, Bellamy positions himself in close proximity to Clarke.

Often he assigns himself one of the more far away positions, where he can manage his team efficiently, but he always makes sure he's close to Clarke at big events like this.

Clarke gives him a gentle smile when he opens the door of the limousine for her. The cameras flash when her face is revealed, and they flash especially frequently for the brief moments he's holding her hand to help her out.

Finn follows, flashing his trademark grin, and Bellamy melts into position on the periphery of the red carpet.

Finn puts his hand on Clarke's back and the photographers eat it up, perhaps even more than they did when she was standing next to Bellamy. She and Finn look like the perfect celebrity couple together. Meanwhile, Bellamy hangs to the side, in his nondescript Eligius suit, blending into the background.

Then there's a bit of a press tour. Bellamy half-overhears the interviews while also listening to the conversations happening in his earpiece. Mostly, the reporters ask Finn about his movie, and don't say much to Clarke except to compliment her dress. However, sometimes they veer into more personal topics.

One interviewer says to the two of them, "You're both clearly so good together. How long have you known you were soulmates? A year?"

Finn grabs Clarke's hand, giving her a truly sickening kiss on the cheek. It's times like these Bellamy wishes he had a Gravol.

"Almost, yes," Clarke says, a practiced princess smile on her face.

"How's Bellamy taking it?"

The invasive question is posed casually, as it always is. Bellamy makes sure his face is a mask, knowing people must be watching him.

Clarke's smile doesn't even waver. The whole world thinks Bellamy and Clarke were involved at some point, but the press has been searching for official confirmation for years now. And neither Clarke nor Bellamy have ever given it to them. "Bellamy is a wonderful friend of mine," she says. "He's very happy for us."

Yeah, that might be stretching things just a bit.

"And we're all very happy for Finn," Clarke adds, "because this movie is one of his best."

That steers the conversation back to the film, and Bellamy's able to relax a bit.

The event continues, and the red carpet appears to stretch on forever. The seventh circle of hell, by Bellamy's measure. He's starting to sweat in his suit under the lights as Finn and Clarke start signing autographs. He can tell she's starting to get overwhelmed with the attention, even with Sterling and Atom to pull people back.

In his ear, the routine check-in is happening again. Each entrance and exit is mentioned as clear, nothing to report, or if there was trouble, what it was, how it was dealt with. Bellamy listens to each team report. They've just gotten past team nine and are waiting for team ten to report. The earpiece crackles with static. Team ten does not report.

"Team ten?" a voice in his ear says. "Report."

Bellamy's eyes skitter over the huge crowd in front of him. It's hard to see any individual face when all the lights are flashing at his eyes. People blur together, but as a tinny voice in his ear calmly asks team ten to report again, his stomach swoops, and time seems to slow to a crawl.

Finn's kneeling next to a toddler to sign a T-shirt. Clarke's next to him signing a copy of the movie she was in.

Bellamy's moving before the first gunshot even rings out.

The effect is instantaneous. Instant chaos.

People scream, and scatter. Interviewers duck their heads mid-question and run. Celebrities who were on the carpet immediately are shielded by their bodyguards—but Clarke and Finn were too close to the fans.

The crowd seems to froth and overboil, people spilling over the lines, jumping over each other, panic making everything more intense. Bellamy loses sight of Clarke for a second; he fights through the crowd, elbowing his way through, to get to her.

She's still right where she was standing, and Finn's still right where he was kneeling with the T-shirt he'd been signing. It's completely automatic for Bellamy to run right in front of Clarke—just as another gunshot rings out, and his left leg buckles.

He crashes hard into the ground. People stumble over him, step on him, at least until they're not, and Bellamy realizes Clarke has crawled on top of him, shielding him with her body.

That's so wrong, he thinks through his haze of shock. She shouldn't be protecting him. That's his job.

He realizes dimly that she's screaming, too, for people to get away, to give them space. It feels like an eternity before more of the security officers are with them, surrounding them so that the overzealous crowd can't get into their bubble.

Clarke gets off him, and Bellamy attempts to get to his hands and knees. He feels nauseous, and looks down at his leg. The black cloth of his pants over his thigh is wet and shiny. The carpet beneath him is soaked—blood. So much blood. That bullet hit something.

He overhears Sterling telling Clarke they have to get her out of here. Finn's already been escorted off the scene. Bellamy struggles up. He can't.

Clarke's next to him on her knees, destroying yet another beautiful dress for him as she rips a strip of fabric off and starts tying it around his thigh.

He grits out, "Clarke, I'm fine."

She ignores him, and cinches her makeshift tourniquet so tight he has to fight back against the sound that wants to come out of his throat.

Instead, he barks at the security team, "Get her out of here."

As usual, Clarke has other ideas. When Sterling and Atom reach for her, she pulls away, snapping, "No."

Bellamy levels Sterling and Atom with a glare. "Did you not hear me?"

Then at once, Sterling and Atom wrench her to her feet with no hesitation this time. Clarke fights them, nearly feral, but Miller joins in as well. Her eyes become wide when they overpower her. "No, please! I can't leave him! No! Bellamy!"

"He's going to be okay," Miller yells at her. "Come on, Clarke. You can't be out in the open like this, you have to get somewhere safe..."

They drag her away, and only once her voice has faded into the distance does he allow himself to feel pain.

—

Clarke isn't allowed to go see Bellamy for the entire night.

She's forced to wait many hours in a safe location with Finn. There are security checks, and interrogation, and police. Between every other question she gets asked, she asks how Bellamy is, if anyone's seen him, if he's okay. Everyone keeps telling her they don't know. She can tell everyone's getting annoyed with her but she can't stop.

Eventually Miller texts her. He'd stayed with Bellamy, and says he's stable at the local emergency room. It's only slightly reassuring, in that she knows he's alive. But she needs to see it for herself.

It had all happened so fast. One moment she was staring out into the crowd, then a gunshot had rung out. Bellamy had hurtled right in front of her and Finn. Then he'd crumpled to the floor, and for a split second she'd thought the worst. The absolute worst.

And it was terrifying.

The truth wasn't much better. The bullet had blasted right through his leg. He'd been so pale. His blood was everywhere. It's still soaking the front of her dress, still staining her hands.

As the hours pass, more about the situation becomes clear. As it turns out, the shooter was found to be a random reporter at the event. The reporter's in custody, she's told, but he keeps denying the gun was his. Apparently he keeps insisting it was pressed into his hands seconds after it was fired, and he never saw who it was.

But Clarke knows who it was. Deep in her bones, she knows. Even if there's no proof.

But right now, she doesn't care. She only cares about seeing Bellamy.

She's given the green light to leave early in the morning. Finn comes with her to the hospital, but when they get there, she sprints down the hall, not even waiting for him. Miller's told her where in the emergency department they are. Bay eleven.

But when she gets there, there's no stretcher there. No one's there at all. She wheels around on the spot, not caring how crazy she must look. Where is he?

She practically collides with a young nurse as she wheels around a second time. "Where is he?" she can't help but say, almost incoherently. "Where is he?"

"Slow down, miss. I don't even know who you're talking about," the nurse says sternly, and then seems to do a double take, as if recognizing her. "Ah, never mind. Bellamy Blake's in the overflow bay. I can take you there—"

"Is he okay?" she asks hurriedly as she follows the nurse.

"Yes, yes. He's doing well. The bullet hit a blood vessel, but it narrowly missed his femoral. He was very lucky."

It could've been different. So easily, a few millimeters one way or another, and he might've bled out in her arms. And for what?

They approach the overflow bay. It's full of other patients on stretchers, separated only by thin curtains. There's so many people here. She knows she draws the eye of many when she strides into the room, and finally zeroes in on Bellamy in the corner, where the curtains haven't quite been drawn entirely, and she can see a sliver of his face.

Clarke mutters a thank you to the nurse and pushes the curtain out of her way.

The little space is already crowded; two nurses, a doctor, a lab tech drawing blood. And several Eligius officers around the stretcher.

Bellamy's sitting up on the stretcher, still looking somewhat pale. He's in a hospital gown, an IV in his hand, heavy bandages wrapped around his leg. He sees her and his expression softens, relieved. At least, until she speaks.

"You're fired."

Stunned silence hits the room. Conversations from nearby beds falter, too. The healthcare staff look up from their work The entire Eligius team seems rendered speechless. It's probably not every day one of their officers gets fired for doing their job.

Bellamy recovers first. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do," Clarke shoots back, only dimly aware of all the people witnessing this. But she doesn't care. Her emotions are running too high right now. She looks to the nearest Eligius officer. She doesn't recognize them, but they must've been working the event tonight. "I'm terminating Bellamy Blake's contract early. Please let your superiors know I'll need a replacement." The officer nods quickly.

Bellamy speaks again, quiet. "Clarke, stop. Think about this."

She can't take the wounded look in his eye, so she fixes her gaze beyond his shoulder instead, at the monitor hooked up to his vitals, the ECG tracing of his heart. "Miller."

"Yes, ma'am." Miller's never called her that before in his life.

"If Bellamy comes back to my home, or my school, or my place of work, escort him off the premises immediately." She pauses, thinks better of it, because Bellamy is sitting there suspiciously quietly. She knows he's too clever to get caught by his colleagues.

She looks at Bellamy again, makes her next words an icy promise. "If I ever see you again, I will file for a restraining order."

That one hits. She can tell from the way his eyes widen. "Don't do this, Clarke."

She should've done it a long time ago.

"Take it back," Bellamy says, louder, more desperate. No one else is moving or talking. He starts to rise, then pales, his injured leg crumpling. A nurse and Miller grab his arms, forcing him back to the bed. Clarke turns and heads to the door. His voice rises. "Take it back, Clarke!" he shouts. "Take it back!"

The fact that he's losing it and the fact that she already wants to take it back solidifies her decision.

She gets in his face.

"You are not going to die for me," she snarls. "You are going to live. Whether you like it or not."

She spins on the heel and leaves.

—

"I'll be honest, Bellamy. The optics aren't good," Pike says.

They're sitting in his office yet again. It's been a week since Clarke let him go. He still can't believe she let him go.

"You've been fired by two prominent celebrities, neither of whom gave a reason, and one of them made it very public. It's bad luck for you."

Or a very calculated move by Clarke. If she shits on his reputation at Eligius, she probably hopes he'll take one of those damn acceptance letters.

"Some of the Eligius higher ups are taking a closer look at you. Especially since you were apparently threatened with a restraining order. Given the… nature of your past relationship with Clarke Griffin, some people at this organization think you may have overstepped some professional boundaries with her."

Bellamy feels colour rise to his face. "I didn't, sir." He tries to keep the outrage out of his voice.

"I know you didn't, Bellamy." Pike reclines in his seat. "But the problem is I can't convince everybody of that, and they take these types of infractions very seriously. But here's what I can do: I can offer you a spot in one of our paramilitary units once your leg heals up. Something under the radar, maybe even overseas, until this all settles down. But I'll warn you right now that under the radar usually means highly dangerous."

Clarke yelling at him to live! echoes through his head.

Thinking about it makes him angry. So angry it hurts, deep in his chest where he already feels desperately broken. She cut him loose. He's still reeling from the disbelief that she actually did it. The entire room heard her say she never wanted to see his face again.

Well, he can damn sure make that happen.

Pike goes on. "It's a one year contract, and then you'll be back, and hopefully all this will have blown over. You can take a few days to think about it."

Bellamy can't help the spite that filters into his words. "When do I leave?"

And that's that.

—

Miller becomes Clarke's new chief of security.

But she's entirely unable to enjoy her summer off from school. She cries a lot. Wakes up from nightmares a lot. Sometimes they're about Josephine, but mostly they're about Bellamy.

The press has a field day with the whole thing. Her last shouting match with Bellamy was way too public for it not to be. She regrets how it sounded now; like she hated him. There's far too much speculation on what happened between them, especially when she told a reporter earlier in the evening that he was a wonderful friend only to later threaten him with a restraining order.

She can handle it when they demonize her. But she can't when they start demonizing him.

Finn definitely notices how much she's moping around. One day in August he catches her watching celebrity TV, watching experts speculate on what Clarke Griffin's deal with Bellamy Blake was, and he turns the TV off. "You did the right thing, Clarke."

Clarke snaps. "Of course you think I did the right thing. You never even liked him."

"Sure, I have my own reasons," Finn agrees. "That doesn't mean I don't see yours. I get it, Clarke. We all saw the way he lost it when you fired him. The guy's obsessed with you. You had to cut him loose for his own good."

Clarke doesn't bother to correct Finn—that she had to cut herself loose just as much as him. Bellamy is not one to lose his cool around other people if he can help it. But he, unlike everyone else in the room, knew the levels to what she was saying when she fired him. He'd looked so betrayed. Which wasn't fair, especially when she was only agreeing to something he had told her once before.

You can't have friends like us.

He was right. They absolutely can't.

When she doesn't argue anymore, Finn seems satisfied. He pats her back, and before he can walk away, Clarke grabs his arm and drags him down on the couch with her. Climbs on top of him.

"Princess," Finn says with an arched brow. "What are you—"

"Shut up," Clarke says raggedly. "Just, for once in your life, shut up."

—

That night, Clarke confirms it for herself. The sex was fine. If she'd never done it with Bellamy she'd think it was great.

Finn cracked jokes the entire way throughout. She'd laughed, forgotten herself, forgotten her problems. Exactly what she had been hoping for.

Except when it was over, bitterness creeped back in. She knows she shouldn't compare. She knows it's always different, always a little weird the first time with a new partner. They have to learn each other, and that's normal. But she can't shake the part of her that thinks it will never be quite as good as it was with her best friend who sought to understand her inside out, knew everything she wanted, and paid attention to the details she didn't voice. Just as she feared, Bellamy fucking ruined her.

Yet, she still wouldn't take it back.

—

It's fall and Clarke is dying to know how Bellamy is doing. She's been keeping an eye on the tabloids, but not even they have had new photos of him for months.

She's starting to worry.

She supposes she could pick up the phone and call Octavia or Aurora. But she simply can't risk that it would get back to Bellamy that she'd called. He can't know that she was wondering about him. She refuses to give him false hope.

She debates going to Eligius and asking them instead. But no. Again, she doesn't know Bellamy's superiors well enough to know if they'd tell him. There's only one person she can trust.

She sits down in her first week back at school and writes an email to Roan. His service is spotty at times, and they only correspond every once in a while, but she needs this. She asks him in her email if he can, in strict confidence, poke around with his Eligius contacts and see what happened to Bellamy after she fired him, if he left the organization or stayed or really anything else they know.

Roan's reply comes a few days later, and it's short. Glad you're okay. No one I talked to knows where he's stationed, if he is still at Eligius at all. Higher ups are keeping tight-lipped about him. They're not happy with what down. Reputations to maintain and all.

That makes Clarke feel sort of guilty. She ignores Roan's sign-off, which is By the way, you're an idiot, and logs out of her email. She has to hope Bellamy's okay, that they can both finally move on with their lives now. He can pursue a career wherever he wants, make friends, have fun, go to school, even—her stomach clenches—date again. But he deserves that. He deserves every happiness life can give him, and he can't have that if he's always with Clarke. She and him together were a dead end. She has to hope that in time he'll understand what she did. Even if he hates her for it right now.

They have that in common, at least.

—

Clarke starts dating Finn in earnest through her second year of med school. She throws herself into the relationship with a determination that surprises both her and Finn. But he's obviously happy about it.

The cameras catch them kissing one day. It's all over the gossip sites. Finally! They say.

Clarke hopes Bellamy still doesn't look at gossip sites. She closes her laptop when she finds herself thinking that.

—

Bellamy still haunts her in the oddest moments. Like when she's in a clinical session at school, and trying to practice her ophthalmoscopy on a classmate, but they keep blinking and it's irritating enough that Clarke just thinks about how Bellamy had been the perfect model patient to practice on.

Or when Monty's parents send her a Christmas card, and the memories of those now distant times make her useless for the entire rest of the day, and she just lies in bed and clutches the card to her chest and thinks about flying a kite in a windstorm.

Or really, every time she looks up at the night sky and sees Wells.

She tries to tell him one night, when she's home for Christmas break and right before New Year's, about what happened with Bellamy. She chokes up and can't continue. Instead she decides to tell him about Finn.

"He's growing on me, but he's not you," she whispers. "No one could be you. I'll always love you first, forever."

She doesn't feel bad about saying it, either. The universe got it right when it gave her Wells. She's still not sold on Finn.

—

Finn has a big party to welcome the new year, and Clarke runs into Raven there.

Clarke has only met Raven a few times since that initial time at Bellamy's wedding. But every time they've met, Clarke has looked down at that raven soulmark and debated whether to say anything.

Tonight, Raven doesn't much look like she's enjoying the party. She sort of looks miserable, in fact. So Clarke makes a decision. Let Raven have her happiness. Just because something's wrong with Clarke and she can't make herself feel the right things about her soulmates doesn't mean everyone is like her.

She turns to her. "I think I know your soulmate."

Raven blinks and stares at her. "What?"

The words pour out of Clarke very fast. "There was a biology TA at the university where I did my undergrad. Her name was Luna. She's really sweet. And… she's got a raven soulmark."

Raven doesn't say anything for a long moment. There's something building behind her dark eyes, although Clarke can't figure out what it is until she speaks. "And how long have you known about this?"

Clarke winces internally at the vitriol in Raven's voice. "Well, since we first met."

"And you hid it that whole time? Who gave you the right?"

Clarke had expected Raven to be angry, and gives her the truthful explanation. "I just—I thought, I wasn't sure if you'd even want to know."

Raven laughs, and the sound is loud, attracting stares. "You know what I think, Clarke?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "I think you like to decide what's best for people. I bet Bellamy would agree."

Clarke flinches. Raven's not done.

"And now you've decided to tell me why? Because you think if you can pair me up with my soulmate, that'll make your life easier?"

Clarke's brow furrows. "What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means? You got your soulmate. Finn."

Clarke stares until she grasps her meaning.

Raven. Raven is the person Finn ended a relationship with to be with Clarke. Just like Bellamy with Clarke, Raven has been on the sidelines, watching someone she cared about find their soulmate that wasn't them.

Raven smiles bitterly at her silence.

"Wow. He didn't even tell you, huh. Well, congratulations, you're both great at keeping secrets. No wonder you're soulmates."

And with that last spiteful word, Raven spins on the heel and strides away.

—

Clarke finds Finn later during the party. Things have taken a drunken turn; he's standing on the table, playing his guitar. Really, really badly, on purpose.

When he sees her, he holds out a hand for her to join him. People cheer her on when in reality all she wants to do is ask him about Raven.

But there's too many people here. Clarke's not one to make a scene. She's already had too much publicized drama in her life.

So she smiles and takes his hand, letting him bring her up to the table with him as the New Year's countdown starts.

Raven's nowhere to be seen.

—

The next morning, Clarke asks him about it once the guests have all cleared out of his mansion. Finn is quiet for a moment.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't think it mattered."

Clarke can't wrap her mind around that. "But she's your best friend."

"I didn't say she didn't matter. Just that, like I said, she's not my soulmate. We talked about it. Yeah, Raven's still a little bitter. I would be too, if she found her soulmate first." Finn grabs the guitar beside him and strums it, a minor chord. "I'm glad you told her about this Luna person. Raven can be happy, and maybe we can get back to how we used to be."

Clarke bites back what she wants to say. That things are never going back to how they used to be, which she knows from experience with Bellamy.

But maybe that was just unique to them. Maybe other people, normal people, are able to move past that, to not be so hung up on each other that they end up destroying whatever was between them. So she keeps quiet.

"Are you happy now?" Finn says, playing a few more notes on the guitar. "I mean, I know you're never happy, you're like the brooding superhero I played in my last movie—but are you less pissed off?"

Clarke can't help but smile a little. "Yeah, I guess."

He sets the guitar aside. "Good. Because there's about fifty restaurants in this town I have to take you to before you go back to school."

—

At the end of her second semester of med school, Finn congratulates her by taking her to a football game.

This in itself is not odd. She'd told him once that Wells' father used to take them to games when they were young, and it's sort of thoughtful, really, that he's brought her to one.

At least that's what she thinks until halftime, when the Jumbotron focuses in on them.

Clarke shrinks down in her seat. She'd been in the middle of eating a hot dog, for the love of god—she does not need that picture on the internet for every Photoshopper to play with.

Someone's yelling at them to kiss. Clarke hates this, but she knows the camera won't leave her alone until she does. She turns to Finn.

But he's not in his seat. He's on one knee in the aisle.

Clarke's heart leaps into her throat and stays there, lodged in her throat as he slowly pulls a ring out of his pocket. It's gigantic. The diamonds on it are insane, sparkling, must have cost—she doesn't even know what it would have cost. Way too much.

"Will you marry me?" Finn says. People around them are jumping up and down waiting for Clarke's response. A fangirl three rows down screams, "Yes!" The noise level in the stadium has risen to critical levels. Everyone's eyes are on her.

As always, Clarke smiles for the cameras. As always, her life is a production, and the opinions of everyone in the world depend on her performance.

She accepts the ring, and leans down to kiss him like any grateful fiancee in love should. The cheering becomes deafening.

Clarke breaks the kiss after only a moment, and whispers, "We'll talk about this later."

Finn's eyes flicker. But Clarke extends her hand, and he puts the ring on her.

—

That night, they're back at Finn's mansion, on separate couches. Silent. Clarke's on her phone, scrolling through Twitter reactions to the public proposal. Finn always did like to entertain. She'd found it charming in the past, but not today. Not at all. Especially not when she sees that her performance had not been convincing enough.

Is it just me or did she hesitate?

She definitely didn't look happy.

Finn Collins proposed to her and she barely even smiled. Ungrateful bitch!

What is wrong with her? Seriously, why'd she get two soulmates? I've only got one and I still haven't found them yet. I'd kill to be her!

Hahahah maybe Clarke will kill Finn just like she did with Wells Jaha—

She puts down her phone and finally speaks.

"I'm not ready to be married, Finn."

Finn looks up from his own phone, sees that she's finally ready to talk, and pockets it. He leans forward, gaze earnest. "I'm not saying we have to get married tomorrow. Or even in the next year. I just wanted to do something special for you."

"In front of a crowd of thousands of people?"

"It was supposed to be memorable! Romantic!" He rakes a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "How was I supposed to know you might say no when I'm your soulmate?"

She flinches, knowing he's right. There shouldn't be any doubt. When the universe gives you a gigantic neon arrow pointing to the love of your life, you're not supposed to hesitate. What the hell is wrong with her?

"Give me time," she ends up saying, desperately. And because he's looking at her suspiciously now, she quickly adds, "You know how things ended with my first soulmate, Finn. It wasn't good. When you proposed, it just brought those memories back."

It's a lie, of course. She's not hesitating because of Wells. But Finn seems to buy it. He nods.

—

Bellamy arrives back in the country after his year abroad for work, and the first thing he sees after coming through his gate at the airport is a tabloid on a magazine rack nearby with Clarke and Finn's faces plastered on it.

Because he's a masochist, he draws closer, and his stomach drops. ENGAGED! Screams the headline. He pivots and walks away before he can read anything else on the cover. Well, he shouldn't be surprised. He wonders if this is how Clarke felt when he got engaged to Gina. Like the last dregs of happiness in her life were being pulled through her fingers.

He goes to a bar that night and takes home with him the first person that hits on him. She's got pretty eyes, and he tells her so. It's only when they're in bed together that he realizes this woman—who's blonde, by the way—has a particularly familiar shade of blue eyes.

Clarke fucking ruined him.

—

A few days later, once he's over his jetlag, he finds himself at Eligius headquarters in his home city once again, sitting in the chair in front of Pike's desk.

"I'm glad you're back," Pike says. "I'm happy to say things have more or less blown over. But I wouldn't advise you to do any high profile work for a long time."

"Understood." He prefers to be out of spotlights anyway.

"There's another year-long contract here locally I thought you'd be perfect for. You'd be working closely with the government and with the police. Only our best get recommended for the job. Good pay, too."

Bellamy is already nodding before Pike has finished speaking. Idly, he wonders if he might live the whole rest of his life like this: passionless, always jumping on the next contract that comes his way, if only so he never stops moving long enough to have regrets. "I'll take it, sir."

—

Clarke's at home a few days after the proposal when flowers are sent to her door, with an apology message. Forgive me?

Finn. She thanks the butler who brought her the flowers. Then she calls Finn.

No answer. She frowns, trying a few times, because sometimes he's just awful about answering his phone, but still. Nothing. She sets it down and forgets about it for a few hours, working on a painting in her study until she finally gets a call back from him.

Her fingers are stained with acrylic paint. She wipes them on her shirt, only to realize she was actually wearing a dress, and an expensive one to boot. If Bellamy were here he'd be devastated.

That thought actually makes her grin a bit. She wonders if eventually it will always be like this—that she will be able to think of him and be happy instead of sad. It gives her hope.

She brings the phone to her ear as she heads to the sink. "Finn, listen to me, I'm sorry how I reacted—"

"Hello, Clarke."

Clarke stops dead in her tracks. The voice is sugary, light, and feminine. It's definitely not Finn.

"Who is this?" Clarke asks slowly. "Where's Finn?"

"Isn't that the question?" the cheery voice drawls. "Well, you can talk to your soulmate for a second, I suppose." A rustling sound, then Finn's voice, clear as day.

"Clarke, don't listen to a word she says, she's going to—"

A muffled cry, and the sound of something blunt hitting skin. Clarke clutches the phone to her ear in horror. "N—no—Finn? Finn?"

The cheery voice comes back on. "God, does he ever shut up?"

Clarke forces herself to breathe, to make her voice even. "Josephine."

"Ding ding! Give the girl a prize."

Clarke puts her on speaker. She opens her microphone app and hits record as she says, "Josephine, what do you want?"

"Oh, Clarke. Really? You don't know what this is about?"

Clarke does know what it's about. She remembers Bellamy getting shot in the leg. But now that she thinks about it, that was a very lousy shot if it was meant to kill Clarke. It would've just hit her in the leg, too.

But Finn… Finn had been kneeling to sign an autograph. If she had to guess, that bullet that had gone into Bellamy's thigh had been eye-level with Finn.

Josephine goes on.

"But we can talk in person. I'm planning to kill Finn tonight," she says casually, and Clarke sinks to her knees, clutching onto the wall as her worst fears are confirmed. "His fans would be really disappointed if I did. But you can stop it. If you don't talk to the police or anyone else, and you come alone, tonight, at midnight. I'll be watching." Her voice becomes sly. "I've been watching you a very long time."

A chill runs down Clarke's spine. She closes her eyes. "Don't hurt him. Tell me where and I'll be there."

"You think I'm stupid? I'll tell you right when I want to tell you. Just to give you enough time to get here by midnight, and not tell anyone about our little party. But I'm betting you already know where to find us."

The line goes dead, and Clarke is left staring in horror.

—

"They said you knew where to find them?" The Eligius officer says slowly. Clarke rubs her eyes and glances at the clock. She hasn't left home. She's too afraid to. Josephine could be watching her right now. She can't go to the police station in person, but she's damn well not sitting around.

"Yes," she replies, trying not to let her frustration show. Here she is relaying her story for the millionth time. Replaying the recording she made. She's already spoken to the police, and Finn's security detail, and now Eligius. Apparently Finn usually has a tracker in his shoe, but he was taken from his home, where he hadn't been wearing it, so that's damn useless.

Even intelligence has gotten involved, and yet, they haven't found him. It's eight at night. The police have tried tracing Finn's phone. Dead, at the side of the road. Time is running out.

"Well, can you think of what she might be talking about?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you," she snaps, rubbing her eyes.

"Well, keep thinking. It hasn't gotten out to the press yet and we want to keep it that way. Thanks for your cooperation, Clarke. We'll find your soulmate."

She thanks him and hangs up. Stares at her hands, where red acrylic paint has dried. Then she stands to get changed.

—

Bellamy's at work, helping with a transfer of military weapons, when they get called away from their job. Something about an emergency mission, apparently. A highly executive principal who had contracted Eligius for security has been kidnapped.

And it's Finn. Of course it's Finn. Bellamy immediately volunteers to be part of the team. Not because he has any soft feelings towards the guy, but for Clarke's sake.

Clarke. What the hell must she be thinking right now?

He answers that question himself while in the briefing room. Clarke's thinking something stupid. Really, really stupid.

He makes an executive decision and slips out.

—

Clarke has just slipped into a nondescript pair of leggings and black sweater when she hears the floor creak in the hallway. She freezes, then grabs the gun Miller had given her off the table.

If someone's gotten past her security, her bodyguards, everybody—well, Josephine comes to mind immediately. She raises the gun, takes a slow, controlled breath to focus, and wraps her finger around the trigger. Then steps into the hall and into view.

It's Bellamy.

He's stepping over her shoes as if he'd just walked in. He jerks back a bit when he sees the barrel of the gun pointed at him. Clarke releases a gasping breath and lowers it. "God, Bellamy, I almost shot you!" She pauses. "What are you doing here? How did you—" She shakes her head. Never mind. Her brain's too overwhelmed to process any of this right now. She's seeing him for the first time after a year, and well, she'd be lying if she said it didn't affect her, but she's always been good at compartmentalizing. "I told you what would happen if I saw you again."

"Does it look like I care?" he responds, stalking closer, and god, his voice, she's missed that tenor, and she didn't even realize how much until right now. "Get your restraining order, then. I only need to say this once."

"What?"

"Don't go after Finn."

She looks at him squarely even as her heart thuds painfully in her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do."

It all clicks together. Bellamy's not wearing an Eligius jacket. He's in nondescript, all black gear. But there's only one way he could know about Finn's kidnapping since it's all hush hush. If he were part of the team.

"You still work there?" she manages. "At Eligius?"

"I work paramilitary now. Protecting high risk assets," he says, and seems to enjoy the fear on her face. "Car chases. Lots of fights. An explosion or two, once in a while."

"God, Bellamy—if you're risking your life to spite me—"

"I'm not here to talk about that. Just promise me you won't go after Finn. Let us take care of it."

"Why would I do something that stupid?"

He gives her a bored look. "Because I know you, Clarke. And you can't just sit around while other people risk their lives for your soulmate. Especially not after what happened to Wells."

She sucks in a breath. "Well, you don't have to worry. Because I'm not going to do that."

"Promise me first."

"I promise."

"Good."

"Get out, then."

She makes it sound like an order, and she sees his eyes darken. He starts backing away, and she exhales, turning to go back to her study. How does he always know exactly what she's thinking? What happened to Wells… she can't have a repeat. Like having her soulmark is a mark for death. She can't, she can't, she can't. She can't get out of her head the remembrance of his blood on the floor of the kitchen…

She stops in her tracks in her study. Then she pulls out her phone and dials the number she'd been given by the police and Eligius, because she knows where Josephine has got Finn.

—

Bellamy leaves Clarke's property the same way he came in, and heads back to Eligius. He does not believe Clarke's words one bit. But that's alright. He wasn't there for that anyway.

In fact, he hadn't even meant to be seen by Clarke. He was only going to sneak in and out. But she'd heard him, so of course he'd talked to her, made her make promises he knew she wouldn't keep. Anything to stop her from examining the real reason he was there, in her front foyer.

Dropping one of Finn's old trackers in her shoe.

—

Clarke talks again to the team being mobilized. She's almost certain Finn's being held in the old Griffin mansion, where this had all started.

The property has been abandoned for years. It was sold and never lived in after the deaths of Jake Griffin and Wells and their attackers.

A lot of memories here, Clarke thinks, staring at her old house from a distance. She's in her car, parked at the side of the road. Warring with herself.

A lot of things make sense to Clarke now. Why Shumway and Dax had been pissed her mother wasn't there to see Jake die. They'd wanted to kill her soulmate in front of her as payback.

And now Clarke is certain Josephine wants the same for her. She'd tried to kill Finn at his movie premiere before. And before, at the gala when Clarke was at his side.

But if Josephine realizes the Eligius teams have arrived, she might cut her losses. She might just kill him. What if Clarke did the wrong thing?

In the end, Clarke can't just do nothing. She makes sure her gun is loaded. Then she gets out of her car.

But she only gets a few steps before there's a blow to the back of her head, and she blacks out.

—

Bellamy periodically looks at Clarke's dot on his tracker screen as they creep through the woods around the acreage of the old Griffin property. She's staying in her car for now. Stay there, he wills her. Don't come any closer. Don't let your guilt get you killed.

Still keeping an eye on her, he feels like he's being hit with memories as he makes his way through the woods on the property. He passes that bent part of the fence he and Clarke had used to sneak away. And then here, in this clearing, he and Clarke and Wells had played frisbee. There by those rose bushes, Octavia and Clarke had made flower crowns, and Clarke had put one on his head. That was before they were friends. And over there—further ahead—there's the pool Clarke had shoved that rich kid into. The same pool he and Clarke had their first real conversation.

He's hit with memories over and over, and tries to tune them out, although it's hard. Josephine might not be working alone. They have to be careful. Avoid being seen. Or else she might kill Finn.

Clarke would never forgive herself if there were a repeat. He hefts the gun on his shoulder, sweat trickling down his brow, and checks the tracker. Clarke's still on the side of the road. He's about to put it away, but then he does a double take and looks back at the screen.

Unexpectedly, Clarke's dot has started moving away. Fast, like she's in her car.

He frowns, even though it's exactly what he'd prayed she'd do. Because it was exactly that—an empty prayer. He knew Clarke wouldn't back down. He'd been fully prepared to have to go stop her.

So why has she turned around and gone—gone so fast, too?

He's starting to get a bad feeling in his gut. It's not something he can explain to anyone, much less the Eligius officers on his intercom. He has no evidence at all, no real reason to ruin this mission.

But it niggles at him. It's Clarke. So he makes the decision, quick. Even though it's not right, and when Eligius finds out he went rogue in the middle of a crisis, he's for sure fired.

He taps to a private channel to Miller. Someone has to know what he's done or otherwise they'll think something bad happened to him. And then they'll stop the mission—but just in case Bellamy's hunch is wrong, he needs them to continue. "Atlas abandoning ship," he says.

"Atlas—" Miller stops. That's Bellamy's own code name. "Wait, what are you—"

He drops his comm in the dust and grinds it with the heel of his shoe, turns back around and melts into the forest.

—

Clarke wakes up because someone is snapping her fingers in her face.

"Ah, there she is!"

Clarke blinks. There's a dull throbbing behind her eyes. The next thing she notices is that she's completely upright, suspended from somewhere by her arms, her shoes just touching the floor enough that she can put some weight on her tiptoes. She squints and looks up. Her wrists are chained to what appears to be a long, narrow conveyor above her, the metal digging painfully into her skin.

She tugs experimentally. No give.

"Hell-o-o-o. I'm talking to you."

Clarke whips her head to the side, and her kidnapper comes into focus, standing beside her. Josephine Lightbourne in the flesh. She looks different from her graduation photos. Her hair's more scraggly. Her clothes, old and faded. A little gaunter too. She's been off the grid for a while, that's for sure.

Josephine twirls a strand of hair around her finger and grins at Clarke. "Nice of you to join the land of the living. For now, anyway."

Clarke takes another look around, hit with the smell of rust and rot. It appears to be a dilapidated commercial factory space, full of junk and rusty tanks and machinery that looks like it hasn't been used in decades.

And through it all, Clarke hears a slight whirring sound.

"Not the nicest place, huh? Nothing like the sweet little mansion you're used to." Josephine spreads her arms as Clarke cranes her head, trying to figure out where the sound is coming from. "I knew you'd backstab me and talk to the cops even when I told you not to. Actually, I sort of counted on it. Now they're all over there, and it's just us here."

"Where are we?"

"An old Arkadia production facility. They manufactured pills and blister packs here. At least until it was shut down, because they also used it to make drugs for a clinical trial that wasn't supposed to happen. This is where they made the pills that ruined my life, Clarke!"

Josephine fishes in her pocket and produces a blister pack. "While I was waiting for you to wake up, I actually found these in here! They must be the very last pills produced." She drops them and although Clarke can't see from this angle, she sees Josephine twisting her boot, and knows she's crushing them.

Clarke finally finds the source of the whirring sound. There's another conveyer belt some distance away, at the same level as the one she's hanging from. Except this one is moving, whirring as it goes.

And then she hears Finn's voice. Or some approximation of it, really. He sounds like he's gagged.

"Where is he?" Clarke struggles against her restraints. "Where's Finn?"

"Why do we have to talk about your soulmate all the time?" Josephine says in a bored voice. "We'll get to him in a minute. Let's talk about mine. Gabriel is much hotter than Finn. Sorry, not sorry."

Clarke cranes her neck. There's too much machinery obscuring her vision of the moving conveyer, but she can see where it leads to, and she realizes the whirring was not coming from the conveyer at all.

It's from a saw at the end of the conveyer. A gigantic, circular metal saw. It looks like the skeleton of a machine that was taken apart—the safety measures and bulk stripped to reveal the working parts.

Josephine notices her gaze. "Oh! Yeah, I spent days getting that ready. They used to use that to cut sheets of metal into pieces. I like to think I found a cooler use for it."

At that moment, Finn appears from behind the tank obscuring Clarke's vision. He's handcuffed up to the conveyer, same as her, and sure enough, gagged. His conveyer is moving at a snail's pace, but steady. Towards the saw. He's struggling, face bloodied, and meets her eyes.

Josephine keeps going over Clarke's silent horror. "Anyway, where was I? Oh! Gabriel. I love him, but he just never understood we were meant to be together forever. We have a bond. I know he feels it too, but it's not strong enough for him to leave his family and be with me. If I still had my soulmark, he would. He'd leave everything to be with me." She leans over Clarke. "Your mother took that from me. My soulmate. Do you have any idea what that does to a person?"

"Yes, Josephine, I do," Clarke says, desperate as she watches Finn's conveyor creep ever closer to the saw. "I lost my soulmate, too. He died. I understand what you're feeling, just—"

"Your first soulmate," Josephine drawls. She fishes a ring out of her pocket, begins playing with it. Clarke recognizes its diamonds—it's the engagement ring Finn gave her. "You know, he wasn't even supposed to die that night, but now I'm glad."

Clarke stares. "You… you were part of it?"

Josephine scoffs. "Course I was part of it. We were a whole group back then. But I was too young to be part of the ground team, so I got to be the girl on comms."

Clarke dimly remembers that Shumway and the others had all had earpieces.

"We were gonna kill Jake Griffin in front of Abby, see how she liked it. Except he was misbehaving so we had to kill him first. That was all a mess, thanks to you by the way. You killed all my friends. But whatever. We got Abby Griffin's soulmate, so I guess we basically did what we came to do."

"Then why are you still doing this?"

"I'm not done yet. Well, your mom got another soulmate and that just ticked me off." Josephine's smile slides away. "You rich people get everything, don't you? I suppose I could've killed that Kane guy, but she got put away in prison. And if I was gonna kill a soulmate, I had to do it in front of her. So I thought about waiting until she was out of prison. But then you came along! And from snooping around at Polaris, I found out you restarted the soulmarks research. Bad move, by the way. Very bad."

Clarke can't speak for a second. That's what this is about? "We didn't restart any clinical trials. We were doing everything by the book—"

"That's what your mom said, too. You just never learn, do you?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "I knew the whole second soulmark thing is genetic. I bet you'd have one too, but you didn't show one for a while, and so I had to follow you around until I found it! And got my best photo of it. It was so easy to just share it with TMZ, and bam! Next thing you know, I find out your soulmate is Finn Collins." She calls across the room. "I loved you in Spacewalker, by the way. Maybe before you get chopped into pieces I can get your autograph?"

Finn screams into his gag. Clarke feels a bead of sweat trickle down her face. "Josephine, don't do this."

"I actually wasn't planning to make this big a production about it, honestly. I just wanted to slip in and kill him in whatever opening your bodyguards gave me. That tall bodyguard of yours, he was way too sharp. I couldn't get at you two during your vacation that summer."

Roan.

"And Bellamy Blake chased me for like, four hours straight when I tried to get at you and Finn during that gala last year. I'll be honest, I almost thought I was a goner that time."

"Josephine," Clarke repeats, barely listening now. "Please, let Finn go, I'll stop the soulmarks research, I'll stop everything—"

"Of course you will," Josephine replies with a grin. "You can't really do much research when you're dead. Well? I think that's everything. What do you think of my revenge plan?"

"You're a sociopath," is what Clarke manages to say.

Josephine scoffs. "Judgy. Like you're one to talk, anyway. You're the only person in this room who's killed people. So far, anyway." Josephine stills suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Did you hear that?"

Clarke hadn't heard anything; she was too busy listening to the whir of the saw, and Finn's muffled screams. He's only yards away now from the saw.

Josephine moves behind Clarke and then there's the crank of a lever. With a jolt, Clarke's conveyer starts to move, at a faster speed than Finn's was. Josephine hits another button, and another whirring sound joins the first. Directly ahead, another saw Clarke hadn't initially noticed begins to whir. She's helplessly pulled along with the conveyer, even though she drags her feet.

"N—no, no no—wait—"

Josephine pats her shoulder. "I'm going to check out that noise. In the meantime, I think Finn's head is almost at the saw! He's going to get a little haircut before he dies. I always thought his hair was too long in the movies anyway, didn't you? God, those stylists really don't know what they're doing."

And she leaves Clarke's side, ignoring her pleas.

—

Bellamy didn't know what he expected when he tracked Clarke, but it certainly wasn't this.

It's an old, nondescript factory building on the edge of town, surrounded by warehouses. He drives around the perimeter once or twice, keeping his eyes peeled for people. But not a soul. There's just a black van parked nearby.

He loads his gun in the car. Makes sure his knife is still in the thigh pocket, because that thing's saved him more than once. Then he takes a deep breath and gets out.

There's no one in the van, nothing except a smear of blood on the driver's side handle. He stops inspecting the vehicle when he hears a faint whirring sound that is coming from the building itself.

Getting into the building isn't easy. The door is small and rusted shut, and he creeps around looking for the one Clarke must've come in through. When he finds it, it's chained closed. He'd have better luck with breaking through the rusted door, but the sound it would make is awful. But to get through steel chains… He doesn't have equipment. He'd have to leave and come back.

And no way in hell is he doing that.

So he breaks through the rusted door. WInces at the screeching sound it makes. He falls into a dark space, nearly banging his knee against something metal. A hammer. He picks it up. An acetylene torch. He stuffs that in his jacket pocket, too, because what the hell. The whole room smells like rot and rust and decay. There's a hallway, and a stream of light coming from inside a lit room. Voices talking. But he knows he's made the right decision when he hears the faint whirring rise in volume, high pitched from that direction.

It sounds like a saw.

Then, Clarke's voice: screaming. "Wait, wait!"

He moves automatically, stops thinking about anything else. He just goes towards the doorway, gun trained in front of him, following Clarke's voice.

A bullet ricochets off metal near his shoulder, and he jerks back.

Josephine is standing at the other end of the hallway behind him. She snarls at him when he turns and instantly fires back, but she's ducked away. He hears her call, "Clarke, you're not gonna believe who I just saw! Bellamy Blake!"

Clarke makes a choked sound. Bellamy creeps around the corner of the doorway. To the factory floor. He focuses in on Clarke, where she's tied by the hands to a conveyer, being dragged forward. His eyes follow the path of the conveyer. It confirms his worst suspicions. A fucking saw.

"Bellamy, stop Finn!" Clarke screams, and that makes no sense to him at all until he realizes that Finn's hanging from a separate conveyer, mere yards away from the saw. He barely catches a glimpse before another bullet ricochets off the doorway. He ducks back into the shadows.

Josephine tuts, now sounding far less amused. "I understand why you fired him now, Clarke. I mean, yes, he's eye candy, but he's so annoying."

Bellamy takes a deep breath and sprints out from behind the doorway again.

Instantly, gunshots again. A bullet whistles past his ear. He hears Clarke scream something again, and then a thud, and the gunshots abruptly cut out. He throws himself behind a tank, rolling back to his feet. He looks up only to find himself very close to Finn, who's about to get the haircut of his life.

"I should've tied your legs," Josephine growls, and he realizes he has Clarke to thank for not getting turned into Swiss cheese right there. "But whatever. Kick all you want now, it doesn't matter." Her footsteps start to draw closer. Towards him.

He looks behind him, at the flammable warning on the tank.

Josephine comes closer. He doesn't know how he's going to free Clarke or Finn with her stalking his every move.

"Josephine," he hears Clarke say calmly. "You know, I talked to Gabriel."

Josephine's footsteps pause. For the first time, she sounds a little uncertain. "What?"

Bellamy sticks to the side of the tank and moves as quietly as he can. Meanwhile, Clarke says, "I went to his house and asked him about you."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. He said he met you in high school. He said you threatened his girlfriend. That's why he got a restraining order."

"Gabriel and I like to play games," Josephine says, sounding a little irked now. "It doesn't mean anything."

"You know what else he said?" Clarke goes on. "He said even if you still had the prime symbol on your wrist he'd never be with you."

That's a lie, of course, but it seems to touch a nerve. "I'm starting to think I should've gagged you," Josephine snaps, and Bellamy makes his move.

He lunges out from behind the tank, up to Finn, and bashes his handcuffs with the hammer as hard as he can.

He's fairly sure he breaks Finn's hand, too. But the point is, it's done. Finn lurches down from the conveyer, but stumbles forward.

Instinctively, Bellamy throws his gun down and grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him back, just in time. Finn's nose is a hair's breadth away from the saw.

Josephine finally catches up, firing at him. Yet another bullet whistles by his ear. "Not so fast, Bellamy!"

He turns and shoots. This time his aim isn't completely off; he hears Josephine's scream of pain, her arm jerking back. He fires again, but she's ducked behind the tank.

Bellamy grabs Finn by the shoulders and pulls him up. "Get out of here."

"Clarke—I'm not leaving her with Josephine—"

"I'll take care of Clarke," he seethes. "You call the police. Eligius. Somebody. Or we're all dead."

He pushes Finn towards the door, and he goes, limping. Then he turns around to see Josephine in view again, her gun trained on him with her uninjured arm.

"Bellamy… you're really upsetting my plans."

Bellamy glances down. His gun's on the floor at his feet. If he could just…

"Don't even think about it," Josephine says. Panting. "See that pair of handcuffs on your left side?"

Bellamy sees them. An extra pair.

"Handcuff yourself to the conveyer," Josephine instructs him.

Clarke speaks up. "Don't, Josephine."

"Why not?" Josephine's breathing hard. "You know, you two are both so annoying, I'm starting to wonder why you're not soulm—"

The tank next to her explodes.

Bellamy's blown back by the impact of it, falling to the ground on his hands and knees. Ringing in his ears. He turns his head and allows himself a single grin at the fiery leftovers of Josephine Lightbourne.

Thank god for that torch. It's been a long time since high school chemistry, but he remembered some things. Apply heat. Gas expands, pressure builds… things go boom.

Except the problem, as he notices now, is that the tank and Josephine are not the only things that have been obliterated. They were too close to the structural beams. Fire is spreading fast. The wall makes an awful crunching sound, and he looks up to see the roof—shift.

He staggers to his feet and runs to Clarke. She's now yards away from her own saw, sweaty, chained, blood running from her nose. He looks up at her wrists. The chains on her are much heavier than the ones on Finn, and he gets in front of her, between her and the saw, and hits at them with his hammer as he walks backwards, their chests nearly bumping into each other.

He tunes into what she's saying. "Leave, Bellamy. Leave."

"Shut up, Clarke." Heat flares near them from another bloom of fire.

"This building's going to collapse."

He looks up. A terrifying shrieking sound is coming from the beams that hold this place up. He looks back at Clarke's chains. "On both of us, I guess. Because you're out of your mind if you think I'm leaving you here alone."

A pause. Then: "You can't get through these chains. Stop the conveyor instead."

Of course. He runs towards the control panel, but the lever's broken off.

"Did you find it?" Clarke calls. She sounds strangely calm for someone who's a foot away from getting sliced in half.

His eyes follow the levers and pulleys of the machine, which normally wouldn't be seen, but it appears this machine's been stripped down to its basic functions. Sweat drips down his brow. It's intricate.

He throws his hammer into the machine with unerring aim.

It gets stuck in the pulley wheels. The conveyer grinds to a halt. He breathes a sigh of relief, but then it starts again. A slow jerk forward. Stops again. The hammer falls in place slightly. The conveyer jolts again forward. It has only bought precious seconds.

He abandons it, and sprints back to Clarke. Fuck it. If he were Clarke, then maybe he could find some better way to save her. But he can't. All he can do is put his body between her and that saw.

Then the building falls on top of them and it doesn't matter anyway.

—

The one thing that is nice, he thinks when he comes to in the dark, buried alive, is that the saw is broken. Before something had struck his head and he'd blacked out, he'd seen a falling concrete beam crush it to dust, inches away from Clarke's face.

His head hurts. He's lying on his stomach, and it's completely dark. He tries to push himself up, but can't rise more than a few inches before his back hits something hard and metal. He collapses back to the wreckage and cranes his head up. He tries to shift backwards, but he can hardly move. His leg is stuck under a beam. Not crushed, just ensnared below the knee so he can't quite pull it out. He stretches his arms forward and his fingers graze more metal. He's well and truly caged in.

There's a clinking of chains beside him. He turns his head, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.

Clarke's on her stomach next to him, shaking broken chains off her wrists. He instantly reaches for her, touches her back.

"You okay?"

She coughs weakly. "I feel like a building fell on me."

He has to smile. She smiles back, trying to shift her position, but it doesn't look like she has much room either. They're surrounded by debris on all sides, only stopped from being crushed by the long slab of metal that hangs suspended just over them.

He reaches to help her, but gets stuck again by his damn leg.

She notices. "Oh, no."

"It's not hurting me," he reassures her. She doesn't seem reassured at all. She covers her face with her hands for a second. When she removes them, the expression on her face is resolute.

"Bellamy, we have to get out of here."

She scoots forward a bit, starts shifting debris, raking at it with her fingers, as if she might dig them out of a mountain all by herself. Bellamy knows better, especially when he pulls out his phone and finds he has no service. Concrete all around them. There's no light. Sound is deadened. It's sweltering here.

He tosses his phone to the side. He won't voice any of these observations, of course. She probably has noticed them herself. She just refuses to accept it.

"You shouldn't have been here," she says. "Why were you here?"

"I put a tracker in your shoe."

She's silent. "Like Finn." He nods, and she adds, "Thank you for saving him."

He doesn't say anything for a second. "I didn't save him for him."

"I know. Still."

"I wouldn't have saved him at all if I were closer to you," he goes on, because he might as well confess it all now. "I would've let him die. Gladly. And you could hate me for the rest of your life but at least you'd be alive to do it. You wanna know why?"

"Bellamy. Don't."

"Why?" he says, angry that they're here, angry that he's had to pretend he doesn't feel this way, angry that she still wants him to pretend even now. "Why shouldn't I say it? As if you don't already know the truth?"

"Of course I know it." Her voice is perfectly steady. "But there's no point in saying it, unless you plan on dying. Which we are not doing."

Her voice becomes thin at the end there. And Bellamy sighs, because she's still determined to think they're going to dig themselves out. He listens to her try to move some metal out of the way and then joins in. Only for her. Only for the slim chance she might survive.

They do that without speaking for what seems like hours. But for every beam they manage to shift together, there's another. There's more debris, and sometimes when they move something, even more rains on their heads.

They shrink away when another beam falls from the sky. Clarke grabs his jacket sleeve and jerks his arm away, him towards her, and a sharp piece of metal lands where his hand was with a thunk.

They have to stop doing this, he thinks. Or they'll just die even faster. They both lie there, tangled up, breathing hard.

"Is it just me," Clarke gasps, "or is it getting harder to catch my breath?"

It's not just her. He feels like he's running a marathon even though he's barely moving. Their eyes connect in the dark, and he knows she's thinking the same thing he is. There must be no air circulation in here. They are using up a limited amount of oxygen. This is a tomb.

Clarke turns back on her stomach and cranes her head up, undoubtedly searching for a spot in the ceiling that can be poked at. She says, "I'm sorry I sent those applications."

It takes Bellamy a second to remember what she's talking about. It feels like forever ago. "It's alright."

"No, it's not." Her voice is fierce. "You were right. I won't apologize for arguing with you about it, but it was wrong to go behind your back. I'm sorry."

Bellamy chuckles despite himself. "What were you gonna do if they were all rejections? Just have them mailed to my door anyway, a nice big fuck you?"

She sputters on a laugh. "I knew they wouldn't be. Your old applications were good."

"I dunno, Clarke. Hell of a gamble."

They laugh softly in the dark. The air is thinning, so it might be using too much of their precious little oxygen, but it's never a waste to laugh. Not with her.

"I just wanted you to live," she says wistfully, when their laughter fades. "I just really wanted you to live."

Her words make him ache inside. "You made me want to live."

And it's true. She had inspired that in him. She had made him see a better version of himself, made him want to strive to become that person she thought he was. She made him dream and yearn for more out of life than what he was allotted by fate. He'd thought a long time ago that he hated that, but no. He loves that she did that.

"I think it's raining," Clarke whispers. He strains his ears and can faintly hear it, too. It must be going pretty hard for them to hear under all this.

Clarke seems to have the opposite thought process. "We can't be far from the surface if we hear it," she murmurs.

She tries again to lift a slab of concrete. He knows she won't be able to. But that's just the kind of person she is. She always tries, for him. Even when anyone else would have given up on him she tries. In everything she does, she tries, she tries, she tries so hard. And he loves that about her.

He watches her back rise and fall with shallow breaths, and thinks about what he's going to miss about existing in this world.

His mother, yes. Octavia, yes. But Clarke. His thoughts always return to her; his greatest happiness and his greatest regret. He is going to miss her. The way she is different from anyone else he's ever met, somehow both ruthless and kind. Sometimes, to him, she is ruthlessly kind. She makes him feel things and want things and to be things that he's not.

Maybe he didn't get to go to college, or buy shiny new expensive things, but he did have at least one thing, one luxury he kept close his whole life, and cherished, and guarded jealously for himself. Even when it was selfish of him to do so. His friendship with Clarke Griffin was the one thing he could never quite bring himself to give up. "Clarke, remember when we talked about having a fund for sunny days?"

She stops scraping away at metal. "I'm sorry you never got to have one."

"But I did." He waits until he can feel her looking at him. "The sunny day fund was you. Always you."

She starts to cry.

Not the reaction he was hoping for. "Never mi—"

"I need to tell you something. Josephine got it wrong," she says through hiccupped breaths. "Finn was on that conveyer and I was scared for him. Of course I was, but I just kept thinking how glad I was that it wasn't you." He's silent, and she goes on. "I've thought about what would happen if Finn died. I know I would feel guilty for the rest of my life. But if it was you... I have no idea. I don't even want to think about what I'd do in a world without you in it."

Every word hits him, deeply.

She wipes her tears in a rather frustrated gesture. "We wasted time, Bellamy. We wasted so much time." She bangs her fists on the metal in front of her. More dust and debris scatters.

"It wasn't a waste," Bellamy tells her quietly, because he can feel that she's lost hope, and he doesn't want her to die thinking that.

But Clarke isn't looking at him. She's now sorting through the debris she's scattered. Her lips part. "Bellamy, look. You won't believe what I found."

He squints down at her hand, and it takes him a moment to identify what she's holding. It's a blister pack, mostly pulverized.

She tilts it towards him, and he realizes there's one pill left in it which was not crushed.

Clarke's voice is a whisper. "This is the pill that took Josephine's soulmark away."

He looks into Clarke's feverish blue eyes and nods.

She fumbles with the package with shaking hands, puncturing the last blister, and the pill rolls into her open palm.

They both stare at it. There's a groove in the centre, and he plucks it up and carefully, ever so carefully, cracks it in half. "Will it work like this?" he asks her.

"I don't know. The one they gave the participants was probably stronger than they needed, just to make sure there was an effect significant enough to put in the study."

He's silent for a moment. "If it works... they'll be gone."

"They'll never really be gone."

He nods and drops one half of the pill into Clarke's waiting palm. In unison, they lift the pills to their mouths. And pause. This is an action that cannot be reversed. It's crazy. It's dangerous. It's—

Exactly what he's always wanted.

"Together?" Clarke whispers.

"Together."

In unison, they swallow their halves of the pill. It goes with some difficulty down his parched throat.

They lie there in silence for a while. He doesn't feel very different for a long time, except maybe more lightheaded as their slow suffocation continues. Eventually, though, there's a burning in his right wrist. Clarke winces a little beside him, and he knows she feels it too.

They turn on their sides, facing each other, and put their hands together, watching the tattoos fade.

When they're gone, or at least faded enough that they can't be seen anymore in the dark, their hands interlace. The air is too thin to speak anymore, only to struggle for breath, to keep their eyes open, locked on each other. And eventually even then, Clarke's eyes start to slide shut before his do.

But he takes comfort in one thing in these last few minutes. They're finally untethered. Not promised to anyone, not obliged by fate.

Under the rubble, in this little world between them, they finally get to live on a planet without soulmarks.

—

Clarke wakes to a rush of air and glaring light.

Cold. Cold, biting air. Wet. The pattering of rain, thunder. Voices. Light exploding against her closed eyelids. Hands taking her arms, pulling at her body.

She cries out in pain, then marvels that she has the breath to cry from pain. "One survivor here!" she hears someone shout. Clarke opens her eyes. A woman in a firefighter's uniform. The rubble has been parted. Clarke looks behind her. Bellamy's eyes are still closed. She starts to fight her rescuer, trying to crawl back to him.

"No, Bellamy, Bellamy, please, Bellamy—"

His back rises as if with breath. Clarke could cry. Her rescuer seems to notice it too, because she yells, "Possibly two survivors! I need some help down here!"

Clarke crawls away from her rescuer, grabs Bellamy's wrists. His blank wrists, just as blank as her own. She's about to tug on them before she remembers his leg is stuck under there and they'll probably have to lift more rubble to get him out. She settles for shaking him. "Bellamy, get up. Open your eyes for me."

And he does. Beautiful, brown, long-lashed eyes flutter open and focus on her. He mouths her name. Clarke?

She falls to her knees beside him. "Bellamy, we're alive." She tosses her head back, to look up at the sky they've been unearthed to greet. Water pours down in sheets, but she's never been so happy to see a rainy day. "We're alive."

—

They're brought to the hospital emergency room to get checked out, and Clarke insists her bed is the bay next to Bellamy's. They draw back the curtain between them, so they can see each other.

Jaha is her first visitor. He nods at Bellamy and then looks at Clarke. "I came as soon as I heard. Kane's on his way."

"Thank you." Clarke hides her blank wrists under her blanket. She doesn't know how Jaha would react if he saw that she'd wiped his son's mark from her wrist.

"I have some… unfortunate news," Jaha says eventually. Clarke's head comes up. "There was a fire in Polaris laboratories yesterday."

A pit settles in Clarke's gut. Dread. "And the soulmarks research?"

He meets her eyes steadily. "Wiped out."

Clarke settles back on her gurney with a defeated sigh. "Josephine." Screwing everything up even now, even though she's dead. Her remains had been found and they were not pretty. There'll be police questioning about that, too. Clarke's overwhelmed by a wave of tiredness.

She doesn't get to think about it much more, though, because then the curtain's drawn back again, and there's Finn.

"Clarke." He comes immediately to her bedside to hug her. His hand is in a brace. She hugs him back, a little emptier, and meets Bellamy's eyes over his shoulder.

Real life has come rushing back in.

Bellamy looks away. She wishes she knew what he was thinking.

A nurse walks in as Finn pulls away. "Mr. Blake, it's time for your leg X-Ray."

As Bellamy's wheeled away, Finn sits down on the edge of her bed. "I was so scared," he says, and fills her in on what had happened on his end.

He had called for help, then saw the building go down. He'd tried fruitlessly to dig them out before emergency services arrived to help. It had taken hours.

The team that had been sent to Clarke's old mansion were brought here to help. Hope had waned. But they soldiered on, and finally unearthed them just in the nick of time.

"You looked like you were dead," Finn breathes, and before she can put her arms beneath the blanket again, he grabs her hand. Looks down at it. Freezes.

Her right wrist, just like her left one, is completely blank.

"Finn—" she says, because he's gone pale.

"Did Josephine do this? I saw her with those pills…"

Clarke wonders if he'd believe her if she said yes. In any case, he seems to read the truth on her face.

He stands, letting go of her hand like it's burned him. "What did you do?"

"I—" She has no explanation for him. Under the harsh hospital lights, under his accusing gaze, knowing people are listening, she doesn't know what to say. It had made perfect sense when the world was only Bellamy and her.

"You erased your soulmark? On purpose?" Finn says, and conversation quiets down around them. She closes her eyes.

"Finn, don't do this here."

"Why, because you don't want a scene?"

She opens her eyes again. "Because I almost died," she snaps. "And you could at least give me twenty-four hours before interrogating me about what I did or didn't do when I thought my life was over."

Finn's face flickers, and he stands abruptly. "I'll get you something to eat." Without waiting for a response, he's gone.

—

Later, she's discharged from hospital, has finished being questioned by the police, and gets to go home, where she has even more visitors.

She wants to be left alone. She wants to think about what she's going to say to Bellamy. In between visitors, she turns on the TV to a celebrity TV channel.

And there—they're already talking about her erased soulmarks. Word gets out fast. Especially after Finn had made a scene in the hospital about it. She sets the remote down and leans in to catch what's being said. LOVE EXPERT BREAKS DOWN CLARKE AND BELLAMY, reads the headline.

"So Clarke Griffin erased her soulmark herself, if the rumours are to be believed," one reporter says. "To be with Bellamy Blake. What does this mean?"

"It means she's made a stupid choice," the love expert replies.

They bring up a huge old picture of her and Bellamy walking down the street together, and point at Bellamy's expression. "He's annoyed with her." He's just not smiling. They point to Clarke. "She looks like she's going to cry." They turn back to the viewers. "There's plenty of instances we could talk about that show Clarke and Bellamy aren't a good match for each other. I mean, it was just a year ago that Clarke infamously tried to get a restraining order against him, and now she's turning down Finn Collins for him? They're volatile, is what they are."

The expert looks at the camera and it feels like they're looking directly at her.

"Clarke has a soulmate, no matter the fact that she erased her mark from her wrist. The relationship has already failed. It's just a question of when they realize it."

She turns the TV off and rubs her face. She'd thought a brush with death would erase all doubts, but it doesn't, and that drives her crazy. She just keeps thinking it: Their whole lives it's like fate just shoves different people in front of them instead the obvious—each other. That has to mean something. Maybe there's still something about them they're not seeing.

"Miss Griffin," the butler says from the doorway. "Visitors to see you."

"Finn," she says grimly.

"No. A Monty Green and Jasper Jordan."

—

"What are you doing here?" she asks, shocked, when the butler brings them in.

"You almost died, the least we could do was show up," Monty says. "You'd never guess how much I sold your dad's autographed movie for on eBay, by the way."

"And," Jasper adds, "we just wanted to see whether it was true."

"Whether what was—" she sighs, noticing how their eyes have strayed to her arms, fully covered by a long-sleeve shirt.

Monty and Jasper lean over as she rolls up her sleeves. "They're really gone?" Jasper asks. "Not makeup?"

"No makeup. They're really gone."

"Whoaaa," Monty and Jasper say in unison.

They catch up for a bit, and then Jasper asks if she's got any more of her dad's autographed things lying around. She rolls her eyes and asks the butler to take him to the old stash.

In the meantime, Monty asks, "So, what are you gonna do now that you got rid of your soulmarks?"

She knows what he means. Her mind turns back to that celebrity love expert. "I don't know, Monty. I got rid of it, but I can't pretend it never existed."

Monty's silent for a second before standing. "Clarke, can I show you something?"

Puzzled, she nods. He leads her to the bathroom, to the sink. As she watches, he turns on the tap and pulls his sleeve up his arm, revealing his shovel soulmark.

"Monty, what—"

He puts his wrist under the spray. She gawks. He scrubs it for a while, and black smudges come away on his fingers.

Her jaw drops the more he reveals it. The more dark water flows into the sink, the more he scrubs. Finally, Monty slowly turns his wrist towards her. "It's funny what you can do with a little black marker."

His soulmark is a rake, just like Jasper's. She's shocked she'd never realized this before—she'd always known their soulmarks looked similar, but now it's exceedingly obvious Monty had only filled in the tines of the rake to make it look like a shovel.

At her stunned silence, Monty goes on. "Jasper and I grew up soulmates. But then Jasper met Maya and fell in love with her. Like, insanely in love with her." Affectionate eye roll. "And at the end of high school, before we moved away from the farm for university, he told me he wanted to marry her someday. So we pretend we're not soulmates. Because no one would understand." He offers her a wry smile. "But ever since you told us about Wells… I thought maybe you would."

Something clicks inside of her, some final piece of the puzzle that was Clarke and Wells. "But you still love him," she says slowly.

"Oh, yeah. Big time. When I was little I thought I'd marry him, at least until he met Maya and I met Harper. But that doesn't make me love him less. He still gets me better than anyone else in the world. He's still my best and oldest friend." He pauses. Clarke remembers how, long ago, Jasper had so quickly pulled up an article about soulmarks from the internet, the exact thing she wanted to read. Almost too quickly. As if they'd had their own long search for answers. As if maybe Clarke had never been alone, as if maybe nothing had ever been wrong with her at all. Monty goes on.

"Listen, Clarke… I think soulmates are the universe's way of guiding us to people it thinks can understand us, or understand a part of us. But what we decide to do with that is up to us, not fate."

—

After Monty and Jasper leave, Finn shows up with a bouquet of flowers, but Clarke's ready with what she's got to say.

"I'm not marrying you, Finn. Not now, not ever."

"I was afraid you'd say that." He sets the flowers down on a table in the hallway and takes her hands. "But I've thought about it. And I don't care if your soulmark is gone. I still love you. You're still my soulmate and we both know it."

"My answer is still no."

"I'm your soulmate, Clarke. I'm the love of your life." He holds up his wrist, his clock face tattoo. "You can erase your soulmark, but you can't deny fate."

She'd thought about that. Logic and love have warred in her head her whole life, but now she knows which one she can live without. "We're soulmates in theory. But it doesn't feel like it, Finn. Maybe in another life. I may have been able to accept it if it weren't for—"

"Bellamy?" At her silence, he shakes his head. "It's not about Wells at all. It's always about Bellamy."

She thinks about denying it but doesn't. Because he's not wrong.

On paper, she and Finn are good together. They were both born and raised in similar social circumstances, raised under the watchful gaze of tabloids and cameras. On that level alone, they understand each others' lives very well. Clarke often had thought she would be the perfect soulmate for Finn if her life had gone the way it was meant to.

But Clarke is not the person the universe probably meant for her to be. And a large part of that is because she met Bellamy.

Finn seems to take her silence as encouragement. "Listen, Clarke. Even if I didn't have this mark on my wrist I'd fall for you."

"Are you sure that's true?"

"You know I liked you before I knew we were soulmates."

That's true, but… "Would you have asked me to marry you so soon if the universe didn't give you a sign it was the right thing to do?"

Finn throws his hands up. "That's the point of soulmarks, Clarke! It's so you can be glad you made the right choice. There's no one out there as perfect for me as you. I'm in love with you, Clarke. I can't help it. You're not being fair. You're leaving me without a soulmate."

It's a guilt she's considered a thousand times. But she doesn't let it stop her now. She arches a brow. "I'm sure Raven would be happy to take you back."

"Raven's with Luna now."

Clarke hadn't known that. She supposes some soulmates really do work out. She shakes her head and stands up. Finn stares at her.

"Where are you going? You can't just leave."

"You know, Finn, you don't have to do what the universe tells you to do all the time." She turns away and picks up her purse. "You're the one always telling me to be a rebel."

—

She finds herself at Arkadia headquarters, at the research lab. It's been more or less cleaned out after the fire Josephine set. It's now just an empty, stripped room that still smells like smoke.

Thelonious Jaha finds her there once again, where she'd asked him to meet. He stands next to her, gazing with her at the destruction.

"Years of work, gone," Clarke says finally. "It's such a waste."

"Still looking for answers, Clarke?"

Clarke sighs and turns to look at him. "I'm sure you've heard that I got rid of my soulmarks. I just… wanted to talk to you. Apologize, I guess. But I also want you to know that it doesn't mean I love Wells any less."

She braces herself. But Jaha surprises her. "I know, Clarke. I think we put too much stock in soulmarks."

Clarke gets the feeling he's talking about more than Wells. She has always had the feeling he'd seen through her.

"It's hard not to," she replies.

"It's a romantic idea, that love is fated, that you can't help who you fall for," Jaha agrees. "There's truth to that, perhaps. But falling in love is easy. Staying in love is a choice. And I've always suspected soulmarks are a self-fulfilling prophecy that way."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that when things get tough, it's easy to have faith in the marks on your wrist. But if they're not there, you have to have faith in each other instead. And having faith in something intangible, in something nobody has given you, but something you have given yourself… that is exquisitely difficult."

Clarke blinks back tears. "If it's so hard, then is it worth it?" she whispers.

"I think that's up to you, Clarke." Jaha turns away from the now empty lab space. "But I know what my son would say."

—

Bellamy gets a phone call from Eligius the next day. They want to speak with him, they say. A meeting tonight, arranged in a hurry.

He heavily suspects he's about to go through an inquiry about his actions last night.

In the meantime, he doesn't turn on the news, doesn't try to check any celebrity sites. He's not sure he wants to know what Clarke is up to. Promises made in the dark before they died don't carry as much weight in real life.

Bellamy winds up at his mother's apartment in the hours before the inquiry. She hugs him at the door, cries into his shoulder.

"I'm okay, Mom."

She doesn't seem reassured. She clings to him, more emotional than usual. He frowns and pulls away. Glances around the apartment. It's messy.

"You haven't been drinking, have you?"

"No," his mother says at once.

He starts opening cupboards while she stands back.

"Bellamy, I haven't."

"Alright," he says, but keeps looking. She trails after him as he heads to the bedroom next. He's about to look under the bed when he realizes the throw rug she's got on the floor is shifted out of place.

He narrows his eyes. Aurora tenses in his peripheral vision.

He snatches the edge of the rug and pulls.

And there—there's a loose floorboard.

"Bellamy," Aurora begins, but he reaches down and tugs. How long has this been here? Their entire goddamn lives?

His mother's trying to pull him away, but he's stronger, he shakes her off and reaches under the floor to pull out a wooden chest. It's got some weight to it, and is the length of his arm. He sets it on the floor, but it's got a heavy lock on it. He tugs on it. Doesn't budge.

Bellamy wheels on his mother. "Open it."

"Why do you have to be like this?"

"I said open it."

"It's not what you think. Just trust me."

Yeah, right. "Open it right now or I'm taking a saw to the damn lock."

"Oh, you're just like your father," she seethes. "Never could leave well enough alone."

"I'm not my father!" he shouts, and she shrinks back, but he doesn't care. "He's the one who left you. But no matter what you've done, I never have."

Aurora's mouth opens and closes several times. But he's not done. He goes on, voice lower.

"The reason I do this is because I care. Because I don't want to find you overdosed on the bathroom floor ever again. Once was enough."

His voice breaks, despite his anger. He's never forgetting that day.

Her eyes become shiny, and he once again has the impression she's not truly looking at him. Then she surprises him.

She turns and bends down beside the box. He watches her put in the combination. 1-0-0. It clicks, and she slowly opens the lid. Bellamy peers over her shoulder.

There's no bottles inside, but a series of random knick knacks that, at first, mean nothing to Bellamy. A collared maroon men's shirt. A small container of cologne so old the logo has rubbed off the glass. A thin, gold chain necklace. A cheap looking watch that has long since stopped ticking.

Bellamy realizes with a jolt these must be his father's things.

There's a book on top of it all. Aurora picks it up. Bellamy focuses on the title. Bakunawa Eats the Moon, it's titled, a children's book, with an illustrated dragon on the cover.

"Your father used to tell me stories," Aurora says softly. "When he left, I went to the library and looked for any Filipino mythology books they had. This was the only one. I take it out every now and then, over the years… Even though it doesn't tell the story quite as well as he did." She smiles a bit. "It's two months overdue. Again. Maybe you could return it for me?"

Bellamy stares down at the objects, then the book. He slowly sinks down on the bed with her. She hands him the book, and he slowly flips through it. A piece of his identity he didn't know he was missing quietly slides into place.

As he's reading, Aurora says, "I—I'm going to join a support group."

He looks up sharply. She's gazing at him.

"I want to be better for you," she whispers. Puts her hand on his face. "My beautiful, brave boy. There's something I have to tell you. Your father didn't abandon us."

It's so out of left field that Bellamy can only stare at her in shock. "What?"

"It was a lie, that part. The rest of it was real. We did have horrible arguments all the time. There was a particularly bad one the night I last saw him. I wanted him gone, because he wasn't my soulmate and I thought, this couldn't possibly work. There was no point in trying. Maybe I was right, but that doesn't change the fact that I still think about him twenty-seven years later."

Bellamy's speechless. His mother smiles a little, pats his cheek. Then she turns away to look out the window.

"So to answer your question from years ago, no, I don't regret meeting your father, Bellamy. I regret telling him to leave."

—

The problem, Clarke realizes, is that she has no way to reach Bellamy. Both their cell phones had gone missing yesterday in the chaos. Clarke hasn't had a chance to get a new one and she'd bet it's not Bellamy's first priority either.

She has a sneaking suspicion that he would've seen his mother today, though. So she calls Aurora, and finds her suspicions were correct. Aurora tells her Bellamy went to the library to return a book for her, the same library he had used often as a child. So she dons a pair of sunglasses and a cap and takes her BMW. She gives her bodyguards the day off. With Josephine gone, she's already thinking she can let up on the regular protection.

The thought is a relief.

At the library, she tugs her cap lower when she notices two teen girls give her a second look. She prays they don't recognize her. They eventually return to their books, and Clarke exhales a sigh of relief.

She makes her way through the library, first perusing the sections that Bellamy used to browse the most, but then just starts a methodical search through each floor.

She finds him finally in the children's section, sitting on the floor of an aisle with his legs stretched out in front of him, an open book in his lap. He looks up when she walks towards him, and does a double take. Clarke tucks her sunglasses and cap away and steps towards him.

"What are you doing here?" she whispers, although there's no one around this section of the library right now.

He replies equally softly. "Returning a book." He doesn't look like he's actually returning it, though. He's just reading it. He shows her the cover—it's a children's book, colourful illustrations and all. Then he glances at the clock on the wall. "I have a debrief meeting at Eligius. I should probably get going."

He's avoiding her eyes. She steps in front of him. "Wait."

She waits until he makes eye contact to say, "I broke it off with Finn. For good."

His eyes widen slightly. He sets the book down and stands up. "Clarke…"

"I told him I'm never going to marry him. I can't lie to myself anymore. I don't care if he's my soulmate. I want you, and I'm determined to make it work. So listen to me, Bellamy, because even if you tell me no, I'm still not going back to Finn. That's my choice. It's you or nothing."

Even if it defies logic. Defies fate, even. Even if the universe continues to tell her it's a disaster. But Bellamy and his honest heart, his selfless way of being, the seemingly endless capacity of his love for people around him has inspired her; changed her; and forced her see the world through a different lens. How could that be a disaster?

She prepares for his response. That he might tell her she's being stupid. But instead he says, "Alright."

She blinks. "Really?"

"Yeah. I've been thinking." Bellamy takes a breath, and then it all comes out, a rare rush of feeling: "How many times over our lives could we have walked away from each other for good? But we didn't. We always end up back here, you and me. Because we make that choice. We do it every day. And I've let the world convince me that my choices didn't matter for too long. But if they didn't matter, I wouldn't still be standing here next to you after twenty years… So screw the soulmarks, Clarke." He takes a step towards her. "I don't need a tattoo to tell me how much I love you."

Something grows and bursts in her chest. A pressurized ache she hadn't realized was there for all this time, until it's gone, and all that's left is a beautiful sense of relief. Clarke finds that she doesn't need any more words, because he's said it all.

They came from vastly different worlds. They didn't get each other right away. Even to this day, they have to make an effort to understand each other's lives sometimes. They had to try, and try, and try, and each time, it was a choice to do so. She's been choosing Bellamy Blake her entire life without realizing.

She pushes off to hug him, and to choose him all over again.

Their arms encircle each other, in the middle of the aisle, and as always, he feels like home. She doesn't want to let go, not ever. But he does first, and then he presses her against the stacks.

Book spines dig into her shoulders, into the back of her head, but she barely feels it. She tilts her head up to him and their mouths meet. He cradles her face with both his hands, palms spanning over her jaw and fingers threading in her hair. She clutches onto his wrists. It's a soft sort of kiss, the kind that is for simple affection, the kind that curls her toes in her shoes and makes her stomach swoop giddily like she's fifteen again kissing him on a rooftop.

His tongue traces the seam of her lips. She angles her head to kiss him deeper, at least until she hears a quiet gasp.

They jolt apart and look to the end of the aisle. The two teenage girls Clarke had spotted earlier are standing there with wide eyes. Busted.

"Uh," one of them stammers, eyes darting between them, "sorry to interrupt, we just—couldn't help but notice you came in here and we were going to ask for an autograph, but, uh, never mind—"

Clarke smiles her practiced smile. "It's fine. I'll do it."

Bellamy takes a large step back from Clarke as one of the girls hands her a phone to sign the case. Clarke does, and goes to hand it back, but the girl looks at Bellamy tentatively.

"Can I get your autograph too?"

Bellamy's expression is priceless. Clarke can't help but smother a giggle.

The girl seems discouraged. "I'm sorry, never mind—"

He reaches for the phone case. "No, no. It's alright." He picks up the marker. Clarke goes on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

"Make sure it's not your legal signature. Because that's going to be all over the internet in five minutes." A tip she'd learned early on to avoid fraud, from her father.

"Jesus Christ," Bellamy mutters, and she watches him make up a signature on the spot.

"Can we get a picture, too?" the other girl asks.

"Yeah, sure," Clarke says. They wrap their arms around each other and take the photos. The girls thank them and leave.

The two of them stay in the aisle until they're gone, studying the floor.

After a minute Bellamy looks up at her, voice pitched almost too low to hear. "They're still watching us from two aisles down."

"I know." Clarke wonders if they're filming. She also finds she doesn't really care. She's too deliriously happy.

"They saw us kiss. Guaranteed, they're going to tell the internet." Bellamy studies her as if looking for a reaction. "Are you ready for more rumours about us?"

"No," Clarke says, and watches him flinch back a bit, at least until she adds, "Because I'm tired of rumours. Let's give them the truth."

She presses close to him again, loops her arms around his neck. Bellamy's eyes glimmer with something mischievous. His hands curve around her waist.

This time when they kiss, Clarke exaggerates it just a tiny bit, arching into him. Always quick on the uptake, Bellamy bows her backwards just a bit, hitching her leg up on his hip, and she giggles against his mouth, rather feeling like this candid photo is going to end up looking like the cover of an old-timey romance novel.

Clarke hears a sharp intake of breath from the next aisle. A faint shutter click. They kiss for several more seconds, and then make it proper and dirty because at this point might as well make it a production. Let the world know the truth; everyone would've found out anyway. But at least now it'll be on their terms.

When they disengage, they grin at each other, faces only inches away. Bellamy doesn't let her go.

"Come to my house tonight," she whispers, arms still around his neck. "When your meeting's over. I don't care how long it goes, just come."

"I take it you won't get a restraining order." His voice is wry.

"Just the opposite." She draws herself closer, lips brushing his ear. "I'll make sure you never leave."

—

Needless to say, it's very difficult for Bellamy to focus on the questioning at Eligius. There's a debrief session with the rest of the team. Bellamy is reamed out for not following directions. Then he's asked to explain what happened. He tells them everything, repeating what he'd said during police questioning, including owning up to killing Josephine. He's not being charged anyhow, given the circumstances.

The panel questioning him keeps coming back to the fact that he went rogue and he loses his patience, because damn it, he wants to go home to Clarke. "If you want to fire me, fire me. But don't go around in circles."

They keep doing it, though, and by the end of the inquiry nothing is even decided and it's fucking midnight. The questioning will continue the following day.

In the hallway afterwards, Pike catches up to him, and speaks in low tones. "You should know. Some of us want you to stay, but some want you gone." Not surprising. He knows half this panel has been itching to get rid of him for years. With his messy history with so many of their high-profile clients, he's a black mark on the Eligius reputation. Pike goes on. "I think that ultimately, the powers that be really don't want to keep you. Especially after all this with Clarke Griffin."

His voice is apologetic. But Bellamy had expected that sort of outcome. He looks up at Pike. "Let me finish my contract. Then I'll sign the resignation papers myself."

Pike seems a bit taken aback by this. "Are you sure? You shouldn't feel pressured to leave this career. I'm willing to go to bat for you. Anya too, believe it or not."

"Thank you, sir." Bellamy smiles. "But I've got other plans."

—

Bellamy shows up at the new Griffin mansion in the middle of night, and sure enough, he's let through the gates without having to say a word.

He jogs up the front steps, but before he can even raise his hand and knock on the ornate door, Clarke flings it open.

She's wearing a gauzy, expensive looking knee-length floral print dress. Before he can question her on why she's wearing that in the middle of the night, she flings her arms around his neck and tells him to come inside.

With interlaced fingers, he follows her. They're alone in the foyer.

"Staff went home for the night," she tells him. He lets her tug him along in the hallway, at least until he sees a bouquet of flowers on the table. He stops dead in his tracks. They look fresh.

Clarke follows his gaze. Sighs. "Finn brought those earlier today. Right before I told him to leave."

He stares at the flowers, a familiar guilt starting to rise in his gut. Clarke said no to her soulmate because of him?

"Bellamy," Clarke says sternly. "Tell me what you're thinking."

What comes from his mouth is the stupidest possible thing. "He makes you laugh."

She blinks. "You make me laugh, too."

"Not like he does."

Clarke actually rolls her eyes. "So what if he makes me laugh? Do you think I'm in love with every comedian I watch on TV?"

He glares at her. "It's not like that. It means he makes you happy in a way I can't."

"No one, and I mean no one, makes me happy like you do." She grabs his hand. "I like that we don't always have to laugh. I like that we can talk about serious things, too. About anything. I like that I can be every part of myself with you."

Her voice is so sincere. The way she's looking at him, as always, feels like more than he deserves. Like she sees something beautiful in him that she's in love with.

He's fucking terrified of this decision they've made together. Choosing her is hard; not because he doesn't love her, but just the opposite. And the thought that he might break her because they weren't made for each other is unimaginable.

"I'm not going to break your heart," he vows, more to himself than her. "I'm not going to hurt you. Never."

Clarke studies him in the dark for a moment. Then, her voice becomes gentle. "I know you aren't. I've never once thought you would hurt me."

He thinks back to the times he's made his mother cry. Clarke shouldn't be so confident. Because neither she nor Bellamy know what kind of person he'll become. If, in the future, he'll become the kind of man who takes out his anger at the world on someone who isn't his soulmate. If he'll stop leaving love marks and leave real bruises instead.

"Promise me that you'd leave me if I did," he says hoarsely, studying the floor. "Promise me you'll never let me hurt you."

A beat.

"Look at me," Clarke says. He's compelled to lift his head. She leans in close and takes his face in her hands. Her eyes are resolute and clear, her words fierce. "I'm not Aurora, Bellamy. And you're not your father, and you're not any of her boyfriends, either. You're you. And you get to decide what you are. No one and nothing else."

That hits him right in the chest. He gets the feeling she's not just talking to him.

Clarke continues to study him, and the intensity is almost too much right now. He clears his throat. "Why are you wearing a dress? It's one in the morning."

She blinks and lets go of him, looking down at herself. The dress keeps drawing his eye. It's loose but clings to certain places, only offering the suggestion of the curves he knows intimately beneath. The patterning is intricate. He bets it cost thousands.

"You said you hated seeing me ruin my expensive dresses," she says, reading his mind. "I figured I could give you the honour for once. You can ruin this one, instead."

He blinks, and she's got a dark glint in her eye, and oh, they're doing this, are they?

Holding her gaze, he places his hand on her hip. Slowly, he gathers the fabric in his fist, hitching the dress up until he can slip his hand under it.

He pauses here. Because he doesn't feel the waistband of panties he's expecting. Just the smooth skin of her hip.

She lifts her chin, daring him to ask. She widens her stance a little, daring him to confirm it for himself. He doesn't, although his heart is now beginning to kick into a rhythm.

Under the dress, he skims his hand up her waist, then to her breast, where he traces the band of her bra. He recognizes it without seeing it; the lacy blue one, which unhooks from the front.

A sigh escapes Clarke's lips. He takes his hand away, out of her dress. She looks disappointed.

"Touch me." Her voice is commanding.

"I don't take orders from you anymore." He leans in and runs his nose down her throat. "Unless I want to."

Then he thrusts his hand between her legs and cups her. Fuck. She's definitely not wearing panties.

He rubs his palm over her center, and she ruts into his hand. She's drenched already. "When'd you take these off, huh?"

Clarke reaches to touch his face, her nails dragging down his jaw. "I was trying to wait for you, but you took so long to come home."

He sucks in a breath. She's got that wicked look in her eyes, her voice breathier than usual. Clarke got all dressed up in an expensive dress and no panties just to turn him on. She's playing with him.

He gets a delighted thrill in his chest at the knowledge. God knows he has wanted to have this with Clarke forever. Sex for fun, to sleep together because they want it and not just because they need it.

"I thought about you while I was getting off," she adds when he doesn't move. "In case you needed clarification."

Smartass. With just the hand between her legs, he pushes on her pubic bone, guiding her backwards, until she's taken several tiny skittering steps back to the wall.

He gets right up in her face. "Did you think about me when I was gone? After you fired me?"

"I—" Her breath hitches as he dips a finger into her. She spreads her legs even more to allow him better access. "Every night. All year."

"Every night," he repeats slowly, punctuating each word with a deliberate pump of his finger inside her. They can both hear how wet she is. "How about when he was fucking you?"

She meets his eyes. "Especially then."

He pulls his hand away. Her dress falls back into place. Something flickers in Clarke's eyes, like she's unsure if this was the right thing to say.

But Bellamy simply drops to his knees, takes her right leg and throws it over her shoulder. He bunches up her dress and pushes it up her hips.

"Here. Hold this." She does, gathering the material of her dress up. He waits until it's all out of his way, then he grabs onto her thighs and licks right up into her.

Clarke gasps, hips bucking, and he tightens his grip to keep her in place. But it's difficult to keep her there. The more he sucks at her, plunges his fingers back into her, the more she grinds on him, nearly smothering him, and he doesn't mind one bit.

Eventually she lets go of her dress and fists her hands in his hair, her body arching over him, and the fabric flutters back over his shoulders but he really can't bring himself to give a shit. He can't get enough of the way she tastes, the way she clenches down on his fingers like she wants to keep him there. Especially the way she says his name over and over and over, getting louder and incomprehensible the more he winds her up.

He could really get used to her saying his name like that.

When she crashes over with a loud cry, he sucks especially hard one last time and then immediately pulls away. Everything, his mouth and his fingers, and he lets her leg slip back over his shoulder.

It would be much more satisfying to feel her contract around his fingers, but he wants to play with her a bit too, see how good she got it. If she can hold herself up.

She does, but her knees buckle a bit, and she slides down the wall an inch or two before she seems to find her balance again. She's panting, still making those pleased little sounds in the back of her throat as she slowly comes back to reality. He bets if he put his fingers back inside her she would still be fluttering.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, watching her flushed, satisfied face. Her hair's sticking to her cheeks. That damn dress is so wrinkled and bunched up around her hips, by both of their hands.

After several moments, her eyes open lazily, and she meets his gaze with a dark one of her own. Her voice becomes husky.

"Did you think about us doing this, when you were gone?"

He laughs, lowly. "Clarke, I've thought about us doing this since we were teenagers."

She bites her lip and her lashes lower, and she smiles in that cat-like way he suspects she fucking knows has turned him on since they were that age. "Well, come up here and get it, then."

He does.

He thought she'd be lazy after what he did to her, but she's ferocious when their mouths meet again, licking into his mouth, her hands all over him, feeling him up. She tugs him in by his belt buckle and while they kiss, he dimly registers how quickly she undoes his belt, like she still remembers exactly how it goes.

She doesn't just stop at loosening the belt. She pulls it straight out of the belt loops and tosses it across the floor.

He breaks away from the kiss only to look how far she's thrown it and chuckle. "Was that necessary?"

He stops laughing when Clarke unbuttons his pants and slips her hand inside.

"Bellamy," she purrs. "Are you always this happy to see me?"

"Fuck," he breathes, incapable of banter right now. "Yes." He braces his hands on the wall on either side of her head and lets himself feel it, drops his head down when she starts to stroke him.

"Look at me," she whispers, and he does. Her gaze is ravenous, near-obsessively watching his every reaction to her touch. Impossibly she looks more turned on right now than she did when he had his head buried between her legs. Yeah, he's not going to last if he thinks about that too much.

They don't make it to her bed. The hallway it is, he decides when she yanks his pants over his hips, down his ass. They don't waste time with the rest of their clothes, not when they've been desperate for each other for over two years. Clarke throws her leg over his hip, tilts her hips towards him, loops her arms around his neck. He slides into her so easy it's like they never stopped.

Clarke makes a gasping, strangled sound. She tries to wrap her legs around her waist, but the dress she's wearing is a little restrictive. He grabs her leg and yanks it up. They both hear the tearing seam of her dress. He really doesn't give a damn about it. The only thing that matters is how good she feels.

She locks her legs around his back, and he slams into her again, and again. The sound they make against the wall is obscene. He kind of loves it.

She's sliding down the wall a bit. He readjusts his grip, hitching her back up to new heights before resuming.

"Oh, my god," Clarke moans at the new angle. Her head falls forward, onto his shoulder.

"Just Bellamy is fine."

"Hilarious… aaah, Bellamy."

"That's right. Now you've got it."

He hears her laugh, before it transforms into a squeak. Her nails dig near painfully into his shoulders, and he pushes into her without any control at all, he would be embarrassed in any other situation at how fast he's spiralling, but he's just completely lost it, because he never thought he'd get to be inside Clarke ever again.

She comes apart around him, and he's not far behind.

They drift back down to reality. The sounds of their panting fill the otherwise quiet hallway.

Clarke lifts her head off his shoulder and leans it against the wall, raking her hair away from her face. Her legs loosen around his waist, and she slides one foot back to the floor. The other remains hooked around his waist, where he uses it to hold them in place, because he doesn't want to let go of her, doesn't want to leave her body just yet.

Clarke turns her head and her eyes flix on something on the floor. He follows her gaze. A painting nearby on the wall has fallen off its hook and hit the floor. The frame is splintered in half.

Clarke laughs softly. "Kane is going to kill me."

"It's your house." He slides his hand up her leg, through the broken seam of her dress that is torn all the way up her hip.

"But that's his painting. He bought it for my mom and framed it himself."

"He can send me the damn bill." He plants a sloppy kiss on Clarke's cheek. She holds him there to whisper in his ear.

"There's even more paintings in my bedroom. And so many more expensive dresses I want you to ruin."

This time, they make it to bed.

—

It's only a few hours later when Clarke wakes with a sudden thought. She looks next to her in bed. Bellamy is sleeping on his stomach, the sheets gathered around his hips so she can see the skin all from his muscled back to his neck, and to his cheek pressed to the pillows. His hair's in his eyes. She has the urge to push it back, but refrains.

She slips out of bed as quietly as she can. She puts on a robe before leaving the room, and heads to one of the storage rooms in the house, where her father's old movies and things are kept, along with a few other belongings.

She finds Wells' chess set easily. It's been gathering dust in the corner. She blows some dust off, then brings the whole thing back to her bedroom and sets it on the table by the window. She takes a moment to admire it in the slowly intensifying light of the rising sun.

No more guilt about sorting out Bellamy and Wells. She has room for both of them in her heart.

When she returns to bed, she notices her phone lighting up silently from the beside table. It probably has been going all night. Those photos of her and Bellamy kissing must be everywhere by now.

She looks at her phone anyway, at the text that lights up the screen. Roan.

Congratulations, but don't even think of inviting me to the wedding. I'm sick of you two.

She grins and clambers back into bed to wrap herself around Bellamy again.

.

.

—

FIVE YEARS LATER

—

Clarke shifts nervously from foot to foot in her high heels. She doesn't know why she's this nervous, except she's afraid Bellamy's going to be mad at her for what she's done.

And she doesn't want to ruin this special day. He just graduated with his Bachelor's degree in English Literature, after all.

She's so proud of him for that.

He approaches her now, after returning his gown. He looks a little grumpy, tugging on his tie. "Ceremony was too damn long, remind me why we came to this?"

She smiles as they set off together back to her BMW. "Because you deserved to come to your graduation after everything we've been through."

It's been a long five years. He'd applied to schools on his own terms and resigned from Eligius when he got in. She finished med school and entered residency. It's been hectic as all hell. But they helped each other. Bellamy made her meals for her on-call days, and once again let her practice on him whenever she needed to. Clarke proofread his papers, talked through things with him when he was stuck on his thesis, even though none of it really made sense to her. She tried to make sense of it anyway. She sat there and let him practice his presentations on her, and tried to think of questions the actual professors might ask so he could be better prepared.

She did everything she could to help him, and he her. They stayed out of each others' way during exam periods, which was the best kind of help during those times.

And now he's done. Although, not really. He's already been accepted to an MA in literature and cultural studies. So it's really just the beginning of a long road, but it'll be worth it.

Clarke drives them downtown, where they've got a dinner reservation. Bellamy says, "This better not be an expensive restaurant."

"It's not."

She can feel him giving her a sidelong glance. "It's not about the price, Clarke. It's just, you know how I feel about expensive food. It tastes like shit."

She grins. "Still haven't forgot the time I force fed you foie gras?"

"What else do you think I have nightmares about?"

Still, she suspects there's at least a part of him that hates it just because it's pricey. Bellamy has become more reasonable over the years, but they have an agreement where Clarke only buys necessities—basic living expenditures, and the house they live in. As for frivolous gifts… he still doesn't like those.

She chews her lip. He notices.

"What's going on in your head?"

"Nothing." She scrambles with a topic to distract him. "You know, Finn invited us to his movie premiere."

She's got her eyes on the road, but hears his long exhale as he looks out his open window. "Fuck that guy." He says it in a joking way, the way he's said it many times over the last five years.

She reaches over to jab his shoulder. "You know I have to go. The movie's about my dad." Hollywood had approached the family a few years ago, wanting to produce a biopic. And Clarke's mom, who was out of prison by that time, gave her consent. Of course Finn got cast.

He'd called Clarke up to get her blessing. Bellamy had suggested she say no, for no particular reason except to piss him off. Clarke had ignored this and given Finn the go ahead. They're on friendly terms, regardless of what the tabloids seem to think.

"Fine," Bellamy says eventually. "But only if he lets us bring Octavia's kids along. Ever since they found out I know him they've been begging to meet him. God knows why."

He sounds all annoyed, but Clarke's not fooled whatsoever. Bellamy loves his nephew and niece dearly. The first time she saw him scoop them up in his arms, she'd felt another part of her heart grow, endless in its capacity to feel affection for him. And sometimes it gave her other thoughts too, but she has never shared those.

"Finn won't mind," Clarke agrees. She pulls onto the street the restaurant is on. It's a hole-in-the-wall place, not the sort of place you would normally get a reservation, but, well, Clarke had really wanted to guarantee a secluded table for them.

Bellamy frowns when she parks on the side of the street. "There's probably lots of space in the parking lot."

"No, it's okay," Clarke says quickly. "I've already parked now. Let's just go eat."

He gives her another odd look but to her relief, says nothing.

Dinner is great. Seafood. They take forever to eat but only because they keep talking, and then chuckling over something stupid, and then talking, quite seriously, about something else stupid. Then Clarke tells him she's proud of him and he looks like he doesn't know what to do with the information, much to her amusement. He abruptly switches topics to how Miller and Bryan have bought a house on the lake, and have chickens, and that they've been invited to visit.

When the waitress comes with the bill, the sun has set. When she puts it down, the conversation ends abruptly.

"Don't even think about it," Bellamy says once the waitress has left, pulling the bill towards him.

He's ridiculous. "It's your graduation day, I'm not allowed to pay for dinner?"

"That's right. Not when you pay for everything else." He fishes his wallet from his pocket. Clarke lets him. She has to butter him up as much as possible. She tries to think about how to go about saying it as he pays the bill. As they rise from the table, she clears her throat.

"Bellamy."

He goes still. His eyes flicker up to hers, and his jaw sets. He looks like he's bracing for something. And she realizes then that her anxiety all night has not gone unnoticed.

And no, no that wasn't what she intended to make him feel at all. She quickly grabs his hand.

"I have a surprise for you."

He relaxes infinitesimally. But still eyes her. "A surprise."

"Yes."

When she doesn't elaborate, he steps closer, deliberately puts his hand on her hip, a heavy and warm weight. "Is it under this dress?" His breath is hot against her ear. She shivers and slides her hands down his chest. God, she should not be thinking the things she's thinking in the middle of a crowded family restaurant.

She does fully intend to give him that sort of present tonight, but later. "No, it's outside."

His brow furrows. She takes a deep breath and tugs at his hand.

"Come on."

She takes him through the other entrance, the one that leads to the parking lot, and he lets her tug him along. At least until they reach the corner of the parking lot and he stops dead in his tracks.

It's right there, sitting in a parking space under the shade of a tree. The Rover.

Clarke looks between him and the vehicle. He appears to have been rendered speechless.

"When you sold the Rover back to the mechanic, I bought it back," she tells him quietly. She'd kept it. For years. Knowing he wouldn't have wanted her to. But she was basically waiting to refurbish it. It looks pretty much the same on the outside, except the parts are shinier, the paint retouched, the headlights fixed. Everything under the hood is new. The shitty interior is the same. She'd gone to great lengths, thrown large sums of money around, to make sure it looked and felt like the jeep Bellamy had loved.

He draws closer to the vehicle, still staring at the thing with a wide-eyed expression, and it makes her nervous. "Let me explain. I know you don't like it when I buy you expensive things, but your other car broke down, so you can't be angry, okay? You need a way to get around—"

Bellamy grabs her around the waist and pushes her up against the Rover's driver side door to kiss her.

It's a hard but brief kiss, and when he lets her go he says raggedly, "I love it."

She exhales a huge sigh of relief. "Then here." She fishes in her purse and holds out the key.

He takes it and lets go of her. He opens up the back. They both peer inside into the wide interior.

"Good memories in here," Bellamy says, giving her a rather rakish grin. She thinks for a second he's going to suggest making a few more memories, but then he closes the door. "Let's go for a drive."

—

It's fully dark by the time they're on the highway, Bellamy's testing every function in the thing, the speed and smoothness of the ride, each individual gear. All the windows are open, the sunroof too. He's completely silent, forearms draped over the wheel as they go down a long stretch of highway, but Clarke can tell he's having the time of his life right now. She sits next to him with her feet propped up on the dash and lets him at it, while reading through texts on her phone that she's been neglecting.

"Roan says he's driving through town next week," she informs Bellamy. Bellamy keeps his eyes trained ahead.

"Tell him to keep driving."

Clarke texts Roan back with an invitation to come visit them. Then after a while of answering messages, she switches to the internet, scrolls through headlines. She grins at one she sees in passing.

"Hey, it says on TMZ that we split up after another big fight."

He pretends to hit the wheel. "Jesus, Clarke, you're leaving me again? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm not a monster, Bellamy. It's your graduation day. I was waiting for tomorrow."

They grin. After five years, they can poke fun at it more than they used to.

The tabloids and celebrity experts still love to pick them apart. Especially at the beginning, they'd painted Clarke as a villain, leaving Finn behind, but also predicting she'd choose him by the end of the year. They're still pushing back those predictions.

Clarke stretches her arms out in front of her; her wrists, still as blank as they were five years ago. Same as his.

"I wonder what the universe thinks of us," she muses. "Going against it all the time, every single day."

"I couldn't care less what the universe thinks," Bellamy replies. "Screw fate. We're telling our own damn story."

Clarke puts her phone away and leans her head out the window, into the sweet summer air whipping her hair around. She would be lying if she said she didn't wake up sometimes and look at both their wrists. Like maybe one day fate would confirm this was the right choice. It never does.

But so what if the universe doesn't like it? Every day she proves her love for Bellamy is stronger than the universe.

"Clarke," Bellamy says suddenly, and she twists to look at him, because there's something to his voice. His eyes are trained on the road, but his grip on the wheel is very tight suddenly. "Do you want to get married?"

She stares at him, lips parting in shock.

For the past five years, Clarke has been perfectly content with what they had, and knew she always would be. She doesn't need a certificate any more than she needs a soulmark. Indeed, she's always suspected Bellamy might never want to marry again, not after the guilt of his last marriage and the trauma of his mother's. And she was fine with that. But here he is, asking now. Her heart swells and threatens to burst.

She tries not to show these emotions on her face. She doesn't want to make a big deal of it, even though it is a big deal. For him to ask so casually, today of all days, means something. It means his hope now outweighs his guilt. And that he finally feels like he has something to offer. It means he thinks he has a future. That they do.

Bellamy clears his throat. "I don't have a ring yet. So if you don't want—if you need to think about it, that's fine—"

Clarke leans in to kiss his cheek. "Yes, Bellamy. I want to marry you."

The tension that's been building in his shoulders all day melts away at once. He exhales. "I did have a ring in mind," he admits gruffly. "But I wasn't sure you'd like it."

Based on that statement alone, she's certain she will. "Okay. We can go look at it later." She looks back out the window and grins happily up at the stars, at one star in particular. "Whenever you're ready."

.

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— END —

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---

A/N: Thank you for reading this story. It's been such a rewarding experience to revisit bellarke fanfic. I mean, yes, it sometimes made me want to chuck my laptop out the window, but that's besides the point. I find it funny how much of what made bellarke iconic—the changes made to source material, the actors' chemistry (and eventual marriage omg), their electric formative scenes that were perhaps more electric because the show wasn't trying to make a romance—turned out to be the perfect storm that this show never intended to create, or knew quite what to do with. Sometimes even denied outright lol. I like to think this fic is an homage to that sort of love; the one that wasn't meant to be, but happened anyway.

I crave human interaction now more than ever, so if you have the time and inclination to leave a review (of any length), you'll have my heart. If you want to but don't know what to say, tell me a line or scene you liked! Or whatever you want to say really. As always, my greatest hope is just that you enjoyed reading it.

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