a/n Thank you so much for the reviews on the last chapter! It was great to hear from some new readers as well as those regular reviewers I appreciate so much. Happy reading!

They play a grand total of two games of chess before Clarke decides that it's time to call it a night. She can't remember the last time she turned in for the evening this early, but she's painfully short of sleep and struggling to keep her eyes open, and she suspects that Bellamy, too, is rather desperate for an excuse to give up and get some rest.

"Shall we stop there?" She asks, as Bellamy concedes that she has, in fact, got him in checkmate. "I'd like to get to bed."

"Sure." He agrees easily.

He does seem to be agreeing with her abnormally easily at the moment, and she's rather hoping that he might get a bit of personality back once she's sorted through her feelings about the whole flame situation, and once he's feeling a bit more confident in their relationship again. For now, though, she is too tired to argue, and simply gets on with putting away the chess set and rising effortfully to her feet.

She is half way to the door before she realises he has not followed.

"Aren't you coming?" She asks, confused to say the least.

"I – well – I thought probably you didn't want me to." He mutters, eyes fixed very carefully on the book he has just taken up. "I thought I should stay and read, give you some space."

She sighs deeply and wonders where to begin.

"Bellamy, did you think me showing up in your bed last night and squishing you so tight you could hardly breathe was me saying I wanted you to give me some space?"

"Our bed." He whispers, gaze still lowered.

"What?"

"It's our bed. So you had every right to be there. And you did tell me not to think anything."

She sighs again, and hopes that sighing will not become a habit.

"I just told you that I forgive you. And, yeah, I'm still upset and angry, and it might be a while until I'm in the mood for a wild sex life or whatever, but you're welcome to come to bed." She takes a deep breath, fixes her gaze solidly on a worn patch in the carpet, and prepares to tell him a difficult truth. "I'd like you to come to bed. I'd really like you to – to hold me again, if that's OK."

"Sure." He agrees, still infuriatingly compliant. "Of course that's OK. If you're sure that's what you want."

She nods, once, with quite some difficulty. And then she turns and heads for the bedroom, only this time he is following, hot on her heels, the book which he found so eye-catching mere moments ago presumably dropped somewhere along the line.

Before long, naturally, they arrive in the bedroom, as she should have known they would. Well, she supposes that she knew, because it's not exactly a surprising development, but in this moment she finds that she is a bit shocked by the idea of arriving in the bedroom she shares with a man she is currently furious with, yet somehow also in love with, and in front of whom she is now, presumably, going to have to get changed if she is to make a success of going to bed any time soon. It all seems rather frightening, suddenly, potentially awkward, to strip here and now when he currently feels more like a stranger than her lover.

And then, of course, there is the question of pyjamas. She wore some last night – or what passes for pyjamas round here, at least – because she started out in the kids' room, but she doesn't normally bother with excess fabric when she's sharing a bed with Bellamy. And all in all, there are somehow suddenly too many logistical problems for her to deal with while she's exhausted and angry and scared and at least a little overwrought.

And before she quite realises it is happening, she finds that she has burst into tears.

This is something that she is not proud of. Sobbing pointlessly in her own bedroom with Bellamy looking on was not at the top of her dismal to-do list, this morning. And apart from anything else, she's standing here rather stupidly with her trousers half way down her legs where she froze in frantic grief half way through changing.

She looks stupid, and she feels stupid. That realisation rushes up to meet her quite quickly, actually, the idea that she must be a bit of an idiot and somewhat pathetic to have got herself into this situation, where she's somehow so dependent on someone who would upset her so much. She sort of hates herself for it, but she hasn't quite got the energy to spare in order to do a good job of even that.

She hasn't got the energy to spare for anything, and she is totally and completely -

Before she can finish that thought, somehow, warm arms are closing around her, and an assortment of soothing noises are being whispered into the air near her ear.

"You're OK, Clarke. You're OK." Bellamy whispers, holding her tight. "And Madi's fine, too, and we're going to look after her. And Gus is great, and I'm sure he'll tread mud all over the carpet again tomorrow, and the next day. And – and I know we're not OK, but we will be, I promise. I'll do whatever it takes to fix this, and to show you I'm sorry, you know I will."

She nods a little, but realises he probably can't really interpret that based on the way her head is buried in his chest just now. Decides she had better have a go at speaking through her sobs, instead.

"I know." She confirms, because she does.

Maybe it's not so pathetic, after all, to allow herself to depend on someone who will, she knows, always be there for her. Perhaps one mistake does not cancel out the life they have made together.

"I hope this is OK." He's murmuring now. "Me holding you like this? I just – God, Clarke. I couldn't just stand there and watch you cry, could I? And you did say I could hold you, tonight, so I hope this is alright?"

"It's great." She assures him, past the gradually softening lump in her throat. "It's what I needed. Thank you."

"Any time."

She pulls away, then, and discards her trousers. She opts for an unsophisticated but essentially practical plan of going to bed in her underwear. Fashion is hardly her priority right now. Within moments, she is sagging onto the mattress, and he is taking his rightful place at her side, and she is debating whether she has the strength for one last difficult conversation.

"Bellamy?"

"Yeah?"

"You can stop treating me like – I don't know, like I might explode, or something. Please. Stop agreeing with everything I say. And you know me well enough to know whether I want a hug without asking my permission in words every damn time."

"I'm sorry. I just – I don't want to screw up again."

"I know. I get that. But I fell in love with you, and I just want my Bellamy back."

There is a beat of silence, in which she begins to suspect that she has made the situation even worse. Is he hurt, perhaps, or is he fed up with her making a fuss about everything he ever does? Is he about to lose his temper over her thinking she has some right to give him instructions on how to behave, or about to -?

"Your Bellamy?" He asks her, in something almost resembling his usual teasing tone. "That's a bit possessive of you, Princess."

With a generous giggle, she wraps her arms around him, curls herself close up against his side. And she means to go straight to sleep, really she does, because she is, for the record, absolutely exhausted.

But she can't sleep. Not quite yet.

Not until she presses one solitary, soft kiss to the curve of his neck.

…...

Echo isn't sure why she feels nervous on waking up the following morning. She has every reason to hate Octavia, and very few reasons at all to care whether or not she manages to step down before she gets herself assassinated. And sure, she respects Bellamy and Clarke, but she has no great affection for them, and she barely knows their daughter.

But somehow, she is nervous. These people are her family, by association, in consequence of their relationships with the people she has grown so close to in the last five years. And she cannot help but feel that Raven, in particular, has taught her a thing or two about caring, and about worrying over the wellbeing of others.

She'd quite like to be able to tell her that, but somehow she's not sure it would go down well.

"Morning." Raven greets her with a small smile as she enters the kitchen. "Is there a reason you're staring out of the window rather than making breakfast?"

"Why do I always have to be the one who makes breakfast?"

"Because you're too good for me." The tone is teasing, but Echo knows that Raven really thinks the words are true. "Really, though, why are you staring out of the window?"

"I'm worried about today. About how the announcement will go down. Which is stupid, because Octavia's not my sister and Madi's not my daughter, but somehow I still care."

"Yeah. I can't imagine how Clarke and Bellamy are feeling right now."

"I always thought they were a bit... superhuman, you know. Even when we were on different sides. They just always seemed like they could do anything, fix anything. It's been weird, this week, to find out that's not true."

"It's been weird to see them at odds." Raven adds. "They seemed so in tune with each other when we first got here."

"It hasn't taken us long to ruin their lives." Echo agrees. Sure, it wasn't them, as such, not them personally, but all the same, it sucks that her friends-by-association have had their peace shattered by the challenges of leading the human race once more.

Silence falls, but Echo thinks that it is not an uncomfortable one. She steps away from the sink, sets out some breakfast. Fills a couple of glasses with water, and tries not to dwell too hard on what Raven just said, that lie about being too good for her. No, she's not thinking about that, not now. She's very busy with fetching spoons, and lining them up just-so on the table, and sitting down, and -

"You're wrong, you know." She admits defeat, and says the words.

"What?" Raven looks confused, and that doesn't happen very often.

"I'm not too good for you. You – you deserve everything good, you know that? You deserve so much better than me."

"That's a load of crap, and you know it." Raven bites back. "Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. And if you think -"

"Why are we even having this conversation?"

"What do you mean?"

Echo supposes she could explain. She could use actual words, and point out that it seems a bit silly for them both to sit around arguing that each other deserves better. Or she could do what she would have done in days gone by, and simply stew about this all week. Or, if she were a braver woman, perhaps she might just halt Raven's pointless protestations with a kiss.

She chooses a path somewhere in between, in the end. She jumps to her feet, and takes two whole steps, and then she enfolds Raven in a hug.

"For someone so clever, you really are an idiot sometimes." She bends down to whisper in her general direction.

She expects Raven to freeze a little at all of this contact and affection, expects to be brushed aside with a carefully orchestrated laugh.

She does not expect Raven to relax into her arms, to lean a cheek against her chest, and seek out her hand to squeeze it gently with her own.

And yet, somehow, that is exactly what happens.

…...

Harper has somehow ended up with the duty of shepherding the Wonkru novitiates towards the church steps to listen to the announcement. She's not sure what it was, exactly, about her general demeanour that marked her out as someone likely to be skilled in the art of coordinating overexcited teenagers, but she supposes it could at least be going worse. She hasn't lost any – yet – and none of them have thrown any rocks through Octavia's window on the way past, so she supposes she is basically succeeding.

OK, sure, perhaps it's time for her to admit she rather likes shepherding Wonkru novitiates around the place. They are lively, and interesting, and kind for the most part, and at the end of a particularly satisfying day's training she can almost forget that she's still not pregnant.

Well, she supposes she isn't. She'll get that confirmed once again any day now, no doubt.

But, yes, she's happier just now than she was for their first few weeks here, so she supposes she ought to take that as progress. It makes her feel almost guilty, actually, that she has so many reasons to feel happy but she's still somewhat sad. And then, obviously, that makes everything even worse, and then things are apt to spiral a little.

No. She's happy today. There are cheerful novitiates and an announcement that should bring peace.

They haven't got here early enough. They are quite some way back in the crowd, and little Ethan is complaining as loudly as his young voice will allow him to that he can't see, and that it's not fair that he can't see, and that he wants to be able to see Madi's big moment.

"I don't think this is really her big moment, Ethan." Harper reassures him gently. "This is just her aunt stepping down. Madi will have loads of big moments in future, when she's the commander, and I'm sure you'll get to support her then."

"But I want to be able to see her now." He pouts a little, and she tries not to laugh.

"You're not missing much." Damien, a rather taller young man, reassures his shorter friend. "She's sort of standing behind her parents and looking bored."

She would agree with that. The future ruler of her people looks far from entertained. But as Harper looks towards the steps, she is rather preoccupied with something altogether more interesting.

Bellamy and Clarke are holding hands.

She sort of wants to give a little shout of joy, or dance a jig, or something. She hoped they would get their act together sooner or later, would remember that they are supposed to be a team. But things were looking pretty dire, really, and so she is beyond excited to see them supporting each other in public like this.

This is how it is supposed to be.

Octavia starts speaking, then, and Harper supposes she had better listen. The outgoing tyrant keeps her speech short and to the point, explains that she is relinquishing power, names Madi as her successor. She is clear that this is because of her nightblood, not because of her family relationship with Bloodreina, and Harper reckons that is probably for the best. And then, of course, there is mention of the elected council, and the vote that will be held to choose them in the coming weeks.

And then it is done, and a stunned silence falls over the crowd. It sits, for a moment, but not heavily so. It is not an oppressive silence, but a watchful one, a time of waiting, and of anticipation. And then -

"Heda! Heda! Heda!"

Before Harper quite knows what is happening, she is even chanting the word herself.

…...

Bellamy is very careful not to think too hard when Clarke takes his hand on the church steps.

He is careful, too, not to think too hard when she places an arm about his waist as they pose with Madi in front of the applauding crowd, nor when she tells Octavia later that they would prefer to have a quiet evening at home together than any kind of ostentatious extended family dinner, nor when she spends that quiet evening pressed close up against him on the sofa.

In fact, he is making something of a study of not thinking too hard, of late.

He knows that the moment he allows his brain to start to function, he will lose the plot completely. It is maddening – or perhaps worse than maddening – to be stuck in this awkward limbo with an angry Clarke. He just misses her, and their comfortable relationship, and her casual affection, so much that it hurts.

But it doesn't hurt quite as much, of course, as the knowledge that this is all his fault.

"What's wrong?" She asks him, while they are supposed to be watching some film about a cartoon fish that Gus simply adores.

"Nothing." He lies, with a careful twitching of his lips. "Nothing at all."

"Bellamy. I know you better than that. What's wrong?"

"I'm just worried about Madi." He murmurs. It is not so far from the truth.

"Me too." She agrees, squeezing his thigh, making his heart give a little stutter in his chest at how closely it resembles that casual affection. "But I hear she's going to have a pretty great chief bodyguard."

He chuckles a little at that, even through his sadness. "You flatter me."

"It's only the truth. I know you'll do everything you can to protect her."

"Of course I will."

"I'm sorry I didn't see that before." She mutters now, eyes fixed carefully on the animated jellyfish on the screen, rather than on his face. "I was a bit overwhelmed."

"I get that." He sucks in a breath, decides to risk telling her at least some of the truth. "I'm so angry with myself for how I handled that, Clarke, and I'm so sorry I made a mess of it."

"I know." She tells him calmly. "I noticed."

"You did?"

"Yeah."

She doesn't bother telling him not to be angry with himself, and he is not surprised. He knows that she's long since given up on wasting her breath on such things, long since realised that he will forgive himself in his own time.

He is surprised, though, when she leans into his body more closely, presses herself up against him. And he's a bit puzzled by this, really, because he's pretty sure he's still in the metaphorical doghouse, but if she did this at any other time he'd think she was trying to invite him to put an arm around her.

It's worth a try, he supposes. She did ask him to act a bit more like his normal self, and his normal self would definitely have reached out for her by now. Slowly, tentatively, giving her time to rebuff him, he encircles her shoulders, invites her wordlessly to curl into his chest. And she certainly doesn't rebuff him, but rather tucks herself neatly into the space between his arm and his body, and sinks deeply into his embrace.

Maybe he should try to remember how his normal self would behave more often.

It's not the world's most sophisticated movie, and they've watched it before, so he spends the time rather agreeably in whispering the occasional comment to Clarke, and drawing the occasional circle on her skin with his fingertips, and even dropping the occasional kiss onto the crown of her head. And then their family evening is over, and in the spirit of normality, they both head down the corridor to settle Gus in for the night, and then they sit around with Madi in the living room for a while, drawing and reading and doing a great deal of nothing.

And then Madi takes herself to bed, and then he starts to find normality a bit more challenging.

"Do you want to play chess?" He offers. He seems to remember that chess is a thing they sometimes do, normally.

"No, thanks. I thought I might head to bed. I'm still tired out from the other night."

"Me too." He admits. "Can I join you?"

She nods, with at least half a smile. "I'd like that."

He smiles right back, perhaps a little wider than is truly necessary, and sets out down the corridor. They don't talk as they get ready for bed, but there's nothing so inherently abnormal about that. It's more of an absence of anything to say, he likes to think, than the presence of anything particularly oppressive in the atmosphere.

And then they are lying in bed, limbs curled loosely around each other, a slither more space between their bodies than he is really content to leave.

As if she has read his mind, Clarke shuffles towards him a little, and closes that gap. And it gives him the confidence that has been wanting, these last couple of days, the confidence to get back on with a key ritual of normality.

He strokes a finger down her cheek, tucks it beneath her chin. Eases her head up to face him, gently, slowly, giving her the time to work out what he's doing, the chance to object if she's still not ready for life to be quite this normal once more.

And then he reaches down for a goodnight kiss.

He hasn't planned this particularly thoroughly, he has to admit. But in as much as he planned it at all, he was sort of aiming for something more than a peck but less than a full-blown snog. A considerate and affectionate meeting of lips, perhaps.

That's not quite how it turns out, in the end. And he's not sure whose idea it is, exactly, but he's not going to complain about the way her mouth opens to welcome him home, or about the way she moans against him as he sucks a little on her lower lip. And he's certainly not going to complain, either, about the hand she tangles in his hair, or the fingertips tracing the shape of his shoulders, or about the warmth of her breath as she begins to sigh into his mouth.

And then she takes a hand lower, with a suggestion it is impossible to misunderstand, and he thinks that, probably, he will never complain about anything ever again.

a/n Thanks for reading!