Disclaimer: I'm not a mental health professional. I did my research. But, I'm not a mental health professional. I'm a marketing professional, a barre instructor, and a freelance writer that drinks wine after a rough day.

"You're sure you don't want anything else to eat?" Bellamy asks. "Or some more water?" Octavia sighs dramatically.

"For the tenth time, I'm sure," she says firmly. "I'm not going to eat your rations, Bell. Just like I'm not going to eat Lincoln's. I'm getting plenty. Perks of being cut open without anesthesia."

"If you're sure…"

"I'm sure!" Octavia erupts. "Eat your damn soup, Bell." He nods and starts to work through his now cold vegetable stew. Octavia watches him closely.

"Stop that," he states. "I'm eating it, aren't I?"

"Just making sure you down every single bite."

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but he diligently polishes off the soup and sets his empty bowl aside. He's been taking his meals in Octavia's room over the last couple of days, sitting with her during every spare moment he has. Lincoln is usually there. Bellamy has decided he likes him, at least enough to put up with him being with Octavia. He's working on one of the new cabins around camp today, though, giving Bellamy a chance to spend some time alone with his little sister.

"Happy?"

"Very," Octavia confirms. She sits back in her bed, looking smug. "Now, let's talk. Where did you go when I woke up the other night? Clarke won't tell me. All she will say is that you were in your tent, sleeping."

"I was in my tent, sleeping," Bellamy repeats. It was at least partly true, after all. Octavia rolls her eyes.

"I know you too well to believe that." He sighs.

"Don't worry about it, O."

"You're my brother. I am worried about it. Especially when you look like hell and I'm pretty sure you're hiding something from me."

"It's nothing, O. Let it go."

"No!" Octavia half shrieks. "We don't hide things from each other, Bellamy. Every time we've tried, it hasn't worked out for the best. Just tell me what's going on with you." Her voice softens. "I'm worried about you, Bellamy." Bellamy sighs. He has to tell Octavia the truth.

"I've been going through some stuff," he starts. "Everything has – caught up with me, I guess. I've been having panic attacks." Octavia gasps.

"Bellamy…"

"I can manage them well enough. I've been trying to keep them under wraps. No one needs to know the leader of the guards and a member of the council is choking for breath behind Raven and Wick's workshop." Octavia is near tears.

"Bellamy, why didn't you say anything?" she asks. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you." Bellamy shakes his head.

"I didn't want anyone to know," he says again. "I managed to keep it on the down low for a while, but the night Clarke hit her head, Abby found out. I asked her to let me see Clarke, just for a minute, and when I left, I lost it." Octavia's eyes are watering in earnest now.

"Bell…" she whispers. Her heart hurts for him.

"I had another one the night you woke up."

"Clarke knows," Octavia says, quickly putting the pieces together. "You left suddenly that night. She went after you. She found you having an attack, didn't see?" Bellamy nods.

"It wasn't one of my prouder moments."

"She took care of you." It's a statement because Octavia knows Clarke would never do anything else.

"She did," Bellamy confirms. "She helped me get through it and then got me back to my tent. She gave me some tea to sleep." He didn't divulge his total breakdown or how Clarke cleaned him up.

"That's why you two have been more cordial." Octavia noticed it almost right away. They weren't exactly having lengthy conversations, but they were being polite to one another, making small talk.

"She feels sorry for me."

"She cares about you." Bellamy shakes his head.

"That ship has sailed. I made sure of that."

"How do you know that ship has sailed?" Octavia asks. "You haven't so much as tried to talk to her about things in months. You don't deserve to mope around if you haven't done enough to fight for her."

"I tried to fight for her," Bellamy reminded Octavia. "I made a complete fool of myself, following her around camp, begging her to talk to me."

"She was mad, Bell. Rightly so. You broke her heart. She deserved to be mad at you for what you did." Bellamy hangs his head in shame. "She needed space. It's been a few months now. She's had some time to cool off. Ask her to talk. Apologize. And then, go from there. Try to rebuild your relationship. It's going to take some time, but if she's worth it, and she is, take all the time you need."

"It's not that simple, O."

"Why isn't it?" Octavia demands. "Why isn't it as simple as manning up instead of moping around like the heartbroken asshole you are?"

"Real nice, Octavia."

"You were an asshole," Octavia persisted. "You did a terrible thing, Bellamy."

"You think I don't know that?" Bellamy erupted. "You think I don't know that I screwed up? Do you think I don't know that I lost the love of my life? Because I do know that, Octavia. I know it with every fiber of my being. I know Clarke doesn't deserve that. She deserves better. She deserves better than me."

"But, Bellamy, there is no one better than you," Octavia said gently, her heart breaking for her big brother. "You love her. People here may care about her, but none of them love her like you do."

"She doesn't love me."

"Do you know that?" Octavia counters. "Does she know you love her?" Bellamy swallows hard.

"She can't love me after what I did."

"God, you're stubborn."

"I'm not stubborn," Bellamy counters. "I'm just realistic."

"You're an idiot. She loves you, Bellamy. I can tell. But, you hurt her. You have to own up to that. And, more importantly, you have to forgive yourself." Bellamy smiles sadly at his sister.

"Forgiveness is a choice," he says as he stands to return to work. "And I'm not ready to make that choice."

"Seriously, when can I leave?" Octavia asks for the thousandth time in two days.

"Another couple of days, max," Abby replies with far more patience than she feels. It's been a week to the day since Octavia's surgery. While her pain is under control, Abby still wants to keep a close watch on her, just to be safe. Clarke gives Octavia a friendly smile from over her mother's shoulder. Octavia rolls her eyes at Abby's timeline.

"I'm fine," she insists. "Just let me go back to my cabin, okay? If the pain gets worse or the wound site looks weird or I start feeling sick, I'll come back right away, promise." Abby shakes her head.

"No can do." Octavia sighs dramatically.

"I haven't been outside in days. Do you know how boring this place is when you're the patient?" Clarke has an idea.

"Mom, why don't I take Octavia on a walk around camp? It's good for her to be up and moving, and the fresh air can't hurt. It's a nice day, too, probably one of the last before winter sets in. We won't go far and we won't be gone long."

"That's a great idea!" Octavia exclaims. She's already throwing back her blankets.

"Stop!" Abby barks, holding out her hand. Octavia does, grumbling. "It is a good idea. We've had you up and moving around your room, but it wouldn't hurt to let you walk around camp a bit. There are conditions, of course."

"Of course," Octavia replies, sarcasm evident in her voice. Clarke smirks at Octavia's sass, as grateful as ever that the spunky girl pulled through.

"You have to stay within sight of the medical bay. Clarke has to stay with you. And you have to be back in a half hour's time."

"Deal." Octavia is out of her bed before anyone can assist her. She winces a bit as her feet hit the floor, but quickly covers it up. She finds her shoes and waves away Clarke's attempt at helping her put them on. Within minutes, they are outside. Octavia holds her arms out and throws her head back. "Freedom!" she exclaims. Clarke laughs in earnest, reminded of Octavia's first steps out of the drop ship.

"It's awful, isn't it? Being cooped up in there?" she asks. Octavia nods.

"It's the worst," she confirms. "Your mom is like a vulture, the way she watches me. You aren't quite as bad, but Jackson? He's my favorite. I can convince him to let me out of bed, and bring me ginger roots as a treat."

"I'll try not to take offense," Clarke teases. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I could walk on water. I mean, there's still a twinge of pain, but just being out and about in the fresh air is amazing. The trees have totally changed color since I had to go and get cut open."

It's true. Fall has fully set in over the last week. The trees are bright shades of oranges, yellows, and reds. In her very little spare time, Clarke has been sketching them, using berries, roots, and plants to color the tip of her improvised pencil. She has been sketching a lot in the last few months, usually relying on charcoal and scraps of canvas or wood, whatever she can find to use as a surface. It calms her, brings her a sense of peace. It lets her escape.

"They're pretty, aren't they?" Clarke asks Octavia. The girl nods in agreement before exchanging a polite hello with a camper passing by. She knows they won't run into her closest friends as most of them are out of camp, Lincoln included, trading with the grounders and gathering pumpkins and gourds growing wild a few miles away that will make hearty soups during the cold months.

"Earth is such a strange place," Octavia says once she and Clarke are alone again. "It's so beautiful. What they told us on the Ark – well, what Bellamy told me – doesn't hold a candle to what it's really like. I feel more at home here than I ever did in space. And not just because I don't have to live under the floor or in a cell." Clarke nods in understanding.

"Earth is home," she says. "Really, and truly, home." They lapse into silence for a few minutes. Clarke is taking in the fall landscape, already thinking about what she wants to sketch that night, should her schedule remain open once she's finished at the medical bay.

"You and my brother are on speaking terms again," Octavia finally says. She's been dying to get Clarke alone since finding out about Bellamy's panic attacks, but hasn't had the chance. Her room has a revolving door of visitors and Clarke is a busy woman.

"We have always been on speaking terms," Clarke says, trying to avoid the conversation.

"I don't mean 'Yes, we should do this, no, we shouldn't do this' arguments at council meetings. You two are actually speaking to each other. Barely, but there are at least sentences being formed now."

It's true. Since the night of Bellamy's panic attack, they have been cordial with one another, treading lightly, walking on metaphorical egg shells. Other than a brief moment the next morning when Clarke cornered him on his way to visit Octavia to check up on him, they haven't mentioned the panic attacks or what brought them on.

"I can't avoid him forever."

"He loves you, Clarke," Octavia states boldly. "He's just…" She sighs. "I know about his panic attacks. He told me a few nights ago. I know you found him and took him back to his tent. Thank you, for doing that, by the way. For taking care of him. But, he's struggling with everything that happened between the two of you. It's eating away at him. I know it's asking a lot of you, to talk to him. But, he won't seek you out. He doesn't think he deserves you. Which is ridiculous, because you both deserve the very best and you are the best for each other."

"Octavia, it isn't as simple as…" Octavia lets out a frustrated sound and throws her hands up.

"He screwed up! I get it. He gets it. God know he gets it. But would it hurt to just talk to him about things? Give him a chance to grovel? At the very least, open up the lines of communication?"

Clarke sighs. "We should turn around and head back to the medical bay." Octavia huffs.

"Fine." She turns and starts stomping back towards the medical bay, frustrated that Bellamy and Clarke won't address their problems. A thought hits her and she whirls around. "Did you know he came to see you when you hit your head? He was so upset, Clarke. He was worried sick about you. He sat outside the door of the medical bay on an overturned bucket for hours, because no one would let him in your room. You needed to rest, and they were worried seeing him would upset you. So, he sat on a stupid bucket.

"He finally convinced Abby to let him see you for a just a few minutes. I think he just needed to see you for himself, confirm that you really were still here, living and breathing. He had a panic attack that night too. Your mom found him, helped him, and agreed to keep it to herself as long as he promised to take care of himself. Obviously, he hasn't been. But, my point is, he sat on a bucket for hours, just to be close to you. And, he stayed away from you, when all he wanted to do was be with you, because he didn't want to upset you. He did what was best for you, his own needs be damned, because he still loves you."

With that, Octavia flounces her way back to the medical bay, leaving Clarke to follow.

It takes Clarke two days to work up the nerve to go to Bellamy. She finds him late in the evening, already perched in the guard tower for the night. She takes a deep breath and climbs the ladder. She can tell by the twitch of his jaw that he is aware of her, but he doesn't turn to face her.

"Got room for one more?" she asks, not entirely sure she's welcomed in his tower now.

"There is always room for you," he says. He scoots over to give her space to sit. "No sleeping potion tonight?" Clarke shakes her head, but reaches into her pocket.

"Just candied lavender." She offers him a pouch of candies. "Monty figured out a way to caramelize the syrup. He's been candying everything he can lay his hands on." Bellamy takes a piece of the candy and pops it into his mouth. It's sweet, a nice change from what they have been eating.

"It's good," he confirms. Clarke nods. She takes a piece as well before closing the pouch and placing it on the bench between them, intending to leave it with Bellamy.

"Octavia was happy to be released today." Bellamy nods.

"That's putting it mildly." She was downright buoyant.

He and Clarke sit silently for quite some time. Bellamy is nervous. He doesn't know what Clarke wants, why she's there. He's afraid to break the silence. He doesn't want to say something wrong. He doesn't want to send her running if there is any chance of forging even a friendship.

"How are you doing?" Clarke finally asks. Bellamy gives himself a few moments before he answers.

"I had another panic attack," he admits "Two days ago."

"Where?" Clarke asks sharply.

"In my tent, late. I had a…" he hesitates. Admitting it out loud makes him feel weak. "A nightmare." Clarke sighs.

"Bellamy…"

Something about the way she says his name breaks the dam.

"It's not just you and the things I did," he informs her. "It's everything, Clarke. It's shooting Jaha. It's the first deaths when we landed here. It's Wells, Charlotte. It's the people from the culling. It's the Grounders, the people we lost in the fight. It's Finn's massacre and then – Finn." He glances at Clarke when he says Finn's name. He sees the moment of sadness as it passes through her eyes, but he has her full attention. She has accepted Finn's death, moved on. He continues. "It's being upset with myself for not going to Mount Weather sooner, for not being the person that saved our people. It's worrying about whether we have enough food and enough firewood and enough medicine to make it through winter. It's everything. And it's exhausting."

He shoves a rough hand through his hair. Clarke takes a deep breath, her mind racing.

"The nightmares," she begins. "How often do they happen?"

"Frequently," he admits. "That's why it's so hard to sleep."

"You said the panic attacks are less frequent when you're in the woods?"

"I've never had one in the woods. It's easier to be there. That's why I'm always the first to volunteer to get the hell out of camp."

"You've been drinking more moonshine than usual." Bellamy doesn't deny it. He's not irresponsible, but if he doesn't have a guard shift, he finds himself being generous with the moonshine. "You feel guilty for things that aren't your fault. You choose to be on guard for danger yourself, rather than trust someone else to do it." Clarke pauses. "You don't think you're good enough." Bellamy looks at her.

"What are you saying?" he asks suspiciously.

"I'm saying I think you have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," Clarke states, using her doctor tone. "The panic attacks, the nightmares, the guilt you feel over deaths that weren't your fault, of not being the one to save the others from Mount Weather… You take so many guard shifts because you don't trust that someone else can do the job as well as you. You have always had self-doubt. It's just more prominent now. All of those things are classic PTSD symptoms."

"What exactly is PTSD?" Bellamy asks. He doesn't like being diagnosed with anything, let alone something that sounds like it's mental and not physical.

"It's a condition that's triggered by an event – like war or a near death experience, something traumatic and usually terrifying, hence the name. You have a lot of the symptoms. Others are flashbacks, avoiding people or things that might remind you of the event, hopelessness, memory problems." She looks at him. "Difficulty maintaining close relationships."

It's like someone has turned on a lightbulb. It makes sense. He likes the woods because he doesn't have to see his fellow camp members there, walking around, trying to make the best out of nothing, trying to move on past the deaths of loved ones. He thought he went there to avoid Clarke. He did, but he also went to the woods to avoid reality. Everything at camp reminds him of what they have been through, what they have lost. He hasn't had a hopeful thought in months. He pushed Clarke away because he was afraid of how close she was getting.

"You're saying I'm crazy," he states. Clarke shakes her head and rests her hand on his knee.

"I'm saying you have PTSD," she says gently. "It's a wonder all of us don't have it, after everything we have been through. The things we have seen… The things we have done… It doesn't make you weak, Bellamy. It makes you human."

"So, what do I do for this PTSD? Drink your sleeping potion every night?"

"Its chamomile tea with some valerian in it," she informs him. "And no. Although, when you are having trouble sleeping, it's always an option. If we were on the Ark, we would prescribe you medication." Bellamy snorts. Even if they had the medication on earth, he would refuse to take it. He's too proud. "But, we're obviously not on the Ark. So, our only other option is to face it head on. You have to talk about things, not keep them all bottled up inside. We can get some lavender to put in your room. The aroma will help soothe you. What do you feel when your panic attacks are coming on?"

"My chest gets tight," he answers, not fully understanding everything Clarke was telling him. "It's usually just a few minutes before I can't breathe."

"You have to train yourself to react differently. When your chest gets tight, right now, you just succumb to the inevitable. From now on, try to do something different. Go on a brisk walk. Do some pushups. Come find me to talk. Something that will distract you from what you have programmed your mind to expect is coming next."

"You make it sound so simple," Bellamy grumbles.

"It's not," Clarke admits. "But you're strong, Bell. You can get through this."

"I used to be strong…"

"Those are the kind of thoughts you have to stop," Clarke chides him. "You are the strongest person I know, Bellamy. You have to start believing that." Bellamy sighs.

"I'm not strong," he tells her. "I'm not brave or courageous or any of those other things people say about me. I'm just trying to survive." Clarke shakes her head.

"You're the strongest person I know," she repeats. It's Bellamy's turn to shake his head. Clarke doesn't try to convince him otherwise right then. She will show him another time, another way.

"So, what's the cure for this PTSD stuff?" he asks instead.

"There isn't one," Clarke admits. Bellamy lets out a sound that is somewhere between a groan and a growl. "Medication would usually be subscribed to help you control your symptoms, but since that's not an option, you have to talk when things get hard. You have to react to your chest tightening the way I was telling you – by doing something to distract yourself from what you believe is going to come. We can get through this, Bell. You're strong enough to get through this."

Bellamy lets out a chuckle devoid of humor, not missing that she says "we."

"I escape from one hell hole, end up on another, and I'm crazy to boot."

"You are not crazy," Clarke says sharply. "You don't get to say that, do you understand? This is a serious thing, Bellamy. You are not crazy. You are human. A lot has happened to you. I doubt you will be the last to be diagnosed with PTSD, not after everything we've seen and done." Bellamy just shakes his head.

"You should go get some sleep," he states. Clarke raises an eyebrow at the dismissal. She expects him to have question, to push for more information. He likes to know as much as he can about everything. "It's getting late."

"Yeah," she agrees, feeling a stab of hurt that he's sending her away, no matter how unwarranted it is. "I guess I should." She stands then and makes a move to climb down from the guard tower. Just before she begins her descent, she looks at Bellamy. "I'm here if you need me."

He only purses his lips and keeps himself from turning towards her.

I really hope I did the PTSD stuff justice. It's such a serious/sensitive topic. And frankly, after all the crap The 100 have been through, they can't be okay.