A/N: I am neither a doctor nor an engineer, so please don't judge my attempt at science too harshly. This is purely for entertainment purposes. Also, prepare for some feelings in this chapter. As always, thanks to Heather for beta'ing and helping me come up with this backstory.

Clarke blinked sleepily, her eyes finally focusing on the back cushions of a navy blue couch. It took a few more seconds for her to register the warm body pressed against hers and the arm around her waist.

She moved slightly, turning her head to the side.

Bellamy's eyes were closed, although a small smile was playing on his lips. "Five more minutes."

She chuckled.

One of his eyes opened, peeking up at her, slowly followed by the other one. "What time is it?"

Clarke moved her left arm out from under her, glancing at her father's watch, which rarely left her wrist. "Almost nine," she answered.

"You don't have to work today, right?"

"Not until 7 tonight."

Bellamy's eyes closed again as he wiggled closer to her back, getting more comfortable. "Good. Go back to sleep."

Clarke settled back in, wondering how oddly she should feel about her current situation. She'd woken up, for the second weekend in a row, cuddled up to a man she considered her best friend. The real problem was, she also couldn't deny the attraction she felt towards him…the attraction she'd always felt towards him, even back when she thought he was a bit of a jackass.

Bellamy apparently didn't have a problem with their new relationship, if the way he was pressed against her back was any indication.

Taking a deep breath, and trying not to read too much into his actions as of late, she closed her eyes, trying to fall back asleep.

After a few minutes of entirely too many thoughts running through her head, Clarke wiggled around a little, trying to get more comfortable.

Holding her breath, she tentatively placed her hand over Bellamy's where it was resting across her waist.

It barely took a second for him to link their fingers, tightening his arm around her and pressing his nose against her neck as he did so.

Clarke stayed frozen for a moment, but Bellamy's breathing only deepened as he fell back to sleep.

Clarke turned her head into her pillow, trying to hide the smile that wasn't supposed to be on her face.

The next time Clarke awoke, it was to someone gently poking her in the stomach.

"Clarke, wake up." Bellamy said, smile evident in his tone.

"Uh-uh," she said, almost petulantly, pressing her nose further into his chest.

"It's almost noon. I'm hungryyyy," he said, continuing to poke her side.

"You shouldn't have told me to go back to sleep then," she murmured, keeping her eyes shut tightly.

"Clarrrrke."

She shook her head.

He nosed against the top of her head. "Taco truck down by the river?"

Smiling, she used the hand she had on his waist to push herself back enough to look up at him. "You just had to bring out the big guns, didn't you?"

In a show of perfect timing, his stomach growled. "Yes, I did," he said, laughing.

"Fiiiine. But only because their tacos are the best thing ever."

An hour later, they were both showered, changed, and in Bellamy's truck, on their way to the river near the edge of town.

The river served as the unofficial border to downtown and butted up against one of the main boulevards, which served as home to many of the local restaurants and shops that were packed on pleasant fall Saturdays like today.

There was a nice section in between the boulevard and the river which was mostly for pedestrians. It contained a small outdoor amphitheater, a giant playground, and grassy stretches where people could picnic, exercise, or otherwise enjoy nature just a few hundred feet from downtown.

Bellamy found a parking spot and they headed for their favorite food truck, which was technically a taco truck, but served nothing like the tacos most people were used to. With a variety of quality ingredients and unique sauces, they managed to put mouthwateringly delicious things inside flour tortillas.

"Clarke!"

Clarke smiled as Monroe hopped out of the food truck, running over to give her a big hug.

"Where have you been?! You stopped coming, and then this guy stopped coming a while later…I thought you guys were cheating on me with another truckie!"

Bellamy and Clarke both laughed.

"We would never!" Clarke promised.

"It's just been…" Bellamy glaced at Clarke. "It's been a hard year."

Monroe glanced between them, then nodded sympathetically. "We all have those. Come on, you guys want your usuals?"

Clarke laughed. "You still remember our usuals after a year?!"

Monroe grinned, pointing at Clarke, "a Smoked Salmon and a Bulgogi," she paused, now pointing at Bellamy, "a Bulgogi, a Texas Brisket and…a Portobello!" she said, snapping her fingers as the last part of his order came to her.

"Damn, you're good," Bellamy remarked.

"Yeah, well, you guys must've placed that same order about 300 times." Monroe hopped back in the truck, and started working the grill. "You guys want sweet teas with that?"

"Yes, please," Clarke responded.

Monroe nodded, turning to a teenager who was working the cash register and giving him instructions.

"That'll be $21.75, please," the boy said.

Clarke reached for her purse, but Bellamy swatted her hand away, sliding a $20 and a $5 into the window.

The teenager made their change, which Bellamy promptly placed in the tip jar.

Monroe shook her head when she noticed his generosity. "I'll have these out in a few minutes!"

Clarke and Bellamy wandered a few feet away, barely getting situated at a picnic table before Monroe was bringing cardboard trays out to them.

"You didn't have to bring these out!" Clarke said in surprise.

"Sure I did." Monroe said, placing their orders on the table in front of them. "Not just anybody gets free blackberry cobbler, you know."

"You didn't have to…" Bellamy started.

"I know. But I figure it will guilt you into coming back more often," Monroe said with a wink.

Clarke sighed, having just taken a bite of one of her tacos. "I promise, you'll be seeing us constantly again. God, I missed these tacos. Seriously, are you a magician?"

"Yup. I was actually thinking of changing the name of my truck to Culinary Wizard," Monroe replied cheekily.

"Well, it wouldn't be false advertising," Clarke replied sincerely.

"See? I need you guys around to bolster my ego," Monroe said, laughing as she headed back to the truck. "Have a good lunch!"

"Thanks!" They called out as she disappeared inside.

Bellamy turned back to Clarke. "Want to go down closer to the water?"

Nodding, Clarke picked up her tray and followed him.

They kept walking until the crowds thinned out, finding a nice area of grass that was unoccupied and sitting under the shade of a large tree.

They ate their tacos in companionable silence, pausing only occasionally to mumble about how delicious their lunch was and what a genius Monroe was with a portable kitchen.

They finished everything, including the cobbler, and were lying back on their elbows in the grass when Bellamy turned to look at her questioningly.

Clarke sighed. "It's time, isn't it?"

"You don't have to. I just thought…maybe you were ready."

She laid back all the way, looking up at the sky. "I don't think I'll ever be ready. But I guess now's as good a time as any." She pulled her jacket tighter across her stomach, as if that would help. "How much do you know about what I found out? I can't remember, honestly."

Bellamy looked slightly apprehensive.

She turned towards him. "It's okay, just tell me," she said softly.

"You told me that your Dad hadn't just died from a car wreck, but I couldn't really get much else out of you. I pieced together a few things from Octavia later. She heard you arguing with your Mom on the phone. Something about how it was her fault. And then Wells and Jaha came into play somehow? And the day I found you at the bar…" Bellamy's eyes shifted away uncomfortably at that. "…you just kept saying that your Mom killed your Dad."

Clarke sat up, crossing her legs Indian style and pulling a blade of grass out to twist between her fingers. She knew she would need something to focus on if she had any hope of getting through this story. "You know my Dad died when I was 17…my senior year of high school. Just a little while before I met you and Octavia. It was…a car crash. He fell asleep behind the wheel and ran off the interstate and into a tree."

Bellamy, who'd also sat up, placed a comforting hand on her knee. "I know."

Clarke nodded, waiting, staring at Bellamy's hand.

Realizing where she was looking, he hesitantly removed his hand, looking hurt. "Sorry…I was just…"

Reaching out, she grasped his hand tightly. "No! It's just…I don't know if I can get through this if you…" She wasn't quite sure how to finish that sentence. "I just…I need to be detached to get through telling this story. I can't do that if you're…grounding me? Does that make any sense?"

Bellamy nodded, putting his hand in his lap when she released it.

"You know about Wells, right?"

Bellamy nodded. "Childhood best friend, his father worked at the hospital with your mom, he died when you guys were…twelve?" He asked questioningly.

Clarke nodded. "I was twelve. He was thirteen. He had cancer, a rare kind calling Ewing's Sarcoma. By the time they realized he was sick, it had spread from his femur to other parts of his body and even with the surgeries and the chemo…they couldn't get it all."

"Okay…" Bellamy responded, not seeing how this tied in to her father's death.

"His dad…Thelonious…was just…he was destroyed. I mean…we all were. Our families had grown up together…done everything together: holidays, birthdays, vacations. He was like a brother to me and my parents basically considered him to be their second child. But Wells' mom had died when he was little…which mean that Thelonious had no one. We tried…we tried to help him. We invited him to dinner, we'd offer to help him with anything…with everything…but it was like he just ceased caring about anything anymore. He locked himself in his house for a good six months."

"That must have been hard…for everyone," Bellamy commented.

"It was. I felt horrible, because Wells would've wanted me to do something to help his dad…but I didn't know what to do."

"Clarke…you were just a kid…"

She smiled at him. "I know. Well…I know that now, anyway. Back then, it felt like I should've had some kind of magic solution. But my parents…they were both grieving for Wells too. And they were worried about Thelonious. My Mom kept trying to reach out to him, trying to engage him, and she'd worry herself sick when he wouldn't respond. My Dad got sick of it and then they'd fight…" Clarke sighed. "Those were not good years."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

She nodded. "But then, when I was 14, things…got better. Almost overnight. Thelonious started coming around again, not as often, but he'd show up for dinner every once in a while. And he and my parents started talking all the time…more so than before, even. It wasn't until a few months later that I learned what was going on."

Bellamy's eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Jaha and my mother had been trying to come up with a way to fight Ewing's Sarcoma. I don't know if I realized it at the time, but they were both blaming themselves. It had to be extremely hard…both of them being world class doctors and neither of them being able to save this child they loved so much."

"Shit."

Clarke couldn't help but smile at his eloquence. "Exactly. So they worked for months, they would get almost giddy when they thought they were on the edge of a breakthrough…and then the depression when they'd fail would be all-consuming. My teenage years were…like I said…not so great. But, what got me through…what I think got us all through…was the thought that maybe they could do something that would stop someone else from losing their son, their best friend…you know?"

"I do."

"So, sometime during my sophomore year, I guess I was around 15, they finally come up with something. They had to move on from just Ewing's Sarcoma. That was part of the problem. That form of cancer already had a decent survival rate, I think it's around 70%. Wells was just one of the unlucky ones that didn't catch it early enough to make it into those statistics."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." Clarke twisted the blade of grass in her fingers, first one way, then the other. "So, they eventually come up with idea for a new type of imaging machine."

"Like a Cat Scan?"

"Kind of. Similar to a Cat Scan or an MRI. I'm not even sure how they designed it…" Clarke glanced up at him then. "After everything, I could never bring myself to look."

"Understandable," he said soothingly.

"But this machine was supposed to detect tumors much better than any current imaging system. And not only that…it could supposedly tell, with just the image, if a tumor was benign or cancerous. Could you even imagine? That would have meant no more invasive biopsies, which have a long list of potential complications on their own. And it also would have meant that people like Wells would have more of a chance. If they had a more accurate reading of the locations of all the tumors, maybe they could've done surgery earlier and given him more of a chance."

"Okay."

"This is when they brought my Dad in. He was the best engineer in his field. They started consulting with him on how they would actually build this machine. He joined the project, and soon enough, they had a prototype. They went to the hospital, the government…I don't even know. Before I know it, they're talking about using the machine in a clinical trial at the hospital. One of the other doctors was starting a new clinical trial for cancer patients…they were only taking physically fit patients and they were going to try the most aggressive therapies possible." Clarke went into doctor mode, explaining this part to Bellamy. "Typically, they're hesitant to do surgery on some forms of cancer, fearing that it's not efficient enough or that it's too big a risk to a patient's health, especially when they're already weak."

Bellamy nodded. "I'm following."

"This trial was supposed to use the most aggressive forms of treatment possible, to see if it actually made a difference on survival rates. If so, doctors would then use these new statistics to see if these more invasive treatments were worth the risk on other patients. Given that they were going to use surgery in a lot of these cases, Jaha and my parents petitioned to get their new imaging equipment into the study. Using it, they could pinpoint far more accurately the location of all the tumors and then surgically remove as many as possible."

Clarke took a deep breath, staring out at the water for a minute before continuing. "By all accounts, it was going extremely well. Many of the patients did well, far outliving the conventional statistics for their forms of cancer. And…from everything I heard…a lot of it was because of the machine my parents built with Jaha. They eventually got it into another trial…and another. My Mom was writing medical papers on it that were going to be published in the most prestigious medical journals. There was talk of it completely replacing the Cat Scan, MRI, and the Pet Scan, at least in terms of cancer screenings and treatment. But then…one day…I'm sixteen and I walk into my Dad's office at the house to steal his stapler. His freaking stapler, Bellamy." Her voices cracks on the last sentence.

Bellamy's hand twitched in his lap, but he remained quiet, knowing that the story was about to take a turn for the worse.

"He'd rushed into work early that morning because something had gone wrong on one of his firm's projects…I don't even remember what, but he'd rushed out of his home office before I'd left for school. I was late finishing my homework…of course…and my AP Lit essay ended up being like seven pages long. So I'm already late, I rush into his office to use his stapler, because mine is out of staples, and I see these papers all over his desk. Typically, I wouldn't have even looked…but they had giant red 'URGENT' stamps all over them…" She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.

"All I can see are these giant red letters, so I glance down at what else is on them…and they're about the machine. I didn't read them all…and I didn't understand all of what I did read, of course, but basically, I'm reading words like 'too imprecise across varying cases to be trusted' and then even more horrifying things like 'dangerous levels of long-term radiation which may actually cause cancer' and I start freaking out. I assume Dad just didn't have time to get these to Mom and Jaha before he rushed out, and I figure it's urgent that they have them. I needed my Mom to sign a tardy slip for me anyway, so I pack up the papers and call Mom. She meets me in the lobby at the hospital, signs my tardy slip, and I hand her the folder. She looks at it oddly, which I find kind of weird, but I figure I'll sort it out later, right? I go to school and then to softball practice, and honestly, I forgot about it for a few days. One day at breakfast, I ask her about it. She says it was all a mistake and to forget about it…and I do."

"I started noticing my parents fighting more often again…and sometimes Jaha was there too…but I was SUCH a selfish teenager, Bellamy…"

"Clarke…"

"No. I was. I'd just figured out that I liked girls too and I was too busy trying to figure out how that made me feel…who that made me…I didn't even realize what was going on right under my nose."

"Clarke," Bellamy said, his face almost pleading. "You were a kid. Most kids have it bad enough, but you were dealing with losing your best friend and discovering you were bi too…I can't even imagine."

"But I should have…" Clarke shook her head. "Anyway, my Dad moved out a few weeks later. Or, more accurately, I guess I should say my Mom kicked him out."

"Let me guess, his reports were right and she didn't want to hear it."

Clarke nodded. "Neither did Jaha. I didn't learn all this until last year, of course. Mom just told me they were having trouble and needed to separate for a while. This lasted for a few months…and Dad started coming around less and less. I didn't understand why…I thought I'd done something wrong…and then, right after my seventeenth birthday…he crashed his car into a tree."

"Clarke…"

She held up a hand, asking him to let her finish. "Mom said he'd been working too hard lately and that's why he fell asleep behind the wheel. Which…technically was true, I guess."

"…how did you find this out last year?" Bellamy asked cautiously, almost as if he was afraid to hear the answer.

"After he died, I went to clean out his apartment. Most of his clothes and all that stuff I donated…but I put everything from his bookshelf into a box, sealed it shut, and put it in the back of my closet. It sat there for six years. One day last year, I'm trying to find a pair of gloves that I swear are in there somewhere, and I run across it. Figure, what the hell, it's been long enough. I can handle it. Right." She snorts in derision.

"I find a journal and one of those big accordion folders. The folder held schematics and more medical and engineering jargon than I could even begin to decipher, even as a medical student. The journal…it was like a cross between a diary and a work journal. It started out detailing his research…but then, as he got more and more depressed and started sleeping less and less…he started including personal stuff as well. Apparently, Mom and Jaha refused to believe his findings. They were SO determined to do something useful…as if that could somehow retroactively save Wells…that they just refused to listen to reason. At first, they begged him to do more tests. So, he did. That's when he found out how dangerous the machine could really be. Apparently, it could detect cancer in its original form…but then it calibrated itself to search for the exact same thing all through that patient's body. If they had one form of cancer…like bone cancer…then it was good at finding it in every location. But a lot of the time, people start out with one form…like breast cancer…and then it metastasizes to other locations, becoming brain cancer, liver cancer, etcetera. The clinical trials my Mom and Jaha were using it in all had young, healthy patients who typically only had one form of cancer, so they didn't catch the flaw right away. Had they tried to use this on other cancer patients…the incorrect readings could have been catastrophic. Not to mention…the machine emitted potentially fatal levels of radiation. It wasn't detectable at first, which is how they hadn't picked up on it yet, but the rays it used to scan your body actually left tiny particles inside you that could deliver long term radiation doses…enough to actually cause cancer. Apparently it only happened like 5% of the time…but that was entirely too much. But Mom and Jaha didn't want to hear it. Mom kicked Dad out…threatened to divorce him and even threated that he'd never see me again if he told anyone about his findings."

Clarke glanced up at the sky, willing herself to not start crying. "I'm not sure if Mom and Jaha were having an affair or not. Honestly, I don't think I want to know. But…they were so close then. I think…well, Mom told me, after I came home, that she couldn't stop imagining how she would have felt if I'd been the one who'd died instead of Wells. He and I were always inseparable…and she and Thelonious were doctors…they were both just so determined to fix it. I think that was part of the problem…my Dad just didn't understand how guilty they both felt."

"I don't even know what to say."

"Wait though…there's more. My Dad…he loved my Mom so much…he didn't turn them in. He didn't report his findings to the hospital board to get their program shut down. Do you know why he was so tired, he crashed his car into a tree?" Clarke felt the tears falling down her cheeks, but she couldn't do anything to stop them.

Bellamy shook his head, concern for her stamped all over his face.

"He was trying to fix it for them, Bellamy. He worked, on his own, for months, trying to redesign it to work correctly." Clarke laughed humorlessly. "She was probably having an affair with his best friend, and he literally worked himself to death trying to make her happy."

"Clarke…"

"But that's not even the best part. See, Mom wasn't the only one responsible for his death." Clarke was crying so hard she could barely see, shaking as she admitted this for the first time out loud. "If I hadn't needed a fucking stapler…if I hadn't taken those papers to her…" She trailed off, barely able to speak.

"Clarke…" he repeated.

She could barely glance at him, terrified of what she'd find on his face.

He looked physically pained, his body tense and his eyes trained unflinchingly on hers. His hand started to reach for her of its own volition. He forced it back down.

"What?" she asked, terrified of his answer.

"…can I touch you now?" he asked, his voice anguished.

Clarke brushed angrily at the tears falling down her cheeks. "Why would you want to?"

Making a noise low in his throat, he reached for her, pulling her into his lap.

Clarke tried to resist him…or at least she meant to. Her arms ended up trapped against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

He was rubbing anywhere he could reach, her back, her arms, her hip, all while pressing her tightly against his chest. "Don't think that, Clarke. Please don't ever think that."

"But it's true, Bellamy," she sobbed against him.

"No, it's not," he said fiercely. "Your mom and Jaha were the ones that betrayed your dad. They were the ones willing to put people's lives at risk all to make themselves feel better. You did nothing wrong, Clarke. Your dad obviously intended to do something with his findings anyway. And you were just a kid. Don't blame yourself. Please don't blame yourself." His last sentence sounded like a plea.

One of Clarke's hands had made its way up to Bellamy's shoulder and she was gripping it tightly. "See? This. This is why I left."

Bellamy tensed under her. "…what?" he asked, his voice again sounding pained.

Clarke pressed her face into the space between his neck and his shoulder, positive she couldn't say this while looking at him. "You always make everything better."

She could feel him frown against her hair.

"You always make me feel…" She searched for the right words. "…warm…and safe…like everything is going to be okay. I couldn't…I didn't want that then, Bellamy. I needed to be angry…I needed to feel guilty…I needed that to hold me together. Because if those were gone…all I'd have left is this gut-wrenching sadness…and I didn't think I could handle that."

He clutched her even tighter. "You could have, Clarke. You're one of the strongest people I know. And we would have been there for you. We would have helped you get through it."

"I know. I know you would have, Bell. But I was strong when my best friend died when I was 12. I was strong when my Dad died when I was 17. But for those…who did I have to blame? God? This time…I had people to blame. And I needed to. I was tired of being strong for everyone else. I needed to be angry for myself this time."

"Did it help?" he asked quietly.

She laughed humorlessly. "I doubt it. I think I just delayed the gut-wrenching sadness."

His hand fisted in her hair. "I'm sorry."

She nodded.

He waited until she'd stopped shaking to say, "Can I ask…what made you forgive your Mom?"

Sighing, she scooted down a little, leaning the side of her head against his chest. "I don't know that I have, to be honest. But eventually, I realized that she was hurting almost as badly as I was. She felt even guiltier than I did…and she made Jaha shut the trials down right after my Dad died. She still loved my Dad…she was just so wrapped up, she didn't realize what she was setting in motion. I don't know that I'll ever forgive her for that…but I realized that I was hurting both of us by hating her."

Bellamy nodded. "What ever happened to Jaha?"

Clarke snorted. "Last I heard, he was out in the desert somewhere…Arizona, I think? He'd joined some commune. 'The City of Light,' I think it was called. Supposedly, they take away all your pain and suffering so you can live worry free in a place where there's never any darkness." Clarke paused, watching her hand as it fidgeted with the button on Bellamy's shirt. "I'm pretty sure they just took all his money and are pumping him full of peyote. Honestly, I can't say that I care."

"Me neither."

Clarke smiled at that.

A few more minutes passed where neither spoke, both of their minds working overtime to digest what was just said between them.

"Bell?"

"Hmm?" he asked, moving his hand on her back.

"Do you remember the advice you gave me and Octavia? That first night we'd gotten drunk at that college bar and you brought us home and taught us about Hangover Breakfast?"

He smiled at that memory. "If memory serves, I doled out a few pieces of big brother advice that morning. Which one?"

"You made us promise never to get drunk with anyone we didn't trust. Basically, never to lose control unless you had someone around that cared enough about you to make good decisions for you."

"Mmhmm."

"It's the best advice I've ever gotten."

He moved back to look at her, surprised.

"I went against it completely…and it was the worst decision of my life."

Understanding dawned on his face. "…Lexa?" he asked, the word bitter on his tongue.

Clarke nodded. "I knew…who she was. I knew she ran one of the largest drug operations in town. And…I knew that she could never care about anyone but herself. But I went with her anyway."

"Why?" he asked.

Clarke shrugged, looking uncomfortable with the answer she was about to give. "I don't know. She never asked questions…she never tried to make me feel better. When I wanted to go to a bar and start a fight, she was right there beside me. When I wanted to get wasted, she supplied the booze and the pills. She let me be angry and self-destructive and…I don't know…I thought that's what I needed."

Bellamy's entire body was tense, his jaw locked as he absorbed her words. "What finally made you leave?"

Clarke smiled self-depricatingly. "Let's just say, I realized that I was going to get myself killed if I stayed around there much longer."

Bellamy's eyes darted to meet hers. "What happened, Clarke?"

Knowing Bellamy's anger when it came to the issue of drug use, and knowing why he felt so strongly, Clarke brushed the backs of her knuckles against the side of his jaw. "Can we…" she sighed. "Can that wait till another day?"

He studied her for a few seconds, his gaze scanning her face before he finally nodded, moving them so that his back was against the tree they'd been sitting under.

Clarke settled her head back against him.

"Thanks for telling me. I know that can't have been easy."

Clarke nodded. "It wasn't. But I should have done it a year ago."

Silent moments passed where the only sounds were from the breeze whistling through the trees and the boats on the water in front of them.

"Clarke, do you remember what else I said the first morning after I found you and Octavia drunk?"

"Hmm?"

"I was wrong."

Clarke leaned back to look up at him, her brow furrowed. "About what?"

He smiled gently. "You did become one of my favorite people."