A/N: Same warnings as last chapter re:dealing with loss.

Clarke woke to the sound of Bellamy's voice in the living room, and he sounded none-too-happy.

She rubbed her eyes, forcing the sleep from them. She couldn't have gotten more than a few hours of sleep, but really, she couldn't complain, not when Bellamy had apparently gotten even less.

She got out of bed, walking over to lean against the door jamb.

Bellamy was pacing back and forth the short length of his living room, his eyes staring at the floor as he talked on his cell phone.

Clarke waited until he turned around and saw her before she went to him, going up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek that wasn't blocked by a phone.

He squeezed her waist with one hand in acknowledgement before resuming his conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line.

Clarke padded into the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee as she listened to Bellamy's end of the conversation, quickly deducing that he was talking to someone at the funeral home, given that he was talking about caskets and flowers.

She took her coffee into the bedroom with her, sending Miller a text asking if he was free to spend some time with Bellamy. Clarke needed to go home and get some of her things, but she hated the idea of leaving him alone right now.

Her mom had actually offered to pack for her and drop it off, but Clarke knew she'd need to find something suitable to wear to the funeral, and there was no way she could talk her mom through that on the phone, so she'd declined. She had, however, been touched by her mother's generosity.

Miller texted back, saying that he could be there in 15 minutes, so Clarke got dressed, then tiptoed past Bellamy to go downstairs to let him in.

Miller, who'd showed up with a tinfoil covered casserole dish, spent the elevator ride asking how his best friend was doing and wondering if there was anything he could do for him, to which Clarke responded a little uncertainly, telling him that other than companionship, she didn't know what else anyone could do.

Clarke pushed open Bellamy's door, noticing that he was finally off the phone, leaning against his counter and drinking coffee.

"Look who I found downstairs!"

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at them. "He was just wandering around in my parking lot?"

"Mmhmm!"

Miller sat the dish down beside Bellamy, using his other hand to slap his friend on the back. "I was wandering around with enchiladas. Does that help?"

Bellamy continued glaring at him for a moment before his eyes flickered toward the dish. "Yeah, alright."

Miller chuckled, moving to get plates down from the cabinet. "You want some, Clarke?"

"Not right now. I need to run home and grab a few things if you boys will be alright by yourselves for a couple hours."

Miller, who already knew the plan, nodded as he started dishing up lunch. "Go ahead. Bellamy and I are long overdue for some quality Nintendo time."

Bellamy was still leaning against the counter, his arms now crossed as he realized he'd been played.

Clarke walked over to him, putting her hands on his crossed arms as she stretched up to kiss his cheek. "Eat your enchiladas, kick his ass at Super Mario Brothers, and I'll be back as soon as I can."

She went to step back, but Bellamy reached out, his hands spanning her waist. She was slightly off balance, since she'd been on her tiptoes, so she quickly grabbed on to his shoulders.

She ended up bent slightly backwards as Bellamy stepped forward to steady her, his legs on either side of her and his cheek pressed to hers.

"You're not as sneaky as you think you are," he murmured in her ear.

She chuckled, squeezing him tightly before he helped right her. "But my evil plan is still going to work," she teased.

He shook his head a little as she backed toward the door, but he was half smiling. "Of course. Princess always has to get her way, after all."

Clarke laughed, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. As she pulled the door shut behind her, she called out, "Play nice, boys. And let Bellamy be Mario, Miller!"

Clarke spent the next couple of hours driving home, trying on clothes to find an outfit for the funeral, packing a bag, and driving back to Bellamy's.

She'd started out texting Miller every ten minutes to ask how Bellamy was doing, but that only lasted for a half hour or so, until Miller got annoyed and told her to chill, that he had it handled.

When she opened the door to Bellamy's apartment, just a little over two hours after she'd left, she expected to find the boys glued to the television screen as one of their characters hopped around collecting coins and dodging hammers thrown by maniacal turtles. Instead, she found Miller sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone as Bellamy leaned against the end table, again talking on his cell phone.

When she caught Miller's gaze, he gave her a worried look, then came over to say in a hushed voice, "We barely got through lunch before his phone started ringing. He's talked to his cousin and someone from the facility his mom was in and someone from the funeral home and after that I stopped keeping track. Right now, I'm pretty sure he's on with the preacher that's going to speak at the funeral."

Clarke looked over Miller's shoulder to where Bellamy was currently rubbing his forehead, looking like he'd rather be covered in maple syrup and staked to an ant hill than endure this for much longer.

Miller continued, "The preacher has all this stuff he usually says, about how she was an adoring mother and how her children were the most important part of her life, but obviously he can't really say that this time. Bellamy's having a hard time giving him something truthful that's…um…polite enough to say at her funeral."

Bellamy covered the mouthpiece on his cell phone and pulled it away from his ear, half whispering, "I didn't need a babysitter."

He looked to be in a decidedly worse mood than when Clarke had left a short while ago.

Miller walked over, giving him a bro hug. "Love you too, man."

Bellamy snorted, his phone still held away from his ear.

Miller grabbed his coat, then stopped to tell Clarke, "There's enchiladas in the fridge if you want some."

She nodded. "Thank you," she said, and she didn't just mean for the food.

He nodded, patting her arm as he walked to the door.

Bellamy again held the phone away from his ear. "Miller," he called out.

Miller turned around, eyebrows raised.

"Thanks."

Miller nodded again before leaving.

Clarke smiled gratefully as she watched the subtle 'this is all the emotion I'm comfortable showing in front of you, but I really love and appreciate you' part of their bromance in full effect.

Once Miller left, Clarke leaned against the counter, raising her eyebrows at Bellamy as he rolled his eyes at her, clearly exasperated by the conversation he was having on the phone.

"Uh huh…Yes, I understand." He used the thumb and forefinger of his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, clearly trying to fend off a headache. "Yes, I'll think about it and make sure to talk to you before the service…Uh huh…Okay. Thanks, Reverend Daniels."

Bellamy finally pressed End on the call, tossing his phone on the coffee table as he let out a giant sigh, his fingers rubbing circles on his temples.

"So, I'm guessing fire-breathing dragons holding Princess Peach captive weren't your biggest problem while I was gone?" Clarke asked facetiously.

Bellamy snorted, continuing to rub his forehead.

"My mom sent lasagna," Clarke informed him, gesturing toward the casserole dish she'd set on the counter when she came in.

Bellamy nodded. "That was nice of her," he said, still not looking up.

Clarke put her mom's casserole dish in the fridge beside Miller's, then turned back around to lean against the counter. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "What didn't happen? The long-term care facility wants to know when I'll be there to clean out her room and settle up the paperwork, and the insurance company needs me to send them her death certificate before they'll pay out the benefits, which probably won't even cover the funeral expenses, and the funeral home wants to know what kind of coffin I want and what clothes she should be buried in and how her hair should be styled and I just…have no clue. And then the preacher…excuse me…Reverend…wants me to give him stories about my childhood that he can share at the graveside service to show what a wonderful woman she was. So, basically, I'm trying to decide if I should tell him about the time I was 14 and Miller and I rode three different buses to pick Octavia up from a soccer game cause Mom disappeared with the guy across the hall or the time I was 11 and stole a candy bar from the gas station because it was Octavia's birthday and Mom had forgotten to get her anything."

Clarke let out the breath she'd been holding, swearing that every little bit of his childhood he revealed broke another piece of her soul. "Bellamy…"

"I know this makes no sense, since I never even knew my dad and I've raised myself since I was six…but I feel like a goddamn orphan, Clarke." He finally let his hands drop, and they slapped roughly against his thighs. "I know I'm almost thirty, but God…I'm not ready to make these decisions. I don't know how to deal with flowers, and caskets, and choosing the outfit she's going to be in for the rest of eternity. I just…I feel so…" He rubbed his hands roughly on his jeans, unable to finish his sentence.

Clarke watched him for a moment, seeing how distraught he looked. She knew he felt alone right now, and she needed him to know that couldn't be further from the truth.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart as she made her way around the counter to the end table he was still sitting on, stepping between his outstretched legs.

He looked up at her, his gaze a mixture of curiosity and anguish, and Clarke knew what she needed to do…what every part of her being was telling her to do.

She still knew that this wasn't a good time to drop a relationship change in his lap, but she had to go with her gut on this one and, if nothing else, she could tell him that this didn't have to change anything.

She put her hands on his shoulders. "Close your eyes," she told him softly.

He looked surprised, but did as she asked after a moment.

Clarke took a few seconds to study him as she moved her hands slowly up his neck, then started tracing her fingers gently over his face in soothing motions.

She could practically feel her heart beating in her throat, and her breathing was so shallow it felt like her lungs were barely moving, but she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Bellamy didn't really react, but a kiss on the forehead wasn't exactly out of the norm for them.

She pulled away a tiny bit, moving down to kiss his left cheek, then his right.

Bellamy tensed. Cheek kisses obviously weren't new for them, but this pattern clearly was.

Clarke took a final short, shallow breath before she leaned forward again, this time kissing the small scar that met his upper lip.

Bellamy quit breathing, but didn't open his eyes, which is probably what gave Clarke the courage to go through with it.

She pressed her lips against his softly, holding still for a moment before moving, tilting her head a little so she could kiss him properly.

He responded a little, although it was probably out of instinct more than anything else, his lips hesitantly moving with hers.

His hands came up to grip her waist, although they neither pushed her away nor pulled her closer, they just rested there uncertainly, which was pretty much what all of his body language was conveying.

Clarke pulled back a little, chewing on her lower lip as her gaze hesitantly met his, waiting for a reaction.

He was looking at her just as uncertainly. "What was that?" he asked, his voice a little wrecked.

Clarke swallowed. "I…don't know. I just…" She searched his face, trying to see how he felt about it all so she could decide how much to tell him. "I know you feel alone right now and I'm just…" She trailed off, still not sure how to proceed.

His face hardened a bit and his hands tightened on her waist. "I don't need a pity fuck, Clarke," he said harshly.

Clarke was pretty sure she physically flinched, but yeah, she could see where he was coming from. Her hand squeezed his shoulder. "It's not about pity, Bellamy. And no one said anything about fucking, either," she gave him a pointed look.

He let out a little snort, and with it, some of the tension in his body.

Her hand made its way up to his neck, her thumb rubbing along his jawline. "I just…I don't know. I know you need me."

His eyes bored into hers. "We've already established that I do. But you don't have to do…this," he finished uncomfortably.

"I know I don't have to. But ever since I got here yesterday, you've been looking at me like you're broken and I just…" Her eyes flickered over his face, trying to make him understand. "I feel like I can't get close enough."

"I'm fine, Clarke. You don't have to sacrifice yourself for me."

Of course he'd think kissing him was some sort of sacrifice on her part and not something she dreamed about on a regular basis.

She made a disgruntled noise in her throat before she could stop herself. "It's not like that! I just…" she paused, searching his eyes again. "Is this how you felt when you knew I was in so much pain and I wouldn't let you help me?"

He stiffened even more, his eyes wary. "How do you feel?"

"Like my heart hurts because yours does. Like I'd do anything I could to bear some of the pain so you don't have to."

Bellamy's eyes widened a little in surprise. "Yeah, sounds about right," he said calmly, as if they weren't discussing possibly the most intimate thing they'd ever discussed.

Clarke nodded, moving both her hands up to cup his face as her eyes flicked rapidly back and forth between his. "Something in me…every instinct I have…has been telling me to do this since I first saw you yesterday. It's not some great hardship…it's what I've wanted to do…something I've needed to do, but I kept telling myself it was too weird to drop this on you…now."

"Clarke…I told you before…I can't lose you. I couldn't lose you a month ago, when I first said it, and I certainly can't now," he said, and frankly, he looked terrified, although she caught his eyes drifting down to her lips, almost as if he couldn't stop them.

Clarke took one look at his face and knew she couldn't push him for more right now. She wasn't sure if that was his subtle way of telling her that he didn't want to be with her and he knew his rejection would end their relationship, or if he was just scared that a change in their relationship wouldn't work out and he'd lose her. Either way, she didn't want to cause him more worry right now. She could figure out what this all meant for her later.

She shook her head, her thumbs rubbing his cheeks as she stepped a little closer to his body. "Hey, you're not going to lose me. You're never going to lose me," she promised. "It doesn't have to change anything. It won't, okay?"

He continued looking at her a little dubiously.

"I promise," she said, then had a somewhat horrific thought. "Unless…you don't want to…"

His eyes darted back up to meet hers. "I never said that," he told her, his voice little more than a whisper as his hands finally shifted slowly, pulling her closer.

They both maintained eye contact until just before their lips met, as if playing a game of chicken where they were giving each other the chance to back out right up until the last second.

Neither one did, and their lips met more naturally this time, blending together as they hesitantly explored each other.

Clarke's heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest, because although it was tinged with sadness and loss, and although she'd apparently convinced him that they could platonically make out, this was Bellamy she was finally kissing, and it was everything she'd ever thought it would be and more.

Her arms had made their way around his neck, and his had banded tightly around her waist, and Clarke had the distinct realization that this was something she'd been waiting her entire life for…this feeling of complete rightness.

She'd experienced close to it before, in quiet moments she'd shared with him, but now, feeling his lips moving against hers, it was like the final piece of the puzzle fell into place.

They pulled back just a few inches, both breathing a little harshly as they stared at each other.

Clarke ran her hand through the curls at the nape of his neck, deciding to tell him as much as she dared, both to make herself feel a little less burdened by her secret and to make him feel less alone. "You know I love you, right?" she asked, and she wasn't even that surprised when her voice sounded nothing like normal.

Bellamy didn't answer, just continued to glance at her a little unsurely.

"Please tell me you know that," she insisted. "If you don't, I've been doing something wrong for the last half a decade or so, and certainly for the last few months."

His eyes drifted down, not meeting hers anymore, almost as if he was reluctant to believe her.

Clarke refused to let him continue to deny that he was worthy of anything good in life, or anyone's love, especially when her heart was about to burst with just how much she loved him…how much she was in love with him.

She tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Bellamy, I've told you before…you're the most important person in my life. You're never going to get rid of me, mostly because I can't imagine my life without you in it anymore, and the one time I tried, I was miserable and I never want to do that again. So you're never going to lose me, okay? I'm here for as long as you want me, and probably even after that, because I can't imagine ever letting go of you."

With that, she leaned forward, her lips catching his in short kisses before she leaned back to look at him, her thumbs again rubbing his cheeks. "Tell me you know," she pled.

His eyes met hers with a kind of intensity she wasn't really prepared for. "I know," he said softly, as he leaned up to kiss her again.

Clarke wasn't sure how long they stayed there, wrapped around each other as they continued to kiss each other gently, careful not to take it too far, but when they finally pulled apart, Bellamy looked a little more dazed than broken, which she greatly took comfort in.

"Okay?" she asked quietly, her hand on his cheek, although she wasn't really sure if she was asking if he was okay, if the kissing was okay, or something else entirely.

Nevertheless, he nodded, turning his head to press a kiss to the center of her palm.

A shiver worked its way through Clarke, and she had to remind herself to start breathing again. "You feel up to going to deal with some of the stuff you were telling me about?" Honestly, she hated the thought of moving, but she knew he needed to deal with some of this stuff before the funeral tomorrow.

He sighed, taking one of her hands in his and looking down at it. "Yeah. I guess I need to go to the funeral home, at least. You don't have to…"

She squeezed his hand. "I want to."

He looked up at her, obviously unsure.

"Come on. We'll handle it." She leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his lips before stepping backward and tugging on his hand. "Together."

A/N: Listen...if anyone could try to convince themselves they could be in love with each other and make out "platonically"...IT'S BELLARKE. #sorrynotsorry