Bellamy knew how to get to her. Of course, he did. He had known her since they had landed, watched her work, listened to her talk and give orders. He knew what would get her attention, what would get them alone, where she was comfortable. He could do it and be with her, alone, for as long as he needed. If he could do it.

He looked down at the switchblade in his hand, glinting in the fire. One fake, wrong move would send him straight to Clarke. He knew it.

It was just the matter of...doing it.

Since Mt. Weather, he had been very peculiar about wounds. He couldn't look at them, deal with them, or even hear about them.

Hearing about Clarke's knee had made him queasy (although he wasn't entirely sure it was just the wound making him feel that way, it could have been the fact that Clarke had been hurt). Regardless, this, cutting himself, seemed like a necessary equal.

He had to see Clarke.

He had to take her face in his hands and make sure she was okay.

He had to look into her eyes and still see something that was...well, Clarke.

He had to talk to her, really, really talk to her.

And it would take one movement, one movement that looked fake, but wasn't.

So, with the switchblade in his hand, he sat down next to Raven and Wick (both had a child on their laps, a view that Bellamy had already become accustomed to).

He watched the children interact with the couple, flicking the blade in and out of its case. The small child on Raven's lap, who couldn't have been more than two, turned around and grabbed the brunette's face, making her smile. It had been a long time since Bellamy had seen Raven grin, and it was, at the same time, pleasing and troubling to see. Raven and Wick would not easily leave, not after they had grown close to these kids.

Still flicking the switchblade, he looked out over the meadow to see Octavia running around with the other kids. He watched as she ran around, playing the monster that the many children were running away from. She was just another person that Bellamy would have to tear away from the village.

"You look troubled," Raven said. The child on her lap, not even knowing what she was saying, looked at Bellamy.

"I'm always troubled. I'm in charge."

"Have you talked to Clarke?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I-OW!" The switchblade cut through the skin of his wrist and blood started to gush out.

Raven and Wick swung into action, taking the children off their laps and pulling him towards Clarke's building.

"Clarke!" they yelled, but the only person who came to greet them was Lexa, who stood at the top of the stairs looking vexed almost to tears.

"What do you want?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Clarke," Raven replied evenly (Lexa had once tried to kill her, she was glad that the Grounder was mad), "Bellamy cut himself. Looks like it may need stitches."

"Clarke is...preoccupied. Her second is down there. He will take care of you." Then she disappeared through a doorway, slamming the door behind her.

This was not going as Bellamy had planned.

The ten year old boy came out, smiling reassuringly at Bellamy before pointing to the chair inside the next room, "Brave Bellamy."

Bellamy and the others learned that since the young boy's mother had died, he rarely talked to anyone besides Clarke and Alcon. Not that he could understand them if he tried. His way of communicating how he felt about a person was what he called them; he gave nicknames that he thought described how he saw them, Brave Bellamy, Opinionated Octavia, they were all names this young boy gave them. He had other nicknames, not so kind nicknames, Stupid Sten, Mad Manovin. They all had their name behind some adjective, but some, the very special people, the boy didn't use their name. Clarke was no longer Courageous Clarke, she was Mom. It made the boy...endearing and Bellamy liked the boy for it (and not just because the boy was tied to Clarke, but easier to get to).

Bellamy followed the boy into the room and Wick and Raven came in with them. Over in the corner, wearing a mask of menace, stood a guard, carefully observing them. Up overhead, a fight, that must have been going on before they came here, ensued.

They couldn't hear what it was about, but they knew it was between Clarke and Lexa.

The guard took advantage of the boy's ignorance of the language and said, "You all are more trouble than you're worth."

"What do you mean?" Raven asked as the boy set down to his task, ignoring the shouting.

"Ever since you came you all have undone the work Clarke took three months to make. Now, you all have moved on from just tearing apart her to tearing apart her family."

"Look, we didn't ask to come."

"I know. That's the sad part. Even, when you don't mean to, you hurt her."

The fighting continued on.

When the boy was halfway through, the shouting moved to the stairs and was followed by the slam of a door. No one inside the room moved as Clarke let out an anguished scream that could be heard through the closed door.

The boy went back to his work, but the others stood there holding their breath.

After a minute or two, Clarke came into the room. Her hair was out of its regular hair style and she was running her hand through it when she came in the door.

She smiled softly at Wick and Raven, who smiled back, not knowing what to do or say. Clarke neared the working boy and laid her hands on his shaking shoulders. It was just now that Bellamy realized tears were leaking out of the corner of his eyes.

Clarke said something to him and he relinquished the needle to her before wrapping his arms around her waist. He dug his head into her back, wiping away his tears on her shirt.

"You okay?" Bellamy asked.

Clarke looked at him before quickly finishing the work her second had started, "No."

It was a simple proclamation, but it spoke volumes to just how broken the girl in front of him was. The guard shifted, glaring at the Sky People as they wondered how they could help. They decided that the best way to help was to not try to help and stayed quiet.

Bellamy would talk to Clarke some other time.

In fact, he already had a plan brewing in the back of his mind.