A/N - in definite adult themes territory now. Swearing, and a slightly non-consensual encounter lie ahead.

The truly heartbreaking thing about memory is how easily it can slip away from you when there's nothing to help you hold on to it. After her father died and she was sent to the Skybox, Clarke had desperately held onto his watch. She tried to picture the way it looked on him, or the way he would talk her through the steps he took to set it. When she was sent to the ground, the thing she didn't anticipate was how swiftly those memories would fade until they were only blurry recollections.

It was the smell, she realized later on. Down on the ground, there was nothing familiar about the scents in the air; without the stale metallic chill that she'd grown up in, a lot of her fondest memories began to slip through her fingers.

It was the same after the world was burnt away. The air was wiped clean of anything that could help her remember her friends. There were no stray jumpers or sweatshirts that still had the scent of her closest friend clinging to them. No soaps or balms that she could uncap and throw herself back into a memory with.

With that in mind, what she did remember she clung onto with all her might; drawing as much as possible and waiting for the day that her friends would be real to her once again.

So, when the world flipped on its head again and she found herself in Bellamy's arms after six years, she expected to be flooded by the familiarity of his embrace. But she wasn't. The warmth of his body under her hands felt right, but there was something strangely off about him that had Clarke feeling cautious. She sensed immediately that he had changed, but was unable to put a finger on how.

It was hours later, after chatting to him in front of the fire, that she had realized that her intuition had been hijacked by her olfactory nerves. Bellamy no longer carried that distinctly woody scent to him anymore. The smell of trees, and dirt, and sweat, and gun oil that somehow combined in a way that became beautiful on him, was gone.

When she had pressed her face into his shoulder there was still something faintly familiar about him, something that had her heart aching in her chest. But it didn't bring back the rush of memories and emotion she'd expected.

Instead, there was a colder, more metallic scent that clung to him. Like Ozone and something Clarke couldn't quite place, something sharp. It made him seem like a changed man. And when she'd watched as he embraced Echo later that day, she felt sure that he was changed for good. That he was made for someone else to hold now. Not her.

And then. Then more time had passed. And when he'd crowded her against the rover to argue playfully about her stuff, she'd sensed something different, something more familiar, about the way he smelt. It was like the world around them was bringing the old Bellamy back to her bit by bit.

It was a dangerous feeling. Because it clouded her head with memories she'd thought had faded away. It had her feeling a pull in her gut to seek him out just to be near him. It made her want to give voice to emotions she had never said out loud to anyone.

So, she did what she'd always been good at, which was to dive headlong into a potential life or death situation that completely superseded her love life. It had always been very effective.

Madi had watched Clarke move around the rover with eyes bursting with curiosity.

"What was that with Bellamy?" She finally asked with a hushed voice. "I've never seen you look like that before," she continued excitedly, "all blushing, and shy." The girl almost squealed, her earlier upset from the morning seemingly forgotten. Clarke finally met her eyes for the first time in minutes, a faint heat still flooding her cheeks.

"Madi," she groaned, exasperated. "Whatever it is you think you saw back there. It wasn't anything. Don't let yourself get worked up over it," she finished, as much to herself as to Madi. The young girl pouted. But there was a glint to her eye that Clarke knew meant trouble. So she sighed, ruffling the girl's hair before securing the rover and turning to head back to the bunker.

"I'm going to do have a chat with someone now," she explained, taking Madi's hand to help her down from the Rover's bonnet. "Did you want to hang out in the tent? Or would you like to spend some time with Monty and Harper? I'm sure they'd love to get to know you better if they're not busy."

Madi choose to spend time with Clarke's friends, hoping to learn more about what she'd been like when they had first met. They made their way through the campsite and found Monty and Harper sitting together outside their tent. Once the girl was absorbed in one of Monty's stories, Clarke made her way to the bunker, tracing her steps to the door that stood between her and McCreary.

She made her way in, taking note of the one-sided locking mechanism of the door. McCreary was where she expected him, sitting with his back against the wall. He watched her carefully as she entered, eyes lighting up as she closed the door tightly behind her.

"We need to talk," she started, moving cautiously towards him. He gave her a dangerous smirk and moved to stand up, bracing one shoulder against the pipe he was chained against.
He leant further into it to relax his stance, like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Alright," he drawled. "Let's talk, sweet thing." Clarke baulked at the nickname, crossing her arms tight across her chest. "But what should be talk about, hmmm?" He continued, his tone casual. "You know who likes to talk? The rat we caught on our ship. Murphy, right? He had some real interesting things to say when he and the tattooed girl were dragging me here."

"How about we talk about what's going to happen if you don't give us some information in the next six hours?" Clarke suggested instead. "Diyoza might not even know you've been captured. So unless you've got something these people can use to fight for the valley, you won't live to see sunset."

"These people," McCreary noted. At the questioning look Clarke shot him, he elaborated. "You said these people. Not 'My' people." He shrugged, watching her carefully. Clarke raised an eyebrow in reply.

"I don't have a people," she said, indifferently. McCreary gasped in feigned surprise.

"Oh? What about that little girl I saw you with down in that pit earlier, you seemed pretty attached to her?" McCreary's eyes were calculating as he stared her down. Clarke's jaw clicked as she ground her teeth, unmoved by the taunt. "Not even the big guy?" He continued. "I would have thought you were pretty close for him to pull that stunt with the hostages just to have you released."

McCreary was edging closer to her as he spoke, voice thick with feigned enthusiasm. He paused in contemplation for a moment before sneering at her.

"At least that's what I would have thought, until listening to that piece of shit Murphy talk for hours straight," he muttered. "About good ol' Clarke stuck on the ground alone; big brave Bellamy finding love again in space… It must suck to pine away on your lonesome for six years, only to find out he's been fucking someone else since he left you." He'd gotten close enough to her now that he began to tower over her intimidatingly, but she just glared at his words.

"I wonder how long he waited before wetting his cock? Bet she's real pretty too." There was an edge to his tone, challenging her to respond to him. But Clarke had dealt with too many demons to react so easily, so she squared her feet and swallowed the acrid bitterness that swirled in his gut at his words.

"My Mother," she began. "The doctor, Abby. Tell me how she's being treated. Is she ok?" McCreary took half a step back, dubious now that his taunts hadn't landed on Clarke the way he'd intended.

"Oh, we're treating her just fine. But she's not doing so good. Must have gotten into the habit of self-prescribing a little too often, to survive the last few years." His tone shifted again, back to the growl he'd been baiting her with moments before.

"How about you?" He queried. "How did you survive six years on your own? Must have been tough," he conceded, moving closer and running his eyes along her body. "I bet you found ways to make it more bearable." He moved closer still, and she backed away, trying to keep a little distance between them. She hadn't realized she'd been herded until she felt her thighs make contact with a table behind her.

"Did you fuck yourself while thinking of tall, dark and handsome?" He leered. "Did you pretend it was his fingers getting you off instead of your own?" Clarke felt her resolve slipping, and she frowned sadly as McCreary crowded her. He noticed the look, smiling again before his tone gentled, almost cooing at her when he spoke next.

"Meanwhile, he was buried between the legs of another woman, forgetting all about you." He was nodding softly at her as he spoke, eyes shining at her in sympathy. Clarke found her hands bracing on the table behind her, and despite her best efforts she felt her eyes misting over.

"After everything you've been through. A girl like you deserves better," he comforted. "Someone to worship that pretty little cunt of yours, fuck you real good. Make you forget about everyone who forgot about you." McCreary reached towards her gently, hands almost taut against his restraints as he ran the back of his hand against her belly, edging towards her belt. Clarke was stock still, mind unable to process the situation she found herself in.

She began to move, grabbing at his hand to push him away when the door burst open, Bellamy standing there flushed and furious as he took in the two of them. His face transformed into a snarl as he charged into the room, grabbing McCreary and hauling him away from Clarke and against the wall.

"You piece of shit. You don't fucking touch her," he roared.

He shoved at McCreary again and again, swearing once more as the man began to laugh at his anger. Clarke got over her surprise moments later, moving to intervene when Miller burst into the room. Bellamy turned and levelled a glare at the man, relaxing slightly seconds later and giving the prisoner one last shove into the wall before backing away. Before Miller had a chance to question the pair, Bellamy grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her from the room into the hallway.

"What the hell was that?" he questioned, angrily. It took Clarke a second to process his words, body still cycling through the barrage of emotions she'd been subjected to moments before. When she did she found herself biting back, frustrated at herself and the undeserved anger directed her way.

"What the hell was…" she parroted, trailing off and shaking her head. "Whatever the fuck it was, I had it handled." She fell further into anger as she approached Bellamy. "I was trying to get information out of the guy to help you and your family out. You don't get to be angry at whatever it is you think you saw in there," she countered, shoving at his shoulder. "And until you calm down, do me a favour and stay away from me."

She shoved past him and barreled down the hallway away from him.

Bellamy had immediately started moving when he'd heard Clarke in his earpiece. He'd slowly stood up from the monitor, listening carefully and growing more concerned the moment McCreary mentioned Murphy and started baiting her. His gut began twisting with anxiety as soon as McCreary mentioned him, hearing nothing from Clarke in reply.

He was at a near run by the time he'd heard them move closer to the table where Bellamy had hidden the bug, uncaring that he was drawing attention from the men he passed in the halls. McCreary's words had him seeing red, body tense with anger and something else he couldn't quite process as he finally shoved his way through the door.

The next few moments were a blur once he saw them; the heat on Clarke's cheeks, McCreary's hand along her belly. He didn't come back to himself until Miller was in the room, and he instinctively grabbed at Clarke to drag her into the hallway.

And then he was directing his rage at Clarke, unable to shift the image of her and McCreary from his head. How could she have let him touch her? Why hadn't she said anything? His blood was singing even as she lashed out at him and stormed off.

He stood there for a long time, watching passively as Miller exited the room and padlocked the door behind him. His thoughts kept jumping from one thought to the next haphazardly. Most of all he felt shame, hating the thought of Clarke picturing him like that. Like he'd thrown her away. But he couldn't say that wasn't what he'd done. Clarke had been dead to him. He'd had to find a way to be happy, and Echo made him happy. But now it felt twisted in his gut, like it was something disgraceful.

His earpiece crackled to life again; McCreary huffed a laugh, sighing jovially.

"Hope you enjoyed the show."

A/N Same goes for you! Thanks for the reviews! Your enthusiasm and encouragement is like crack.