don't get too close

it's dark inside

it's where my demons hide

i.

It's Bellamy who finds her afterwards, staring blankly into space, Finn's blood still dripping from her hands.

For an hour it's been nothing but yelling and confusion and messengers hurrying back and forth between Camp Jaha and the Grounder tents, and they brought Finn's body in and Raven's still crying and screaming and it's Bellamy who has to yell at everyone to calm the hell down and get back inside and not make this worse.

Clarke stands by the gate, under the unforgiving white lights of the electric fence, the world spinning out of control around her. Her mother asks her questions as the blood trickles down her fingers, and the Grounder torches flicker, and her vision blurs and the voices around her start to echo and distort and a band of iron is crushing her lungs in her chest.

"I have to go," Clarke says. "I have to... I just need a minute."

She slips away through the crowds that part around her, her feet taking her up to the fallen Ark as her mind shuts down. She can't deal with this. She can't think about it, she can't process what she's just done, so she finds this storage closet in a quiet part of the Ark and closes herself inside and cries and cries and cries until there's nothing left. Then she just sits and stares in the dark because her mind is a blank and it's just Finn – Finn smiling – Finn telling her he loves her in that earnest way of his – Finn dying in her arms. And all she can think is what do I do now? What do I do next?

And that's when he finds her.

The closet door opens, and Bellamy stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the white light of the corridor.

Clarke meets his gaze, and then she's sobbing again, huge heaving sobs that make her whole body shake.

He doesn't say anything.

He closes the cupboard door and comes and sits next to her in the dark. He puts his arm around her shoulders and lets her collapse into him, lets her fall apart against his chest, lets her tears soak into his jacket like blood from an open wound.

"He thanked me," she whispers eventually. "I killed him and he thanked me."

"There wasn't anything you could've done, Clarke," he says. "Finn was dead either way. Better to die quickly."

"I should've..."

"What?" he cuts her off. "Stabbed Lexa? Started a war?"

"It's what Raven wanted."

"Raven wasn't thinking straight. If you'd killed Lexa we'd all be dead right now. Finn knew it too, that's why he gave himself up. He didn't want any of us to die protecting him."

Clarke nods into his shoulder.

"You did right, Clarke," Bellamy says, his voice softening. "You did the only thing you could. Don't torture yourself over it."

The words ring hollow, and Clarke squeezes her eyes shut because this will haunt her; it will never let go of her. A dark space is opening up inside her and she's falling into it, slipping inexorably down into the grip of the abyss.

"What do I do now?" she whispers.

"One foot in front of the other," Bellamy says. "Council's meeting right now. They want to talk to us."

The darkness hides the concern etched into his face as he looks at her, but Clarke knows him well enough to know the expression he's wearing right now.

"I can cover for you," he goes on. "Tell them you're taking care of Raven."

"No." She shakes her head. "I have to speak to them. And I have to be the one to speak to Lexa. Help me up."

He stands up and offers her his hand. She pulls herself up on shaky feet, her breathing still shallow and unsteady.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up," Bellamy says. He cracks the closet door open and makes sure the corridor is deserted before ushering Clarke outside.

There's a wash-station down the hall, and it's just this jury-rigged thing and half the water spouts don't work and half the sinks are just buckets with holes in, but after weeks of peeing in bushes it seems like luxury.

Bellamy pushes the door open and there's a young guardsman washing his hands and Bellamy barks: "Get out!"

Because Bellamy gets it; he understands instinctively that she can't be seen like this; that they can fall apart in front of each other but no one else can ever catch sight of it – the pain and the fear and the nightmares – they have to hide it all in cupboards and closets and bury it at midnight so that they can look the world in the face and say screw you, I'm not afraid. He gets it the way no one else ever really will.

The guardsman takes one look at Bellamy's expression and hightails it out the door as fast as he can. Bellamy jams the door shut behind him and helps Clarke to the sink.

In the glare of the wash-station lights she sees the blood drying on her hands, and then she catches her own expression in the grimy mirror over the sink and then she throws up everything she's ever eaten.

Bellamy doesn't seem surprised. He doesn't say anything. He just holds her hair back and makes little soothing noises as she pukes and pukes and pukes until she feels like there's nothing left inside her but bones and a broken heart.

She grips the sink, breathing heavily, her eyes streaming and her throat stinging.

"Is that all of it?" Bellamy asks, and she nods.

He turns on the tap, rinsing the sink, before he gently takes her hands and holds them under the water.

"Wash your face as well," he says. "I'm gonna get a cloth."

She scrubs her hands and throws water over her face and Bellamy comes back with this horrible, raggedy towel that looks a hundred years old.

"Best I could do," he mutters. He watches her carefully as she dries herself off.

"You ready?" he asks.

She says nothing. Words won't come out just yet, and she looks away from him, at the sinks and the dirty walls and the unforgiving grey.

"Hey," he says, closing the space between them. He cups her face in his hands and tilts her head gently, making her look at him. A concerned frown creases up his face, but his eyes soften as he looks at her.

"You got this," he says, and his steady gaze is a lifeline, a way back to somewhere safe. "You hear me? You got this. One foot in front of the other, remember?"

She nods.

"One foot in front of the other," she echoes.

Her hands bunch into fists at her sides and she has to take a few more deep breaths to steady herself but she can do this, she can, because he's looking at her like she's the moon and he's the earth and he'll keep her steady in her orbit just as long as she always turns her face towards him.

"Alright. I'm ready," she says.

He checks the corridor again, just to make sure, and as they leave the wash-station she takes his hand and holds on as tight as she can, and she doesn't let go until she hears voices around the corner and she knows it's time to be strong again.

ii.

In the days following Finn's death, the camp becomes restless. When people see Clarke they start muttering and whispering behind her back, and Bellamy catches some fearful, angry looks shooting in Clarke's direction.

she didn't even flinch

totally heartless

how could she do that

he was one of us i can't believe

It reaches a head on the fifth day, when Bellamy walks out with Clarke to get something to eat and someone mutters, a little too loud, "There goes the murderer."

He whips around.

"You got something to say?"

They're outside by the makeshift bar and a crowd of people are queuing for rations and Clarke feels sick and she's not eating properly because every time she comes out here to get her food there's the muttering and the nasty looks and Bellamy can't stand to see her like that anymore.

He grabs the offending bystander out of his chair and hauls him upright.

"You wanna say something?" he demands. "You have a point you want to make?"

He lets go of the man's collar and the guy flinches away.

"She killed that poor kid," he says, not daring to meet Bellamy's eye.

"You've got a lot of nerve," Bellamy says, a note of disgust in his voice. "All of you have. Most of you were ready to hand Finn over yourselves. You were happy to let the Grounders torture him to death!"

"She killed him just to make the Grounders happy!" the man snaps back, and someone else mutters: "Who's she going to sacrifice next?"

Bellamy turns on the crowd and launches into full-on speech mode.

"Clarke did what no one else was brave enough to do," he announces. "And every one of you grumbling about it now is a hypocrite. You're all alive because of Clarke. You're all safe from the Grounders because of what she did. So if anyone else has something they want to say about the matter, they can come and say it to me."

He looks at them like thunder and they flinch away from his gaze and he knows word will get around, and everyone's a bit afraid of him like they're afraid of Clarke, because the two of them were here first and they saw things and did things and now they're kind of terrifying and dark and no one's quite sure what to make of these two kids who act like they're in charge of the whole world.

Clarke is looking at him, but her face is uncharacteristically blank. The light inside of her went out the day she killed Finn, and when she looks at him now her gaze comes from some terrible, distant, lonely place and he can't read her expression the way he used to and it scares him. It scares him how far away she went; how deep inside herself she's fallen; and he wonders if she'll ever be able to come back.

I'll bring you back, he whispers, a secret promise between his head and his heart. I'll bring you back to yourself, Princess. I won't let you die in the dark.

The whispering and the dirty looks stop after his little speech.

"No one knows what to do around me anymore," Clarke says to him later, when it's just the two of them and it's safe to be not okay just for a little while. "Everyone looks at me like I'm a monster."

"Do I look at you like that?" he asks, and the look in her eyes is heavy and heartbreaking.

"No," she whispers.

"Then it's not everybody, is it?" he says, and she gives him a little tight-lipped smile and he thinks please be okay. Please make it through this. Please come back to me.

iii.

It's Bellamy who gets her through the nightmares when they come for her – the waves of guilt and remorse breaking over once the sun has set, tearing through her restless mind, so that even sleep is robbed of its peace. The first night it happens she wakes up screaming, and Bellamy's there in her tent in the blink of an eye, his hand gripping hers so hard it hurts.

After that he finds them a two-room living quarters in the remains of the Ark, down some abandoned corridor half-blocked by broken doors and beams. The apartment itself is nothing fancy, just a living space and a bedroom adjoined, and the bathroom sink only has cold water and the lights don't work and the floors are uneven because this part of the Ark has listed over at a weird angle – but it's private, and as far as Clarke's concerned it's a palace. No one comes down here. There will be no one to hear her fall apart.

Bellamy sets himself up a make-shift bed in the living space, and he carries Clarke's meagre possessions into the bedroom, and that's that.

They don't talk about it. There is no discussion. Bellamy knows what she needs and she's not about to waste words raising objections she can't bring herself to believe in. More than anything else right now she needs to be away from people; to have that space to herself to fall apart in secret, because it's getting too hard to keep it together and at night – at night – it all starts to unravel.

She dreams of Finn and the terrified expression on his face as she lies to him and tells him he'll be okay. Sometimes, she stabs him over and over, caught in a frenzy of violence, blood pouring from his limp body and soaking into the mud. Other times, he's tied to the stake and the Grounders are setting the fire and he burns in the flames, and she stands and watches and tells him he deserves it as he screams and screams.

Sometimes she wakes then. Other times, the dream stretches on until she sees the black bones blister out from under his skin.

Bellamy comes in when she wakes, night after night. He brings water and lights a fresh candle by the bedside. He strokes her hair and makes soothing noises as the horrified sobs wrack her exhausted body. And then he leaves and the space opens up around her again and a little rebellious part of her starts to wish he would stay.

I died for you, Finn whispers inside her head. It was all for you. And she shudders under the weight of it, the ghost of Finn lying heavy on her heart, and every time she takes comfort from the touch of Bellamy's hand she feels sick with guilt.

One night, it's not Finn she feeds to the fire. It's Bellamy.

She sees the stake in the ground like always, but when the Grounders hustle a bound and bleeding figure to the pillar it's Bellamy. She dreams his dark eyes full of fear as he stares at her, and the flames leap around him and she can't save him – she's reaching and crying – and hands hold her back and the fire takes him.

Terror fills her, surging through her veins, forcing the breath out of her. Raw panic propels her out of the dream so fast she throws herself right out of the bed, screaming "Bellamy! Bellamy!" until her throat is hoarse.

He's never come running so fast; never looked at her with such an unguarded expression of fear as the one he's wearing right now. He rushes to her side and grabs her by the shoulders, his eyes raking her face.

"Clarke! Are you alright? What happened?"

She gasps for breath that won't come, her whole body shaking with panic and adrenaline. She grabs his face in her hands – too roughly – but she has to feel him – she has to drag his face close to hers until their foreheads are touching because otherwise all she sees is flames.

"I'm here," he whispers. "I'm here. You're okay."

Her breathing stills. His voice anchors her in the waking world, and his face is in front of her and he's not burning and his breath brushes her cheek and the fire wasn't real. It wasn't real.

Her heart settles in her chest.

For the first time since waking, she notices how cold the floor is beneath her bare legs, and of course that's when she realises that she's sprawled on the floor in her panties and a vest and Bellamy isn't wearing a shirt.

It's funny but of all things that's the thought that helps her loosen her death-grip on Bellamy's face and stand up on shaky legs. It's so ridiculous and silly and how can she even be worrying about something like that after everything they've been through, but that's why she clings to it – clings to it like someone drowning – because above all else it makes her feel like a normal person, worrying about normal things, like being unexpectedly half-naked in front of a boy you maybe sort of might be starting to like a little bit.

Bellamy stands in front of her, his hair adorably tousled, concern dancing in his eyes.

"How did you end up on the floor?" he asks.

"I'm not even sure," Clarke says. Bellamy still has his hands on her elbows, trying to hold her steady, and even with the storm raging inside her a small part of her mind makes a note of the way her skin tingles where his fingers touch her.

"Get back into bed," he says.

The blanket is all over the place, and Clarke straightens it out as Bellamy lights another couple of candles and places them around the room before he turns back to check on her. She pulls the blanket up over herself but the bed seems too big and empty and she just wants to be close to someone and she needs to silence Finn's voice in her head and that's why she says "Can you stay?"

A pang of guilt stabs at her heart. She pushes it away, back into the darkness it came from. Not tonight. Just this once, she won't do that to herself.

Bellamy hesitates, and maybe he thinks this is a trick or a test or something.

"Just... lie with me for a bit," Clarke goes on. His face is all confused and uncertain and vulnerable and she just doesn't care anymore. She shuffles over in the bed, letting the space open up like an invitation.

Bellamy lies on the bed next to her – slowly – hesitantly – waiting for her to change her mind and kick him out. But she doesn't. She doesn't care if this is weak. Right here – with him – is the only place it's safe to be weak, and she's too tired to fight it. She's tired of lying alone in the darkness with nothing but Finn's ghost to keep her company.

In the candlelight his features soften; the scars and the frown lines on his face blurred out by the shadows. He lies on his back, one arm propped behind his head. His body is warm next to hers, and the rise and fall of his chest is hypnotic, and she tells herself it's just because it reminds her he's still alive.

Their eyes meet in the darkness.

"Is this helping?" he asks.

"This is helping," she whispers.

The silence stretches out between them, and Bellamy turns his face towards the ceiling.

"I have this nightmare about Octavia," he says, without looking at Clarke. "She's being dragged away and I can't save her. Sometimes it's Grounders, sometimes it's Mountain Men. I have that one at least once a week. Then there's the one where I can't run away from the dropship fast enough and I get caught in the fire."

Clarke lowers her eyes, because the tears are threatening to spill out of her and she's trying not to cry in front of him. He's telling her all this to make her feel better – so she won't feel so alone – and it's working, but partly it's working because the candlelight paints wild shadows across the muscles in his arms and chest and it's doing something strange to her insides. In the back of her restless mind a treacherous little voice whispers what if you kissed him.

It's such an unnerving thought that it throws her for a loop, and she closes her eyes against it, but that brings the dream rushing back and she can see fire and Bellamy burning and her eyes snap open again. She rolls over onto her back instead.

I dreamed you were burning, she thinks, but that is a secret she can't say out loud. She tells him a different secret instead.

"I told him I loved him," she says into the dark. "It wasn't even true. I just said it because I knew he was going to die."

Bellamy says nothing. They've never talked about Finn – hell, she's never talked to anyone about Finn – and this is weird territory and maybe Bellamy doesn't want to know but it's midnight and she can't sleep and the candlelight is making her brave.

"Am I a bad person?" she asks, turning her face towards him.

He stares resolutely at the ceiling. "For saying something comforting to a dying man? I don't think so."

"I thought I was going to fall in love with him," Clarke goes on. She watches Bellamy's face. His jaw clenches, but he says nothing, and she plunges onwards. "I honestly thought, this could be the guy, and then I found out about Raven and I just felt so stupid. He kept telling me he loved me, but how can you love someone if you're going to lie to them? How can someone just... forget to mention their long-term girlfriend? And then act like it doesn't matter because they have feelings and that's supposed to change everything!"

The words come tumbling out, pouring forth from the darkness inside, and suddenly she's so angry she can't stop.

"He kept telling me he did it for me! He killed all those people and he looked at me like I should be grateful! Was I supposed to forgive him? I never asked him to kill anyone for me. I wanted to be angry with him and now he's dead and I can't – I can't –"

The tears come now, hot and furious, and Bellamy wraps her up in his arms, and he smells of earth and sweat and he's all brown skin and powerful muscles and when she wraps her arms around his warm body and sobs into his chest it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

"You can be angry if you want," he says into her hair.

"Maybe that's why I killed him," she sobs. "I was mad at him and I just—"

"Stop," Bellamy says. He unwraps his arms enough to look at her properly. "It's not... that's not what happened."

"He did it for me. Lexa said he died for me."

"But he did it, Clarke. He did it, not you. And the consequences are all on him. Once he decided to give himself up there wasn't anything else you could've done."

"Raven doesn't think so," Clarke says. "She still won't talk to me about it."

"She will," Bellamy says. "Just give it time. She's angry, too. But she'll come around."

And Clarke just nods, because she hopes he's right but she can't bring herself to really believe it, and she's cried herself to exhaustion and maybe if she just doesn't move she'll sleep so deeply she won't dream at all.

"Should I stay with you?" Bellamy whispers, and she nods again, and as she drifts off to sleep she feels his breath in her hair and the gentle brush of his lips on her forehead and this is helping. It's helping a lot.

iv.

She dreams about kissing Bellamy.

She dreams about kissing Bellamy in front of Finn, as Finn burns to blackened bones.

It's a nightmare of a different kind.

v.

It's Bellamy who gets Raven to talk to Clarke again, and that's a minor miracle in and of itself, because Raven is still furious and hurt and lashing out at everybody and she's barely spoken a kind word to anyone except Wick ever since it happened. So Bellamy procures a bottle of moonshine and dials his charm up to eleven and tempts Raven out to a quiet table at the edge of camp.

The sun set an hour ago, and the campfires cast a red glow that clashes with the white lights of the Ark and the electric fence. A guard patrol strolls by, doing slow laps of the perimeter, but other than that there's no one in sight. The rest of the Arkers mill around the downed ship and the campfires, or huddle in the tents, fearful of the forest and it's mysteries, but Raven and Bellamy have been on Earth long enough to stop being scared of the ground. The sky is awash with bright stars and a chill wind stirs the trees, but the moonshine takes the edge off the cold.

"You're not trying to get back in my pants, are you?" Raven asks after the fourth or fifth pull on the flask.

"Once was enough," Bellamy quips.

"Asshole. You know you want more of this."

"I just thought you might need a drink," he says. "Maybe someone to talk to."

She looks at him like he's a two-headed deer.

"Look who learned how to be nice," she says, taking another swig of the moonshine. "You gonna ask me about my feelings? You must have a motivational speech lined up for this."

"Would it help?"

"No."

Bellamy takes the flask and gulps down some liquid courage.

"Clarke misses you," he says, his voice carefully neutral.

Raven doesn't say anything. She stares out at the woods for a long time.

"That's why you're here, huh?" she says eventually. The frost has crept into her voice, and the words come out with spikes. "Come to look out for your little princess?"

"You two were friends," he ploughs on. "I know you need her as much as she needs you."

"I don't need the girl who murdered Finn," Raven snaps. She snatches the moonshine. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for this."

"I know you're angry at Clarke. I get it," Bellamy says. "But Finn gave himself up. He was the one who lost it in the first place and he decided to turn himself in. We were all prepared to fight for him, even after what he did. Including Clarke. He made the choice to walk out in front of those Grounders and let them carry him off. You want to be angry with someone – be angry with Finn."

"Do you think I'm not angry with him?" Raven says. She turns to him, bitter fury behind her eyes. "He did it for her."

"Is that why you're mad?" Bellamy asks. "Because he didn't do it for you?"

Another long pause; another furious inspection of the tree-line. Bellamy gives her the space, because that last thought was dark and twisty and bitter and it came from some deep, broken place in Raven's heart. The wind stirs the treetops and the stars blink cold in the sky and Bellamy waits.

"Why'd you have to get me drunk, Blake?" Raven says eventually. The fury is gone from her voice, replaced with something else – resignation, maybe, or just bone-deep heartache.

"Because I want you to talk to Clarke," he says. "Give her a chance to apologise. She did Finn a kindness. I think you know that."

"If you expect me to be grateful that she stabbed-"

"I don't expect you to be grateful. I'm just asking you to try and forgive her."

Bellamy sits back in his chair, gazing across the wire fence towards the forest and the distant mountains. He waits for Raven to think it out. When he looks back at her, she's wearing a weird expression.

"You know, maybe I should talk to Clarke," she says. "Maybe me and her should have a chat about this blatantly obvious crush you have on her. I'm sure she'd be interested in that."

Bellamy thinks for a moment about denying it, brushing it off; but he's tired and he's sick of this and he can't spend another night watching Clarke torture herself and if he can just get Raven to forgive her maybe she'll start to forgive herself.

"I don't care what you talk about," he says. "Just go talk to her."

Raven gapes, and he's momentarily gratified at managing to render her speechless.

"What, no angry denial?"

He shrugs. "You said it was obvious."

And then something changes in her face, and she gets that look she gets when she has a new project to work on.

"Wait," she says. "You really like her, don't you? That's what this is about. You fell in love with her and you don't know what to do about it."

He meets her gaze for a second and then looks out at the trees and runs a hand through his hair because what is he supposed to say to that? Raven's right. She has him pegged.

"Are you done gloating?" he says.

To his immense surprise, Raven actually laughs.

"I will never be done gloating about this," she chuckles. "Bellamy Blake, notorious womaniser, finally falls in love. What happened? Was it the way she stitched up your horrific injuries? Did your eyes meet across a crowded battlefield?"

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but honestly it's been so long since Raven smiled about something that he can't bring himself to be annoyed. What's there to be annoyed about anyway? It's his own fault for falling for Clarke in the first place; for loving someone who'll never look at him twice.

"Does this mean you'll talk to her?" he asks Raven.

She gives him a long look. Finally, she looks up at the stars.

"I am going to talk to her," she says quietly, her voice full of sadness. "It's just hard. Finn was my family, ya know? Even though I know it's not her fault, I just... I want to be angry with her so I don't have to be angry with him."

"If you need someone to be angry at, be angry at me," Bellamy says. "I handed Finn the gun. I let him go out there alone."

"And I told him to go in the first place," Raven replies. "Guess there's enough blame for all of us, huh?"

She stands up and hands him the flask.

"Gimme a couple of days. I'll talk to her," she says. "Thanks for the drink, asshole."

"Any time, Raven."

She starts to walk away, back towards the Ark and the milling crowds, but she stops to call over her shoulder.

"Don't worry, lover-boy. I won't tell her your heart beats for her and her alone."

"Appreciate that," Bellamy calls back, and he thinks he hears her chuckle as she walks away, and that's something at the very least.

vi.

Clarke doesn't mean to push him away. It's just easier.

She wants to think about the way he looks at her, and the look he gets in his eyes when he sees her; she wants to think about the way she feels when he strokes her hair or holds her at night. She wants to dive into it and find out what it is, but every time she starts she runs into a big solid Finn-shaped wall in her head.

It feels like a betrayal. Liking someone else – just thinking about liking someone else – feels like cheating on the memory of Finn. That doesn't even make sense, because her and Finn weren't even together and even if they were, wouldn't Finn want her to move on? To find happiness with someone else? But he loved her, and that love was big and awful and terrifying, and then he died and he dropped all that love on her and now it feels like a betrayal to think about being with anyone else.

He died because he loved her and if she gives up on that love then he died for nothing.

None of it makes sense. She knows it's ridiculous and irrational. But she feels it anyway; every time Bellamy smiles at her; every time she reaches out to put a hand on his arm. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, all guilt and anger and self-loathing, and so it becomes easier to just pull away.

She stops touching him. She doesn't ask him to stay with her at night any more. When his gaze lingers on her, she turns away.

It is easier this way. Better for all concerned.

She throws herself into work instead.

There is plenty to do: meetings with the Grounders, with her mother, with the Council; planning and strategy and diplomacy. The medical bay is short-staffed and Clarke spends all her spare hours down there, helping out. She ties back her hair and rolls up her sleeves and does whatever needs to be done.

There's comfort in the routine, and soon enough Clarke starts to feel... not happy, certainly, but more herself. She gives orders and makes decisions and argues with Kane and all those things keep her tethered to the ground and keep the demons at bay. Go through the motions, she tells herself. One foot in front of the other. And if the darkness comes to claim her at night, well – no one needs to know about that.

In her efforts to avoid Bellamy, she devotes a lot of her free time to helping Octavia with Lincoln's rehabilitation. It's slow going, but it's getting there. The hardest part isn't the physical rehab. It's the guilt that settles in Lincoln's heart over what he did in the mountain. There's days when he can't look at Octavia or stand to let her touch him, and Octavia weeps in Clarke's arms.

"He won't let me help him," she sobs. "I just want to help him."

"Why don't you find his journal?" Clarke says. "Drawing might help him process what he's been through."

Octavia can't find the journal, but she does find some paper and pencils from somewhere – probably from Raven, who can get her hands on just about anything – and she sits next to Lincoln while he draws. Sometimes he draws monsters, sometimes trees and flowers, sometimes Octavia herself. He seems to take comfort in it, and he smiles at Octavia as he draws the fall of her hair and the curve of her lips, and Octavia smiles back and kisses him goodbye when she leaves and promises to come back the next day.

One day, Lincoln draws Clarke. He sketches her face in shadow, thunderous and gloomy, her eyes downcast.

Clarke doesn't say anything, but the picture burns in her memory like an accusation.

"You shouldn't be alone, Clarke," Lincoln says to her, on the day they release him from medical. "Trust me. Don't be alone."

And her eyes stray to where Bellamy stands by the fence, gun in hand, patrolling with the guard, and she sighs and goes back to work.

If Bellamy has noticed Clarke pulling away from him, he hasn't said anything – but then, what would he say? They don't talk about this stuff. But he's stopped looking at her so much, and when she has a nightmare he doesn't stroke her hair like he used to, and the space opens up between them like the endless gulf between stars.

He wants it this way, clearly. She was a burden, and now she's not, and he can get on with his life.

On some weird level, Clarke is relieved. Obviously, Bellamy never cared about her, except as a useful co-leader. He saw what she needed and used his charm to make her feel better, to build her up a bit, to try and pull her out of the hole she's fallen into. Bellamy has always been like that – always used his charm like a tool to solve problems, ramping it up when it's needed and dropping it when it's no longer of use. That's all he did to her. That look he used to turn on her – like she's the sun shining through leaves, like she's earth and sky and life itself – it was just another weapon in his arsenal. She fell for the Bellamy Blake charm offensive, and she only has herself to blame.

She tells herself it's for the best, and she retreats into the darkness that clouds her soul, and she stays away from him. It is what he wants.

She will always have Finn. From now until the day she dies, Finn will live in the derelict ruins of her broken heart, and there will be no space there for anyone else.

vii.

It's ironic, then, that it's Bellamy who helps her finally – finally – let Finn go.

It's been three months – three months that feel like years, because down here life hits you and hits you again until your legs buckle and your back breaks. The tentative peace with the Grounders holds – just about – and they make the raid on Mount Weather as the first frost of winter starts to paint the ground in glittering white.

It goes better than expected – better than Clarke had ever dared hope – but people still die in there, in the cramped corridors of the Mountain Men, blood on dark hallways, vacant eyes staring at the unforgiving lights. But it's done. It's done. And their people are out – not all of us – not all of us – and Clarke breathes deep for the first time in months, because the weight of those 47 lost souls had nearly crushed her and the relief of their return – not all of us – is a physical release.

They bury the dead. By some unspoken understanding, the remaining members of the hundred carry their dead back to the dropship, to bury them there outside the walls with the others.

After that, the peace holds, surprisingly.

There's a lot of politics – a lot of talking and arguing and writing things down. Sometimes Clarke and Bellamy are at the forefront of negotiations. Sometimes, they're inexplicably shut out. It's infuriating, but Clarke embraces it, because when she stays busy she can keep her back straight and her head held high and the darkness inside recedes for a few hours. She is holding it together. One foot in front of the other.

Eventually a decision gets made – by the adults, behind some closed door somewhere – and the announcement is made that Camp Jaha is moving. They're going east, to the sea.

It makes sense. There's fertile land out there, and the Sky People can start setting up farms, and the Sea Clan are far more welcoming of strangers than the Woods Clan. Kane says things like this was always supposed to be a temporary camp and Abby says things like as long as we're together, we're home but they don't really get it.

Bellamy gets it, like he gets most things. One morning he wakes Clarke in the early hours, and they trek through the cold woods to the dropship. Snow hangs on the trees and melts on the paths, and their breath mists in the air, and Clarke wraps her furs around her – a gift from Lincoln, against the winter cold – a thank you for the help she gave him.

The dropship still stands in its clearing. Ivy leaves have started to venture up its metal sides, the forest's first attempts to reclaim it. The ground around it is still charred and black, but the first green shoots of an early spring poke bravely out between the drifts of melting snow. The forest will reclaim this macabre scar as well, eventually. At least the bones of the Grounders are gone – the clan came to claim their remains once the truce was settled, and left nothing but a pile of charred weapons as a memorial.

The rest of the kids start to arrive as the sun comes up. No one speaks much. They walk around the remains of their camp – the fallen walls, the tunnels, the fox holes, the fire pit and the dropship and the places where they made their last stand.

The adults will never understand it. This place was home when all they had was each other.

Our dead are buried behind those walls.

Bellamy makes a speech.

"We're leaving in a couple of days," he says. "Camp Jaha is packing up and we're moving on. I don't know if we'll ever be back here, but this was our first camp on the ground. We built this together. We lived and fought and died here. So today we're saying goodbye. We're saying goodbye to this place, because it was our home. And we're saying goodbye to the friends we lost here."

He reads their names, and if Clarke's heart could still feel anything it would melt in her chest because he remembers all of them – every single one – every terrified teenager who looked up to him and followed his orders and went to war for him because he made them feel like they could. He lists them from memory: who they were and how they died. Even Dax, who tried to kill him; Wells, who he never really liked; Charlotte, who took his advice too literally and died because of it.

"Finn Collins," Bellamy says, and his eyes meet Clarke's through the press of the crowd. "Who died so that we could have peace with the Grounders."

Clarke releases a breath she didn't realise she was holding.

He dies for you, Lexa had said, when she made her last, desperate plea for Finn's life. But Bellamy doesn't see it that way. He died so we could have peace and maybe – maybe – she can start thinking of Finn that way instead. Not a martyr for some hopeless, helpless, unwanted love – but a martyr to the idea that an enemy could become a friend as long as justice is served.

After Bellamy's eulogy, the kids mill around the old camp, sharing stories and laughing at the memories. How a place like this could ever be funny is miraculous – and again, another one of those things the adults will never understand. But remember when we all ate those nuts and got high and remember Unity Day and remember the games we used to play and Clarke realises they'd carved out fun and happiness for themselves in spite of everything. And if you can do that with the war raging just the other side of a make-shift fence then you can look the world in the eye and defy it to make you miserable, and they learned down here that happiness is something you can seize with both hands if you set your mind to it.

Clarke catches sight of Bellamy, smiling as he talks to Jasper and Monty, and that treacherous little voice in her head goes speaking of something you could seize with both hands but still – there's Finn – leaping to the forefront of her thoughts even as she lets herself think about someone else and ugh – ugh – ugh.

She slips away from the crowd and heads outside the walls, to where the sad little graves line up beneath the trees. Snow covers the piles of dirt and stones, but she remembers where they are. Her breath mists in the air and the sunlight falls cold and sharp through the bare trees.

They learned about trees on the Ark, of course; learned about botany and plants and the cycles of the seasons. But that doesn't quite prepare you for the reality of it; the way a tree without leaves looks like it will never come alive again. A bare, broken, empty skeleton of itself, waiting for the sunlight to help it come back to life. Clarke shivers in the snow, tracing bare branches with her eyes, wondering if she could do them justice if she drew them.

Bellamy comes to find her, because of course he does.

"This was a really good idea," she tells him. "Coming out here like this."

"Don't sound so surprised," he quips back.

She smiles at him – a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes – but he smiles back and something shifts just a little bit inside, as if Finn has just stepped aside and gone yeah, okay, go ahead and smile just this once.

"Come to the dropship," Bellamy says. "There's food. And moonshine."

"I'll be there in a bit," Clarke says. "Just... give me a minute, okay?"

He nods and turns away, and for the first time in a long while she lets herself wonder if that smile meant anything; if maybe, after all this, she could be more than just that valued co-leader he felt obligated to support in her time of need.

I did it for you, Finn whispers inside her heart.

No, you didn't, she whispers back. You did it for yourself. You did it to prove a love I didn't ask you for. And I don't want to carry that love anymore.

And when even that feels like a betrayal she tells herself there was nothing to betray, and in the tiniest corner of her heart she starts to believe it.

A crunch of the snow behind her snaps her out of her thoughts, and for a moment she fears it's Bellamy come back to smile at her some more in that infuriating, confusing way of his. But it's Raven. She's holding a cup of moonshine, which she offers to Clarke without a word.

"I miss Finn," Raven says. "This place reminds me of him."

"I miss him too," Clarke says.

Raven watches her take a sip of moonshine and then takes the cup back to drink from it herself.

"I dumped him in that dropship," she says. "Sometimes I think I should've just stayed with him."

"Well, he did cheat on you," Clarke points out. "Can't believe he didn't even tell me you existed."

Raven snorts. She raises the little tin mug of moonshine in mock toast.

"To Finn Collins," she laughs. "A clueless dork who broke both of our hearts."

"To the boy who made me a two-headed deer as a romantic gesture," Clarke adds.

"To the long-haired, doe-eyed asshole who went completely off the rails."

Clarke laughs and so does Raven, but there's tears in her eyes, and they both just stand there and laugh and cry at the same time because what else can you do? Down here, what else is there? You laugh in the face of death or you let it eat you alive.

I let it eat me, Clarke thinks. God, I let it consume me. Can I stop now? Can that much heartbreak be enough?

Raven hugs her, out of the blue, and Clarke clings to her a little too tightly because even though they're sort of talking to each other again they've still been at a weird distance ever since Finn and she missed Raven so much it hurt and God she missed this.

"I'm glad you were with him," Raven whispers. "I keep thinking what would've happened if you hadn't... I couldn't have done it."

"I'm so sorry, Raven," Clarke sobs into her shoulder. "How did everything get so messed up?"

"This dumb planet, I swear to God."

Raven pulls away and wipes the tears from her face. "Enough of this mushy crap," she says. "I'm going to get another drink. You coming?"

"Yeah. I'm coming," Clarke says.

Raven throws an arm around her shoulder, and they walk back to the dropship together, and this time when Bellamy shoots her a little smile she lets herself think he's very attractive when he smiles and when Finn's accusing voice echoes in her head it's not as loud as it was before. And she lets herself hope – the smallest, tiniest hope – that maybe there might come a day when his ghost won't haunt her at all.

They stay until late into the night, all of them, sitting around the fire and then moving inside the dropship as the cold creeps in. When the sun rises the next day they all walk back to Camp Jaha together, and when the adults ask where they've been they shrug and say remembering the dead.

viii.

They trek out to the sea through the last remains of the winter's frost and begin to build their new home.

The months roll by, and spring arrives with the return of green leaves, and the sun feels warm again.

Bellamy lets the distance open up between them. He doesn't say anything.

He figures it's better this way. Easier in the long run. It's his own fault, probably – Clarke needed a friend, someone to rely on, and he pushed it too far and made her uncomfortable. Of course she pulled away. She's trying to be nice about it, to let him know in her own subtle way that it wasn't like that for her.

He's oddly okay with it. It was too soon after Finn, and what was he honestly expecting? Sooner or later another guy will come along – someone more like Finn – with big, honest eyes that don't hide any sort of tortured darkness – and he'll sweep her off her feet and make her laugh and she'll fall hopelessly in love with him. Bellamy is what she needs in the mean time – a reliable friend to make sure she stays on her feet – and he will love her from a distance if that's all she wants from him and when she finds someone else he will smile and say he's happy for her and that will be that.

So he lets the space remain between them, as a protection for a heart that will inevitably be broken one day, when Prince Charming comes riding in on his white horse to give the Princess everything she wants and deserves.

The camp takes shapes around them, and he throws himself into the organising of it, barking orders and taking charge of patrols and keeping himself busy. He and Clarke work together as well as they ever have, and if she notices the guards he's placed around his own heart she doesn't say anything. She accepts it with quiet resignation, and he knows he made the right choice. This is what she wanted. This is what she's comfortable with.

The new settlement sits on a grassy hill that overlooks the sea, with the forest stretching up into the rolling hills behind it; a handful of houses perched between trees and salt water. The camp is more of a village, really: a wide enclosure encircled by a high palisade, with a central meeting space surrounded by wooden huts for living quarters and communal areas. The breeze smells of salt and sand, and sea birds circle overhead, their harsh voices calling into the wind.

The huts take shape, one by one, under Bellamy and Clarke's watchful eyes. The Sea Clan teach the Sky People how to make boats and fishing nets and how to read the tides. Jasper and Monty set up the first farm on the hillside, despite the adults' insistence that they should wait until the village is finished. But as winter turns to a hopeful spring and the first shoots start to poke through the newly-tilled earth even the hardest of hearts has to admit that things are looking up.

On the first truly warm day, Bellamy sees Clarke sitting alone in the corner of the compound, a stick of charcoal in her hand as she draws something on a scrap of paper. The sunlight makes her hair glow golden – it's long now, falling down her back in endless waves – and she purses her lips as she concentrates, and when she catches Bellamy watching her the smile she offers is weak. There's no light in it anymore, not since Finn poured out his love for her in blood, but it's been six months now and the sun has come back and the air is warm and full of promise and he thinks it's time. It's time, Princess.

He has to get her to laugh again. He has to help some of the sunlight filter through.

He saunters up to her.

"What are you working on, Princess?"

She shrugs. "Just doodling, really."

He glances over her shoulder, and sees what she's drawing: Lincoln and Octavia. The pair of them are sparring on the other side of the open space, grinning as they circle each other, looking for openings. Lincoln barks encouragement to Octavia, and even through the distorting lens of his protective-big-brother instincts Bellamy can see that she's strong, now – competent, controlled, sure and steady in her movements – and he feels a rush of pride in her accomplishments.

The drawing takes shape under Clarke's skilful fingers, and Bellamy sees that she's tried to capture the movement of their sparring – the lively dynamic of it, the way their faces seem to come alive as they dance around each other. It's a good picture, but he wants to show her something better.

He holds out a hand to her. "Come on."

She gives him a confused look, but she tucks the paper away and takes his hand, and he leads her back to the hut she shares with Raven.

"What are we doing?" she asks.

"Going for a walk," he says. "Get your pack. I'll grab some supplies."

"Bellamy, I can't. I have to—"

"You have to nothing," he cuts her off. "The sun's out. The war's over. No one's in trouble, everyone's safe. So we're going on a day trip."

He says it with as much charm as he can muster, and in the face of his impish smile she relents.

"Alright, I'll get my things," she says, rolling her eyes in that way she does when she's pretending to be annoyed.

They trek out over the hills, following the curve of the bay and the edge of the forest, letting the wind blow away the misgivings about a wasted day or hours spent away from camp. Abby gave them a disapproving look as they left, and she still hasn't warmed to Bellamy that much; and Kane tutted about the waste of rations; but those are problems for another day. Bellamy leads the way, taking Clarke up a winding path through grass and wildflowers until they reach the crest of a hill where the ruins of a building still peek out from the sea of green. There's nothing left of whatever this building was, just a few tumbled walls standing waist height, but the view – ah, the view – the view is why a house was here in the first place.

"Wow," Clarke breathes.

The hill rolls down in front of them, falling into the dunes that lead to the sea, and from here they can see the whole bay – the gentle sweep of it, the two headlands that rise to rocks and cliffs, creating a crescent that cups the restless water. Waves crash onto the beach, the sound of them borne all the way to the hilltop by the sea wind, and the water glitters blue and green and turquoise in the sunlight. Behind them, the hills rise up under the cover of trees, marching on towards the distant mountains.

He admires her admiring the landscape – surreptitiously, out of the corner of his eye – stolen glances that tell him the wind is blowing her hair around her like a dancing halo and her eyes are brighter than they've been in months. The weight of everything – of Finn – of being in charge – of the pain and the death and the war – it's all falling away, dissolving in the sunlight, blowing away like scraps in the breeze.

Maybe this will be the day her smile finally reaches her eyes.

"I want to live here," Bellamy says.

"You want to build a house here?"

"Not just a house," he says. "A whole town."

"We already have a town."

"I mean a town for us. For the hundred."

Her eyes flicker from his face to the surrounding countryside, the wheels in her head turning as she scans the hilltops and the sea.

"I know you've thought about it," Bellamy goes on, watching her guarded expression. "We could strike out on our own. Think about it. Think about what it would be like to live up here. Just us. No adults. No council bickering about the best thing to do and holding everything back. We could do things differently."

That elicits a small smile, but Bellamy isn't sure if it's because of the idea itself or because of her amusement at another one of his 'motivational speeches'. But he'll take it.

The fact is they've done more than just think about it. They've talked about it – not just to each other, but to some of the other delinquents as well. Especially on days when the adults are being particularly obtuse and difficult.

The Grounder treaty is holding, it's true, but the tension between the adults and the delinquents has never really gone away, and the longer they spend in the new camp the more that rift widens. The adults resent the influence Clarke and Bellamy still wield, and the way they're able to rally the troops around them with a word or a look, but they can't say too much about it because without them – without the hundred – the alliance with the Grounders would fall apart.

The Grounders have never liked the adults as much as they like the kids. They want to deal with Clarke of the Sky People – the girl who shed blood to make peace – or they want to talk to Octavia – she knows our ways – but they look at Kane and Jaha and Abby like they're soft earth to be trodden down and stamped into place. The adults resent it – they rail against it – but there's nothing they can do about it. And so they respond by making life as difficult as possible for Bellamy and Clarke – relegating them to go-betweens and diplomats – cutting them out of big decisions, closing the doors in their faces, treating them like children even as they prove themselves as leaders.

The rest of the delinquents have noticed. They've felt it, too. And with each passing day the idea of striking out on their own and building something different grows ever more appealing.

"This would be a good place for a village," Clarke says eventually, and Bellamy grins.

"We could plant some crops," he says wistfully. "Grow some vegetables."

"We couldn't really, though," she says. "Think about all the problems it would cause. The adults would never let us go."

"They wouldn't be able to stop us. Not if we put our minds to it."

"Is this why you brought me out here?" Clarke asks, turning to look at him with a questioning expression. "To talk me into joining your rebellion?"

"Honestly? I just wanted to show you the view."

"It's a great view."

She gazes out at the landscape, and Bellamy watches her a little more openly this time. She turns to him suddenly, so suddenly that he can't hide his gaze quickly enough, and she catches him looking at her and then – then she smiles. She smiles like starlight; like the wild wind off the sea; beautiful, but so far away as to be untouchable. That smile comes from somewhere else – from the other side of some huge gulf – but it's a real smile; a smile from the heart that reaches the eyes.

Bellamy breathes deep and smiles back, and he pours every ounce of love he has into it, because her smile reached her eyes and he doesn't care if his love is written on his face in letters of gold because she's smiling, oh God she's really smiling, and he'd fall into the sun for that smile.

He thinks she looks uneasy then; a slight hitch of her breath, and her eyes go a little wide, and maybe he blew it. Maybe that was too much all at once. But when she looks away she blushes a little, so maybe...?

He sits on the grass and she sits beside him. When he looks up at the sky, white clouds are scudding across the blue expanse, and he has an idea.

"Lie down," he says to Clarke. She gives him an uncertain look but follows his lead anyway, and they lie next to each other on the warm grass, staring up at the sky.

"What does that look like?" he asks her. He points up at a wispy white cloud that's drifting towards the mountains.

"It looks like a cloud," she says.

"Come on, Clarke. Use your imagination."

She looks at him, all dubious and unsure, and he looks at her with a challenge in his eyes, so she turns back to the wandering clouds.

"It looks like a house," she says.

"What kind of house is that?" Bellamy asks.

"I don't know. A little house?"

"It's not a house. It's a dropship."

"I thought I was supposed to decide what it was?" Clarke objects, but there's a lightness in her voice that Bellamy hasn't heard in months.

"Yes, but when you're obviously wrong I'm here to correct you," he teases.

She smiles again, and turns back to the passing clouds.

"Your turn," she says. She points at the sky. "What about that one?"

"That's a horse."

"How is that a horse?"

"It's got two heads," Bellamy deadpans. "See? A two-headed horse."

"You're an ass," Clarke says, but she's grinning as she says it.

The sun warms their faces, and the seagulls wheel overhead, and Bellamy points at another cloud.

"Pirate ship," he says with a grin of his own.

"What makes you think it's a pirate ship? It could be a normal ship."

"Trust me. That's a pirate ship. I can see the pirates from here."

"You don't know the first damn thing about pirates," Clarke scoffs.

"Avast, mateys!" Bellamy says, in his best pirate voice – the one he spent years perfecting with Octavia, who always liked to play pirates. "We got ourselves a landlubber!"

And then she laughs.

Out of nowhere, like a wave breaking on the beach, the laughter tumbles out of her, and the warmth that settles in Bellamy's chest is like the sun rising. She laughs until her shoulders shake and she can't catch her breath.

"Your impression of a pirate is terrible," she says.

"Excuse me?" he says, pretending to be offended. "I'd like to hear you do better."

She clears her throat. "Aye, aye, cap'n!" she says. It's so bad it's funny, but it doesn't matter, because she dissolves into a fit of giggles and the sound of it – the sound of her laughter shaking out of her, making her gasp – it's glorious. It's everything. It's the sun and the moon and the earth and the wind and everything.

Bellamy lies next to her in the grass, under a crystal blue sky, and he laughs at the clouds that look like pirate ships, and Clarke laughs like she's forgotten what it feels like to be happy. Maybe she has. Whatever dark place she went to inside of herself, there wasn't a lot of happiness to be had in there. But now she's lying in the sun, and her head is next to Bellamy's on the grass, and her hand brushes his as they point at the clouds and laugh at their own terrible pirate impressions and maybe – maybe – he can love her for a little while longer and hold her a little bit closer.

ix.

Lincoln and Octavia announce that they're getting married. It seems like something sudden, and Kane looks horrified and Abby shakes her head and talks about how young Octavia is, but when Clarke stops to think about how much they've been through together she can't fault Octavia for wanting to commit to it.

The adults don't understand, as usual, but the other delinquents do. None of them are kids anymore; not since the ground. You can't crash to earth in a metal can and fight for survival against acid fog and two-headed monsters and stay a child. They were born and raised in space but they grew up on the ground – all of a sudden, in a wild, terrifying rush, going from children to adults in the space of a few harsh, unforgiving weeks.

Bellamy freaks out, of course.

Clarke's there when Octavia tells him, and then she's subjected to a twenty-minute rant about how this is so wrong, she's his little sister dammit, it's far too early to be thinking about things like marriage, and who does Lincoln think he is? It's just shock, really, and when Bellamy calms down he starts to see it for what it is: the entirely natural next step in Lincoln and Octavia's relationship. Most normal relationship milestones seem pretty trivial after your boyfriend's recovered from being drugged and turned into a cannibal, and it's not like down here they have anything to wait for.

Apparently Grounder weddings involve a three-day festival culminating in a feast that lasts all night. The clans come and pitch tents outside the village, at the bottom of the hill where a stretch of flat land gently gives way to the sand dunes and the beach. Torches light up the night and during the day Grounder kids and Arker kids run together through the field, playing games and splashing in the waves on the seafront. In an open space between the tents, a huge fire pit is erected, and at night the Grounders sit around singing and chanting and telling stories.

The young people from the Arkers' village go down to join in. The adults stay behind, watching with disapproving eyes from the top of the palisade. The rift between the delinquents and the adults has never been this obvious, and Clarke thinks that when they eventually go their separate ways a lot of the younger people who fell with the Ark will follow the hundred out the gates.

She says as much to Bellamy, the night before the wedding.

"Of course they'll come with us," he says. He gives her a lopsided grin. "They can't resist my charm."

He's been smiling at her more often lately, since that day in the field, and without Clarke ever really thinking about it the gap between them has closed up again. Not completely – not yet – but for the first time in a long, long while he's teasing her and trying to make her smile when they work together; he's doing nice little things for her just to make her happy. And finally – finally – she's stopped hearing Finn's voice in her head every time she notices Bellamy looking at her.

"Your charm is not all that," she says to him. "Clearly they'll follow us for my immeasurable wisdom."

He chuckles. "They'll follow you because you're you," he says. "You're pretty irresistible."

"Damn right," she says, because Raven has rubbed off on her somewhat and because she doesn't know what else to say to Bellamy Blake calling her irresistible.

Ask him why he's resisting you, then, that little voice in her head urges her. Go on. Ask him.

She waits for the sinking feeling that she knows will come quickly on the heels of a thought like that; the self-loathing, the disgust, the vivid memory of Finn's face and his ghostly disapproval. But it doesn't come. The flutter in her stomach is excitement, not disgust, and she smiles and breathes deep and thinks at last.At last.

The day of the wedding, the Grounders come to prepare Octavia for the ceremony, and Clarke and Raven and the other girls sit in the little wooden hut whilst two elderly Grounder women paint black kohl around Octavia's eyes and draw intricate henna patterns up her bare arms. They dress her in a long robe and weave ivy leaves into her hair. As afternoon dips into evening, the men come to the hut banging drums and singing and it's time to go outside.

Clarke and Raven walk Octavia out, and she clings tight to both their hands as they step out into the twilight. The men fall silent, and for a moment the only sound is the distant whisper of the waves.

Bellamy is standing by the hut, and he steps forward to pull Octavia into a long embrace. He whispers something in her ear – something Clarke can't hear, even in the near-silence – and when at long last he pulls away both he and Octavia have tears in their eyes. The drums and the singing start up again as Bellamy takes Octavia's hand, and the men escort them down from the village to the tents, a messy, happy parade of shouting and laughing. From her place in the procession just behind Bellamy, Clarke can see the tender looks he gives his sister, the emotion in his dark eyes unfathomable, unreadable.

When the procession reaches the bottom of the hill they stop. The largest of the tents stands on the other side of the clearing, and according to Octavia Lincoln will be waiting inside the tent with his family and friends. A path to the tent has been marked out with torches, like an aisle lit with firelight, and the wedding guests wait on either side of the aisle for Octavia to step forward to claim her husband.

The bride doesn't get 'given away' in Grounder culture – not according to the explanation Lincoln gave Clarke before the ceremony. Instead, the bride bids farewell to her family and steps out alone to meet the groom. So there's no moment where Bellamy hands Octavia to Lincoln; no manly exchange of glances over the head of the silent bride. The procession stops at the beginning of the aisle, and Bellamy takes his sister's head in his hands and kisses her on the forehead, and then she steps out by herself, head held high and face glowing with happiness, marching out between two rows of torches. In accordance with Grounder custom, she calls Lincoln's name as she walks towards the tent, but he doesn't come out until the whole crowd is chanting "Lincoln! Lincoln!" Then finally he emerges, and the crowd cheers and Octavia laughs as she throws her arms around him.

Her joy is infectious, and Clarke can't help but grin. She meets Bellamy's gaze, and he's grinning too, looking younger than she's ever seen him.

The marriage ceremony itself is surprisingly short, but the feast that follows is anything but. The sun sets behind the mountains, and the fire pit blazes high, smoke and sparks rising into the night sky to join the stars. Lincoln and Octavia sit next to each other outside the tent, under a red canopy, and they smile and laugh as the guests bring gifts and good wishes. There's more food than Clarke's ever seen in her life – even in Mount Weather – and the Grounders serve a special tea that has something in it that makes everyone a little bit buzzed. As the moon rises, the drums start up again, accompanied by pipes and singing, and before long the space in front of the fire is filled with people dancing.

It must be the tea that makes Clarke brave. It's like being drunk, only better, because it just makes you weirdly happy but without the brain-fog and falling over. Clarke stands up and makes her way around the perimeter of the dancers to where Bellamy sits in the golden glow of the campfire, watching his sister and her new husband dance to the beat of the Grounder drums.

"You having fun yet, Princess?" he asks Clarke as she approaches.

"I'm getting there," she says. She holds out a hand to him. "Dance with me."

He looks at her quizzically. "I don't—"

"You said I'm irresistible," she says, suddenly bold.

"I did say that."

"So," she smiles. "Don't resist me."

The smile spreads across his face slowly, like the moon rising; uncertain and confused, but trusting. He takes her hand and lets her lead him out between the dancers, weaving between the twisting bodies. When she turns around to drape her hand around his neck, that uncertain smile is still there, and he licks his lips nervously as he grips her free hand in his and places his other hand at her waist.

"You know how to dance, right?" Clarke asks him.

He laughs, his natural confidence surging back. "Of course I know how to dance."

He sways her gently, keeping a careful distance between their bodies, and Clarke wants to close the space between them but she's not sure if he'll pull away or make it weird so she just lets him guide her through the music. His arm at her waist is so firm, so reassuring, and his hand dwarfs hers, and she thinks about running her fingers through the curls of his hair – but he'd pull away, surely, and this moment is wonderful and sweet and beautiful and she doesn't want to ruin it by making it something it's not.

He lets go of her waist to twirl her under his arm, and when they come back together their bodies press just a little closer. Bellamy grins at her before he dips her. It takes Clarke so completely by surprise that she laughs. Her grip on his neck tightens reflexively, but his arms are strong and safe and when he lifts her back up he whispers close to her ear: "Told you I know how to dance."

"I never doubted you for a second," she says, her face a picture of innocence.

"Yes you did," he grins.

They laugh as they dance, and when the firelight catches Bellamy's eyes Clarke wonders if this is part of the charm offensive too; if this is a sweet nothing, a kindness done in the name of making her happy, but nothing more. Would he ever love her? A man like this, with eyes as wild as the wind and a heart as big as the ocean – could he love someone like her? Her heart is a ruin, after all, and she let the darkness settle inside of her, and even a man as big-hearted as Bellamy surely doesn't have enough love to fix this.

x.

It isn't Bellamy who tells her in the end. It's Raven.

When the music slows Clarke loses her nerve, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear to cover her self-doubt as she excuses herself to get another drink. She leaves Bellamy on the edge of the makeshift dance floor and weaves her way towards the tent where an old Grounder lady is serving tea.

With a fresh mug in her hand she ducks out of the tent and hesitates at the edge of the crowd, unsure of whether to go back to Bellamy or keep her distance. As she's caught in her moment of uncertainty, Raven comes up behind her.

"Boo," she says, with no real conviction.

"Hey," Clarke says.

"Glad to see that's finally coming together," Raven says. She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively as she tilts her head towards Bellamy, who's still standing at the edge of the firelight, his hands in his pockets and a pensive expression on his face.

"What? Oh – it's not... We're just having fun."

Raven gives her a look that's approximately ten thousand years old. "Seriously?"

Clarke frowns at her. "What?"

Raven snorts with laughter. "Come on, Clarke. No one's this oblivious."

"Oblivious to what?"

This time, the look she gets from Raven is flat-out incredulous.

"Clarke. You know Bellamy's in love with you, right?"

For a second she thinks the world has stopped spinning. For one long, breathless moment the sounds of the fire and the music and the dancers drop away; the lights seem to dim; nothing moves. But Clarke has been building her defences for so long that they snap back up the moment they're knocked down.

"Bellamy's not in love me," she says, trying to sound firm and sure, but it comes out a lot less convincing than she'd hoped.

"Yeah he is. He's crazy about you. He practically told me himself."

"That's not possible," Clarke says, common sense and logic coming to her aid. "He's been weird around me ever since..."

She doesn't say ever since Finn, but she doesn't have to. Raven knows, and her expression has now progressed from disbelief to exasperation.

"You made it weird, girl," she says. "You freaked out and scared him off. You think I don't know what's going on with you two?"

"I don't even know what's going on with 'us two'," Clarke protests.

"Okay, fine. I'll explain it to you." Raven throws a companionable arm around Clarke's shoulders. She points at Bellamy, cheerfully and unabashedly, not caring if he notices.

"There's Bellamy," she says, "trying desperately to conceal the fact that he's in love with you. And here's you," - she points at Clarke - "trying desperately to pretend you're not falling for him too."

Next, she points at the mug in Clarke's hands.

"Drink up," Raven orders. "All of it."

Clarke does as she's told, downing the warm liquid in a few swift gulps. Raven puts her hands on Clarke's back and propels her gently forward, towards the firelight where Bellamy stands watching the whole thing in confusion.

"Now go get him," Raven commands.

xi.

"What was that about?" Bellamy asks.

Clarke shrugs, trying to keep her voice as nonchalant as possible. "Oh, you know Raven. Always speaks her mind."

"So what did she say?"

"That you're a big dork," Clarke says, pretending to be serious. It makes Bellamy chuckle, and the grin on his face makes her heart flip.

"Walk with me," she says, her confidence returning. He gives her the same look he wore when she asked him to dance: confusion mixed with... hope? If it wasn't Bellamy Blake she'd say it was shyness.

"Where are we going?"

"Just for a walk," she says. "You made me climb a hill, remember? You owe me."

"Yeah, but the hill was worth it."

"This will be worth it too."

Their eyes meet in the firelight, and the flames cast wild shadows over Bellamy's face but his eyes are soft and unsure, like he doesn't know what she's asking of him, because she pulled away didn't she? She wanted the distance between them and you scared him off and it couldn't possibly be but he's looking at her like she's the earth and he's the moon and he's happy to just orbit around her forever even if they never touch and holy crap Raven's right holy crap .

Her breath hitches in her throat and for one long, endless moment she's afraid the world might just fall apart around her. Bellamy's lips twitch into the tiniest suggestion of a smile and it's like the pieces of her heart are rushing back together; hope and relief pulling the fragments back into shape.

There is room in her heart for someone else. There is room in her heart for Bellamy.

She reaches for his hand and lets it engulf hers, twining their fingers together, and they stroll away from the campfires and tents and down through the dunes towards the sea. Her heart beats wild in her chest and the touch of Bellamy's hand makes her skin tingle and he keeps glancing at her like he's not sure what will happen next. When they reach the beach Clarke slips her boots off and walks barefoot through the sand, and Bellamy watches for a moment before he does the same.

The sound of the wedding drifts up into the night – the sound of happiness and laughter and joy coming back into people's lives after a difficult winter. It mingles with the sound of waves running up to the shore and falling back into the ocean. The sand is soft under Clarke's feet, slipping through her toes, and it doesn't matter that the waves are cold and the wind is chilly because Bellamy holds her hand again and that alone is enough to light a fire at the base of her spine.

They splash through the shallows, laughing in the moonlight, and their meandering path takes them around the curve of the bay until the firelight from the wedding fades into the distance. Stars blink overhead, a merry escort for the moon, and Bellamy lingers in the waves like he's trying to make this moment last as long as possible. Eventually they find a gap in the dunes and pull their boots back on so they can climb the grassy hillside that rises over the sand. They must be over a mile from the village; the lights from the palisade wink at them from another hilltop, standing remote and alone.

Bellamy sits on the hillside, and Clarke sits beside him, gazing out at the moon reflecting in the sea. Nothing stirs but the wind, and she breathes deep.

"See? This is worth it," she says. She wraps her hand through Bellamy's arm and shifts closer to him. It's only partly for warmth.

He looks down at her, and a little shy smile lights up his face before he turns back to the sea. She watches him carefully out of the corner of her eye – the way his chest rises and falls, his lips slightly parted, that adorable handful of freckles thrown across his cheeks like stars thrown across the night sky.

"Yeah, it's worth it," he says softly. "Earth is pretty great."

It is, Clarke thinks. It really, really is.

"You know what my favourite thing about Earth is?" she asks him.

"What?"

She waits, her heartbeat racing. When she doesn't speak Bellamy turns to look at her, wondering at her silence, and then – then – she tells him: "You."

He frowns in confusion. "I don't—"

Clarke cuts him off with a finger to his lips. She smiles. "Stop talking."

"Why?" he asks.

"So you can kiss me."

Realisation dawns in his face, and for a moment he doesn't move. Then he leans forward – slowly – hesitantly – as if afraid she'll change her mind and pull away – as if this moment will shatter like glass if he moves too quickly. Clarke leans up to close the distance between them and press her lips to his.

There's a moment when their lips first touch where all she can do is feel everything. Her hand in the grass; the warmth of his body, the softness of his mouth as it presses into hers. Then he parts his lips to kiss her properly, and the emotion of it comes rushing in like the tide, and she opens her mouth to taste him but it's not enough – it's not close enough – and so she pulls herself up and shifts across him to straddle his lap so that their bodies can press together. His arms wrap around her and her hand tangles in his hair and he tastes like rainfall after a hundred years in space and she kisses him, fierce and possessive, until she has to break away just to catch her breath.

He gazes up at her, drinking her in like he can't believe this is happening, and in all fairness she can barely believe it either but then he kisses her again and she can't believe anything. He pulls her close – as close as he can – and with her body flush against his the heat rises in her belly until she breaks the kiss just to gasp for air.

He laughs at her flustered expression, and she rests her forehead against his.

"Shut up," she laughs back.

"You know what my favourite thing about Earth is?" he asks, with far more cheek than he has any right to at this moment.

"You better say it's me," she warns.

"Actually, I was going to say Monty's moonshine," he quips, and Clarke tries to look outraged but all she can do is laugh. "Or my hill, maybe. But you're definitely in the top ten."

She shoves him in the shoulder. "You're such a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but... I'm your pain in the ass," he says, and when she catches his eye there's a question there, a tender uncertainty hidden behind the jokes and bravado.

"Yeah, you are," she says. She cups his face in her hands and smiles as she pulls him in to kiss him again.

And tomorrow there will be trouble over this; Abby will tut in disapproval, and Raven will laugh and say "Finally!", and Octavia will get all misty-eyed and emotional, and there's a whole heap of problems waiting to be solved when they get back to camp.

But for now none of it matters, because Bellamy looks at Clarke like she's the sun, and he kisses her like she's the rain, like she's the wind; he kisses her like hills overlooking the sea and clouds that look like pirate ships and she kisses him like he's the firelight, like he's the candle burning in the dark. He runs his hand through her hair and she trails her fingers up under his shirt and when his hands brush her skin she sees stars.

He rolls her over on the hillside; kisses fire down her neck. She tugs at his clothes, pulling off his shirt. She wants all of him and he gives it to her, helpless to hold back. They make love in the moonlight, as wild as the sea and as warm as the fire, and when he holds her afterwards a joy as bright as sunlight settles in her chest.

When the chill of early morning starts to make them shiver, Clarke suggests heading back to camp, and they stand and search for their clothes in the grass. Bellamy can't stop looking at her. His gaze rests on her as she pulls her top back on, slightly light-headed, her skin still on fire from his touch. When she catches his eye she doesn't know whether to blush or smile so she does both, and he kisses her again because there aren't words big enough for what's in his heart right now. She feels it, though; sees it in his eyes and feels it in the way his arms wrap around her like he's afraid she'll drift away.

I love you, she thinks. I didn't mean to, but I do.

But that's a secret she can't say yet, so instead she says: "We should bring a blanket next time."

Bellamy grins, and she can see the hope in his eyes because she said next time, that means there will be a next time and she smiles at him as he throws his arm around her shoulders.

"We could just do it in a bed next time, Princess," he says.

"But where's the fun in that?" she asks.

He laughs and kisses her forehead, and she wraps her arm around his waist, and as they walk back to camp the waves whisper to the shore and the sea birds wheel and the sky turns to gold as the sun finally rises.