Disclaimer: I own nothing but my plot and my original characters.

Warning: Some violence, language...

I am sick of looking at this chapter, which is the only reason I'm posting it... Unbeta'd. I think its awful, and have no clue how to fix it. If you hate it, I know, me too, which sucks majorly because this chapter includes the very first scene for this story which I pictured in my head while listening to a certain song that I named the story after. As you can see it grew majorly from one scene to this monstrosity... Enjoy if you can.

If you make it that far and are into it, play Lips of an Angel by Hinder as soon as you get to Week 3... You'll understand why hopefully.

Lips of an Angel- Chapter 27- Gone, Long Gone

Six weeks later

Women screaming… Men yelling… Gun shots ringing through the cool night air… Blood soaking the ground at his feet…

Bellamy's eyes snapped open as he woke with a strangled gasp, bolting into an upright position, and scanning the dark room for any sign of a threat. Coming up with nothing, he relaxed marginally, and spent a moment getting his erratic breathing under control. The cool air in the room felt good on his overheated skin. Shaking off the recurring nightmare, Bellamy gently rose and made to get ready for the day, pausing to evaluate himself in the bathroom mirror. No one would recognize him now if they saw him… Hell, he didn't even recognize himself anymore. Bellamy felt nothing though, looking at the stranger in the mirror, and couldn't muster the effort or care to change his appearance… In a way, he appreciated being unrecognizable. Anonymity, solitude, and isolation had become his only friends these past weeks living in the mountains, and he enjoyed their company more than he probably should have for someone so broken.

His outer appearance now reflected both how he felt on the inside and his new harsh environment… Rugged. Savage almost. Dark sunken eyes looked back at him from the mirror, a result of only three to four hours of sleep a night… No more, due to the haunting nightmares. Facial hair that had crossed into full blown beard territory. Sallow skin that that spoke of too much alcohol, and not enough food. Then of course were the shaking hands that hadn't been able to steadily hold a gun since he'd left… Her. Oh yes, he'd fallen quite far from the throne he once thought he sat on.

Bellamy carefully pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing new and old wounds… The biggest being three long fresh claw marks on his left side. Wolf attack. It was dead now, by his own hand, but killing it hadn't been without injury as evidence by the puffy red gashes along his side. Thankfully, the wounds weren't deep enough to require cauterization, only several stitches, and the animal hadn't had rabies… Just a starving lone wolf, probably a runt by the size of him, desperate for food. Ignoring his extremely sore side, Bellamy turned away from the strange man in the mirror and carefully maneuvered himself into the shower.

Sometime later, Bellamy walked down the stairs showered and dressed in thick clothes, head throbbing from all the drinking the night before and the early morning nightmare. He started coffee in the kitchen, and ambled into the living space to stoke the coals in the large hearth before adding a log or so more to keep the fire going. As he watched the fire grow, his mind wandered to memories of when he had first started out on his crusade, what felt like a life time ago, but had in fact only been weeks…

Week 1

Immediately after touching down in Seattle and turning on his phone, Bellamy was bombarded by missed phone calls from his father, uncle, and grandmother, and just as many voicemails asking where he was, what he was doing, etc., but none from the person he most wanted to hear from… He knew she wouldn't call, they'd broken ties after all, but it still didn't stop a little weed of hope festering in his heart anyway. He carved it out as quick as he could, not needing it to grow any further… They were done with each other. He left her. She agreed with him, saying it was the best for them both, even though she hadn't wanted that. There would be no phone calls from either side. No contact was the new religion he would work to devote himself to.

After settling in at the house Jake had given him, Bellamy and the guys left with their equipment, and headed for the well-known warehouse. Walking in, there were a few familiar faces Bellamy had met in Jake's organization, and very many new faces, all a little awed looking of the big crew of men walking in with bags of weapons, ammunition, and computer equipment. Lincoln was there in the warehouse too, and obviously shocked to see them all come in and immediately begin setting up to take over.

"What's going on?" Lincoln asked coming over and shaking Bellamy's hand.

"I'm making sure Damian holds up his side of the marriage contract correctly, and that means I come handle this personally. I've got more guys coming in later with more supplies. Call your dad, tell him to get down here. Round up the rest of your people, we've got work to do." Bellamy replied gruffly, his voice hoarse from hours of lack of use.

Bellamy had his guys working two day's straight gathering intelligence, switching on and off every 8 hours, to sleep or whatever. Jake didn't seem to thrilled to see him, not that Bellamy gave a damn. He didn't like having to see the older man either, but Jake immediately relinquished all his power, control and planning to Bellamy for the whole operation, not even putting up a real fight about it… Something that was very uncharacteristic of Jake. But never the less, he stood back and watched and observed everything Bellamy did, never saying anything. Bellamy wondered if his new behavior was born because of his guilt, his humiliation, losing his daughter and having her refuse to speak to him, or because he'd simply given up because of everything that had happened… Realizing his pride had come before his fall.

Maybe all of it contributed to the new muted, somber, subdued Jake… Whatever it was, the man was obviously broken and so Bellamy avoided him like the plague. He didn't need to look at Jake and be reminded of his own pieces on the floor, yet to be picked up and glued back together… His rage was doing a fine job of keeping him together at the moment, even if he felt himself slipping a little into insanity territory because of it all. Bellamy felt like he should pity Jake for everything he was currently suffering and going through, but he couldn't actually bring himself to feel sorry for the other man. Not when he himself had lost so much because of the older man… Too much. In Bellamy's mind, Jake deserved to feel everything he was feeling, and get no sympathy… He certainly wouldn't be getting anything from Bellamy.

After five days had come and gone since Bellamy and his guy's arrival, everything was ready. They had enough man power and weapons, they had the intel needed, and they had a solid plan. Bellamy carefully and quickly placed his men where they needed to be, and set events into motion to carry out his carefully laid plans.

Firstly, they identified all the major locations that stored all the various illegal goods of each crime syndicate… Drugs mostly, some alcohol, weapons, and tobacco wares, and a few major counterfeited items. All those store houses burned to the ground, along with all the cash houses he could locate in such a short time span. Everything went up in flames, not one thing stolen… That wasn't what this was about. Not one person was killed in the process either… In fact, Bellamy went out of his way to make sure everyone involved in this phase survived, if not a little worst for the wear, wanting to ensure his message was sent to the gangs and the leaders of the gangs properly, loud and clear, and who better to do that than terrified, panicked witnesses?

The attacks were coordinated to happen all within minutes of each other, Bellamy not wanting to give them the advantage of being on guard and alert. No doubt, it was a major blow to all their operations, losing not just their merchandise but all their dirty cash, with no chance of getting it back because it was nothing but ash now. That wasn't the end of it of course… No way. Bellamy might have left it at that, had he been a bigger more merciful and forgiving person, but who was he kidding, he'd never been forgiving or merciful, and this felt personal. Hell, it was personal. He was the one who had lost everything important because of their greed… He was the one suffering more than anyone else. Why should they get off with some material and financial loss? No, he wanted blood, and he'd be damned if he didn't get it.

As predicted, they scattered, running around panicking like chicken with their heads cut off. The spies Bellamy had planted in each organization or flipped to work for him were very eager to prove themselves to their new boss and reported everything they saw. Arguing broke out, accusations were thrown around, and blame for the hell being rained down on them was passed like a torch between the three groups. As they fought from within, Bellamy moved the last piece into place… The final crippling death blow.

He wanted to take care of the leaders of all three groups, and he vowed that he would… Personally.

It was uncovered by one of Jake's guys, Wick, that the whole plan was spear headed by the outlaws, and their new leader, a man by the name of Emerson. Carl Emerson. He was who Bellamy targeted personally. The other two leaders, men by the names of Lovejoy and Whitman, were just added bonuses. Waiting until all three groups separately tucked tail and ran, hiding out with their men, licking their wounds, Bellamy made his move. Swiftly, he ordered the kidnapping of Lovejoy, Whitman, and both of their seconds, commanding that if any of their men stood in the way of getting this task accomplished, they were to be shot on sight… Shooting to kill, not maim. Now that he was in the final stages of his plan, he wasn't going to risk any of his guys lives to protect some other thug's life who wouldn't think twice about pulling the trigger on his men. They were now past the point of caring about the body count, especially seeing the list of Jake's men who had already been killed in Jake's home territory.

When all four men were in his grasp, Bellamy descended upon Emerson who was locked down in his remote, heavily guarded, mansion. It took tact and a hell of a lot of perfectly sequenced timing on Bellamy's part, but they made it through with minimal casualties and fatalities… At least on Bellamy's side. The plan was to go in quietly without alerting the whole house that they were being invaded, disable the alarm and security system, and clear a path for the boss and his entourage to come in, meaning taking out all the guards who got in their way by any means necessary. Bellamy worked it to have his main eight guys each heading up a team of men, with each team being composed of men from Jake's outfit, and some being from Bellamy's. Lincoln, and Jake were to stay with Bellamy, and the team he designed strictly for security, headed up by Antonio.

Bellamy gave orders that if any of Emerson's men surrendered, they were to spared an outright bullet, but taken hostage, lined up on their knees on the massive gravel driveway in front of the enormous house… It was almost castle like really. Next came the part that simultaneously had Bellamy trembling with rage and satisfaction… Emerson was forcefully restrained and dragged out the front door, down the steps to stand several feet from Bellamy who was casually leaning against the black SUV at his back with his slightly quivering hands tucked into his pockets.

Emerson had a clear line of sight to everything laid out in front of him… His men off to his right, covered in blood and forced to their knees, heavily armed men milling about everywhere, and the tall imposing figure in front of him leaning on just one SUV in a whole line of them leading off to the left. The figure tilted his head almost completely imperceptibly to the side for a moment, as though contemplating what to do with him. The man's dull cold lifeless eyes were the scariest thing about him… That, and Emerson had no idea who he was, or what he was capable of.

Bellamy watched the scared man in front of him for a mere split second, taking note of the confusion and glimmer of desperation beginning to shine in his gaze, before Bellamy slowly moving his own gaze lazily over and up to the sky… The stars were out in full force here, he mused to himself. He didn't get out of the city enough to really see and appreciate them… Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy saw Murphy and Wick manhandle Emerson to the ground on his knees like his men a few yards away, and drew his attention back to the object of his ire and revenge.

Drawing up to his full height, Bellamy pushed of the car and slowly sauntered forward to stand right in front of the kneeling man.

"Carl Emerson." Bellamy identified with a strong voice, showing no emotion or weakness. Slowly, he began circling the shivering man, continuing to speak in a disembodied, almost bored voice, not wanting to give a single thing away. "Benefits Advisory and Compliance Senior Analyst for a company in Calgary with a bring home salary of a little less than a hundred and fifty grand a year… Newly appointed leader of the Alberta outlaws as of a year and a half ago… Owner of a couple of vacation homes in Nova Scotia, and several sizable bank accounts in the Cayman Islands… Husband of Julia Emerson… Father of nine-year-old Jonathan and four-year-old Roy… Owner of a two story four-bedroom-two-bath family home in Calgary where I presume said family is currently…" At the mention of his family, Emerson who had already begun to pale upon hearing all this personal, private information being laid out by an obviously dangerous stranger, began to struggle against the firm grips of Murphy and Wick. Futilely of course. He wasn't going anywhere, he had nowhere to run to, and he wasn't armed, so he couldn't fight his way out of this. He was a dead man kneeling.

As Bellamy came to a stop in front of Emerson once again, something over the kneeling man's head caught his attention.

"My team is searching the rooms upstairs… Miller's team is searching downstairs." Diego said exiting the house, before pausing and bringing his hand up to his ear and listening intently. After a pause he spoke to the person on the other end saying, "Copy that." Turning to Bellamy he said, "Found two maids on the first floor, an older guy on the second floor, and a couple of guards and security personnel. They're being brought out now."

A minute later, two women, one in her late 40's, the other in her early 30's, were lead out of the house and off to the side somewhere. The security personnel were brought out next and promptly lined up with the rest of Emerson's men at the back of the group. Lastly, an older man was lead out. He was thin, but not frail looking with stark white hair and dark eyes. His narrow face was pale and grim looking, making the wrinkles prominent. He looked familiar in a way… But a way Bellamy couldn't place. Bellamy certainly didn't know who this other man was… That is, until he opened his mouth and spoke.

Bellamy motioned for the man to be lead over to him so he could get a closer look at him, and was slightly taken aback when the man's eyes looked back at him with contempt… It was nothing like the anger in Emerson's eyes at having been bested and captured. No, it was a type of anger and hate that Bellamy immediately recognized and was very familiar with... The kind that drove a man to seek vengeance and retribution… The kind of contempt that burned in his own eyes.

Bellamy didn't know how long the silent stare off lasted. Everything around them was dead quiet, as everyone looked on at the silent battle of wills occurring between the two men.

The silence was broken by the older man first, "Bellamy Blake. I have waited a very long time to meet you… Too long actually. It looks as though God has finally granted me the opportunity to meet you and speak with you, before I kill you." The man said calmly.

Bellamy didn't let his perplexity show, and instead cocked his head to the side, smiling slightly with derision at the man's courage. "God has granted you nothing. It's obvious I don't know you, yet you know me well enough to want to kill me… Is that somehow supposed to be a clue as to who you are? I have too many people who want to kill me, so that's not a hint, you'll have to be a little more specific."

"You…" The man's calm façade dropped as he choked out, "You killed my son."

Bellamy was sure the older man's words were meant to have a more impactful, dramatic, confusing effect, but they only served to further exasperate Bellamy. It was cold, he was pissed, and he wanted to get on with killing Emerson. "Listen," Bellamy hissed, leaning forward slightly, "I've got news for you. I've killed a lot of men. Every one of them was somebody's son, so spit it out already! Give me your name, or I just kill you now and be done with it."

"My name is Dante Wallace. You tortured and killed my son Cage Wallace." Dante said coldly.

Bellamy actually laughed at that, obviously startling Dante by the way he flinched. "Oh, he deserved it." Bellamy said lightly, pissing Dante off further if his reddening face indicated anything. "So… What are you doing out here Wallace? And with fellow scum too…" Bellamy asked, his head tilted to the side, allowing his amusement to show briefly, his eyes flickering to Emerson. Oh, the sniveling, quaking man hadn't been forgotten about, just put on hold.

"I don't have to tell you anything…" Dante hissed. "You good for nothing, rat-"

The older man was cut off abruptly by the loud bang of a gun.

"Okay then." Bellamy said lightly, lowering the recently discharged weapon in his hand to his side, as the two women screamed in fright and Emerson about jumped out of his skin, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid the blood spattering his face and having to look at the mess on the ground beside him. No one had even really seen Bellamy pull the gun and fire before the body was sprawled out on the ground, blood painting the driveway red.

Bellamy felt the hand holding his gun trembling at his side, almost imperceptibly, or so he thought. Murphy, Jake, Lincoln, and Antonio, who were all standing within noticing range, picked up on the uncharacteristic movement, and cast worried glances toward the dark-haired man. Bellamy didn't notice, too focused the two scared women who had tears streaming down their faces, praying not to anger the strange threatening man who held all their lives in his hands. What they didn't know was that, while Bellamy's heart had already hardened towards everything and everyone and cared nothing for their plight, for he was dealing with his own, they were in no real danger. Emerson was who he wanted. Turning back to the remaining kneeling man at his feet, Bellamy felt his anger rise seeing the cowering man with his eyes still squeezed tightly shut, him mouth moving silently as though praying.

"Emerson…" Bellamy taunted softly, tapping the white-hot muzzle of his gun dead center against the kneeling man's forehead thrice, making the man flinch at every tap. "Wake up. We're not done yet." Bellamy said.

Emerson took a moment, squeezing his eyes shut tightly once more, praying again that this was all some horrible nightmare that he'd wake up from. Swallowing back the bile, not for the first time that night, Emerson forced his eyes open into a glare to confront his all too real, dark-haired, living nightmare that was stood before him.

"Good." Bellamy praised like he would a pet. "Stand him up." Bellamy calmly ordered Murphy and Wick.

Once Emerson was on his feet, Bellamy still a head taller than him, towered over the other man. "So, is that your father," he said nodding to the body on the ground, "Or your wife's father?" He asked.

"Julia's father. He's- was- my father-in-law." Emerson said hoarsely, stumbling a bit in his word choice, as he was looking down at the blood beginning to pool around his feet. Bellamy nodded thoughtfully.

"Okay, and whose idea was it to step on very powerful people's toes?" Bellamy asked curiously. Emerson looked up again glaring, but didn't say anything. "I personally don't need to know the answer Emerson, but it would help determine your manor of death. I'm giving you a chance to plead your case here. No answer is an admission of guilt, and you get the max sentence, which…" Bellamy chuckled darkly, looking down pointedly before leveling his gaze again. "Isn't pretty as you can see. So, I'll ask again, were you the chess piece, or were you the player?"

"Look, I was looking for a quicker, cheaper way to get product up here, true, but it wasn't my idea to go after Griffin, okay? It was Dante's. Dante was my advisor and my father-in-law… He advised my father before me. I grew up with him and Julia… Cage was older than Julia and I, and was hardly ever around. I don't remember much of him because Dante was always shipping him off to one boarding school or another before he was arrested and released and then turned up dead. He said that Griffin had Cage murdered for refusing to work for him, and that it would be nothing to kill Griffin and his men to ensure no one was left to take over and keep their organization running, and then we could use their territory and have a foot hold in the U.S... He swore it wasn't about revenge, just," Emerson paused after rushing to spill his guts, and gulped at seeing the rising fury on the faces of the men surrounding him. "He said, "It's just good business."." Emerson choked out. Bellamy motioned for him to continue talking. "When Griffin tried to negotiate, Dante convinced me it wasn't a good deal… That there was a reason my father never liked working with the Americans, that they would double cross us, but that we had them running scared. You see, I had no reason not to trust him. He ended up being wrong about it being easy to clear them out, but when I offered a deal to some of the other gangs, we had enough men to go up against him and succeed, especially when no other American organization jumped it to help like Dante said would happen… Until now I guess." He said bitterly, Emerson's eyes flickering over the large operation around him that had bested him.

Bellamy nodded, absorbing all of the information. "You're an idiot." Bellamy said suddenly. "Your blind trust in Dante just cost you your life, and possibly the lives of your men. You want to know what really happened?" Bellamy seethed. "Your brother-in-law was a junkie who committed murder while high out of his mind. He was arrested and got out on a technicality. Then, I came to Seattle and killed him in revenge because it was my mother that he killed in a gas station robbery. Your father, whom I am betting was a very smart man for staying out of American business, probably refused to let your father-in-law, his then advisor if what you say is true, go on some type of revenge killing spree in America to avenge the death of his drug-using son, knowing it would either get Dante killed or start a war he couldn't win. Your dumbass however, didn't inherit his genes, did you? You were used like the tool you are…" Bellamy stopped, a bolt of enlightenment hitting him hard.

Emerson's words, floated through his mind, "-especially when no other American organization jumped in to help like Dante said would happen." Dante had known straight away who he was… His name, his face… Bellamy swore quietly as he put it all together. Dante had Emerson go after Jake, expecting and hoping that Damian would jump in to help Jake, thus, drawing Bellamy out into the open so he could be killed. Just a casualty of war, not a targeted attack. All of this happened just so Dante could get to Bellamy… Target Bellamy. But, before the guilt could hit and sink in, another thought hit Bellamy… They had to have been monitored somehow. Dante had to have some intel that he would base his whole plan off of… He wouldn't just target the Griffins if he wasn't sure Bellamy wouldn't get involved somehow, which meant he had to have known that Bellamy was close with Jake, which could only come from inside Jake's camp, seeing as how, until recently, no one in New York but his own main guys knew about his friendship with Jake, and they'd never be disloyal. There was a mole in Jake's organization.

Bellamy looked up darkly, the silence had been deafening as Bellamy mulled over everything. As his eyes roved over everyone around him, his eyes locked on Lincoln, and he motioned for the other man to come over. Lincoln slowly moved to Bellamy and listened intently as Bellamy leaned in a whispered just audibly for Lincoln to hear, "We have a traitor amongst us… I don't have time to explain, but who here hasn't been present the past week we've been here?" Pulling back, Lincoln looked around, and began thinking… He'd seen every one of them this past week, numerous times. Lincoln shook his head at Bellamy, which stumped him.

Jake stepped forward and asked, "What's going on Bellamy?" His voice ringing out through the frigid night air. Bellamy held up a finger as his eyes fell on Emerson's numerous men kneeling at gun point, and something clicked. It was a bit outrageous, but not undoable or impossible. Turning back to Lincoln, Bellamy whispered again, "Did you recover all of the bodies of your men that were killed?" Lincoln thought for a moment before freezing and shaking his head no, speaking one word loud enough to be heard in the tense, uneasy silence that surrounded them. A name.

"Thomas."

Suddenly, there was a commotion as one of the men kneeling in the back edge of the group jumped from his knees and took off at a dead run across the barren landscape surrounding the mansion. Before anyone could move to raise their own weapons to shoot the runner, Jake had his weapon pulled and a shot fired off in the direction of the escaping man. He stumbled slightly in his run, before crumpling face first to a writhing heap on the ground, clutching his leg where a bullet had been embedded in his thigh.

Bellamy rolled his eyes… This was getting out of hand. "Bring him here." Bellamy directed some of his men who were milling about. Once the screaming, begging, pleading man was brought in front of him, Bellamy pistol whipped him to the ground to silence him. Once he could finally think without all the ruckus, Bellamy centered himself again.

"Bring me the other four." Bellamy directed Romeo, who promptly knocked twice on two of the SUV's back windows. The four back doors were opened, and a total of 8 men filed out of the cars, four armed to the teeth, and the other four with bags over their heads. Bellamy directed his four men to line the prisoners up behind him. Unlike the standing Emerson, they were forced to their knees, their hands still bound behind their back in steel hand cuffs. Bellamy walked over to each of the four kneeling men and quickly pulled the black bag from over their heads and pulled off the ear muffs they had on, but leaving them gaged for now. Each man squinted and blinked rapidly, muddled and dazed at the sudden light and surroundings after having been deprived of sight and hearing for so long, and were promptly met with the sight of a pale restrained, but standing Emerson, Dante's dead body, and the traitor Thomas's unconscious form, slowly bleeding out. As they began looking around more, they began taking in the sight of Emerson's men lined up at gun point, and Bellamy's large number of imposing men surrounding the entire area, weapons at the ready for any sudden movement. Fear became apparent on the four prisoner's faces and in their eyes, knowing, or having a strong notion, of what was coming next.

"Now," Bellamy said turning back to look Emerson in the eyes, ignoring the other four men behind him for a moment. "I want you to beg." He said vaguely, a cold steely glint in his eyes.

"What? Why? What for?" Emerson asked with confusion and a touch of bewilderment and panic. "No! I'll never beg you for anything. You're going to kill me anyway, no matter what I say or do, so why would I beg you for my life?" Bellamy could see the other man's eyes flicker to his comrades behind him, and Bellamy almost smirked. How predictable. Trying to save face in front of them, and come off as the tough man, when in reality, Bellamy held all the cards. There was a reason he had this play out like he did…

"Your right." Bellamy allowed, nodding along. "You're dead no matter what you say… But what about your family? Are you not fearful for their lives? Their safety?" Bellamy asked, tauntingly. Emerson's eyes glazed over at Bellamy's question. "That's right Emerson… Your dead, but what about them? Huh?" Bellamy taunted again, softly, deadly.

What Bellamy truly wanted in that moment was for Emerson to beg… Beg for anything and everything. He wanted the man to beg on his hands and knees for his family… For their lives, like he had wanted to beg Clarke in that conference room as he held her in arms sobbing her heart out, for her to choose him, them, their future, over everyone and everything else.

"Please." Emerson choked out, tears swimming in his eyes, as he focused back on Bellamy. "Please don't hurt them." He said in a more pleading voice, slowly kneeling of his own volition, back to the ground in a show of surrender and utter compliance. "They had nothing to do with this. Not my wife n-n-nor my boys… They're in-innocent." He stuttered imploringly.

"I guess the true torture will have to be that you'll never know their fates." Bellamy raised his gun, the slight tremble again noticeable to the people around him near enough to see, and noticeable to Emerson himself as he looked down the barrel of the gun milliseconds before it fired, ending his life and satiating Bellamy's inner monster that had raged for the past week, thirsting for revenge.

Now that it was done, Bellamy felt the ache and emptiness come back, thinking of everything that had led him to this… Executing people point blank in the middle of the Canadian wilderness in the frigid dead of night. He knew that he'd done this for himself, not for her. He'd done this for his revenge, yes, but also for his peace of mind. Emerson had been a threat to her safety, and would have been a continual threat to her safety if left undealt with, and no threat to her was allowed to live, it was as simple as that. Bellamy he knew it would be him who would have to deal with the aftermath of his own well thought out and planned decisions, but he'd gladly live with his sins and crimes if it meant whomever hurt her, threatened her, paid dearly for it and had others thinking twice about following the same path.

All of a sudden, he felt drained… Exhausted. Tired. It wasn't the tired that could be dealt with by sleeping for a few hours though. No, it was a bone deep weariness, that he feared would never go away. He just wanted this cleaned up and done with.

Motioning to Lincoln, Bellamy spoke saying, "It's up to you what you want to happen to Lovejoy and Whitman. Whitman's the one that ordered the hit on you, and Lovejoy was the one in charge of Abby's failed abduction. Do what you wish, just make it quick." Bellamy said, with a bored tone, rubbing his free hand over his face, doggedly.

Turning to Jake, Bellamy motioned to Thomas the Traitor and said, "Same goes for you with him. He was the one reporting to Wallace the status of our friendship… He's a mole. Obviously faked his death, so no one would come after him. Kill him, torture him, I don't care, just get it done."

Jake made the decision to take the traitor back to Seattle… Bellamy knew he'd never be heard of again. Lincoln on the other hand had a harder decision, finally deciding they had to be killed since they'd more than likely retaliate and start the whole bloody war all over again. No, they were tying up all the loose ends here. While both Whitman and Lovejoy were quickly terminated, both their seconds were kept alive and stood from their kneeling positions. Quickly looking over to Emerson's kneeling men, Bellamy quickly picked out the person he'd been searching for and had him brought over to stand next to the other two second in commands.

"Congratulations men… You've each been promoted to temporarily serve as the respective head of your organizations, seeing as how your predecessors have…" Bellamy paused momentarily and looked around at his feet, before glancing back up to the men stood in front of him. "Well… Met an untimely end I would say. You've got a hell of a mess to clean up, and people to appease. I don't care how you spin your stories of their deaths or whether you stay in power or how you run your organization… Just don't make the same mistakes as these men, huh? You see where it landed them. Keep our names out of everything, don't even think of retaliation, and lastly, anything that ties us to being here better be destroyed…" Bellamy paused and to make sure each frightened man was paying very close attention. It was unnecessary as they were focused solely on him, not wanting to screw up or piss him off in some way, lest he kill them as well. "If I find out my conditions have been disregarded, I will be back, and next time, no one will live. You got me?" Bellamy said menacingly.

The stuttering responses in the affirmative by the three men were all it took for Bellamy and his guys to pack up and move out, leaving nothing but carnage and chaos in their wake.

A shrill beeping noise in the kitchen surfaced Bellamy from his thoughts. His coffee was ready. After pouring a cup, Bellamy began absentmindedly wondering about the spacious two-story log cabin that sat hidden a little way up a mountain where he'd taken up residence in for the past month. The views were breathtaking for sure, but Bellamy had grown accustom to the picturesque sight of the vast massive landscape sprawled out outside his window. He could clearly see smoke rising above the two small Alaskan towns nestled down in the valley created by walls of tall mountains, dead ending at the large bay in the distance, which flowed out into the Gulf of Alaska farther south. Bellamy's property sat at the Northern apex of the valley starting a new chain of mountains, where the two chains of mountains that made up the wall of the valley began to veer off in opposite directions creating a V-shape, allowing another chain to form in the space in between.

It hadn't been easy to obtain, and cost a bit of a small fortune after everything was said and done, but it was worth it. He'd owned it off the books for years… It was a piece of property that he'd intended for this very purpose. A hide out, almost completely away from human civilization, that only he knew about. In the beginning, it was a retreat, a sanctuary of sorts, a place he'd decided to go to pull his head together, but now, with every passing day, it had become a prison of his own creation. A prison he didn't know how, or even if he wanted, to leave.

Week 2

Upon arriving back in Seattle, Jake's men dispersed back to their normal duties, and Bellamy and his guys began packing up, getting ready to head back to New York after a day or so of rest and caution. Jake had locked himself in his house and hadn't been seen nor heard from since, save for Lincoln who went to see him to ensure he was still alive. He came to see Bellamy after seeing Jake explaining he was leaving for New York to go see and check on Clarke, seeing as how her communication had been limited and brief with him during the week, and he figured he would stay with her for a little while and start to get things settled in the new city with his new gallery and apartment. He quickly said his goodbyes, saying he'd see Bellamy in the next few days in New York, before leaving to catch his plane, not knowing Bellamy had no intentions to see Lincoln, or anyone, for a good while.

That currently was the ruckus Bellamy was hearing from downstairs… The guys packing up the SUVs and closing up the house not knowing when, if really, they'd ever be back. Things were so murky and unclear to them, it was hard to tell what was going to happen the next day, much less a couple of months from then.

Bellamy stood at the window in the master bedroom, his bedroom, and looked out over the pristine backyard and the sound. The sky was dark with heavy rain clouds, but even with the threat of rain, Bellamy could still picture the sunny days he'd spent there, just enjoying the serenity. He'd always loved the house. First because Jake had given it to him and it was the first house he'd ever owned, and then later because of the peace and happiness he felt coming there, even with his loud guys… There were so many good memories that they'd created there over the years, but with the events of the last weeks, selling the property was at the forefront of his mind. All he felt there now was sadness of what could have been and the tainted memories of his time with Jake in Seattle. All Jake's territory would one day be controlled by the Collins Family anyway, once Jake retired that is… Why would he ever come back? He'd be treated like a traitor and shot on sight. Yes… Selling was the way to go. Better someone else come in and make the house into family home with a loving husband and wife and their children and dog, than him keeping it and it remaining vacant, mocking him for what he lost and could never have.

Standing there, chest tight in pain, heart heavy, and limbs weighed down, Bellamy thought again of perhaps his biggest mistake… Not saying 'Yes' to Jake at the airport upon his very first official visit to Seattle. He'd thought so many times of how things would be different… It was almost a constant loop running through his mind since leaving New York, and especially being in the house. At night when the house was completely still and quiet and sleep mocked him, Bellamy swore he could hear sweet feminine laughter and small voices echo down the hall and music mixed with the clang of pots and pans from down stairs. His mind would then involuntarily picture lazy days in bed, blonde hair running through his fingers and blue eyes peering up at him sparkling, as the sun from a rare sunny day warmed the inhabitants under the sheets. Even now, Bellamy felt his mind slipping into a daydream… Or was it a hallucination? He didn't know or care, but just enjoyed the brief moment of respite from the crushing emptiness…

A his eyes fell from the water to the lawn, he spotted it. There. There she was sitting on a large checkered blanket in the middle of the yard. She was turned away from him, barely giving him a side profile, but her blonde hair hanging down her back, shining in the imaginary sun, gave away it was her… It would always be her. There were remnants of a picnic laid out around her and a sketch book in her lap as she scribbled away, the object of her inspiration hidden off in the hedges of the garden, away from Bellamy's curious gaze. As she took a moment to look up at what had captured her fascination so wholly, she paused, before her shoulders began shaking, in what Bellamy presumed was laughter, and her pencil dropped from her hand as it rose to cover her grinning mouth. Suddenly a small dog bound from the garden, causing Clarke to set aside the drawing supplies, petting the pup who came to plop down at her side, but still looking into the garden. Bellamy held his breath in anticipation of what had captured her attention, praying his mind wouldn't be cruel and would reveal what had her so smitten… Suddenly a bush shook and a little child toddled out. Unconsciously, Bellamy leaned forward, wanting a better look, but all he could see was short dark hair. A boy. It was a little boy. He had to be a little over a year old, and seemed to be very cautious about the steps he was taking towards his mother who was obviously encouraging him toward her open arms. His little face was a blur, not clear at all, so Bellamy had no idea what he actually looked like… Whose eyes he had, or chin, or nose, but it was obvious to Bellamy that this was his child. It had to be right? Seeing as how this was his daydream/hallucination. About half way to his mother, the bushes behind the little boy moved a little and another little boy, dressed the same as the first came waddling out faster than the first boy, holding several small flowers, roots and all, making Bellamy chuckle. The second twin was not as careful as his brother, walking quick in his excitement and stumbling and falling a couple of times, only to pick himself back up and continue on his little quest to reach his mother. Bellamy's heart seized in his chest as they both reached her and began babbling about their adventure. The first twin open his little fist that had been clinched to reveal something in his palm as proof of his adventure, while the second twin showed his mother his loot, earning him a kiss on the cheek, before his brother received the same reward for the rock he was holding out. The smile on Bellamy's face had only grown watching the family… His family. The first twin looked up over his mother's shoulder to the house and spotted Bellamy standing in the window, excitedly jabbering and pointing, succeeding in drawing the woman's attention. As his Clarke began to turn to him, a soft knock resounded through the room, making Bellamy flinch and turn his gaze for a split second to the door, but that's all it took.

When he turned back, desperate to see her face, they were all gone… Everything was gone, and the smile on his face slipped away leaving no sign that it was ever there. He was very close to the window, with his hand pressed against the cold pane as rain hit it creating the soft pitter patter that used to sooth him to sleep, but now chilled him to the bone. Then, like every other time he was brought back to his reality, his heart fell to his feet and his already tight chest seized further, pushing the air right out of his lungs. It was like he was catching glimpses of an alternate reality where he and Clarke were together. The surprising thing about his latest daydream/hallucination was the lack of panic at the thought of having a child, or in this case children, and the degree of longing he had for the two little boys who didn't even exist and never would. Bellamy felt their absence like a knife through the heart. If he were to ever even have children, there is no one he would have them with but Clarke. She was his one… The only one he'd ever want to go through such a fear, anxiety, terror inducing experience with. There would be no children without her, and he didn't have her, it was as plain and simple as that.

A knock on the door resounded through the room again, a little louder this time.

"Enter." Bellamy called hoarsely into the darkened room, before clearing his throat, still gazing out at the rain falling a little harder now. Bellamy dropped his hand from the window crossing his arms tightly across his chest, trying and failing to hold all the despair in. Miller entered, closing the door and leaning against it.

"We're ready when you are Boss." Miller spoke quietly, as though afraid to break the silence in the room. The only acknowledgement he got was a barely visible nod of the head.

A few moments passed before Bellamy turned and walked back over to the bed where his clothes were folded neatly in two piles next to his small empty duffel. His gun, phone, laptop, keys, sunglasses, and a blank folder containing clean foraged documents were also laid out on the bed. A special shirt in a Ziploc bag in the bottom of one of the clothes piles went unnoticed by Miller who was too focused on Bellamy to see everything that was laid out.

"I need you to take the guy's back to New York for me on the plane." Bellamy spoke in a no-nonsense voice, neatly putting the two carefully selected clothes piles into the duffel bag. "I've got some errand to run here before leaving." Bellamy said vaguely, his voice disembodied.

"We'll come with you Boss..." Miller tried protesting, afraid to leave the other man alone for any length of time, having no idea what the other man was thinking or planning or would do…

"No Miller." Bellamy snapped. "Do as I say damn it. I still give the orders around here... That hasn't changed."

Miller shrunk back, nodding with his jaw clenched to keep from saying anything that would further upset the man. He hating he'd been the one to use up the last little bit of Bellamy's already thin patience, but he was worried and upset that Bellamy was beginning to shut everyone out… Including his guys. Miller knew Bellamy hadn't talked to his father or uncle since they'd left New York… That was understandable. But even his beloved grandmother hadn't gotten more than a few words from him the whole week, and Miller had a suspicion she only got those because Bellamy knew she'd jump on a plane and come whip the shit out of him for ignoring all her calls and making her worry. Frankly, he'd never seen Bellamy like this before and that scared him more than he could express.

Bellamy closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling harshly, before turning and apologizing. "I'm sorry Miller. Please do as I ask, okay? I'll be fine. I swear."

Miller nodded reluctantly, not believing a word he said and having a gut feeling something was up. Something didn't feel right, but there was nothing he could do about it. Bellamy saw them all off, with many suspicious worried looks thrown his way, all of which he ignored. Once the tail lights disappeared down the long drive way, Bellamy headed back into the house, into his bedroom to finish packing.

Once his clothes and personals were where he wanted them, Bellamy grabbed the duffel and went in search of the emergency stash of cash he had in the hidden safe under the false bottom of his bathroom sink. In addition to taking a hundred and fifty thousand from the safe, Bellamy grabbed one of the Glocks and extra clips from the safe before locking it up tight, replacing the false bottom of the sink. Better to have guns, even if his hands weren't as steady holding one they used to be. Quickly Bellamy packed all the cash in his go bag… Fourteen stacks of all hundreds' quickly disappeared into the bag, tucked between the articles of his clothing, but one was set aside and laid on top of the bag. Grabbing the gun and the clip, Bellamy brought the bag back into the bedroom setting it on the bed. Grabbing his leather jacket from the closet, Bellamy donned it on before slipping the stack of hundred dollar bills amounting to ten grand into the inner chest pocket of the jacket next to Clarke's letter… He'd need that money sooner, rather than later. Unloading the Glock, Bellamy packed that away in the duffel with the two clips. Picking up his Eagle, he tucked that away in the holster of his jacket. His laptop, phone, keys, and watch were all left neatly arranged on the bed, all having GPS tracking. Bellamy left his wallet there as well… Its contents wouldn't be needed, not where he was going anyway. Lastly, Bellamy laid the blank folder on top of his clothes, before zipping up the bag.

Walking over to his desk, Bellamy picked up the letter he wrote for his guys explaining that he needed some time on his own to get himself straightened out, to listen to Marcus while he was gone, and that he'd be back, but that he didn't know when. Re-reading it one more time, he laid that to be found with all the traceable items on the bed for when his guys came looking for him. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Bellamy pulled his pocket knife and cut the tracker out of his boot, leaving that with everything else, before tucking the knife away again.

Standing and grabbing his duffel, Bellamy silently slung it over his back, heading for the door, but paused realizing he was missing something. Something he really couldn't leave without. Walking back over to the bed, Bellamy picked up his wallet, slowly slipping the wallet sized picture out. It was taken the day he and Clarke had gone to see the Statute of Liberty. Gazing at the picture of her standing on the ferry looking at the camera with her shining blue eyes, and mischievous smile, Bellamy allowed a brief small smile to flash across his face… That had been a good day. Tucking the picture away in his jacket chest pocket with the cash and letter, Bellamy left for the garage after making sure the doors in the house were locked. When he got back he'd look into selling the place.

Clicking the garage door open, Bellamy saw that it had stopped raining, not that it was a deciding factor in his mode of transportation… Grabbing the keys he needed and a helmet, Bellamy slung his duffel strap over his chest, dawned his helmet and started the motorcycle… Immediately the MV Agusta F3 800 started, purring to life. Rolling out of the garage, Bellamy hit the fob closing the door, before racing up the drive way, slowing the bike to allow the gates to open. When they were open, he typed the code needed to close and lock the gates behind him before stuffing the garage door fob into the back of the mailbox. Then he was off once more heading for Jake's house.

Pulling up to the gate, the guard immediately let Bellamy through upon recognizing him. After parking his bike, Bellamy walked up to the front door where a maid instantly greeted him, directing him to Jake's office when prompted.

Seeing as how Lincoln had forewarned that Jake didn't want to see anyone and rejected people who knocked on his door, Bellamy didn't bother knocking, and just waltzed in to find Jake slumped over his desk… Bellamy wrinkled his nose at the smell emanating from the office and squinted his eyes in the darkened room. Pausing to set his bag by the door, Bellamy walked over to the either sleeping, unconscious, or dead man and held two fingers to Jake's neck searching for a pulse, quickly finding a steady one.

Okay, so sleeping or unconscious. Bellamy thought.

Noticing for the first time the tipped over empty tumbler on the desk and the damn near empty bottle on top of the wet bar, Bellamy assumed it was the latter. Rolling his eyes, knowing he didn't have time for this if he was going to catch his flight in time, Bellamy whistled loudly, hoping the maid caught on to his call… Jake didn't even flinch at the noise, or when Bellamy began pulling open the thick curtains of the windows and opening them all. It allowed for a bit of the light from outside in, even with the cloud cover, and would hopefully air the room out… Switching on a lamp, Bellamy noticed the maid had appeared.

"I need a bucket of icy cold water and a little information… Water first though." Bellamy said sternly. If the woman's widening eyes were anything to go by, he'd obviously frightened her. She nodded quickly running out of the room, before coming back several moments later with the pitcher of water like he'd asked. "Where is Abby Griffin?" Bellamy asked, less sternly, hoping to calm her some, so she'd be more forthcoming in her answers.

"She-She's at the hospital. On shift. She gets off at 6." The small woman answered in a rush. Of course that's where the witch was, Bellamy thought with a roll of his eyes. He really didn't have the time or patience for this shit.

"Do you have a list of contact numbers?" Bellamy asked. He hadn't even finished asking the question before she was nodding her head and rushing from the room, only to reappear with a thin white sheet. Taking it from her, Bellamy dismissed her, instructing her to leave the door open… The rank smell was still lingering.

Finding the number he needed, Bellamy used Jake's office phone to place a call seeing as how he'd ditched his own phone. After two rings, the guy on the other end of the phone picked up, with a, "Hey Boss."

"Hey Wick, it's Blake not Griffin. Listen, I need you to get over to his place ASAP. Linc's not here, and you're the next in line to handle this shit." Bellamy spoke swiftly, leaving no room for argument.

"Yeah, I was already on my way over to see what was up. I'm like fifteen minutes out." Wick responded.

"Great." Bellamy said before abruptly hanging up. Grabbing the pitcher of water, Bellamy took a couple of calculated steps back before throwing the water on the unconscious, probably blacked-out, man.

Jake woke with a great heaving gasp, flying up from the desk to lean back in his chair, angrily yelling "What the hell?", frantically trying to get the water out of his face and eyes like it was acid instead of H2O.

Bellamy's only response was to roll his eyes at the man's actions and set the pitcher down on the now soaking desk, before saying, "Stop being so extra."

Squinting, Jake asked, "Bellamy?" Causing Bellamy to once again roll his eyes… They were going to get stuck if he kept going at this rate.

"No, it's the Ghost of Christmas fucking Past. Yes, it's me!" Bellamy snapped. "Now get the hell up!"

Jake just groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Can you tone it down damn it? This hangover is liable to kill me."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Bellamy whispered. "GET THE HELL UP!" Bellamy roared, milliseconds from reaching across the soaked desk and strangling the older man.

Jake glared, jumping up pissed at the attitude, orders, and treatment from Bellamy of all people. "Watch-"

"Before you start with me," Bellamy interrupted what was sure to be a very interesting rant. "Don't." He said with a menacing glare. "I came here to tell you I'm leaving. My people will be here looking for me in a couple days, tell them what you know, but they won't be able to find me. Tell them I said not to look for me, I'll come back in my own damn time."

"Well, you going to tell me where you're going?" Jake asked annoyed.

"…No." Bellamy said after a long pause, giving him a 'you're-so-ridiculous-why-the-hell-would-I-ever-do-that' look. "Don't worry about me and what I'm doing. I'll be fine. You on the other hand, need to pull yourself together and get your shit straight. I don't care what you have to do, who you have to talk to, just get functional. If you fall apart or become reckless, your putting not just yourself and Abby at risk, but Clarke and Lincoln as well. They're who I give a damn about. Clarke's not ready right now to take over for you if you completely loose it and check out mentally, and if you get taken out by someone looking to take your spot while your weak and distracted, you are literally throwing her sacrifice away, which by no means is acceptable… Got me? Fix your shit and pull yourself together." Bellamy said darkly.

Jake nodded grudgingly, reluctantly admitting to himself that the younger man making a lot of sense. "I just miss her, you know? My own daughter." Jake said desolately. "She won't answer any of my calls or messages and I want to go see her but-"

"No, no, no." Bellamy said cutting the other man off quickly and harshly. "You don't get to do that, okay? Not with me you don't. Just… No. I don't want to hear a damn word of that. You put yourself here, so live with the consequences of your mistakes… God knows the rest of us are." Bellamy said bitterly, turning and walking for the door, quickly grabbing his duffel before exiting. On his way to his bike, he and Wick intercepted each other.

Quickly shaking hands, Bellamy explained briefly what was going on and what Wick needed to do to get Jake and the Griffin Organization back in working order. "Get him off the bottle, out of that office, and into a shower. Get him presentable, and then get him in front of an audience of the men to execute that traitor to send a message through the ranks that disloyalty will not be tolerated. Lincoln needs to be in New York as much as possible right now, so handle as much as you can here on your own, and only call him if shit looks like its gonna start blowing up. I'm leaving for a while, and I expect that nobody will be able to find me, however, that being said, I'm not going to be completely out of range. I'll message you from a burner so you'll have that number as a just in case. Only you will have that number. Use it to call me as a last resort only, as in, you are under attack, the city is burning to the ground, and Jake is curled into a fetal position on his office floor sucking his thumb, got it?" Bellamy asked firmly. There could be no room for error… He did not want to be found, but he couldn't be completely out of range in case he had to come back to clean up someone's mess. Again.

Wick just nodded his head somberly, "Yeah, I got it man. The wife and I will watch Jake closely, and keep Linc in the loop. The wife has been talking to Clarke a lot, but from what I hear Clarke doesn't care to hear too much about anything over here unless it involves…" Wick stopped talking abruptly, realizing he was about to slip up and say something Raven had expressly forbidden him from saying. Bellamy, keeping his face completely blank at the mention of Clarke, raised a single eyebrow, daring him not to finish his statement. "… certain people. Thanks though. For everything." He covered quickly, hoping to end the conversation and not be questioned further.

Bellamy just nodded acceptingly, willing his mind not to over-analyze everything he'd heard. Wick waved as he began to walk off. "Oh, Wick," Bellamy called, causing the other man to turn around. "If you give that number to anyone and they track me down, I'll shoot you dead." Bellamy said calmly, before turning and walking over to his bike, slipping his helmet on before straddling the bike, turning it on and tearing out of the driveway headed right for the airport.

Bypassing the security and terminals, Bellamy went straight to the hanger where the Alaskan cargo plane was being loaded and fueled. Leaving the helmet with his bike, Bellamy grabbed his duffel and tossed the keys to some guy ogling the motorcycle, telling him he could have it before heading for the plane. The GPS in the bike would keep his guys confused for a little while, running in circles. Walking up the ramp, Bellamy was met by the pilot, expecting to be paid for taking on a little extra cargo, off the books of course, to which Bellamy promptly handed over the ten grand in his chest pocket making sure he didn't accidentally drop the letter or picture. Not a word was exchanged, but the deadly glare Bellamy threw his way warned the man to never speak of the incident and not to double cross him, both of which the pilot responded to with a serious nod. Thirty minutes later the cargo plane was in the air headed for the Alaskan wilderness.

Upon landing at Seward Airport, Bellamy disembarked and was greeted by the sight of a retired ex-mob member that Bellamy had helped get out several years before by faking his death. Tristan was a stoic fierce man in his mid to late 50's with hard eyes that belied all the dark things he'd done and seen in his life. The older scarred man had a soft spot for Bellamy due to the fact that not only had Bellamy and his guys gotten him and his daughter out of the city after his wife's death, but when Tristan had nowhere to go that was hidden enough that he could make a living for him and his daughter, Bellamy quietly set him up in a position to be a grounds maintenance worker for the land and cabin Bellamy owned in Alaska, in his absence. Tristan had a house and land at the base of the mountain, semi-close to the town of Bear Creek, that abutted Bellamy's own property.

Bellamy had called Tristan the night they'd gotten back to Seattle, already knowing he wasn't going back to New York with his guys and having nowhere else to go that people wouldn't look for him. After putting on his sunglasses and baseball cap that had been brought along with him, Bellamy and Tristan began the lengthy walk to Tristan's truck, quietly filling the time with low conversation… Tristan about his daughter and what he'd been up to since Bellamy's last weekend trip to the cabin years before, and Bellamy about the political shift that was going on in the organization. Tristan said that he'd heard a little about what was going on from some of his smuggler friends, but didn't ask them, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

Once they got to the truck, Tristan briefly took Bellamy into the small town to get him some basic supplies that he'd need. Bellamy also picked up a cheap burner phone that he'd use for contacting Wick with. When he had everything that he thought he'd need, the two men headed north out of Seward towards the residential community of Bear Creek, turning off the main highway on a hidden driveway that looked abandoned. After getting out and moving a log stopping people from entering, they moved forward before replacing it and continued to head for Tristan's place where Tristan had stored the ATV that Bellamy would use to travel the main worn trail slightly up the mountain through the woods to the cabin. The trails in the surrounding woods were a tight fit, and thus having the ATV would provide useful to Bellamy for getting around in the woods on the property wherever he wanted to go. After tying everything down on the ATV, Tristan invited Bellamy inside for dinner, and invitation which Bellamy accepted seeing as how he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten… That was dangerous being out in the middle of nowhere with no one around for miles.

Going inside, Bellamy was greeted by the sight of a young blonde woman in her late teens, maybe even her early twenties, whom Tristan re-introduced as Bree. Bellamy greeted her aloofly, but politely, vaguely remembering a child from many years ago, not this young woman. She was attractive in a thin delicate way, but didn't capture Bellamy's interest, even in the slightest. He only had one type, and that type was firmly attached to one sole person with a name, and Bree wasn't it. It was obvious to Bellamy that Bree was interested in him if her subtle flirting and heated gaze indicated anything about her behavior and intentions. Bellamy made sure to project as much of a rejection as he could into his body language and gaze when having to speak to her, but feared it didn't work as he'd hoped it would. After dinner, Bellamy was quick to duck out, but was stopped by Tristan who went to retrieve the riffle and box of bullets he stored there for Bellamy to use, giving them to him, before asking when he'd be down to stock up on supplies again.

Bellamy instead pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over… It was a supplies list. Bellamy asked that Tristan get those items for him and take them half way up the main trail road leading to the cabin, where there was a bend in the road, and leave them in a duffel bag behind the large rock that sat there in five days' time. Tristan agreed willingly, telling Bellamy to use the cheap cell phone if he needed anything else, before Bellamy set off on his own to his very much welcomed self-imposed exile.

Still gazing out the window, something he'd found himself doing a lot these days, Bellamy silently mulled over leaving. He'd been here for a little longer than a month or so. Was he ready to leave? The answer? A simple no. Not yet. While the place was feeling like a prison more and more every day, the idea of leaving created a wide gaping pit in his gut. He was a coward who just wasn't ready to face reality.

As much as he tried, he couldn't seem to get his shit together for nothing… Perhaps that's because his mind and his heart just weren't in it… Not really. He just felt haunted. Or perhaps it was he who was doing the haunting… The locals believed the mountain was haunted by an elusive shadow that lived in the woods, often told as a scary story to keep small children out of the woods, but maybe there was some truth to the myth, and he was it. He felt like nothing but a shadow in the trees sometimes.

Shaking himself out of his dark thoughts, Bellamy moved away from the window, grabbing his empty coffee mug and heading for the sink to wash it, thinking of what he had to do that day. He was running a bit low on firewood, so that meant he would be going out to chop some if he was going to be staying a little longer… He should probably go check the supplies drop to see if Tristan had left him anything, but that would just depend. On what? Whether or not he could find the will to go and do things, something he'd had an increasing problem with as the days continued to pass. It's like his drive to do anything that wasn't strictly necessary just seeped from him little by little. Food and warmth were necessary, so after drinking a big glass of water, Bellamy he headed for the stairs to grab his boots and thick jacket from his room, ignoring his throbbing head, hoping the water and coffee would work to calm his hangover soon.

Walking into the large master bedroom, Bellamy headed straight for the closet grabbing his woolen coat and throwing it on the bed before stooping to grab his boots on the closet floor. Righting himself, Bellamy's eyes caught on the bag sitting on the shelf in the closet. Grabbing his boots in one hand, Bellamy slowly reached for the Ziploc bag, bringing it down, and holding it carefully, as though its contents would break. Turning and closing the door with his foot, Bellamy walked to the bed and sat heavily on the foot of it, dropping his boots between his spread legs and laying the bag on the bed beside him. Quickly Bellamy slipped on and laced up his boots, tying and double knotting them, before reaching for the clear bag. Opening it, Bellamy withdrew the carefully folded dark blue hospital scrub shirt, feeling the soft material underneath his rough hands, as well as the small picture and folded letter resting on the top of it. The bag and letter were set aside as he focused on the picture, and the feeling of brushing the pad of his thumb over the monogrammed name on the front of the shirt... Clarke Griffin. Bellamy closed his eyes as perfume from the shirt teased his senses, enticing him to bring it closer for a deeper inhale which is exactly what he did. For a brief moment, the ache in his chest lessened, the vise around his heart released, and his headache ceased. For a brief moment, everything fell away and he was no longer in a cabin in the frigid Alaskan wilderness, but was instead five thousand miles and four time zones across the world with her… They were in their warm bedroom getting ready for their long respective days at work, him sitting on the edge of their bed tying his shoes or fixing his tie, listening as she hummed to herself as she dressed in the closet or did her hair in the bathroom.

Pulling away from one of the few things he had to remember her by and the scene that only existed in his head, Bellamy looked at the picture in his hand. The first weeks he'd been at the cabin, he hadn't taken the picture out, having no need to, but as the weeks had passed and the days rolled on, sometimes blurring together, Bellamy felt ashamed to admit that he had begun to lose her face in his memory, as well as small details about her. Major events and things they did together were never an issue to remember, nor the sensations he'd experienced, both emotionally and physically, but she herself was harder to remember, sometimes becoming nothing but a blur in his mind's eye. What was the exact shade of her eyes? Blue like the sky, or blue like the clear water from the bay? Funny enough, he could remember the light grey hue her eyes took on when she was in pain and sad, even though that was one thing he wished to forget. But what about her hair? Was it golden like the brief rays of the sun that sometimes shone through the heavy layers of the forest surrounding his cabin, or was it a paler golden color like the flowers the grew in the forest farther down the mountain? He remembered that her skin was warm and soft to the touch, but it wasn't as white as snow, was it? She had color and life in her… Perhaps he only remembered her white as snow because that's the color she always was in his reoccurring nightmares, white as a sheet of snow, unnervingly still, with pale blue lips and empty clouded eyes. She used to blush at his touch or at things he'd sometimes say or do… Was it a soft pink color, or blazing red? He remembered that she always had her toe nails painted, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember the last color she had chosen to wear. Green? Orange? Violet?

When the panic began to consume him, fear that he was losing all he really had of her, he began turning to the picture more and more to remember. Then the question crept up of, what was he going to do 40 years from then, if he lived that long, when the picture faded, her shirt no longer smelled like her, and his old mind could no longer accurately conjure up any of the good memories of their time together as clearly and sharply as he could now… It was bound to get worst with time, after all, time did nothing but decay memories until they were just memories of impressions. That he had already been a witness to, and it frightened him more than he was willing to admit to himself that it was happening after only a month and a half of separation. He was going to die an old man, all alone, without a family, his people, or his memories, leaving behind nothing in his wake as a legacy but a company and a laundry list of unsolved murders that he would be taking with him to the grave. Before he'd met Clarke, the idea had never haunted him the way it did now. Before Clarke, he'd been accepting that he'd be alone… He didn't necessarily want to be alone, but he recognized that he'd probably be that way for all his life, and, strangely enough, he'd been okay with that. Resigned. But then he'd met her, and he started to dream and plan and hope and long for a future where he didn't have to be alone, and just that little taste he'd had of not being alone, had ruined him for singlehood. Losing her had been a real blow, and he'd become a weakened man because of it…

A glutton for punishment and pain… Bellamy sadly thought thinking back to his biggest weakness since leaving.

Week 3 (2 weeks at the cabin)

While the problem he had set out to eliminate had been taken care of, and he'd gotten his revenge, it hadn't helped like Bellamy thought it would… It merely gave him something to do for a week.

He'd been on his own for a little over a week... A full week at the cabin having seen no one but himself occasionally in the bathroom mirror, and even then, avoiding his reflection had become a habit.

During the days on his own, Bellamy could find things to occupy himself with, but during the short nights after the sun had gone down and twilight had ended, with nothing else to do until dawn of the next day, Bellamy found himself at his lowest. After having suffered an entire week of tossing and turning for hours before finally falling asleep and succumbing to various nightmares, sleep to Bellamy wasn't just evasive… It was unwanted, knowing that it was more of the same that he had to look forward to.

It was on one of these short dark nights, that Bellamy found himself reaching for the burner cell phone he'd bought during the first hours of his escape. More than he would like, Bellamy found himself feeling and thinking of himself like a convict on the run, hiding from the authorities, instead of someone taking some time to retreat and get his priorities in line.

Looking around, while fumbling under the couch for it, Bellamy took in his dismal surroundings… He was in the living space of the cabin, on the leather couch in front of the blazing fireplace that was heating the room. The roaring fire was the only source of light in the cabin as no other lights were on, and there was no light filtering in from outside the window, having just watched twilight fade, replaced with the dark of night. In one hand was a glass of clear liquid, definitely not water, and in the other was the simple small black device that had been successfully located from its hiding spot. Leaning back into the cushions, Bellamy pressed down on the red end button, watching as the phone screen came to life and the keyboard became backlit. Bellamy took a moment to silently questioned himself as to what he was doing, but the moment passed, no answer coming back to him. As the phone completely turned on, Bellamy observed the time, 12:45 AM, and the day, Saturday. He was almost at the end of his second week of being at the cabin… Three total weeks almost to the day, when he had left her asleep in her bed, with nothing but a letter in his absence.

Not thinking at all clearly, his alcohol deluded mind was too far gone when his thumb began punching in numbers to the phone number he knew by heart, before hesitating on the green send button. Giving in, not having the strength to delete the number and turn the phone back off, Bellamy applied a little pressure to the button and it was calling. Bringing it up to his ear, Bellamy leaned forward to sit on the edge of the couch with his elbows resting on his knees, waiting with baited breath to see what would happen…

One ring…

Two rings…

Three…

"Hello?"

His heart stuttered in his chest, and he couldn't breathe… Couldn't swallow. He sat frozen, staring blankly at the fire in front of him. She was there. He'd just heard her voice. It had felt like a lifetime since he'd heard it. God how he'd missed it.

"Hello?" Came her voice again. "Is someone there?" This time Bellamy focused closely, listening to how her voice, while distinguishable that it was hers, sounded nothing like her… It sounded flat. Dead.

With great difficulty, Bellamy swallowed around the lump in his throat, opening his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out, not a single sound.

"Listen, if you don't say anything, I'm going to hang up." She continued on in the same disembodied voice.

The room started to spin making Bellamy gently let out the breath he'd been involuntarily holding and quietly inhale a breath, not waiting to pass out from oxygen deprivation. Still not possessing the capabilities of speech, Bellamy closed his eyes, waiting for the click that would signal she'd hung up… Comforted to at least have actually heard her voice.

His heart was still pounding rapidly, but it about came out of his chest when he quietly heard her breathe through the line, "Bellamy? Is that you?"

His eyes flew open, startled so bad that she had called his name, the heavy glass of moonshine he'd been holding dropped to the floor, hitting the rug with a thump allowing its toxic contents to spill, but Bellamy didn't care. She'd said his name. She knew it was him.

His eyes closed again, despite his erratic heartbeat and his anxiety over being recognized and called out, he relished in how good it felt hearing her sweet voice saying his name. If he'd been standing he would have fallen to the floor, his knees too week to hold him up.

But then the reason he'd left and didn't come back returned to him. He had to stop. He was messing with her trying to move on. He was so stupid. He couldn't do this, not to her… He couldn't be that person to screw up all her efforts to be okay.

"Please don't hang up!" She said slightly louder, sounding panicked, but still whispering. Like almost all the many times before, he gave in, unconsciously doing what she asked of him, and bringing the phone fully back to his ear. How she knew he'd begun to pull the phone away from his ear slightly to hit the end button, he didn't know… Did she know him that well? He wanted her to know him that well, and for that he hated himself.

"Just don't hang up." She whispered. Why was she whispering, he wanted to ask, but his vocal chords and mind refused to allow him to speak… Instead his mind flittered through reasons why she'd been whispering. Had she been sleeping? If it was one o'clock in the morning where he was, it was nine o'clock in the evening over there where she was. She could have been sleeping if she had an early shift the next morning or had just come off a long double, and was talking quietly because she'd just been woken and didn't want to disturb the silence around her. Silently Bellamy berated himself for not thinking and calling her so late. Or was she whispering because there were other people with her and she didn't want them to overhear her conversation… Then an awful thought hit him like a lightning bolt through the heart. Was she with just one person? It would have to be Finn… Were they going out, now that he was out of the picture, trying to get to know each other in preparation for their upcoming wedding and marriage?

Despite the pain radiating through his chest at the thought of Finn currently waiting for her, a small part of Bellamy rejoiced that she had asked him not to hang up, instead of doing that very thing and heading back to his half-brother. Bellamy wondered if, when they eventually hung up, would she tell him that it was him on the phone, or would she lie and say it was someone else because the truth would start a fight in their new relationship.

The breath stalled in his lungs… He was hindering her efforts to move on with her life, like he'd told her he wouldn't do in his letter. He was making it hard for her to be faithful to his half-brother, which is exactly what he left to prevent from happening. Just another broken promise added on to the fire… Bellamy thought bitterly. Why did he do this to her and himself? His subconscious didn't hesitate in responding with, Because you're a glutton for punishment and pain. And in that moment, he believed the vicious voice, because deep down, the thing he wanted more than anything, besides being with her, was for her to wish it was him that she was with, and not Finn. Never Finn.

"Are you-" She started talking again, her voice still a low murmur, but hoarse. She stopped and cleared her voice, before trying again, asking sadly, "Are you okay? No one has heard from you for close to two weeks."

No, I'm not okay. He wanted to respond, but didn't. Couldn't.

After a beat, she asked, "Are you safe wherever you are? Are-are you happy?" Her voice broke, tears beginning to flood her voice. "Are you ever coming back?" She asked hesitantly, almost as if she was afraid to hear the answer. When Bellamy still didn't respond, he heard her take a deep, choking, breath.

"Bellamy? Won't you say something?" She asked pleadingly quiet. Tears more evident in her voice as she continued to speak. "I don't even know if it's really you there, or if I'm just a crazy person imagining you're there, because I want you to be. I feel in my gut you're really there, but I just don't know." She said clearly distraught.

His heart broke, and he felt his eyes burn with moisture. He wanted to say something to reassure her she wasn't crazy, oh how he wanted to, but what would he say? I'm here? I love you? I'm sorry? I want to be home with you? How would any of that help the fact that he fucked everything up by calling her?

"Clarke?" A familiar voice called distantly from the other end of the phone. His grandmother. The relief in his body in that instance was powerful. She wasn't with Finn… At least not exclusively at that moment. "You've been gone a good minute, who is it dear?"

Bellamy could hear Clarke gasp in surprise at the voice, and a shuffling sound over the other end of the phone as she turned to the intruder. He felt frozen, unable to make a move to hang up. "It's- I don't-I'm-…" Clarke struggled, "Just give me a minute Amelia, please." Clarke requested sounding slightly panicked, taking short gasps. In his mind's eye, he could see her anxiously running her hand roughly through her hair, combing it back with her fingers to get it out of her eyes.

"Honey, why are you crying, is everything okay?" His grandmothers deeply concerned voice was nearer to the phone, so Bellamy assumed she was approaching Clarke.

"No. I mean yes. I don't-" Clarke rapidly tried answering her, but a sob escaped her, and suddenly she was back on the line speaking to him, "Please, Bellamy," She plead desperately, not bothering to keep her voice down anymore, "Say something." She cried. He heard a loud gasp from his grandmother, and another deep voice in the background ask, "What in the hell is going on in here?" It wasn't hard to recognize his own father's voice.

Quickly, before he'd have to hang up, Bellamy managed to find his voice, only able to get out three small honestly broken words from the knot tied in his throat choking the life from him.

"I miss you."

Her sob from the other end of the phone had his own tears falling down his cheeks, before the sweet last words, "I miss you too.", fell from the lips of his angel, and he knew that was it. That was their goodbye.

Bellamy heard his grandmother call out frightened, "Lincoln, catch her!" Before there was a big commotion on the other end of the phone, the phone sounding like it was dropped in the disarray before being picked up and passed around… He could clearly hear Clarke still sobbing in the background, Lincoln and his grandmother futilely trying to calm her to no avail, immediately followed by his father's voice, "Bellamy-"

Quickly drawing the phone from his ear and pressing the end button, Bellamy let the phone drop from his hand like a hot iron, before dropping his head into his hands and weeping. That night he grieved, letting everything he'd tried holding back for weeks flood forward and sweep him under. All the rage, sorrow, despair, misery, and heartache he tried and failed to hold in was unleashed, and all Bellamy could do was grieve.

The next day, Bellamy hadn't been able to get out of bed. His limbs felt weighed down by anchors, and he felt like death warmed over. The day after, he'd gotten himself up and gone outside to sit and just let the silence and cool air take over his senses.

Sitting on the bed, Bellamy grimaced… That had been a very dark time for him. His lowest during his low. Carefully folding up the scrub shirt, Bellamy placed it back in the bag, along with her picture and the letter. He rarely ever read the letter anymore. In the beginning, he'd ended up reading it so much he had it pretty much memorized. He only brought it out nowadays to see her love written on the page… He had it written down and he'd certainly felt it when in her presence, but it was just never heard. Placing the bag back in the closet on the shelf for the next time he got nostalgic, Bellamy walked back down stairs, his heavy boots making deep thumping sounds that reverberated through the still cabin. Grabbing his knife and gun, Bellamy stowed the former in his boot and opted to carry the other to the ATV where he had put a holster. Grabbing the key he needed for the small vehicle, Bellamy headed out for the day.

On his way to the sight where he'd found a dead fallen tree, Bellamy contemplated all he'd done during his time in Alaska. Being out in the middle of nature had soothed something inside of him, despite his numerous problems and dark emotions never seemingly far away. It especially helped after that night. The crisp clean air made him feel like he could actually breathe, despite the vise around his chest and the constant ache he'd grown accustom to.

During his third week at the cabin (four weeks since he'd left) he spent most of his time outdoors. Hunting, laying traps and snares, fishing, hiking, cutting firewood, fixing up the old land rover he had stashed in the back garage, and beginning to build a smokehouse were all things he devoted his daylight, and some of his twilight/night, hours to. He purposefully kept himself busy to avoid repeating the incident that happened the week before, but also to give his mind a break from all the worry he'd been doing over his and his guy's future. He'd actually finished the smokehouse last week, and the rover was close to being done, just a few parts needed that he'd had Tristan order for him.

Getting to the felled tree, Bellamy turned the small vehicle off and grabbed the ax and gloves off the front, before getting to work… He'd contemplated borrowing Tristan's chainsaw the first week, but had enjoyed the physical exertion of wood chopping. I would kill to have that chainsaw right about now, Bellamy thought gritting his teeth as his stitches continuously pulled with the rhythmic swing of the ax. Once he had a nice pile of medium and small size logs, Bellamy began to pile them onto the back basket-rack of the ATV. He had enough here to last him a couple days or so in addition to the small stash he still had at the cabin. By the time he was done with everything, a couple hours had passed due to Bellamy's lagging movements and the excessive number of breaks taken, trying not to damage his wounds further… His whole side still felt like it was on fire though. After everything was loaded, Bellamy sat on the ATV, slid opened his jacket and raised his shirt up to see if he'd busted any of his stitches. After removing the bandage he'd placed on it after his shower that morning, Bellamy was met with the ugly red gashes that were sure to scar, held together by the neat line of looped stitches. As much as he was reluctant to admit it, the bastard had done good job sewing him up.

Bellamy grimaced before covering his mauled side and lowering his shirt, letting his jacket flap back to his side. Looking around, Bellamy took a deep breath and listened to the sounds of the forest around him, letting his mind wander for a moment, hoping his side would stop trying to burn him alive before he made the return trip to the cabin. It was a little hard to believe he'd been able to hide out here for as long as he had in the shadow of the mountain, without being found and dragged back by any number of people, mainly his father and uncle. Then again, he had needed and worked hard to fall completely off the grid with everything that had gone down back in New York… It appeared his efforts had been successful, thankfully. Well, for the most part… Except that one unexpected turn of events that would have made Bellamy laugh in genuine amusement if he hadn't been close to bleeding out and it was happening to anyone but him…

Week 5 (4 weeks at the cabin)

His breathing was ragged, and his whole body was trembling with surges of adrenaline. The bloody knife in his hand had come in handy when he'd pulled it from his boot and thrust it up into the beast that was trying to tear his throat out. Looking down at the dead wolf at his feet, Bellamy tried calming his breathing and racing heart, his efforts working but working slowly. Bending down to inspect if the animal had any obvious signs why it would attack, Bellamy suddenly hissed at the pain flaring up in his side. Looking down at the shredded state his clothes were in, Bellamy began working to uncover where the source of his pain was coming from, finally coming across the claw marks. Silently cursing at the sight of all the blood, Bellamy began stripping his jacket and shirt off, leaving his undershirt on, before putting his jacket back on. Using the clean part of the shirt, Bellamy pressed it to the wounds and applied as much pressure as he dared, trying to stem the bleeding 'til he could get to his med kit with the sutures at the cabin. Quickly checking, Bellamy was somewhat mollified to see the wolf had no visible sign of rabies… It was either a lone wolf hungry enough to take its chances with the first thing it came across or it was naturally aggressive. Bellamy was betting on the former, with the small size and thinness of the mutt being his clues.

Stumbling back the good distance to where he'd parked the ATV before embarking on his evening walk, Bellamy hauled himself onto the seat, still shaking slightly from the adrenaline, quickly starting it and taking off for the cabin. Bellamy could feel his fingers that were inside his jacket holding pressure to his side as they became soaked with his own blood, having already bled through his T-shirt. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Bellamy made sure to park the small vehicle in the allotted space in the garage, before awkwardly maneuvering himself to the cabin front door, pushing it open and close behind him and heading for the fire, quickly stoking a fire to get it burning hotter in case he was going to have to cauterize the wound after getting a better look at it. As he was stoking the fire, Bellamy paused mid-movement, feeling something off with his environment. He was either getting rusty after only a month being away, or it was the blood loss that had him not sensing it before he walked in, much less the next second after he walked in.

Standing up, Bellamy rolled his neck and shoulders to loosen the tension there, before turning with the hot poker in hand at his side. Bellamy met the practically glowing steely ice blue eyes of a stranger who was leaning casually against the wall behind the front door, semi-shrouded in the shadows cast by the slow falling sun outside, holding a gun on him… Keeping his face blank, perhaps even bored looking, Bellamy took a closer look at the man, noting long dark brown hair, thick 5 o'clock shadow, and two matching scars on his face starting above his eyebrows running down his temples to stop at the top of his cheeks. He was about as tall as Bellamy. However, unlike Bellamy, he was wearing thick furs and heavy boots, both of which had seen better days, and had slight smudges of dirt gracing his slim narrow face and fingers peeking out of leather gloved hands.

So, probably an assassin. Great… Bellamy thought sardonically. Basically, exactly what I expected and wanted to come home to. Having to take out an assassin while bleeding out, then stitch myself up. Fun times…

When bleeding out, Bellamy was a very sarcastic person… His guys could attest to that fun fact wholeheartedly.

"Well, are you going to use that gun, or just gawk at this fine piece of male specimen all day?" Bellamy snapped wryly, goadingly. Bellamy watched as the stranger's mouth twitched as if to smile, before it quickly turned into a slight smirk and he spoke.

"I don't swing that way…" He said, his voice deep and raspy. "Sorry for the disappointment." He said, smirk growing as he pushed off the wall and moved forward into the light a bit more, slowly lowering the gun as he walked by the lamp on the end table, using his barrel of his gun to hold up something Bellamy had not seen upon his rushed entrance minutes before. "This yours?" Stranger asked, smirk still firmly in place holding up a purple bra. Bellamy's face contorted in confusion and disgust for a moment before things clicked in his head and he realized he had another visitor, this one female and naked, both things he did not want to deal with at the moment… Or ever really.

Quickly, Bellamy grew pissed at the ridiculousness surrounding him and used that rage to fuel his next movements. Shooting Stranger/Possible Assassin a cold look daring him to hold that gun on him again, Bellamy dropped the poker back into the fire and headed for the kitchen.

Grabbing a clip for his gun from the clay jar supposedly holding rice on the counter and the actual gun from where it was taped in a holster under the table, Bellamy loaded it on his way back to the living space and up the stairs, bypassing Stranger/Possible Assassin, who was still standing where Bellamy had left him, curiously watching every move Bellamy made as he disappeared up the stairs. Bellamy searched the two empty bedrooms in the cabin, one hand holding his gun, the other holding a clean dishrag he had snagged while in the kitchen against his throbbing wound, before making his way to his master bedroom. Throwing the door open, a shrill quick scream sounded as the inhabitant of the bed jumped at the sudden movement and screamed again seeing the gun Bellamy was holding on her. Bellamy's suspicions about the naked woman in his cabin were confirmed as Bree dropped his top sheet covering her, holding her hands up, and exposing her bare chest.

"Oh my God! Don't shoot me!" She said, her voice reaching a new high pitch that made Bellamy's ears want to bleed.

"What are you doing here?" Bellamy growled menacingly, keeping his eyes firmly on her face, livid she had invaded his space the way she had. He was going to have to burn the whole damn bed now that she had contaminated it! And the shit just kept piling on…

"I-I just thought… I'm- You-… I mean…" She began stuttering all around the place, but not moving from the bed as all her clothes were strewn across the downstairs of the cabin and up the stairs as some sort of seduction ploy designed to lead him to her waiting in his bed. "I thought, I mean, I know you want me." She said blushing.

Removing his bloodied hand from the now soaked dishrag, Bellamy dropped the gun to his side and walked closer to the bed, snatching her upper arm and hauling her up from the bed, showing that while she had on no bra or other decent clothing she had kept her panties on. Rolling his eyes at this little girl who thought she'd come in here and seduce him with the snap of her little fingers, he began dragging her to the bedroom door and down the hall while she gasped and acted concerned about whether he was hurt or not and where, etc.

Not answering the little hussy, Bellamy continued pulling her down the stairs, not bothering to slow down as she tried to snatch up the pieces of clothing she'd carelessly thrown everywhere… It was only upon seeing Stranger/Possible Assassin standing in the middle of the cabin living space did she start acting like she gave a damn about her modesty, and began to try to cover herself. As he continued to drag her to the front door, she began to struggle. "Wait! Stop! I can wait for him to leave, or he could join us… You know, if you're into that." She said, trying for coquettish, as Bellamy disgustedly wrenched the door open, pushing her out, even as she tried shoving her way back in.

"Stop!" Bellamy growled fighting off her empty hands, as she had dropped the few clothes she'd managed to grab, while trying to simultaneously close the door. He was completely at the end of his wits with this girl.

"I can't!" She exclaimed dramatically, throwing her whole body at the door, making it practically impossible for Bellamy to get her out of his cabin. He was severely hindered in his efforts by his wounded side and his holding back, not wanting to hurt her… She was a wench, for sure, but her father was someone Bellamy respected. Well, Bellamy respected the man outside of his obvious lack of parenting skills if his daughter's untoward behavior was any indicator. "Not when I know how much you want me." She continued. "I know you tried to hide it that first night at dinner… It's okay, I understand, my dad was right there and you were afraid of disrespecting him, but we can keep it a secret for now and tell him later." She said taking on what was supposed to be a sweet understanding or hopeful voice, but only served to spike Bellamy's ire further.

Bellamy ripped the door back open quickly, so quickly in fact, she almost stumbled forward hard enough to fall on her face, if not for catching herself at the last minute. "Listen here you child." Bellamy hissed leaning heavily on the door. "I wasn't hiding anything. I was trying to be polite to my friend's daughter, while simultaneously sending you 'Back the hell off' messages, which you obviously didn't receive. I'm not attracted to you and never will be, so run along home to your father right this minute and thank your luck that you got out as unscathed as you did, because I specifically came up here not to be disturbed and bothered and probably would have killed you for disturbing and bothering me the way you have if the situation had been under different circumstances."

While hearing his harsh words, Bree finally stumbled back far enough that Bellamy could fully close the door. Her eyes were large and her mouth was agape in obvious shock of things not going her way and completely misinterpreting the entire situation, how that could be a shock, Bellamy just didn't know. He swore he'd been crystal clear. Before slamming the door in her surprised face, several articles of clothing were thrown out the door from between the space were Bellamy stood and the door jamb.

Once the door was slammed closed, Bellamy locked and bolted it before turning, still leaning heavily on the door to stay upright, and raising a single eyebrow at Stranger/Possible Assassin/Wench Control Helper.

Said stranger just shrugged a large shoulder, rasping deeply, "Bitches be crazy." To which Bellamy couldn't help but agree in this case with a single head nod.

"Thanks for the help, I was just gonna let her shame walk home in whatever she had grabbed." Bellamy mumbled as he passed him and headed for the kitchen again, goal being the medical box he had stashed under the sink.

"Probably not a wise decision comrade… Not if you don't want her showing up with an angry father." Stranger/PA/WCH stated from the other room, not seeing Bellamy's shrug. He didn't care… Tristan would believe him before her anyhow. Tristian knew mostly why he was there, and the older man had a soft spot for him. He was in the clear.

Walking back into the living room with the large red bag, Bellamy dropped it on the coffee table and set his gun next to it before exhaustedly dropping to the couch, not caring if he continued to get blood everywhere. His kitchen already looked like a damn crime scene, but his couch was very dark in color, so the blood probably wouldn't noticeably stain. Probably. He'd just flip the cushions and hope for the best.

After taking a deep breath, Bellamy moved to the edge of the couch and began easing his jacket off to get a better look at the wound. The stranger in his cabin who had been lurking behind him up to that point, moved into Bellamy's line of sight, the gun still firmly grasped in his hand glinting dangerously in the firelight.

Bellamy paused after removing his jacket, looking up at the rugged man, who was casually looking around… If he was an assassin, he was a pretty crappy one. Or was it crafty? Keeping his prey on edge, not knowing what he was going to do next 'til he suddenly struck… Bellamy couldn't decide which it was.

"Listen buddy…" Bellamy spoke up capturing the man's intense scrutinizing gaze, "If you're here to kill me, let's get on with it now before I go through the effort and pain of patching myself up, otherwise, I'm gonna get pissed."

"I'm not here to kill you." The man rumbled, rolling his ice blue eyes.

"Could've fooled me." Bellamy said back icily, with a pointed look at the gun in the other man's hand.

"Fair nuff." He mumbled, stowing the weapon somewhere beneath all the furs. "Had to be prepared in case you were armed and ornery."

"I'm always ornery, and just about always armed… Just didn't figure I needed to be out here, when no one is supposed to know where I am. Obviously I was wrong about that. Now, on that subject, who are you and how did you find me?" Bellamy asked throwing a quick glare before tending to his wound again, hissing sharply at the pain lancing through his side when removing the bloodied dish rag that had mostly been held in place over his fresh wounds by his jacket. He'd need stitches, and to not pass out while putting those stitches in.

"Roan. Roan Averin." The man said casually, carefully moving closer to look at the wound. "That looks pretty nasty." He said, stating the obvious of which Bellamy was painfully aware. Throwing the man a look, Bellamy grabbed the scissors from the top of the bag and cut the undershirt open to better get access to the wound, not having the strength to try lifting it off over his head. It was ruined already, why bother?

"Averin you say? As in Egor and Nia Averin of Russia? That would make you their son, if I'm following correctly… No accent though. And you're sure you're not here to kill me?" Bellamy inquired distractedly, digging through the kit for the sutures, finding them, and proceeding to look up to see a scowl flash across the stranger's- Roan's- face. "Hey, I haven't started yet." Bellamy warned holding up the bottle of saline and waving it threateningly, or as threateningly as possible. He'd take Roan out with him if the man reneged and tried to kill him after he'd gone through the trouble of sowing himself up.

"They're the parents who disowned me." Roan said bitterly. "So yes, I'm sure I'm not here to kill you… That would help them too much. I'm here for the opposite exactly. I need your help."

Bellamy barked out a genuine laugh. "My help? That's a good one." He said standing with much effort, still chuckling, and heading for the bottle of moonshine on the mantle before sitting back down, and looking up to see Roan with a solemn look on his face, watching the bleeding man with wary eyes. "Crap. You're serious?" Bellamy asked, any trace of humor vanishing from his face, before pausing to pointedly look around at his surroundings. "You want my help?" Bellamy asked again for clarification. "If you haven't noticed, I'm not in any real place to help myself, much less someone who isn't exactly an enemy, but isn't exactly a friend either. Do you think I'm out here because everything is going A-Okay in my world?" Bellamy asked skeptically. Sure, people had always said he made things look easy (farthest thing from the actual truth), but he didn't think he was making things look easy anymore, not where he was.

"Yes, I'm here for your help." Roan said firmly… Grudgingly. Roan obviously did not like asking for such a thing from Bellamy, probably just as much as Bellamy disliked hearing it being asked of him by Roan.

"Okay, I don't think your understanding me and the fact that I can't help you right now because I have no way to help you right now, nor the incentive." Bellamy said slightly exasperated, his wound all but forgotten for the moment.

"Just hear me out." The man said negotiating. "I'll stitch you up and you listen while I do it… You don't like what I have to say and offer, I leave. Simple as that."

Bellamy narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but relented anyway… "Fine." If the guy was gonna kill him, he would have done it already, right? And besides, stitching himself up while the room was semi-starting to spin wasn't the best idea, right? Right. His subconscious nodded affirmatively.

Bellamy studied Roan cautiously as he shed his outer layer of fur and the plaid long sleeve shirt underneath leaving him in just a T-shirt, watching for any sign that the man was going to turn on him, pull a weapon and kill him. Not that Bellamy could do anything if he did, he was in a very precarious vulnerable position, wounded with his gun just out of reach on the little table, and he hated every minute of it… That, combined with the fact that he was giving some complete stranger crazy amounts of trust for only having just met him made Bellamy extremely uncomfortable. He was obviously out of his mind with blood loss. Pulling the cork from the bottle with his teeth, and blowing it to the floor, Bellamy took a deep pull from the burning liquid, hoping to dull the physical pain he was about to endure before laying down so his injured side was at the edge of the couch.

After Roan pulled the coffee table closer and settled on it, he switched on the lamp above Bellamy's head on the end table. He was going to have to burn that too after having been tainted by the witch.

Roan chuckled, making Bellamy realize he'd said that out loud. It was the truth though. Bellamy thought shrugging slightly, before grimacing… No more shrugging. No more moving period. It all hurt too much.

"She was already here, upstairs waiting for you when I got here by the way." Roan said, his raspy voice loud in the quiet cabin. "I didn't know if she was welcomed or not. Figured best not to interfere, in case she was welcomed."

"Don't remind me unless you want to start this conversation covered in vomit, because that's where this is headed." Bellamy warned. "You want to talk? Talk. Better get to work though, because between this," he waved the bottle around marginally before taking a swig, "the blood loss, and the raging headache from the whole mess earlier, I can't guarantee consciousness forever."

"Keep your panties on Blake, I had to get stuff ready." Roan replied, before swiping the alcohol bottle and quickly drenching his patient's side in the clear liquid that made Bellamy feel like someone had just tossed a match on his side after dowsing it in rocket fuel. White hot agony engulfed him and had him breaking out in a cold sweat, a string of curses leaving his mouth that would make any sailor blush.

"Sorry." Roan said completely unapologetically, perhaps smug even, before taking a sip from the bottle, not even flinching at the taste and burn, before handing it back to a fuming Bellamy, who was ready to commit murder and surely would have if not for fear that his side would burn worst if he moved even a muscle.

"I hate you." Bellamy said between gritted teeth, but at the same time being a teeny bit grateful he had no forewarning of what the other man was about to do. It might've hurt even worst that way, if that was even possible.

"Yeah, yeah." Roan muttered, before cleaning the wounds with saline and beginning to carefully sow the mangled skin back together, "I won't give you my whole sob story, just the facts… I'm the oldest son of two children, my younger sister's name is Ontari, and she stole from me my birth right to become the next Pakhan after me father dies or chooses to retire. She, being the favorite child, set me up two years ago to take the fall for something I had no hand in like she did, and my parents believed her. Like I said, favorite child." Roan said bitterly, continuing to diligently work on Bellamy's side.

"What'd she frame you for?" Bellamy asked, trying to focus on anything other than the agony rippling from his side, only to be met with silence. "Hey, you came to me for help… I need to know this." Bellamy said side eyeing him.

"She was sleeping with my second," Roan said quietly still, so quietly, Bellamy almost missed it. If Bellamy hadn't have known better, he might've said the man was embarrassed or ashamed. "Gaining access to sensitive information in the Brotherhood, and then turning around to feed it to a rival faction of the Bratva who wanted to replace our family as the ruling family. They promised to marry her to the next Pakhan in exchange for getting rid of me and our parents… Giving her all the ambitious power her dark twisted soul craves. She set me up to be the fall guy if any of this came to light, and that's exactly what happened. A spy was caught and pointed me out as a snitch, and that was the beginning of the end of it all… I was promptly disowned and banished by my parents, and now must constantly be on the move because she's got people hunting me as I'm the only one who can expose her, all the while she's at home in the mother country, praised as a hero for supposedly crushing the uprising she had a hand in creating and exposing her brother as a traitor."

"Damn." Bellamy said. That all sounded like something Finn would do. Bellamy could sympathize with the Russian. "What do you want from me then?"

Roan stopped his ministrations to look Bellamy squarely in the eye as he spoke, "For two years I have lived out in the cold, and I want to go home. I want you to help me regain my birth right." Before Bellamy could open his mouth to tell the man he was bonkers for thinking he could help anyone in his current situation, Roan cut him off. "I heard you earlier about not being able to help anyone… Truly, I did, but living the way I have these past two years, I've become a bit of a ghost, and I've studied you Bellamy Blake, especially in the last 6 months, which lead me to determine you were my only chance to get my life back. I know after that blow out with your old man, you're leaving… There's no way you'd stay with your girl marrying your half-brother."

"How-" Bellamy trailed off confused. Had that become common knowledge in New York during his absence? I must have. But all Roan said was, "I have my ways." Bellamy thought he was full of crap, but didn't say anything.

The other man continued talking. "I gotta tell you though. Your girl? Sure is a looker… Totally shocked me when you started seeing her. Not at all what I'd classify as your type, totally mine though. In the beginning, if I'd thought I had half a chance with her, I would've take it and her and fuck you over without a care in the world, but…" Roan said shrugging a bit offhandedly while digging through the medical bag before going back to finish the last few stitches that were needed.

But the damage was done… Before the Roan could blink, Bellamy had moved to sit upright and was grasping fistfuls of his shirt, angrily spatting, "You stay the fuck away from her…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa… Chill the hell out before you undo my perfect handiwork." Roan said unperturbed, pushing Bellamy off him and back down on the couch, "Let me finish what I was saying hothead… But, even from a distance it was obvious she was crazy about you and I want back in too badly to lose out on that chance by pissing you off."

Quickly checking that his stitches held, Roan resumed his work from before while Bellamy was still seething. All he could think was that he and Clarke never had a chance… Even from the very beginning people were plotting and searching for ways to tear her from him and vice versa.

"So, you're leaving your family and I'd assume you're taking your crew with you…" Roan said talking again, purposely ignoring the glare being lasered into his skull by the man he was doctoring up. "Start up somewhere new if I had to guess. I must warn you, it's a lonely place out here in the cold, and I'm not just talking about being in Alaska. Being on the metaphorical outs is a sucky place to be. Friends help with, well, everything. That's where I come in. I know things… Many things. I'm a free agent here with contacts and resources at your disposal until you are on your feet, and then, when you are, you return the favor and get me my throne back. From there we create a very profitable business partnership that will be foraged in the blood of whomever stands in our way." Roan finished, cutting the last stitch and dropping the scissors and needle on the table.

Bellamy had to hand it to the man, albeit grudgingly, he had a very convincing speech and was dead on in his assumptions. After all, Bellamy hadn't told a single soul of his plans, so there was no one that could have snitched about those. Bellamy paused a moment in careful contemplation before speaking. "You realize we are talking about years here before I am able to help you, right?" Bellamy asked carefully. "Minimum two, two and a half."

Roan nodded slowly. "I've spent approximately that many years banished already… What's that time plus some? Obviously, I can't do this alone… No one wants to be seen speaking to a traitor much less openly supporting him for a power play. Believe me, I've tried alternative routes, and none have panned out as you can see." He said motioning between them, and the fact that they were even talking. "So, that means I have to do it with you… Think of the time clock as incentive for me to ensure your success. You ultimately fail, I ultimately fail. You succeed, I succeed. You follow?"

Bellamy raised a single eyebrow, "And you're just going to trust that as soon as I'm able, I'm going to keep my end of the bargain and help you?" Shaking his head at the notion, Bellamy scoffed, "I seriously doubt you'd put that kind of trust in me, someone you don't know, who would be holding your future in his hands."

"Your right, I don't one hundred percent trust you just like you don't me, but like I've said, I've watched you, and you seem to be a man of your word, as am I. Someone has to make the first move here, and this is me making it, right here, right now. You trust that I'm not screwing your right now at the beginning of this deal, and I trust that you won't screw me at the end of it. What do you say?" Roan asked Bellamy, who wearily scrubbed his hand over his face.

All Bellamy's instincts were screaming NO and to stick with family, but it was his supposed family who had betrayed him in the first place, leading him to be here on this couch in the middle of nowhere, contemplating this Russian's deal of ultimately joining forces to survive… Traitors to their original respective peoples, working together. It sounded just crazy enough to work. Bellamy was about to be on his own and would be expected to keep all his guys safe and alive while building an empire mostly from scratch, both legally and illegally. A so-called friend who had a certain wealth of information about various things wouldn't be the worst thing in the world… But Bellamy had to be sure.

"You say you know things… You're obviously very capable of spying without being caught if you say you spied on me and I didn't notice anything, and I'm sure you've made a massive number of unwilling friends by blackmail or using an old enemy of the Bratva as an ally like you're doing now, because that's the only way you could truly survive. I need proof though… That you're as knowledgeable and connected as you say you are. I've already got enough working against me without having to carry dead weight and feed another mouth that brings nothing to the table in return."

Roan looked Bellamy dead in the eye, searching for something, and both held the staring contest for a solid minute before Roan blinked and said, "You know that friends with benefits arrangement you had going on with that woman back in the city? Echo? She's a spy put in place by my mother… Granddaughter of an old family friend whom is extremely loyal to the Brotherhood and the current family in power. She was ordered to report anything she heard or saw directly to Nia, and to work to gain your trust and affections, and any influence over you if possible. She's a bit of a sleeper cell if you will… One call from Nia and you're dead or distracted. Whatever she wants."

Bellamy's eyes widened marginally. He was not expecting that at all. Echo? Really? Well, it appeared he had been sucked in to that one, hook, line, and sinker. He could thank his grandmother and, Bellamy reluctantly admitted, Jake for the bullet he dodged on that one… Possibly literally, considering he cut ties with her the very night after he piss the Brotherhood off royally by catching them in their deceit. If he ever saw her face again, Bellamy was sure the rage and wrath would surface at having been played the way he had been, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care about it… She had never gotten anything good from him information wise, and she hadn't had the chance to do any real damage, thanks to his grandmother and her sage advice. Thinking it all over, Bellamy just wanted to finally pass out from alcohol and blood loss and let sweet, hopefully dreamless, oblivion take him for a few hours.

After some moments pause, Bellamy looked up and locked eyes with the man sitting in front of him waiting for the answer that would determine his fate. "I accept your deal Roan Averin." Bellamy said holding his arm from his uninjured side out in a show of partnership.

Bellamy watched carefully as the other man's face gave nothing away as he reached out to clasp Bellamy's forearm, accepting the deal, as both men shook once… Roan's eyes however spoke of a profound relief at finally having found an ally. It was then that Bellamy relaxed truly for the first time since entering the cabin and decided to trust the stranger, no easy feat, but attainable none the less. It was clear to Bellamy that Roan had been a little desperate to have this meeting go the way it had, culminating in both men agreeing to help one another in the obvious dark times they were currently facing, despite the other man hiding his worry extremely well… However, seeing the true relief hidden in the man's eyes eased something in Bellamy. That couldn't be faked. He really was on his own, and Bellamy did not doubt that he'd be loyal, if simply for the fact that he benefited from Bellamy's prosperity.

After releasing their grips, Roan moved to gather his belongings, donning his layers of protective gear, speaking, "I've gotta get moving as I've been here for too long… A week anywhere and I've got hell knocking on my door and scars to show for it." Ah, Bellamy thought, so that's where the face scars came from… His sister was looking to have him tortured before killed. What a bitch.

Bellamy moved to get up, struggling slightly, and wincing harshly as his side pulled. Roan moved to help pull him up from the sofa, Bellamy nodding his thanks after standing upright, the room only swirling a little, before asking, "Do you keep a cell phone, or is that too easy a way for her to track you?"

"Yeah, I got one." Roan said, checking the knife in his boot and the one at his side, before zipping up his coat. "Changed out every time I move, so I'll be getting a new one when I get to the next place I'm going."

Bellamy nodded before directing him to grab the phone from under the couch where it had been stowed and forgotten about after last week's fiasco, seeing as how Bellamy wasn't in any condition to be stooped over hunting for it. Once the little black device was revealed, Bellamy took it and turned it on, confirming there was nothing from Wick, before handing it back to Roan so he could program their numbers, no names, into the phone. They'd at least have the basis for the phone chain they'd more than likely create from then on, with the constant changing of phones and thus numbers from both sides. Roan quickly called his own cell phone, and hung up after the first ring so he'd have Bellamy's burner number.

"I'll call you every time I get a new number, and you do the same." Roan said handing the phone back.

Bellamy nodded and both men shook hands once more, before the other man left out the door with a promise to be in touch at a later unspecified date, unless something urgent came up in which case he'd call.

Snapping out of his memory, Bellamy took a deep breath and let it go. He hadn't spoken to Roan since the week before when the other man had approached him about the deal and patched him up before disappearing. Bellamy checked the phone every day in case something came up and he called, but there had been no calls, not from Roan or Wick. No calls meant no bad news, which was perfect in Bellamy's book.

Starting up the ATV, Bellamy made his way to the cabin, stopping to unload the wood on the front porch before parking the small vehicle in its spot. Grabbing his gun, Bellamy leisurely began approaching his cabin, faltering for only a second half way to the door before resuming his unhurried pace… His mind being clear and sharp this time around allowed for him to pick up on the alien set of tire tracks in the yard as well as the numerous sets of foot prints. He didn't want his intruders alerted to his knowledge of their presence, so he continued walking as though nothing was amiss, all the while being pissed at Roan who had obviously betrayed him and sent a kill squad after him. Waiting 'til he stepped on the porch, Bellamy reached around his back with both arms to load his gun and switch off the safety, making it seem as though he was tucking the gun away. Everything was dead quiet both from inside the cabin and outside… It was as though everything was holding its breath waiting to see what would happen. Bellamy paused for a moment before throwing the unlocked door open and holding his gun on the first of the intruders, who promptly yelped and ducked behind the second intruder, yelling "Don't shoot! I'm innocent I swear."

The heart pounding adrenaline and anger dissolved instantly upon recognizing that yelp. He'd definitely jinxed himself about being found if the five guys in his living area, two coming thundering down the stairs, and one appearing in the kitchen doorway were any indication. He'd been found all right. By the whole crew apparently. But how?

Dropping his gun to his side, Bellamy asked, "What did I tell you about surprising me?"

"Someone would probably get hurt or die." Came Jasper's muffled voice from behind Monty, who was standing stock still, just staring at Bellamy. He didn't move or say anything. No one in the room moved until Bellamy saw another shadow appear in the door way of the kitchen and approach him. Bellamy warily, yet curiously, watched one Lincoln Griffin approach him, wondering why he was here and not in New York or Seattle. His answer was given seconds later when the large man punched him squarely in the jaw, snapping Bellamy's head to the side.

"I told you not to break her heart even more than it already was… Which you did by the way, by cutting her out and disappearing. You obviously didn't listen to my words. Your just lucky I like you enough not to break your face for hurting my little sister." Lincoln said righting Bellamy, who nodded while rubbed his sore jaw. It would bruise, but it wasn't anything he didn't deserve. "Now," Lincoln said, turning his back on Bellamy and walking away. "Where's the liquor? And not that jet fuel you call moonshine… We've got some stuff to talk about before we leave, so sit your ass down Blake and get comfortable. It's time for you to come to Jesus."

Bellamy realized upon looking around at his guys moving to claim various spots in the room for this apparent intervention that his previous morning debate as to whether to stay or leave, finally landing on staying, was firmly quashed. It looked like ready or not, he was going back. Back to his father and uncle. Back to his plans of striking off on his own and abandoning the only life he'd ever really known. Back to his own personal hell of seeing the woman he loved, and not being with her. Back to the city. Back to New York.

I love you my readers, and hope you are still reading after all that. I just couldn't keep looking at it... I felt like I was going crazy. Soooo... RL is a bitch... Right?! I'm sorry for such a delay in posting, but between the grueling processes of the academic world (LSAT Prep, fee waivers, online class, etc.), looking into the military for a legal career, family drama (dad's job is the worst, depressed brother, whore cousins, alcoholic uncles who drink and drive, etc.) Life has not been a peach or conducive to writing. Add all that to my beta being away on her honeymoon, and I'm at my wits end.

If you've got love to give, I'd appreciate it, but if not, totally understand... I'm not happy with it either. I'm just gonna keep writing however, and hope next chapter is better...

SPOILIES: You'll find out whats been going on in NY during Bellamy's absence all from Clarke's pov, as well as seeing his return... Oh yeah. Umm. The marriage contract will be broken and someone gets shot next chapter. Still on track for a reunion in Chapter 30. See ya!

-Redhead17x (Come find me on Tumblr under the same name!)