As awesome as Clarke's coup was, I was just the teeniest bit sad that Bellamy wasn't there to see it. So, the next best thing would be for him to hear about it, thus this.

"And then," Jasper said, pausing dramatically, which Bellamy would have found more effective if the kid hadn't been doing it every other sentence since he started this story. "I pulled out the sword and held it to Dante's neck and demanded he bring me to my friends and release the 47 or I would slit his throat."

At those last words, a few snickers and snorts rose up from the group gathered around the campfire, the loudest being Miller.

"What?" Jasper whined. "That's what happened!"

"You pulled a sword on Dante?" Miller asked a severely dubious expression. Monty nudged his side as a warning, trying to stick up for his best friend. Miller just nudged back, and Monty dipped his head to hide a smile.

"Hell yeah I did. They had my best friend."

No one laughed at that. Monty just raised his tin cup of moonshine in salute, with everyone following suit.

After Jasper took a sip from his own cup, he grinned and said, "Then I almost peed my pants when Dante disarmed me. Man, that old geezer had moves."

Bellamy rolled his eyes as the group chuckled again.

"Alright, alright, we've had enough of that. Who's next?" Raven piped up from her place in the back. Their after-dinner conversation had somehow turned into storytime, as the remaining delinquents tried to catch up on their time apart.

"I've heard rumors of a pretty badass confrontation with your mom, Clarke," Harper chimed in with a quiet voice. Bellamy watched the girl carefully, still worried about her recuperation. She seemed better, but they all still heard her screams echo across camp in the dead of night as she dreamed of her time in the mountain. If it wasn't her, it was Monty, or even himself. Recovery was happening, but slowly.

Clarke smiled at Harper, replying, "I'm sure the bits you've heard are probably more exciting that the actual story."

She looked down to fiddle with her zipper, and Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her, because he knew she was lying.

"Oh, c'mon Clarke," Octavia exclaimed from next to him, where she was sitting in between Lincoln's legs, his arms wrapped around her waist. "You gotta tell that one. It's too good."

"Not as good as mine I bet," Jasper muttered with a smug grin.

Clarke just laughed, shaking her head, the firelight catching brightly on her shifting strands of blonde hair.

"Fine, can I tell it then? At least to shut this one up?" Octavia said, twirling her knife across her knuckles before teasingly pointing it at Jasper, who jerked back with wide eyes in half-mocking shock.

Nodding in assent, Clarke caught Bellamy's eye. He raised his eyebrows, and she pursed her lips in amusement. Well, this should be good, he thought as he turned his attention to Octavia.

"I was doing weapons inventory with Indra when Clarke came for us," Octavia began in a low, solemn voice, the one she used to use back on the Ark, when talking of gods and goddess, of kings and empires. "She appeared so suddenly and quietly, not even the Grounders heard her coming. All she said was 'if you want to show the Mountain Men how much they should fear us, then come with me'. I swear, Indra growled in approval, and then we rose to follow her. She marched down the halls with us in tow, dismissing the guard on duty at Emerson's cell with a simple, sharp 'don't.' It was frickin' incredible." Octavia paused to take a sip of water, and Bellamy almost chuckled because you could hear a pin drop around their fire, it was so quiet. He forgot how goddamn good his sister was at this, at spinning tales. "The guard obeyed, the prisoner obeyed, when she told him to get dressed and come with us. This little blonde girl, shelling out orders to grown men like she was ten feet tall, like she was a goddess of old commanding mere mortals to fall at her feet."

As his sister continued on—telling the group how they walked right out the front door, into the yard, and up to the gate, with Clarke parting the crowds with just a glare here or there—Bellamy slid his gaze to the girl in question. She was watching Octavia, her expression halfway between exasperated and impressed at the narration. His sister did have a flair for the dramatic, but the embellishments were never overdone, always falling precisely on the knife's edge between understated and sensational. And, given that it was Clarke, he had no doubt she had been as legendary as Octavia was describing.

"And then she said, 'you may be the Chancellor, but I'm in charge'."

Excited murmurs broke out across the group, with a lone whistle or two of approval piercing the eager air. Something like pride welled up in Bellamy's chest, as well as something warmer, something deeper, something sharper that twisted down to the base of his spine and caused his cheeks to flare with heat. With heavy eyes, he watched Clarke duck her head, not looking away from her until Octavia continued on.

His sister spooled out more words, telling of Abby's slow but inevitable defeat, of Clarke's verbal evisceration of their prisoner, how she reached out and drained him of air, just as surely as his people were draining hers of blood.

This time when he looked at Clarke, she had kept her head up, no longer shy of the attention. In the firelight, her eyes glowed with a shadow of the ferociousness she must have shown that night, and Bellamy felt his lips curve into a feral grin, matching the one forming on her face. As Octavia began her wrap-up, though, something soft and hot crept into Clarke's smile, and Bellamy's eyes widened when he realized where his sister was going to end her story.

"And when I asked her how this would help keep my brother from getting caught, Clarke told me that we had to keep the mountain's sights on us, so they wouldn't look for weak links inside. Her exact words, an oath spoken with more conviction and trust than I've ever heard: 'Bellamy is the key to everything. If he dies, we die.'"

Octavia stopped abruptly, looking at Clarke, then at him, letting her carefully crafted atmosphere of tension peak as the entire group turned their attention in the same directions. Face fixed with fierceness, his sister raised her glass, and said, with a steady, intensely serious voice, "So here's to Bell and Clarke, for not fucking it up."

There was a split second of shock before Octavia broke out into an uncontrollably delighted and mocking grin, causing raucous laughter to rise from every delinquent around the fire at her brash conclusion. Bellamy rolled his eyes, reaching over to ruffle his sister's hair, despite her squawks of protest. As the group continued to marvel and joke about the story, Bellamy caught Clarke's attention across the flames. She smiled at him, raising her glass in congratulations and mouthed, "What she said."

Bellamy raised is own glass in return, not taking his eyes off of Clarke, a slow smile creeping onto his face as he watched her cheeks redden. Around them, the delinquents' voices grew in number and in volume as they fractioned off into smaller groups of conversation. Still, as the minutes passed, Bellamy didn't look away from Clarke and her quirked mouth, the amusement and triumph in her eyes driving the pride and approval in his. Finally, Harper caught her attention and she looked away, and Bellamy reluctantly tuned into Octavia's conversation with Lincoln and Miller.

Later, he ran into Clarke at their moonshine still, which was hidden behind a pile of scrap metal just beyond the light of their fire. She appeared at his side as he was dipping his cup into the container for a refill, rolling her own cup between her palms.

"So your sister is quite the storyteller," she said playfully.

"She's only as good as her content," Bellamy replied with the same tone, then took a swig of his drink.

Clarke's only response was to roll her eyes before taking her turn to refill her cup.

"To be honest, I'm kind of disappointed I wasn't there to see the coup," he murmured, knocking his elbow into her arm, his skin singing when it connected with her warmth. "Sounds like you were pretty impressive."

Clarke let one corner of her mouth slide up into a satisfied half-smile, her eyes teasing him over the rim of the cup pressed to her lips. "Guess I was just ready to be a badass, Bell."

As her half-smile bloomed into a wide, full, happy one, she turned on her heel to return to the fire, a slight sway in her step as she walked away. Bellamy watched her go, blonde hair almost silver in the moonlight, her eyes shining as she threw him a last pleased look over her shoulder. Feeling his pulse pick up at the heat in her gaze, Bellamy chuckled under his breath. That's my girl.