A/N: So tired. All I can say is that though I love Lexa, I am pro-Bellarke and will always ship them. And that Bellamy was BADASS in that last episode.

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The 100 or any of characters; I do not own any of the song lyrics used

The Moment I Knew

And it was like slow motion,
Standing there in my party dress,
In red lipstick,
With no one to impress,
And they're all laughing,
And asking me about you,
But there was one thing missing,
And that was the moment I knew.

Taylor Swift, The Moment I Knew

I: she saves me (and him) (Finn)

The first time I see her, I am thirteen. The privileged don't mix with the lower class – we have survived the almost-end-of-the-world, but some things never change, Unity Day or no Unity Day.

I've been in kitchens, trying to get some extra rations. I always share with Raven, whose mother never seems to notice how thin she is. I don't mind sharing – in my mind there isn't even a choice – but it now and again I think it would be nice if we didn't have to have less. So I've started sneaking in the kitchen when it's quiet, stealing some snacks for me and Raven to share later.

That evening, there's a dance, so as usual I sneak in and go through the supplies. Usually there isn't much that doesn't have to be heated up, but after a few minutes I find some bread rolls, all fresh and ready for tomorrow. I grab two – no, make that four – and stuff them under my clothes. I am debating about taking another for the trip back to my bunker when I hear footsteps.

At first I freeze, hoping they will pass. They don't. In fact they grow louder. I close the oven door and duck behind the cabinets. The person – Goddamn it – comes into the kitchen. I don't move. I hold my breath.

Seconds tick by without a sound.

I can't bear it, so I nudge my head up just slightly above the counter. My heart momentarily sinks when I realise that the person is wearing a guard's uniform. Fuck. If I'm caught, that's it, I'll be in the Sky Box until I am eighteen. Maybe not even then.

I hold his breath, waiting for the guard to come round. Instead I hear a crackling sound, a munching. Slowly I tilt my head round. The guard is sneaking food too! He's actually eating, stuffing crisps into his mouth. I almost laugh, because c'mon. I get a guard that steals too? Surely God or karma or whatever is on my side.

"What are you doing?"

The guard jumps, and so do I. We both turn by the door to see a girl. Her hair is pure gold, like something from a fairytale, and her eyes are clear as they stare at the guard.

He makes like he's just checking round inside. "Just doing the rounds," he tells her, closing the door. "What are you doing here?"

She gestures. "Going to the dance, like everyone else." She steps forward and I stupidly stay put. Her eyes flicker over to me, and I see them land on me. She's quick though, and they only glance at me before returning to the guard. "You sure that's all you're in here for?"

He is caught, but he won't go down without a fight. I have to admire him for that, I guess. "What else would I be in here for, princess?" He leans forward. "Are you sure there's no other reason you're in here? Stealing food, maybe?"

Wow, he's bold. He's turning it round on her, and for a moment I am both annoyed and impressed.

The three of us jump when another voice enters the fray. "What are you two doing here?" It's another guard, an old man who I know won't bend the rules.

The girl glances back at the guard. "I was just asking...Cadet Blake here to escort me to the dance." She peeps up at him from under her eyelashes at him and giggles – actually giggles, looking so girly that she appears like a different person. Even he looks surprised, but he blinks and recovers, offering her his arm. She takes it. Before they move though, she shoots me a parting glance, at quick smile that is real.

And just like that, I'm sunk.

We get to the ground and she's there: the girl with hair as bright as light itself, and eyes that could mould with the sky. I can't believe my luck. I could have lived a thousand years on the Ark and never spoken to her; but here everything is jumbled. Here I call her princess and she talks to me.

Here I have a chance.

Clarke and Bellamy are talking. Just talking, like they've done a hundred years. I get how Clarke has become our leader, the way she argues for people and does whatever is needed. But Bellamy? Who put him in the charge? Yet I see people gravitate towards him, kids that need someone to order them. They look to Clarke, but they look to him too.

They're just talking, but their bodies are matched, Bellamy's hips turned towards Clarke. He says something and I see the quick grin on her face as she turns her face away. Like she doesn't want to acknowledge that fact that he made her smile.

I move towards them. "Hey Clarke, we'd better get going. We're losing daylight here."

She looks at me, and our eyes hold. I see a smile slide gently on her face, like a cloud passing over the sun. "You're right," she agrees.

But she looks back at Bellamy before she moves away.

She goes off on a day trip with Bellamy and tells me that she trusts him.

She tells Bellamy to bring guns to a peace meeting, and doesn't tell me.

He hits a guy in the face with the back of the gun when he aims one at her.

I find myself staring at the two of them more and more often.

Here, on the ground, everything has changed. No matter what station you were born in, what class you were up there, here, we all stand an equal chance of living or dying. Good news for a guy wanting a chance with a princess.

Good news for any guy.

She doesn't mention the time when we first met. One evening I bring it up, when we in front of the fire eating some boar. "Do you remember when you first saw me?" I ask her.

She turns, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder. "You mean on the drop ship?"

"On the Ark."

She blinks. "I – I don't think I ever saw you on the Ark." Her eyes are on my face, and a little smile crossing hers. "Did you see me?"

She doesn't remember. I make an excuse of needing the bathroom and move away, feeling Clarke's eyes on my back. I don't know why, but it hurts. That moment, the time she saved me – that stuck with me, stayed with me, kept me up at night when I lay with Raven, imagining the conversations we would have. I never felt bad about thinking about that – on the Ark there was no chance of us meeting again, it was a fantasy. But I always thought that her eyes would light up if she saw me, recognition, and when we spoke it would be with the undercurrents of an inside joke, a shared connection.

It shouldn't bother me, but it does.

Seems awful now – terrible, ugly, cruel – but when we are surrounded by dead bodies, Clarke is the only thing I can see. I imagine her smile, how she will throw her arms round me and kiss me, forgetting all the issues between us.

But she doesn't do any of that. She just stares.

"What have you done?" she whispers. Glances round; sees the people lying on the earth, bleeding. Octavia's eyes are closed as she mutters over the boy's body. Their leader's eyes flash up at me, teeth gritted.

And that's when I realise: I've done this.

It hits me like a punch in the stomach, and I could almost double over with it. Impossible, insane – I can't have done this, this isn't me. I've killed.

I've become the monster. The one I accused Bellamy of being. Is that why I did it? Is that why I pushed the blame on him? Because I knew, deep down, that I could have become this person. And now I have.

"Clarke." I gasp as I speak, a drowning man searching for a lifeline. I shuffle towards her, and she actually flinches. The pain now moves to my chest. I swallow. "What do we do?" I'm asking for her help. I'm asking for her to get me out of this.

I'm asking for her.

But she doesn't look at me. She looks at Bellamy.

And he's the one that orders Murphy to take me out of the village. I want to stay with Clarke. I say this, and I go towards her again. Her eyes flicker, but this time she abruptly turns her back on me. I pause, the snub almost audible. She bends down and assesses the wounded. She doesn't turn round, not even when I call for her.

I've become invisible.

I've become a monster.

I've become the enemy.

I tell her I love her.

She doesn't say it back.

And then she does, and for a second I'm not scared. But when I look behind her I can see the dotted lights of our camp, our people crowded by the gates. Before them, closer, are Grounders, ready to torture me. Ready to slice me open and feed my insides to their dogs.

She sticks the knife in my stomach and it doesn't hurt, just feels uncomfortable. I wince, but that's more from surprise. I almost smile, I would if it wasn't so – because here's Clarke Griffin, saving my ass again, as she always has.

As the lights from the flames fade, my mind suddenly grabs hold of it, like the missing piece of the puzzle that always bugs you, forever in the back of your head. The first time I saw Clarke, the guard that she distracted –

- that guard was Bellamy.

That's the moment I know – even if I had lived, it would never have been me. Not completely.

Better late than never.

II: her other half (Lexa)

I'm just a child when I see love for the first time.

My village is attacked by a neighbouring clan. Winter has been harsh, and food is scare. The River People ambush us, trying to steal our rations. We cannot let them take even the smallest amount. We attack, but we are unprepared. I watch from my window, hidden behind wood, as my mother and father charge out.

My father is fighting two men at once. I can't help the joy in my chest, the pride as he kills them. My father is one of the greatest warriors the Wood Clan has ever had. But a River person lunges for him. My father, he slips, falls right on the man's sword.

I know warriors die every day, that I would not be the only child that would lose a parent or a sibling or a friend. But I still had to bite my knuckles to stop myself from screaming.

My mother did not hold back.

Her scream is a roar, so loud that it ripples in your chest. I watch her pounce, tear into that man like she is a wild beast. She is already being attacked by another, but she turns, slicing him in half with a single blow. She swings her weapon into the man that killed my father, and he falls, collapses into the ground like dust. When I catch sight of her again, she is cradling my father's head in her lap, stroking her hair.

You mourn those who are lost after the battle. My mother's actions are frowned upon, incredibly careless.

That is how I know it's love.

She dies in battle a few months later. I'm surprised she lasted that long.

Costia is the most beautiful person I have ever seen. Her hair is the same shade as her eyes, making her so striking. Those eyes gleam as she looks into the fire.

I think I have loved her since the first second I saw her. We were fighting against the Ice Nation. I was injured, limping but still going. But this warrior is strong, and he took advantage of my injury. I fell back on the floor, my air leaving my body. I believed I would have watched the moment when this man killed me, seeing with my own eyes the sword enter my chest. But the man lurched forwards and fell, blood oozing from his mouth.

Behind him was Costia.

I had seen her before – we're from the same village – but only now do I see her eyes, dark as night, stare down at me. She offers me her hand and I take it, allow her to pull me up. I cannot look away.

In that moment I know that I love her.

Now she moves towards me. Her knee brushes mine, and she doesn't move it. I lift my eyes to hers. We could talk, about the battle and fights and families, but I have never been one for pointless conversation. Besides, in that look, what else needed to be said?

The next morning she is in my bed. I lie still, watching her chest lift and fall, the sign of life. I have never been with anyone else before, and now I am glad of it. No other experience could have been as good as this. No one else could have made my heart beat like a soldier entering battle, yet feel as safe as a child being tucked into bed by her mother. I do not want to kiss anyone else ever again. I do not want to sleep with anyone else. I only want to belong with Costia.

She opens her eyes, and they look bright when she smiles at me. "Did you sleep well, Lexa?"

I move beside her, placing my head below her chest. "I will as long as you stay with me."

From then on, we are together. No one makes any comment towards it. It's true, I am now the second after Anya. I have a responsibility to look after my people. But Costia is a strong warrior, who has fought in many battles. And... I know it's childish, but I like people seeing me with Costia. I like them knowing we're together. I like them seeing us kiss, seeing me claim her.

I like kissing her.

In the dead of night, she whispers that she loves me. I bury my nose in her neck and tell her that I love her too.

They have her. They have Costia.

The Ice Clan want our secrets – my secrets. Anya, a wise leader, has no weakness. But they know Costia is mine, and think that by hurting her they will get to me.

I need to think. I need to get Costia back. I need to figure out a way without injuring any of my people, because I cannot sacrifice dozens for one.

But Costia –

I know what they will do. How their knives will cut into her skin, make her bleed –

I close my eyes, press my hands against them. I need to get to her, I can't allow her to die. I can't just sit here. They won't let her live, that Ice Queen will kill her –

Costia will die for me. She will do it proudly too. I picture her, my Costia, her eyes as dark as night as she stares at them, refusing to give in as they cut her, as they burn –

By the end of the day, they send me her head.

I go into my home, and the sight of my bed is a physical pain, like a sword in my chest. But I will not let myself cry, even in private. I will not be weakened.

I just won't sleep.

The Sky People have a surprising leader. She is strong, I can tell. She kills her beloved with the defiance of a leader. But she mourns him. Her expression is numb, and I can tell that she is holding back pain.

And I find myself speaking of Costia, who I have not mentioned since her death. No one would ask; everyone knew what Costia meant to me.

At least Clarke understands.

I learn a lot about Clarke.

She has strength but is tender.

She is kind but stubborn.

She is beautiful.

She is trained to be a healer, and I am surprised. Leaders have to be ruthless, and Clarke – she needs to save lives. I can tell she holds herself accountable for every death. Clarke has the ability to be great, but she holds herself back by her unwillingness to go further.

And yet, I find myself searching for her in the crowd. I have a guard following her – she has been attacked one too many times for my liking. I listen to her, take her advice on certain matters.

Somehow, at some point, I begin to care.

Costia's ghost hovers, but I am still drawn to Clarke. She looks nothing like Costia, her lightness a contrast to my Costia's darkness. And she is nowhere near the warrior that my love was. But...

She reminds me of when I was younger: without my experience, without my superior knowledge, without my cut-throat leadership. She is so much like me that I begin to think – despite my Costia, mine – that she could be my soul mate.

If she says Bellamy's name one more time, I will tear my ears off.

Sometimes every other word is his name. And even when she doesn't speak about him, I can tell he's on her mind, hovering in the gaps and spaces. What irritates me more is that she is clearly concerned about him. Sometimes she cannot sleep, and I know it is mostly because she wonders if he is okay.

I know Clarke is still broken by the loss of Finn. I kiss her anyway. I like her, but I do it for the wrong reasons. I do it because I'm here and Bellamy isn't and it's me.

But she pulls away, tells me she's not ready.

I shouldn't have done it.

By nature, war is brutal. And even though I know it is more than one person, I stick by Clarke's side. I think she will find it hard, but she holds the gun and fires. She draws blood. She kills. I begin to see bits of my Costia, but unlike my beloved, this will haunt Clarke.

We corner the Mountain Men's leader. He is as good as dead, his legs useless. There is a flash in his eyes, and his words are sharp.

"Between the two of you, your people will destroy the ground," he rages. "We are the only ones with enough sense to keep it pure." He looks at me, and spits.

When Clarke is mad, she is ablaze, and I am momentarily taken back. "You're the one who pollutes the area with acid fog," she snaps. "And whatever you might think of us, we got into your home. We sent in a spy undetected-"

"But he didn't stay that way!" he snarls. I think he may have truly lost it. "And your spy is now dead. He may have got you in, but he won't be able to report back." My stomach twists at his obvious glee.

Clarke looks oddly calm. She doesn't move. "What did you do to him?"

The man leans forward. "I made sure that, if I wasn't going to the ground, neither was he."

I am unprepared for her cry – the wail of pain, the echo of fury. She leaps upon him and takes his head off in one desperate move. Even when his body is lifeless, on the ground, she keeps stabbing him, shooting, wasting energy on a dead man.

I say her name again and again until I finally have to grab her. When she looks at me it's like she doesn't even see me. I feel a pain in my chest.

"We need to get moving."

Her arm is shaking underneath my hand. "It's all my fault."

"We need-"

"I sent him in here! I sent him to his death! He wouldn't have gone if I hadn't told him to!"

"Clarke, you have to stop-"

She is nearly sobbing. "He's gone!"

I slap her. "Stop it," I command. My own hands are shaking. "You can mourn him later; we need to free our people. That is our mission."

Finally I pull her away. She is a ghost, useless, and I remember that my mother did not last long after my father passed.

The smoke from the explosion is weaving down to our camp. We are finding survivors, and Clarke's mother is making her way here. It doesn't feel like a victory, but so few battles do, despite our songs and stories. Clarke is meant to be helping, but every time she picks up her tools, her hand shakes so much that she has to stop.

People are coming out of the fog, and I try counting them. But I don't notice him until, beside me, Clarke stands. When I follow her eyes I see a shape emerging. Just a shape, like a thousand others, but Clarke is running, running as fast as she can to meet it. I watch Bellamy Blake, the man with nine lives, appear through the smoke before Clarke leaps on him. And he gathers her into his arms, lifting her off the ground.

And with my mother's scream still echoing in my ears, I know. I know that it's him. Finn may have been her love, I may be her soul mate, but Bellamy is Clarke's other half.

You can't love half a person.

Bellamy's miraculous return has an effect on the crowds of survivors. Even our people are cheering for him, and the Sky People that can move hurl themselves on the two of them. They are screaming, laughing, crying, and they are calling their leaders' names. Their youth is so obvious that it hurts.

I turn away because I am not one of them. I cannot be young again. I am the Commander, and a good Commander knows a lost cause when she sees one.

epilogue: i could not have asked for more (Abby)

My daughter screams.

Bellamy turns on me. "Can't you do something?"

I give him a long look. "She'll be okay," I tell him. "Millions of women have done this."

He curses and Clarke manages to slap him. "Clarke-"

"Our son could be born at any moment, and I won't have you swearing."

He leans forward. "I'm telling you, it's a girl."

She manages a smirk. Sweat is pouring down her body, and her hair is falling in front of her face. Bellamy pushes it out the way. "I can't watch you like this Clarke," he says.

"Oh man up." She flashes him another smile before a contraction hits. "Goddamn it, how much longer?"

"Not much." I can see the head, finally. "Okay Clarke, I need you to give another big push." I see her grit her teeth and bring her head down. She grabs Bellamy's hand and he puts his head beside hers, his own eyes closed. I look at the two of them and, in that moment, as my grandchild comes screaming into the world, I know that he loves her.

I didn't – I don't like Bellamy Blake. It's nothing specific – perhaps the recklessness in his actions, or the way he and my daughter speak to each other in a single glance. I don't fight her on it though. She is an adult now, and has seen enough to make her own choices.

But now – now I see it. Bellamy Blake feels every inch of my daughter's pain. He will die for her.

The baby comes and she breathes out, relaxing on the bed. "Fucking hell," she swears, and puts a hand over her mouth. "Oh God."

Bellamy laughs, pressing a kiss on her forehead. "You were amazing princess."

A cry startles them, and they turn as one to me. I smile. "Congratulations," I say. I hold out the squealing bundle. "Would you like to meet her?"

"Her?" Bellamy's voice is hoarse, and he looks at me like I hold all the secrets of the world. "It's a girl?" I nod and he lets out a laugh.

I hand her to my daughter, who's eyes never leave her girl. She cradles her, peering down with something akin to amazement. When she lifts her head, she looks to him. "She's here."

The baby has stopped crying now, and I can see her looking round. Gently Bellamy reaches out and his child puts his finger in her mouth. His smile is like the break of dawn, and he laughs when he looks at Clarke. Their joy is something you cannot describe, something you cannot picture, and I find myself fighting back tears as I think of Jake. I leave them.

Love, true love – that's what they have. And if anyone doubts it, they just have to look at their daughter, the perfect blend of them both. Athena Blake grows up, a combination of the two of them: dark curly hair and a smattering of freckles put together with bright blue eyes and a smile of purity. She has Bellamy's charisma and Clarke's grit; Bellamy's boldness and Clarke's toughness; his loyalty and her passion. And she is as stubborn as the two of them together.

She grows up to be a leader, just like them. I watch her across the fire as she speaks, her eyes alight with the stories she's telling. When I look I see that they are watching her too. His arm is wrapped round her waist, and she is practically sitting on his lap. She says something, and Bellamy dips his head to listen. She laughs when he replies.

I could not have asked for more than my daughter.

Hours (and precious sleep) to make; seconds to comment

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