A/n: Thank you to NikkiB1973 for not only beta reading this one-shot for me but also for introducing me to the show in the first place. Check out her brilliant stories for the fandom. :)

I do not own 'The 100'.

He told himself the flickering florescent light was what was making his eyes burn, his head pound, but he should've been used to that, this was the Ark after all. Although he kept his eyes trained on the corridor he was taunted by his shadow stretching confidently out in front of him, contorted by the stub of the gun he held. No. He glanced down feverishly, fighting the urge to swap the pistol to his other hand to wipe off his palm. It was hidden under his jacket, he was seeing things in the shadows… The floor seemed to tilt under his leaden feet, as if the artificial gravity was fluctuating. His stride slowed even further as each step cost more effort. His vision blurred. He was dizzy. God, he shouldn't have taken that swig of fortifying Argo station moonshine Shumway had offered as he'd handed him the gun. The bastard had probably spiked it…

Something shoved him viciously in the back. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt himself falling. He didn't land on his face, he stood steadier than he had before. He was staring at the glaringly clean, brightly lit junction that served as the porch to the Chancellor's quarters. Somehow he'd left the dim anonymity of that side corridor behind, and ended up here. He blinked. This wasn't right. Jaha, Jaha was in front of him, just standing there, seeing through him. His arm, the one connected to the hand numbly gripping the gun, shot out in front of him without conscious command. Jaha still stood there, watching him impassively. Run damn you, don't you know someone wants to kill you? He mentally berated the man in hot frustration. What the hell are you doing? At that question, a bright light from the muzzle of the gun blinded him. His ears exploded. The first thing his shocked senses became aware of was the distinctive singe of gunpowder, but when sight returned to him he was instead surrounded by sickly yellow fog. It had consumed whatever was around him but didn't quite reach him beyond the occasional sneaking wisp. Vaguely, he thought of a lesson his mother had given him about the First World War 1914-18, reading of deadly mustard gas and agonisingly slow deaths… His mother. She'd died, no, been murdered. The air ripped from her lungs, dead before her body had even been fully sucked into space. She was why he was doing this, for his promise to protect Octavia. He couldn't fail a second time.

As if thoughts of the woman he'd executed summoned him, Jaha strode out of the fog that blocked everything else. He was silent, even as he held a shaking hand over the gaping hole in his stomach. Blood dripped uninhibited from the wound, greedily licked up by the fog, more alive than the men who were each both victim and murderer.

"Bellamy!" Atom's agonised, choking scream of pleading cut through the poisonous, expectant air.

"I can't…" The clatter of the gun hitting the floor drowned out his stricken, pointless whisper.

Horrible, plaintive, shuddering groans joined Atom's screams in stereo. Here they left Jaha's stoic lips, not Jasper's bloodless ones…

Bellamy woke with an answering cry, muffled by sleep but still ringing in his ears along with the others as he bolted upright, panting. The cloying air he breathed in, heavy with moisture and the grit of soil, hit him like a wet rag to the face, but still his hands groped around his sweat drenched blankets and the sleeping bag that served as a mattress. He wasn't looking for the gun now, that was long gone, but his knife. Fight your fear. Slay your demons.

"Bellamy?" He jumped at the female voice, disconcertingly near his ear, with the memory of his mother's words, the necessary reality of them, still echoing through his mind. "Bellamy?" The girl repeated as he slowly turned his head towards her. "Are you okay?"

Does it look like it? Bellamy mentally retorted, then hurriedly tried to shake off his resentful glare as she gazed at him in wide eyed, bemused concern. He struggled to recognise her, his memory only clicking into place as she leaned into him and her long hair, lank with Earth dirt but still stained with the dyed highlights that had been a form of contraband on the utilitarian Ark, brushed against her bare, round breasts. "Yeah, I'm fine…Silver." Was it expected or pathetic that he could remember her full formed body better than her plain, girlish face?

"Great, that's good!" Silver's voice was as bright as the relieved smile that brought an oddly innocent prettiness to her unremarkable features. Bellamy felt his stomach twist as he recognised something in her slightly anxious, eager to please gaze. God, had he been her first? He'd had girls in his tent before, they were much freer on Earth than they had been on the Ark, they all were, and he wasn't just a janitor anymore… But he'd been careful to have girls who knew what they were doing, that it was just a fun distraction. Was that what Octavia had been for Atom? No…and he'd kept them apart… His thoughts broke off as Silver touched his arm briefly, though she hurriedly withdrew it as he automatically tensed, bracing himself for attack. He was surprised out of experiencing either defensiveness or shame when Silver didn't give him the usual haughtily offended glare other girls generally shot him afterwards when he didn't pander to them. Instead she easily leaned back from him, studying his face with a sadly wry smile. "You get nightmares too? We all do. Don't worry, I won't tell."

"Better not." Bellamy eventually managed to reply, his voice more tiredly gruff than threatening.

"Octavia isn't really angry at you, you know." Silver suddenly mused, "She's angry at Atom for dying."

Her almost philosophical tone irked Bellamy, and of course the mention of Atom brought the memory of the nightmare careening back to the forefront of his mind. "We're all angry about Atom dying, but he didn't cause the acid fog did he?" And neither did I, a timid but rational voice whispered in his head, only to be drowned out by the thought that he had led Atom into the woods, cowered in a cave as his friend screamed for help. He hadn't even been able to bring himself to put him out of his misery… "But I…" He ground out to Silver, "…don't go away and pout, I handle things."

Silver's grey eyes, the only thing about her that remotely suited her name, swept over his face and the disordered tent they both lay in impassively. "Yes." She agreed, "By pushing the rest of us to build a wall against these…Grounders."

Bellamy's eyes flashed, "Damn right I'm going to push us." He regarded Silver with a hard expression, "We're going to be the survivors down here."

Silver's thin lips twisted slightly in consideration before she slipped into his lap in one surprisingly smooth, graceful movement. "We will if you have anything to do with it."

Bellamy stiffened at her assurance, her soothing, husky tone. She was pandering to him, merely obligingly parroting back what he was continually telling himself. She didn't really believe him, was just saying it to make him feel better. Somehow that was harder to handle than the princess' honest, argumentative doubt. It frustrated the hell of out him, made things even more difficult, but he knew how to stand his ground to that. He felt more confident when clashing with Clarke than he did projecting himself to his people. Suddenly he felt nauseous, sweat breaking out on his brow as he saw that the hands he put on Silver's arms to push her off were shaking.

"Bellamy!" Murphy had carelessly yanked the tent open. His face, which generally had a default expression of crafty, alert arrogance and simmering frustration, had been grim but his eyes glinted as he saw how Bellamy and Silver were still intertwined. "If you can bear to leave pound land…" He began in a dryly amused tone, "…we have a problem out here."

Bellamy grunted in understanding, but Murphy didn't take the hint and remained where he was, watching. Silver, for her part, didn't seem bothered by the spectator, dressing calmly. "I'll let you deal with your problem." She told Bellamy softly, her eyes lingering pointedly on Murphy as she said the last word. She sauntered past the latter, throwing him an ironic wink as she left the tent.

Murphy gave a harsh, barking laugh as soon as she'd gone, staring at Bellamy with new eyes. "Silver Crane? Did that acid fog addle your brain? Do you know what she was in the Sky Box for?"

"I don't know what you were in for." Bellamy replied coolly as he dragged on his clothes. The garments could've stood on their own, they were so caked with grime and sweat, but he didn't have time to think of that now. "What we did on the Ark doesn't matter down here, remember?"

Murphy nodded, but Bellamy had the distinct impression the younger man was humouring him and he didn't like it. "Yeah, but take a bit of advice. We're all having fun with the girls, but when you take an actual, convicted prostitute to bed, your rep is going to take a hit."

Not her first time then. Bellamy almost smiled, that explained her insight into men. The revelation made him like Silver a little more and Murphy even less. Obviously he didn't know anything of his and Octavia's history, how their mother had made her living, and he wanted to keep it that way, or less he would've reminded him pretty strongly that no woman deserved to be talked about like that down here. Instead, he just said, neutrally, "What's happened?"

Murphy's face set into a tellingly grim line, his gaze dropping. "Come and see for yourself." He replied shortly.

Bellamy wordlessly followed him out of the tent and Murphy made a beeline for the furthest outskirts of the camp, the dried up ravine that created a minimal barrier between the drop ship site and the denser forest. It was hardly any distance at all really, and again, as Bellamy's eyes automatically scanned the tents bunched around the drop ship like helpless puppies around their mother, he thought of how vulnerable they all were. "There was a problem with night watch?"

Murphy gave a brusque, tight-lipped nod. "I came up here to relieve Wells…" Bellamy had to force himself to remain silent, to not let out the frustrated, embittered sigh building in his chest. Who the hell had set up the watch rota? Anyone with half a brain, an ounce of recall ability, wouldn't have given Murphy an opportunity to be within sight of Wells. He'd need to talk to Atom…no, he'd need to talk to Spencer, about remembering common sense when deciding on duties and shifts. "…and then I found him." That drew Bellamy up short, he finally realised that Murphy had stopped dead, his hand pointing laconically down into the ravine.

Perhaps even yesterday he wouldn't have recognised what was down there for what it was. His brain would've tried to argue that it was a fallen log obscured by the night, a dead animal. But he'd spent last night carrying Atom home, witnessed that body harden into a monument of the instant Atom's life had left him, seen the eyes staring out without seeing, death giving them a pearly, blind sheen. There were scuff marks on the loose soil rim of the shallow ravine. Wells had fought then, but been shoved, already wounded. The heavy full moon above them made the pool of drying blood glisten, but it was as still as stagnant water. The blood had stopped flowing long ago. The sweet, metallic smell of blood was already being overwhelmed by the forest, nature reclaiming its own, but Bellamy's nostrils refused to tune into the comforting, living scents around him, unable to dismiss the blood.

Murphy's eyes were on him, waiting, assessing, filing away his reaction for reference. "We'll have no problem getting volunteers for building that wall now." He remarked.

Bellamy turned dark, hollow eyes on him. "Help me lift him out." He ground out.

Murphy glanced down at the scene. "He'd just be going in the ground somewhere else. He may have been privileged once, but he's not now."

Bellamy stared down at Wells. His body was sprawled out against the ravine wall, his hands still grasping at the dirt. He'd spent his last seconds fighting to get out of there. It was all they could do for him now, too late or not. He struggled to keep his voice steady, guilt, loneliness and impotent rage creating a torturous cocktail inside him. "What the hell does that matter now? Our people, our dead, are all privileged Murphy. I'll treat him the same way I would treat you or any of the others, understood? If you don't like that you can go and join the Grounders for all I care."

Murphy seemed to gauge his seriousness for a moment, then muttered, "Understood." He jumped down into the ravine, beating Bellamy to it, and awkwardly lifted Wells' legs. "Do we take him straight to the graveyard or into camp?"

"Neither." Bellamy answered, "Just out of this damn ditch he died in." They both strained to lift him. Bellamy couldn't help but think of when they'd pressganged Wells into removing his monitor bracelet as his still bruised wrist flopped around lifelessly. He really was dead now, and not just to the Ark. Bellamy laid him out by the ravine, it gave him some dignity back. Dignity. That's what he remembered about Wells. He'd never condoned nor disowned his father, had never pleaded for leniency as the group railed against him, as Clarke hated him, he'd withstood it all. "Stay with him." Bellamy ordered Murphy distractedly, "I don't want to cause a panic and I need to go and get Clarke."

Murphy was genuinely surprised. "The princess? Her ideas of medicine learned at her mommy's knee won't help him anymore, and besides, everyone knows she hated him. She'll be glad he's dead, she even said it to his face."

"We don't know anything." Bellamy murmured darkly in reply as he turned on his heel and headed off back towards the drop ship.

"Are…are you sure I can't have a little hit of that moonshine Clarke?" Jasper croaked out, "Medicinally I mean? Water's great and all, but…" His laugh came out as a weakened wheeze.

Clarke swiped his forelock of hair aside to surreptitiously feel his brow. His fever had broken hours before but if she'd learned anything down here it was that things could change in an instant. She smiled at him as her hand registered that the skin, though still pallid, was cooling. "I think water will have to do for now." She shifted back to let Octavia press a cup of water to Jasper's grateful lips.

"Don't you know you'll heal quicker sober?" Octavia teased him.

"She's right about that." Clarke agreed.

"You're the doc…" Jasper muttered, feigning irritation, making Clarke laugh to deflect the admiring glances she was getting from Octavia and Monty as well as her patient.

"I, we, just did what he had to do to keep you with us, okay?" she reminded him.

"Clarke?" Finn's voice made her gaze shoot to the ladder a little too quickly and she was aware of that mistake, feeling a blush coming, but it drained away as she saw his face fully. Saw Bellamy standing stoically at his shoulder. The two couldn't been more different and openly avoided and ignored each other, what was going on now? She scrambled to her feet, but still took the time to smile reassuringly at Jasper and give a nod to Monty to take her place at his bedside before she marched up to Finn and Bellamy.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, frowning at Bellamy. "You could've left Jasper to rest…"

She thought she saw Bellamy flinch at that, and so he should, but his unreadable eyes didn't waver from hers. She felt Finn put a hand on her arm and gladly turned to him, but she was met with the agonised empathy in his soulful dark eyes that took her breath away. "Clarke…" He began again softly, but didn't seem able to get any further.

Without even fully realising she'd done so, Clarke shifted her gaze back to Bellamy. She could read him out, see the quiet compassion, the concern and watchfulness. She'd only seen him look at Octavia like that before. And Atom. The depth of sadness, the knowledge of the futility, he'd looked at Atom like that… "What's happened?" she demanded hoarsely. She didn't break her locked gaze with Bellamy, she heard Finn's sharp intake of breath but instinctively knew it would be Bellamy who would be able to tell her.

"Wells is dead." He murmured without blinking, though his voice thickened as soon as he'd said those fatal words. "He was on watch. The Grounders…"

Clarke's mouth opened, but she didn't speak. She swayed, but didn't fall. Bellamy's strong hands grasped onto her to stop that. "We'll take her to him, help her down the ladder." His order, to Finn presumably, boomed unnaturally through her ears, it was as if he'd plunged her underwater, into something that felt only semi-real.

Clarke felt Finn's gentle, guiding hands on her back and shoulders, but she shrugged him off, his touch burned. She felt feverish and freezing all at once. "I can get down myself!" she snarled, wrenching herself free of Bellamy and making for the ladder. She was barely aware of grasping the top rung as she swung her legs down, the next thing she knew she was crouching on the lower level of the drop ship. If the jump had hurt her, she wasn't feeling it yet.

The air outside whipped at her face, trying to rip tears from her eyes. She ignored it as much as Finn fighting to keep up with her and Bellamy's steadier strides beside her, he'd somehow been able to keep pace yet appear resignedly calm. "Who's with him?" Finn asked Bellamy breathlessly.

"Murphy."

"Murphy?" Finn echoed incredulously. Clarke could feel his worried eyes boring into her. She wished he'd stop that. Accepting that what Bellamy said was true. It couldn't be.

"He found the body." Bellamy answered, unprovoked by Finn's tone. Suddenly his hand shot out and gripped Clarke's arm, forcing her to a halt. "There." He murmured.

"There?" Clarke echoed in an uncertain, childish whisper. Her eyes found Murphy, standing guard over…something. Bellamy let her go and she ran, shoving Murphy aside as she passed. She wasn't aware of her knees crashing into the dirt, wasn't aware of the tears streaming down her face to mingle with the drizzling rain. She was focused on the flight jacket, whatever it was, lying here with her, it was wearing Wells' jacket. Unwillingly, her eyes found the face. The face she knew so well that she knew it even in death. He was gazing up at her, crying tears of blood and rain with her. "Wells…Wells…" She shook that broad shoulder, there was no give in it now, no strength. The heel of her palm found gaping skin, found the rough stab wound in his throat. The blood had already congealed around it, she realised, useless now, the fight over. Her body lived for him in that moment, her living heart beat in empathy, her chest heaved, her tears flowed.

Bellamy knew that Clarke's stricken, keening groan would stay with him forever. He could only watch as she collapsed onto Wells' chest and tried to cry her heart out. In that moment he knew she wanted that, wanted her heart to stop too. The pain wouldn't seem survivable. Finn was a better man than he was, he forced himself to go to her. It wouldn't help, but she needed him all the same.

Clarke pressed her wet face into Wells' chest. The memory of crying against him, hearing his heart under her ear and his voice telling her he would always be here, was still so fresh she believed she could hear those things again. Why couldn't he hold her now? He had before, had forgiven her for hating him for so long, for misjudging him so badly. She was supposed to be his closest friend, and she turned away from him. She hadn't been here when she needed him…

"Clarke…Clarke…" Finn pleaded, pulling her up, guiding her into another set of arms, his. "I'm so sorry…"

"He…He can't be dead." She moaned, "I…I just got him back… He was…He was…"

"I know." Finn whispered into her hair, just like Wells had as she'd wept over her mother's betrayal. "He was your best friend, and he always will be…"

"I never…I never said goodbye…" She sobbed, pulling back from Finn just enough to look at Wells' fallen form again.

"You forgave him, you understood him, that's all he ever wanted from you Clarke." Finn told her, stroking her quaking back.

"Clarke…" Bellamy's voice was low, husky with sorrow but it was enough to gain her attention. He'd knelt at the other side of Wells' body, his shoulders slumped as if he had the weight of the world on them, which she dimly supposed he did, and so did she. He tentatively held out his hand to her. "You can still say goodbye."

Clarke wordlessly put her hand in his, it was calloused but warm. Gently, he guided her hand until it lay over Wells' eyes, closing them. "May we meet again." He intoned solemnly.

"May we meet again." Clarke repeated in a whisper, tenderly stroking Wells' face once last time, his skin momentarily warmed by the heat of Bellamy's touch and her own, before she let her hand drop like a lead weight and rose shakily to her feet, relying on Finn's arms around her to hold her upright.

Bellamy waited for her before rising himself, stripping off his jacket and draping it carefully over Wells' still face with Clarke's eyes on him. He met her gaze. "I'll bury him himself."

"Thank you." Clarke replied, the words as raw as the pain and gratitude on her face. She then turned away from him towards Finn, wearily resting her head on his shoulder as he slowly led her away.

A/n: Please review. :)