Notes: This is very dark. Self-harm and abusive/obsessive behavior are some of its main themes (there are some happy ones too, though—I promise).

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'Have you ever asked yourself, do monsters make war or does war make monsters?'

Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke and Bone

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Clarke looked at the razor, saw how light reflected back up at her, glinting off its sharp edge teasingly. Her fingers reached slowly down toward it; they stroked the outline of the single blade, the coolness of it whispering against her feverish thoughts.

"Pick it up, Clarke," his voice was stronger and sharper than the blade itself, and it sliced through the pain inside her. "The Grounders are right—blood must have blood. How else will you atone for your sins?"

The last part he spat at her, and she grimaced. He's right. Nothing will absolve me; maybe this small tribute will ease the pain.

"Look around you, Clarke. This was her room. She lived here, a good person who saved us, and you killed her. You owe her blood!"

Maya had been a good person, brave and pure. And she had killed her, she did owe her. So she picked the blade.

"Start at the wrist. You won't wear your marks on your back, where they can be hidden; you will see yours every moment of every day."

Clarke heard his words and she felt the truth of them, the rightness. She did not deserve to forget, and this was due. Blood will have blood.

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"Something's up with Jasper," Monty spoke softly to Bellamy as they patrolled the fence. It'd been over a month since they returned from Mount Weather, and Jasper had been drinking. A lot. All the time.

"No duh, Monty," Bellamy replied. "Everyone's noticed that Jasper's not really okay." Then Bellamy paused, debating with himself, then spoke into the weighted silence. "She'd know what to do for him."

"I don't know. He blames her for it all."

"Well, he's an idiot. I don't know how many times we have to tell him it was a group effort and a group decision," Bellamy spoke the words while holding Monty's gaze. "It wasn't her call alone."

"He's not exactly happy with us, either, but he's fixated on her. You don't know what he was like, Bellamy, inside Mt. Weather. He was a leader and he believed wholeheartedly that Clarke would rescue us. That hope buoyed him and gave him the strength the unite those of us who were left. He was the one who kept us safe as we waited for her."

Bellamy had heard these words before, and he understood Jasper's position. Better than anyone knew. "And she came, and everyone made it out! I don't see why he can't just get over it!"

Monty stopped walking. "Are you over it, Bellamy?"

He looked away, glaring into the darkness, the forest that hid Clarke from him. How could he find the strength to lead without her by his side? Who could he trust enough to lead him down the right path? He was all brawn, useless and restless without the compass of her guidance.

"That's what I thought." Give him a break. Bellamy didn't have to hear Monty say it.

"Then why bring it up?"

"He keeps disappearing. Before, he was always just hanging around, wasted or passed out. He's been coming and going for a few days now, and he looks different; like he has a purpose again. I still see him drinking, but he's more… there than before."

Bellamy looked back at him. "And he hasn't talked to you or anything? You haven't seen him talk to anyone or actually do anything suspicious?"

Monty shook his head. "No," he said, but Bellamy could still feel his distrust. Unfortunately, he'd begun to believe in Monty's intuition.

"Where's he been going?" Bellamy didn't ask if Monty's followed him. It's what he'd do, and Monty's been learning.

"Mount Weather."

That didn't bode well.

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There was so much blood this time. Jasper had told her to make the cut deeper, to really feel the pain and think about what she'd done. The bed was stained with her blood now, but Jasper only said that it was fitting. Maya was gone, but Clarke's blood, Clarke's pain, would ensure she'd never be forgotten.

Clarke was getting light-headed as she lay back down. She didn't bother to press the wound at her forearm; she watched the blood pulse and leak from the cut, coating her pale skin crimson and dampening the fabric of the covers beneath her. At an intake of breath, she looked up at Jasper. His eyes were wild as he, too, watched the blood spill from her skin.

He took in a ragged breath and then glared into her face. "Don't forget why you're doing this," he reminded her against the creeping numbness. "I'd do this with you, but I'm not the one responsible." He continued to glare as tears dripped down her cheeks.

"I won't forget," she whispered as she closed her eyes.

"Good."

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He shook her awake and the jostling awoke the pain in her arm.

"Here," he said, shoving a medkit into her stomach as she set up. "Fix yourself up, you're not done yet."

She weakly grasped the medkit and then blinked up at him. She felt his burning eyes sear her broken soul, and she nodded. Before he left, he slapped a waterskin down at the desk that still held Maya's books, pens, and paper.

Clarke looked at it for a moment, mind blank beneath the ringing of the slamming door clanging inside her brain. Then she shook herself from the stupor to clean and stitch up the cut.

There was a part of her that whispered that she didn't deserve this, that she was too strong to do this. But then she thought of Maya, of all the dead in Mount Weather, of Ton'DC, of Finn… of Lexa's betrayal. She shut her eyes and gasped around all of her sins, where all of her strength and ego had brought her and the others around her.

She was strong enough to do this. Even Lexa, despite her betrayal, had been strong enough to get her people to safety without resorting the slaughter she'd inflicted. Would Lexa have given the command? But she had been smart enough to maneuver around that decision.

Clarke looked down at the perfect little rows of stitches adorning her inner forearm. She wiped her skin, but the thread of the stitches remained black with her blood. Her eyes traced the path of her forearm up to her hand, taking in the healing cuts and the scabs, the small lines a fading pink.

There weren't enough marks yet for all of her kills.

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"So?" Bellamy asked Monty at dinner one night after he watched Jasper leave with just a pouch of food. "Where's he going in there?" On his other side, Octavia perked up at the mysterious question.

"Maya's room," Monty supplied. Bellamy paused for a moment, a glass of water halfway toward his mouth. He catches Monty's eyes, who grimaced. Neither of them was going to touch that.

Octavia's eyes were hard as she pieced together the topic of the boys' cryptic conversation. Jasper was whining worse than she'd thought.

"I wish he'd snap out of it already. Everyone's lost someone or other in this goddamn war. It's not like any of us are happy with how we got here."

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"Will it ever go away?" Her voice was a rasp of desperation and agony in the darkness.

"No," he replied, passing her a washcloth to wipe away the blood so she could see. A moment later, a breath, and then she felt the familiar burst of hot, sharp pain as her skin split open against the light pressure of the razor blade. She didn't cry, not anymore, although the pressure and sting behind her eyes never left her.

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Octavia catches him in the hallway coming from that room. The cold light inside Mount Weather still turns her stomach, but the expression on Jasper's face is worse. A block of ice forms at the bottom of her stomach and tendrils of chilling cold seep out from it. He looks… completely unhinged. There's a wild, reckless light in his eyes, eyes that aren't dull with inebriation but bright with… Madness? Some unholy purpose? She doesn't know, but she doesn't like the look of it.

He looks at her from a moment and those demented eyes narrow just slightly before he briefly dips his head in recognition and walks past. After he disappears around the corner and his steps echo up the stairs, she walks silently to the door and clasps long fingers around the handle. Locked.

She stares at the door, presses her ear against it, but only silence greets her curiosity.

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"Something's not right, Bell!" Octavia shouts, her hands in the air as if to push her opinion into him. He just keeps his back towards her and continues to round up his clothing to go to the showers.

"He's just grieving, O. That place twisted them all, and then he lost the girl he loved."

Octavia tries not to scream, and the sound comes out somewhere between a bark and a roar. "We've all lost loved ones! Clarke even killed the boy she loved and she was never this bad!"

Bellamy's heart freezes up in remembrance. God, he'd almost forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Because she was able to move past it. But Jasper…

"They had them in there, O, like rats in a cage. They'd come every few hours to take one of them to their death. What do you think that would do to you mentally?"

But Bellamy watched her stubbornly refuse to see his perspective. "I don't care! He looks wrong, Bell. Even Lincoln says so."

Bellamy paused at the doorflap. "What do you mean?"

Octavia takes it as an opening and comes up to him, her hand on his arm. "Lincoln says he looks like madness, like fanatical vengeance, and I agree."

Bellamy looks at his sister's earnest eyes, struck once again by her kindness and perceptiveness. "Okay. I'll look into it."

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And Bellamy actually looks at Jasper for the first time in the few weeks it'd been since Monty first brought it up. Jasper does look mad, and he does look like dark vengeance made flesh. What revenge or semblance of peace has this broken boy found? His eyes are darker and scarier than any Bellamy can remember seeing; there's the madness akin to the Reapers, but with the cold calculation of intelligence.

Something is definitely wrong, and he needs to find out what is in that stupid room.

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When he does find out, his heart stops with fear and he's never been more upset with himself. If there's something he's learned by being on the ground, it's that intuition counts for something, but he'd been too stubborn to listen.

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It is an easy thing, following Jasper into Mount Weather and waiting for him to leave the 5th floor and disappear into Maya's rooms. He goes with Monty because depending on what they find, Bellamy will be there as their leader and not as a friend. Jasper's already in dire need of friends, no matter what they find in that room.

All Bellamy can came up with is that he's making a bomb or something, which sets his fear and anger already coursing strongly through him by the time they get to the door. He kicks it open on the first try, revealing the empty foyer room, but they hear a crashing sound from the direction of the bedrooms to the left.

He almost drops the gun when he sees her, boneless on the bed, hair limp around her face, blood trailing her arms, soaked and stained into her shirt, into the bed beneath her, and even the floor.

Jasper staggers drunkenly and trips over the chair of the desk, where he'd been stashing something out of sight. The lamp is in pieces on the floor. He lands hard on the floor, gasping, and Monty stalks forward to yank him up and restrain him.

"Clarke." Bellamy's voice is thin as the wind in the silence of the room. He moves towards her, but Jasper shouts at him.

"She deserves it!" His eyes are wild and his voice is harsh and slightly slurring. "She killed them all! The people who helped us—the people who risked their lives for us AND SHE KILLED THEM!"

Bellamy sees her still body but it occurs to him as Jasper screams about death that she could be dead. Like a curtain, red slams down in his vision and suddenly his body is on fire. He doesn't remember moving, but he feels the satisfying crunch of Jasper's nose breaking at the impact of his fist. Monty, startles, lets go of Jasper, and Bellamy follows him to the floor where he continues to punch him relentlessly.

"Bellamy, that's enough," Monty warns from somewhere above his red hazy world of blood and pain, of Jasper's slick, breaking flesh beneath his fists. Anything but the reality above him of Clarke's possible death… her prone and bloody figure on the bed.

"That's enough!" Monty yells, this time grabbing his shoulders and trying to haul him off the other boy. Bellamy shrugs him off, but leans back against his heels, breathing heavily and staring down at the boy who coughs weakly and spits blood.

"She still deserves it," Jasper pants feebly into the carpet, his eyes closed.

Bellamy growls and shoves away from him to find Monty sitting at the top of the bed above Clarke. "She's alive," he tells him needlessly. Of course she's alive, she's Clarke.

Bellamy shifts and kneels beside the bed, and his hands hover for a moment above her. It's terrifying, seeing her like this. Thin as a twig, skin sallow where it isn't caked with dried or drying blood. He sees a rag lying near a hand, and he picks it up to find it damp. Was she cleaning the wounds? He checks her other hand, uncurling her fingers to expose a knuckle-long razor. A razor in her hand. She was doing this to herself.

He's punched the wall across from him before he realizes he's spoken out loud.

"And stitching herself back up, apparently," Monty adds, having taken the rag and wiped the blood from an arm. He wipes off the other arm, revealing more. "And then cutting it open and re-stitching it again…" His voice is a whisper by the end as the extent of her torture is revealed.

They pat her down quickly, fingers grasping for evidence of other injuries or wounds. They don't find any, but one of the cuts on her arm is new and deep and perpendicular to all of the others; this was the last one, a last effort to inflict pain, bleeding her to within a heartbeat of her life.

Bellamy clenches a fist and it takes all of his control not to turn around and attack Jasper once more. Monty's taken the razor and is cutting strips of the blanket to tie around her upper arm until they can get her to medical.

Bellamy stands, not-so-gently kicks Jasper out of the way, and rips open the drawers of the desk. He finds liquor, razors, and a medkit among the books and writing tools he assumes were Maya's. He also finds a waterskin and dried rations.

Uncorking the liquor, he pours it over Jasper's face to wake him. "Let's go, asshole. We're gonna see what Abby thinks about your little captor game."

Jasper groans, lifting a hand to his face and wiping his eyes. "It's not a game, Bellamy. It's justice. It's Clarke's absolution."

Bellamy's back in his face. "Don't you fucking ever say that again." The memory of offering Clarke his forgiveness the day she left flashes in his mind. She was still whole then, no matter what she thought. She'd even half-smiled at him. The Clarke on the bed doesn't seem capable of such a gesture.

He steps back from Jasper. "How about you not fucking talk until we get back. Then I won't have to fucking kill you."

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There's a small crowd as he walks through Camp Jaha, and Octavia steps out of it to catch up to his side.

"Is that…?" She asks, but doesn't remove the hood from Clarke's face.

"Yeah," he replies stonily. She looks back at Jasper, whose face is a mask of defiance as Monty pulls him along behind them.

"I never thought it'd be this," she wonders. Bellamy tightens his grip on Clarke.

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"Oh my god!" Abby cries, her hands coming up to cover to mouth. "Is that Clarke?"

Bellamy nods, a lump in his throat as he lays her down on a bed and carefully begins removing the hoodie they'd dressed her in. He hears Abby and Octavia gasp as her injuries are revealed.

Bellamy closes his eyes. "All self-inflicted," he says, trying to avoid looking at Clarke's mother.

"How?" Of course, he can't avoid it for long and her eyes are desolate, reflecting his own jagged edges in the face of Clarke's pain.

"Jasper had her locked in a room. I don't really know what happened. She wasn't restrained." All things he'd noticed and has tried very hard not to think about. That she was willingly there, willingly hurting herself.

"There's–" his voice breaks so he tries again. "There's a long, serious cut on the inside of her arm, here," and he points to the bandages that are already soaked through with blood.

Abby takes a deep breath, then looks over at Octavia. "Grab the supplies over there," she orders before taking a stool next to Clarke's bed and unwrapping the binding.

Octavia stands prone for a moment, looking at the girl who almost killed her, who killed hundreds in Ton'DC with her inaction. "O, can you please just let that–"

"Give me a moment, Bell!" She interrupts him. He watches the conflict on her face, rage growing at the thought that she would actually refuse helping Clarke. Of all the things they'd all had done, this is the one she won't forgive?

He needs to get out before his temper peaks, and he doesn't know what he'll do when it does.

He turns to leave, but Octavia stops him. "Bellamy Blake, you aren't going near Jasper right now. Sit your ass down and wait here." With that, she follows Abby's commands.

Her words feel like a whip, leashing him against his will, but then Clarke moans—the first noise she's made since they'd found her—and the sound hooks around his heart and drags him back in.

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Monty grips Jasper's shoulder harder when he starts to struggle outside of Kane's office.

"You knew we were coming here, Jasper, it's not worth fighting now. You led yourself to this point," Monty reminds him.

"What's this?" Kane says once the boys pass the threshold.

"Nothing!" Jasper yells, thrashing like a fish and it's all Monty can do to keep hold of his arms. "I didn't anything wrong! She deserved it! And more!"

Kane stands immediately and rests a hand on the pair of cuffs tucked into his belt.

"Can you please take him to a cell so we can talk?" Monty bites out through clenched teeth.

"What is his crime?" Kane's words are slow and delivered with deliberate calm, and it makes Monty want to scream in exasperation.

"Kidnapping and torturing Clarke Griffin, for one!"

Kane does not hesitate after that.

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"She's lost… a lot of blood," Abby says for Octavia to write down. "And she's malnourished. She was probably in there for… a month, maybe less maybe more." The words are daggers into each of their hearts. Clarke isn't Octavia's favorite person right now, but Bellamy knows she isn't cruel enough to wish this upon her.

They begin to remove her clothing and he tactfully looks away, until he hears Abby sob.

He charges to his feet and walks over, and they find more cuts on her stomach, at her hip. He stares at them and sees the pattern from short, hesitant grazes to longer, deeper incisions as she explored the pain. They know that these were Clarke, by herself and alone.

Bellamy realizes just how deep his co-leader, his counterpart, has fallen.

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"So you're telling me he lured Clarke out from whatever self-imposed banishment she'd been in to hide her in Mount Weather and torture her for… weeks?"

Monty swallows through past the constriction of his throat. "Yes."

Kane looks away, thoughtful. "But you know Clarke, she's too stubborn for something like that. She's gotten out of worse situations."

"She wasn't restrained in any way, sir. She was there of her own free will."

"A willing participant to her own torture…" Kane shakes his head in disbelief. Monty opens his mouth to try to make him understand, but he shakes his head again. "The things you kids have had to endure." His voice is sorrow and regret.

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Kane walks cautiously into medical. From his position by the door, Bellamy immediately turns to him but says nothing when Kane motions for him to remain quiet. Bellamy cocks his head in the direction of Clarke's bed, where Abby sits with her head against her daughter's hand. There's an IV of blood hooked up to replenish the astonishing amount Clarke had lost throughout her time in captivity.

Bellamy approaches the bed with Kane, and gulps at the sight of Clarke so small and defeated. It wasn't supposed to be like this, Bellamy thinks as Abby stands and moves to speak with Kane. She was supposed to be in the forest, becoming stronger and finding herself, whatever bullshit that was. Now she's here, a waif of a person, broken and literally bleeding.

He should have been there for her. She hadn't let him run from his demons. She'd been strong enough for the both of them. But he'd let her go… He'd trusted her too much, it seemed.

And with that thought echoing inside him, he watches through narrowed eyes as hers open.

Her blue eyes are hazy, but focus when they catch his.

"Bellamy," she chokes. When she realizes where she is and what's going on, she looks away from him and blinks back tears. She moves to bring her knees to her chest as if to hide herself from him.

He sits down gingerly on the bed, occupying the space her legs vacated and laying a light hand on her hip. "You're alright now, Clarke," he says in a low, smooth voice.

Her hip is bony against his palm and he feels her tense. He reaches forward and grabs her hand, and she relents, sitting up and slowly raising her eyes to his.

"I don't care about what happened, Clarke," he starts, threading his fingers through hers. "But there won't be any more pain for you, no matter what you or any other psychopath thinks."

He eyes well with tears again but she doesn't look away. "Bellamy, you don't understand–"

"I don't," he assents, cutting her off. "But that doesn't matter. You're not going to hurt yourself again."

He holds her gaze and can almost see the pieces of her crumble. But it's okay; he'll help her put them back together. He won't let her out of his sight until he does.

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"I don't care that your fucking heart is broken, Jasper!" Bellamy yells from across the table. They're in the cell—Jasper sitting behind a table and Bellamy pacing the area in front of him, in front of the door. Kane and Monty are behind him, Kane's arms are folded across his chest and Monty stands uneasily, clearly skittish.

"Of course you don't," Jasper replies, leaning back in the chair. "You've got your princess tucked away safely now, don't you?"

"Don't throw that in my face, you piece of shit." Bellamy is up at the table, pounding a fist into the space in front of Jasper. "You did your best to destroy her, to drag her down with you."

"Where she belongs!" Jasper's spit flies and hits a Bellamy's cheek. Bellamy ducks his chin against his chest and breathes.

"And where do you belong, Jasper?" He asks, raising his eyes. "Where were you when the decision needed to be made, huh? Waiting to be rescued? Like some child, like some punk who wants mommy and daddy to fix his problems, but he doesn't like how they parent."

"Shut up," Jasper warns.

"You want someone to be angry at? Be angry with Cage, the motherfucker who just wouldn't let you guys go. Who made killing everyone our only option." Jasper opens his mouth but Bellamy barrels on. "Or Lexa, the Grounder Commander whose respect and trust Clarke spent months gaining, only for the bitch to stab her in the back and ruin the plans we'd made!"

Jasper closed his mouth with a snap.

"You don't know shit, Jasper," Bellamy ends, breathing hard and shaking. "Clarke and I made that decision together, but I don't see you going after me."

"I made it possible," Monty appends, making Bellamy sigh.

"But you went after Clarke, who was too fucked to even come back home. You ignored me, you ignored your best friend, but you went after Clarke, the only good leader we've ever had and the only reason you're even fucking alive.

"And why? For some Stockholm syndrome romance that ended badly because you were on opposite sides. No fucking duh."

"It wasn't like that," Jasper says, his voice feeble. "She was the best person I'd ever known and she didn't deserve to die."

"No one deserves to die, Jasper," Kane speaks up. "But it was war, and the ugly truth of war is that the wrong people die."

Bellamy unhooks a water canteen from his belt. "Get sober," he said, throwing it at Jasper. "Maybe if you used your fucking brain you wouldn't come to such fucked up conclusions."

He turns to go, but then stops. His shoulders are tense and he doesn't trust himself to turn around when he says, "if you ever go near her again, I will kill you."

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"Stop picking at those," he says from his seat beside her in the medbay. Clarke draws her fingers away from the stitches and scabs on her arm. "Let them heal."

She swallows as he takes her hands in his. They're quiet for a while longer until she speaks up.

"You're mad." Her voice is calm, but he can still hear her hesitation. God, he hates this timid Clarke.

"No, I'm not–"

"Yes, you are," she pushes. And it does push him, and he's giving into his anger in the next moment.

"No shit I'm angry, Clarke." He says, letting go of her hand to throw his up. "I just can't believe that you almost died. Not during the war, not at the hands of our enemies—but by you. I can't believe you'd actually hurt yourself, that you wouldn't be strong enough to stop or wake up or whatever."

He regrets the words as soon as they're out, thrust at her like a slap in the face, and he can never unsay those callous things to her. She holds his gaze; her blue eyes aren't angry, just imploring, and it breaks his shattered heart.

"I shouldn't have left you and everyone else," she begins. He sees the exact moment when she gains control of herself, witnesses the quiet strength behind the set of her jaw that had always drawn him to her. "Being out there by myself only made it worse. I couldn't outrun my demons or ignore them; I had nothing to distract me except survival, and even that felt hollow. When Jasper found me, I was already half-crazy with grief and self-hatred. It was an easy thing for him to lead me to Mount Weather, to give me the… tools I could use to pay for my sins with blood."

Her words squeeze the life from him. "It doesn't work like that, Clarke, you know that."

"I did, but I couldn't believe it anymore. Not when I was alive, not when I'd made so many mistakes that had cost so many hundreds of people their lives. Hundreds." She pauses here, then looks at him and her face is a landscape of inescapable despair. "Do you remember, before the survivors of the Ark even came down, how I gave the go ahead to set off the rockets? While you and Finn were still out there? I closed the door on you!" She shouts, and her hands reach up to grip in her hair. Her head falls forward and she screams, gulping down air and blinking around sobs.

"Then Ton'DC and the missile! Lexa's betrayal…" her voice catches at this in a way that distantly sparks Bellamy's curiosity, but he's too focused on her and her breakdown to follow it. Her hands finally let go of her hair, and she hides her face behind them; the scars and stitches and pink skin of her arms are exposed to him, obscuring her.

He gently reaches out, his hands twining around her palm and wrist to pull them away. He catches her jaw and lifts her face to look at him. "Then Mount Weather, and Cage's stalemate."

She nods. "He had everyone we cared about, my mom was screaming… Octavia surrounded…" Her slowing breathes and closed eyes give him space to remember that day, that moment when she didn't have the courage to do what was needed. "But it was horrible, what I did."

"We made that decision together," he reminds her forcefully. "You, me, and Monty. We did that, not just you."

But her eyes tell him everything she won't say; that despite that, he knows it was her decision, that she had been the leader and the voice of reason for all of them since the beginning.

"It wasn't a decision we should've had to make," he says forcefully. "Cage wouldn't give in, and he was going to kill everyone." How can she really not understand? How can she take all of that responsibility on her shoulders and actually believe that she's evil? There isn't a better person he's ever met.

"You don't have to be perfect, Clarke," he says.

"Yes, I do. When lives are at stake, I have to be perfect and I have to be right!" She pulls her hand from his and covers her face. "And I wasn't. I was wrong and evil!"

He leans forward and cups the hands at her face. He doesn't speak until she looks at him. "And you brought our people home, even in an impossible situation, when all seemed lost." He leans forward, folding his arms around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she buries her face in his chest.

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She's in the medbay for over a week while her body recovers its strength; having spent so many weeks effectively bleeding herself and not eating, her body had been in no condition to function normally. It was a process to get her to a place where her head wasn't pounding a deep reprisal.

It's a few days into the stay that Bellamy drags Jasper in to see her. Monty, Kane, and Octavia come in too, and Abby sits up from Clarke's bedside.

"What's he doing here?" She accuses. Bellamy assumes she will never forgive this boy who abused her daughter. Good.

"He has some things he'd like to say," Bellamy supplies. Jasper's eyes flit to Abby, who continues glaring. Kane takes the hint and takes Abby's elbow to lead her away. Monty and Octavia don't move, but Jasper begins despite their presence.

"I'm sorry, Clarke," he says. "I shouldn't have… pushed you to do those things." His voice breaks as he looks down at her arms, at the stitches and the rawness, the scabs and the scars. Tears streak down his face. "It didn't make anything better, it didn't bring Maya back or, or… you didn't deserve it."

Clarke's own face is flushed and wet with tears. She reaches forward to Jasper's hands and he flinches. "We were in it together, Jasper," she says. Bellamy watches her fingers caress his knuckles, and he has to visible swallow down his ire. She'd forgive this maniac so easily?

"I'm sorry, too," she finishes. They look at each other for another moment, and Bellamy is aware of Octavia shifting, mirroring his own discomfort.

"Show him the others, Clarke," Bellamy commands. Her eyes snap to him and he sees her fear. "Show him; there won't be any secrets anymore."

"What's he talking about, Clarke?" Jasper asks, his voice anxious—the voice of a boy who can't handle anymore suffering. She looks away and fists her hands around the bottom of her shirt.

"I got… carried away, Jasper," she informs him. Then she lifts of her shirt, and Bellamy hears both Monty and Octavia gasp as the cuts on her stomach are revealed. They're low on her belly, on both sides of her hips, some as long as fingers, and others deep enough for stitches. Monty looks away, but Jasper stares, open-mouthed.

"I'm so sorry," he breathes, but she shakes her head. "I did this. The pain was… everything, for a while."

"But now she's going to get help when she needs it, aren't you, Clarke?" Bellamy pushes, and the glare she shoots at him almost has him smiling. Something inside him loosens and sighs. There you are, Princess.

Then he turns and stares pointedly at Jasper. "And you'll do the same."

Jasper nods automatically, his eyes still wide at the revelation. "Good. Kane will take you back to your cell. You're charged with kidnapping and assault, and you'll be there for another month. You'll be in mandatory therapy from now until kingdom come."

Jasper just continues to nod, even as Monty leads him out.

Octavia steps up to the bed, and the lax lilt to Clarke's features hardens with tension at her approach. She cringes away from Octavia's eyes.

"I don't forgive you, Clarke," she starts and Clarke nods. "I know."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do." Octavia pauses. "I don't forgive you for Ton'DC, but I'll get over it. It happened, and somehow things worked out well enough. I don't know if I'll trust you as a leader again, but you did what you had to do. It was a very Grounder thing to do."

Clarke inhales shakily. "It was Lexa's idea. I went to warn everyone, but she persuaded me not to." She starts to sob.

"I'm sure she did," Octavia says, her voice hard. "She's a terrible person, Clarke, but I'm still sorry she turned on you."

"Me too," Clarke whispers, her eyes clenched shut around leaking tears, and the intensity of the emotions has Bellamy wondering how close the two young leaders had become.

"Get better, Clarke," Octavia offers as she leans down to grasp the other girl's shoulder. She looks knowingly at Bellamy before leaving, and he sees Abby by the door. The woman smiles half-heartedly at him and walks out.

"Thank you, Bellamy," Clarke says into her pillow, but she lifts her head and when their eyes meet there's gratitude and understanding, respect and warmth in her gaze.

An answering warmth rises thick and honeyed inside him, and he nods. He takes a seat beside her, content to talk or stay silent, content to just know she's healing.

.

.

It's not an easy thing, quitting the addiction. She never takes the razor to her arms or the cuts she made there, but there's a morning when Abby comes to wake Clarke up for help in medical and she finds her daughter in a blood-stained shirt, passed out on her blankets.

After that first time, Abby has her sleep in medical with her wrists tied to the bed. During the day, she still helps and acts as normal as she can, but Abby finds her staring off to space, turning bandages or pens or bottles around and around in restless, sometimes shaking hands.

Abby apologizes again and again about sending them down to Earth alone and without any order or authority in place. Clarke tries to tell her that it doesn't matter; she and Bellamy did the best anyone could, and it wasn't so bad. It just never got better, and then it got so much worse. 97 years is a long time to build up traditions and societies that are by definition reluctant to change.

The Ark survivors are no different, clinging to titles like Chancellor, Abby thinks.

Clarke joins in on Jasper's counseling. They talk about their demons and how hard it is to live with that they've done and witnessed. The therapist tells them it's a control thing—the blame and the self-harm were their ways of trying to take back control of lives in which they felt powerless, lives that were spiraling farther and farther away from manageable or even predictable.

Monty joins after the first few meetings once he sees how Jasper improves after them. The improvement doesn't last long—Jasper still drinks too much—but Monty can tell it helps.

When he sits down next to Clarke, she gives him a small smile.

Bellamy joins after that, and Raven, too.

The therapist makes a comment about dependency that makes them all uncomfortable, but then continues on to talk about and discuss it.

.

.

"Clarke!" Bellamy calls, swiping the flap of her tent aside. He catches her strapping a thick vest into place.

"The delegation from the Ice Nation won't meet with anyone except Wanheda."

She glares at his smile. "Don't use that name, too!"

"What? You'd rather still be Princess over the Commander of Death?"

She stops next to him, his arm above her still holding back the tarp. Clarke smiles up at him and his breath catches for a moment, thinking back to how close he'd come to losing her and how lovely and strong she looks in front of him now.

"Those are my only options?" She challenges. He looks away, shrugging, anticipation already releasing electricity into his veins at her teasing tone and dancing eyes.

She laughs and presses forward, bringing up a hand up to stroke his the side of his face. He looks back down at her and before he can blink, she catches his lips in commanding, confident kiss. Her lips, as he's learned, are soft and full and feel like perfection against his every time. When she pulls away, he follows her with a growl.

When he opens his eyes, she's looking at him expectantly. "What? Do you want me to call you lover? Girlfriend? Queen?"

Clarke taps a finger against her lips. "Queen has kind of a nice ring to it…" She trails off and shoots him another teasing glance a heartbeat before he wraps around her middle and lifts her off the ground. "Queen?" He shouts, elongating the word and squeezing her. She squeals, half-heartedly pounding fists against his back. "Put me down!"

He makes a show of setting her down gently. "Oh! An order from Her Majesty!"

She swats him arm once she's back on two feet. "Shut up already."

"Whatever you command, Highness," he says because he can't help himself. The playfulness in her eyes is like a drug to him—it makes him feel light-hearted and sets him laughing more easily than even Octavia's dark humor.

Clarke's smile is wide enough to hurt, and he feels his own stretching across his face. "Bellamy! Stop!" She pushes him and he relents.

"Alright, alright." She glares at him and he chuckles again. "I get it, I'll stop."

She holds his gaze for a breath longer, then nods. "Good." She continues walking toward the gate, but he grabs her arm. Entwining her fingers with his, he brings her hand up to his mouth for a reverent kiss. "Game-face ready then, Princess?"

He tightens his grip on her fingers. Everything feels right in the world with her back by his side, where they can lead their hopeless people toward some brighter future together.

.

.

Notes:

(1) So I needed some closure after season 2, and while that first episode of season 3 has me absolutely starving for more, I wanted something more like this (not the torture/self-harm part but the resolution among all of our out-of-whack characters).

(2) I switched from past tense to present in the middle of this, so let me know if that was too jarring.

(3) I just put together that "Ton'DC" is WashingTON, DC. Don't know if that's clever or lazy, though.

As a side note, I'm really wary of the trend in fanfiction to tag things with a trigger warning. If someone's trauma is such that reading a story that relates to it "triggers" them, then they need to seek professional help. The whole "trigger warning" thing is way too blase an attitude toward mental health; if your mental health is poor, please do something about it. no one should live with anxiety that severe or easily triggered.