The first week of classes went pretty smoothly, all things considered. After Finn's "walk" (and subsequent trip to the Dean's office), none of her other advisees had tried any stupid stunts. Of course, they all still seemed to hate Clarke, thanks to Octavia, but she could deal with it; it's not like she wanted to be friends with a bunch of obnoxious freshmen. But she couldn't help but want their respect, even in as insignificant a position as an RA.

Clarke had managed to avoid Wells for the majority of the week. When she wasn't at class, she kept to the library, her room, or the back corner booth at Grounders, the best coffee shop on campus. Wells had spotted her from across the quad once or twice, and there had been an awkward confrontation outside the bathroom one morning, but Clarke had managed to avoid and deflect his well-worn apologies with a practiced ease. She knew she would have to face him at some point, but it sure as hell wouldn't be for a while. The pain was still too fresh.

Of course, nothing could last forever. Friday afternoon, and dread was already heavy in the pit of Clarke's stomach. It was the first weekend of the semester, and that always meant trouble for the freshmen. According to the long list of statistics they were given during RA training, 40% of all EMT calls on campus happened during the first weekend. Had Clarke not lived through two of these wild weekends herself, and seen the absolute havoc that the freshmen caused, she would have called bullshit on the 40%; but everything she'd seen told her that they'd probably rounded down to get to that percentage.

As she trudged down the hall to her room, she bumped into Jasper and Monty, both of whom had large grins spread across their faces. Jasper was actually bouncing on the balls of his feet, twitching a little as Clarke approached. He jumped to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Clarke!" Jasper shouted. "Are you read-ay to par-tay?"

Monty, though much calmer than his roommate, was practically vibrating with excitement. "We're going with a big group of people to the Sigma Chi rager, and then we got invited to a party at some senior's apartment and then-"

"That's, uh, exciting, guys. Really." Monty's grin faded a little, and Clarke felt a surge of guilt. But out of all her advisees, these two were the most endearing, and didn't actively hate her, and she really just wanted them to be safe tonight. "Just…be careful, okay? I know it's really tempting to just keep drinking and take free drugs and whatever, but please, take it slow, figure out your limits, okay? I don't want either of you ending up in the hospital."

Jasper rolled his eyes and laughed, but Monty just squeezed her shoulder gently and said, "Don't worry, Clarke, we'll be careful. I promise."

"Good," she said, and a little bit of the fear in her stomach dissipated. "Oh, here, let me give you my number." Clarke held out her hand for both of their phones, which they handed over without a fuss. "Now, if you need anything, a ride home, someone to bail you out of jail, a shoulder to cry on – trust me, I have met some weepy drunks – call me, okay? I'd rather be woken up at three in the morning than have you end up dead in a ditch somewhere."

Jasper slapped her on the back, chuckling. "Okay, Mom."

"Thanks, Clarke," Monty said, taking back both of their phones. He slid one into his jacket pocket, and the other into Jasper's. "We'll try not to need it."

"Thanks, guys." She watched as they walked away, waving. "Oh, and if you see anyone else from the floor, pass on my number, okay? Thanks!"

The boys disappeared down the stairs, and Clarke sighed. A small laugh came from one of the open doors, and Clarke turned to see Finn watching her. "You seem worried."

Clarke shrugged. "I am worried. This weekend, every year, dozens of freshmen get rushed to the ER because of drug overdoses and alcohol poisoning, and tell me those two don't look like the type who don't know their own limits and are too eager to make new friends."

Finn laughed again. "You sound like an 'Above the Influence' commercial."

"I just worry, okay?" Clarke huffed. "I got roofied my first weekend here." Finn blanched, eyes bugging almost comically. "It's okay, I lucked out, nothing happened, but it was still scary. I was alone at that party, and I have no memory of how I made it back to my room. But it doesn't always end that way, and I feel responsible for you guys, you know?"

Finn folded his arms across his chest, smiling warmly. "You care."

"Of course I care," Clarke said. "That's why I became an RA."

"How touching."

Clarke and Finn both turned to see Bellamy sauntering down the hallway, a couple books tucked under his arm. "Oh?" Clarke retorted before she could stop herself. "And why did you become an RA?"

Bellamy shrugged. "Free housing, duh."

"Of course," Clarke murmured.

"But really," Bellamy said, tone mocking, "It's sweet that you care about these kids. Because that's what college kids need – a princess lording over them, telling them to brush their teeth and do their homework."

"It's better than letting them end up puking in the gutters and flunking out of school!" Clarke retorted, hands on her hips. "But I guess that doesn't bother you, since you don't care about anyone but yourself!"

Bellamy's eyes narrowed. "You don't know me, Princess."

"I know you're an ass." Behind her, Finn stifled a laugh.

"It must be lonely up there, on your high horse," Bellamy said, straightening his shoulders a bit. The teasing tone was gone from his voice, and had been replaced by something colder, more serious. "Maybe if you got down, you'd actually have friends."

Clarke stood in stunned silence as Bellamy brushed past. She wanted to retort, to fight, to hit something, to break something, to be angry but…but he was right, in a way.

"God, what a dick, don't listen to him, Clarke," Finn said, resting a hand between her shoulder blades.

"I…" Clarke paused, at a complete loss for words. "I need to go get some work done. I'll see you around, Finn."

"You okay?" He asked, dark eyes alight with concern. She forced a smile.

"Yeah, just need to get started on an assignment. You'll understand once you're a junior." She hurried off to her room, holding back tears. She would not cry because of Bellamy Blake. She would not admit that he'd hit a nerve.

She would not admit that she really, truly, had no friends.

Shaking her head, Clarke sat down at her desk and pulled out her sketchbook. She hadn't been lying, she had work she needed to do, but it was the weekend. The freshmen could go out and party their hearts out; she'd stay in, wear her coziest pajamas, make some tea, and just draw her feelings.

It was midnight when Clarke got the call. She'd just taken her contacts out and washed off her makeup when her phone buzzed, lighting up the darkened room. Heart racing, Clarke answered the call with a rushed, "Hello?"

"Uh, Clarke, you know how we said we'd try to not have to call?"

It was Monty's voice, and his tone was calm enough that Clarke was almost certain Jasper wasn't on the verge of death. "What is it?" She asked.

"Well…it's Wells," Monty said, raising his voice over music and shouting voices. "He's kind of, sort of starting a fight. It's getting ugly."

"Where are you?" Clarke asked, quickly pulling on a pair of jean shorts and a Harvard sweatshirt her cousin had sent her from Boston.

"Signma Chi house. Jasper's trying to get them to take it outside, and some girls keep threatening to call the cops."

"Stall as long as you can," Clarke said, pulling on boots and grabbing her purse. She hastily pulled her hair into a braid and snatched her glasses from the top of her dresser. "I'll be there in five minutes."

To say Clarke ran to Sigma Chi would be an understatement. Clarke was no great athlete, but in that moment, in her ratty Daisy Dukes and sensible-yet-stylish ankle boots, she probably could have stood a chance against Usain Bolt. When she approached the Sigma Chi house, she was wheezing, wisps of blonde hair escaping from her braid. People on the sidewalk gave her odd looks, but she ignored them as she stormed into the house.

"Clarke, thank God." A hand grabbed her wrist, and as Clarke's eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw it was Monty. "They've started throwing punch-"

The sentence was cut off as Monty was shoved against her, two bodies falling past him into the wall. Wells had been knocked off his feet, and another boy stood above him, pummeling his fists into Wells' face.

"What the hell is going on?" Clarke pulled the other boy off of Wells, recognizing those dark, sunken eyes. "What the hell, Murphy?"

"That fucker deserves it!" Murphy shouted over the music and the crowd. Wells got to his feet, shakily, heavily favoring his right leg. "He was being disrespectful!"

"You're one to talk!" Wells shouted back. He lunged toward Murphy, fists raised.

Clarke saw the glint of the knife before Wells did, and she shoved him aside as Murphy struck, teeth bared in a snarl. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the sharp pain of the blade. But it didn't come.

When she opened her eyes, Murphy was on the ground, and his knife was in the grip of none other than Bellamy Blake. "Jesus Christ," Bellamy was hissing at the kid on the floor. "Who brings a knife to a fist fight?"

"Clarke!" Monty ran up to her. "Are you okay? You were there and then you were gone and then there was a knife-!"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," Clarke said. She cleared her throat, then continued, "I'm calling the cops."

"Woah, hey, Princess," Bellamy held out his hand, the one that didn't hold the knife. "I'll take care of it, don't worry. No need to involve the cops."

"He tried to stab me," Clarke said, slowly, as if to a child. "With a knife. If you hadn't noticed."

Bellamy rolled his eyes. "He was trying to stab Wells."

Clarke let out an indignant huff. "And that makes it better?"

"They were in a fight, so, yeah. But like I said: I'll take care of it."

He met her eyes, and there was something dark and serious there that compelled her to stop arguing. "Fine, whatever," she said. "I'm going home. Have fun with these delinquents." She turned to where Wells was standing up again, wiping beer and grim from his neatly pressed pants.

"You. Outside. Now." Clarke yanked on Wells' shirt and forced him out of the house. Monty followed closely behind her, dragging along a stumbling Jasper. Clarke crossed her arms and scowled as she approached Wells and pointed in the direction of Arc. "March, Jaha."

Head hanging a little, Wells started limping down the street. Clarke wanted to let him suffer, to pay for being stupid and reckless, but she couldn't watch as he hobbled along. Sighing heavily, she caught up to him and tucked her shoulder under one of his arms and let him lean most of his weight on her. Wordlessly, Monty ducked under Wells' other arm, and Jasper just trailed behind them, dazed and confused.

"Alright, start talking," Clarke said quietly. "Why were you fighting Murphy?"

Wells grimaced. "He was being rude."

Clarke pursed her lips. "Are you going to specify, or am I going to just have to assume he was insulting your masculinity?"

"He was saying gross things. About some of the girls in Arc."

This surprised Clarke a little. She exchanged a glance with Monty. "What was he saying?"

"Just, gross stuff," Wells murmured. "Like how fuckable Octavia Blake is, and how he thought Monroe was really butch and ugly. Just being a dick to show off for his buddies, really."

Clarke huffed. "So you punched him?"

They stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for it to turn green. Monty ducked out from under Wells' arm to grab Jasper, who had wandered off. Wells muttered something, and Clarke looked up at him, brows furrowed in annoyance. "What was that?"

"He was saying stuff…about you."

Clarke did a double-take, staring up at her ex-best friend. He was avoiding her eyes, and when the light turned green they crossed the street in silence. "What kind of stuff?" Clarke asked as they turned down their street. Behind them, she could hear Monty coaxing Jasper back to the dorm with the promise of Doritos.

Wells sighed. "I'd rather not say."

Clarke scowled at him. "Seriously? You'll nearly get into a knife fight for my honor but you won't tell me why?"

"Just- Clarke, please don't make me repeat those things. Please." He finally met her eye as they rounded the corner past Grounders.

"Okay, fine, just paraphrase it then." Wells gave her a pained look. "Hey, you nearly got me stabbed tonight, I deserve to know why."

"He was bragging about how he'd…fucked you," Wells said, and if Clarke hadn't been so horrified she would have laughed at how uncomfortable he was talking this way. "And, I mean, I assumed it wasn't true, but even if it was, he was just saying really horrible things about you, how much you'd begged for it, how he totally dominated you, how you cried when you-" Wells cleared his throat. "You know, just trying to look cool in front of his friends."

"He said that about me?" Clarke asked, voice shaking. Wells just nodded. "What an ass."

"Hence the punching," he said quietly. "It really got out of control, though. I'm sorry."

Clarke sensed there was more behind that apology, more that she wasn't ready to face, so she brushed it off by saying, "Look, here we are, home sweet home."

"Do I get Doritos now?" Jasper asked. Monty patted him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, buddy, you can get Doritos as soon as you make it upstairs." The two boys dashed into the dorm, the drama of the night forgotten. Clarke followed them, still supported Wells.

"Look, I'm still mad at you – for a lot of things," Clarke said, keeping her eyes trained ahead as they started up the stairs. "And I don't want you to punch anyone else on my behalf. And I especially do not ever want to get another late-night phone call telling me that you're in trouble, okay?" Wells nodded. "But…thank you. For looking out for me."

They had reached the second floor now, and approached Wells' room. Clarke ducked out from under his arm, and waved goodbye. As she headed toward her own room, she heard him murmur, "Always."

Clarke woke around nine thee next morning, and trudged to the bathroom to brush her teeth in a groggy haze. As she emerged from her room, she bumped into Bellamy, who looked like he was just now returning from his night out.

Instead of any normal human greeting, Clarke just sort of growled at him. He raised an eyebrow. "Rough night, Princess?"

"Stupid freshmen, stupid fights," Clarke grumbled. "Hate boys. Need coffee."

"The title of your autobiography, I assume," he said, smirking a little.

Clarke just huffed, then looked around. "Why are you always on the second floor? You don't live here."

As if in answer to her question, a door opened two rooms down and a pretty girl with dark hair stuck her head out. "Bellamy, you forgot these."

Without any shame or embarrassment, Bellamy took the boxer briefs from the girl's hand and kissed her aggressively, passionately. Clarke just rolled her eyes. "Right. It's hunting season for you senior predators, isn't it?"

Bellamy shrugged, still smirking. "What can I say? I like having a new set of faces to choose from."

"Did you take care of Murphy?" Clarke asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Yeah, of course." There was a mischievous glint in his eyes that Clarke didn't trust. "Don't worry about it, Princess."

"Too late for that," Clarke murmured, pushing past him to get to the bathroom. As soon as she was out of sight, she splashed cold water on her face and quickly brushed her teeth, trying to get Bellamy's stupid, unsettling smirk out of her head.

As Clarke left the bathroom, more kids seemed to be waking up, hungover and exhausted. The silence in the dorm was thick, sleepy and dazed. But it was broken, suddenly, by a gasp. Monroe, a short, serious girl who lived next door to Clarke, was peering out of the window that faced the quad, smiling incredulously. "Oh, man, you guys gotta see this," she said, motioning for everyone to join her. Clarke moved to stand next to her, and followed her line of sight.

There, in the middle of the quad, bare naked and taped to the flagpole, was John Murphy. People who passed would stop to take pictures of him, or to point and laugh, but no one dared help him down. Clarke felt her jaw drop.

"Told you I took care of it," a voice said in her ear. Clarke whipped around to see Bellamy walk, but not before he winked at her, smirking. Clarke wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or scream.

"Aw, damn," Jasper said from somewhere behind her. "That sucks."

"Yeah, totally," Monty said, voice just as quiet. Nobody spoke for a moment, then Monty continued, "Wanna go draw dicks on his face with a marker?"

"Um, duh." Jasper looked over at Clarke, grimacing a little. "Oh, uh…"

Clarke waved her hand, heading back to her room. "I was never here, I didn't hear anything you just said, and I'm definitely not requesting that you use a Sharpie."

Jasper and Monty exchanged delighted looks and ran off. Clarke sighed, and stalked back to her room. Screw coffee, she was going back to sleep.