A/N: Title taken from the album by Explosions in the Sky. I tried to determine the correct number of kids left. I apologize for any errors in counting.

Once upon a time, she knew the difference between right and wrong.

Growing up on the Ark, there was no moral ambiguity. You committed a crime, and you were punished. You were floated or escorted to The Box. There was no room for shades of gray on a ship that had only enough for just long enough.

Clarke knew her beliefs. She stuck to them, even if it meant disobeying her mother, even if it meant watching her father die.

Even if it meant her own death after months of solitary confinement.

Clarke doesn't know what she believes now. The Ground is different. Harder. There are no rules. No right or wrong. It's all a matter of perspective.

Maybe there are no good guys.

She tells Bellamy she doesn't know where she'll go and it's true. The land stretches out in front of her, green and soft and quiet. Hundreds of people are dead, but the world is still bright and beautiful. She focuses on the scent of trees as she passes the place she killed the boy she loved.

The anger and horror she felt over Finn's actions are laughable now, when her hands are soaked with blood. The Grounders wanted justice, demanded Finn suffer the death of 18 people. One hundred years ago, when the Earth was different, there was a law against cruel and unusual punishment.

Define cruel. Define justice.

Down here, it sounds a lot like vengeance.

Clarke wonders what the death of 600 people feels like. She wishes Finn was here to help ease the pain, slip a knife between her ribs, so she wouldn't have to do it herself.

Suicide isn't an option. What an insult to the men, women, and children she murdered. She can't slaughter them and then lay down to die. Where's the justice in that?

She deserves whatever comes next, whatever misery waits for her around the corner.

She doesn't know where to go.

So, inevitably, her feet carry her to the drop ship.

Less than thirty minutes after Clarke leaves, Abby asks where her daughter is.

Raven asks after Clarke too, hand still clasped tightly in Wick's, as she lies on a cot in the medical bay. Then Monty chimes in, and Miller, as they sit side by side, knees touching, and watch a nurse evaluate Harper. It's a chain reaction among the 44, even the kids who wait outside for their turn to be seen by a doctor.

Then, Monty asks after Finn, and his name hangs in the air like smoke before a fire until Raven shakes her head.

In the midst of trying to figure out what to say, Bellamy learns that Tondc wasn't evacuated before the missile hit.

The guilt that permanently resides in his gut burns at the news, even though he knows that nothing about the missile is his fault. He didn't suggest it, didn't launch it. There was no way of getting the information to Clarke any faster than he did, as they both overheard Cage's plan in real time.

And yet, there are another 250 lives weighing on his conscious. They join the 300 from the Ark, the 300 from the Mountain, the 53 kids lost to the Grounders and the acid fog and his mistakes. So many names, and still so many that he doesn't know. Panic rises within him, threatening to swallow him whole, and that's when Octavia pulls him aside and tells him the truth.

Clarke reached Tondc before the missile hit, but she let it burn.

Octavia doesn't say it, but she doesn't need to. Bellamy knows suddenly and with agonizing clarity that Clarke didn't warn Octavia either. Clarke didn't even tell him Octavia was there before rushing off on a white horse to save no one.

His guilt is set ablaze, but it feels a lot like anger now. Clarke didn't try to save Octavia. His baby sister.

"Bellamy," Abby says again.

Bellamy doesn't want to look away from Octavia, certain his gaze is the only thing keeping her here in front of him, alive and real and breathing. When Abby repeats his name with a surprising amount of force, he turns his head and finds her sitting up on a cot as Jackson tends to her wounds.

"Where's my daughter?"

They all look at him then, the kids, Abby and Kane and Jackson and Miller's dad. They turn to him, like they always have, and his throat is dry. He can't speak, can't swallow.

Octavia says, "She's gone."

Abby pushes Jackson aside, as if her obstructed view has somehow affected her hearing. "She's what?"

The others chime in, voices asking what does she mean, where's Clarke, how can she be gone?

"She left, alright?" Bellamy snaps. He's so blindingly, painfully angry at Clarke, and there are so many reasons, it'll take hours to sift through them all. "She left us!"

He storms out of the med bay, past the gate, and stands in the path that Clarke took less than an hour ago. She didn't warn Octavia. She let hundreds of people die. She killed hundreds more. He put his hand over hers and helped her do it, but she left anyway.

And then it hits him, why it hurts so much, why his understanding of her decision has turned to dust, leaving betrayal and rage in its place.

Clarke left didn't just leave the kids, her mother, her people. She left him.

Clarke hasn't been to the drop ship since Finn. Since she watched him surrender to the Grounders.

Who is she supposed to surrender to?

She decides she'll gather any remaining supplies. She'll need something for the journey ahead.

She still has no idea where to go. Polis in an option. Lexa. The alliance may have broken, but Clarke doesn't want another war.

She wishes she could go to Tondc, and help them rebuild, but she doubts she'll be welcome there.

Perhaps she can return to the mountain, greet death with open arms, and seal herself inside the tomb.

When she reaches the second level of the ship, she spots a pile of blankets that have been left behind. The sight is a siren song, lulling her to the floor. She knows nightmares wait to claim her, but she lies down anyway.

When she wakes, the sky is pink and purple, and the sun peeks over the trees. She's lost nearly an entire day, but it doesn't bother her, not like it would in the past. Time means nothing now. There is no weight to it, not like when they locked her in solitary, and she counted down to her birthday, making marks on the wall. Not like when they landed on the ground and had to find food and shelter and build an army.

Not like when she stood in front of the Mountain, desperate to get inside because every minute that ticked by meant another friend dead.

Her head is clearer, but her mouth is dry, her joints stiff, and her face is wet with tears.

The images of the nightmares fade quickly, leaving behind faint imprints of blood and death, but the emotions remain. The guilt lingers like a bitter aftertaste she'll never get out of her mouth.

She packs up the few things she can find: a rope, a blanket, a knife, a canteen. She rips the gloves Lexa gave her off and leaves them wadded up in a corner.

And then she begins to walk.

In the days following the mountain, the 44 stumble around Camp Jaha in a daze. Some like Raven and Harper are kept in the medical bay. Others are assigned cots or pitch tents as they grow accustomed to their new home.

It's too much change. From the discomfort of the Box, to the freedom and fear of the drop ship, to the chocolate cake and bloodlust of the Mountain. To here.

Most of the kids are orphans now.

All of them struggle with the weight of guilt and fear, dreaming at night of the men and women who tried to save them, and the ones who didn't. They hear the buzzing of drills and Fox's desperate screams. Their wrists burn from the memory of restraints, and their palms ache as if they've held onto a lever too tightly for much too long.

They all remember how it felt to wield a bat or a knife, their feet slipping on the blood-soaked floor.

Jasper hasn't spoken to anyone since he walked through the gate. His parents didn't make it down. He sleeps on a cot in the corner of one of the dormitories inside the Ark, his goggles wedged between the wall and the mattress.

Monty tries to talk to him, but Jasper just stares at the wall.

Bellamy can't wrap his head around the missile obliterating an entire village or radiation soaked air destroying an entire population. It's too many people. He watched it unfold on screen, like a movie, disconnected from his actions.

So he focuses on the more specific sins: a bullet in the head of the guard who threatened Vincent, his hands around the neck of Lovejoy, squeezing the life out of him.

He imagines Lovejoy's son falling to his knees, not understanding the pain or the absence of his father.

Bellamy doesn't sleep much anymore. The nightmares are worse than the memories.

A week after Clarke's departure, Bellamy storms around the camp, with a pressure building inside his head that he can barely contain.

Clarke thought she was saving them from the burden of guilt by walking away, but all she did was make it worse. Now Bellamy must shoulder the responsibility alone. It fell to him to tell the kids Clarke left, that Finn is dead, that most of their parents didn't make it to the Ground.

She's selfish, he decides. She left Octavia to die. She abandoned them.

But he's selfish too. He wants her back. He cannot do this alone.

He leaves camp without a word and hikes to the drop ship, the only place he can think to check.

No Clarke. Just ghosts.

He searches each level of the ship. The crumpled blankets catch his eye, and excitement sparks beneath his skin when he spots Clarke's gloves. He remembers the way one felt beneath his hand as they pulled the lever.

He thinks he forgives her for Octavia. If he can forgive the missile, forgive irradiating an entire population, then he should be able to forgive that. How can he hold one life against her when they both have taken so many? Clarke let Tondc burn to protect Bellamy, to save their friends.

Who is he to decide if it was right or wrong? Lexa thought it was the right thing to do. Octavia didn't.

It's all perspective. Down on the ground, nothing is good or bad. It just is.

When he returns, the pressure within him has alleviated. He thinks maybe Clarke will return to the drop ship. Maybe even to camp.

He hopes.

The next day, Kane calls Bellamy in for a meeting. Before the sun set on their first day back, Abby renounced her title as chancellor, handing the responsibility back over to Kane. She's still on the council, but she spends every waking minute in the med bay.

"I understand you were training to be a guard on the Ark?" Kane asks.

Bellamy reminds himself that Octavia is no longer a secret. They cannot get floated down here. They cannot be punished again.

"I was until I was demoted to janitor. Sir."

"Yes, I remember." Kane waves his hand as if to dismiss one of the defining events of Bellamy's life. "I'm assigning you to the guard."

"You want me to be a cadet again?"

"No," Kane says. "I want you to be a full-fledged member. I think you've had enough training."

Bellamy remembers Kane's words from the mountain. You did good. He carries them with him, along with so many of the things Clarke has said to him. I forgive you. I need you. I can't lose you too.

"See Major Tyler on your way out for a uniform and gun," Kane says.

"Yes, sir."

Before Bellamy can turn around, Kane speaks again.

"One more thing, Mr. Blake. You've been nominated to take a seat on the council. Do you accept?"

Bellamy's invitation to join the guard was surprising but not entirely unexpected, but a seat on the council? He wants to ask Kane whose idea this is, and if Kane is sure Bellamy is the right man for the job. He wants to remind Kane once more that he worked as a janitor, that he was leagues away from the upper class on the Ark. He wants to remind Kane of all the people he has let down, all the people lost because of his poor choices.

Instead, Bellamy squares his shoulders and stands up straighter. "I'd be honored to sit on the council."

"Good. We meet tonight promptly at seven. Don't be late."

Back on the Ark, Kane was unforgiving, unwavering. He's different down here. Bellamy recognizes the change even if he's unsure where it came from.

The Ground changed everyone. For better or for worse.

Clarke walks without purpose until she reaches a Grounder village. She doesn't hesitate before entering. The worst thing that can possibly happen has already happened. There is no reason to be afraid.

She expects suspicion and resistance, but when she introduces herself as "Clarke of the Sky People," she is met with reverent gazes.

"You destroyed the Mountain Men," an old woman says. She thrusts a plate of food at Clarke. "Here. Eat. We'll find you a bed when you're done."

Clarke is exhausted and starving. She is grateful for the warm welcome. But she takes no pride in the legacy that surrounds her.

She sleeps very little that night.

The next morning, she asks for directions to Polis. She's not sure what she hopes to find, but maybe it will help.

She makes the journey slowly, stopping in several villages along the way, hoping to be met with anger or violence. But everyone knows her, knows what she has done. And they're grateful.

When Clarke finally arrives in Polis, she only has to give her name to a guard in order to be escorted to Lexa's headquarters.

"Are you here to negotiate for peace?" Lexa asks by way of greeting. "Or are you looking for vengeance?"

It would be so easy to pin the blame on Lexa. If she hadn't broken the treaty, they would have stormed the mountain together. There would have been causalities, but it would have been nothing like the massacre that took place.

"Why'd you take the deal?" Clarke asks.

"You know why."

And Clarke does. It'd be easy to blame Lexa, but it would be useless. Lexa wanted to save her people trapped inside the mountain while minimizing the causalities of her army. How could she pass up a deal that guaranteed no deaths on her side?

"You would have done the same," Lexa says when Clarke remains silent.

Clarke wishes she could disagree. She never thought she'd be the type of person to break an alliance in the midst of battle, but she knows now for certain that she'll do anything to keep her people safe.

Which is why she is here.

"I don't care about what happened at the mountain," Clarke says. "I just want the guarantee of peace between your people and mine."

"And what is your offer?"

"Nothing," Clarke says. "I just want peace. Aren't you tired of fighting?"

"I've been fighting all my life, Clarke."

"And look what it's cost you." Clarke steps closer to Lexa, feels the same magnetic pull that drew her to Lexa before the battle, but feelings are not why she is here. "I want you to send an emissary to the Ark. I want you to negotiate terms. I want you to set up trade routes and determine boundaries. And I want you to guarantee no blood will be shed."

"You ask a lot."

"I destroyed the Mountain Men, an enemy you've been fighting for almost a hundred years." Clarke thinks of the dining hall, bodies sprawled on the floor, so many lives ended in seconds. "You owe us peace."

Lexa studies her, but Clarke does not waver. Without the armor, without the war paint, Lexa looks much younger than her twenty years. She's just a girl, no different than Clarke. They're both leaders. They're both ruthless.

"I'll send someone," Lexa says. "Meanwhile, sit, rest. You can stay here tonight."

Clarke knows if she spends the night, it'll be in Lexa's bed. She'll find comfort there, understanding, but not forgiveness. Lexa doesn't see what Clarke has done as something that requires forgiveness. Lexa thinks she knows the difference between right and wrong. Let a city burn, let an alliance break, if it means her people's continued survival.

"Thank you," Clarke says. "But I'll find lodging elsewhere."

Clarke almost doesn't leave. In some ways, being in Lexa's presences eases the pain. She feels less like a monster. In other ways, she feels so much worse.

"Goodbye, Clarke."

"Goodbye, Lexa."

And that's it. No wish to meet again. Clarke's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed.

That night, she sleeps just outside the city, on the hard ground beneath the trees and stars.

Bellamy returns from his hike to the drop ship to find Lexa and three guards sitting with the council.

Bellamy knows this is Clarke's doing. She might be hiding, but she's still thinking of them, keeping them safe.

He nods at Lexa in greeting and takes a seat at the table.

Clarke follows nearly the same path back. Walks through the same villages. Visits the same people. Feels the same guilt.

She lingers longer in each village, spends two nights instead of one. She helps the healers tend to the sick. She exchanges medical knowledge she gleaned from textbooks and experience for the names of herbs and their healing properties.

Every morning, she debates staying wherever she is. It feels good to help people again, to restore health instead of acting as the harbinger of death. For a little while, the pain and memories evaporate, and she's no longer Clarke the leader, Clarke the monster.

She's just Clarke.

But something nags at her thoughts, pulls her back on her journey.

Inevitably, she returns to the drop ship, to her pile of blankets, and disappears into the heap. She has no idea what to do next.

Sleep claims her, traps her in a nightmare. She wanders through the labyrinth of the mountain, past the burnt bodies of women and children, past Grounders with missing limbs, blood dripping from their eyes. It's her fault. All of this chaos and destruction and death is her fault.

The bodies rise and turn toward her, but she can only stand, helpless, and watch them approach. Finally, the victims will have their vengeance. Blood will have blood.

"Clarke! Clarke, wake up!"

Clarke bolts upright, and it's Bellamy's hand on her shoulder, his voice pulling her out of the dark. It's only been a month since she last saw him, but it feels like so much longer. She throws her arms around him, pulls him close.

"It's all right," Bellamy whispers into her hair. "You're safe. It's okay."

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Monty and I have been taking turns checking the drop ship for you."

She sits back, so she can see him. In the dim light, she can just make out the slope of his nose, the line of his jaw.

"You have?"

"One of us checks every day to see if you've been back," Bellamy says. "Raven wanted to help, but she's still unsteady on her feet."

"But she's okay? Her legs?"

"She has her brace. The other one is healing."

"And Monty?" Clarke asks.

"All things considered, yeah. He's holding up all right."

"What about Harper?"

"Are you going to ask about them each individually?" There's a hint of amusement in his voice. It feels so good to talk to Bellamy again. It feels familiar. "You know you can come back. See for yourself."

Clarke nods and looks away. "I know. I'm just not ready. Not yet."

Bellamy doesn't want to push her, so he changes course. "Lexa paid us a visit. You have anything to do with that?"

"Lexa came? She said she'd send someone."

"She offered peace, Clarke. No more bloodshed. No more war."

It dawns on Clarke then what she has to do. When a war is over, soldiers return home and kiss their loved ones. They rebuild.

And they bury their dead.

"I have to bury them," she whispers. How didn't she see it before? How could she just leave them where they fell, turn their home into a mass grave? "They have to reach the ground."

Tears slip down her cheeks. Bellamy reaches to wipe them away, but he drops his hand at the last second. She doesn't notice.

"Okay," Bellamy says. "We'll bury them."

"Bellamy, you don't—"

"Together. We'll do it together. Now go back to sleep. We have a lot of work ahead of us."

He slips away as soon as Clarke's breathing evens out and hikes back to camp. In the morning, when Clarke wakes, she finds him waiting for her, a shovel in his hand.

By the time Bellamy and Clarke reach the mountain, the kids are already digging. Everyone except Jasper and Raven are there.

"What is this?" Clarke asks, turning to Bellamy.

"You think you have to do this alone, but you don't. What happened here is a burden we all have to share."

Clarke shakes her head, but she can't tear her eyes away from her friends, her people. "I can't ask them to do this."

"You don't have to. Like it or not, they know what we did to save them. They carry it too."

Miller halts the digging when he spots Clarke and Bellamy. The kids throw down their shovels and crowd around Clarke, most of them smiling for the first time since they walked into camp.

"You're back," Monty says, pulling Clarke into a tight hug.

"I'm back." She says it without thinking, without considering what it means.

It takes three days, but every single person stays without complaint. Bellamy warned them to bring rations and blankets, and they sleep huddled close, take turns keeping watch.

Nothing disturbs them.

They work in shifts. Some dig, some rest, while others tie handkerchiefs around their noses and mouths and collect the dead.

The stench is overwhelming, the bodies already decaying, but they wrap every person in a sheet before carrying them outside.

They recite the Traveler's Prayer over every grave, no matter who the deceased is. There is no reason to discriminate or punish in death. They're all guilty, isn't that what Maya said?

They lay her to rest last. They take turns telling stories about her kindness and bravery. They thank her for her sacrifice.

In the end, the kids are covered in dirt and sweat. Their bones ache. Blisters dot their hands. They're hungry and thirsty and tired, but their guilt is not diminished.

"What do we do now?" Monty asks as they gather their supplies. He looks at Clarke, and she knows he's really asking what she's going to do.

"How about we go home?" Bellamy says.

For Clarke, home is her father, alive, her mother, whole, sitting together in their living quarters back on the Ark. Home is before. Home is lost, irretrievable. Even if Clarke could find a loophole and slip back into her old life, she'd never fit. She's different now.

Her father wouldn't recognize her. Her father who was willing to defy the council to warn everyone on the Ark. How disappointed he would be to see what his daughter has become.

But he's gone, and Clarke must live with her decisions. With her friends behind her and Bellamy at her side, she'll build a new home. Maybe, one day, they'll all find peace.

In the final hour of the journey back, Bellamy's hand finds hers. His touch is calming, comforting, so she doesn't pull away. They cross the threshold of camp like that, side by side, hand in hand.

Together.