Hello readers, I though I'd just post a few other things that I already have written and are just sitting in my computer, collecting dust. So, here's this. It's different. My first AU - Modern Setting. Hopefully you like it. The idea came from a book called, 'Precious and Fragile Things' by Megan Hart, and just thought it'd be a really cool idea to put Bellamy and Clarke in this situation together.

Title is from Sarah McLachlan's song Fear, and it's a perfect fit for this fic.

This is unbeta'd, so I apologize now for any mistakes. Enjoy!

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His body is tense, his muscles tight against the cold. He shivers and huddles further into the thin - stolen - coat, tucking in his chin, his warm breath thawing his lips against the collar. The collar is turned up but he doesn't think it's really helping anything - the bitter wind still seeps down his neck. His breath leave his mouth and nose and escapes into the freezing night in white puffs.

He remembers Christmas night – god, almost seventeen years ago – when he and Octavia had stayed outside for hours, watching the snow fall slowly to the ground. Soft, white, clean flakes blanketing the dirty earth of the trailer park around them. She'd said her breath looked like smoke and she tried blowing 'smoke' rings around his head, her small face coming close to his with her mouth opened in a wide circle, blowing out big breaths of air, making them both to laugh before they ran out into the night and he chased her around their glittering yard.

That had been a good Christmas. He'd gotten his first job – a janitor at a small company – and was actually able to buy her a few things to leave under their small tree. Hell, they were actually able to get a tree. Octavia had wanted to make everything as colorful as possible, so half of his of checks went to bulbs, and lights, and tinsel, and garland – because if we're going to decorate a tree, Bellamy, we might as well decorate the whole house, she'd demanded, in her childish voice. And their mother… their mother had actually been happy that year. The year before she died.

Tears suddenly come to his eyes unbidden, and he tries to blink them away as he clears his tight throat, huddling closer to the tree. He needs to stay focused if he's truly going to make this work. He's trying to stay hidden as well as inconspicuous - incase the hiding part doesn't work.

His ungloved hands are hidden in his pockets and the fingers of his right hand are curved gently around the gun. He stares across the dark parking lot with his heart beating wildly in his chest. He knows this isn't a good idea. As he stands here, thinking over what he's about to do, he's imagining all the ways it could go wrong. He suddenly has a vision of dark, red blood melting the bright, white snow and he wants to just call off this whole stupid idea.

No, this isn't a good idea. This isn't who he is. But he is a survivor, and this is what he has to do.

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Clarke reaches for the heater, turning it up higher as she drives down the lonely road. There are no other cars – it's like a winter ghost town. It is 2:30 in the fucking morning, Clarke. She vaguely hears the radio talking softly in the background, mentioning a winter storm. But she doesn't care – about any of it – because her world's just fallen apart, and she doesn't have a single clue as how to handle it.

Though she's stopped crying, her lashes are still wet with tears and their fresh tracks still line down her face. She was completely despondent before, but now all she feels is an angry fire in the pit of her stomach – burning so bright it almost makes her sick.

She sniffs and glances up at the mirror, checking the backseat. Her daughters are sleeping soundly - peacefully - while their mother comes apart just a few feet in front of them. She had held her tears till she saw that they were asleep, then she silently let them fall. She didn't want them to see – to question. But they will eventually, she thinks to herself. They'll wake and wonder where they're going, why they had to leave home, why they had to leave him. She doesn't have answers – none that she can really give them, anyway. So she drives, trying to clear her mind so she can think of a plan.

She can't go to her mother, she's just come back from there and it's too far away. Besides, she doesn't think she could sit there across from her mother, who would be offering her pity while her eyes would shout 'I told you so'.

She can't go to any of her friends - all of her friends are his friends, and she doesn't trust them not to say where she is, because he will be looking for her, calling everyone they know. She could imagine it now when he finally finds her, him on his knees with those sad brown eyes - that always let him get away with everything - face full of remorse, begging her for forgiveness, telling her how much he loves her.

It was all so familiar – and she's so damned stupid.

She grits her teeth and clenches the steering wheel. She can't see him, not tonight, otherwise she might just punch him in his remorseful face. She blinks rapidly before releasing a sigh. She'd just have to stay in a hotel. There was nothing else for it. She knows she won't get any sleep – the memory of him rutting above some strange woman in their bed, will be at the forefront of her mind, keeping her awake - but at least the girls will finally be out of the car. They'd already been driving three hours straight before all this happened. And then she will have some time to think - think about her next move, her options.

Suddenly her gas light goes off. She rolls her eyes, dropping her head back on the seat. Of course, this is all she needs. As soon as she can, she stops at a gas station to refill the SUV, and her oldest, Olivia, wakes. Clarke sees in the mirror as the girl rubs her eyes then blinks in confusion, looking out the window.

"Are we home, yet?" the girl mumbles.

She knows her daughter's mind must still be hazy with sleep if she can't remember the drama of fleeing their house only hours before, with a half-dressed Finn rushing hurriedly behind them.

She turns in her seat, taking in Olivia's tired eyes and slow movements. "Not tonight, baby. We're going to stay somewhere else."

The little four-year old brings her brows together in confusion. "Back to grandma's?"

Clarke gives her a small smile. "No, not grandma's. Go back to sleep, I'll wake you when we get there."

The girl drops her head dramatically against the seat. "I want to go home," she moans.

Clarke feels for her, except for their small respite when they came home early to find Finn in the process of fucking another woman, they've literally been in the car for hours. "I know, baby. I'm sorry. We're almost there, I promise. Just go back to sleep for now."

She watches as Olivia leans her head onto her shoulder, trying to get comfortable in her seat before she closes her eyes once more. Clarke then glances at her other daughter, Becca, her nearly two-year old, who is, amazingly, still asleep in her car seat. She is an incredibly good baby, rarely fusses or cries unless really distressed about something. It had been quite the happy surprise, after Olivia, who seemed to cry non-stop after she was born. And her terrible two's had just been downright… terrible.

But things seemed to really be going well now. Olivia had just started pre-school, Becca had just started learning how to use the toilet, Clarke was back in school, and Finn had just transferred to this new teaching job at the nearby college, which would allow him to be home more often. They were supposed to be getting closer as a family – as a couple.

She was so fucking stupid.

She suddenly realizes that this may not have been the first time – well, she knew it wasn't the first time, but after that - after they were married and together for years and had two daughters. When he would be off in a different part of the country "working", leaving her home alone with their children, was he always fucking someone else? Did he only get caught now because his new job no longer required him to be away from home – be away from her?

She can't seem to catch her breath as she rapidly sucks air into her lungs. She needs to get ahold of herself. This is not the time to start breaking down – leave that for after the girls are asleep in their hotel room and she can lock herself away in the bathroom.

She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths through her nose before slowly exhaling. She fights back the burning in her eyes and the panic in her chest.

With one last glance at her sleeping girls, she exits the Escalade to begin pumping gas. As she fills her gas tank, the sharp, bitter wind whips against her face, instantly freezing her nose, and she exhales in short spurts, while lifting her shoulders to keep her body compacted and warm. Her natural body temperature has always been on the cool side, and she hates it. She hates the cold. She wishes she lived somewhere where it was always warm, always sunny.

When she's finished, she quickly replaces the cap before heading inside to pay. The young man at the register looks almost asleep as he sits behind the counter, head in his hand, tiredly watching a small TV. And as he processes her transaction, she turns to look out the window at her vehicle, quickly checking to see that everything's okay.

When she walks back out, the snapping, icy wind is overwhelming, feeling almost like sharp stabs against her face and inside her lungs as she inhales it. She jogs to the SUV, not focused on anything except getting out of the cold.

As she closes the door she releases a short cry of relief at being out of the cold, and she pulls her coat tighter around her and turns the heat on high. She looks back again to check on the girls and smiles as she sees that Becca is wide awake, whispering quietly to her stuffed bunny.

Before she can turn back around – before she can even take a breath – the passenger door opens, letting the freezing wind inside their warm haven, and a man quickly sits down before slamming the door again.

Clarke is shocked – too shocked to speak at first – as her heart speeds up against her ribs. But finally she does find words – some very unpleasant words – and she opens her mouth to let them out, when her eyes glance down. She stops breathing when she notices the gun he has pointed at her.

Her eyes go wide and her chest tightens in fear.

"Get out," his rough voice demands.

This is not happening to her today. Her world is already crashing and burning, it's not supposed to happen twice in one day. But of course it fucking does. Of course the universe would pick this moment for her to be robbed.

"Did you hear me? I said get the fuck out," he growls.

She glances at the back seat and his eyes follow.

Olivia is still asleep, but Becca is staring at them, her wide blue eyes filled with scared confusion.

Clarke sees it as the man's eyes go wide and his mouth drops slightly. "Oh, shit," he whispers, as he notices her children for the first time.

She quickly turns towards her door but only manages to open it barely an inch before she feels him lean over, arm outstretched, pulling her door shut again.

She panics, and her instincts take over when she pulls his head back by his hair. He gives a short yelp before gripping tightly onto her wrist, making her cry out in pain, but she holds firm, trying to keep him away from her. He growls as he slowly pulls her grip from his dark curls, and he feels a few of them as they rip from his head.

He points the gun at her and everything freezes - all that she can hear is the pounding of her heart and their frenzied breathing in the small space.

Their eyes are locked and he looks absolutely furious, but she knows she must look the same with her knitted brow and gritted teeth. She's ready to rip this man's throat out with her teeth, if it comes to that.

He shakes his head slightly. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She gives him an 'are you fucking crazy' look before she shakes her own head back at him. "What's wrong with me? You are pointing a gun at me, in front of my children. You told me to get out, and that's exactly what I was doing when-"

Her angry speech is cut short when he grabs her by the arm, nodding towards the mirror. "Look," he angrily whispers, "Look."

She glances in the mirror only to see a patrol car pull up to the pump behind her. Her mouth opens slowly as she stares at the reflection of the car. She needs to get to that officer, but she can't leave her girls here alone with this maniac. If she can't get to the cop, he'll just have to come to her.

Her eyes dart from the mirror to her wheel – specifically her horn – then back to the crazy man sitting next to her.

"Don't even fucking think about it," he warns.

She's scared – terrified – but she has to think about her daughters. They always come first. Even before her own life.

She lets out a huff and immediately slams her free hand on her horn. But he's just as quick and he snatches her wrist just as the heel of her palm hits the wheel, making her SUV honk for all of half a second.

They struggle as she tries to release her wrists. They're not arguing, or screaming, or making any kind of noise at all really, except for grunting and growling. But he quickly has her subdued – her wrists trapped within his left hand as he holds them against the center console, while his right hand points the gun at her again.

"Stop," he growls, breathlessly. "Stop fighting, I'm not going to hurt you."

Clarke scoffs, looking at him like he's crazy. "You really expect me to believe that?" Out of the corner of her eye she sees movement from behind her, and she turns to look. The cop has exited his cruiser and is making his way around the front of his car and into the small store.

The man sees this as well and releases her wrists. "Drive," he demands.

She shakes her head minutely, her nose flaring in indignation.

He rolls his eyes and his jaw, before lifting the gun again. "Drive," he repeats.

She angrily plops back in her seat properly, and starts the car before finally pulling out of the small lot. She grips the wheel and tries to come up with a plan.

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Bellamy swallows hard, as his eyes whip back and forth across the deserted road they drive down, trying to think about his next step.

This was not part of the plan. Kidnapping a vehicle full of people – kids. He glances at the backseat and sees the girl in the car seat is holding her stuffed animal tightly to her chest as she sucks her thumb. Octavia use to do that. He remembers he and his mother had a bitch of a time trying to get her to stop, but once she'd started kindergarten she seemed to become embarrassed by the soothing habit, and stopped on her own.

He feels the familiar pang of loneliness and he suddenly, desperately misses his sister.

"Don't look at them."

He looks at the angry blonde to his left, she was on fire – obviously pissed beyond all belief. He'd be terrified of her if he wasn't so turned on. He smirks and releases a breath, before looking out at the road once more.

What the fuck was he going to do now?