[A/N: Apologies for the long absence. Between NaNoWriMo, work and the holidays I haven't found much time to write, but now that the holidays are over I'll be back at it! I know this is a short one, but I was too excited to post again!]

Clarke was perched in a tree, hood up, rifle situated between two branches.

The scope looked down on the colonists, dragging out equipment from their ship, pitching tents with tarps and patrolling the boarder of their small glen. The colonist were smart enough to keep their weapons onboard, but she watched as they dragged machine after machine from the belly of the ship.

Her stomach was tight, knowing their plan was stupid if not foolish, but that it was their only choice.

Only choice, for a moment she was transported back to Becca's lab, feeling Bellamy's gentle touch on her face, an oxymoron.

Then the image was gone, just as quickly as it had come.

The plan was their only choice to survive, without the group in the bunker, Clarke, Madi and Murphy were nothing but sitting ducks, waiting for the colonists to come hunt them down.

Her conspirators were in their own positions; Madi perched in a tree of her own, not far from Clarke, ready cover her when the time came.

Murphy had begrudgingly agreed to the role of "the distraction."

"They have this thing called a Jackhammer," he'd explained two nights before. "It can break into solid ground, it powers itself, and it's the smallest piece of machinery they have. Realistically, it's the only thing we could steal."

"How do you know about it?" Madi had asked.

Murphy looked uncomfortable, unfamiliar of how to act around a girl of her age. Or perhaps he could only think of Charlotte.

"They, uh," he raked a hand through his hair, "they threatened us with it, a few times." He shrugged, as if the details of his torture was something he could simply brush off with the expression.

Madi only glanced back to the flames of the cookfire they sat around.

Clarke felt her lungs empty, reminded of Bellamy's absence, and what that could mean.

"So, you've seen it work?" Clarke asked.

Murphy just nodded in his slightly annoyed fashion.

"And it could break open the bunker?"

Murphy sighed, "It's the only option we have."

Only option. Oxymoron. Her stomach clenched.

Bellamy spat.

It was a mix of saliva and blood, swirling on the metallic tile beneath him.

By his count, it was his fifth day chained to a chair in the commander's room. But he had no window or clock to gauge time, so he doubted his own assumptions.

"They killed THREE of our own," the commander reminded him again, as the man wiped Bellamy's blood from his fist. "What. Are. They. Planning? I know you lied to me."

It was the same question he'd been asking Bellamy for five days. Over and over: fist after fist, cut after cut, bruise after bruise.

The commander was as ruthless as he was distrustful.

"I told you," Bellamy repeated through a clenched jaw, "I don't know. I don't even know who they are."

Secretly, he hoped the other shooter was Octavia, though guns had never been her weapon of choice. But he still had hope. Someone had been with Clarke that day, and it only made sense that it was someone from the bunker.

"And Murphy," the Commander continued with his usual questions, "why would they take him?"

Bellamy had thought the same thing. He smirked, "with that one, your guess is as good as mine."

Murphy wasn't by any means not useful, but Bellamy imagined he hadn't been Clarke's first choice. Only one logical explanation came to mind: convenience.

"If those grounders think-" the commander began before he was abruptly cut off by a commotion of bullets and shouts outside the ship.

The commander stopped dead. "Bring him," he instructed the guard that hovered behind Bellamy before tearing from the room.

Bellamy was jerked upward, hands still bound, and thrust forward. Half running, half dragged, he made his way through the corridors of the familiar ship until he emerged onto the exit ramp in the belly of the ship. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the brightness of the sunlight.

Guards surrounded the glen, rifles at their shoulders, ready to fire, while the other colonists scurried about with no real destination. Raven and Monty knelt near him, some hunk of twisted metal in front of them, grins alive on their faces.

"FOLLOW THEM," roared the Commander, surrounded by eager informants. Instantly, teams of guards took to the trees.

Bellamy stood on the exit ramp, watching the camp try to regain its composure.

Suddenly Emori was beside him.

"They were here," she smiled. "John and Clarke. They stole something - I don't know what."

Bellamy felt his stomach turn, in excitement or worry, he didn't know. Clarke had been here. Again. She really, truly was alive.

Suddenly he knew why he felt sick, not because of the commotion or fear, but because she had been here, and he had not. He had missed her, again. They were always being separated, missing each other just barely. It was an endless chase.

When he saw her in the glen just days ago, with the sun illuminating her golden hair as if it were a halo, he finally thought that their great game of chase had ended.

But it had just begun.

"Get in the rover!" Clarke bellowed. She'd successfully hauled the jackhammer into the back of the vehicle, and had been waiting for Murphy and Madi to meet her at the rendezvous point.

She'd spotted them both on opposite sides of the rover as she sat at the wheel. Murphy slid into the back just moments before Madi lunged into passenger's seat.

"Hit it," Madi yelled as she slammed the door shut, and Clarke stomped on the gas, feeling the rover jerk to life beneath them.

Shots rang out behind them as Clarke swerved through the trees, but none punctured the metal exterior.

After a few moments, the distant gunshots had been swallowed by the sound of the engine.

They'd made it.

"WOO," Murphy cheered from the back, hitting the roof of the rover. Madi laughed, wearing the largest smile Clarke had ever seen on her.

Clarke grinned back.

"We did it," she tried to contain her excitement. "Next stop, the bunker."