Title: "The Earth is Not A Cold Dead Place: Memorial"

Author: Lila

Rating: PG-13/Light R for some sexiness

Character/Pairing: Bellamy/Clarke/Finn

Spoiler: "We Are Grounders, Part II"

Length: Part V of V

Summary: Clarke makes it back from Mount Weather; Bellamy and Finn are waiting for her.

Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.

Author's Note: Thank you for the support for this fic. I've so enjoyed writing it and am really proud for having finished it! Other random tidbits: Yes, this fic includes a "Cold Mountain" quote, and maybe one from BSG too. I couldn't help myself. I channeled the scene in "The Last of the Mohicans" when Nathaniel and Cora succumb to Daniel Day-Lewis' hotness for the fiddle music. Title courtesy of Explosions in the Sky. Enjoy.

Clarke's day begins and ends with Bellamy.

He's there when she opens her eyes, wrapped around her, arms and legs entwined so it's nearly impossible to tell which ones are hers and which ones are his.

She falls asleep with her head pillowed by his chest, one hand splayed over his heart.

The hours between are filled with mission prep, sketching maps of the facility on Mount Weather and preparing mobile med kits. The time ticks away and Clarke finds it harder and harder to breathe.

Each morning, the raid draws closer; every night, she holds Bellamy a little tighter.

They get through dinner first.

It's a simple affair – mess hall fare – and all participants have to bring their own chairs, but Clarke still sprinkles pine needles across the floor of her tent and arranges the cones in a basket borrowed from Octavia.

She keeps rearranging things but then Bellamy presses a kiss to her shoulder and the tension eases. "You can do this," he tells her and she believes him.

Her mom doesn't come alone. Kane tags along with her, hauling his own chair, and almost immediately launches into a strategy session with Bellamy. Clarke sneaks looks at them as she and Abby set the table and lay out the food. Their dark heads are bent together over a map that Kane brought and it surprises her, the closeness between them. It might have been his job, but Kane was the one to float his mother.

She glances at her own mother, worrying over the temperature of the stew, and wonders if it's really that simple. But she also remembers her father's words, pulled from the deepest recesses of her mind. It's not about what Abby deserves, but she's still not ready to forgive.

It's written on her face, all the things she thinks and feels, and Bellamy looks concerned as he and Kane approach the table. She shakes her head, warns him to let it be, and pastes a smile across her face.

The stew is bland, but the meal is still a success. Clarke had given little thought to Bellamy's role in the six weeks she spent at Mount Weather, but it's clear that he's built relationships with the Ark survivors. There's an easy camaraderie between him and Kane, and Abby even offers a joke every now and then. Clarke mostly watches, takes it all in, the easy way these people can sit and talk and share a meal.

By the time the men clear the dishes, there's nothing forced about the smile on her face.

One morning she bursts into tears while mashing seaweed.

She's hormonal anyway, but something about the neat rows of antibiotics sets her over the edge. She's lost her people once; she doesn't think she can go through it again.

"Clarke?" It's her mom's voice, soothing and calm, as she hurries over from her side of the med-bay. "What's wrong?"

Clarke brushes away the tears and wipes at her nose. "I'm fine." She's can't explain what she feels to her mom, not when Abby so willingly sent someone she loved to die.

Abby frowns, crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm here." She pauses, unfolds her arms so she can cup Clarke's face in her hands. "I'm always here, okay?"

Clarke nods, blinks back a fresh wave of tears. It's not just her father that she wishes she could have back.

The mission launches soon after.

Clarke finds out during their regular breakfast meeting. With the addition of Lincoln and his people it's a slightly larger group, but still only those in the know. She slides into her chair next to Finn, watches the relaxed flex of his fingers out of the corner of her eye, and smiles in relief. She doubts they'll ever be as close as before, but it gives her hope that they really can be friends some day.

She already knows most of the mission details. Bellamy has discussed it ad nauseam over the past weeks, and as the only person in camp to set foot on Mount Weather, she's been intimately involved.

So it takes her by surprise when Kane doesn't include her in final training session. She looks up sharply. "I think you forgot someone."

Kane exchanges a look with Bellamy. Clarke doesn't like the knowing way they're looking at each other. "You're not coming, Clarke."

For a moment, she just stares, because they can't be serious. She's a trained medic, survived more than one battle, the only person who actually knows the mission site. Of course she's coming. "I don't understand," she finally says. "This was a volunteer mission and I gave my name."

Kane nods. "We need you here. Your request was denied."

The anger flares up through her, burning her lungs as she struggles to even out her breathing: she was held there; she escaped from there; she left her people there. She has to be the one to bring them home. "This is a Council decision – " she starts, but Bellamy cuts her off.

"It's a military matter," he interrupts, his voice eerily calm. He avoids her gaze too. "Jackson has been participating in field training. He's our medic."

He turns to Kane and begins discussing supply distribution while Clarke struggles to keep sitting straight in her seat. Beside her Finn is annoyingly triumphant.

She can't confront Bellamy for the rest of the day.

She has med-bay responsibilities when the meeting breaks and he's leading training exercises in the woods. But she gets home first and paces around his tent while she waits for him, practices her speech with every circle she completes. It's Octavia all over again, protection disguised as control. She can appreciate how deeply Bellamy loves, but she thought he knew better than to decide her fate for her.

She's almost sympathetic when he finally pushes aside the flap and enters the tent. There's a smear of dirt on his cheek and leaves in his hair and his eyes are thin slits that barely stay open. If it were any other night, she'd wipe his face clean and comb his hair and curl into his back until he fell asleep.

Tonight she just glares at him, ignores the weariness in his eyes as he shrugs out of his jacket. "You don't get to make decisions for me," she says, keeps her tone razor sharp as she stares him down.

He sighs and sits on the bed, shoulders slumping even as he bends to untie his boots. "Can this wait until I take off my shoes?"

She storms over and yanks them off herself. "I'm not Octavia," she continues. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

"Like that ever worked," he mumbles, but her sharp look keeps him from saying more. "Come here," he says and pats the bed beside him. "At least let me explain."

She owes him that much, to tell her why he did what he did, so she sits beside him but keeps a healthy distance between them. "Talk."

"This isn't about you," he says softly, keeps his eyes trained on the floor. "I know you think I'm trying to keep you safe, but it's bigger than us." He pauses, drags his toe through the dirt while he finds his words. "The thing is, Clarke, I'm fine at giving orders, but you're the one with the vision."

"Bellamy…" she starts, understanding where this is going. It's the bunker all over again even though she can't see the broken boy he was that night.

He shakes his head, cuts her off, but does raise his head so she can look into his eyes. He reaches out and brushes his fingers against his cheek. "When we first landed, whatever I was building…it wasn't anything decent until you came along. This is about the greater good. Our people can survive without me, but they can't make it without you."

Clarke stares at him, breath catching at the aching sadness in his eyes. "What about me?" she manages to say. "Why am I supposed to live without you?"

He leans forward, bends his head so his forehead rests against hers. "I'm not going anywhere, but if I do…they need you to lead and that means you need to stay."

She's crying again and it has nothing to do with hormones. "It's not fair."

He smiles. "Story of my life."

It's the story of her life too, the princess who fell from her tower and hit every broken stone on the way down. If she knows anything, it's surviving sorrow. But he does too, and she's long stopped caring if it's that grief that binds them together. She only knows that this life is easier with him, that her world is better when she has him by her side.

His hands are slow as they move over her body, like they're memorizing every curve and line, and even in the aftermath he won't let her go.

She's awake long after he falls asleep, listens to his breathing even out and his heartbeat fall into a steady rhythm. Mostly she watches him in the moonlight, the straight nose and full mouth, the freckles dotting his cheeks and the messy hair that's always falling into his eyes. She can't believe she might never see this face again.

Clarke's not sure she believes in god, but she believes in something, Jasper's and Finn's recoveries feel like proof enough, and she's never asked for anything but she needs this one thing.

"Come back to me," she whispers into the smooth skin right above his heart. "Come back to me is my request."

He's gone the next morning.

He shakes her awake before dawn, smiles at her with watery eyes and kisses her goodbye, long and lingering and so tender it nearly breaks her heart.

"I'll be back in two days," he tells her, brushes her hair back from her forehead and presses a gentle kiss to her brow.

She manages a stiff nod as she watches the retreating line of his back. She hopes it's not the last thing she ever sees of him.

Octavia is waiting for her when she arrives at the med-bay.

It's very early, before breakfast even, but she's there all the same with red-rimmed eyes. Without a word, Clarke envelops her in a hug; it's not just Bellamy out there, but Lincoln too. She can only imagine how Octavia's holding up.

"I need to tell you something," Octavia says while Clarke brews tea. She's taken off her heavy fur coat and has her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Clarke pats her knee, resists the urge to also literally hold herself together.

"Of course," Clarke says and blows on her tea. She straightens medicinal bottles with her other hand, keeps her hands busy so her mind doesn't wander.

"Put down your tea." Clarke looks at Octavia strangely, but obliges, doesn't protest even when Octavia takes her hand and flattens the palm over her abdomen. Her belly is a hard, rounded bump and Clarke's eyes widen almost beyond comfort as she realizes what Octavia is telling her. "I'm pregnant," she says, stares up into Clarke's shocked eyes.

Clarke studies her friend's face, tries to gauge her response. Octavia's skin is an odd combo of pale, but glowing, and her hair is thick and shiny as it falls over her shoulders, but it's the wide grin lighting up her face that lets Clarke in on how she feels. "Congratulations," she says and Octavia's smile only widens. "Does Bellamy know?"

Octavia's smile doesn't fall, but her forehead does knot. "No one knows, but with Lincoln gone, we felt it was important to let a healer in on the secret."

Clarke spreads her fingers over Octavia's belly. "How far along are you?"

"About four months." That smile gets impossibly wider. "Lincoln says we'll feel it kick in a few weeks."

"And you want this." It's not really a question, but Clarke asks it all the same. Octavia's joy is written all over her face, but it's necessary. The girl is sixteen-years-old and used to spend her afternoons chasing butterflies. It's hard to believe she's now tasked with another life.

Octavia bites her lip, twirls a lock of thick, shiny hair around her finger. "I was scared at first." She turns her eyes to the floor, stares hard. "I wasn't sure I wanted to keep it."

"But…"

"But, babies are sacred to Lincoln's people. Even though they survived the war, it left lasting damage. And I realized that family is all I know, it's what I do well. I wish I were older, but I don't regret it."

Clarke takes Octavia's hands in hers. "I'm happy for you."

"Good. I'll need you when it's my time. I don't think Lincoln will ever touch me again if he has to watch our baby come out."

Clarke laughs. "I can't believe you're having a baby."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Tell me about it. Only I would get pregnant the first time I have sex."

"Really?"

Octavia laughs. "Lincoln's a healer. He knows things. If you ever need something and don't want to go to your mom…"

"No!" Clarke insists, ignores the way Octavia keeps laughing at her. It will be enough for Bellamy to come home. She doesn't need more.

Clarke spends the next two days trying not to drive the camp insane.

She's up before dawn and busy until dark, sorting and mashing and cleaning and copying the final drawings from Lincoln's notebook; when she completes the last sketch, she sterilizes the entire med-bay again.

"Here," Finn says, slides a cup of tea across her table. "You'll feel better."

He's taken supply orders from her mom, but made a point today of stopping by to check on her. It's not exactly what she wants, but familiar enough to ease some of the tension.

"Thanks," she says, grips the mug tightly between her palms and focuses on the burn rather than think about Bellamy.

"That has to hurt," Finn says, looks pointedly at the steam rising from her mug.

Clarke shrugs, ignores the sharp pinch when some of the tea sloshes over the rim. "They might be dead. I can take it."

Finn sighs and takes the mug from her hands, rests his hands on her shoulder. "They're going to be okay."

Clarke stares at the floor, refuses to meet his eyes. "And what if they're not?" It's the first time she's allowed herself to say the words.

"You'll be okay. You were before," he reminds her. "Six weeks you thought we were dead and it didn't stop you. Even if you don't want it, you've already proven that you can do it."

He's right, so Clarke tries to nod, but she only succeeds in letting more tears spring loose; she doesn't protest either when Finn wraps her in his arms.

Before he loved her, he was just her friend. She lets him hold her when she needs him most.

They're a day late.

It's mid-afternoon and there's been no cry from the gate, no victorious cheers filling the village. It's only silence; even the birds have ceased chirping.

"It doesn't mean anything," Abby says as Clarke takes her pacing to the med-bay. "Maybe they needed the rest and got a late start." Clarke stares incredulously at her mother. Bellamy and Kane are in charge. Oversleeping wouldn't be an option. Abby shrugs. "You never know."

Clarke wants to believe her, but she knows better than letting herself hope. She stops pacing and sits on her table. "I just want him to come home."

Abby comes to sit beside her, takes her hand in hers. "We all have people we want back." She squeezes Clarke's hand. "We just need to have a little faith."

"You mean Kane," Clarke says, doesn't bother hiding the accusing tone in her voice. It's just as uncomfortable discussing her mom's boyfriend as it was discussing hers.

Abby nods. "We've grown closer. He cares about me and I feel the same way. It's not what I had with your father, but it's good. We have a fresh start here and that means moving on."

Clarke knows that Abby's talking about more than a new relationship. She's talking about the betrayal she sent into motion, the father she stole from her daughter. Clarke glances at her mom, the worn planes of her face and the weariness in her eyes, and she doesn't see the same woman she knew on the Ark. She balances on the precipice, decides that it's time to step over.

"I forgive you," she says, waits a beat when Abby sucks in an audible breath. "I don't agree with it, but I understand it." She thinks of the dropship, the lives she saved while Bellamy and Finn died in its ashes. Too often her life is about the greater good. "I wish you'd made any other decision, but I can't hold it against you any longer. I forgive you, Mom. I'm ready to move on."

Abby wraps her daughter in her arms and Clarke holds on tight, buries her face in her mom's shoulder and breathes her in. Even with the new smells of sweat and forest and winter air, there's something familiar there, and it settles into her bones and tells her that everything will be okay.

"Well get through this," Abby says when she finally pulls away. "You'll get through this."

"What if he doesn't come back?"

Abby smiles through her tears. "You'll have me."

Clarke hopes it will be enough.

The sun is just setting when Bellamy trudges through the gate.

Clarke is sure there are others with him, Jasper or Monty, Monroe and Miller, Raven and Harper and all the people she's come to care about, but she doesn't see any of them.

She just sees Bellamy, framed in gold in the fading light as he sets down his rifle and searches for her in the crowd.

She's always been private, held her cards to her vest and all, but today she wears her heart on her sleeve as she runs, literally runs across the yard and throws herself at him.

He crushes her against him, holds her so tight that her ribs threaten to crack, but she doesn't protest because he's here and he's whole. He buries his face in her neck, presses his mouth to the column of her throat. "I love you," he says against her skin.

"I need to breathe," she reminds him and he loosens his grip with a laugh, but doesn't let go.

"I think you have something to say to me," he tells her, stares down into her eyes.

Clarke frowns, loops her arms around his neck. "You're late."

"You don't care."

She kisses him, hard and hot and like there's no one else around. "You're home and I love you. I don't care about anything else."

"I missed you, Princess," he says. "Let's go home." Clarke lets him wrap an arm over her shoulders and guide her to his tent.

Truer words have never been spoken.

All sixty-four delinquents make it back from Mount Weather.

It would be the greatest miracle of them all if not for the easy way Raven strolls through camp the next morning.

"Shark DNA," she says with a grimace as she takes her seat in the council room. "I can walk. That's the part I focus on."

Clarke's about to respond when another woman takes the empty seat beside Raven. Anya looks different without the leather duster and face paint, but there's no hiding the blazing heat of her eyes. "Clarke," she says.

"Anya. What are you doing here?"

"We planned the escape together," Raven explains. "Who said enemies can't turn into allies?"

The meeting starts before Clarke can ask more questions and the truth comes out anyway. Bellamy and Kane did break into the facility, and they did arm the prisoners, but rather than a ragtag group of delinquents, they found a well-trained army. Freeing them took little more than guiding the remnants of the hundred out the back door.

Lincoln seems relieved to have his leader back, but Clarke's less confident. Anya might have made an alliance with Raven, but it won't necessarily stand for the rest of them. She feels that familiar tightness in her chest. She can't go back to what it was before.

"We need to discuss the prisoner," Kane interjects and Clarke's head snaps up, pulls her away from potential truces with former foes. Jordan is standing there, head bowed and wrists bound by thick ropes.

"Oh my god," Clarke whispers and her thoughts point to a different moment in her past, like the time she watched Bellamy drive a screw through Lincoln's palm. It might have been who they were then, but it's not who they are now. Across the table, Bellamy catches her eye but she can't read the expression in his. She can only hope he makes the right choice this time.

"My people will have much use for her," Anya starts but Bellamy doesn't let it get farther than that.

"This isn't about revenge," he says quietly. "We can't afford another war, but we can't ignore the advantage this affords us. In the old world, the Geneva Convention governed the rules of war. We'll provide her food and shelter, medical care if she needs it. She stays to provide intel, nothing more." He never raises his voice but it carries the needed weight. No one protests his decision and Finn takes responsibility for Jordan's care while Bellamy and Kane handle her guards.

Clarke studies the tear-tracks on Jordan's dirt-stained cheeks, the fear in her eyes. She wonders if what they're doing is truly progress.

They wait a few days to celebrate.

There's people to house, bodies to heal, and survivors to reunite with their parents.

So a week later, as a full moon rises in the sky, they hold a party. There's food and moonshine and even music. Clarke thinks it might be some kind of fiddle, but she doesn't really care, loses herself a bit in the wail of the strings and beat of the drums. She remembers the last party, letting loose only to see the night end in blood. It's the same people this night but with none of the horror.

Clarke tries to get Bellamy's attention but he's with Miller and there's so much hero-worship in Miller's eyes that she wonders if she'll see him at all for the rest of the night.

"Cool party," a familiar voice interrupts and Clarke manages to hold in the wince. She doesn't want to do this now, or any time really, but especially not on a night like this.

"Hey, Raven," she says and starts for Bellamy but is held back by the hand Raven rests on her arm.

"Stay a minute."

Clarke sighs, but doesn't pull away. "What's going on?"

Raven kicks at the ground a bit. "So, you and Bellamy…" She doesn't finish her sentence and Clarke again tries to find an escape route.

"Yeah, me and Bellamy."

"You seem really happy together."

"We are." Clarke knows where this is going, tries to stop the conversation in its tracks before Raven pushes too far.

"Clarke, I need to tell you something –"

"I know and I don't want to talk about it." The words are sharp and clipped, but Clarke still means them. This is the last thing she wants to discuss.

Raven finally looks up and her eyes are soft, but determined. "Fine, don't talk, but I need you to listen. I had a lot of time to think these past weeks, and I realized this: I'd pick you too."

"You want us to be friends."

Raven nods. "I don't care about Bellamy and I'm over Finn, but I like you."

Clarke remembers the sharp pain that shot through her chest when she learned the truth about Finn. She understands lies, the poison they spread. She doesn't have to like what Raven did, but she can't hold it against her. "That would be nice."

Raven smiles and Clarke smiles back and somewhere in the background the music starts up again, a quick rhythm that seems to flow through her. "Wanna dance?"

Clarke nods, lets Raven take her hand and lead her into the throng. They spin and twirl and when Bellamy comes up behind her, wraps an arm around her and moves his hips to the beat, there's no jealousy in Raven's eyes.

Later, the music slows, a slow, mournful moan, and Clarke rests her head against Bellamy's chest as he holds her close and sways.

They're still on earth but it might be the best night of her life.

It's not long before Bellamy finds out about Octavia.

They've fallen back into old patterns as the village realigns and stretches to meet the needs of sixty-five more people, so Clarke is surprised when she pops by Bellamy's tent mid-day to grab her beanie and finds him sitting on his bed and staring into space.

"Bell? What's wrong?"

It takes him a moment to look at her and when he does, his eyes are panicked and wild. "Octavia's pregnant."

Clarke swallows hard. "I know."

Bellamy glances up sharply. "You didn't tell me?"

"She wanted to tell you herself." She sits beside him. "It's the only thing I've kept from you."

He nods absently and doesn't push back. It worries Clarke more, this detached response to a decent-sized betrayal. "She's just sixteen," he finally says. "She's too young for this."

Clarke leans into him. "She'll be fine and you'll be an uncle."

He sags against her, rests his head on her shoulder. "Clarke, she could die down here."

"Shhh," she says, curls her hand into his hair and presses his face to her breast so his cheek rests over her heart. "Lincoln's people have been delivering babies in the woods for a hundred years. They know what they're doing and if they don't, we have my mom. She's going to be fine."

She strokes his hair and rubs his back, reaches up and brushes the tears from his cheeks. He studies her for a moment. "I never…we didn't…Clarke, could you?"

It takes her another moment to realize what he's talking about, kicks herself a bit for the blush that creeps over her cheeks. She shakes her head. "I had my last injection when I was fifteen. We have two years, give or take a few months."

"Do you ever think about it?" There's an unreadable expression in his eyes, something Clarke thinks is fear but worries might be hope. No matter how much she loves him, she isn't for ready for what he's asking.

"We already have sixty-four of them," she says lightly. Despite the presence of actual adults and some parents, it's a rare day when one of the hundred doesn't seek them out to solve some kind of crisis.

"I'm serious," he says and when he looks at her Clarke only sees acceptance in his eyes. Whatever her answer, he just wants to know how she feels.

"I don't know," she finally says. They're in a good place, but they're still on earth. Tristan is still out there, Jordan's people too, and she's always waiting for the other shoe to drop. The last thing this world needs is more defenseless people. But then she thinks of the joy blooming across Octavia's face, the excitement in her eyes and the tender way Lincoln cradled her belly after he walked through the gate, and she thinks she wants those things for herself. "But if I do, I know I want them with you."

He smiles, devious and a bit relieved. "We have time to figure this out." His fingers tug down the zipper of her parka, pull so she falls back on the bed. "Even better, we have plenty of time to practice."

"It's the middle of the day!"

He shrugs, slides his mouth down the column of her throat. "Practice makes perfect."

Clarke just laughs and pulls him in for another kiss.

Jordan becomes a problem.

She agrees to talk, but her intel isn't anything Clarke hasn't already shared.

"You need to work with us," Finn tells her. Clarke watches from across the room. She's technically there to keep an eye on Finn, but it's Finn and she mostly mashes more seaweed paste and enjoys the role reversal.

Jordan pushes her hair out of her eyes. "But I don't know anything else! I just interview the patient. It's Dr. Saar who runs the data."

Finn sighs. "We need to let her go."

Clarke pads over. "You know that isn't an option. She's our leverage to keep them from kidnapping us again."

"Maybe, but this isn't right."

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest. "She's fed and has a place to sleep. She might not be as clean as before, but none of us are."

Jordan glares up at them. "You can stop talking about me like I'm not here."

Clarke glares down in response. "Sucks, doesn't it? Being trapped?"

Finn steps between them. "This isn't helping."

Clarke turns to him. "They held me captive for six weeks. They let me think that you were dead. They knew everything that happened on the Ark. They knew what happened to my dad and they never bothered to stop it." It hits her like a flood, the rage and grief and regret and hate, and when she looks at Jordan all she sees is red. "You don't deserve to live." Her hands creep forward, reach for the pulsing length of Jordan's neck.

"Clarke!"

Finn grabs her arm and pulls her away. "What's wrong with you?"

Clarke takes a deep breath but she doesn't feel calmer. She feels sad, the weight of all her mistakes closing in around her. "I need some air."

Bellamy finds her by the hot springs.

Jasper and Monty found it not long after their return and it's no longer Finn's secret place but the spot where people can finally get a bath. It's freezing outside, but the water is hot and soothing against her skin. Submerged to her neck, she almost feels like she can breathe.

She hears him before she sees him, the clomp of his boots breaking through the stillness of the clearing. "How'd you find me?"

He stands at the lip of the pool and studies her. "Spacewalker told me."

"Really?"

"He's your friend, right?"

"Yeah, I guess." Her train of thought is abruptly cut off when Bellamy starts taking off his clothes, jacket and shirt and boots and finally his pants, and he stands there, hands on his hips while he waits.

"Can I come in?" She swallows hard but manages a nod and he solemnly steps into the pool. He hisses slightly as he adjusts to the temperature, but pushes through. He slides down next to her then tugs her into his lap, spreads her thighs so they bracket his hips and her breasts slide slickly over his chest. "What's going on, Princess?"

They're wet and naked, steaming water washing over their skin, but she can't keep her lip from trembling. "I wanted to kill Jordan."

"Half the time I want to kill Spacewalker, but until I actually do it, it's just a pipe dream."

"You don't get it. It was just me and Finn and all I could think about was wrapping my hands around her throat." She pauses, closes her eyes. "I've done it before. I know how easy it is."

"I was there, he says softly. "What you did for Atom was a gift."

She shakes her head. "No, you weren't. I killed a grounder to escape Anya. I was laughing with him about his bum knee and a second later I was slitting his throat. I could have knocked him out. I could have kicked that knee, but I didn't. I took a scalpel I'd used to try and save a little girl's life and I let him bleed out. I almost did the same thing tonight."

Bellamy is silent for a long while and Clarke cringes, waits for him to push her away. "Do you remember what I told you after the hurricane?" Clarke remembers those words, how they justified every choice she had to make.

"Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things."

"I was wrong. Every choice we make, it's who we are." He props a finger under Clarke's chin and turns her face to his. "The important part is that we don't make those mistakes again." He smiles at her, shifts his hips so she gasps. "Killed anyone lately?"

She swats at his chest but there's no anger in it. "You're an idiot."

"Look where we are, Princess." He gestures around them, the whispering woods and glowing moon, the stars glittering on the face of the pool. "Did you ever think we'd have any of this? It's a whole new world down here." His fingers slip under the water and her gasp turns into a full-fledged moan.

"A bright shiny future?"

"A bright shiny future."

Clarke raises her hips, slides down around him. The stars explode around them.

Dr. Saar pads into camp a few days later, with six men and twice as many guns.

Bellamy watches them warily but without fear. He's left the council in the weeks since the mission to Mount Weather, but runs their security forces as Kane's second in command.

"State your business," he demands. Clarke watches nervously from the doorway of the med-bay, doesn't take her eyes off all those guns.

Saar crosses his arms. "You know why we're here."

Bellamy shrugs but doesn't take his finger off the trigger of his rifle.

Saar looks annoyed but forces a pained smile. "You have one of our people. We'd like her back."

Bellamy shrugs again. "That's a matter for our Council."

Saar's face twists as impatience sets in. "Take me to your Council then."

Bellamy makes a motion and their forces appear on catwalks and from behind buildings. Lincoln's people have returned to their village, but Clarke's people still have their weapons and know how to use them. Spears and arrows are aimed and ready to be thrown with pinpoint accuracy. "Put down your arms and we'll see if we can come to an agreement."

Saar looks like he doesn't understand what's happening, the people from the sky overtaking the rulers of the earth, but doesn't protest. If Clarke didn't know better, she thinks he might even be proud.

In the end, it's Clarke that secures peace for her people.

Anya is there for the Council meeting and encourages war, while Finn pushes for unilateral peace. He wants to release Jordan even if it means they get nothing in return; he just wants this fight to be over.

Clarke sits quietly and contemplates the conversation, wishes Bellamy could be there with her. But he isn't, so she plays his words in her head, ponders the choice she needs to make. There's no easy answer but there needs to be resolution. She can't shut another door on her people.

"Enough!" she says, loud, but not obnoxiously so, and the table quiets down long enough to look her way. "This needs to end."

Saar leans back in his chair. "You have a solution?"

Clarke rises to her feet, feels her father's hand on one shoulder and her mother's on the other. She lets the greater good decide. "I propose this: you continue your experiment. You can interview us, even test our blood, but you do it on our terms." She turns her eyes to Jordan. "She stays with us and runs the study. She can leave as needed to deliver her data." She holds up a hand as her people start to protest and lays out her terms for Saar. "In return, you stop kidnapping us. You give us food, clothes, medicine and weapons. You help us survive here." She turns to Anya. "I know how to end this war: we work together to build a new world."

Saar watches her, flicks his eyes across her face. "I might have underestimated you."

"This is ridiculous!" It's Roger, the engineer from Mecha Station. "No way I'm going to let them probe my head!"

"It will keep us alive," Finn says. "Tristan is still out there and we're better prepared but we can't fight a war on two fronts. It's not ideal, but it works." He looks at Clarke with so much admiration in his eyes that she has to look away. He calls for a vote and it's not unanimous, but enough for the motion to pass.

Clarke turns to Saar. "Deal?"

He sighs but nods. "Deal."

It's a long time before Clarke makes it to Bellamy.

The meeting feels endless as they hash out trade terms and Jordan's stay, but when the last of Saar's contingent finally leaves, Bellamy is waiting for her at the gate.

"Well?" He asks, slings an arm over her shoulder.

"I think I saved the day."

He leans in and kisses her. "You always do."

She believes him.

Octavia's son is born in early spring, as the first bits of green break through the softening earth.

He has a cap of dark hair and bright blue eyes and he's quite possibly the most beautiful thing Clarke has ever seen. She made it to the village for the birth, and while she was barely needed, she knows Bellamy felt better having her there.

Octavia is exhausted, but alive, and Bellamy finally pries himself from her side long enough to hold his nephew.

"He's so tiny," he says to Clarke as she adjusts the baby's head.

"Support the neck," she tells him but mostly can't take her eyes away from Bellamy holding a baby.

"What's his name?" she asks Octavia when she's confident Bellamy won't drop his nephew.

"Pax," Octavia responds, leans into Lincoln's side to watch her brother hold their baby. "It means – "

"Peace," Bellamy interrupts, wraps his free arm around Clarke's waist. She leans into his side, rests her head on his shoulder to study this latest miracle.

"Hi there, Pax," she whispers and Bellamy presses a soft kiss to her temple.

She closes her eyes. The future has never seemed brighter.

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