A/N: The spoilers! The spoilers! I'm dead.

As always, I don't own anything. Please enjoy and review.

"That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day." – Charles Dickens

...

Bellamy could define his life by a 'before' and an 'after'. There was a time before, before the dance, Octavia's imprisonment and his mother's floating where he had been happy. Even at seven, he withdrew from all friendships, all too aware that if people became interested in his life, it could have disastrous consequences for his family.

When he became older – and more comfortable with lying – he still withdrew from his peers. This had more to do with Octavia than any adversity to dishonesty – it had never seemed fair that he should stay away from home longer than necessary when she had never even been allowed to leave.

After, he couldn't stand the silence and spent his first pay check as a janitor on moonshine. He found the locations of the underground dens – often ironically labelled 'speakeasies', in honour of some older Earth tradition. That's when he discovered he was considered attractive to others.

He knew he was in good physical condition – continuing the fitness training he did as a guard kept him from returning to the empty room – apparently this and his looks made him approachable to others. He learnt to smile, to charm, to woo and his first sexual experience was lost to a haze of alcohol and fumbling hands.

He did his best to return to his room either too tired to think, blind drunk or busy tugging the shirt off another human body.

It never made him feel much in particular but that was the point, if he had energy to think, he could easily picture his mother's corpse, floating in space or imagine Octavia, locked away once again.

He'd been considering the best way to get drunk when he came back to his room – not home anymore – on the day that would turn out to be his final one on the Ark. He was momentarily caught off guard, remembering a time when the room was full of life and quiet laughter, before Shumway offered his deal and before Bellamy could even consider the ramifications, he was shooting the Chancellor and on his way to Earth.

His life changed to a new 'before' and 'after', divided by the moment he failed his family. He considered Earth a second chance to protect Octavia, to fulfil his responsibilities and to do this, he needed to be alive. He needed to stop the Arkers from coming. Self-preservation and his goals were suddenly aligned.

On the ground, he did things he never thought he could. When he questioned, he doubted, he thought of Octavia and how he already murdered a Chancellor, he accepted the path that he was on. But the doubts still lingered in the quiet of the night, so when Earth's trials hadn't exhausted him, he used another body to help him forget, to stay on course.

It also helped that for the first time in his life, Bellamy felt like he was doing something he was meant to. He found he liked to lead, to have others look up to him and follow him. It was intoxicating.

His reasoning, reassurances for his actions fell apart quickly. Learning that he had not killed Jaha caused the doubt to rise again, enamoured by the idea he wasn't as terrible as he thought. Then Octavia dismissed him, claiming she had never asked for his help.

Tying Atom to the tree, kicking the chair out from under Murphy, stealing the radio, it had seemed almost noble when he rationalised it. It was for Octavia. He was almost like a hero in a story, doing all he could for his family. Shooting the Chancellor had been the first step and he had considered that there was no turning back after then.

Without the excuses, what was he? Without his sister, who was Bellamy Blake? Suddenly he was seven years old again, lost and confused with no answer in sight.

I'm a monster.

The conclusion was easy. And horrifying. Monsters and men should not mix, of all the stories he'd heard, that only ended in tragedy.

Another voice invaded his thoughts, offering an alternative, a path of redemption.

I need you.

Maybe he could be something more, a leader, maybe even good. And Bellamy tried.

He tried to lead his people to safety, to make the right call, no matter how hard the choice might be. Again and again, he was confronted by another one of his people dead and he almost wished the next body to drop would be his, so he would be no longer crushed under the weight of responsibility.

He pushed himself every day in the hope that some time in the future, it might all seem worth it. Bellamy Blake was nothing if not stubborn and he knew very well that this may be his last chance to do something good with his life, to get his name in the history books for something other than 'whatever the hell we want'.

His life had a new before and after and his path was harder than anything he'd previously done. But Bellamy never looked back.