AN: This was intended to be the last chapter; however, I may end up adding another one if the inspiration strikes. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

He knows that he knows more about Clarke than anyone in the camp.

Honestly, half of the shit he's found out on accident: her obsession with finding the north star every time she's under a clear night's sky (because eventually he broke down and asked), the way she keeps everything in her tent meticulously folded and in place (because he mocked her for it almost daily), and the song that seems vaguely familiar that she hums all the time without even noticing (because sometimes he catches himself humming it too). He knows her fears, a lot of her dreams, some of her better memories. He's usually good a predicting how she's going to react to something, what arguments she's going to use against him, and when he should just let her win. He understands her, because she lets him. Usually he's pretty comfortable with the partnership they share, but tonight he hates himself because he should have fucking known about this.

She's sitting cross legged in the middle of a group of kids he's sure she's barely even had a conversation with. He watches her for the better part of an hour because he has a feeling something is wrong, and sure enough her laughter grows louder and less sincere. He notices the boy next to her, a kid named Rhett (who had once asked him for advice on how to grow a beard) was holding a jar of Monty's moonshine. He kept handing it to her, and she kept drinking it. Clarke wasn't one to drink for fun. Not only that but she and Bellamy had recently put restrictions on the Moonshine. Everyone was given a jar a month. He knew she had used hers up disinfecting a giant ass cut on Octavia's shoulder after she'd fallen out of a tree….something about following a bird with bright red wings.

She listens to what the kids say around her, laughs when everyone else does, but he sees the way her mouth slips into a frown every time she takes a long drink. Suddenly, literally in the middle of a sip, she stands up and wobbles. She says something to everyone around her that looks like a goodbye. Rhett stares a little too longingly at her as she leaves (Bellamy makes a mental note that he's due for a turn at latrine duty this coming week) before he dismisses himself from the conversation he's supposed to be having with Raven and Miller and starts to follow her.

He's furious when she walks right through the gates, 1. Because Monroe takes one look at her and seems to think its perfectly fine to allow her a midnight stroll through dangerous fucking forest and 2. ONCE AGAIN he knows she's not armed. So he glares at Monroe as he walks past and she actually has the decency to look ashamed. He starts to jog to catch up to Clarke. He has every intention of screaming at her until the moonshine makes her pass out, and then he realizes where she's going and what she's doing.

She's kneeling in front of the mound of dirt….the one that belongs to Wells. He sits down next to her without even a second thought.

"I knew you were following me." She says, the slur of her words hidden by how softly she speaks them.

"It's dangerous out here Clarke. You know that."

"I think today is his birthday."

He doesn't want to look at her, because he can't handle a crying Clarke. It feels like being punched in the chest and he has no interest in making this worse. Of course there's the initial rush of guilt because really he should have known about this shouldn't he? But the truth is, Clarke doesn't talk about Wells very often. He can't blame her. Sometimes the guilt that accompanies a mention of Charlotte is blinding.

"You don't have to sit here with me. I'll be fine."

"Do you really want me to leave?"

"No."

They sit there for what has to be an hour. Clarke doesn't say a single word, she doesn't make a single sniffle. Eventually he gets the courage to look over at her and she's leaning forward, her hands on her knees, eyes closed. She may actually be asleep.

"Clarke," he says cautiously.

"Hmm?"

"We should go back."

Her eyes open and she stares at the dirt for a minute before nodding and attempting to stand up.

"Holy shit I'm drunk." She mumbles to herself. He reaches out and grabs her arm to guide her. Usually she'd shake him off, apparently tonight she doesn't feel like being stubborn.

"You could have told me." He says to her through the darkness. He knows he should just leave it alone, but it always bothers him when she keeps things to herself. Clarke likes to suffer in silence. It's bullshit because there are plenty of people in this camp who care about her.

"Didn't want to talk about it."

"You wanted to drink instead?"

"Guess so."

"You don't even like Monty's moonshine."

She doesn't answer and he tries not to let it annoy him. So he focuses on getting them back to camp, then glaring once more at Monroe, and then looking around making sure nothing has been destroyed in their absence.

They continue to walk in silence until Clarke just stops and sits down.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"I'm tired." Then she starts to lay down.

"You can't just lay down in the dirt Clarke, come on." He tries to pull her up, but she's dead weight and he really doesn't want anyone to notice her.

"Clarke, I know you don't want them to see you like this. I understand that you're drunk and sad and tired but you need to get the fuck up right now."

"Go to bed Bellamy."

"So help me god princess I will throw you over my shoulder and carry your ass back to your tent. Get up now."

She huffs loudly but grabs onto his arm and lets him pull her up. "I'm not going to my tent. I want to sleep outside."

"No."

"You can't tell me no."

"Watch me."

She stops walking so suddenly that she almost trips herself. "Stop it." She says in an angry whisper as she rips her arm away from him. "I'm sleeping outside."

"You can't sleep outside Clarke."

"Fuck you Bellamy." She's getting louder now, and he's seriously annoyed. There was a time not so long ago that he would have left her there to embarrass herself, but now the thought doesn't even cross his mind. She's trying to be angry with him, but he can see the pain behind her eyes. She doesn't want to go back to her tent and sleep alone, he knows all about running from nightmares.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck me. I'm a horrible person. This is for your own good."

"I'm not going back to my tent."

"Fine, we'll go to mine."

She looks at him funny and then smiles. Something about that smile makes him positive that she has just gotten the absolute wrong idea and he was about to be engaged in another spectacular struggle with his self-control. Of course she doesn't fight him the rest of the way and of course she walks right into his tent like she owns the place. He tries in vain to push her towards the bed so she could simply disappear under the covers and pass out, but Clarke has already grabbed onto his hands in that way he thinks about almost all the time.

"What would they think if they knew what you were really like Bellamy Blake?" she asks with an extremely unClarke-like giggle.

"What am I really like?" he tries not to look at her as she kicks off her boots and sinks down onto his bed.

"You like to hold my hand." Her voice is sweet and innocent and it cuts right through him.

"Clarke you should go to sleep."

"You should come with me." She pulls him towards the bed and lays down in the middle. He manages to stop himself when he's kneeling at the edge and she seems hell bent on using him as a blanket.

"Goodnight Clarke."

"Not without you."

"Clarke."

"Bellamy."

"Fine!" he stands up and blows out the lantern he had lit literally minutes before when they'd stumbled in. In the darkness he feels comfortable enough to take his shirt off, although he really is playing with fire. When he finally climbs into the vacant side of the bed Clarke is waiting for him. She lays her head in the crook of his neck and places a hand on his stomach and it's fine for a few minutes, he can handle that. At least until he feels her lips under his ear, so light that he actually is stupid enough to think it was an accident….until she does it again, and then again on his jaw line, and again and again until his fists are clenched and he's reciting all the chemicals he used to use to clean the Ark in his head. He knows that if he just ignores her, if he can hold on just a little bit longer, the moonshine will catch up to her and she'll be out like a light. It's a manageable plan really until her teeth graze his pulse point. "Clarke stop." He says in the weakest voice he'd ever heard come out of his own mouth.

He feels her smirk against his skin and then her hand starts to draw little circles on his abdomen.

"Come on Princess." He whines and tries to wiggle away from her.

Her leg starts to intertwine with his own, her toes dragging up his calf muscle. "Please Bellamy." She whispers in his ear and he's so fucked because every ounce of blood in his body starts to rush in one direction, coincidently the same direction as Clarke's hand.

He tries again to shake her off but she either doesn't notice or doesn't care. She's kissing the spot below his ear again, the one he didn't realize was such a fucking turn on until tonight. "I can't believe you're doing this to me." He groans.

Then she takes his earlobe between her teeth and it's like someone has flipped a switch. He's on top of her with one swift move of his hips. Her legs wrap around his waist, he pins her arms over her head and presses his forehead to hers. She moves her hips once, in a way that makes his mind go blank, and then she lets out a soft moan. He can barely hear it (it's literally the sexiest fucking thing he's ever barely heard) but it also gives him the smallest whiff of Monty's moonshine and he remembers the stumbling, and Well's birthday, and his beautiful friend who is in pain right now and is dusting off one of his old favorite ways to try and ignore it. He won't be that guy for Clarke Griffin, it's not fair to either of them.

"Clarke," he says.

She must know that he's hesitating because she starts to kiss his neck again, and he can't believe that this is the hardest thing he's ever had to do but somehow it feels like it is.

"Clarke, stop." She grips his waist tighter with her legs and he knows she can feel how much he wants her. Fuck, this is bad, this is so bad.

"Clarke we cant. Not like this," he tries to pull away from her but she fights him until he leans all of his weight forward and speaks directly into her ear "Clarke, stop. Come on baby stop." It's never something he would have imagined himself saying. Terms of endearment weren't exactly his forte (Princess is more of a habit honestly) but he actually surprises himself with how affectionate and genuine it sounds, how affectionate and genuine HE sounds. It manages to get her attention, her eyes snap up to his and it's like she wakes from a trance.

"Oh God." She pushes him off of her and he goes willingly, wincing at the panic in her voice. "Oh Bellamy I'm so sorry. I'm such a fucking mess I'm so sorry."

She sits up and turns to face him as if she actually expects him to be angry.

"That was wrong, I crossed a line. God I'm so fucking stupid."

"Clarke it's..."

"No, no you were just trying to be nice and I threw myself at you."

"Princess,"

"I'm just gonna go. This was a mistake and I'm just so sorry Bellamy."

"Clarke, just shut up." He grips her arm before she can actually leave "You don't need to apologize to me. I wasn't exactly complaining, but I have no intentions of taking advantage of you while you're drunk."

"I know, I know. I shouldn't have just thrown myself at you it was uncalled for."

He stares at her "You know that's not what this is about right?"

She doesn't answer but he can hear her mind going a mile a minute.

"This isn't about me not wanting you. Fuck Clarke there are days…" he takes a deep breath and lets the darkness soothe the words out of him "there are days when I want you so much I can't even look you in the eye, but it can't be like this. I'll do anything to help you run from your nightmares Princess but I can't do this. I can't pretend that being with you would just be a means to an end. You and I are so much fucking more than that. If we ever cross the bridge, and I realize that maybe we never will, but if we do, if you decide you want to, I don't want Monty's moonshine to have anything to do with it."

She lets out a small laugh and it's the most relieving sound in the world. "This is probably a conversation we should have when my head isn't spinning." She says.

He nods "Yeah it probably is."

"Can I still stay?"

He doesn't answer, but he lays back down and he pulls her with him. She finds that spot on his chest that she likes and rests her head there. He pulls her closer until one of her legs is practically wrapped around his waist. This should only add fuel to the fire she started earlier but it doesn't because it's different and she's different and all this is perfectly fine with him.

She nuzzles her nose against him and then laughs.

"What's funny?" he asks with his eyes closed.

"You know what this means don't you?"

"Hmm?"

"It means that you are a gentleman and I'm telling everybody."

He laughs "They won't believe you."

She raises her head up to look at him and then quickly leans up to press her lips against his.

"Goodnight Bellamy Blake." She says.

He tilts his head and catches her lips before she presses herself back into his chest.

"Goodnight Clarke Griffin."