Okay - A) How perfect is our Bellarke? I mean (spoilers for 3x02) but that face caress, the way he continued to look for Clarke even after being STABBED?! (*insert Jason saying it was platonic here*) But. No. Honestly. No one can convince me Bellarke isn't going to happen. No one. They're too perfect for each other.

And - B) I'm kind of conflicted about where I want to go with Friends (With Benefits) so I decided to update this story first. This story is like my little baby and no matter how many times I get writer's block I always find a way to update it.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed the last chapter, and this one as well. This chapter is kind of a short run up to the next (final) chapter. So enjoy it. It only gets worse from here.

I'll update Friends (With Benefits) when I decided how the hell I even want to finish it lmao.

i.

The camp is cascaded in darkness when Clarke emerges from their medical unit. Her taped shoes are hard on the soil as she walks, and she feels dizzy, light-headed, the events of the previous hours drowning her in exhaustion.

Murphy places a hand on her arm. "You okay?"

"Fine," she tells him.

He nods. His jaw continues to bruise with the impact of Wick's fist, and he turns from her, tucking his chin against his chest. No weakness, no pain. He's learned that lesson as well.

Clarke shifts her gaze. Her hands remain stained with blood, Raven's she thinks, or maybe the man who tried to kill her. She shakes her head. She doesn't know anymore.

"You guys have your own cabin," Murphy informs her. "It'll have food and water."

Clarke blinks. She doesn't remember the last time she ate.

"You do supply runs?" she asks him.

Murphy shrugs. "More like supply teams. We have different groups for every method of survival. There's people who stay on watch, people who go on supply runs. People who cook."

She narrows her eyes. Survival doesn't come as easy. There's a shout in the distance, and a rotten soccer ball passes by them as children laugh in the distance. Murphy bends down and throws the ball back to them.

Clarke shakes her head. "This place," she says. "It's like a community." She doesn't say home.

"Yeah." He tilts his head towards the moon above them and sighs. "The ways of those government camps were brutal, we take in anyone who needs us, as long as Tristan accepts them."

"You just help strangers?"

Murphy's lips turn slightly upwards. "We have the numbers. If we brought in someone who didn't corporate, it wouldn't be hard to take them down."

Clarke stares at him. Take them down. She thinks of the guards who let them in, the guns trained at their sides. It's a cruel world, they told her, it's part of our protocol, the part of survival.

She swallows thickly, ignoring the voice in her head, the one telling her to run.

ii.

He leads her to the cabin beside one of the watch towers. It's large, the wooden shelter decorated with windows, flowers growing around the porch, and a dim light that glows above the stairs. Clarke shakes her head. It's nicer than the one she had in the Ark.

"They're all waiting for you inside," Murphy murmurs, standing before the cabin "You should probably go in."

Clarke sighs. She bites on her bottom lip, and he nods towards her before turning in the direction of the medical unit. She walks up the stairs and across the porch, her fingers cold on the knob as she pushes the door open.

Bellamy stands from one of the couches.

"Clarke." He walks towards her, and then all eyes are suddenly on her, persistent and anxious. "You okay?"

She looks at him. "Yeah. You?"

He doesn't answer. Not okay. She exhales and places her hand on his arm, trailing her fingers to his wrist. She traces her thumb along his skin, and he closes his eyes, breathing deeply. Not okay. Not okay not okay.

"Anything about Raven?" Wick croaks from the other side of the room.

Clarke bites on her bottom lip. "They're keeping her alive. That's all I know."

"And that's all they can do," Lincoln offers, and Wick nods, lowering his head onto his lap.

Clarke pulls Bellamy into the centre of the room, her bloodied palm sliding against his rough one. The rough ones that murdered Byrne only hours before. He looks so tired, so drained, and she guides him back to the couch, nudging him onto it.

He refuses, continuing to stand beside her.

"What do you think about this place?" Octavia whispers.

"It's a sanctuary." Jasper looks at them. "It could be a chance."

"There's no such thing as sanctuary. Not anymore."

Monty runs his hands over his face and closes his eyes. "We don't know that," he mumbles.

"We do."

Lincoln sighs. He places his hand on Octavia's leg, brushing his fingers over her knee. She tenses, her face stretched in pain; arms and shoulders and back - everything - slumped in exhaustion.

Clarke swallows thickly. Sanctuary. She looks at her feet and remembers the shelters before, of the homes they shared, thinks of the death and destruction. Thinks of Tristan, cold and curious. Thinks of the children playing in the field. There's children.

Jasper stands from the armchair. His hands are rung and battered, and he seems desperate, looks desperate - eyes in a shape of pleading.

"Look at us," he whispers, and his voice cracks, broken in three words. "We're falling apart. Tired of running. I can't let this be another stop along the way."

Octavia stares at him. "What about the Reapers?"

Clarke winces. Damn that word. Damn the memories that haunt her with it.

Wick looks up from his lap, eyes bloodshot. "They say they don't exist," he mutters.

"And we're supposed to believe them?"

Jasper laughs - humourless and breathless and hostile. It's unnatural. Dangerous. She feels Bellamy tense, and she tightens her fingers around his wrist, shifting him behind her.

"Who else are we going to believe?" Jasper challenges.

No one says anything. Not even a word. They stare at him, all six eyes on the boy who stands breaking in the corner, the one who used to perform for the children at the Ark. The one who used to hum every song he knew. The innocent one.

And then Clarke realizes he's not innocent anymore. None of them are - not Bellamy, not Octavia, not the people who provided them with the cabin. Her father or mother.

Clarke shakes her head. No one is the same, and it hurts her head, makes her brain pulse violently. The voice in her head grows stronger, and she presses her fingers against Bellamy's skin, because she needs him, and he needs her.

iii.

He falls asleep a couple hours later, his head tucked against the armchair of the couch. Octavia suggests they move him to one of the bedrooms, but Clarke shakes her head, her hand in his curls.

"He needs to rest," she whispers into the darkness of the room. "Just for tonight."

Octavia nods, eyes soft, and disappears with Lincoln into a bedroom.

Clarke breathes deeply. She looks down at him, at the eyes that's seen so much blood; now closed in contentment. His eyes have both fire and ice, and she's seen them both, has loved them both.

And she loves him. Even when she tries not to. God, does she love him.

Clarke chews on her bottom lip. She strokes her fingers over the scars that remain on the edge of his skull. They're dented, bumpy, and she pulls away, pressing her lips softly to his jaw before standing and walking towards the kitchen.

The kitchen. It's beautiful, wood carved from nonexistent trees, and she swallows thickly. She steps towards a cupboard and settles her palm along the lumber, pressing her skin against it. It's smooth, not jagged with chipped wood like the ones in the Ark. It's surface is soft, gentle, and it doesn't make sense.

These people, this place - it's too good. They've survived for too long. No cuts or bruises, no open wounds. It's not possible. It doesn't make fucking sense.

Clarke narrows her eyes. She trails her hand along the cupboard, palm still stained with blood, the blood that no one can see, but she can still feel. On her skin and on her mind. Her fingers dangle over the end of the knob, and she twists, twists and twists until it becomes lose in her grasp.

She remove the knob from the cupboard, holding it, staring at the long, sharp nail inside of it.

"What are you doing?"

Clarke gasps, closing her eyes. She exhales longingly and slips the nail inside her pocket, it's pointed end hard against her thigh. The voice is too low to be Bellamy's, too deep to be Octavia's, and her shoulders tense as she turns to them.

Jasper stands in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest.

She blinks. "Nothing."

"Clarke." His hard gaze softens in the darkness, and he takes a step forward. "I trust them."

"I know."

He sighs, pursing his lips. His fingers tremble unconsciously against the side of his thigh, and he lifts them to his face, running them along his features. He seems distressed, confused, and Clarke presses the nail further against her pants to hide it.

"You should trust them, too. They're helping Raven. Giving us food and - " Jasper shakes his head and closes his eyes. "All I know is that if this doesn't work out, I'm not sure how I can keep going on."

Clarke stares at him, at the desperation in his broken gaze. And she curses.

"Then maybe this will work out," she tells him.

Jasper grins, and her heart seizes. He looks like a boy again. He reaches forward, his rough fingers soft on her hair as he moves a strand behind her ear, tucking his hand against her cheek.

"Yeah," he whispers, and then lower, happier. "Get some sleep."

Clarke nods, following him into the hallway. Her eyes shift towards Bellamy's sleeping form on the couch before she mutters a goodnight to Jasper and enters an empty bedroom beside his.

He smiles at her, and she waits until she closes the door behind her to remove the nail from her pocket.

iv.

They spend the next day mostly in sleep and in silence, the remaining members of their group settled around different areas of the cabin. The walls are a quiet contrast to the danger of the woods, when the constant sound of wolves and thunder and possible Outsiders forbid them from sleeping.

Now it's the calmness of the camp that keeps Clarke awake, the threat in it's peace.

Wick sits at the chair hovering over the window, his eyes scanning the camp for any movement, for any indication of Raven or the people who took her. Clarke sighs, clutching the knob's nail in her fist as she lays her head against the couch cushion. Bellamy shifts beside her, and she looks at him, his eyes peeling open to the evening light.

Clarke breathes deeply, watching him. "Hey."

He blinks. His hair is ruffled from sleep, and she's reminded of the morning after he found her in the alley, when they were young and unaware of the world's difficulties. She reaches forward, moving a curl from his forehead.

Bellamy exhales. "Hey," he whispers. He straightens into a sitting position on the couch. "You get any sleep?"

Not really.

"Yeah," she tells him. "Lots."

He narrows his eyes, gaze wary when he notices the exhaustion in her features. He sighs deeply, but before he can respond there's a knock on the front door, forceful yet patient.

Wick stands from the chair and rushes across the room, pulling it open.

"Rav - "

He stops short, the relief in his gaze hardening at the figure in the doorway. Tristan.

He smiles. "Nice to finally see one of you has woken up," he says, stepping into the cabin. He turns to Wick, his firm shoulders rolling back as he rests a hand on his arm. "Wick, is it?"

Wick nods. "Yeah."

"That's right." He sighs, and there's that forced concern Clarke recognizes, the untruthful eyes. "Raven's been asking about you. Just came out of surgery."

Wick's glare widens, frantic, and he moves forward in a flash of desperation. There's a tug, and he grunts as Tristan tightens his grasp around his arm, unmoving. Bellamy rises from the couch.

"She is asleep now," he mutters. His tone is harsh, and he sighs deeply before recollecting himself. Clarke grips the nail between her fingers. "It's best that she rests. You can see her when she is awake."

Wick shakes his head. "I need to see her."

"And you will." Tristan releases his hold and steps back. "But you need to let her recover. Same as you."

Tristan turns then, looking at Bellamy and Clarke. He closes the door behind him and walks towards them, leaving Wick in the distance, his head bent as he stumbles back to the chair and collapses onto it.

Clarke chews on her bottom lip. "Look at us," Jasper told them, "we're falling apart."

Tristan stands before them, and she lifts himself from the couch. He glances at her, nodding, those unsympathetic eyes cold on her hard ones. She looks at the belt around his waist, the guns and knives that hang there.

Do not show pain. Do not show weakness.

Tristan exhales deeply. "Bellamy." And then he turns to her. "Clarke. You have everything needed? Enough food, water?"

Clarke nods, gripping the nail in her pocket.

He grins tightly. "Good," he says, his chest bulging. He stares at them, and she feels Bellamy tense beside her, his body shifting her behind him. Tristan raises his eyebrows, noticing, and he steps towards the front door.

His hand is on the doorknob when he turns back to them.

"Oh and - don't forget." He smiles widely, unafraid of the wickedness in his glare. "We have our feast tomorrow night."

And then he leaves, exiting the cabin with his hand on the hilt of a dagger. Bellamy curses, muttering about letting the others know of Raven's status as he rushes into the hallway of bedrooms, his voice echoing Octavia's name.

Clarke swallows thickly and walks towards the front of the cabin, slamming the bolt over the front door.

v.

She stands underneath the archway of her bedroom window, her bruised body leaning against the wood. It's late, or early, she doesn't know - sometime around 3:00 am she thinks, based on the placement of the moon in the sky. Or at least that's what her father taught her.

Her hands grip the nail. He taught her a lot of things.

Clarke sighs. It's quiet in the cabin again, and the silence still haunts her, the unknowingness of tomorrow. She thinks about Raven, about Wick and his desperation for her. About Jasper. Bellamy -

There's a knock on her door, and Clarke winces, sliding the nail into her pocket.

She clears her throat. "Come in."

The door widens slowly, wood gentle on the floorboards as Bellamy pushes it open. She exhales deeply, watching him, the tension in her shoulders - and her mind - dissolving at the sight of him. He closes the door behind him, turning to her and crossing his arms over his chest.

"You can't sleep," he murmurs.

It's not a question. "No."

Bellamy releases a long breath. It's dark in the room, but she can still see the outline of his freckles in the dimness, those eyes that could burn down cities, lead an army. He walks towards her and leans against the wall in front of her, her hands trembling at the softness in his gaze.

He narrows his eyes, watching her. "What are you thinking about?"

She shakes her head. Everything. An escape. Using a nail as a weapon. Losing everyone. Losing you. She's thinking about everything and how there's nothing she can do about it.

Clarke looks away from him. "How much I want this to work," she whispers.

"Maybe it will."

She closes her eyes. "You don't believe that."

There's a pause, and she hears the creaking of wood, the movement of his heat. He steps forward and curls his finger under her chin, tilting her face towards him. His touch is gentle, soft, and she sighs deeply before opening her eyes.

Bellamy gazes at her. Those powerful depths. "If we're safe here, we can make it work," he murmurs. "We don't have to trust them, not yet. But we can learn to."

"How?"

He seems to consider this for a moment. His eyes strained as he looks at her.

"I don't know," he whispers eventually, and it crushes her.

She swallows thickly, shaking her head. He's supposed to know. He's Bellamy, he's supposed to figure it out, he's supposed to help her and comfort her and tell her everything is going to be okay. He's supposed to know.

She leans forward, her voice cracking.

"Then what the hell are we doing, Bell?"

He stares at her, his eyes burning in that familiar sense of chaos. The chaos that lifts them up before it brings them down. He moves his fingers along her jaw, her neck, and he cups her cheek, bringing her closer.

She see's it now. The fire in his eyes. She finally see's it again.

"Clarke." Her name is a broken word on his lips, making her shudder. "I thought you were dead. For weeks. I thought they killed you and I'd never see you again. You know that?"

She nods. She thought the same thing about him.

"And then I found you, and I just thought - " He curses, breathing deep, his palm hardening against her face. "That's the only thing that matters. You. Octavia. The group. The only thing that matters is keeping you alive, and not allowing any of us to give up. That's what I'm living for."

She looks at him, and she see's the pain in his eyes, the brokenness. Broken. They're all broken. Shattered into pieces - jagged and uneven pieces that fit together. The pieces she didn't know what to do with when they were apart.

Because that's what happens. They fall apart, and then they fall back together; sloppy and chaotic. Bellamy lowers his forehead against hers, and she releases a shuddering breath, recognizing the determination in his gaze.

Clarke closes her eyes. "Don't."

He shakes his head, holding her face between his hands. "I love you, Clarke," he whispers, and it's so fierce that it makes her whimper. "And I don't think I'm ever going to stop."

"Bellamy - "

"And if that means I have to protect you from countless more people, have to suffer through countless more days, to keep you safe, I will. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll do whatever you want."

His fingers wipe at the skin underneath her eyes, and she nods against him, because she knows. She knows he'll do as much for her as she will for him, that he'll carry her demons when she becomes too tired - no matter how many times she refuses or pushes him away. No matter how many times he comes back.

And it's stupid, because her father always told her not to expose her weaknesses. But she already has. Her weakness has always been there, standing beside her, helping her. It's Bellamy. Her weakness and her strength. Her everything.

Bellamy. Bellamy Bellamy Bellamy. And if love is weakness, then she's so God damn weak.

And so is he.

Bellamy sighs, closing his eyes and traces patterns on her skin with his thumbs. "I love you," he whispers, again and again, and it feels like coming home. "I do. I selfishly and completely love you."

He glances at her then, those eyes consuming her in flames. Dangerous and triumphant pain. She shivers despite the warmth that surrounds her, and she looks up at him, her blue depths of ice meeting his of fire.

"Bell."

His name is pleasant on her lips, and she steps closer to him. She's tired of what she's done to them, what she's forbid them of being. He is Bellamy, and he is weakness and strength, and she accepts it, she does. And she still needs him.

And so Clarke reaches forward, her hands on the nape of his neck as she presses her lips upon his.

And finally. Just like that - she can breathe again.

It's not like the first time they kissed, when there was death and chaos in the air surrounding them. There is still death. There is still chaos. But this time they don't care. It doesn't matter. Death is everywhere, and so is love, so is he.

So she kisses him, truly kisses him, and her heart almost collapses at the weight of his lips on hers. His mouth consumes her, intoxicating her with the same force of the fire that rests in his eyes, and she feels it in every core of her body, in every vein.

Bellamy exhales, his palms hard on her skin as he pulls away. She whimpers, wanting him, but he shakes his head, and she doesn't even feel the tears on her cheeks until he covers her face with his lips, kissing every teardrop that remains on her skin.

She looks at him, her heart shattering at the pain in his eyes. At the reflection of the pain in hers. She swallows thickly - because he knows. He knows why she's crying. And it's not because of him. It's not because of them.

It's because of Cage. And the memories that still haunt her with him.

Clarke closes her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Bellamy shakes his head. "Sh," he soothes. "Don't be."

She tries to smile, but it collapses before her lips can turn, and her face shatters with it. He pulls her into his chest, pressing his lips on her forehead as she buries herself inside his warmth. Bellamy Cage Bellamy Cage. Love hatred love hatred.

It hurts, but with love also comes feeling, and the feeling of certain incidents she wishes to forget, but she cannot, and not because she is weak, or because she is strong. But because she is human.

And it's the best and worst quality to have in this world - being human. There is no possible way of feeling love without experiencing hate, no probability of being hopeful without being doubted.

Clarke sighs, feeling Bellamy's lips on her skin, trying not to think of the last man who did the same.

"It's okay," Bellamy whispers, holding her close to him. "You're okay."

It's late in the evening when she wakes up again, his body pressed into her as he breathes warm air into her neck. She sighs, turning to look at him, tracing her fingers on his cheeks.

There's a knock on the door then, and Octavia enters the bedroom, rigid.

Clarke sits up in the mattress.

"Tristan's here," she says, and Bellamy stirs beside her. "He says their feast is about to begin."

Clarke nods. Love hatred strength weakness. And she wakes Bellamy up, his eyes hard when she tells him they're leaving, the nail dug tightly inside her pockets as Tristan leads them towards the banquet hall.

Boom. Out. Hope you guys enjoyed this short chapter before the next and final update of this instalment But Bellamy and Clarke are back together - yay! The last scene was really hard to write, having to cut their romance short and put in the reality of Clarke's experience with Cage. Which, going forward, will still affect her. (Don't worry, doesn't mean she's any less badass. Especially with that nail, wait till you see what she does with that).

Anyways, what do you guys think? Tristan good? Tristan bad? Is the feast some plot? And if so - FOR WHAT? AND ARE THE REAPERS EVEN REAL?! So many questions and only one more chapter to go. Get ready to say goodbye to a few characters!

I hope you guys have a goodnight and let me know any of ur thoughts in the comment section below. I have a very busy couple of days ahead so last chapter should be up by next Sunday but we'll see. Xoxo, have an awesome week!