A/N: I know it's been a little while. I have been trying to write a few things, but this idea popped into my head based off spoilers from Season 3, and I just decided to go for it. I needed a bit of cheering up to be honest. I saw the panel of the 100 at Comic Con, and I just feel worried that they aren't going to follow through with Bellarke. I really want it to happen, but none of the cast or Jason seem particularly enthusiastic for the idea. I have a feeling they will happen at some point, but – I don't know, I just wish they would confirm it.

Anyway, I hope you like this story. Sorry if it feels a bit short and snappish, but I wanted to get it out.

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The 100 or any of the characters; I also do not own the song All Too Well.

I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it

Well maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much,
But maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up;
Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well

Taylor Swift, All Too Well

She leaps over the log, catching her leg on one of the branches leftover. Leaning forward she coughs, attempting to get more air in her lungs. There are screams and cries everywhere, and she knows she needs to attack, but with what? Her gun long since ran out of bullets and all her weapons are in Lexa's cabin. Lexa. Clarke attempts to lift her head over the log, but there are arrows and spears and even axes flying and something catches her on the side of her face. She ducks back down.

The greenery behind her moves, and she freezes. Her fingers scrabble for a rock and she has it ready when the face appears.

The rock slides from her hands and even though it's been weeks – months – her breath catches and her body relaxes.

Bellamy slithers on the ground, his gun lifting slightly above the log. "How many?" he hisses.

She turns her body, looking at the leader of the Ice Clan – he hasn't even looked at me. "I counted fifteen. Probably twenty."

He gives a little nod. "Octavia and Lincoln are at the other side; another one of ours is covering the gate. Who's the leader?"

Clarke nods to the woman on the horse, barking out orders. Bellamy gives another jerk of the head and aims. Gunfire is heard from the other side of the camp and the commander turns. He pulls the trigger and hits, right in the head. She falls, lands hard the ground. There is a cry from someone beside her, but Bellamy doesn't hesitate in shooting him too. Gunfire echoes across the camp, more screams.

Even though there is already too much blood on her hands, she wants to be the one firing, the one fighting against them – but she has nothing, and before she knows it the Ice Clan are in retreat. She stands when Lexa races by, on horseback; she meets her eyes and Clarke gives her a smile – tentative at best, and does she actually smile or does she just want to? – but Bellamy is standing now, and her eyes fly to him. She wants Lexa to look back at her but the young commander turns away, focused on the fight.

The noise has died. She turns back to Bellamy and finds him looking at her. She looks at him. He's got a few more scars on his face and a new jacket, but there's something else different about him. He looks weighed down, looks more tired than she can remember.

His mouth stays flat. "Nice get-up."

She lifts her hand to her face, the paint cracking as it dries. "There – it was a ceremonial thing." Her words can't come easy, not when he's looking at her like that.

"Bellamy." A deep voice makes her turn, and she recoils. A man is standing in the background, but he's deformed: one side of his face has dropped dramatically, and an eye is swollen. There's something about his hand too, it doesn't move right. His eyes meet hers briefly and he looks away. Clarke feels something in her chest – shame, and she wants to say something, wants to make amends –

"Two minutes Max. Find Octavia and Lincoln and start heading north. I'll catch up with you." The man nods and turns away. The remaining Grounders are staring at him, muttering in between breathes.

She turns back to Bellamy. "What are you doing here?"

He laughs, but it's mixed in with a snort. She flinches. "Honestly Clarke. Do you even care?"

"Of course I do." He tries to move past her but she grabs his arm and swings him round. "Bellamy-"

"What are you doing here Clarke?" he demands. His voice is low and she's grateful for that, because people are still staring. "Having fun? Throwing parties and sharing drinks with Lexa? Sounds like a blast."

"Bell-"

"Sorry if I don't quite get it, 'cause some of us are actually focusing on other things: like making more clothes for winter and finding food, and fighting off illnesses-"

"Illness?"

He laughs again. "You do a good impression of caring."

She blinks quickly. "I do care Bellamy. You know I care."

"You care?" He spits the words out, as fast as bullets but twice as painful. "You care? You sure have a fucking interesting way of showing it! Dancing round fires while I'm trying to keep everyone calm when Grounders are attacking, struggling to find medicines for Abby – y'know, your mom – because our old healer's gone walk-about, taking care of the kids that still can't go out of camp because they're terrified of what might happen, arguing with the Council about things that need being done. Yeah, sounds like you really fucking care."

"Bellamy."

He stops, inhaling so sharply it sounds like it hurts. The next time he speaks his voice is quiet, soft, and it breaks her. "I need you Clarke." He's looking at her, brown eyes deep and she feels it then, everything he isn't saying. She turns away and feels the air fizzle out.

"I thought you were struggling. I thought you could be dead." His eyes fall over her outfit. "Shouldn't have wasted my time."

Her entire body is trembling. "I can't go back Bellamy. After what happened-"

"Fuck you." She actually has to step back because he's never spoken to her like that, no matter how bad it's been between them. "You don't think I think about it too? You think I actually sleep through the night? You think I don't wake up, tears in my eyes because I remember their bodies? You don't think it doesn't eat away at me?"

"But it's different for you!"

"Why? Because I'm not pure, because I wasn't born from Ark royalty, because – because I'm not good enough, smart enough to understand the morals-"

"No – would you just listen Bellamy!" She can barely catch her breath and she can taste salt now, drops falling on her lips. "You're stronger than I am. You have a strength that I don't have." She means it. Everyone here in Polis looks at her like she's a leader, like she's a great leader – could be the greatest commander out of them all. But that title belongs to Bellamy. He's the one that can handle it all. He's the one that can go through hell and still get up the next day. He's the one that will get them through it.

"Fuck you," he says again. His hands are clinging to the gun like it's a shield. "Y'know Clarke, I always thought that, with you and me it would be-" His words catch and he shakes his head, closes his eyes. "Forget it."

"Bellamy-"

"Clarke." She hasn't seen Lexa approach until she's there. She's looking at her but she pauses pointedly on Bellamy. "We need to talk."

"In a minute," she begins, but Bellamy shakes his head.

"She's all yours," he tells Lexa. He shoots Clarke another look and she searches for him, for the boy that once told her that who were are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things, searches for the one that would stand beside her, that would make her smile even when she shouldn't. But something's changed. He's hard now. Perhaps he'll always be.

"Thanks Princess," he says, sarcasm dripping. The words hit her in the chest and she feels a fresh onslaught of tears. Bellamy doesn't know, she's never told him Finn's last words, she's certain he would never have said them if he knew, because he's not cruel – no, Bellamy is never directly cruel. But it hurts, it really hurts, and as she watches him walk away she acknowledges that maybe it hurts even more than when Finn said them.

Octavia takes one look at his face and says, "Lincoln and I will grab some food. You and Max can get firewood." They split up, going in opposite directions.

Max is right at Bellamy's shoulder. "Was that Clarke? Your friend?"

"Yeah."

"Wow," he says. He's heard the stories, of course. "Now I know what she actually looks like. Was it good to see her again?"

"Let's forget it." His voice is sharp and he feels Max wilt a little from beside him. Instantly he regret it. Max is always so kind, so like a child, being cruel to him just feels wrong. Max has already had a lot of experience of that: because of his deformity, he's been shunned by his own people. Bellamy has a little pride in the fact that they didn't. Max had been openly curious about them, watching them just as Lincoln once had. Everyone had been terrified of him when they first glimpsed him, Bellamy included. But Lincoln, tolerant Lincoln, had explained what happened to people like Max.

It took time, but slowly they began to accept Max's presence. He didn't run when he saw them, and it was Octavia that managed to talk to him first. She came back, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He's alone Bell," she had burst out, fists clench. "I know what that's like. I remember."

Well, he could never refuse his sister. He invited Max to stay with them, despite the Council complaints and the Ark's fears.

But Max had been shunned. And the delinquents, the kids that had been put in the Sky Box, they know what that's like. Bellamy could not have been prouder of the fact that it was them – his people – who first accepted him, practically without question. He still remembers when they named him. Harper, the girl who's afraid of her own shadow after what happened, shyly asked him his name. "I don't have one," Max had said.

She had brightened. "We'll give you one, won't we?"she had asked, turning to the group.

Miller had snorted, hunched over his blanket. "I've never named anything. Didn't even get to name the camp."

"Bellamy named me," Octavia had said. Wrapped in Lincoln's arms she looked over at her brother from the fire. "He's had his turn." Bellamy had raised his cup in agreement.

"Jasper can name him," Monty suggested. They all looked at the boy. Jasper barely talked these days, not to anyone, not even to Monty. Abby had diagnosed him from suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and yeah, he probably has that. But Bellamy reckons it's more than that. The boy's heart has been broken, his soul shattered. He can't go back to who he was.

For a long time it was quiet. As it started to grow uncomfortable, Jasper finally spoke. "Max is a good name," he said. (Later, Jasper tells him he named him after Max Weber. "He was an anti-war activist," he says, lightly shrugging. "I think we could use someone like that.").

"Max," Octavia had repeated.

"Max," said Harper, nodding.

Bellamy had been the one to lift his glass, toasting his name. The kids had joined in, but the thing that got to Bellamy was Max's face. It had a light to it, something he hadn't seen in God knows how long. He had hope. The thought went through his mind before he could stop it: Clarke should see this. Clarke would be proud.

Now Bellamy shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "It's not your fault."

After a moment he feels Max nod. He wanders a little bit away, trying to find some wood that isn't damp. Bellamy puts his hands in his pockets, waits until Max is further away when he draws a piece of black material out. It's a haphazardly made scarf that came down with the Ark. After they had got back with Finn, after he shot all those people, Abby had shoved it onto Clarke. "You'll get cold," she said, as if that was the worst thing. Clarke had worn it for a week or two, to appease her mother. One day Bellamy had found on the floor of the med bay. He had pocketed it, meaning to give it to Clarke when he next saw her.

"Idiot," he mutters. "Carrying it round all this time." He drops his arm down to the ground and prepares to let go.

Ten seconds pass, and he tells himself to drop it.

Twenty seconds pass and his fingers are still gripping it, clenching it, stiff as ice.

Thirty seconds and he wipes his brow, swearing, telling himself to chuck it as far away as he can.

A whole minute goes by and the scarf is still in his hand. He lifts it up and, quickly checking to make sure no one's around, sniffs it.

It smells like antiseptic, smells like seaweed, smells like honey and sweetness, smells of strength and power, smells of her and he remembers: "I need you," she says and he feels something in his chest snap –

"I do believe in second chances though," she tells him, and he knows she's not talking about Murphy –

"I can't lose you too," she says and that's when he knows that he means something to her –

All those nights when they stayed up talking, sometimes until the sun rose, when it felt like they were the only two people in the world –

He realises that Max has come back and has been watching him. He wipes his eyes with his arm and wants to turn away; but the man is already in front of him. With his hands he reaches for the scarf. Bellamy thinks he's going to let it go and opens his mouth, but the man wraps it round his neck, once, twice, three times. He says something in another language – Trigedasleng perhaps, because he recognises a few words, but his Trigedasleng is shaky.

"What?" he says, but Max just smiles and walks away.

A little while later by the fire, when he's ready, he asks Max what he said. The man smiles and repeats the words softly: "Yu yuj. Klark yuj. Yu en Klark gonplei nou ste odon nowe."

By that point, he knows what it means, learning the language from Octavia: You strong. Clarke strong. You and Clarke's fight isn't over.

Bellamy shakes his head. "Hodnes laik knwelnes." Love is weakness.

Max hits him on the shoulder, making him wince. "Branwoda. Hodnes laik yuj."

He says, fool. Love is strength.

'Cause there we are again, when I loved you so
Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known
It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

Wind in my hair, you were there, you remember it all
Down the stairs, you were there, you remember it all
It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

Taylor Swift, All Too Well

A/N: So, a few things:

1) It sounds like Bellamy's going to resent Clarke for leaving him to hold the camp together, so I wrote this fic from that point of view. I wanted to write a bit of an angst story with no resolve, though of course I had to put a bit of happiness in there.

2) Yes, yes I know, another Taylor Swift song – I swear, I do listen to other music! But I love All Too Well, especially the lyrics, and as I was planning this fic this song came on and it just felt right for the story, plus the lyrics seemed to suit the situation Clarke and Bellamy are in. The title of the fic also came from the song.

3) The addition of Max also came from spoilers, as they mentioned they would discover more about the Grounders who were affected by radiation. I had only meant to bring him in as an interesting addition and of course went into the back story of him. It got me a little emotional actually, picturing this really lovely person shunned by his society for looking different, so I wanted to make him accepted by the 100 and become one of them.

4) I used the language Trisedasleng for this fic and, let me tell you, it wasn't easy. I think I got most of the words right, except I couldn't find the word for strength so I replaced it with strong which I think works.

Hours to make. Seconds to comment.

PLEASE REVIEW!