Look at that. An update. What a concept.

OoO

Bellamy stared out at the assembled crowd. The survivors.

His sister and Indra. Kane and Abby. His missing friends.

And an army of Grounders.

They didn't understand why he was the spokesman for Clarke. For Skaicru.

But they needed a push for this final fight. A nudge and a hopeful heart.

He could give them that.

"Many of us consider one another enemies," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. "We've lost people we loved to a war founded on misunderstanding. We've held grudges. We've held oaths of vengeance. But tonight we put that aside to face a greater enemy."

Octavia's chin rose with pride and confidence, and she gave him a small nod.

"This isn't about Grounders and Sky People. It's about saving our friends. Our loved ones. That's what unites us. Our ability to fight for what we believe in. Freedom. Justice. Love. That's what proves we really aren't so different."

He swallowed, thinking of Clarke and the way she'd accepted him, burned and broken, into her life, even after everything the Grounders had put her through. She put aside her resentment for a brighter future.

He could do the same.

"Now I don't care if you all go back to hating each other tomorrow. If this alliance and our ties to another end with this battle," he said, and the army stared at him, eyes fierce, mouths parted. "But tonight, we fight together. Tonight, we bring our people home."

That seemed to resonate with the crowd, and an energetic hum filled the air.

Lexa was watching him attentively, maybe with a hint of respect.

(Probably not, but he'd like so.)

"Let the Mountain Men witness our glory," she concluded.

She raised her sword in the air, and the army roared.

OoO

They reached the split in the tunnel, and Bellamy nodded at Lexa, wiping the Reaper blood from his chin.

"Go get your people out of those cages," he said, pouring his faith into her. "I'll search for mine."

She bowed her head, signaling for Anya and a few others to head off into the dark of the cave.

She glanced back at him, her face stoic and fearless. "Save Clarke."

For the first time he saw himself in her—beneath the fortress and the gates and the carefully constructed indifference. There was a person forced into leadership before she was ready, forced to make the hard choices for her people. And someone who cared deeply for others, even if she didn't know how to show it.

"I will."

And with that she disappeared after the others, leaving Bellamy with Kane, Octavia, and most of the factory station.

They blew the lock on the security door, and it swung wide, a high-pitched alarm spinning red color across the dark of the cave.

"We kill armed guards only, is that clear?" he said, facing the open door and the unconscious men lying across the threshold.

He heard his men shift their guns over their shoulders, and he swallowed.

Hold on for me, Clarke.

Just a little longer.

OoO

Bellamy shot the last guard in the stomach, and he pinned him to the ground as he bled out against linoleum.

"Where?" he demanded.

The man shook his head fearfully, and Bellamy, in all his Grounder glory, closed his fist around his throat.

"Where are they?"

"L-level Five," the man gurgled, eyes fading fast. A little bit of regret and disgust festered in Bellamy's stomach at the blood on his hands. Just not enough to distract him from finding Clarke.

"What the hell is going on down there?" a voice hissed from the man's belt.

Bellamy seized the radio, eyes flickering to Octavia and Kane in triumph.

"We're here. We're coming for you, Cage," he growled. "Let my people go, and I'll spare yours."

The man on the other end laughed, and the mental image Clarke had described to him came to life.

Of all the terrible things the Grounders had done, that Bellamy had done, this man took the cake. He was the monster. Untouched by war and radiation. Hands sterile and clean.

But a monster all the same.

"Without your people, my people have no chance," Cage continued.

Bellamy was already running for the fifth floor, Octavia slicing the obstacles to pieces.

He could hear the screams on the other end of the radio. His people. His friends.

"We do what it takes to survive…you know that by now…" the voice sang.

He couldn't get there fast enough.

There were too many soldiers in his way. Too much carnage between him and Clarke.

And then he heard it, the distinct sound of her voice, louder than the others, defiant. Brave.

His gut bottomed out, and he forgot how to move.

At first the screams were resistant, stubborn. But then the drill started up again, and Clarke's voice ran dry on her anguished cries. She's dying, Bellamy thought despondently, she's dying.

"Clarke…" he breathed into the radio, voice wavering.

"You can kill us, but you'll lose her..." Cage drawled. "Stand down or she dies."

"I'll kill you," Bellamy responded thickly.

He heard the laugh fizzle out over the radio, and he saw red.

He flew past hallways of confused civilians, sprinting for the dormitory.

When he finally reached the room, he didn't wait. He shot the two men on lookout, then burst through the doors. He spotted Cage, splotched in red, leaning over a medical table, over matted yellow hair, and he didn't hesitate.

Bellamy pulled the trigger and watched the monster crumple.

Octavia and the others soared in the room to take the other guards out, but Bellamy only had eyes for one.

Clarke wasn't moving.

He hurried to her, heart leaden.

Blood soaked through her chest where Cage had drilled, and fuck, that was too much blood.

But when he looked at her face, he saw her wet eyes open, watching him proudly.

"You made it," she breathed.

"I was a little late," he croaked— on the verge of a breakdown—and she gave him a watery smile.

He unclasped her from the table and immediately drew her into his embrace.

He didn't say a word, he simply held her there, his head buried in her hair, trying not to hyperventilate.

Slowly, she drew her arms up around him and hugged him back, fingers digging into his shoulder, legs on either side of him. And she just sighed, melting into him, like she'd been waiting a lifetime.

OoO

The fallout of Mt. Weather was better than expected.

Dante was convicted of his crimes, but he stepped down quietly, mourning the loss of his son alone.

They'd established a peace treaty with the remaining officers in the mountain, in which they agreed that the residents would remain unharmed if the harvest chamber was exterminated and the practice forbidden. The civilians were horrified by the dark secrets of their council, and they were more than willing to adhere to the Ark's conditions, especially after the brutal assassination of most of their guard.

Clarke offered trade negotiations. Supplies for a small, monthly blood donation. Nothing more.

Jasper had said goodbye to his girlfriend with tears in his eyes, but he promised to visit her and check in with her over the radio at least once a week. Bellamy didn't really think that was going to work out, but the kid still had that light in his eyes, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to put it out.

The other delinquents rejoiced and reunited with the family that had made it to the ground. Nathan and Monty were a sight for sore eyes, not that they recognized him.

Not that anyone knew who he was.

Or ever would.

Lexa and her army left on good terms.

The Commander had said a few things to Clarke in private, then nodded at Bellamy with eyes that said a lot more than the closed line of her mouth.

Bellamy nodded back, and he watched the army disappear into the forest.

He couldn't say he was sad to see them go.

"No goodbye kiss?" Bellamy teased, as they trudged back to Arkadia, trailing in the back of the group.

Clarke glared at him over her shoulder.

He tried not to smile.

"She actually asked me to go back with her, to serve as an ambassador in Polis," Clarke confessed.

Bellamy felt his throat close up, and his step lagged behind hers.

"I said no, obviously," she continued, glancing back at him, offering a small smile. He nodded, like the idea wasn't troubling. Even though it was. Clarke was too damn difficult to keep rooted in one place. She was like his sister in that way, and he wasn't sure when she was going to disappear.

It seemed like she was destined to walk away, back up to the surface with the flowers and the sunshine.

"I'm just surprised you managed to work with Lexa without one of you killing the other," she praised.

"She's…not so bad, I guess," he relented, catching up to her. A little too unemotional. A little bit rude. But a decent leader. For a teenager. "Though, I'm pretty sure she was hitting on me."

Clarke scoffed. "Shut up, Bellamy."

Just like that, the world froze around him and he fell into a void of panic and alarm. She just said….did she actually…

He tried to find his words but came up with a tight, "What?"

Her smile dwindled, and she looked away bashfully.

He couldn't breathe.

This wasn't happening.

This wasn't…

"Did you seriously think I wouldn't catch on?" she murmured, sparing him a hesitant glance.

He gaped at her, speechless.

There was no point in denying it now.

"How long have you known?"

She rolled her eyes. "I had my suspicions. The freckles. Certain phrases. But I knew when I heard you over the radio. You called us your people."

"And you didn't say anything?" he cried, humiliated. Horrified.

"I wanted to wait until you were ready."

He shook his head. That was his line.

"I'm sorry. Are you not ready? We can go back to pretending you're a Grounder," she said, and he couldn't handle the sarcasm.

He was deteriorating from the inside.

He should feel relieved. She knew now. She didn't hate him.

But all he felt was dread.

"Bellamy?" she said quietly, voice laced with concern.

He waited, and her face broke with grief and something else Bellamy couldn't pinpoint.

She walked back to him tentatively, and she carefully raised her hands to his mask. When he didn't flinch away, she inhaled and lifted the veil he'd hidden behind for so long.

The wind kissed his cheeks, and he felt exposed. Raw.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't…know how to…"

Clarke wasn't listening.

She caressed his face with her hands, running her fingertips over his scars like they were sacred. Her thumb brushed his brow, the curve of his cheek, his jaw, his lips. She was studying him, not like a patient. Like an artifact.

"For the longest time, I thought you were dead," she whispered. "You let me believe you were dead."

He was still under her touch, gazing at her wet, angry eyes.

"I was scared," he confessed, closing his eyes as she stroked the hair that had grown back away from his forehead.

"Why?"

He looked at her cautiously, eyes hooded. Because she knew him like the back of her hand, she understood him, all of him. And his fears.

She swallowed, looking to the side and back.

Then she stood on her toes, and she pressed her lips to his.

He closed his eyes and slid his hand up behind her neck, cradling her head as he pressed back against her mouth.

This was all he ever wanted. Her. Here. With him.

Clarke. And Bellamy.

No secrets. No masks. No kids to save.

Her mouth glided along his, not hungrily, not forcefully, just…fucking finally.

She kissed his cheek, and his nose, and his burned face, and he wrapped his arms around her to keep himself together. To keep her from drifting away, like a dream.

She hugged him back, warm breath against his ear.

"We've all got scars, Bellamy."

He dipped his head, her hair tickling his nose. "They're your scars too, and I didn't want you to be reminded of it all, every time you saw me."

"I'm not," she assured him, chuckling in disbelief and tenderness. "I'm reminded of how much you've done for me. Over and over again." She pulled back enough to look him in the eye, blinking rapidly to keep the tears in. "And I love you for it…"

His breath hitched.

She already knew he loved her. It was so painfully obvious. And it didn't help that she could read him like an open book.

But…she felt the same.

And maybe it wasn't all that astonishing. Maybe this was the end they'd been aggressively fighting for all along.

"I started to love Atlas, too," she admitted, trying to appear angry still and failing. "And then I felt horrible, because I felt like I was replacing you, and I missed you…" Her lip quivered, and she was crying openly now. She smacked his chest halfheartedly. "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Fuck," he laughed, kissing her again, smiling into her skin. "Me too."

OoO

They walked back to the gates, and Bellamy stopped just short of the entrance.

Clarke glanced at him, watching his thought process. She retraced her steps, standing beside him as the last few survivors trickled into the camp.

"You okay?"

He looked at her, scarred but beautiful. She'd always thought he was attractive. Beautiful, but broken on the inside. Only vulnerable around Clarke and his sister. Now that part of him trying to heal could be seen on the surface too, like a work of art.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

Her silence prompted him to continue.

"I just…things are different now. A lot has changed."

She didn't know if he meant between them or on the broader scheme of things.

"Are you worried everyone's going to make fun of your missing eyebrow?" she said seriously, and he cracked that smile that she'd missed so desperately.

But he was still nervous, so she took his hand in hers and gazed up at him.

"Together."

He studied her, and she didn't know how she hadn't recognized those eyes back on the bank of that river. Eyes the color of tree branches and caves and the crust of the earth. Full of so much love.

His hand tightened around hers, and he gave a little nod.

Together.

*inserts season 4*

*pretends the first half of season 3 did not exist*

Well that's a wrap. With a little extra cheese. ;)

Thanks for sticking around!

Check out my other Bellarke fics if you didn't hate this. 3