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"So, we took a vote," says Raven.
Clarke and Bellamy exchange a look. "Who's we?" asks Bellamy, at the same time she says, "A vote on what?"
"The hundred," Raven says, and it's almost strange, that they still call themselves that. Bellamy and Raven were never even part of that group, not with that title, but they still belong, so it was never really one hundred, from the start. But it would be too much, to change how they thought of themselves every time they lost someone.
When she looks at Bellamy, she knows he's thinking thirty-seven, just like she is. But neither of them says it.
"We want to take a vacation."
Bellamy actually laughs out loud. "A vacation?"
"Yeah," says Raven, a challenge.
Clarke smiles a little. "Sorry, you just made it sound really--serious," she decides. "You took a vote?"
"We're convincing you two, aren't we? We figured we'd need a compelling argument."
Bellamy crosses his arms over his chest, but he's looking amused too. "Yeah?" His eyes flick to Octavia and Monty, and Clarke steps a little closer, just enough he should be able to feel the heat of her shoulder. He doesn't talk to her about Octavia, not really, but the way he doesn't talk about it makes it clear what's happened. Octavia was hurting, and she hurt her brother because she didn't have anyone else to hurt. Bellamy thinks he deserved it, and he'll never ask her to apologize to him. He blames himself as much as she blamed him, and neither of them will ever think it's something they need to talk about, so they'll never really get past it, not like they should. Bellamy will keep apologizing, and Octavia won't, and neither of them will understand why it's not enough.
It's on her list of things to work on. She just hasn't figured out how yet.
"So what's the argument?" he prompts.
"We need a break," Octavia says. "Everyone knows it. But you guys don't know how to stop. So we're taking it out of your hands. There's no way you trust us to go on vacation by ourselves."
Bellamy snorts. "Wow. That's quite a master plan you've got there." When he looks at Clarke, she can't quite read his expression. Or, well. She probably could. She always can. But she's not ready to. Sometimes, when he looks at her, she knows it's too many things, warmth and concern and a question that he doesn't know he's asking. One she doesn't answer.
But she smiles.
"I could take a break," she says.
"Yeah, Clarke took a three-month vacation," he says, and she snorts. Nothing says fun like picking at each other's scars.
No, really. Nothing does.
"You know any good spots?" he goes on. "Somewhere cozy."
"Depends on what you're looking for. Do you like damp caves?"
"Luna would let us go into her territory," Raven says, cutting them off. No one else really gets their sense of humor, these days. Not that she blames them. "She's got the ocean, right?"
"Miller wants to go surfing," Monty adds.
"We all want to go surfing, Bell."
"A vacation to the beach," Clarke says. "Just for us."
"We've earned it, right?" Raven asks, and she thinks of Bellamy, telling her they deserved a drink. They've gotten a few, but it doesn't feel like enough.
A break does sound good. A break with her people. Not away from them.
"So you want us to convince the council," Bellamy says.
"You can, right?"
"Maybe," he says, but Clarke can tell he's already figuring out how to do it.
"A couple days for travel."
"Fewer if we could take some jeeps. We wouldn't need that many. And it's not like we're using them for much these days. And then we could bring supplies too. Tents and stuff."
"A week?" Clarke suggests. "You think we could take a week?"
"I think we should, even if they say we can't." His smile is small, a little mischievous. It reaches his eyes, and Clarke already liked the plan, but now she's all-in. It's going to happen. "We've earned this, right?"
"Yeah," she agrees. "We've earned this."
*
"Thirty-seven of you," says Abby. "For a week."
"Yeah," says Bellamy. "And?"
Clarke bites back on her smile while her mother bites back on her scowl. He's never been afraid of Abby, but since they destroyed ALIE, he's even less afraid. He just doesn't seem to care at all, anymore, what she thinks of him.
Clarke doesn't know what Bellamy sees when he looks in the mirror, now. There was something dead in his eyes for a long time every time she saw him, something resigned that she wasn't sure would ever leave. But he's coming back, slowly. The person she knows he can't stop being.
She's not sure he knows how good he is, but he knows where he's supposed to be. That he can take care of these people. She thinks he believes in peace again, and that's nice too. If she only does one thing for the rest of her life, she wants it to be making Bellamy Blake feel like he can finally stop fighting.
"That's a long time to be down almost forty people."
"You'll be losing mostly guards, and we have Trikru who should be trained up to pick up the slack by then," Clarke says.
"We aren't taking much food, so you'll have overall gains on rations for the week."
"It's a good way of strengthening our relationship with Luna and her people."
"And we deserve a break."
"Don't we all deserve a break?" Abby snaps.
"Sure," says Clarke. "You can go next."
"We asked first." Bellamy cocks his head. "Are you saying no?"
"I don't think it's a good idea."
"Abby," says Kane, gentle, and it still--it makes Clarke prickle, seeing his hand on her mother's arm. She doesn't resent it, doesn't blame her mother for finding someone new. She'd rather her mother was happy than not. It's not as if Clarke hasn't lost people she might have married, if they'd lived, and she's not ready to give up on the rest of her life, so why should her mother?
But she doesn't quite know how to look at them, still. She can't quite focus her eyes when they're together.
Bellamy's shoulder brushes hers, and she looks at him instead.
"It's necessary," she says. "We need this. Give up forty people for a week now, or give up forty people because we break later. It's your choice."
"It's not," says Kane, but he sounds amused. "You'll leave with or without us."
"Yeah," says Bellamy. "But if you say no, we might not come back."
"One week," says Abby. "You can take four jeeps, one day's rations each." She looks between them. "There's no point in saying it would be better if one of you stayed, is there."
They move together reflexively, a united front.
She sighs. "I thought not. One week. When do you leave?"
*
Bellamy found a pair of sunglasses in a bunker a couple weeks back, and now he wears them all the time. Clarke doesn't know how they became a point of contention, but they bicker about them all the time, and it's great.
"I know you're jealous, but try to control yourself," he says, when she huffs at him behind the wheel. So of course, she plucks them off him and puts them on herself instead. It's her favorite move; she hates not being able to look in his eyes.
"I'm driving," he says. "I'm the one who needs to not be blinded by the sun."
"But I look so much better in them."
"Uh huh." He takes them back and puts them on again. "Keep telling yourself that."
They've got a pile of kids in the back and a bunch of supplies strapped to the roof of the car. Monty and Miller have one jeep, Raven and Octavia the second, and Harper and Murphy the third.
Clarke props her feet up on the dash. "I know you just get jealous when you see how good I look in sunglasses."
"Oh yeah, definitely. I wish I was as cool as you."
"I know you do. Someday."
He shakes his head, turns back to their passengers. "If anyone has to go to the bathroom, go now!"
"You're not our dad, Bellamy!" yells Felix.
"Hey, if you want to piss in the jeep, that's your call," he says, starting up the ignition. "I was just trying to help."
It's not a bad drive to the sea. Octavia went on horseback a few days ago to make sure that Luna would let them enter her territory, and she gave them the location of a beach they can use, something safe and private. Somewhere to be for a few days, on their own, safe.
Halfway there, they take a break, stretch and find places to use the bathroom eat some of the rations they took, in case they can't fish or forage when they get there. Bellamy puts his sunglasses on Clarke with a smile. "You're driving the rest of the way, right?"
"If you insist," she says, and slides into the driver's seat. Bellamy's still in the front with her, because no one would ever try to deny his place is at her side. Not at this point.
"So, what do you want to do at the beach?" she asks him, once they're back underway.
"Hm?"
"Come on, you're looking forward to this, right?"
He shrugs. "I guess. I mostly just like water for getting clean, but it could be fun. I told Miller I'd help him figure out surfing."
She wets her lips. "What's Octavia doing?"
"Whatever she wants." There's a pause, and then he says, "It's going to be sunny, right? I just want to lie on the sand with my eyes closed and not think about anything. And then if anything goes wrong, I'll yell at people."
Clarke smiles. "I'm going to sit next to you and draw."
"Yeah?"
"People really like painting the sea. I figure it's going to be inspirational."
"Yeah," he agrees. "Sounds good to me."
*
What the ocean is, on first glance, is huge. Clarke's not used to so unbroken a horizon; the sand and the surf stretching out as far as she can see. It's huge and endless; it's beautiful and terrifying all at once.
"Holy shit," says Bellamy, next to her. "That's the ocean."
"Yeah," she breathes. "That's the ocean."
It's just before six, and there are a couple Floukru waiting for them. They have food and wine, offered by way of greeting, and they eat it together on the sand. It's still light and warm, and Clarke already feels like--not a new person, but an easier version of herself. Like she can breathe.
She sits next to Bellamy, her shoulder brushing his, the constant reminder that he's there. She knows she's always been the one to leave him, so she doesn't really feel like he might go, but it's like a tether. She knows where she is, when she's with him. She knows how to come back to herself.
"Octavia said you'd bring your own accommodations," says Dayvin.
"We did. Thank you for the meal."
He shrugs. "We knew you wished to be left alone, but she thought you wouldn't want to catch dinner after the journey."
"Thank her too," says Clarke, and they go.
She didn't plan sleeping arrangements, but she's not surprised when everyone has their own tent mates picked out, and no one picked her or Bellamy.
"I can go in with Monty and Miller," he offers.
"No, that's stupid. I get a tent to myself and they don't get any privacy? I don't mind sharing with you." And then, because it feels like a lie to leave it at just that, she adds, "You're my first choice."
There's a pause; he's looking at the waves. "Cool," he says. "I'll get a fire going. I think you're supposed to have a campfire, on the beach."
They pass around the moonshine Monty and Jasper brought, although Jasper doesn't drink it. No one drinks much, really, just a few sips, enough to make things loose.
Harper's the one who asks, "Anyone know any ghost stories?"
"Too many," Bellamy mutters, and Clarke elbows him.
"You know some. Some good ones."
"What's a good one?" he grumbles, but he doesn't mean it; she can see him thinking. Finally, he leans forward and says, "Orpheus and Eurydice. That's a good one, right?"
"I don't know that one," Clarke says.
"It's a good one," Octavia says, soft, and Bellamy nods to his sister.
"So Orpheus," he says. "He's the best lyre player in all of Greece. And he's in love. He's getting married." He looks down at his hands, like he's regretting this already. "At the wedding, his wife, Eurydice, steps on a snake, and dies."
"What kind of snake?" asks one of the kids.
"A poison one, duh," says Octavia, and Bellamy smiles a little.
"So, yeah. She dies, and it's Ancient Greece, and Orpheus is the son of--" He makes a face. "Is he a demigod, O?"
"Calliope," she says. "His mom was a muse."
"Right. So yeah, he's kind of a god. Supernatural, anyway. So he goes to the underworld."
"How?" asks Monty.
"How?"
"How does he get there?"
"It's Ancient Greece," Bellamy says, but he's relaxing a little. "You can basically just walk right in. And he does, and he gets an audience with Hades and Persephone. And he plays his lyre for them. And it's so beautiful that they agree he can take Eurydice back with him. But there's a condition."
"There's always a condition," says Octavia, and Clarke knows exactly who she's thinking of. She knows what Jasper is thinking too, and Raven.
Bellamy's harder. He has more people he could be thinking of.
"Hades says that he can take her, but he can't look back. He has to walk out of the underworld and never check she's there. He just has to believe she's behind him. And if he gets out without looking, he gets her." His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and someone passes him the moonshine. He takes a swig and passes it to Clarke. "And he doesn't."
"Doesn't what?" asks Jasper, voice a little raw.
"He doesn't make it. He thinks he hears her behind him, but he's not sure. He thinks she's back there, but he has to know. And finally he looks back, because he can't not look. And he loses her. She's gone forever."
Clarke takes a drink, and Bellamy glances sidelong at her. She realizes with a start that he's thinking of her. Not of losing her, but of what she did. Of giving up the chip, and the City of Light, and Lexa, and her mouth goes dry.
It wasn't like that, not really. She didn't mess up. She did exactly what she meant to do. It was just hard.
"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow," says Miller, into the quiet. Everyone snaps to him, and he smiles a little. "Macbeth can be a ghost story. I'll do Hamlet next."
It turns out he knows a lot of soliloquies, goes through a couple from Macbeth, a few more from Hamlet. One of the younger kids, Miranda, says her dad loved The Tempest, asks if he has anything from that, and Miller rests his elbows on his knees.
"Now my charms are all o'erthrown," he says. "And what strength I have is mine own, which is most faint. Now, tis true, I must be here confined by you, or sent to Naples. Let me not, since I have my dukedom got and pardoned the deceiver, dwell in this bare island by your spell."
Earlier in the week, Bellamy scraped his arm open on a broken part of a fence, and Clarke slides her hand over the bandage, her usual excuse for comfort. It seems like he's always got some cut she can check up on, nothing life-threatening, just--something.
She hopes he's not doing it on purpose.
"But release me from my bands," Miller continues. "With the help of your good hands."
For the first time since she's been home, Bellamy's hand closes over hers, fingers warm and rough and sure, and Clarke loses everything for a minute, loses Miller's voice and the beach and even her body. All she knows is his skin on hers, and she can barely breathe.
She comes back to Miller, drawing to a close. "As you from crimes would pardoned be, let your indulgence set me free." There's a pause, and then he says. "That's a really long speech just telling you guys it's time to clap. Come on."
Everyone laughs, claps and whistles, and Miller stands and bows.
Bellamy doesn't let go of her, and she doesn't try to get away.
People start drifting away after that. A few of them throw off their shirts and jeans and jump into the water, which seems possibly stupid, but the Floukru said it was as safe at night as in the day, so Clarke doesn't try to stop them. Others go to their tents or to smaller groups.
She and Bellamy stay as the fire dies.
"What do you think it means?" she asks.
His fingers twitch against hers when she speaks. "You need to narrow that down."
"Orpheus. Myths teach lessons, right? What does that teach us? If you keep looking back, you'll ruin your future?"
He's quiet for a long minute, thinking. Finally, he says, "I think it means--there are always going to be things we can't do. Good and bad."
"What happened to Orpheus?"
He gives her a wry smile. "He was in a Greek myth, so nothing good. I think he got ripped apart by--angry something. I can't remember what. Some angry women, maybe?"
"Wow."
"Yeah." He clears his throat, squeezes her hand and lets go. "It's almost healed."
"Good." When he rises, she does too, pours water on the fire. She loses him for a second in the darkness, and he steps closer, like he's looking for her too. "It wasn't like that," she says, now that it's almost black.
"What?"
"The City of Light. I didn't try to take her out. It wasn't--she was gone. I knew that. I don't know what I could have done, but it wasn't--I got to say goodbye," she says, finally. "Twice. That's more than a lot of people get."
"Yeah."
"It was a good story," she says. "You don't have to feel bad."
"Who says I felt bad?" he grumbles, and he finds her hand again, tugging her along with him. "Come on. Tent's this way."
*
He's already awake and out of the tent when Clarke gets up the next morning, which is nice. She stretches, pulls on some clean clothes while she has the privacy, and pokes her head out. She can smell cooking fish, but the first thing she actually sees is Bellamy, hands on his hips, calling to Miller about something.
She doesn't know what, because he's wearing nothing.
Okay, obviously it's not nothing, but he's just in his underwear, and Clarke can see his broad back and firm legs, the definition of bones and muscle under his taught skin. He always freckles more in the sun, she's seen it on his arms and shoulders, but now she realizes it might be everywhere, and her mouth goes dry at the thought of six more days of Bellamy, mostly naked and sun warmed, smiling and relaxing and enjoying himself.
She goes to stand next to him, feeling overdressed in her t-shirt and skirt. "Morning."
He turns, and she sees he's wearing his sunglasses too. She's never seen him like this--the most undressed he's ever been in her presence is a t-shirt and shorts--and it's like getting punched in the gut with want, sudden and not really unexpected. It's not like she didn't know she loved him, even knew she probably loved him like this.
But she wasn't expecting how it would feel, seeing him now.
"Morning," he says. "Sleep okay?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Pretty well." He cracks his neck. "There's food over there, if you're hungry. I think we're just going to be fishing and cooking non-stop."
She plucks his sunglasses off and puts them on, and his grin is even better when she can see his eyes. Not that the sunglasses don't look good.
"I found those, you know," he says.
"I know." She looks down at herself. "I'm feeling overdressed."
"Yeah, I think everyone just wants to be able to jump in the ocean as soon as possible."
"I thought you weren't going in."
"It's hot," he says, and she makes sure he's still looking at her as she tugs off her own shirt and slides off her skirt. She's wearing about the same amount as most of the other girls, her bra and underwear, but he's not staring at anyone else, and she grins at him.
"It is hot."
"Yeah," he agrees. "You're going to burn up, you know. Do you have anything? I know Harper does, if you forgot yours."
They'd come up with sunscreen a few weeks back, when it started getting bad. Clarke tends to go pink then red, never developing a nice tan like she wants to, and Bellamy's concern is both cute and a little funny.
"I brought sunscreen, yeah. Can you help?"
He looks around, but she's pretty sure he's checking to make sure no one needs them, not looking for an excuse.
"Yeah, of course," he says, and they duck back into the tent. He rubs the lotion into her back with warm, firm hands, and she gets the rest of her and tries not to think about how good his touch feels.
"You don't need any?" she asks, just to be sure.
"I have better genetics than you do."
"You do," she agrees. "Have you eaten?"
"Not yet."
"Then come on. Let's get some food and try to figure out something to do with ourselves."
He laughs. "I think we're supposed to be having fun."
"What's fun?" she asks.
He just grins and snatches his sunglasses back from her. "Only one way to find out."
*
Everyone finds their own favorite things on the beach. Miller did make a surfboard, and even though the waves aren't huge, he manages to catch a few, usually lying on his stomach and coasting in. He shares the board around with anyone who wants to try, and even Clarke gets a couple. The water is a little chilly, but refreshing, and while she doesn't love it like Octavia and Miller do, it's still nice.
She talks to people she hasn't talked to since before the Ark came down, plays games with them and checks in, feels humbled when she realizes they still trust her, and knows why when her eyes seek out Bellamy automatically.
The two of them are still looking out for their people. They got off track for a little while, but they're back now, and everyone knows it.
He tends to spend his time as he said he would, stretched out on the beach, mostly naked, wearing his sunglasses and reading. People will drag him off for other things sometimes, but not often; mostly, if anyone wants to spend time with him, they'll just sit. Monty is there a lot, chatting with him about nothing while he watches Miller in the waves with an expression Clarke of vague disbelief. Raven likes to sit too, her brace keeping her from just running into the water without a care. The two of them don't talk, but Bellamy will sometimes shove his book at her and point to a passage, and she'll read it.
Octavia makes sure her brother gets in the water at least one a day, and every time she asks him, he goes, and every time Clarke's chest twists up.
She's with him most of the time, because she doesn't want to be anywhere else more.
Nights are her favorite, when the sun has set and things get quiet. They move away from ghost stories, but not away from stories. Octavia gives Bellamy suggestions for myths he used to tell her when they were kids, and Miller does bits from plays or movies. He's as naturally dramatic as Bellamy, and it makes her smile. Maybe that's why they got to be friends.
She thinks about that a lot, how it would be if they were on the Ark. Which of them wouldn't even have survived past eighteen, floated for what they'd done, which of them would be around. If they'd ever see each other.
"Take a walk with me," she tells Bellamy on the fourth night.
"Sure," he says, ducks into the tent and tosses her shoes and a shirt, since it's getting cold.
She feels love in her throat now, something pressing down like it's trying to choke her, but she knows it never will.
"I was thinking," she says, when they're a good ways away.
"You? Thinking?"
She laughs and elbows him, and he smiles too. "I'm being serious."
"Again, you?"
"Thirty-seven." He sobers instantly, and she continues, "It's a good number."
"Yeah, lucky thirty-seven," he says, dry.
"How many do you think would have been pardoned at eighteen?" she asks, ignoring him. "I wouldn't have."
He actually stops walking, a look of horror all over his face, even in the dark. "You would have. You're--your mom would have saved you."
"She didn't save my dad. She only could have saved me if she could convince the council I wouldn't talk."
"By the time you were eighteen, they would have had to have another plan," he says, and she takes his hand because he still looks so fucking scared, thinking about this world where the two of them never even met, and she died.
"This was her other plan, I'm pretty sure," Clarke admits. "This was the way she found to save me."
"And she did."
She squeezes his fingers. "She did. So--thirty-seven. I don't know how many of us would have survived, if we'd been on the Ark. Even if they fixed the air."
"More people on the ground would have survived," he says, not looking at her.
They haven't talked much about the massacre. Clarke knows--she knows it wasn't the right call. And she knows it wasn't really his call, which makes it worse.
So she says, "What would you do now?"
"Tell Kane to lock Pike up sooner."
"He might have still won the election."
"Yeah."
"And then he would have gotten the guns without you."
"But it would have been without me."
"I know," she says, and his hand tightens on hers. She squeezes back.
"I still don't know what to do," he admits. "I don't know how to feel like--we're on fucking vacation, Clarke. I'm kind of happy."
"Good."
He snorts. "I'm trying to think that."
She considers for a second, walking in silence. The beach is getting cool, not chilly, just--nice, and his hand is warm in hers. There's no one else she wants to be with right now more than him, and she's pretty sure he knows that. Which is a good start.
"You want to know what I think?"
"Yeah," he says, and it's raw enough to hurt.
"I think you do your best. That's what--you're not perfect, Bellamy. None of us are. But every day of your life, you've been doing your best for the people you love. And I don't think you always get it right. I don't either. But you try harder than anyone I've ever met."
"Great," he says.
"It's good. Don't act like it's not. I meant it. You're--" She wraps his arms around his waist, impulsive. "You are one of the good ones, Bellamy. I don't care. You fucked up. You can't change that. I fucked up too. We're going to do better, right? Together."
"We always do better together," he agrees. And then he says, "I don't know how to believe you're going to stay. I have nightmares about it sometimes. I wake up and you're gone."
"You never said."
"You apologized," he says. "I forgave you. It's over."
"It's not. Not if it still--"
"I have nightmares about a lot of things," he says, gruff. He presses his lips into her hair. "Don't think you're special."
"I don't want to leave," she says. "Not you. But--I can't prove it. So all I can do is keep staying. And I'm going to make you happy," she adds, impulsive. "I'm going to make sure you are."
"If anyone can, it's you." He rubs his thumb against the back of her hand, making her shiver. "Time to go back?"
"Yeah," she agrees. "Probably time."
*
When Raven sits down next to her the next morning, she's sitting on Bellamy's blanket, wearing Bellamy's sunglasses, watching Bellamy in the water. He's got Monty on his shoulders, and Octavia has Jasper on hers, and they two boys are trying to shove each other over. Bellamy's smile never reaches his eyes around Octavia, but--it's getting closer.
"Is that happening yet?" Raven asks her, blunt. She and Raven are--friends. Still friends. Just awkward. Like everything else, they're working on it.
"Not yet," Clarke decides. "Why?"
"I think it should be."
"Me too." She wets her lips. "It's going to be. Just--it's too important to screw up, I guess. I need to--" She looks down at his book; it's a battered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird; she hasn't read it, but she knows he loves it. When she reads it over his shoulder, she knows why too. Siblings and people who are doing their best. "I've hurt him enough."
"Okay," says Raven. "Good."
"That's it?"
"That's it. It's been a shitty year. You guys deserve something nice."
She snorts. "Nice isn't a word I'd use to talk about either of us."
"You guys deserve each other, then," she says, unconcerned.
"What about you? You deserve something nice too."
"I've got nice things," she says. "I'm good. Really." She grins. "Not all of us need a love life to find happiness. That's just you."
"It's not about a love life," Clarke says, because--honestly, her love life has given her a lot more grief than anything. She's never gotten more than a few hours of happiness from that, and then heartache to follow. "I need him," she admits, and Raven rolls her eyes.
"Yeah, that's so much less romantic." She knocks her shoulder against Clarke's. "I'm just saying--now's the time." And then she sobers. "And I wanted to make sure you weren't--trying to protect him or some dumb shit."
Clarke hides her smile. "Some dumb shit?"
"I know you've had a bad time with the whole romance thing."
"And if I don't tell him I love him, he'll be immortal?"
"Hey, I don't know what your issues are at this point. I'm not taking anything for granted."
"I think if something happened to one of us, I'd be more upset if we never--if I didn't--"
"Yeah," says Raven. "Good."
Monty wins the bout, and Bellamy shakes his hair out as he leaves the water, grinning and flopping down next to Clarke on the blanket and taking his sunglasses back.
"You're getting me wet," she complains.
"Sorry," he says, with no contrition. "Hey, Raven."
"Hey," says Raven. "Having fun?"
He glances at Clarke, wet hair sticking to his forehead, eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. "Yeah," he decides. "Having fun."
After dinner, she says, "Walk?"
"Sure," he agrees, grabs them shirts and shoes, takes her hand as soon as they're out of sight of everyone else. They don't say anything, just walk, the other direction this time. There isn't really anything to see, just sand and shells, a few animals, some rocks. It's dark and close and she likes it.
"This was a good idea," he says. "Gotta give O credit."
"It was her idea?"
"Her and Raven. I'm glad she--" He swallows. "She figured out what she needed."
"She needs you," Clarke says, fierce.
"She doesn't."
"We all need you, Bellamy. She just--she doesn't get it."
"Do you?"
"Yeah." He nudges her shoulder, and she corrects, "I think so. I think I was right. When I left. I couldn't have stayed here. But--I hurt you when I left, and I'm going to be sorry for that. For the rest of my life. And if I hadn't apologized, even though I think it was right--we wouldn't be here."
"We wouldn't," he agrees. "I've apologized to her."
"I didn't mean you needed to apologize." He freezes, and she squeezes his hand hard. "You did. You've done everything, Bellamy. Everything you can. She needs to talk to you. I haven't figured out how to make her."
"You're going to make her?" he asks, with amusement.
"Yeah. You aren't going to, so I will."
"You don't have to."
"I do. We take care of each other, Bellamy. All of us. But--especially me and you."
He smiles. "Thanks. Any relationships you need me to analyze for you? We're focusing on my issues a lot."
She thinks it over, and then says, "If you were Orpheus, who would you go back for? To the Underworld. Is there anyone you'd save?"
"No one who's dead yet," he says. "You only get one shot. I'd save it."
"So, Octavia."
There's a long pause, and his thumb strokes her wrist. "This is getting morbid."
"And we never get morbid."
"If she died first, yeah. It would be her. But--I couldn't wait," he admits, quiet. "Not if I could get you."
"Yeah," she says. "I'd wait for you too."
She sees his jaw working, and she's just waiting for him to argue with her, but then he says, "What's that?"
There's a patch of brightness on the rocks about twenty feet in front of them, and Bellamy pulls her along after him. They find a tide pool full of glowing starfish, and she remembers her first night on Earth, Finn by her side, watching the forest light up around them.
"It's okay," she says. "You don't love me more than you love Octavia."
"I don't?" he asks, voice unreadable.
"You love me differently than you love her."
"Yeah."
"And--I love you. Differently than I loved Lexa, or Finn."
"Yeah, I know. It's fine. Don't worry about it."
It takes her a second to understand, and then she actually laughs. "Bellamy," she says, and then she cups his jaw, tugs him down, and kisses him.
He tastes like moonshine and sea water, and he's completely still for a second, so she gives him time, because she's sure, if she just waits, he'll kiss her back.
And he does, his hands anchoring on her hips, his mouth hungry and desperate, his body all pressed up against her, firm and hot and close. He kisses her open-mouthed and all-consuming, and she tangles her hands in his hair, sticky with salt, and doesn't let him go, doesn't want to ever stop.
His breathing is ragged when he finally pulls back, his eyes wild. He's looking at her like he still doesn't believe it.
"You never love any two people the same way," she says, soft. "You're not either of them. And I love you."
This kiss is soft, and warm, and Clarke melts into him, shivering a little without knowing why. "Okay," he says. "I love you too."
"I know."
"Lucky you," he says, grudging. He rubs his hands up her arms. "Cold?"
"Yeah," she says, leaning against his chest. "Freezing. We're going to have to huddle together for warmth tonight."
He snorts and presses his lips to her hair. "Cute." But he doesn't let go. "Clarke."
"Yeah?"
He actually laughs. "Fuck, I don't know. I know you're sure, I know you--fuck. You get it, right? I'm--"
"I get it," she says, because--since they've come down, she's had Lexa, and she's had Finn, and before, she had Wells and her mother and her father. Clarke is used to loving people, but it doesn't come naturally to her. She has to work for it. Before they came to the ground, the only person Bellamy had ever loved, really loved, was his sister, and then once he let himself think about other people, it was like an explosion, because he's so good at taking care of people.
And he still doesn't know how to love anyone as much as he loves her.
"I was waiting until--I didn't want to screw it up. I'm ready."
"Oh," he says, on a breath. "Then, yeah. I'll keep you warm."
*
For the first time, Bellamy's still in their tent when she wakes up. He's awake, sitting up and reading, one of his hands tangled in her hair, idly stroking her curls. She snuggles into his bare chest, nuzzles under his jaw. They didn't have sex, but she feels as refreshed and relaxed as she ever has, just from kissing him until they fell asleep, and waking up with him.
It's the best morning she's ever had, already.
"Hey," he says. "Sleep well?"
"Yeah." She slides her arms around him, fingers tracing over his hipbone, making him shiver. "You?"
"Never better." She's not surprised when he pauses and asks, "No regrets?"
"None. What are you reading?"
"Catch-22."
"Any good?"
"Yeah. I like it."
She snuggles closer. "Aloud?"
"You want me to read to you?" he asks, dubious but amused.
"Yeah."
"You aren't going to be able to pick it up," he huffs, but she feels him turning the book back to the beginning. "You're lucky I like you," he says, and clears his throat. "It was love at first sight," he reads. "The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain, he fell madly in love with him."
He reads until they get hungry, and then they drag themselves out of the tent to get food, and relocate to the blanket, where he keeps reading to her, and she keeps napping on his chest. No one seems to think anything of it; they come by the same as normal, chat with Bellamy, and Clarke reads to herself when he's doing other things, showing him where to pick up when he gets back.
He's playing soccer with Miller and a few of the other guys when Octavia sits down next to her. She's as tense with Clarke as she is with her brother, Clarke assumes both because Octavia is mad at her too, and because Clarke's loyalties are so obvious. If she was choosing between Octavia and Bellamy, she would side with Bellamy every time. No matter what he'd done.
"You and Bell?" she asks.
"Yeah," says Clarke. "Of course."
Octavia nods, draws her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on her arms, looking out at the sea. "Is he okay?"
"No." Octavia jerks, and Clarke shrugs, looking at her over Bellamy's sunglasses. "Sorry, did you want me to lie?"
"I thought he would be. Once he--once he got you."
"That's not how it works." She has to turn away from Octavia, watch Bellamy instead. "When I came back and found him, I thought--if I hadn't left, none of it would've happened. But that doesn't mean I'm all he needs. If I thought I could--" She huffs, because she doesn't know how to say it, without sounding wrong. "Do you really think you would have been happy? Going off alone, or with--"
"Yeah," Octavia says. "We would have been better off."
"Then me and Bellamy aren't like that," she says. "I tried to be. I thought I could, just--we're not just two people, Octavia. Just because he has me, it doesn't mean he doesn't need you. Everyone. That's why I love him. Because this is just--who he is. Taking care of everyone. If all he wanted was me, he wouldn't be Bellamy."
Octavia picks up a handful of sand. "I can't forgive him."
"For what?"
"For what?" Octavia repeats, dangerous, and Clarke just looks back at her.
"Yeah. Which part?"
She's half-expecting that she'll storm off, but instead she stares out at the ocean, jaw working. "Lincoln," she finally says.
"Bellamy didn't kill Lincoln."
"No, but if he'd--"
"He fucked up," Clarke says. "I'm not saying he didn't. But--he didn't do that. And he tried to help you stop it."
"He should have tried to help earlier!"
"Maybe. But he didn't."
"You think this is helping?" Octavia snaps, and Clarke shrugs.
"He fucked up, and Lincoln died. You didn't trust him, and Lincoln died," she says. "And you're going to hold it against him for the rest of his life?"
"I'm not--" She works her jaw again. "We're getting better."
"Yeah."
"I just wanted to make sure he's happy."
"Sometimes, yeah," she says. "More and more. But I can't do it alone."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Talk to him." And then she can't help saying, "Apologize."
"Apologize?" Octavia spits, but she's still not leaving.
Octavia Blake loves her brother. More than she hates her brother. They've just never done this. And these days, Clarke feels like the leading expert on hurting the people she loves.
"He's got a scar," Clarke says. "From when you hit him."
Octavia winces, rubs her own jaw, right where they both know the scar is.
"You can't see the ones I gave him," Clarke adds. Most of her own scars are invisible; Bellamy's are all over him, every inch. "But--I don't care if you think he deserved it, or if you needed it. You know he didn't, too."
"And you just want me to--"
"He'll tell you he's sorry for the next hundred years," Clarke says. "There's nothing else he can do. If you want to make it better, you have to do something. And that's what I'd do."
"I don't know if I can," she admits.
Clarke shrugs, pushes her sunglasses up, and opens the book again. "Up to you," she says. "I love him. I'm going to try to make him as happy as I can for as long as I can. But I can't do it alone. So don't think you're off the hook."
Octavia sits next to her for a while, and Clarke ignores her. She's said her piece; it's up to the Blakes now. It's not her job.
Bellamy seems a little hesitant, when he comes back over, slotting into Clarke's right side, leaving Octavia on her left, like he thinks he might need a buffer.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey," says Clarke. "Did you win?"
"We didn't really have goals or score-keeping," he says. "So--yeah. We kicked their asses. Totally crushed them. Ten thousand to one."
She pecks him on the mouth, and he takes the opportunity to reclaim his sunglasses. "Good job," she says.
"Thanks." His eyes dart to his sister, but he doesn't say anything, just takes the book back too. "Where are you?"
She leans into him, finds the place. "Here."
"Cool," he says. "You want a plot summary, O?"
"No," says Octavia. She gives him a small smile. "I'll catch up."
*
They bring the blanket on their next walk, and they spread it out under the stars, Clarke curled into his side. It's private and quiet and beautiful, and Clarke is planning to just kiss him right away, but he asks, "What did you and O talk about?"
"You."
He laughs, tugs her closer. "Yeah, but what about me?"
"If you're happy."
"And?"
"I said no."
"Thanks."
"Was I wrong?"
"I don't know. I'm doing better. Vacation is nice." He tugs her on top of him, grins up at her. He is happy, right this minute.
She can make him happy, for hours at a time, she's pretty sure. But she's not the only source of his happiness, and she doesn't want to be.
"How about you?" he asks. "Are you happy?"
"Happier every day," she says, and does lean in to kiss him then, losing herself in it. He rolls them over and gets her off with his fingers and his mouth, slides into her, tells her he loves her on every breath, his mouth against her neck.
She drags him into the water after, kisses him and tells him they're never having sex on a beach again, because she already had way too much sand in her life.
"We're here for three more days."
"So we can have sex in the tent. Or on the rocks. Or in the water, I don't care," she grumbles, and Bellamy's laugh is bright and clear, and she loves him.
"As long as it's not off the table," he murmurs, and kisses her again.
They don't actually have that much more sex, over the next few days. The tent feels kind of public, rocks are uncomfortable, and the water is just weird. It's still okay, having sex just be another thing they do when they feel like it, in addition to reading, and kissing, and playing soccer, and getting in shoving fights with Clarke on Bellamy's shoulders and Raven on Miller's. It's not the start of the relationship, or the end. It's just sex, and they'll have it when they have it, and it will be excellent, if the first few times are anything to judge by. But it's not even close to the thing she wants most from him.
Luna stops by on their last day, brings them some gifts to bring back to Arkadia, accepts some fish for lunch, and leaves, and Clarke appreciates that she doesn't try to stay. Luna understands the need for alone time; Clarke likes her.
She likes Earth, and she likes her life. She's starting to find a version of herself she can like too, one who can survive here, and thrive, who doesn't look like someone she doesn't know when she catches her reflection in the mirror.
"I think we should do--anti-ghost stories tonight," Harper says, at their last camp fires.
"Immortality stories?" Murphy asks.
"Nice stories," she corrects. "Do any myths have happy endings?" she asks Bellamy.
"Depends on when you stop telling them," he says. He rubs Clarke's shoulder, absent. "Some of them are fun, I guess."
He tells some stories about Athena, how she was born from Zeus's head, and how she became the patroness of Athens, and Octavia makes him tell about Arachne too, even though he's not convinced it's got a happy ending. Murphy makes him tell the weirdest sex myths he knows, which he does with good cheer, and then Clarke says, "Any good love stories?"
"All love stories are terrible," he says.
"You're the best boyfriend ever."
"I know." He thinks it over. "They're all happy if you just stop when they get married, but--usually it goes badly after that. I guess Hades and Persephone are okay."
"Aren't they the ones from the Underworld?" Clarke asks, dubious. She's not great at mythology, but she remembers them from the Orpheus story.
"Yeah. It depends on how you look at it. The story is, Hades saw Persephone gathering flowers and fell in love with her, so he came out of the ground and stole her."
"Good start."
"And he made her his bride."
"Do you know what a good love story is?"
"Like I said, it's up to interpretation. Persephone knows she's not supposed to eat anything in the Underworld, because if you eat food from the underworld, you can't leave it. But she eats six pomegranate seeds anyway."
"Yeah, that's exactly what I eat when I'm hungry," Murphy says. "Six seeds. Great meal."
"It's symbolic, shut up," says Bellamy. "Her mom is Demeter, goddess of the harvest, and they're all related so Hades is her brother. And she's really pissed at him. She demands her daughter back, but she ate the seeds, so she can't just leave. So they make a deal: Persephone stays in the underworld for six months, and then she goes home to her mother for six months. And that's why we have winter, because Demeter's upset about her daughter being away and won't let anything grow."
"Again, you suck at love stories," Clarke tells him, fond.
"Thanks. The other interpretation is that Persephone wanted to stay, and that's why she ate the seeds. Because she knew her mother wouldn't let her. And there's some support for that, because they're definitely the most functional couple in Greek mythology. No cheating, no breakups. They're just together for six months a year, and apparently they're happy." He kisses her hair. "Doing their best. Better?"
"Better."
"Good. Miller, you got any goodbye speeches for us?"
Miller shrugs one shoulder. "I've got tons. This one's also telling you guys to applaud, so don't fuck it up this time, okay? I'm counting on you."
Monty pushes him to his feet, grinning, and Miller does a quick bow.
"Come on, stop stalling!" Bellamy calls.
"If," he says, appropriately puckish, "we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended: that you have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear."
It's a short speech, but nice, and--it feels like the best parts of their vacation. It's fun to see different sides of people, the Miller who memorized Shakespearean soliloquies for fun, the Murphy who really likes fishing, the Harper who's the best at surfing.
The people they don't usually get to be.
"Give me your hands if we be friends," Miller concludes, "and Robin shall restore amends."
They all stand and whoop and cheer for him, and Miller bows deep and low, with a flourish. Monty kisses him when he sits back down, and they pass the moonshine around for one last round, and then it's over.
The last night of vacation, and back home tomorrow. She burrows into Bellamy in their tent and reminds herself that nothing is really ending. They all survived, and they'll go back, and life will go on. They'll have peace for as long as they can keep it, and she'll have him for as long as they can stay together.
"Six months together and six months apart would suck," she says.
"Better than nothing," he tells her. He kisses her shoulder. "I'll take whatever I can get."
"I know. But I want more than that." It feels strangely selfish; she doesn't know exactly how to measure the start and end of her relationship with Finn, or the start of her relationship with Lexa, but she's had more time with Bellamy than she had with either of them, and all she wants is more.
"You already planning to leave when we get home?" he asks, without any trace of worry.
"Being realistic."
"If your mom tries to tell me I can't see you for six months, we're going to have a problem," he says, tucking her head under his chin. "Go to sleep, Clarke. It's just a story. I finally get you. I'm not giving you up without a fight."
"I knew you were a romantic," she says, and closes her eyes.
*
In the morning, they dismantle the tents and pack everything onto the cars. They lag a little, because it's hard to go back, but--it's not a place to live. They have a home, and it's not perfect, but it's theirs, and they're going to make it even better.
Bellamy offers the sunglasses outside the jeep. "First shift or second shift?"
"Keep them. I'll take second."
"How long before you try to take them off me?"
"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise. Besides, you're my boyfriend now, so what's yours is mine."
"I think that's when we get married," he says, and she's pretty sure he doesn't even notice, that he said when.
It's awesome.
"Are you saying that what's yours isn't mine?" she asks, sliding into the passenger seat. "Just checking."
His mouth twitches. "Yeah, okay. You're right. What's mine is yours. But let me keep the glasses so I don't crash the jeep, okay?"
"No promises," says Clarke, easy, and he shakes his head.
"Fine. Ready to get back?"
It's way too bright and way too hot, and she already misses having the ocean close enough to jump into whenever she gets tired of being in the sun.
But they have things to do.
"Ready," she says. "Come on, let's go home."