Time heals all wounds

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy didn't look at her when she left. He couldn't. He doubted he would be able to ever again. He never quite realized until today, how much that woman could truly break his heart. He knew he had felt resentment when she'd left . . . but this was a whole new level of hurt. He supposed he couldn't blame her. She wasn't the first person he'd let down. He just fought so hard not to disappoint her. She had convinced him to say, convinced him that the people needed him . . . that she needed him.

And now, he was nothing to her. Was that it? Damn it hurt. More than he was capable of expressing. Time went on though. He didn't speak to Abby about Clarke. It wasn't his place, and he fully knew that now. She had made it abundantly clear where he stood. His interactions with the others were . . . robotic almost. He didn't care to socialize with them. He didn't make small talk. He spoke only when necessary and left the rest of the managing to Kane and Abby, and whoever the hell else wanted the position.

His leadership had only been strong because of Clarke. And he had continued to do so when she left. But now, it was all over. It as one night that he just couldn't bare it anymore. He didn't want to be alone. Or maybe he just wanted to spite her. No. Why would she even care? He wanted to feel something other than pain. He wanted a distraction. He wanted to feel needed. That really was the only reason he had gotten someone to come to his tent.

He immediately made it clear that he had no interest in talking. She didn't either, so that was good. They got straight to business. He had gotten as far as removing her clothes, and his as well. He had gotten them on his bed, not caring about foreplay or anything else. He just wanted to address whatever his body ached for. But he abruptly stopped midway. He couldn't do it. It wasn't that he physically couldn't . . . but emotionally.

He had suddenly stopped and told her to leave. It only made Bellamy hate himself even more as she hurried out, for she was clearly angry and embarrassed. He just lay on his bed, trying to control his building rage. What the hell had Clarke done to him. He hated her for it . . . though deep down, knew he couldn't actually hate her. Which made him all the more frustrated. He got to his feet, fastening his pants once more but not bothering to put on a shirt. Maybe he would change his mind. Maybe not. He just stopped caring about anything. Why should he? He went to the small make shift table in his tent and started pouring himself a cup of water. When he heard someone enter, he didn't even bother to turn around. He heard her voice. And he purposely waited a few moments before responding.

"Didn't think there was anything left to talk about." His tone was emotionless. He finally turned to look at her, holding the cup in his hand, his expression matching his tone. He didn't fail to notice her current state, her lack of shoes . . . or the blood on her arm. But what should he say? He knew what he would normally say. He would feel concerned. He would start to take a look at it, and patch it up. Or if it was really bad, he would take her to medical. He'd give her a blanket.

He'd console her; tell her that he was so glad she was here, that he needed her. But that was all in the past. He needed to lock away what he felt for her. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable with her . . . and it cost him. "What could you possibly want to say to me?" He asked, or well, demanded, though his tone was flat. Lacking any sort of emotion. He didn't want to talk to her. His question was perhaps more rhetorical and sarcastic than anything else. He couldn't bare to hear her say anything else for despite how he was acting . . . she still had the ability to continue to break the pieces left of him.

[Clarke Griffin]

His tone and demeanor, for a moment it completely discouraged her. She couldn’t talk to him, but she had to. Clarke needed to fix this. She couldn’t let herself stand in the way of herself like this, not when she knew to what lengths she would go for him. She killed for him, whether he knew it or not. What it meant? She had no idea. She had no clue why he had so much power over her without even seeming to realize it. She didn’t know why she was drawn to him or why she only felt good and complete when she knew him to be around and okay. The idea of a world without him was entirely unappealing to her. 

“What I should have said earlier.” What she should have qualified earlier, because now she knew she might have hurt him. He was her best friend. In all of it this was the one label she was sure of, but she didn’t know why. Flashes of suppressed memories only made her think it was exactly what they were.”That…. I’m not scare of you as…. A person, but…. Or what you mean to me… of what I would do for you… I’m scared of that – And…” The entrance to the tent opened again, a girl came inside as if she belonged there. She didn’t pay attention to Bellamy or Clarke, just bent down to get something she announced as having forgotten in here, a locket. Clarke didn’t fail to notice her state – and of course his. She remembered the last time when she had been looking for him in the camp, confronted with the evidence of him sleeping with someone. Back then it had no effect on her. Now, though, it felt different, like a punch in the gut, only far worse. Like the last piece of her finally shattered. He had the right to sleep with whoever he wanted to sleep, she knew it consciously, but it still hurt and Clarke was incapable of voicing the feeling behind it. She was currently incapable of voicing a lot. And incapable of staying here.

The girl had left, but Clarke turned and walked out as well. She stopped outside, feeling numb. Where should she go? Left to her own tent or to medical? What was the point in that anyway? It wasn’t like it would change anything, so she turned left to slowly walk back to her tent, feeling numb, even to the physical pain.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Something she should have said earlier. What the hell did that mean? He remained silent as she spoke, elaborating, claiming that she wasn't scared of him as a person but rather, scared of what he meant to her . . . of what she would do for him. He was confused. He didn't know what to think or feel anymore. He was trying to process her words as she continued to speak when he suddenly noticed someone else enter his tent unannounced. He glanced at her but his face remained unchanged. He didn't have to explain anything.

He didn't have to justify himselfn to Clarke. He shouldn't even have to tell her that he didn't actually have sex with the woman. But then . . . why was there this feeling in the pitt of his stomach, that compelled him to do just that: explain himself. His expression didn't hold any apology and made no effort of explanation. Clarke didn't wait around long enough to hear it if he was going to anyway. She turned and left. He stared at the space she once occupied, forcing himself not to go after her.

Damn it. Damn her! Why was she doing this to him? He couldn't keep doing this. He needed to start to heal, not keep having his heart ripped out and stomped on. Did she even realize what she was doing to him? Probably not. He went to lay down in his bed, staring at the ceiling of his tent. They couldn't keep doing this. He needed it to stop. He needed her to stop. She left them . . . she left him. And came back without telling him. Only to inform him of how much he scared her . . . to this. Revealing that because she cared about him, that was what scared her.

And then, her abruptly leaving at the sight of another. Bellamy felt his head spinning and a array of emotions coursing through him that he could no longer control. He could have been lying there for an hour, or two, or three, before he bolted out of bed, grabbed his shirt and left his tent. It was still dark so the camp was quiet, apart from the guards. He went straight to her tent and barged in, uncaring if she was asleep -- though if his gut feeling was right, she too was awake. "What the hell do you want from me, Clarke?!" He demanded. He could bare this anymore. He needed her to stop doing this to him. Then again . . . he had no idea anymore of what he needed.

[Clarke Griffin]

Back in her tent Clarke was tempted to do nothing about her arm. She could just sit there on the bed, watching the blood trickle down her arm, her hand onto the bed until she felt faint and all the pain and confusion would be no more. And she did, she did just that for a few minutes as her mind circled about what she should do. She should have never come back, Clarke realized that. Life outside of Camp Jaha was easy. No emotional ties forced her to think about others. She could drown out the voice in her head, telling her to think rationally. She could breathe freely and feel like she would not forever be haunted by the almost thousand people she killed. 

Finally she grabbed a cloth to wrap it around her arm, not caring if it held or not. It would or would not, what did it matter? Clarke threw a blanket over her legs and her bleeding arm, hoping to cover up the blood, if it didn’t hold. She would not go to medical. What was she doing? It made no sense, even to her, but nothing did. She missed him more than she realized she would, she knew that. But she also knew he was her weakness and she didn’t want to admit it, especially not to herself. She had given her soul, her own existence to this group of randomly thrown together misfits, but he had held her together. Nothing could replace that, no superficial love, no friend, but she didn’t understand. She couldn’t make sense of it. And the longer she sat there, blood soaking the makeshift bandage under the cover, she could think less and less. 

His entrance startled her. She looked up, as Bellamy demanded an answer she didn’t have. At least he didn’t have one that would satisfy him. “You were the only thing that made sense in this world…. The only thing in color… I don't know anymore.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

He wasn't sure what he had expected her to say. With everything going on . . . he felt like he knew her less and less. But what he did recognize, was how delirious she looked. Something was off about her and it wasn't off in the way she had first approached him. She looked, out of it. He just silently stared at her, not so much focusing on her words as he was about how she looked. He noticed a stain on her blanket, and his mind went back to her injury earlier. He had noticed her arm had been dripping with blood when she entered his tent . . . but he hadn't said anything about it. He took a few steps toward her and pulled off the blanket, revealing the blood soaked cloth over her wound.

Bellamy took another small step back as he looked at it. How much blood had she lost? It was enough to make her look pale, and for her words to be coming out the way they were. He exited her tent, going straight for Abby's and explaining Clarke's injury. Her mother grabbed a few supplies and hurriedly made her way over to Clarke's tent. Bellamy followed, but he paused before he stepped in. It wasn't his place to go in. She didn't need him. She . . . was afraid of him, and whatever he was doing, was making things worse for her. So no, he couldn't go inside. Instead, he waited outside, a few steps away from the tent, but close enough that should Abby exit, he would be able to immediately find out whether Clarke was going to be ok. Regardless of how she felt about him . . . Bellamy knew that his own feelings toward her hadn't truly changed. He still cared about her, and that was what made this so damn hard.

[Clarke Griffin]

What was he staring at? Clarke opened her mouth to say more, but she couldn’t find the words or would they just not come out? It was then that she realized how bad she actually felt, how weak. As if someone had drained her completely of her power. But she needed to tell him. She needed to speak to Bellamy. Instead he turned. Clarke didn’t even realize he had seen her wound, all she knew was he was running off, leaving her alone. “I guess I deserve it.” She slurred, slowly coming to the awareness of why she felt so bad. Her wound. She was losing blood. Damn it. Before she could even move – Clarkes movements were slow and sluggish anyway – her mother rushed in. “Bellamy.” She tried to question, but her mother wouldn’t have any of it. She focused on her arm, to get the bleeding under control. While something pressed down on her wound the blonde felt something sting. Moments later she felt her mothers lips on her forehead as her eyelids grew heavy, too heavy to hold them open.

As she slept, her mother called for Jackson to help her bring Clarke to medical. She stopped to tell Bellamy that Clarke was stable, but sedated for the moment and they’d monitor her for the night. In the morning she slowly came to as the sedative wore off. She felt weak, but clearer than before. It was only Jackson with her, who asked her all sorts of questions. For now she felt clear headed, clear headed enough to request food and ask for Bellamy. She now understood he had saved her life last night, yet she didn’t know if she should ask for him to come see her or if she should go see him.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

It felt like ages of waiting until Abby came out and informed him that Clarke was stable, but sedated. She had lost a lot of blood and that she would be monitored over night. Normally, he would offer to stay with her. And part of him still wanted to. But he also didn't think he was good for her. Not anymore. So he just nodded and told her to tell him if anything changed. He stood outside her tent for most of the night, constantly telling himself that he should leave, but instead, just stood there . . . not even sure what he was waiting for. It wasn't until he saw the sunrise that he decided he best leave. He went back to his tent to freshen up before the rest of the camp slowly started to wake up. Once he stepped outside, breakfast was ready and people were in line with their plates.

He made eye contact with Jackson who told him that Clarke was asking for him. Bellamy just silently nodded, letting the man go back to Clarke's tent with the food. He felt conflicted. He wanted to go, but should he? Her words of last night were not forgotten. He was all too aware of them. But he also knew she had been out of it . . . though, that hadn't been the case when she came into his tent. Damn it. He took a deep breath and made his way over to her tent, finally stepping inside. Jackson looked between them before he made his leave. Bellamy almost wanted to ask him that he should stay for he wouldn't be here long . . . but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He just stood there, looking at Clarke's arm rather than her face. "You mom said you're doing better," he stated, not even sure what tone was behind his voice. He was tired of trying to figure it out. Having to raise his guard around her after she was one of the first people to ever lower it . . . was do damn hard.

[Clarke Griffin]

Clarke was just drinking – careful, calculated slow sips as to not overwhelm her body – when Bellamy entered. She smiled at him, while he looked anywhere but at her. Could she blame him? Not at all. What she had done to him, it lacked comparison. It was ugly, she knew now that she felt clear and collected. The weakness in her body didn’t stretch to her mind today. She felt almost good, for now. Knowing she wasn’t exactly healthy, she knew that state could change at any moment, as soon as something, even the smallest thing triggered it. Right now though, she felt safe, knowing her body was weak and she was in a safe environment, in her own tent, with Jackson – who really had to have a crush on her mom – near. But most importantly Bellamy was here. 

“I am. Not just because of the arm.” She had to address what he had done for her, despite how she was to him last night. She wished he would look at her. “Bellamy, I am so sorry for what happened yesterday. I wasn’t myself, you’re right. Jackson says it’s ptsd, whatever that means. The thing with the arm that was a flashback.” This time she looked at her arm, at the thick bandage around it. She had to explain it to him. 

“I am a coward, Bellamy. I knew I made a mistake once I left. And I made a mistake sending you to Mount Weather. And I made a mistake telling you I was scared of you. I’m scared of what I feel. You’re the most important person for me on this planet. I don’t know when you became that, but you did. So… what I’m trying to say is: I’m sorry. I am so sorry for what I put you through.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She confirmed that she was, but not only because of the wound on her arm. She then apologized for what happened, admitting -- or recognizing rather -- that she wasn't herself. PTSD. Due to everything that had happened. He coudln't blame her for that one. He knew she hadn't been herself, but that didn't make her words hurt any less. Though he explanation of how she was coward, listing off all the mistakes she made . . . he didn't agree that they were all necessarily mistakes. Sending him to Mount Weather for one.

He never blamed her for that. Not once. It was what had to be done, and he didn't regret that. She was telling him that he was the most important person to him . . . and he wished he could believe that. He wanted to, but that want was a dangerous thing. He wouldn't be able to handle the disappointment again. She was sorry, and her apology did not fall upon deaf ears. Finally, he brought his gaze to look at her, trying to keep himself calm and leveled, but as always, his walls were crumbling whenever he was around her. "I was here for you, Clarke." Here, in this camp.

"Everytime you asked me to stay. I did. For you. So you never had to be alone." The first time he had wanted to flee was when the Ark was coming; but she had given him forgiveness. She had told him that was needed and . . . she made him feel needed. He knew Octavia didn't need him, that she would be fine. "I would go to hell and back for you, with you." They did exactly that but he wanted her to know that he didn't need an apology for sending him to Mount Weather.

"The one time I needed you to stay . . . for me . . . " She didn't. She couldn't. He understood why, but it had hurt watching her walk away. "You needed to be alone, but what about--" Him. What about him? He cared for her so much, needed her in ways that he hadn't ever needed anyone. And she just left. He shook his head a little, not trying to upset her, but trying to explain things. "It doesn't matter anymore," he dismissed. His feelings shouldn't matter. "You're back now, and you need to focus on getting better." Physically, mentally, emotionally.

[Clarke Griffin]

She deserved this, to have him tell her what he thought, to tell her off for what she did. She deserved it. Looking back Clarke knew what a bad idea it was. She could hardly understand that it ever was a good idea to her. She felt like she needed to be alone, but she didn’t. She should have stayed here, she should have been there for him and the others. They should have gone through this together. He had expected her to be there and she failed him. Who was the screw up now? Clarke, clearly. She couldn’t expect him to be there for her anymore. 

“What about you?” she questioned, voicing the word she heard without him ever speaking. Even though he said it didn’t matter, it did. To her it mattered, because he mattered to her. She wished she could just reach out, take away what she had done. She wished she could make sense of it, because even when she was clear, she couldn’t. “I need to focus on nothing but you, Bellamy. I shouldn’t have gone. I should have turned around and returned. I was selfish. I should have been there for you. I failed you, I know that. You're so important to me and I failed you.” And he had every right to hate her for it. She just needed him to know she knew she had screwed up. “We’re a team… were a team” Depending on what he said and thought, if he would allow her to regain his trust, if he would allow her to fix her mistake. “Will you allow me to try to fix it, Bellamy? Fix… us?”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She knew what he had meant without finishing his sentence, she had finished it for him. He knew he shouldn't have said it, shouldn't have expected it. But he did. She told him that she needed to focus on him and nothing else . . . and he didn't agree with that. Truth be told, he was afraid of that. Afraid of letting himself be vulnerable with her again. Then again, had he ever really stopped? Just because she wasn't here, didn't mean he suddenly stopped feeling all he did for her. "Don't focus on me," he told her. "You need to get better Clarke. And, I don't wanna make it worse for you." She told him she was afraid of him, and explained the reason why . . . so was his being here helping or hindering her?

He just couldn't tell anymore. "You need to start to heal, before trying to heal anyone else." Because they had dealt with this seperately, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it, with her. He was just afraid of hurting her, like he already had. But she said she failed him and he wished he could reassure her that she didn't. That it was alright. Hearing her say they were a team . . . that was how he had felt. But where did they stand now?

"Do you think we can, fix this?" He asked her, genuinely curious. He wanted to believe that they could get through this . . . that they would overcome this obstacle like they had every other one. "What you said to me last night . . . what did you mean?" He wondered if she even remembered, since she was lying there, bleeding out at the time. But her words were not forgotten on him. They were why he was here. Why he felt like he could talk to her, rather than keep his distance.

[Clarke Griffin]

“You wouldn’t make it worse. Far from it.” She didn’t want to tell him she needed him, which she did. But she didn’t want to make him feel like he needed to stay. She wanted him to pick what was best for him, no matter what was good for her. She had made the mistake, maybe this was part of the price she needed to pay for leaving him alone in this mess. Clarke knew it would not immediately fall back into place, but she would work, to redeem herself to him to the others and maybe that was what would help her heal. But healing or not, she needed to do this. They deserved it. Besides they would all probably have to deal with episodes where she was simply batshit crazy if her … well illness set in.

“I hope we can. I really, really hope we can fix this. I hope we can fix ourselves, each other and us. I will try, if you allow it.” She wouldn’t stop until there was absolutely no chance anymore. The pain of the previous night slowly began to make sense to her, the jealousy and heartbreak she felt, but that was not what they needed right now. They couldn’t be distracted by this, when they had more important things to do. Their relationship was damaged on a level that was more important than that. 

“That you’re the only thing in color? That made more sense in my head, I totally see that now. What I tried to express was… hard to express, is hard to express. I feel like you’re in many ways more. Like a soulmate or more, which makes it so unforgivable even to myself that I hurt you and abandoned you and endangered you. This world is… it’s all about survival and hard decisions. It’s black and white: Either you live or you die. It doesn’t have much joy in it, not right now. Of course there are colors, I see them, but… I guess that’s my inner… artistic girl speaking – This world feels black and white. You’re surviving, you’re going by a routine, it’s black and white. But you’re, well the only thing in color. You’re the only thing that give me the feeling that there could be more in this world. You make me smile. You can make me forget that we could be attacked at any moment. You give me hope. You reminded me that if I can’t survive on my own, sometimes it’s okay to let someone else protect you. That really makes more sense in my head, but I don’t know how else to say it.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She told him that he wouldn't make it worse, but he wasn't too sure about that. Though she had been suffering from post traumatic stress, he hadn't helped with how he'd reacted . . . and thus, how she responded. But he didn't want to argue with it, because he wanted to fix this. He wanted to at least try. She was telling him the same words, one that he had to hope for the best in. He had to move forward. He couldn't let his own emotions get in the way of what needed to be done. It would benefit them all if he and Clarke could make amends. He couldn't dwell on her words. He couldn't . . . dwell. When she left, he had to move forward, look after those that remained of the 100.

Dwelling in the past wouldn't help anyone, and he couldn't be selfish. He remained silent as she went on to answer his question regarding her words of last night. She seemed to know exactly what she had said as she elaborated. He had to admit that he was rather surprised by her reason for saying it, the depth behind the words. He half expected her to say that they were just a slip of the tongue during her delirious state.

But it was far more than that as she now described. There were certain words among all she said that really stood however, his mind replaying them. Soulmate. Unforgivable. Survival. Hope. He swallowed back the emotions that arose from hearing her say all this. He had . . . no idea. He knew full well how he felt about her, words that he wasn't sure he could ever admit. But this was more than that. It was about the bond they had already created.

He realized he was quiet for several moments after she finished her explanation. He had never been good at articulating his emotions or what he felt . . . but he couldn't just dismiss anything she said. "Nothing you've done is unforgivable." How could it be? He'd offered her forgiveness so that she would stay with them and if he was now going to admit that anything she did was unforgivable . . . what hope did they all have? He could forgive her. He knew that. She was far too important to him, and she deserved it.

No matter what happened that caused such tension, he never thought her less than deserving. "I never gave much thought to having a soulmate before. I thought it was just a naive, overly romantic notion." It wasn't that. He knew now. "But I was wrong. I know what it is to have one, because when you left, a part of me left with you." He cared for her far more than he should, but his words were not an admittance of that. Not necessarily.

"And when you came back, I finally felt whole again." As whole as he could considering all he had done. He just knew that he was stronger with her than without. They all were stronger with her here. "You complete me in a way that I don't even understand." His whole life had been about his family, and coming down here . . . it wasn't just Octavia in his family. It was all these people. All those that he had vowed to himself that he would protect. He'd changed in so many ways, and among that change, he found how dependant he had become on Clarke.

He never thought he would reach that level of dependancy, but he had. And there was no going back on it. There was no undoing it. Hell, he didn't even think he wanted to. "You give me more credit than you should Clarke, because I couldn't even protect you when I needed to most." He shouldn't have let her pull that lever; he should have taken that full responsibility. He should have fought harder to make her stay. He . . . just should have done a lot more for her.

"We've all been fighting so hard to survive, that we haven't really lived." There was a difference. "Let's just, try to live." There was no grand threat of Grounders right now, and no Reapers or Mountain Men. But he was talking more about them. For they carried more weight than the others. "Let's get through this, together." He wanted her to know that he wished to fix this as well. Part of him wanted to move closer to her but something still kept him grounded in place. Her words of yesterday were not forgotten, but they were explained. He couldn't dwell. No. He needed to move on. They needed to move on.

[Clarke Griffin]

“Soulmates don’t necessarily have to be romantic.” Clarke replied. They didn’t have to be, but they could be. She knew she could easily love him romantically. Maybe she already did, she couldn’t tell that at the moment. But what she knew was: She loved him in every other way. She needed him. He held this power over her, if she wanted it or not, if he wanted it or not. And in her not clear mind that scared the hell out of her. She already had no control over herself, but a man who could easily break her apart or keep her together. “I know what you mean. It was easy to run, I was broken anyway, I wasn’t whole, so… nothing haunted me. You were missing the entire time. “ She had needed him and had made perhaps the biggest mistake ever by just leaving him. But she could not take it back. At least she knew now he felt deeply about her as well, which meant they could fix it, if they put work into it. And hell she would, as much as her body and mind now permitted. 

“You did protect me.” There was nothing more he could have done. He did his best and she had been so damn unappreciative up until now. Now she knew she needed it, but she needed to let him know how much – in those moments of clarity of course. She needed to make it up to him somehow, because she fucked up by leaving. Once their roles were reversed and he stayed for her. And she left. What an idiot she had been.

“Live? How… How do you live, Bellamy?” She didn’t know this anymore, if she ever did. Clarke reached out for his hand, barely being able to get to it to begin with. Once their hands were joined again, she felt safer, grounded again. God, she had been an idiot. “How do you live, when your own mind is suddenly your worst enemy? I get scary, Bellamy. You’ve seen me yesterday. I get really scary. My arm… that’s not the first injury I sustained from that. I hate when I get like that. And you should probably… stay away from me then. I could hurt you and I don’t want to.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She told him that soulmates didn't have to be romantic, and he knew that. As he had said, it was something he'd learned. The initial thoughts toward soulmates were two people in love . . . but there was a deeper sense of the word. One that could only truly be discovered through experience. And well, he and Clarke had gone through a hell of a lot -- together and seperately. So when she had brought up the word, he agreed with the way it could describe the bond they shared. It didn't have to be romantic. It far surpassed any romance. He wasn't sure how she was going to react to the rest of his words, and found himself relieve when she said that she felt him missing as well; that she hadn't been whole either.

It validated how he felt, even if he wouldn't have regretted saying the words should they not be mutual. In regards to him protecting her . . . no. He didn't. He hadn't. He disagreed with her assurance, but didn't want to debate it. She would never blame him for that, she was too good to give him the fault of what had happened. Her next question however . . . was more difficult to answer. He felt immediate comfort when she took his hand in her own, his fingers wrapping around her in response, the warmth of her skin filling his body; a sensation he had long been deprived of.

Because this wasn't just any woman . . . this was Clarke. She elaborated on her question, asking how they lived when your own mind was your worst enemy. "I don't know," he admitted, but would not be defeated. "But I'm hoping we can try. That we can find out the answer to that, together." They they could learn to live, because they both were haunted by their past in a way that no one else understood.

She then told him that she could get scary, that that wasn't her first injury . . . that he should stay away from her. "Clarke," he began to say, stepping a bit closer to her, ever so gently giving her hand a light squeeze. "I put my hand on that lever with you, so that you never had to be alone in what came after. I knew this wasn't going to be easy, for either of us. I knew that the repercussions would be massive. We both knew that." He just hadn't expected her to leave, but dwelling on her absence would not help now.

He wanted to focus on her presence. She was back, and he wanted her to stay. "But I would rather go through this with you, than without you. If you let me." That was what it came down to; if she let him. He couldn't force himself on her, he couldn't force his company on her. He didn't want to make it worse for her if she couldn't be around him. Part of him wished he could in a way. But if she told him now that she wanted to get through this together, then he would believe her. She seemed stable at the moment, and whatever words were said next, or whatever was done after . . . he would hold onto this conversation.