Finding You Again — Head and Heart

by Robrae

Summary:

She saved humanity. Buried friends. Carried the world on her shoulders… and lost everything.
But what if Clarke Griffin had the chance to go back to the beginning?

In a time when the sky was still unknown and enemies wore familiar faces, Clarke wakes up among the 100 — with all the memories of the end.
Wars that haven’t happened yet. Deaths that can still be prevented.
And Bellamy Blake… still whole. Still distant. Still not hers.

But is she truly alone in this second chance?
Does anyone else remember? Or will the burden of rewriting fate fall on her shoulders — again?

With her heart in ruins and time as her only ally, Clarke must choose: change the course of history or watch everything fall apart once more.
Because this time, love might not be enough.
And maybe the greatest enemy… is the past itself.

She already saved the world. But it wasn’t enough.
Now, alone in the past, will she be strong enough to relive the traumas she swore she’d buried?

Chapter 1

Light was all that remained.

There was no more time, no more pain, no more weight on the body. Only the white vastness — cold, still, almost serene — of a place that seemed to exist between worlds. A limbo between the end and what could have been. Transcendence… that didn’t want her.

Clarke was there, but she didn’t belong. A shadow among echoes, feeling her soul dragged through memories and regrets. She couldn’t feel her body. But inside, there were screams. A crowd of voices and losses, thrashing against the silence.

She had failed. Again.

Madi.
Bellamy.
Lexa.

“I tried,” she whispered. A breath of a voice. “I did everything I could…”

No response. Just silence — the kind that weighs, that suffocates, that wounds like a sentence.

And then, out of nowhere — or perhaps from within herself — a figure appeared. The embodied memory of someone Clarke had never been able to forget.

Lexa.

Commander robes, calm steps, steady eyes. She looked like a mirage molded in longing. So real it hurt.

“You were not chosen,” the image said, not harshly, but without comfort.

“I know,” Clarke answered, eyes brimming but dry. Here, tears didn’t dare fall. As if crying were a privilege denied to the condemned. “I killed. Lied. Survived. And still… I lost them all.”

Lexa stepped closer with the same grace she once used to lead armies. Her face bore the weight of a thousand goodbyes.

“What if you could go back?” she asked. “Before the deaths. Before the choices. Before me… Would you go?”

Clarke hesitated. The silence inside her screamed louder than any answer.

“For what?” she said finally. “To fail differently?”

She closed her eyes.

“I loved. I lost. I survived all of them. And all that’s left… is pain.”

“It’s not pain that defines the fall,” Lexa said, her voice soft like an old prayer. “It’s what you choose to do with it.”

Clarke lowered her head. Her heart was heavy, as if each beat carried a name.

“I don’t know if I could love again,” she confessed. “Not the same way. Not after everything I lost.”

Silence returned. But this time, it came with a gentle breeze. As if the light itself was breathing.

“This is not forgiveness,” Lexa whispered. “It’s responsibility. A chance to remember that every life matters. Including yours.”

Clarke lifted her eyes. For the first time, there was real fear in them.

“What if I ruin everything again?”

“Then it will be your responsibility to fix it. Even if you’re alone.”

The light pulsed. Warm. Alive. Almost like a heartbeat.

Clarke felt the weight of time unraveling around her. The ground vanished. The pain returned. The fall came.

And then… she fell.

⸻

[Narrated by Clarke Griffin]

Gravity pulled me back to reality before I could remember how to breathe.

Everything was the same — the metallic thud, the smell of rust, the tight belts, the screams. All of it. And yet… nothing was the same.

This time, I remembered.

I remembered the blood that stained these walls. The bodies that never came back. The promises I couldn’t keep. The hope that died in my arms.

But now I had something I didn’t before:
The chance to do it differently.

I opened my eyes. I recognized the seat layout, the tremble of the descent. And every face — every voice — was a reopened wound.

“What’s going on?!” someone screamed, panic rising.

“Are we crashing?! Are we gonna die here?!”

The same hysteria. The same chaos. And no one had any idea what was waiting for them. Sent to Earth as criminals, still dreaming of freedom. Of fresh air. Of redemption.

I turned my head.

And there he was.

Finn Collins. Carefree smile, playful eyes, the unguarded charm of someone who hadn’t yet known real pain.

“Bet you’re the rich rebel from the back cell,” he said, leaning casually.

“And you must be the idiot from the front cell,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

It was automatic. Reflex. A response from the woman I had become, not the girl they expected.

Finn looked surprised. Definitely not the reply he was expecting.

“Relax, princess. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Two boys began unbuckling. The same two. The same choices.

No.

“Sit. Down. Now.”

My voice cut like a blade.

Finn raised his eyebrows.

“Are you giving me orders?”

“If you want to die snapping your neck, be my guest. But drag those two with you before they become a statistic thanks to your cheap charm.”

The tone made him pause. Then, with a resigned sigh, he pulled the boys back into their seats.

“Do what the doctor says. You’re a doctor?”

“Got a problem with that?”

He smiled, but this time, there was respect in his eyes. Or maybe curiosity. But I couldn’t afford to be distracted.

The thud came. The ship groaned under the atmosphere. Screams, tremors, alarms. I clenched my eyes shut and gripped the seat handle like it was my only anchor.

One, two, three impacts.

And then…
Silence.

But everyone was alive.

This time, they were alive.

⸻

The commotion was instant. Cheers, rushing footsteps, hands tugging at bolts, trying to open doors.

“We’re on Earth!” someone shouted.

“This is real?!”

The sound of new chaos.

And then… his voice.

“What the hell is this mess?”

Bellamy Blake.

His version before the pain. Before the leadership. Before me.

My heart almost stopped. I turned my head slowly and saw him — younger, less hardened, but still with that calculating look. Worn jacket, radio on his shoulder. A lighter copy of the man I knew. Loved. Lost.

And he didn’t recognize me.

Of course not.

To him, I was just another face.

I looked away before my heart could do something foolish.

“Nobody opens that door!” I shouted. “There could be radiation, toxins, diseases!”

Murphy laughed out loud.

“Scared of the blonde? The air smells fine to me.”

I swallowed the rage. No one knew each other yet. I had to keep up the act.

“We don’t know if it’s safe.”

Bellamy stared at me, defiant.

“You want us to live in fear?”

The tension between us was subtle, but it was there. Even before any story. Even before everything that was coming.

I turned, looking for a familiar face. I found Wells.

Wells — the only one who knew the Clarke from before. Maybe the only one who could recognize her now.

“You okay?” he asked.

“For now.”

The hatch opened. Light hit us like a slap. And outside… Earth.

Green, alive, wet. Real.

“WE’RE BACK, BITCHES!” Octavia shouted.

Everyone rushed out. Jasper, Monty, a swarm of ecstatic teenagers celebrating what they thought was freedom.

But I knew better.

I stepped onto the grass slowly.

The Earth beneath my feet whispered of ghosts.

But maybe… maybe this time, I could save some of them.

⸻

The sunset painted the sky red as the group gathered around the fire. I stayed back. Watching. Calculating. Remembering.

Finn sat beside me.

“You’re different.”

“Different how?”

“You know what to do. You give orders like you’ve done it before.”

I swallowed hard.

“Maybe I just read the right books.”

He laughed.

“Then you read the right ones.”

I looked at the sky. The same stars that had witnessed my losses.

This time, I’d do it differently.

Even if it cost me everything.

Wells approached, hesitant.

“Clarke…”

“I know it wasn’t you,” I cut him off. My voice firm, but heavy with pain. “It was my mom.”

He looked down.

“I just wanted to protect you.”

“I know. And I forgive you.”

We hugged. A small gesture, but full of promises.

And there, with the Earth breathing around us, I understood:

This was my chance.

To rewrite the ending.
To change the beginnings.
To save myself, too.

Even if it meant losing myself again.

Chapter 2: First Consequences

The Earth’s air smelled like everything the Ark could never offer: freedom, damp forest, wind dancing through leaves. Clarke closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin for the first time in years — or in lifetimes.

She had forgotten what this felt like.

The cool breeze, the sensation of living grass beneath her feet. The real sound of birds, so different from the mechanical echo of recordings on the station. Every detail was a rekindled memory, as if the entire world was breathing with her, whispering you’re back.

She knelt down, fingers gently digging into the soft earth. The smell of humus, the warm, almost soft texture… How had she walked here before without noticing any of this? Maybe that was the miracle of returning: the pain had made her feel more alive.

But there was no time for wonder. The past was moving fast.

In the distance, voices blended with the sound of branches snapping. A group was starting to gather, excited, talking about food and water.

Clarke stood. It was time.

—

“We’ll head to the river, see if we can find anything,” Monty said, adjusting the strap of his makeshift backpack made from torn fabric.

“Someone’s gotta make sure nobody drinks poison by mistake,” Jasper added, glancing at Clarke with a grin. “You’re Abby’s daughter, right?”

“I am,” she answered firmly. “Which is exactly why I’m going with you.”

Finn raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Octavia, on the other hand, was already drifting away from the group, impatient as always.

Clarke noticed and walked toward her.

“Octavia, stay close,” she said gently.

“Before you get any ideas…” Octavia started, turning to face her. “Finn’s mine.”

Clarke paused, surprised by the aggressive tone. But then, with a cold half-smile on her lips, she replied:

“Yours? Or his girlfriend’s back on the Ark?”

Octavia’s eyes widened, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. But before she could respond, Monty called out:

“Hey! We found the river!”

They ran to the bank, laughing, relieved by the discovery.

Clean water.

The group approached cautiously, but Octavia was already stripping down, excited.

“Octavia, wait—!” Clarke began, but it was too late.

She dove in, leaving a trail of ripples on the mirrored surface.

Clarke’s stomach turned. The memory was sharp as a scar: the snake, the screams, the blood.

“There’s something in the water!” Jasper shouted, pointing at a shadow moving beneath the surface.

As panic spread through the group, Clarke stood still. Her heart was racing, but her face remained calm. She stepped back, pulling a small rusted knife from her boot.

With a swift, precise motion, she sliced open the palm of her own hand.

Blood dripped silently, trickling toward a point farther down the shore.

The current carried the scent.

The shadow in the water shifted direction.

Octavia was still swimming, confused.

“Pull her out! Now!” Clarke ordered, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Monty and Finn rushed to grab Bellamy’s sister, yanking her out forcefully. When she reached the bank, coughing and soaked, the group swarmed around her.

Only then did they notice the blood dripping from Clarke’s hand.

“You… you cut yourself on purpose?” Finn asked, stunned.

“It worked,” she replied simply, wrapping her hand in a piece of cloth like it didn’t hurt.

Silence. No comments, no questions. Just confused, frightened stares. She didn’t explain.

She didn’t need to.

—

Later, the group walked in tense silence. Jasper cracked nervous jokes to lighten the mood, but no one truly laughed.

That’s when Clarke saw it.

The metallic glint. The figure between the trees. The instant before the arrow.

“Jasper, down!”

He dropped by reflex. The arrow embedded itself in the tree where he had just been standing.

Screams. Confusion.

“Run!” Clarke shouted. “Someone’s out there! They’re watching us!”

They fled through the underbrush, the sound of snapping twigs mixing with their heavy breathing.

—

The sky was beginning to darken when they returned to camp, panting and covered in mud. Bellamy ran over the moment he saw his sister.

“Octavia?! What happened? Are you okay?”

She nodded, still trembling. But it was Clarke who answered, already opening an improvised medical kit from the dropship:

“She’s alive. And hurt. We need to clean this before it gets infected.”

He stepped closer, frowning.

“What happened out there?”

Clarke washed the wound with precision, eyes fixed on the cut.

“We’re not alone on Earth.”

Silence fell over the group.

Monty swallowed hard. Jasper looked around, as if the bushes might be hiding eyes. Octavia, paler now, trembled slightly.

But Clarke didn’t waver.

The same nightmare, again, she thought, feeling the sting of alcohol in her own wound as she cleaned it with quick movements. Her face didn’t show pain. She already knew every step of what was coming. And she couldn’t afford to falter.

—

Night came with cold and uncertainty.

The Earth’s sky shone brighter than any simulation on the Ark. But to Clarke, the stars looked like threats.

She sat alone by the dropship, cradling her bandaged hand against her chest.

It was only the beginning.

And she was already tired.

But she couldn’t stop.

She would keep them alive until the end.

This time, at least some of them.

Chapter 3: Ashes and Sparks

Clarke walked among the teens gathered around the fire, their faces lit in flickering orange flashes that danced like memories. A makeshift lantern swung in her hand, casting crooked shadows over shifting bodies. They had already hung clothes from branches like flags of a new life, pitched fragile tents with inexperienced hands, and shared leftover food as if the act alone could birth a people.

She watched it all with eyes that had seen too much.

There, among the laughter and chaos, were the same ones who had died, broken, gone mad. But now… they were just teenagers. Loud. Disorganized. Alive.

And because of that, it hurt more.

Clarke knew exactly what needed to be done.

“You can’t leave the dropship wreckage like that, exposed. The cables are loose—someone could get hurt,” she warned a group tugging at a metal plate like it was a giant toy.

They ignored her. Of course they did.

Clarke sighed. She crouched without complaint, knees pressing into the cold earth, and began securing the wires with a strip of cloth. Her mind was quiet, guided only by the sound of her own breath.

Monty approached, curious as he watched her improvise the binding.

“You… know how to do that?” he asked, his voice carrying that mix of awe and admiration only someone truly pure could have.

She forced a smile, a memory passing behind her eyes.

“I learned from my father. And by watching the engineers on the Ark.”

It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Monty nodded, impressed, and moved on. She stayed, hand resting on the warm metal for a few more seconds, as if she could feel the weight of a ghost there.

—

When the sky turned navy and the forest began whispering its nighttime songs, Bellamy appeared at the edge of the camp, sweaty, shirtless, his chest heaving in a satisfied rhythm. Clarke looked up from what she was sketching in the sand—lines, markings, priority names. A survival plan drawn with the tip of a stick.

A girl slipped out of his tent, adjusting her shirt, making no effort to be discreet.

Clarke raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes.

“Seriously, Bellamy?” she muttered to herself, like someone talking to a constant headache.

But of course, he heard.

“What’s the matter, princess? Jealous?” he teased, grinning like the world was a game and he’d just scored a point.

She looked up slowly, face blank, eyes sharp as a blade.

“I’d be more jealous if you were good at anything besides breaking rules and seducing girls with low self-esteem.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by the elegant ferocity of her reply.

“So you are watching.”

“No. I just have eyes.” she replied, going back to her lines in the sand.

He knelt beside her, curious.

“What’s this?”

“Camp organization plan. Security zones, food, sanitation.”

“You really think you can turn this chaos into something functional?”

She looked up, her gaze hard as tempered steel.

“If we don’t want everyone dead in three weeks from infection, starvation, or an attack, yes. That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

The silence between them lasted a beat longer than necessary.

“You wanna lead? Fine. But start acting like a leader, not like a teenager on spring break.”

Bellamy pulled back with a cynical smirk.

“You do like giving orders, huh?”

“Only when no one else knows what the hell they’re doing.”

—

The voices around camp grew quieter, muffled by exhaustion and dying embers. But Clarke remained awake. Sitting near the almost-dead fire, she passed a clean strip of cloth over her wounded palm, her face still as someone who had felt worse pains—and locked them all inside.

The blood dried slowly beneath her fingers. Her body ached more from tension than from the cut. But the silence was a relief. A moment to breathe without pretending everything was under control.

Steady footsteps approached. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Bellamy stopped a few paces away, brow furrowed, dark eyes fixed on her hand.

“Was it because of the snake?” he asked, voice low, laced with something more than curiosity.

Clarke simply nodded, continuing her bandaging as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Octavia told me… She said you didn’t hesitate.”

She paused for a second, the cloth hovering in the air.

“She could’ve died.”

“And so could you.”

Clarke took a deep breath and resumed wrapping the bandage around her wrist.

“I knew she wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let her.”

A heavy silence fell. Bellamy seemed to wrestle with something in his chest.

“You could’ve screamed. Called for help. But no…”
He knelt slowly beside her.
“You just… cut your own hand. Like it was nothing.”

She finally looked at him. Her light eyes caught the moonlight—calm, but exhausted.

“Because it was either that or lose someone. And I’ve lost too many already.”

The silence returned, now full of things neither wanted to name.

Bellamy ran a hand down his face, frustrated.

“I didn’t even get there in time. I should’ve been with her.”

“You’re here now.” Clarke said, with a simplicity that hurt more than any blame.

He looked at her like he truly saw her for the first time that night.

“You’re different.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Because I cut my hand for a snake?”

“No. Because… you carry the weight like you were born to. Like it’s your duty to keep everyone breathing.”

She looked away.

“And what if it is?”

Bellamy leaned a little closer, his voice nearly a whisper:

“Then let me carry some of it with you.”

Clarke closed her eyes for a moment. It was more than words. It was an opening. A raw offer from someone who also didn’t know how to handle the weight—but was willing to try, beside her.

When her gaze met his again, something in it had softened. Not hope— not yet. But the memory that, for a moment, she didn’t have to be just steel and scar.

“Thank you.” she said, and the words came loaded with things he didn’t need to hear aloud.

Bellamy nodded, silent. Then sat beside her, without touching, without demanding—just sharing the space.

The fire went out completely.

But in that darkness, they were not alone.

—

At dawn, Clarke patrolled the camp like a silent sentinel. Her steps were light, but her mind marched through old wars.

Purify water. Reinforce barricades. Teach first aid. Everything spun in her head like a mantra.

She led between the lines. No titles. No badges. Just necessity.

Monty began to follow her with timid questions. Jasper approached with curious eyes. Even Octavia came with doubts between one adventure and the next. And Finn… Finn watched her. Still wary, but attentive.

Bellamy, however, kept testing limits. He built barricades, handed out makeshift weapons, organized patrols like preparing for a siege.

They were opposites.

She was calculation, he was impulse. She saw ahead, he lived in the now.

But the group needed both.

—

Morning arrived with fog and silence. Jasper was the first to wake, eyes wide.

“Clarke?” he whispered, fragile, like waking from a nightmare.

She was already up. She always was.

“You okay?”

“I… I remember the arrow. It almost…”

“But it didn’t hit you.” she interrupted gently, kneeling beside him. “You’re alive. And that’s all that matters.”

He looked at her as if seeing his guardian angel.

“You saved me.”

She smiled—a small but sincere gesture.

“And I plan to keep saving all of you.” Endure so they don’t have to.

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Jasper didn’t catch the weight behind them. But she felt every syllable like a promise burned into her skin.

—

In the camp, things were shifting.

Bellamy felt it. Clarke was rising. Her influence was subtle, but undeniable.

She didn’t yell. Didn’t threaten. She just showed. And people followed.

Meanwhile, he stayed focused on defense. Began building walls from branches and scrap metal, formed fixed groups to hunt and patrol the surroundings.

If she was the brain, he was the blade.

Heart and reason. Two halves that didn’t yet know they needed each other.

—

By the end of the day, Clarke was surrounded by Monty and Octavia, explaining how to purify water with charcoal and sand. She spoke simply, but with confidence. Her words sounded like instructions—and also like hope.

Bellamy watched from a distance.

Arms crossed. Brow tense. Jaw clenched.

He approached slowly, stopping a few steps away.

“So, you trying to become the new Chancellor, princess?”

“I just want to keep everyone alive.” she replied, not looking at him. “But if you want the job, Bellamy, the spot of reckless jackass is still open.”

They stared at each other. Silence between them, loaded with something that didn’t have a name yet.

He smirked, slightly.

“Feisty princess.”

Clarke swallowed hard. The nickname, said like that, disarmed her more than it should’ve.

“And you still haven’t figured out why.”

He tilted his head, curious, but didn’t press.

He simply walked away—and somehow, that stung more than any comeback.

—

Later, alone, Clarke walked to the lake.

She took off her boots. Dipped her feet in the cold water.

Stood still, while the moon kissed the surface and the stars seemed to whisper memories only she could hear.

The tears came. Silent. Sincere.

Jasper was alive. The group, safe. Earth, intact. For now.

She was changing the future.

And everything around her seemed to bend to that, little by little.

But with each small victory, a new weight clung to her shoulders.

The cost of change was still unknown.

And until she knew the exact price, she wouldn’t allow herself happiness.

Only the fight.

Only the vigil.

Only a hope contained—like a candle burning in the dark.

Chapter 4: If I Really Die

“They don’t know what they’re doing. None of them. And deep down, maybe I don’t either.
But the difference is: I remember.
I remember how this ends.
And I won’t let it end the same way.”

Morning came too soon.

The Earth, in its raw beauty, poured bluish light through the treetops, as if trying to remind everyone that hope still existed. The sky was clear — so different from the metal ceiling of the Ark that had suffocated her days. Clarke stared at it for a moment, eyes narrowed — but there was no time for reflection.

The screams tore through the air like a warning.

— “Who the hell turned off my wristband?!”

Clarke’s heart leapt before her body even reacted. She bolted upright, feet already running toward the sound. The center of the camp was boiling, bodies clustered, eyes wide. In the middle of the chaos, Murphy held out his bare arm, skin marred by burns — a red patch where the bracelet that linked them to the Ark once gleamed.

Beside him, a pile of broken wires, mangled metal, shattered control and safety.

And Bellamy.

Wearing that smile full of conviction, like he’d just freed the world.

— “This is freedom!” — he shouted, arms spread like a prophet of empty promises. — “You want the Ark calling the shots from up there? We’re not up there anymore. This is Earth. Here, it’s us for us.”

Clarke’s stomach twisted.
“The same thing. Again.”
The same drunken bravery, the same disregard for consequences. The same blind step toward the abyss.

She stepped forward, each footfall hitting the ground like a weight.

— “What are you doing, Bellamy?”

He turned, wearing that smile that once could’ve warmed her skin. Now, it just made her head throb.

— “Showing them we don’t need the Ark anymore.”

— “And if someone gets hurt? Sick? Dies?” — her voice was a sharp blade. — “Without the vitals, they won’t know.”

— “Exactly. They won’t know. They won’t come down for us.” — He stepped closer, his gaze locking on hers like a challenge to everything she believed in. — “Isn’t that what you want? For them to come?”

She took a step too. Close enough now to count his heartbeats, as fast as hers.

— “They’ll only think I’m dead if I really die.”

Silence fell like snow over the group. Cold, heavy, inevitable. Bellamy stared at her as if she were a riddle — a princess shedding her jewels to reveal steel beneath the skin. She didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

— “You afraid of them? Or of losing control?” — he murmured, almost intimate.

Clarke answered with a sharp smile.

— “I’m not afraid of you, Bellamy. I’m afraid of what your ignorance might cost us.”

He laughed, but something in him faltered.
— “You can’t control everyone here.”

— “I don’t want control. I want survival.” — She turned to the others, her voice lifting like a banner draped over them all. — “If you think cutting off your wristbands makes you free, then you’ve learned nothing. The Ark might be hell, but some of us have family up there. Is this what you want? For your families to think you’re dead?”

Her words fell like ash after a fire. Clarke walked away, her steps still burning, adrenaline buzzing in her veins, anger pulsing like a second heartbeat.

“You won’t make me lose focus, Bellamy Blake.”

⸻

Throughout the day, tension hung over the camp like invisible fog.
Clarke didn’t stop. With Monty, she counted every supply like her life depended on it — and maybe it did. She taught Jasper to make crude filters from charcoal and sand while mentally tracking every change. With Octavia, she used specific leaves to teach how to stop bleeding, even if the girl avoided her eyes. With Octavia, that was progress.

She remembered everything: the pain, the loss, the bad calls. And this time, she wouldn’t get it wrong.

She was useful. Essential.

Meanwhile, Bellamy… was noise.
He rallied the discontented like a general without a map. Offered freedom like poison in crystal cups. Laughed loudly at night, drinking whatever he could ferment, building his own fires, his own rules.

And always, always, a new girl in his makeshift tent.

Clarke pretended not to hear.
Kept repeating like a prayer:

“You love Lexa. Why does his sex life bother you?”

But every muffled giggle twisted her stomach.

— “Seriously, again?” — she muttered one morning, watching him step out of the tent with messy hair and the grin of a man who carried no weight.

— “Got a complaint, princess? Or just wanted in?” — he teased, raising an eyebrow like words didn’t weigh anything.

Clarke rolled her eyes.
— “Just surprised you can still stand with all that ego.”

— “You didn’t answer!” — he laughed, and she had to turn her face away to hide the smile that nearly broke free.
“Damn him.”

⸻

The next morning, Clarke saw it.

Jasper, healthier, laughing with Monty. Helping build a new water filter, hands steady, eyes brighter. That — that small miracle…

That was the first real spark of hope.

Saving Jasper hadn’t broken the timeline.
Not yet.

— “You’re looking at him like he’s a miracle.”

Bellamy approached slowly, arms crossed, voice quieter than usual.

— “Maybe he is.” — Clarke replied, still watching the boy.

— “Why do you care so much?” — there was genuine curiosity in his voice. A crack.

— “It’s not just about him.” — She turned, locking eyes with Bellamy. — “It’s about what he represents.”

— “You talk like you’re older than you look.”

Clarke swallowed hard. If only he knew how old I am…

— “I talk like someone who’s seen what happens when people stop caring.”

This time, Bellamy didn’t argue.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t tease.

He just looked at her.
As if seeing a shadow of the future dancing in her eyes.

And when Clarke walked away, he knew —
there went someone carrying far more than anyone ever should.

⸻

That night, she and Monty marked off a small area. Not official, but it was a start.
Simple rules:
Rotating lookouts.
Safe place for food.
Only filtered water.

A few came. Not for Bellamy. For her.
Because they saw usefulness. Strength. Truth.

“The medic.”
Then, “the brain.”
Some, jokingly, “mom.”

She knew what was coming.

The moment when she and Bellamy would be forced to lead together. When friction would become strategy. When tension would shift from ego war to something more tangled. More intimate.

But for now…
For now, Clarke just wanted to keep people alive.

And keep her thoughts far from the things she couldn’t have.

Lexa.
Peace.
Bellamy.