[ Call her incredibly suspicious and downright unmotivated to try to make new friends after endangering/losing/killing half of the ones she'd had back home, but — ]
You want to adopt all the people here? [ But color her skeptical. Skeptical and leaning back in her chair, giving Bellamy a wary once over while she runs through a list of all the people she'd met so far. An expectant father to be whose call for help had sounded weirdly well rehearsed, crude humored skeptics, faceless individuals who talked in code, and people (not people?) who hung children off bannisters with sheets. (And admittedly, some really nice, understanding people. But her point remains —) ]
We don't know who any of them really are. I don't think everyone here's really even human.
[ Admittedly. He'll give her that wiggle room, but there's an emphatic nod of his head all the same. For all his gruff and violent exterior, for all that he believes himself an irredeemable monster, a human wrecking ball, he can't help the instinct to look out for them. ]
Some of these people are in the same position we are, Clarke. For now, they'd make good allies. And those who wouldn't need someone to protect them. [ That used to be what she was about, once. Protecting the people who Bellamy's group would use for target practice. He's learned this compassion from her. ]
That once seems like a long time ago sometimes. Clarke tries, she tries, but it seems to take all her energy to care for and preserve what few friends she has here — especially when those friends ("friends", it's questionable with lexa) vanish, or are at each others throats with their teeth barred. There's not a lot of effort left to go around to the stragglers around the hotel.
Rubbing a hand across tired, sleep deprived eyes, Clarke sighs. She doesn't want to fight with him, not over something quiet so trivial. Not when — ]
[ Taking that as some kind of concession, Bellamy offers a grim but understanding smile. There's genuine warmth there—he's glad to see her too, and he's even more glad that she's relented even somewhat on the point. He reaches out to clap one hand on her shoulder, squeezing. ]
Likewise, Princess. [ And it's true, even with the truth that he knows now about Octavia. What Raven told him doesn't change how important Clarke is, even if it makes it sting to look at her. ]
I don't know what I'm going to do about Raven and the Commander, [ she confides, stopping herself just short of leaning into his touch. Her face remains set in the mixture of irritability and exhaustion (edged with deep sorrow around the eyes) that she always seems to sport now a days, and Clarke sighs.
She'd just spent half a week in a bathtub with the two of them, it had been incredibly tense — almost painfully so — and a selfish part of her wants to know if he'll divide and conquer that gap with her, tackle one front while she tackles the other. ]
[ He tries to keep his voice from sounding hard when he admits it, doesn't want to express the tension that his conversations with Raven have reflected over his relationship with Clarke. They're talking more than Clarke might like them too: that's the truth of it.
Clarke had her reasons, he's sure, for lying to him. He can't, won't hold that against her. ]
The Commander handles things differently than we do. Have you thought about asking her? Raven has a grudge she wants to get out: the Grounders seem to know how to deal with that kind of thing pretty well. If you ask me, she's earned the outlet. [ He's not saying let them go a few rounds, but ……… ]
(Go a couple rounds or go a couple rounds? Be honest with what you're suggesting, Bellamy.)
And Clarke is totally shaking her head. ]
I don't want — either of them getting hurt. I don't want — [ anyone else to die, because she doesn't trust the two of them to keep their cools yet. It's been a month, and while Lexa may seem over the initial outrage of the massacre, neither Raven nor Clarke were anywhere near over Finn's death.
The thought (her ineptitude, at keeping her friends safe) has her falling into a hard silence, and not completely able to keep his gaze. ]
[ Which is what Raven may well resort to. Lexa, Clarke would say, has too much honor for that. Bellamy knows it.
But Raven is cut from his same cloth, and it's what he'd do if she had taken someone from him the way he'd taken Finn from Raven. If it had been Octavia, if it had been Clarke, Lexa wouldn't still be breathing. ]
They either get it out of their system, or it eats them alive.
[ If "fine" consists of not sleeping, and seeing Finn Collins' face in various reflective surfaces and out of the corner of her eyes. But Clarke puts up a pretty good front, and channels her deep-seeded trauma into anxiety. ]
I'm going a little stir crazy here. I can't do anything. [ For anyone. For her friends in Mount Weather. For her friends here. ]
You can keep Raven and the Commander from killing one another. [ Reason and comfort rarely intersect, so he makes note of where they can. ] That has to count for something. We can't fight an enemy if we're busy fighting our friends. [ The "has to" makes it all too apparent that he feels equally listless, useless even, but he struggles through it to try and find something usable. ] We should try taking watch shifts by the dining hall, see if we can catch a glimpse of who's going in there.
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You want to adopt all the people here? [ But color her skeptical. Skeptical and leaning back in her chair, giving Bellamy a wary once over while she runs through a list of all the people she'd met so far. An expectant father to be whose call for help had sounded weirdly well rehearsed, crude humored skeptics, faceless individuals who talked in code, and people (not people?) who hung children off bannisters with sheets. (And admittedly, some really nice, understanding people. But her point remains —) ]
We don't know who any of them really are. I don't think everyone here's really even human.
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[ Admittedly. He'll give her that wiggle room, but there's an emphatic nod of his head all the same. For all his gruff and violent exterior, for all that he believes himself an irredeemable monster, a human wrecking ball, he can't help the instinct to look out for them. ]
Some of these people are in the same position we are, Clarke. For now, they'd make good allies. And those who wouldn't need someone to protect them. [ That used to be what she was about, once. Protecting the people who Bellamy's group would use for target practice. He's learned this compassion from her. ]
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That once seems like a long time ago sometimes. Clarke tries, she tries, but it seems to take all her energy to care for and preserve what few friends she has here — especially when those friends ("friends", it's questionable with lexa) vanish, or are at each others throats with their teeth barred. There's not a lot of effort left to go around to the stragglers around the hotel.
Rubbing a hand across tired, sleep deprived eyes, Clarke sighs. She doesn't want to fight with him, not over something quiet so trivial. Not when — ]
I'm happy you're here, Bellamy.
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Likewise, Princess. [ And it's true, even with the truth that he knows now about Octavia. What Raven told him doesn't change how important Clarke is, even if it makes it sting to look at her. ]
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She'd just spent half a week in a bathtub with the two of them, it had been incredibly tense — almost painfully so — and a selfish part of her wants to know if he'll divide and conquer that gap with her, tackle one front while she tackles the other. ]
Have you talked to either of them yet?
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[ He tries to keep his voice from sounding hard when he admits it, doesn't want to express the tension that his conversations with Raven have reflected over his relationship with Clarke. They're talking more than Clarke might like them too: that's the truth of it.
Clarke had her reasons, he's sure, for lying to him. He can't, won't hold that against her. ]
The Commander handles things differently than we do. Have you thought about asking her? Raven has a grudge she wants to get out: the Grounders seem to know how to deal with that kind of thing pretty well. If you ask me, she's earned the outlet. [ He's not saying let them go a few rounds, but ……… ]
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(Go a couple rounds or go a couple rounds? Be honest with what you're suggesting, Bellamy.)
And Clarke is totally shaking her head. ]
I don't want — either of them getting hurt. I don't want — [ anyone else to die, because she doesn't trust the two of them to keep their cools yet. It's been a month, and while Lexa may seem over the initial outrage of the massacre, neither Raven nor Clarke were anywhere near over Finn's death.
The thought (her ineptitude, at keeping her friends safe) has her falling into a hard silence, and not completely able to keep his gaze. ]
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[ Which is what Raven may well resort to. Lexa, Clarke would say, has too much honor for that. Bellamy knows it.
But Raven is cut from his same cloth, and it's what he'd do if she had taken someone from him the way he'd taken Finn from Raven. If it had been Octavia, if it had been Clarke, Lexa wouldn't still be breathing. ]
They either get it out of their system, or it eats them alive.
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Then you can intermediate.
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I'll handle it.
[ This can only end poorly. ]
You okay?
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I'm fine.
[ If "fine" consists of not sleeping, and seeing Finn Collins' face in various reflective surfaces and out of the corner of her eyes. But Clarke puts up a pretty good front, and channels her deep-seeded trauma into anxiety. ]
I'm going a little stir crazy here. I can't do anything. [ For anyone. For her friends in Mount Weather. For her friends here. ]
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