The walk back to the dropship had been silent and tense. Lily decided to walk in the back, pacing with Finn. Her body felt heavy, the exhaustion of the day was really getting into her, the last proof that that awful day had truly taken place. That Charlotte was dead, and that Murphy was soon to follow, as they had left him alone in the woods.
What would you have done, Marcus? She asked herself, finally realizing that she must have been really exhausted. Marcus would have floated Charlotte with no second thought, and the same would have happened to Murphy.
When she landed on Earth she really thought that they had a chance to start over, to find a new way of living, of being better than the people that had conditioned their lives on Ark. But they would always come down to the same kind of spiral. They needed strictness to not get dangerous. Was that what it really meant to be human? Suffer or make others suffer?
That thought made her sick.
I'm trying, mum, she thought, her eyes finding the sky that was finally clearing from the clouds, showing yet again the beautiful sight of the stars above them, as if her mother could see her now. She had always wanted for her to be kind, compassionate. But it's difficult, she thought, trying to not let any tear roll down her eyes. That world was cruel, and she felt that everyday was getting harder than the one before.
"Hey," Finn's voice reached her, quiet just above a whisper. "Are you okay?"
Lily took a deep breath, her arms crossed above her chest, to try and keep her steady. She didn't want to break down crying in front of everyone.
"I will be," she whispered, without turning to look at him, but trying to force a smile, to let him know that she was appreciating his gesture. Finn had been the only one that did not have a part in what happened. And for now he was the only one that she felt truly comfortable around.
Her eyes moved up, finding Bellamy leading their group. He had not talked since what had happened, his posture was tense, and his knuckles were pale from how much he was clanching his fist. He was mourning Charlotte, and probably that would be a kind of wound that he would carry, like the many more he was already carrying.
She didn't want to be angry at him, but on some level she was. To her it was not fair to banish Murphy, but she knew Bellamy would have killed him otherwise. There was no point in arguing, that was something that she was not sure they would ever find a common ground on.
"Finn," Clarke's voice spoke softly, Lily hadn't noticed her stopping to a side to wait for them, "Can I talk with Lily alone for a moment?" Lily's fingers clenched the fabric of her own jacket, as she saw Finn nodding and fastening his pace, while Clarke sided her.
There was tension between them. After what had happened that morning, they had no time to talk to each other.
"Hey," Clarke spoke, her voice just above a whisper as she looked at Lily.
"Hey," Lily answered dryly. Lily really didn't want to feel anger towards her, but she did. She had warned her that there would have been consequences and she didn't listen. Nothing would have happened, if Clarke would have listened.
"Do you know why I was in isolation?" Clarke's words made Lily frown. She was not expecting that.
"No, I don't," Clarke had been arrested a few months before her, but even if she had heard about the imprisonment of Dr Griffin's daughter, Marcus had always refused to tell her why.
"She broke the law," he had answered her, like he always did. But Lily would never stop asking every time she heard of someone being found guilty of a crime.
"My dad had found out about the leak of oxygen," Clarke spoke after drawing a shaky breath. "He wanted to tell everybody on the Arc, and I was ready to help him." Clarke's eyes glistened with new tears, but she was doing all she could to keep them to herself. "But my mother told Jaha what he wanted to do. And my father was floated," Lily listened quietly, her heart dropped hearing that story. Abby Griffin had betrayed her husband like that.
"I will never forgive my mother for what she has done," Clarke said, finally turning to her, "But… you think that there would have been a riot on the Ark if the people knew?" Lily's eyes dropped, understanding now that Clarke had come from a place that was not just about anger for what happened to Wells, she believed in her father and found unjust what had happened to him. She was still fighting his battle. For a moment she felt jealous of that, she seemed to love her father deeply.
"I don't think we'll ever know for sure," Lily answered honestly, glancing at the other girl. "But I don't think that people handle these kinds of truths very well."
Clarke seemed to think about it for a moment, before taking a breath, "My father thought people deserved the truth. That they could handle it. My mother thought people needed to be protected from it even at the cost of your loved ones."
"You're not your mother Clarke," Lily said with a little shake of her head, "She made a choice, and it was all hers. It does not mean you're going to do the same if you don't want to."
Clarke's gaze dropped, as they kept on with their walk. Now Lily could understand why Clarke had been so extreme about what Lily was saying when they were speaking about the knife. To her hiding the truth meant betrayal, and the pain for what had happened to her dad only got her idea on that stronger.
She thought back to Marcus, but he was like a wall. He had never said anything, never shown any kind of nervousness even if he knew about the leak. His closeness really made him hard to read, but she was surprised at not feeling anger for that. Clarke's mother had really betrayed her husband for the safety of everybody, while Marcus had only kept it to himself, trying to find a way to save people without them realizing it. Like Lily had tried to do that morning.
Maybe we are not so different, after all, she thought, feeling strange. It was the first time she had seen something that her and her father shared.
They finally made it to the camp. It was dark, only the light of the fireplace leading them inside. But no one was sleeping, they were waiting for Bellamy to return. As they made it to the center, Lily was standing on the side, her eyes fixed on the flames as Clarke and Bellamy started to explain what had happened out there. How Charlotte had died, and how Murphy had been left behind.
"That's why we have decided to banish him from camp," Clarke was saying, her voice ringing across the silent crowd.
Lily lifted her eyes from the flames. Her gaze instantly found Bellamy, standing near Clarke, shoulders rigid, arms crossed tight across his chest as if holding himself together by force. His jaw was clenched, eyes shadowed and distant as they swept the crowd.
But it wasn't his face that caught Lily's attention. It was his hands. Even in the dim glow of the fire, she could see the dark stains on his knuckles, the raw, torn skin where blood had crusted over. Her chest tightened at the sight.
Bellamy shifted his weight, lowering his arms for a second—and their eyes met.
"Anybody got a problem with that?" Clarke asked, looking around, but Lily was not surprised when she saw that nobody really cared about what had happened to Murphy. Or what would happen next.
Clarke's voice eventually quieted, once she explained that there would be rules in the camp now, and that she and Bellamy would be in charge of keeping them.
For a moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, people began to shift, murmuring to each other in hushed voices. The crowd loosened, small knots of people peeling away toward the fires or disappearing into the shadows around the dropship. The tense circle that had held them all together finally broke apart, leaving only a few figures lingering near the center of camp.
Lily stayed where she was, arms crossed, feeling the weight of exhaustion and all the confusion swirling inside her. She was still angry at Bellamy—angry and hurt by what he'd done, and by how easily he seemed to slip back into the leader's mask, as if none of it had torn him apart. And yet…
Her eyes drifted back to him. She noticed again his battered knuckles, the skin split and stained dark with dried blood. For a moment, she tried to look away. She wished she didn't care that he'd hurt himself—that he was hurting at all—but deep down, she knew that wasn't true.
Without quite deciding to, Lily took a small step forward.
Bellamy seemed to notice where she was looking. He quickly tucked his hands back under his arms, as if to hide them, breaking eye contact.
"Bellamy," she said softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. He flinched at her touch, but didn't pull away.
"Let me take a look at your hand," she said, eyeing his knuckles.
Bellamy let out a sharp breath, glancing away. "They're fine."
"I'm sure," she said not to believe him, "But it's better to clean them," her voice gentle but firm. "Please. Just… let me help."
Bellamy didn't answer right away. His eyes shifted back to hers, shadows still swirling in their depths. Finally, with a defeated sigh, he nodded—just once.
"Fine."
Lily gave a small nod in return. "Come on. Over here." She gently steered him a few steps away from the others, toward a quieter corner of the camp where they had set the tent where they kept the medical supplies and clean water.
She slipped inside first, moving quietly between crates and shelves stacked with jars and folded scraps of cloth. She grabbed a metal bowl and filled it with some of the boiled water they'd left to cool earlier. Then she reached for a small pouch of dried thyme she'd gathered for moments like this.
Bellamy didn't say anything, just watched her, the weight of everything that had happened still shadowing his eyes.
Lily dropped a pinch of thyme into the warm water, letting it steep for a few seconds, then dipped a clean strip of cloth into the mixture. She squeezed out the excess and gently began wiping the blood from his bruised knuckles.
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly.
Bellamy didn't answer right away. But he didn't pull his hand back, either.
"I know you don't agree with this," he said, breaking the silence, but she didn't look up, focusing her gaze on her work on his knuckles.
"Not now," she said sharply, getting up so fast her chair scraped the ground. She crossed the small tent in two strides, pretending to rummage among the medical supplies for another rag. She didn't need it—but she felt like she was suffocating sitting there, so close to him.
Images kept flashing in her mind—Bellamy stepping forward, kicking the bucket, the rope tightening around Murphy's neck, Charlotte's small body disappearing over the cliff, Murphy left alone in the dark woods. Her chest tightened painfully. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps.
"It was the right choice, Lily," Bellamy said behind her. His voice was lower than usual, but firm. Like he was trying to convince both of them.
Lily stood with her back to him, fists clenched around the rag she'd grabbed. Her shoulders trembled. "I think none of us have done something right today," she managed to say, though her voice wavered.
Bellamy shifted behind her, scraping his chair back. "He's dangerous," he said again, louder now, as if volume would make his point true.
Lily squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blink away the tears blurring her vision. She forced herself to breathe—but her breaths kept coming faster, almost like sobs. She lifted trembling fingers to swipe at her eyes, trying desperately to keep control.
"I know. I know," she said, her voice trembling. "God, Bellamy, I know."
"Then why are you defending him?" he snapped. His tone was harsh, frustration spilling over.
Lily turned to face him at last, the rag falling from her shaking fingers. Her chest was heaving, her face flushed and wet with tears she couldn't hold back anymore. Her eyes were wide, glittering with panic.
"Because nothing is right!" she cried out, her voice cracking like dry wood. "Nothing is ever right!"
Bellamy stiffened, staring at her, his eyes dark with worry.
Lily's breath hitched, coming faster, as though the air itself was too thin. Her shoulders shook as words tumbled out of her in a rush.
"Because it doesn't matter how hard we try—it's so difficult. It's always difficult. Bad things happen, and there's no way for us to stop them. And I'm scared—" Her voice broke on a sob as she pressed a trembling hand against her chest, as if trying to keep her heart from splitting open. "I'm so scared of what's going to happen. I'm scared that people I care about will die, and the only thing I can do is stand by and watch. I can't—" She sucked in a sharp breath, like she was drowning. "I can't do anything to change it…"
Bellamy's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at her last words, his jaw working silently for a second. Then, without saying anything, he stepped closer.
Lily felt herself take a stumbling step back, but Bellamy reached out, his hands moving gently to rest on her shoulders. His fingers were rough, still swollen from the fight, but his touch was careful, almost hesitant.
"Hey," he murmured, voice lower now, softer. "Look at me."
Lily tried, blinking hard through her tears, but everything was a blur. Her breaths kept coming too quick, shallow and sharp.
"Lily." His thumbs brushed lightly over the fabric of her jacket sleeves as he held her steady. "Breathe with me."
She shook her head, a sob tearing out of her chest. "I can't—I can't—"
"Yes, you can." His voice was firmer this time, the voice of someone used to giving orders, but edged with something gentler. "Come on. In."
He exaggerated a slow, deep inhale, his chest expanding as he pulled in air. Lily tried to follow, but her breath hitched halfway, turning into a sob again.
"Try again," Bellamy urged, his voice softer. "In. Hold it. Then out."
He breathed out slowly, counting under his breath, and Lily forced her chest to follow the rhythm. She felt the trembling in her limbs start to ease, just a fraction, as she mimicked the rise and fall of his breaths.
Bellamy's dark eyes stayed locked on hers, unwavering. "Good. One more."
Lily drew in another shaky breath, this time a little deeper, and let it out in a trembling exhale. The edges of the tent seemed to steady around her.
"There you go," Bellamy murmured, his thumbs still brushing gentle circles over her arms. "You're okay. Hey look at me," he said, making her look up, "You're okay," he repeated in a whisper.
Lily's tears still fell, but her breathing was finally slowing. She let out a small, ragged laugh that was half a sob. "No, I'm not."
Bellamy gave a humorless huff, shaking his head slightly. "None of us are." He hesitated, eyes flicking between hers. "But you're not alone, Lily. You hear me? You're not alone in this."
She tiredly smiled looking up at him, as more tears steamed down her face. His hand kept soothing the skin of her arm.
"You must think I'm so silly," she said, dropping her gaze feeling suddenly embarrassed for how she had broken down in front of him. "With all the things you have to think about. And I'm here crying."
A flicker of a smile touched his lips, just for a second, before fading again. He glanced away, exhaling heavily. "Now you are being silly," he said, reaching out so that he could take the rag that she had let go before.
"Wait," she said, watching him walk towards the chair he was sitting on before. He glanced back at her when he heard her. "I'll get you a clean one." He nodded silently.
Lily turned to grab a clean rag and soaked it in the warm thyme-infused water. Her fingers were steadier now, though her eyes were still red and shining with tears. She squeezed out the excess water and walked slowly back to where Bellamy sat.
For a moment, she just stood there, looking at him. He had lowered his gaze to his bruised knuckles resting on his knees, shoulders slumped, as though all the weight of the day was pressing him into the chair.
"Bellamy…" she said softly.
He lifted his eyes to hers, dark and tired.
She swallowed, pressing the wet cloth gently against his torn skin. "Keeping things in order is not simple," she murmured, her voice quiet but sure. "But I want you to know that I'm really grateful for what you and Clarke are doing."
Bellamy blinked, his jaw tightening slightly as though fighting back emotion. He said nothing, but his eyes stayed locked on her face as she carefully wiped away the dried blood.
When she was done cleaning the wounds, she reached for a strip of cloth and began wrapping it around his knuckles, winding it gently but firmly. Her fingers brushed his skin with every pass of the fabric, her touch delicate.
"I'm sorry about Charlotte," she whispered, her voice catching on the girl's name.
Bellamy closed his eyes for a second, as though the words cut deeper than any wound on his hands. When he opened them again, they were shining with unshed tears, but he held himself together.
Lily secured the bandage with a careful knot. Her fingertips lingered a moment longer over his hand, as if she wanted to say more but couldn't find the words.
Bellamy didn't pull away. Instead, his fingers shifted slightly beneath hers, brushing against her palm. Lily felt her pulse flutter in her throat. She lifted her eyes to his and found him already looking at her, his expression raw and open in a way she almost never saw.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The hush of the tent seemed to press closer around them, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire outside. Lily's breathing hitched as Bellamy leaned in the slightest bit, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.
She didn't even realize she was leaning in too, drawn toward him as though some invisible force was pulling them together. Her hand slid higher up his arm, and his gaze flicked briefly to her lips.
Suddenly, a sharp spark snapped against her wrist—a tiny flash of light like static electricity. Lily gasped, recoiling slightly as a small jolt of pain shot through her arm.
Bellamy's eyes widened. "Lily—?"
She stared down in shock just as her wristband gave a metallic click and fell away from her skin, landing with a soft clink on the floor between them.
What had just happened? She was confused—what had happened to her wristband?
Lily stared at it, breath caught in her throat, still feeling the tingling sensation on her skin where the wristband had just fried. And when she glanced up, her eyes met Bellamy's, her cheeks still flushed from how close they'd just been seconds before. For a long second, neither of them moved.
She glanced up at Bellamy. He was there, looking at her, his face tense and unreadable. It suddenly hit her how close they'd been a second ago. How he'd leaned in. How she'd leaned in too.
Oh God… were we about to kiss?
The thought made her pulse jump, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks. Part of her wanted to deny it, to pretend she'd imagined the whole thing. But she hadn't. She could still feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.
Before she could say anything, Bellamy looked away, his jaw tightening. A moment later, he stood abruptly and crossed the tent in quick, tense strides. He shoved the flap aside, the fabric rustling sharply against the pole as he disappeared into the darkness outside.
And then he was gone, his footsteps fading fast into the darkness outside, leaving Lily standing there alone in the hush of the tent.
Her skin tingled where his hands had been on her arms, and she rubbed the spot lightly, as though trying to wipe away the feeling—and failing. A tight ache settled low in her chest, leaving her breath a little unsteady.
She felt disoriented, as if her thoughts were spinning in too many directions at once. Part of her wanted to pretend she'd imagined how close they'd come, the way he'd leaned in, the look in his eyes. But she hadn't imagined it. She knew she hadn't. And now he is gone.
She swallowed hard, pressing a hand over her ribs as if she could steady the uneasy flutter beneath. She hated that she felt so empty in the space he'd left behind.
Bending down, she picked up the fallen wristband, holding it carefully between her fingers. For a second, she stared at it without really seeing it, her mind still replaying those few moments over and over.
She wanted to tell herself it didn't mean anything. That it was probably just the adrenaline, the exhaustion, the mess of the day. But as she stood there, alone in the quiet hush of the tent, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had wanted to kiss Bellamy.