You and Me

Chapter 9

"Bellamy!" Bellamy groaned. It was early morning, he'd just laid in bed after digging Well's grave. The voice could wait. "Bellamy Blake!" Except that one.

"Clarke?" He rushed out of his tent, spotting her angry blonde head making its way into camp. He held up his hands. "Whatever it was, I didn't do it."

She rolled her eyes, but the comment at least made her stop marching. "I want my wristband off."

Bellamy frowned. Yeah, he'd wanted her wristband off too, but that was before he learned that the Ark needed to know they were alive down here or else everyone would die up there. "Clarke, I know you're upset, but-"

"Wells didn't give up my dad. My mother did." It took a moment for Bellamy to catch up with the change in conversation. When he did, he still shook his head.

"Making your mom think your dead won't help matters, Princess." She huffed, and made to push past him, but he stepped in front of her, hands on her shoulders. "Clarke, think about Wells-"

"Don't-"

"No, you don't. Wells wouldn't want you to do this. He fought me on the wristbands more than you did. Just think and breathe."

She glared at him, till a thought dawned on her. "Monty," she whispered, the thought forming into a plan. "Monty can take my wristband off and use it to reverse the contact with the Ark!" She bolted from under his arm and headed into the Dropship.

Contact with the Ark. Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck. Oh, good.

*

"It was one of us." Bellamy looked down as Clarke spoke, confirming that he had thought so too, from the beginning. Now, they had evidence.

Jasper and Octavia were shocked at the revelation, but Bellamy spoke up. "There's more than one murderer in this camp." He pointed out the obvious, they were all delinquents. "This isn't news. We need to keep it quiet."

Clarke fiddled with the knife, not sure how she wanted to proceed, until she spotted markings on the inside. J.M.

A rush of hate flushed her system, and she moved to exit the tent, but Bellamy stepped in front of her. "Get out of my way, Bellamy," she snarled.

"Be smart about this, Princess. Look at what we've achieved, the wall, the patrols," replied Bellamy, gesturing outside the tent, where actual work was getting done for the first time since landing. "Going out there now will only bring back the chaos. Besides, what are you gonna do, just walk outside and ask the killer to step forward? You don't even know whose knife that is."

Clarke held up the knife. "J.M. John Murphy." Bellamy took a step back, surprised. "The people have a right to know."

Outside the tent, Clarke found Murphy about to get in a fight. She pushed past the crowd and shoved Murphy. "Bastard!"

He stumbled to the ground but got up angrier. "What the fuck?"

"Recognize this?" She lifted up the knife, the instant recognition only enraged her more.

"It's my knife. Where'd you find it?"

"Where you dropped it after you killed Wells."

"Where I what?" Murphy scoffed. "The Grounders killed Wells, not me."

"I know what you did, and you're gonna pay for it," Clarke threatened.