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Clarke is experimenting with smoothies when it comes to her.

Actually that's not true, the idea came to her weeks ago. Probably longer if she thinks about it a little more. It had been just hanging around in her brain, popping to the surface every now and then. But now the itch to act on it has risen to the surface, itching to get out as she peels a mango. Setting down the knife, she turns to Bellamy.

"So I think we should get married."

This is something that they've talked about, in a vague hypothetical terms. There had been no urgency, no rush. They're not dying. No one is trying to kill them. But with all of the changes of the past few months, the loss of people she's cared about, the mess and blood she sees in both her job and her messy side project, she realizes once again how fragile everything is. Getting married might not fix that, but it grounds her.

Picking the knife back up, she gets the rest of the skin off the mango before slicing it in half. "And I think we should do it sooner rather than later."

When Clarke had first brought up the subject of a pet to Bellamy she'd been half-expecting to be shut down. They had lives, things to do, and getting a pet may or may not fit into that. But every time she walked through the park, seeing people with their dogs (now a lot less terrifying than the wild dogs she'd seen before) or seen cats in the window of the cat cafe, she'd slowed down a bit. Watched for a little while. The idea of having one of their own got stuck in her head. The fact that he was down for adopting a pet was more than she could've asked for.

They had discussed it and debated it, ultimately deciding that a cat was a much better choice. Dogs were a bigger commitment and a lot more to try on their first pet go around. It wasn't a question of if they were cat-people or dog-people. More a question of if they were pet people.

Clarke's prepared. She's done research. She's filled in a form to get their apartment home inspected by the shelter and found a vet. They have cat supplies — not a ton, but a few on the off-chance that they get approved today.

They're ready. It's just a question of which cat or kitten will be theirs.

Walking up to the shelter, Bellamy's hand clasped in hers, Clarke stops just outside the door. "Are you ready? We can always come back another day if you're not."

Clarke had known that something was wrong even before she'd opened her eyes.

A lump had formed in her stomach, a chill had settled in her bones. Briefly she'd considered ignoring, pretending it was nothing and going back to sleep. That thought hadn't lasted — Clarke had never been great at running from a just fight.

Opening her eyes to the empty space where Bellamy typically slept confirmed her suspicions. Fear rushed through her, wondering if she was alone for good. If this was yet another casualty of the city's capriciousness. It could give her great love and take it easily away.

Not this time a persistent voice had answered. Shunting away her anxiety, she listened to that voice and slowly began to put the pieces together. Bellamy had mentioned finding something weird in the woods when out on one of his hiking trips. An odd cabin, but they'd not thought much of it. Hastily, Clarke had pulled on her jeans and a good pair of boots, grabbed her bag and rushed downstairs. The urge to go, to look, to find him was pushing her further. A hero complex spiraling out of control.

Just outside, she'd found a white horse waiting.

"Well, shit," tumbled out of her mouth and she'd known it was for her. A silver sword was strapped across the back of the saddle. Like something a fairy tale prince would need. With a bit of coaxing and the help of a bench, she'd slung herself up on the saddle and taken off down the city streets. They were headed towards the ocean, running across the pavement completely headless of the pedestrians until the road gave way to boardwalk, then to sand. Something bigger than herself was guiding her and for once, Clarke was letting her heart make the rules.

A lighthouse shines in the distance, the light flashing through the mist. That's where they need to go. Leaning forward in the saddle, they take off across the sand and it makes her feel weightless. It's a different form of flying, one pulling on instincts Clarke hadn't known she'd had. As they get nearer, she pulls on the reins slowing them down as she lifts her body up in the saddle.

"Bellamy!" she yells urging the horse to make a wide circle around the base. "Bellamy! Are you in there?"

It's not incredibly often, but every now and then Clarke manages to find a way to combine her passions. The more that she can mix and match into one supreme love, the happier she is. It's just managing to do it all the time that is turning out to be quite the challenge.

She still doesn't quite know what she wants to be when she grows up. Growing up still feels like an impossibility, even if she is over two years into her time here and survived on earth before that. There was a time when it felt like she had an expiration date. Now she's learned what generations before her had, that those dates were really just artificial guidelines with no real scientific merit.

So she's likely not going to be surgeon. She doesn't have the drive for it, but she still wants to practice some other sort of medicine. It may just end with her being a general practitioner who keeps normal business hours and does all the art on the walls of her office herself.

Other times she can't imagine a future larger than their living room, which is kind of okay too. She's sitting on the couch, kinesiology textbook propped open on the coffee table as she artfully sketches out the details of limbs in motion, leaving space to label the parts. The radio is on and she's half muttering the words to some song when the door opens.

"He lives, he returns, how marvelous" she exclaims melodramatically, even as she doesn't pause her work, knowing fully well that it's Bellamy back from his errands to work on making a dent on one of his futures. "Did you get the applications? And also by any chance dinner?"

Back on the Ark, Clarke's experience with pregnant women had been limited at best. Pregnancies were so carefully regulated and controlled, that she can really only think of one or two that she'd seen up close.

Here in Darrow, it is almost the opposite. A good portion of that is due to circumstance — she does work in an OBGYN office after all — while the rest might just be a coincidence. She's still not exactly comfortable with it outside the confines of regular medicine, but she's stopped staring every time she's confronted with a pregnant woman.

Which is really helpful, given Molly's current state as one.

She'd tried her hand at making some sort of healthy blondie bar and failed miserably. Every experiment had felt (and tasted) more like the product of some insane laboratory rather than a kitchen. Instead she swung by one of the bakeries and picked up a mix of their large, soft cookies instead.

Riding the elevator up to Molly's apartment, she made her way down to the door, giving it a knock.

"I come bearing gifts," she calls through the door, drumming her fingers on the box as she waits.

Clarke was on a mission. It was a very small, very minor mission which was refreshing. That was fairly normal for her life. Admittedly, every so often people disappeared and the routine was interrupted by strange festivals or rituals or some other strangeness she couldn't explain. But it was different. The immediacy of trying not to die had gone out of her life.

It was kind of nice and still very strange. She hoped that feeling would never go away.

Stepping out of the coffee shop, she waited for Molly to join her. Holding it with two hands, she was glad it wasn't as cold as the almanac she'd picked up had told her it could be.

"Thanks for helping me out with this," she thanked her friend again with a smile before taking a sip. The coffee was a sugary mess, but she loved it. "Ever since I found out that ugly Christmas sweaters are a thing, I haven't been able to resist the idea of getting Bellamy one."

If worse came to worse and they couldn't find anything, then she would just make one. But she had to give finding an old one a try. Having a new terrible sweater seemed a little counterproductive. Going forward with the historical fun idea meant going all the way.

The panic sets in not long after she wakes up.

Clarke had laid in bed for a half an hour, hoping that she'd fall back to sleep and wake up again to realize that this had just been a very weird dream. Instead it sticks around, only serving the purpose of wasting what little precious free time she has before work and her drawing class. Not to mention she's starving and laying in bed, as tempting as it is, isn't going to help with that.

Figuring out what to wear had been a dilemma. Pretty much all of her clothes are way too big for her now, so she settles for a tee shirt dress that had been more of a long tunic on her normally. It swamps her and she keeps fidgeting with it to keep it from falling off her shoulders. Combing her hair, she stares at herself in the mirror trying to grapple with the reality of the situation. If memory serves, she can't be older than seven or eight.

Thank god she still has all of her teeth. She'd lost her front when she was seven and sure these front teeth seem to still be growing it, at least they're there.

What she needs now is help and as much as she doesn't want to deal with it, she knows her best choice in this situation: Bellamy. She's tried to lay low after her inadvertently declaration and seeing so soon seems like a blow to her dignity and her heart. But there's nothing else to do.

Making her way down to his apartment, she knocks on the door with as much force as she can. It's nothing compared to normal, most of her strength has left her along with a decade of her life.

"Bellamy? Bellamy open up. It's an emergency."

Comparing her friends isn't something Clarke likes to do. Back when she'd been (marginally) more care free there hadn't really been friends to compare. It had simply been Wells, from start to finish.

Wells is gone though. Raven is far from here. Harper, Monty, Jasper, Octavia. None of them are here with her. Bellamy is, but there's something strange about limiting him to the friend category. Besides new friends are starting to creep in.

It's hard to find people to count on. But when she finds them, Clarke's reluctant to let go.

The darkness is trailing after her, a vice-like grip around her heart. It's hard to focus, cutting off her ability to think and breathe straight. All she wants to do is get away from it, to escape into people who won't look at her with pity or sadness. Who will let her have her guilt.

It takes a bit of self-persuading, but eventually she texts Molly asking if she can come over. The older girl agrees and that's how Clarke finds herself navigating herself through Molly's building.

In front of Molly's door, she takes a deep breath, steeling herself before she knocks on the door. Her hands are gripping the bag of snacks from the corner store, something she bought out of weird necessity rather than any desire to eat them.

"Hi," she greets with a tight smile when Molly opens the door. "Thanks for letting me come over. I just had to get away, you know?"

The nightmares are back.

No. Not back. They had never left her, just softened around the edges. In the weeks since Founders Day, the nightmares have gotten worse. She wakes sweating and shaking, haunting by the faces of people whose names she doesn't really know. The ones with her friends, with her people start to slide into her waking hours.

Everything hurts.

Objectively she knows that Bellamy is right. That she should focus on the fact that she managed to save people. That their people are alive. She isn't the version of herself that pulled that lever. It happened to the part of her that had to live on back home. Someone who clearly turned into a version that Clarke isn't certain she knows or recognises.

She's not certain she wants to know her. Carrying that girl's guilt around is bad enough.

Over the weeks she has tried to not let it ruin her, but even sketchbook isn't any help. Her drawings have gone dark, landscapes threatening, faces shadowed and streaked with tears. Throwing herself into work and studying has been her only option. Fear and guilt can be incredible motivators.

Everyone she loves suffers. Everyone she cares about dies. Being near her is a curse, so she does the only thing she can think of to keep Bellamy safe. She picks up more waitressing shifts at the bar, changes her schedule without telling him, starts ignoring his calls and making excuses.

It's been three days since she's had anything longer than a fifteen minute conversation with him. Already she feels like yet another part of her is quickly dying.

Having run through her mental checklist, she triple checks that she has everything before she opens the door to head to work only to find him standing there.

"Bellamy." Her voice is soft with surprise as her grasp on her keys tightens. "I was going to call you."

That's a lie and she's pretty certain they both know it.