I'm Not Going Anywhere

A/N: Very angst with some fluff. Also, warning, people who've read this tell me it nearly gave them a heart attack. You'll know why soon enough.... *evil laughter*

Four months.

That was how long they had until the world ended. Four months. Sixteen weeks. One hundred twenty-two days. And Clarke felt like she was wasting all of them.

It wasn't for lack of trying; she toiled over the problem with every waking moment, theorizing on where the livable four percent could be, working out plans, helping Raven fiddle with ideas and machines, reaching out to other clans. But two months (eight weeks, sixty-one days, countless minutes) had gone by, and nothing had happened. No progress. No plan. And little hope.

Bellamy told her otherwise, often, but she knew it was more to comfort than assure. Still, she took his comfort whenever she could get it; it seemed to be the only thing that got through to her anymore.

Clarke slipped into the med bay early, before dawn had stretched out and woken the camp with its long, soft fingers. She hadn't even slept yet, not that sleep was a comfort (there were demons on the backs of her eyelids, more than she realized). Almost reflexively, she checked over the supplies, making sure it was all where it needed to be and making a mental note of what was low in stock. The med bay was crammed to bursting point – people's bodies had been severely neglected while their minds were in ALIE's control and it wasn't erased when the City of Light was – but there was nothing Clarke could do for them at the moment except let them rest, so she slipped out and continued her run.

Firewood: plentiful. Weapons: safely stowed, ready for use. Ammunition: a little low, but lately need was low as well. Food storage: technically up to standards, but more would be better (better safe than starving). Water storage: low. Clarke bit her lip and sunk onto one hip as she pondered this. It made her so nervous to have such a dwindling supply of water stashed safely inside camp. They hadn't done much gathering yet, thanks to protests who said there were plenty of water resources nearby and it would only waste energy, and it could have disastrous consequences later on. Black rain will come first. There will be no drinkable water. Precancerous lesions will form. ALIE's voice haunted her.

When the rest of the camp rose, Clarke was looking over old maps of the world and trying to think of where the livable areas could be. They had already discussed it often, and Clarke had gone to Raven countless times, but so far they only had guesses, speculations. It bothered Clarke almost as much as the water problem.

It was Bellamy who found her. She wasn't surprised; he always seemed to know where he was, like there was a magnet drawing him to her. (She felt that way herself, sometimes, especially when he was away.) "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," she said distractedly, still searching the papers.

He looked over her shoulder, inspecting the maps himself for a moment; she could feel his breath on her ear. "You know what would really help with this?" he said.

Clarke breathed out a sigh. "What?"

Bellamy leaned away; she felt, strangely, a little colder. "Food. Come on, we'll need breakfast if we want to get through the day."

She turned to face him. "Actually, I'm not really—"

"Did it sound like a question to you?" he asked. "Because I didn't phrase it like one. Now seriously, I know you keep skipping meals, and the last thing anyone needs is one of our leaders to die because she, a doctor, wasn't keeping up on her health."

Clarke thought about arguing for a moment, then realized he was right and quietly followed him out to the cafeteria. They sat with Raven and Monty, who were the only ones already up, and slowly picked at their food. It tasted grainy and didn't fill Clarke's stomach quite right (she couldn't tell if her nausea was from wrong food or lack of food anymore, only that it had been there for almost a week now), but she ate it anyway, because she knew she needed to and her friends would put up a fight if she didn't. When they finished, there was a few minutes of small talk meant mostly for stalling; they'd soon be whisked away for more important things than friends.