Why the Change of Mind (More a Change of Heart)

Journey to the Past

This hadn't been the plan...originally.

Originally Bellamy was going to painstakingly choose between candidates—test them on every fact of the lost princess of the Ark; check their appearance, posture, attitude, anything that could factor into their believability. He was going to convince Abby, even if it took hours, or days, or months, and gain back the freedom he and Octavia had lost. He was going to do it right—even if what he was doing was maybe, hypothetically, possibly very, very wrong.

Well, originally the plan was to raise Octavia in peace and make her happy without any problems, but as the weight of the jacket on his shoulders and the slowly healing scars reminded him, that plan had gone up in flames long before. Sixteen years before.

Was it really so bad anyway, if he was going to be doing good for Octavia? Filling the void in Abby he had created, even temporarily? Did it really matter how he helped them, as long as he did?

Anyway, Bellamy hadn't pointed a gun at 'Clair kom Trikru' with the intention of sneaking her into Skaikru territory to show her off to Miller. It had just...happened. There was something about her defiance, the way her eyes challenged him without words, that sent words tumbling out of his mouth before he could filter them. It was—annoying, almost. Something he couldn't quite grasp at.

Clair hung just behind him, crouched low with her head half-hung to hide her face. She had shed the outermost layers of her armor, but her clothes were still distinctly grounder, and Bellamy didn't have time to deal with any of his people seeing her. "Where are we going again?" she asked, for maybe the fifth time.

"Less talking, more stealth," Bellamy hissed back. "Unless you enjoy getting caught in enemy territory."

"We're not enemies," Clair rehearsed, but he could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Even allies have a great habit of burying bullets into each other's brains," Bellamy said simply, and pushed them further, using the alleyways and side paths he'd taken since he was a child. They were wet from the recent rain and reeked of mud and trash; gray buildings hung over them menacingly as they passed, long fingers of light reaching between buildings for something Bellamy could not see.

"I thought Skaikru was supposed to be prosperous," Clair accused as she sidestepped a pile of old, ripped clothing someone had thrown out their back door.

Bellamy looked harshly over his shoulder at her and she stopped cold. "So did I."

Clair didn't talk much after that. He pushed her on faster, not wanting to be out in the open when the work stopped and everyone flooded the streets to go home to their families, and dragged her to the back entrance of an abandoned building.

It was definitely not a pretty sight—the paint was peeling so badly it looked like someone had raked their claws down the side of the place, and the entrance had been boarded up with a sign reading, Danger! Do not enter. Hazardous. If that weren't enough, it also smelled of something rotten.

Grinning, Bellamy inclined his head to Clair, who was looking at the building with severe distaste, and gestured to the entrance dramatically. "After you."

She stared at him, openly aghast. "You can't be serious. It says hazardous."

Bellamy shrugged. "I've been here for months, and I'm still alive." Then, without thinking, he added, "Miller's a pretty good artist, though, isn't he?"