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

Remind Me to Thank You (If We Live Through This)

A/N: in my head this is the day trip chapter so keep that in mind ;)

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Bellamy dropped to the ground and the bullet sailed over his head; the shooter, on the other hand, let out a wail of pain and crumpled, dead. He let out a sigh of relief that the assailant hadn't had bulletproof armor on, then felt his stomach do a flip-flop at the realization that he'd shot a man, again.

Except this time, he hadn't missed.

Forcefully, he turned his attention to the others. "You all right?" he called uncertainly to Clair, getting to his feet. He'd heard her scream, but hopefully it was out of fear rather than pain. "Lincoln? You okay, too?"

"I'm fine," came Lincoln's reply. Clair didn't say anything, but he could see her up ahead, limping towards the dead man in the trees stiffly.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, sprinting to catch up with her. "What are you doing? There could be more of them."

"They would've come out by now," she argued, shaking off the hand he put on her shoulder. "I want to make sure he's dead."

"Trust me, that was a fatal shot," he said, wincing at how calloused he sounded. They stepped over the bushes and peered at the body; sure enough, the man was still and dead-eyed beneath the dark clothing. Bellamy swallowed down bile and knelt beside the body, searching for some sort of identifier. Finding none, he took the gun and handed it to Clair – "Looks like you need one of these after all" – then together they pushed him farther into the bushes, though it probably wouldn't help with all the noise and ruckus their scene had caused.

"What did he want? Did he recognize you?" Clair asked urgently.

Bellamy shook his head. "No, I have no idea who he is. And as for what he wanted...." He went over the scene again in his mind—when he had run, the shooter had only fired once or twice, but when Clair had run the same path, he'd fired his pistol like it was a machine gun. And even with the fake worry of another assailant on his head – he mentally thanked Clair for that one, but also made a note to never tell her that aloud – the man had turned every ounce of his energy on the girl who couldn't kill him, ignoring the larger man with a gun.

It didn't make sense, but he had to face it. The man wanted Clair. Clair, specifically. He had to know who she was. But then why kill her, if he knew how valuable she was alive? His brain was swirling.

"Bellamy?" Clair asked, poking him in the arm. "What he wanted?"

He blinked and looked at her, surprised that she'd actually used his name for once, then swallowed. "No idea. Maybe just some extremist who was looking for trouble and ran into us."

By the frown Clair had when she turned away, she didn't believe him, but what else was he supposed to say? The truth? She wouldn't be able to handle it.

He winced at that, thinking of all the lies he'd piled up by now on that idea, on the notion of protecting people. Protect Octavia, protect Miller, protect Clair. It was all the same ugly lie, underneath.

"Come on, we need to go," Clair said, pulling him out of his thoughts again. "I think people are coming."

Bellamy looked and, sure enough, a few people were starting to creep into the park, including a few scouts. He cursed and pulled her away, checking that Lincoln saw them; he made a subtle nod and started out a different direction to avoid attention.