A snort, not an unexpected response, and Clarke felt a wave of guilt wash over her again. Back in their world, it was hard enough on Bellamy that Clarke turned her back and walked away from him, but at least there, he still had his sister and their friends. Bellamy had people he could talk to and they would support him; they would understand. Now, all he had was the one person who'd let him down the most: Clarke. Worse, there was the possibility, a horrible reality, that he would never see his sister or any of them ever again. Years in the past, technology far from what it had been in their time, the chance of a return trip home seemed very, very far away. And this world might not have been their past world either. It had the option of being completely different. Clarke didn't doubt Bellamy felt alone; her permanent presence here meant nothing. Bellamy didn't trust her to be around when he needed her. He didn't believe she would not run with the first chance she was given. How could the blond blame him for holding such a belief? He'd sacrificed everything and at the end, she'd left him, hands blood stained, because she believed she could not live among them anymore.
The heavy silence stretched on and Clarke found herself, for once, at a loss for words. What else could she say? She'd admitted to her mistake, no, her crime. A moment of selfishness, of thinking of only herself and no one and anything else. A second of vulnerability, of brief immature, and yes, fear. Then, she believed it had been fear of the others, but perhaps it was fear of only one. An insecurity. A heartbreak still entirely too overwhelming. Letting someone close. Bellamy never seemed to encroach on that territory; they had partnership, friendship, and a mutual understanding, but never anything more. It wasn't supposed to ever be anything else, but it started to feel that way. You care for him more than the others. Lexa saw through Clarke's denial clearly. She rebuked the Grounder leader, but deep down, Clarke knew there was truth to it.
"I would've helped you." A confirmation that didn't need to be vocalized. Clarke knew Bellamy would have helped her; he would have stood beside her in front of the others. Allowed her to lean on him as he leaned on her. Yes, it wasn't just Bellamy; the other delinquents need her too. Her own mother. She'd abandoned them all, but the most painful? The man seated before her. "I know." Clarke swallowed and closed her eyes. It was a risk; every time she closed her eyes, all she saw was faces, the lever, and perhaps the most welcoming, comforting, the feel of Bellamy's hand, warm, upon her own. That moment their eyes met and they knew, knew their lives would never be the same. The blood would never, ever wash clean. "Bellamy..." His voice wavered despite the hard look in his eyes, the words laced with bitterness and pain. More proof what Clarke already knew: he cared for her, more than partners and maybe more than friends too.
"I'm sorry, Bellamy, but I need you. We need each other here. We are all we have for now. I know it won't be easy for you to trust me and I'm not going to ask you to all at once. I don't deserve it, but we need to try. I'll prove to you that together is together," she finished softly and despite knowing full well that he could pull away and she expected him to, her fingers grazed his knuckles briefly. "I don't deserve it. Or anything from you, but please."