Wow. It's been so long. Oh man. Well, the 100 had a time jump of a few years, why not this, too? But seriously, the fact that people are still reading this story has blown me away. Thank you guys so much, and for sticking with this story for so long. Your support has been amazing. This is for you guys :)

********

The chorus to Jingle Bells was playing in my head for the fortieth time that day. Christmas Carolers had been making their way around the neighborhood as I had left the house, catching the lyrics like ice under my shoes. The words had snagged in my mind and refused to go, tangling with my thoughts until I was fairly certain I would never, ever expose myself to that song again.

It played on even now, as I stood before a partially-frozen pond, its perimeter rimed in frost. It hadn't really snowed yet, but it was cold enough for it. Only the clouds and their water was needed to shake the city like a snow globe and make it rain white.

I stared at the stillness, recalling the sharp cut of water, the breath of jarring clarity that came with it. I remembered every time I'd walked this trail and stopped at this point, a dozen memories of my own pensive silence. And for all those times, it was the memory of sodden shoes and a bad-tempered man glaring at me that broke the surface.

Dashing through the snow, with a one-horse-open sleigh . .

I shook my head, frustrated. No, frustration wasn't a strong enough word for what I was feeling. I didn't understand it myself. It was a culmination of too many broken things to form a clear picture. I was angry. Angry at Mom, for speaking nothing but what she believed was true. I was angry at out stories and how close they brushed one another's. I was angry at my Dad and Finn for dying, at my own heart's seeming disloyal feelings. And I was angry at a pond, that, for the many times I had come here, reminded me only of the last person I had come here with.

How was it the reminders of the living were already starting to outweigh the reminders of the dead?

I shut my eyes and put my back to the pond.

Mom said it was natural, but everything else in me spoke otherwise. I could feel reason wrestling with emotion. No, maybe it wasn't real at all. Maybe I'd simply found a security in Bellamy, a constancy to the chaotic tumult of all the noise. He'd just been there, and I was drawing comfort from that. Comfort that was beginning to get confused with something else. He had been hurt in life, and I'd been hurt, too. He'd lost things just as I had. It was an attachment formed through sharing broken pieces, nothing more. It could be nothing more, because for all the reasons my Mom had given to make it understandable, I didn't want it to be.

"I don't ever want you to feel like you have to question how much I loved your father."

I squeezed my eyes shut against the memory. I had felt like that, and I hated that, despite her words, a part of me still did. How could you learn to live without someone you'd had by your side for so long in such a short time? How could I adapt so quickly to finding a friendship with Bellamy that filled some of the void left by Finn? It wasn't the same; it couldn't be. Finn knew the me I was before I'd lost my dad, the determined girl he'd race scooters with until the lamps turned on and we were called back inside. He had witnessed the change in me after Dad's death, just as Bellamy had witnessed the change in me after Finn's. They couldn't be placed side my side any more than I could be placed next to that determined little girl again.

I took a shuddering breath, my hand tightening around the small novel I had tucked away inside my pocket. The bookmark poked into my finger where I'd placed it last.

"no matter how we defend ourselves against the outside we're always licked by something from the inside. There's no defense against betrayal, and we all betray ourselves."

I still couldn't bring myself to read any further.

***********

I'd hoped the rest of winter break would have proffered some kind of clarity, but as I walked into school that Monday morning, Bellamy's jacket clutched in my hand, I decided that no, it really hadn't.

I had it as planned as I could. I would do one of two things; if I saw Bellamy first, I would return the jacket and leave. If I saw Octavia, I would give it to her to give to him instead. I wasn't avoiding him, but I didn't want to seek him out, either. I was being reserved without being removed.

I'd decided that acting normal would also be the most reasonable course of action. The lack of understanding of my own feelings didn't matter; they were voices I would dismiss. I would look the other way without avoiding anyone.

While my own emotions were as opaque as they had been two weeks ago, the rest was simple and straightforward.

Bellamy and I were friends.

As if the mere thought brought him my way, I turned the corner to find Bellamy stopped in front of his locker, stuffing a last textbook into his bag. He was just shutting the door and hefting his backpack over his shoulder when he turned and looked up. His brown eyes found mine.

A corner of his lip turned up in a one-sided smirk. "Hey."

Something in my chest grew taut. I smiled at him, but it didn't feel natural. "Hey."

He gestured to the bundle in my hand. "Have something for me?"

I held it out for him, overly aware when my fingers touched his. "Yeah. Thanks again for letting me borrow it."

He nodded. "How was your break? Did you take my advice and talk to your mom?"

I tried to slide into the ease of conversation. This was familiar. This was normal. "Yeah."

His eyebrows rose. "And?"

"And nothing. It was . . . good."

Those brows furrowed as he took note of the scarce answer, but he didn't push it. "Good is good. How about your Christmas?"

"It was-"

"And don't just say 'good'."

I stopped. "It was . . . peaceful. My mom gave me a book that she'd given to my Dad years ago."

Bellamy nodded again as we began walking.

"How about yours?" I asked, suddenly aware of how awkward this conversation was beginning to feel. In my mind, we didn't exactly fit the post-winter-break-reunion mold.

Bellamy shrugged dismissively. "It was all right. Spent it at the Roffans with Octavia. Her and I taught them how to make bibingka."

"Is that an Asian dish?"

"Yeah. It's a rice cake made in the Philippines. My mom used to make it for me when I was little, and it was something I could teach Octavia."

At that, I felt a smile creep onto my lips as I tried to picture the scene. But it was chased away a moment later as I hesitated on the question I wasn't sure I wanted to ask him.

"What?"

I looked up, not realizing he'd caught the expression of uncertainty I was certain was on my face. It was too late now. "Have you heard anything from Jae?"

The mere mention of the name brought a shadow, sharpening the edges of what was at ease just moments before. Bellamy turned his gaze straight ahead. "The court's deciding again on visitation rights after the Roffans and I expressed our . . . disapproval. We were pretty vocal about it."

The bitterness in his voice didn't escape my notice.

"And Octavia?" I asked, wishing I'd never prompted this subject. "How's she taking it?"

He let out a sound of exasperation. "You know Octavia. She always . . . she wants to see the good in people. She knows where I stand on it, and she understands. She's angry at Jae for everything he did. But my sister also believes in second chances, and she doesn't remember what it was like." He raised a shoulder again, as if shrugging off the memory. "She wants to believe that he can change, and I don't think she's ready to walk away until she knows she's given him the opportunity to."

I stopped and turned fully to him. "And you?"

Some of the anger dissipated from his eyes, and all I could make out was a sudden sadness. "I'm worried that when she gets her answer, she'll stop being someone who believes in second chances."

As if on impulse, my hand found his arm. "Hey, Octavia already has an idea of who she's dealing with. You can't protect her from everything, but what matters is that she knows she has you. That she can count on you. I honestly don't think she'd have the courage to take the risk if she didn't have you to come back to, Bellamy."

He stared at me. One moment. Two. Then he swallowed and gave a small nod.

I suddenly remembered where my hand was and pulled back abruptly, as if shocked.

"You okay?"

I inhaled slowly, trying to quell the heat that had begun to rush to my cheeks. "Yeah," I told him, looking away. "Yeah, I'm fine."

**********

The delighted squeal of "Clarke!" alerted me as I walked from third period. I turned in the direction of it, catching Octavia's grinning face from across the hall. She looked the same since I last saw her, save for the small detail of her dark hair looking a few inches shorter.

I smiled as I walked over, the most genuine one I'd felt in days. It was strange how close people could become in such a short amount of time, and I was momentarily taken aback at how sisterly our embrace felt.

"How are you?" she asked. "Did you get my text? Sorry it took me so long to reply; break got pretty busy."

I actually laughed, the sound coming on its own accord. "I'm good," I replied, instantly hearing Bellamy's rebuttal in my head. I dismissed it. "I heard you had a nice Christmas."

That grin didn't lessen any. "Yeah. My family can get pretty wild. Especially Bellamy at Settlers of Catan."

I smiled, her words painting the image of a Bellamy I had yet to meet.

"How'd you spend yours?" she asked. "Did your Mom get the day off?"

"Yeah."

"What'd you get to do? Do you guys have any family traditions?"

I tried to resist the almanac of memories her words invoked. "We did. Not so much anymore."

Octavia's buoyancy simpered. I realized she studied people with the same expression her brother did, concern etching a crease between her eyebrows and tightening her lips into a pursed line. "Right. I'm sorry. Do you like . . . to talk about it? Maybe about some things that you guys did? I mean, you don't have to, I just thought . . . "

"No, it's okay."It dawned on me that it really wasn't something I'd spoken about much, except maybe to Finn and Thalia. Even recalling those early morning memories ached now like a tender bruise when probed. I thought about Christmas days, waking up before the sun and running to my parents. I remembered how we'd pile in bed and Mom and I would listen to Dad read about the birth of Jesus out of Luke. Then he would head downstairs to make hot chocolate for us as we gathered around the tree to open presents. I remembered him always making a fourth cup when Finn joined us in the afternoons.

"My dad and I always went out to get the tree," I told her. "We'd try to get one tall enough to at least touch the ceiling. Then when Finn and I started dating, he would come over on Christmas Eve and would hang lights in the front. One Christmas he actually fell off the ladder." I smiled even as my chest twisted painfully, recalling how he'd nursed that wound his elbow had received. "It's a good thing you're studying medicine," he'd said, grinning up at me. "Because I think I'm in need of a doctor."

I took a shaky breath. It was weird, the dichotomy memories could bring; pain mingled with joy. Gratitude mixed with grief. It left the geography of my heart in confusion, but a part of me appreciated the pain. It was the constant reminder of loving deeply.

Octavia had that studious look again, her blue eyes full of compassion. "So you didn't get any of that this year?"

I refused to let my smile slip. "I got time with my Mom. The trees, the lights . . . they weren't what mattered."

Octavia chewed on her lip, like she wanted to say more but was selecting her words with care. "Well, I'm glad you got that with her," she said, almost sheepishly. "Time with my mom . . . I'd be willing to trade a lot of things for that."

My smile broadened at the young girl. Age never defined loss and I marveled that, for all she'd been without, she hadn't let it extinguish her joy. She hadn't allowed it to steal away her ability to be vulnerable.

"So," she said, her jubilance jumping back into her step. She slung an arm over my shoulder. "Got any plans this weekend?"