001. Energy
How? How is she still on her feet?
Things in medical have been spiralling, and Bellamy doesn't think she's gotten a wink in the last few days. She's still standing. A slight waver in her hands.
At least they aren't covered in blood.
He's known her a month, but he's seen more blood on her than smiles. He's not supposed to be worrying about her, he knows, but she's their only doctor. Grabbing a couple ration packs, he meanders his way to medical.
"Get some shuteye." He tosses the pack at her. It hits her arm, falling on to the makeshift crate.
"I have to-"
"-O has it handled," he says, and she purses her lips. Crossing her arms, Clarke lifts a brow.
"I don't take orders from you."
For a moment, shallow and sweet, he stares at her. He sighs. "I noticed."
002. Fold
"You're doing it wrong."
"How exactly can I be folding socks wrong?"
"I don't know! Just gimme-Bellamy."
"Arms too short, Princess?"
Smack.
"Ow!"
"One has to be inside-out, so that… stop pouting."
"I'm not pouting. You hit me!"
003. Scorch
She can't quite explain it.
Just: when he looks at her, it burns. Right from when she met him: when he was the self-proclaimed king, when she hated him. Loathed him.
Even then, his eyes were scorching, smouldering every time they landed on her. A normal, distinctive brown, melting like caramel all over her skin.
Ignore that last thought.
Oh fuck, and the first time he said Princess? He mocked her 'bravery', looking over at Murphy for a laugh. He towered her, stepping into her space, but it didn't threaten her. It was hot and charged.
Her panties twisted, and she knows he felt it too, because his impossibly dark eyes, darkened.
(Finn saved her, in that moment. She was both relieved and incredibly disappointed.)
004. Whistle
Fwoooth. Fwooooth.
"What are you doing?" Bellamy asks, frustration leaking into his tone.
Jasper, who sits near him at the fire, startles. Then, he says, "trying to whistle." He fiddles his thumbs.
"Well, stop. Ow-"
Clarke smacks him lightly, right on the back of the head. "-leave him be."
She glares at Bellamy, all sparks and ammunition, daring him to argue. He doesn't, except (grinning):
"Can you stop hitting me? I'm getting ideas."
He wants to say he made her flush, and he does a little bit, to be fair. Her eyes don't leave his though.
005. Trust
Don't ask her how it happened. She doesn't know.
She trusts Bellamy Blake, right through his blackened, selfish soul. She trusts his eyes, and holds onto his hand. He's her anchor and it's intrinsically terrifying.
Equally thrilling.
Sometimes, especially at the beginning, Clarke questioned her own sanity. Even so, she—many, many times—gave him the key to her padlock of plans.
But if someone, hypothetically, did ask her why, she does have a theory.
It was when he caught her, she thinks, because—just minutes before—she told him, "the only way the Ark is going to think I'm dead, is if I'm dead." She threatened it: she was the domino ruining all his plans. If she was gone, every brick would fit perfectly.
But: he caught her, and he held her. Her life dangled from his fingertips.
His opportunity was there, and he hadn't taken it. It was in that moment, that hellhole of ten-seconds, she realized, he wasn't just a sociopath. He was still selfish, and still dishonourable. But there was something: else, different, human, something more reliable than anyone's words or promises.
She saw it again with Atom.
(It wasn't that he couldn't kill. He killed three-hundred-twenty people, shot grounders to protect her, and mutilated Dax, one of their own.
It was that he couldn't look them in the eye while he did it, not someone innocent. He didn't look at Murphy when he kicked the crate beneath him. He was staring at her. He just can't.
She hopes that never has to change.)
She trusts him because he trusts her. He trusts her enough to fall apart beneath a tree with a dead boy at their feet.
The Princess of Alpha, giving her faith to a janitor of Factory; or a girl, trusting a boy. A boy, trusting a girl.
A story told many times.
(It does change. He tells her of Sergeant Lovejoy, because he trusts her enough to do so.)
006. First
Their first time was… weird.
Bellamy didn't know how to say it, truly. It wasn't bad, nor was it a grand slam of peak performance. He lasted. She came.
But he was so nervous. Almost shaking.
He could tell Clarke was trying not to laugh at him; she failed. He laughed too. It's not like he hasn't done it before. He's done it lots.
He's good at it. It was just her.
It was happening with her, this girl he was proud more than half in love with. She was confident, and in the knowledge she lacked, Clarke simply: asked.
"Is this all right?" and, "how was that?"
"Fine- good." He gasped. She settled onto him with a whimper, curling arms around his shoulders.
Bellamy mostly struggled with the concept of, shit, this is happening, in his quarters at 3 a.m., two months before Praimfaya.
He hugged her to him, folding, molding his soul around hers. Her hair bounces over his shoulder as she hugs into it.
Her breasts pressed into his chest as his large hands splayed over her back, nearly covering the milky surface.
He wanted to print his freckles across her skin. He kissed over the stretch marks on her breasts and the callouses on her palms.
"Bell-" she choked on the word, "Bellamy."
He did well, yes, but he so could've done better.
After, she lays, head on his chest. Her hand curves over his heart. "Stop worrying," she whispers. "It was good."
He laughs, because if there's one thing he loves about Clarke, it's her bluntness. She will not lie to make him feel better, (or lie to hurt him. She has never lied to him). It makes her compliments so much sweeter. Fuck, the world is ending: there's no time to lie.
No time at all.
His smile slips off his face. This is it. If they fail, everyone dies, and it'll be their fault. Her lips pull down, because she knows exactly what's going through his head. She pokes the cleft in his chin softly. He shakes his head, rolling her over and pushing her hands above her head. She arches into him.
"Good?" he goads. She bites her lip.
"I mean, yeah." Her eyes glint. "I mean: it wasn't that bad." She's the best distraction he's ever had the honour of fucking, kissing, loving.
(Their second time though. Damn.)
007. Stare
He's very well aware of the fact that he looks at her too much.
His sister raises a brow at him once. Raven too. He's not discreet, not at all. He's shocked Clarke hasn't noticed.
It terrifies the shit out of him, the way his eyes instantly attach to her when she emerges from her tent. Bellamy doesn't know what it means when he can meet her gaze from across a crowd and immediately know what she's thinking.
Bellamy doesn't like how much of his focus she steals by simply existing.
"Are you all right?" Lincoln asks.
He stumbles, nearly dropping the cargo he was moving from the Rover. "Fine."
It's not his fault, okay? Her brows are pinched, and her mother is pecking at her toes. Kids need help and Lexa wants to discuss a treaty in a few days. She looks stressed and tired and-
Her eyes flick to his, and he looks away.
"Here," Lincoln says. He opens his journal and tears out a page. "I believe Clarke enjoys art." The grounder presents the parchment and charcoal.
And a smile, a lonely one. Lincoln so clearly wants a home, but one for everyone.
For a moment, he considers turning Lincoln down, to preserve his nonexistent pride. Then, he looks at Clarke. She rubs her temple, verging on a meltdown. One that she'll have alone, in her room. Clarke doesn't break, not in front of anyone.
"She does."
008. Thoughtless
Touching her became such a thoughtless thing.
Not like, in a creepy way. In the way of a hand on her elbow, thumb on her wrist, palm to her shoulder, toes nudging hers.
Then, he feels her fingers on his spine, in the edges his hair. It's become so natural. It's become something he needs.
It calms him.
009. Overflow
His jaw drops. "You need me?"
She pauses for a moment. "Yes. I do. I need the guy-" she gulps, "who wouldn't let me pull that lever in Mount Weather by myself."
It's too much. Too soon, it's not fair, or right. "You left me!" He cares more than he should, falling apart at the sight of her. "You left everyone."
It's much safer like that.
010. Neglect
Clarke knows she had a good life. A great one by Ark standards. She was fed and loved.
But: she was alone. No one talked to the Princess of the Ark, except maybe Wells.
Her parents were always considerably busy too. They loved her, she knows.
She's never had someone pay attention, like he does. Bellamy puts all his care into things, into her. He notices when she's tired, when she's not eating.
"You okay?"
It's such a simple question, but in a world where no one else will ask, her heart beats a little harder.
"No."
His brows pinch, and he sits up a little straighter. (The moment the word escaped, it became his mission to make her okay.)
011. Hushed
"Shhh," he whispers.
He presses Clarke against the wall of the Ark, thrusting up into her. Pants hanging from her knees, she groans into his shoulder. He hooks her knees on his elbows.
"I'm… trying." He breathes a laugh into her lips.
He pistons: she gasps. "I know you are, Princess."
012. Swallow
She wants to know how much it'll take to swallow the lump in her throat.
Bellamy and her made a pact of sorts: together. (She's about to break that pact). Because Clarke can't breath, can't see, can't (shouldn't) live. She looks at Jasper, and sees Maya. She looks at Bellamy and sees a bombing in TonDC—she bombed his sister to save him—and his body, hanging upside down as he choked a man to death.
She's choking now, as she kisses him goodbye.
His eyes are hurt, and she knows what he's thinking. He thinks, this is his fault, that she's leaving because he failed, because he's not enough to make her stay.
It's better that way; he will let her rot and fester.
He's wrong, of course, he's (too much) precisely why she's leaving. How can she stay here, happy and loved with Bellamy Blake after she massacred a people? After wasn't strong enough to do it on her own? He had to carry her sin, because that's what he's done. No more.
Love is weakness.
He loves too much. So she swallows the words she should really say, but the lumpy heaviness stays.
"May we meet again."
They have him: they'll be fine. That's good, because she's never coming back.
013. Cold
He hates this weather, the way it numbs his fingers. His teeth chatter with every breath.
But Clarke loves it: "it's pure," she says one day as it slowly falls before them. The snow sways back and forth. Next to him, she holds out her hands. Flakes sprinkle in, melting into the creases. He gets it then. She doesn't like the cold, or even the ice on her lashes. She doesn't like how it stains her nose pink.
She likes the first snowfall because humanity hasn't tainted it yet.
014. Question
"Can I ask you something?"
Spencer pokes his knee. Bellamy looks up from his flower crown to grin at the little girl. She has the most piercing brown eyes he's ever seen.
"Sure." He holds up a lily.
Distracted, she pushes her red hair back from her face with the flower. The dust bounces off her large shirt as she pats it.
Her lips pull up, childish and sweet.
"Oh, right!" Spencer laughs. "Is that for your girlfriend?" Her stubby finger pokes his purple and blue-petalled crown.
He raises a brow. Kids amuse him. "What?" Then, he pauses his stem threading. "I don't have a girlfriend."
"Oh." She pouts. "I thought crowns were for princesses." His hands freeze.
Well, yeah, they are, but Clarke isn't his girlfriend. Is this crown a boyfriend-y thing to do? The idea thrills him but also sets off a chain of rejection scenarios in his mind.
Oh shit, making a girl a crown is such an "I-like-you-a-lot-let's-date," kind of gesture. Spencer stares at him a little knowingly. She's too smart to be six.
"...it's for me."
Her giggles have a snort or two in them, and Bellamy hopes she never changes.
"Bellamy the princess!"
015. Furniture
Back on the Ark, he didn't have much. A table, a carpet, a bed and a sister.
Here on the ground, he doesn't have anything. He has the jacket on his back. He has a couch in the Chancellor's office.
Sleep and worry. It's all he does on those cushions.
Technically, he does have a bed—he has furs as a makeshift mattress—but then, Clarke would be here, all by herself.
They both know what being alone is like.
016. Lean
Their people, their problems, the grounders: they all (all) lean on her.
She leans on him.
017. Rough
His hand pounds into the grate. Bruising, aching, and again, and again. It clangs and it's cold.
Snap.
"Fuck." It doesn't stop him: his exertion plows through from his shoulder to his wrist. Fuck this. Fuck Azgeda. Fuck Clarke for leaving.
(Fuck himself for still caring.)
She's in front of him then, dirt stained as she gives a small, sad smile, quivering in blood. Her tiny fingers curl around his hand, cradling his shattered knuckles in her own two palms.
His bloodied, battered soul is in her judgement yet again.
In his life, all he's felt is fight, and stress, like he's been hiding and running all at once. Even from her, it's been all fight, questioning his every decision. She's like that with everything though. She also knows when to stop, knows when it doesn't matter. Winning isn't Clarke priority.
Her hands are soft, gentle. Her heart beats with his, slowing it to a relaxing thump.
(Judges verdict: guilty, and forgiven.)
018. Misty
She hates seeing him cry.
Misty eyed and broken, claiming he's a monster. He wears things he doesn't need to.
What she doesn't expect: his voice in her head. "You're a fighter. Get up and fight!"
When she gasps awake, he's there, cradling her chin in his fingers. Bellamy's nearing tears as he tucks her into his shoulder.
She hates seeing him cry, and never has she heard his voice crack like it just did.
019. Ocean
She remembers when the ocean was filled with water, salty and blue.
Praimfaya came and went, and now she walks the earth, encumbered and crying. Alone. The water has dried as she takes crusted steps across the floor of the sea.
She knows it's weird, but she likes to pretend he's here. It's not hard. The sun has granted her many mirages. Many chances.
He remembers looking down on Earth, when it was blue. Bellamy left it to burn up and dry out. He traces where the ocean used to be, following a traveller his mind conjured in its desperation.
He remembers when Clarke's eyes were blue too.
020. Free
Everything in his life has always had a cost. Everything.
Except maybe her: she gives, and gives. There is no charge, but he just wants to give her something back. He can't.
She won't let him.
021. Connection
"Bellamy?"
When he hears her voice again, something in him intrinsically snaps. It's a drug, his first hit.
He'll be counting every minute now.
"Clarke," he whispers into this tiny radio, horrifyingly small in tone. His voice cracks and Maya raises a brow. The three hours between each call seems to drag, and the three minutes of peace doesn't last. See? Counting.
Every time he reads the walls: "Mount Weather Pre-school," he thinks of what she said.
"We'll figure it out."
He finds comfort in that: right now, it's (she's) his only connection to what lies outside. Which is incredibly stupid and self-destructive, he thinks, considering, "it's worth the risk."
That was what she said. He pulls his cap down to cover his face: it doesn't matter.
(Even so: thirty-nine minutes.)
022. Abandon
If there's one thing she and Bellamy are good at, it's leaving each other behind.
(but they always come back to each other: again, again, again.)
023. Rain
The storm is unrelenting; it sprays through Arkadia with vicious intent. His socks stick to his skin. The water is clear: it doesn't burn.
"You seen Clarke?" Bellamy asks Roan.
The man, crossing his arms, raises a brow. "No." Somehow, the monosyllabic answer holds enough sass to fill the Ark's air reserves.
"Fuck." Bellamy shrugs his jacket; it's fucking wet, and fucking cold. They're lucky the rain isn't acidic. "Gonna get herself killed," he grumbles, slinging the rifle over his shoulder.
The rain may not be toxic but it's still a downpour.
His hair soaks through, running down his jacket. He doesn't expect to see her right away, but—maybe thirty paces away—she sits in a puddle.
He stands behind her. She says, "do you ever wonder if it's worth it?" He can barely hear her.
Rain pitter-patters around her, swallowing everything.
"Every day."
"And?"
"We have people relying on us."
She turns, so quick, so fierce: "but the people relying on us keep dying," he thinks he sees tears on her face, "and we're still here."
I don't want to be here anymore, she means.
He sits down beside her, not quite touching, and he sets the in front of them. Soon, they won't be able to enjoy this rain. They never did in the first place.
"We're still here," he repeats.
024. Determination
He has never met someone more determined than Clarke Griffin.
She isn't the smartest, or the fastest, or the loudest, or even the kindest. But when she puts her mind to something, there is no stopping her.
At first, he was a speed bump in the way: then, he simply got out of the way. Now?
Now, he'll follow her into hell.
025. Hope
It's a concept she's never put too much stock in.
But: it's all she has when it comes (to him) to them. She just has to believe that they made it. She has to have faith that she succeeded, and they're alive on the ring.
Clarke has to, or: (well, the gun has been tempting recently), she knows they'll come down, and it's only five years.
She's so lonely. She's talking to a ghost.
He has yet to answer. Luckily, Clarke meets a kid, and they spend the next couple years together by their lonesome. Madi loves the stories of the Hundred, from two-headed deers, to rebellious janitors.
Clarke liked the janitor too, and the Spacewalkers and the Commanders.
She's 1,460 days into calling him; hope is all she has right now. Only 365 more.
Eventually, she also tells Madi the horrors. Clarke will not raise this child on lies. Maybe the truth does lead to bad decisions, but she's tired of lying. Everyone is entitled to a bad decision or two in their lives.
"I'm sure they made it, Clarke," Madi comforts the night before the big day.
Clarke doesn't sleep, but still, her dreams fill with his curly hair. His arms cradle her, holding her like she hasn't been held in years.
He's never held her like that, but she can see it so clearly. It feels like when they hug, but more. His lips are soft in her mind, but agressive.
The Bellamy in her dreams kisses her like he's fighting her.
"Today's the day, Bellamy," she says in the morning, radio clutched in her hands. They shake. "Day 1,826 since Praimfaya. I've missed you so much." A pause. "All of you." Sometimes, she's afraid that he's listening, but unable to respond. She never says anything too revealing.
The sun rises, and then, the sun sets.
The day passes and she looks up, watching painfully as the Ring blips across the sky. They didn't… they—okay, there are many possibilities: a) she failed. They're dead, b) she succeeded. They're dead, or c) she succeeded and they're late.
"Day 1,827," she whispers harshly the next morning, careful not to wake Madi. "You didn't come down, so I don't know what happened, but-" she knows, in her heart, that it's a).
She can't face Madi's eyes. At this point, it isn't hope anymore. "Bellamy, I love you."
That right there—those words—are the reason she knows it's all false hope. She wouldn't say them if she thought there was any chance he was listening.
(False hope or not: her calls don't cease.)
026. Gratitude
"Thank you."
Clarke lifts her gaze to his. Her fingers knot the last of his stitches. Bellamy's jaw tics. She's very well aware that the words are a struggle for him.
"You don't have to thank me," she says, wiping her hands on her pants. "It's my job."
"Nobody thanks you." He pulls his shirt over his head.
She goes quiet, then: "You too."
He looks at her, eyebrows quirking in shock, nodding his head minutely. This man does not know how to take a compliment.
She finds it endearing in ways that she shouldn't.
027. Coffee
It starts with a mug, placed in front of her by a handsome young man. Bellamy's hair is bed-headed, and the steam rises challengingly.
"It's coffee," he says.
"Coffee?"
"You looked like you could use some." She takes a sip. It burns her tongue bitterly.
028. Beginning
"Do you ever wish we could go back to the start?"
She asks him the question after they wake up from cryosleep. After watching Monty and Harper's video logs. It's quiet and regretful.
"What?"
She rubs her bare elbows. "Like the dropship. Stop the wars before they started and-"
His eyes meet his for a moment. They flicker with something. She resists her desire to ask.
"Yes." He rubs the side of his neck. "I wish I never took O to that dance. I wish I never broke that radio."
"I wish I never hurt you," she says. He clearly isn't shocked, but she wishes she could see more than his blank stare, just one more time. It's the only wish that's granted.
His eyes fill with warmth, and his lips tug down. "I wish I never left you behind."
029. Pain
"Start with Bellamy Blake," her mother says. Clarke can feel her throat closing.
When they pull him in, it's even worse. Head to toe, he's soaked in blood, and caked with dirt. Clarke sees a few bruises. He's thrashing his arms. His chains clink.
Jaha kicks him in the back of the knees. He collapses. Clarke can see the fear in his eyes.
He shakes his head. Small and undetectable to anyone who isn't her: don't. I'll be fine.
She shakes her head again, and again. "No, no-Mom. Please."
Then, the noose falls between them. Oh god. No she can't. Not again. His eyes panic and he subconsciously swallows.
(If they start with Bellamy Blake, she ends with Bellamy Blake.)
030. Bliss
Bellamy likes the early mornings. So early the sun hasn't risen, in fact.
It's not that he wakes up that early. Usually he isn't sleeping by then. Neither him or Clarke ever really sleep. They pour over maps, and fix the minor things that no one will notice, (until, suddenly, things are falling down when they aren't there).
But there's a certain quietness. A special little calm.
It's a blissful feeling, especially when Clarke falls asleep over these maps and he has to carry her to her tent. The first time he did, her mother glared at him all the way.
"Clarke, I was thinking-" It's happened again.
He glances over at her, and she's hunched over, face in her elbows. Clarke is anything but loud, even in sleep, but she whispers. The weirdest things.
He walks to her, picking her up. "Bedtime, Princess."
She's in his arms for only a second, when:
"What are you doing?"
He stops, eyes meeting hers. "Taking you to bed." He's a little to tired to think about his accidental double entendre.
"It's three in the morning." She doesn't attempt to move out of his hold: her arms tighten. "My mother will think, you and I are…"
"Your mother already does." She screws her lips.
"She'll lecture and question me, just-" she pauses. "Can I stay?"
031. Prepare
"You ready?" he asks.
"No."
"Me either."
"I mean, a political marriage can't be all bad."
"It's to each other."
"Bellamy Griffin," she goads.
"Clarke Blake."
"Griffin-Blake?"
"Blake-Griffin."
"Let's just keep our names," she settles.
"We're arguing three minutes before this stupid ceremony. God help us and this marriage."
"We're gonna kill each other."
She walks off. And Bellamy is left to stare at the back of her head. He can see it on his gravestone. "Killed by Clarke Griffin," doesn't seem like the worst way to go.
032. Adventure
"I wonder what Europe's like." She looks out on the ocean. "Or Africa."
"Asia," he adds. "Rome."
"That's not a continent," she says uselessly, well aware that he knows. "It would've been amazing to see." Her arms cross as the wind blows in.
He glances at her in that way he always seems to, enthralled and ready to fall into whatever trap she's set. Bellamy is not stupid: rather, he's deceptively smart. Yet, he falls for the same tricks.
"Maybe you will. One day." Maybe she's done tricking him.
"We will." She decides, looking at him. He freezes but doesn't argue. "One day."
033. Wander
"Are you lost?" Clarke is fifteen.
The girl, dark-haired, and blue-eyed turns her gaze on Clarke. "Yes," she says.
Clarke doesn't question how someone can be lost on the Ark. "Where do you live?" She takes her hand.
"I don't know."
That sounds off, and wrong and this girl can't be more than a year younger than Clarke herself. She's about to ask, but then she sees the terror in the girls eyes.
"Well, who do you live with?"
Clarke is told: Aurora Blake, and so the Princess of the Ark drags her new friend to medbay to check files she shouldn't have.
Section 17.
"Hey, we're gonna get you home," she says. "I'm Clarke."
For the first time in Clarke's life, someone doesn't recognize her immediately.
"Octavia." Then, for a moment she's quiet. "Please, don't tell anyone I was here."
Clarke isn't stupid. She saw the file. She knows that Aurora Blake has a son under her name, and therefore Octavia shouldn't exist.
"I'm just walking a girl to her boyfriend's."
They walk down Section 17's corridor, and they stop in front of the door. Octavia looks around, slipping in the door, but before it shuts, she turns. "Thank you."
Clarke smiles. "What were you doing out here anyway?"
Octavia grimaces: "I guess I wanted to see it." She glances at the window.
Then, her eyes go wide. Panicked, Clarke follows her gaze.
It's a man. He wears a cadet's uniform, hand resting casually on his holster. His freckled face betrays nothing. He stares at Clarke a moment, before closing in and sliding in front of Clarke's new friend.
"What do you want?" he says. The brother, she realizes.
"I- nothing."
"What. Do. You. Want?" Clarke hears so much fear.
"I'm making sure your girlfriend made it home all right, Asshole."
His eyes flicker. The man isn't dumb: Clarke can tell, but he won't question a miracle as his mind fills in the blanks. "Right. Thanks." The door slams.
He thinks she's dumb enough to believe Octavia is his girlfriend. It's a common assumption that she's stupid.
..
She sits in front of him in the cafeteria after scanning her ration card. An apple, some jerky and macaroni fills her plate.
He has chilli and bread on his.
His eyes lift to hers, flickering in recognition. No one else is at the table. He doesn't have any friends, she realizes. Makes sense. Trust is not something he gives.
"I'm not stupid," is all she says. "And I want nothing." She hands him an apple, and her jerky.
She's from Alpha.
Her rations are intrinsically hold more calories and benefits: just more. He probably hasn't had a full meal since he was a boy.
He looks at her quiet and wary. She changes her mind. "Actually, I want one thing." She can tell he holds in the scoff. "To see her."
His eyes widen.
"I don't think that's possible without drawing attention to us."
"No-"
"You're the Princess of the Ark." Of course, he knows her. They all know her: she hates it. "Just leave us alone."
He sounds bitter, and she doesn't think she likes him very much.
..
~034. Escape
Clarke does as she's asked, but not quite.
Every single day: she sits with him, and gives him a significant portion of her rations. Bellamy never says no, not once, because his pride isn't worth a hungry sister.
He does glare though, for nearly half a year. She doesn't really care.
She sketches during her lunch breaks. Today, she can't find the inspiration. So she looks at him. He reads. "What is that?"
"Trojan War," he says.
And it strikes; she sketches a horse, works on it over the next two breaks.
..
"Any foods she likes specifically?" Her ration card grants her a lot of unfair privileges. They both know it.
He's using her. She doesn't care because he doesn't matter to her. His sister does.
"She likes apples."
..
She asks a risky question, folding her horse drawing. "Does she like history?"
He glances up. "No."
"Oh."
Her hands deflate. She had this gift idea and- "but," he says, after looking at her a moment, "she likes when I tell her them, and she'd love that picture."
Clarke knew he wasn't stupid. He knew what she was doing.
It was a peace offering.
..
The next half a year is much friendlier.
Clarke begins looking forward to her breaks from her mother's internship. She starts venting to Bellamy, who stops scoffing and starts mocking. It's the best kind of mockery.
Fond, maybe.
He becomes more comfortable with her, sharing tidbits of his life. His mother's a seamstress. He never knew his father, and has a different one than O—as Clarke's noticed he calls her—but he's pretty sure he's half-Asian. He got the scar on his lip when a kid in his class punched him and he split his lip.
Bellamy tells her these things gradually.
They become an escape to one another. A place to dump their burdens.
..
Her father is floated, and she has no idea why.
He's there. And he's gone. She tells Wells, and then, Bellamy. He grabs her hand across the table, and it's the first time she's ever touched him. It leaves sparks in her stomach, and grants her reprieve from the ache in her chest.
For a moment. His fingers scrape her knuckles.
Three months later, her mother breaks down at breakfast. Jake Griffin died for having information that wasn't even true, as it turns out.
..
Bellamy doesn't show up for lunch: once, twice, three times.
It worries her. A lot. On the third day, she takes extra care sorting the bandages, staying late in medbay. That's when the door opens and the janitor walks in.
His hair is struggling to stay tamed, dark and wild.
His eyes are dark, not just in colour.
..
Escape is easy, when there are no longer consequences.
They touch a lot after that day. It burns the same as the first. She goes to his room. On Section 17, because she can't stand to look at her mother and she knows Bellamy is petrified of being alone. It's not like she's be risking Octavia's safety anymore.
They escape in each other, sharing burdens becomes having sex, and sex turns into chess matches, and chess matches revolve back to burdens. It's a cycle. She still doesn't like him, and he is not her biggest fan, but she requested a transfer to the Skybox. She's his access to his sister, and he's her escape from her mother.
(She tells herself this, again and again.)
It's a win-win.
~035. Calendar
"What day is it?"
Clarke hadn't seen Octavia in two years before she started the rounds in the Skybox a week ago. She's really grown into herself, terrifyingly beautiful.
"October 3rd." The sister lifts her shirt.
"I turned seventeen yesterday."
"I know." Octavia raises a brow as Clarke presses the stethoscope to her chest. "Deep breath- your brother told me."
Clarke shifts the stethoscope, dropping a piece of paper in her lap. It's crumpled, creased through the horse but the sentiment stands.
Octavia's eyes flicker to it and back. "You still talked to him, after- you only knew me for an hour and you spent years dealing with his shit."
"It wasn't all bad."
The sister wiggles her brows, dropping her shirt. "I've heard." Slowly, Clarke packs away her gear; same time next week.
"Clarke, I'm gonna die in a year."
A year. Clarke says nothing, because she knows how the Ark works and she's only one girl.
..
Months pass and suddenly, it's August.
"I'm building a case, for when she gets reviewed." Bellamy looks up from the sock he's sewing.
"She's Factory," he says, "and a waste of resources."
"She's a person." Clarke starts. "They can't just-" his teeth grit.
He pricks himself in frustration. "They can-" he says, "and they will. You know what happened to your dad, and he mattered."
She can tell by the anger in his eyes that he calculated those words. Leave. He wants her gone; she knows he does. He's been dropping hints for weeks.
Bellamy's going to kill himself. It's her biggest thought. He might not, because she's not in his head but she knows him. His sister is his life. He's pushing Clarke away.
The words sting. They're mean and cruel.
Her mouth drops.
She leaves, and she works on Octavia's case, because she loves the Blake siblings. One, became both, and she hates herself for it.
~036. Deal
"I love you, by the way," she says to him on October 1st. His face has grown shaggy. It's a desperate plea.
It's not enough. He looks at her blank, like he knows she's lying.
(Maybe, she isn't quite lying. But she isn't there yet. Right now. She'll try anything.)
"Bellamy, you need help." He shakes his head. And continues to mop the floor. He's stopped talking to her. She follows him into the closet "Please. I know Octavia is-"
"Diana Sydney came to me with a deal in August."
That's not at all what she was expecting. "What?"
"She said if I plant a bomb on Unity Day, Octavia's on the first dropship."
Oh no, oh god no. The celebration is happening, right now. Octavia's birthday is tomorrow. "Bellamy-"
His eyes are desperate, regretful and so sad and too dark. "I couldn't do it. Octavia is gonna die because I'm a cowa-"
Bang.
The Ark shutters and the lights flicker for a moment. They stumble. "No-" he says. "No. That doesn't make sense."
..
Eight people die in the explosion. Bellamy was not responsible.
Instead, he and Clarke make a deal with Thelonius Jaha. Pardon Octavia Blake from the crime of being alive, and they'll tell him who wants him dead.
It's a risky move. The clock is ticking; they both know Diana is after the Exodus ship, but Bellamy refuses to tell.
Funny how he can't plant a bomb, but he can let everyone die.
It fucking works. Octavia Blake is pardoned from her crimes. Diana Sydney, Commander Shumway, and Cuyler Ridley are floated.
..
~037. Ending
Clarke wakes up in the dark.
His compartment is so much better than her mother's on Alpha. There is no window, but there's also choice.
Bellamy is already up. She can hear him arguing with Octavia in the kitchen and-shit. How is she going to sneak out with his sister seeing.
First of all, where are her clothes?
"I'm cooking. Go fuck Clarke and leave me alone!" Well then.
Clarke sits up, pulling Bellamy's long sleeved t-shirt over her head. It's her favourite of his, and it's too small for him now.
She opens the door with determination, catching sight of the two siblings jabbing each other with forks and screaming.
Now that Octavia can be loud, she hasn't shut up.
Bellamy doesn't mind.
When he sees her, his lips tug into a cute grin. Octavia jabs him with the fork. "Clarke! I hope you like starchcakes." She motions to her pan.
She's home here, in Section 17, where the water is always cold. Right next to Bellamy and Octavia Blake.
"They're pancakes, O." Clarke laughs.
"Not how you make them."
..
.
.
038. Name
"Where'd did Bellamy come from," she asks when he tells her how he named Octavia.
"I don't know." He shrugs.
She rolls on top of him, fully clothed. "It's a girl name," she teases, nuzzling her nose into his neck.
He groans in faux annoyance. "Says Clarke." She presses her lips on his. "Adding an 'e' doesn't change-"
"It was an author's name." He leans back on the bed beneath her. "Arthur C. Clarke."
"Why didn't they just call you Arthur then?" Her eyes go wide in horror. He starts chuckling, beneath her.
.
..
039. Stand
Her wrists are bound. Her mouth bleeds. The Mountain Men place her right next to Bellamy.
She's down to her fraying underwear, being catalogued by a sickeningly cold woman in a lab coat.
"Stand," she says, grating her pencil over her clipboard. Clarke is pulled to her feet. Bellamy curses.
Clarke has the feeling this woman thinks she's better than them.
She starts from left to right. There are only five of them. Clarke spares a thought for her people. How they will manage without him, or her. "Harvest. Harvest-" she looks a large grounder up and down. "Cerberus." Bellamy's head shoots up, and Clarke boggles her mind for why the term is familiar.
Bellamy looks the woman right in the eyes. She hesitates. "Harvest."
When she stops in front of Clarke, her eyes become calculating. She takes a lock of her muddy hair, and Bellamy tenses next to her. Clarke presses her heel to his ankle: it'll be okay.
"A… blonde."
Shit. Clarke realizes she hasn't seen many, if any among the grounder clans. The woman is not stupid. What if she figures out Clarke is from the Ark, and they bleed her dry. What if-?
Bellamy lunges at the woman, screeching like a crazy man. A guard beats him down, and the woman, clearly shaken, adjusts her stained lab coat. In her steadiest voice, she says, "he's Cerberus. She's harvest."
She takes off, and Clarke looks over to see Bellamy heaving grimly.
They're being separated. Great.
~040. Control
Bellamy understands Lincoln a little better after going through the Cerberus program.
Everything he does, he sees, but he has no control.
He sees Octavia. His face meets the butt of her sword: she knocks him out. He wakes up in Camp Jaha, Clarke at his side, telling him to breathe. Immediate and unrelenting pains seizes him: craving. He wants the red.
Clarke's hands run through his hair as he spasms. His arm flies out at her—no, he thinks—but he realizes he's chained.
..
.
041. Nightmare
As a girl, Clarke never remembered her dreams or nightmares. She'd awaken with this feeling, sometimes lovely, sometimes suffocating.
Now, on Earth, she rarely sleeps.
It's been a week on the ground. It took her six days to get blood on her hands, and now, all she sees is Atom and his burned face. His faltered breaths. His milky, blind eyes.
She can't sleep tonight.
Talking to Wells earlier helped, but he went on patrol. The fire flickers in front of her, down to glowing coals by now. The warmth is nice. The quiet.
"...Bellamy," Clarke hears from three tents down.
Well, quiet is really a stretch. In a camp full of teens, they're either drinking, fucking or sleeping.
She hears a few more moans from whoever Bellamy's fucking, plus a couple from other tents too. Clarke doesn't mind too much, at least someone's letting off steam.
She prefers the I-had-sex-last-night Bellamy to the-world-can-burn Bellamy.
Minutes later, the girl slips out of his tent: Roma. Clarke gives a friendly wave, watching as Bree follows a second after. Clarke almost laughs. "You guys have fun?"
The girls glance at each other, grinning. "You should give him a spin Clarke," Bree says, then softer, "seriously, you seem so stressed all the time."
"I'd rather die," Clarke says. Roma chuckles walking off. Bree gives another brief look of concern.
The hundred is a unit. A family, in a way. She never had a sibling, but if it's anything like the desire she has to protect these kids, Clarke thinks she understands the Blakes a little better. Or at least, the eldest one.
Atom flashes in Clarke's head, and she sees Bellamy sitting across from her, torn and jaw set.
Sometimes, she wishes she just waited for him to do it: other times, she's glad she didn't put this feeling on him. Clarke honestly loathes the egotistical man, but there's something to him. Something sad and puppy-like, not that she's seen a dog. They're known for their loyalty though. Their cuteness, (not that he's cute: oh whatever, he's—objectively—attractive, she concedes).
She never wants to hurt him or his sad eyes. Still, she knows he's lying. About what: she doesn't know.
Clarke doesn't know much to be fair. She's always had a skewed sense of altruism. People were inherently good, she thought. People wouldn't condemn other people, she thought.
Good people did good things. Bad people did bad things. It's how she saw humanity.
She killed someone, but she thought she was good. He didn't drop her, and she thought he didn't have a conscience. Clarke has seen him with Charlotte. The kind way he helps her. Same with Nathanial, a thirteen year old: Bellamy gave the boy his rations.
Whatever the hell we want. No rules! Fuck the Ark and the thousands of people up there. He gives a boy his rations. It doesn't sound like the same man.
Clarke hates grey areas.
..
As a boy, he had the worst nightmares, of the stupidest things. From killer clowns to Octavia being found.
The shitty thing is, when he jolted awake from a night terror, he could never get back to sleep.
Tonight is one of those nights. After Roma and Bree leave, he sleeps, dreaming of the Chancellor with a hole in his chest. He dreams of Atom with a hole in his neck. He wakes. And then, he stays awake.
Maybe he should relieve Sterling early, if he's just going to lay here. Of Jaha Jr.
Nah, Sterling's less annoying. Pestering isn't in his repertoire: to be honest, the boy barely speaks.
Rising, Bellamy throws on a shirt and guard jacket. He slips out the tent, right into the line of sight of the Princess.
She doesn't smile at him, but she does nod.
He should keep moving. It's her eyes though. Tonight she looks sad.
"You okay?"
She's good at schooling how she feels, generally. Her eyes narrow at him, suspicious of his intent. Which is fair. Then, her features tighten in thought, as though assessing him.
"Yeah."
He can relieve Sterling in a bit. "What are doing up, Princess?" The moniker should sound more mocking than how he just said it. Bellamy has to watch himself with her.
"Couldn't sleep."
His hands slide into his pockets. Briefly, he considers teasing her, but flirting has never really applied to this dynamic.
Whatever this "dynamic" is: she's seen him at his weakest, with Atom, seen him when he cracks, and he's strangely comfortable with that fact.
He kind of wants to sees what it looks like when she cracks. What makes her tick.
He doesn't like the Princess. But he does trust her. More than O sometimes, (and that is truly terrifying). His conversations with Clarke are carefully one-worded, (generally). Unless they're arguing.
"Nightmares?" He asks with a tone of mocking, well aware that he is a hypocrite.
"Yes." His jaw tics. "And thinking."
"About?"
For a moment, she glances at him, glowing in the coals of the fireplace. "You don't make any sense."
He clenches his hands. "What." Monotone; dry.
She looks at him, amused: like he's just proved her point. Maybe he did. He asked her if she's okay, and then snapped at her when she answered honestly.
"You're hiding something," she says, stretching her legs. She rubs her wrist where the Ark-issue band once was.
Yeah, I shot the Chancellor. They're gonna kill me.
"You were right," she continues, "about me being privileged, and blind."
His heart aches a little at that. Bellamy never found joy in cruelty. He's just selfish. There's a difference. "Clarke…"
"I killed Atom."
I killed the Chancellor. He opens his mouth and closes it, because she isn't wrong. He can't show weakness, not around the one person in his way of control here.
He stands, suddenly, without a word.
He's going to relieve Sterling, before he does something incredibly stupid, like offer her a shoulder to cry on.
But that's when they hear the shouting.
Wells Jaha is dead.
Bellamy looks over at Clarke and he needs to go right now. But she's already gone.
..
casually writes a rushed little story, stretching the prompts* *side eye* shhh
thx for reading