Wrote this for the Bellarke secret Santa over on tumblr and completely forgot to post it here. Whoops. Anyway, please enjoy roughly 6.1k of fluff with very little semblance of plot.

The heaven and stars above

Virginia, 2000 hours, present day

Bellamy adjusts his tie once more before leaving the bathroom. Before the door has even closed properly behind him, Clarke is right there, practically glued to his side and flashing him an adoring grin.

He tries his best to reciprocate her megawatt smile with as much sincerity as he can muster, but it must fall flat as her nails dig into his forearm. The smile never wavers though.

"You are so terrible at this," she whispers in his ear, still smiling softly to assure any outside viewers that this was just another private moment between the couple. "What happened to Mr Smooth, Suave, and Charming?"

He licks his lips and allows his hand cup her jaw, almost tenderly, as he ducks his head. Their noses brushed and he hears her suck in a sharp breath. Her eyes dart down to his lips for a millisecond and Bellamy grins. "You wouldn't be able to handle it," he murmurs, stroking her cheek before flashing her a cocky grin as he pulls away.

Clarke exhales shakily, a flash of pink just visible splashed across her cheekbones. "Dick," she huffs, discreetly elbowing him in the ribs.

He pinches her side. "Brat," he replies fondly before sweeping two flutes of champagne off a waiter's passing tray. He passes one over to her and she presses a feather light kiss to the corner of his jaw, almost startling him once more.

"See?" she says, nestling in the crook of his neck, "Terrible at this."

"In the five years that you've known me, have I ever worked with a partner before?"

"No, which is why it always takes you so much longer to get the job done," she says sweetly before taking a sip of her champagne. "And it's been six years."

"Less a chance to fuck it up with only person," Bellamy points out lightly. "Or need I remind you about Paris five years ago?"

"Like you didn't fuck up your mission in Paris six years ago too."

"You knocked me out."

"You ambushed me."

They both glare at each other in their little corner of the room for a moment before Bellamy drains his glass. "Let's just go make our rounds and meet back here in half an hour. All right, sweetheart?"

"Fine by me, darling," she snaps back in response, following suit and downing the rest of her drink.

Bellamy hears her mumble 'dick' under her breath and has to bite back a smile. He catches her eye through the crowd and mouths, "Brat," making sure to wink at her before turning away.

France, 1300 hours, 5 or 6 years before

The first time the two of them meet, it's on the roof of a train going almost 300 kilometres an hour and Bellamy almost puts a bullet through her head. He doesn't though, but he has his gun cocked and pointed at the stranger in the mask before they could even react. They aren't caught by surprise for long however, for as soon as he so much as wavers the hand holding the gun, the stranger lunges after him and one thing lead to the next and then they're crashing through a window into a blessedly empty room on the compartment.

He doesn't have time to get his bearings straight before the stranger is pulling off their helmet to expose bright blonde hair pulled back into a tight braid, pale creamy skin and a pair of bright blue eyes that flashed before him.

Bellamy is pinned to the wall by what seems to be an incredibly gorgeous woman who's almost half his size.

She kicks his gun away and jams her elbow against his windpipe, not quite crushing it just yet, but close to.

(He's not sure what he's supposed to be feeling in this moment, but he's both impressed and vaguely aroused.)

"Who are you?' she demands, voice lower than what he expected it to sound like.

He stares at her for a moment, face completely impassive. She was dressed in an all black cat suit that revealed no skin except that of her face which was previously covered by the helmet. There's a gun holstered to her left thigh- making her left handed he thinks- and he would bet at least a few other knick knacks tucked out of sight.

The suit alone pointed out that she's from one of those bigger institutions and not self-employed like him so he does something very stupid.

"Bellamy," he says with a smirk. "Freelance assassin, thief, spy, all round bad guy. Nice to meet you, Princess."

The distraction is all he needs to spin them around so her back hits the wall of the compartment with a hollow thump, effectively knocking the air from her lungs.

"Sorry," he says casually as she struggles against his hold. His other hand skims down her side to grab hold of the gun, emptying its magazine before tossing both bits over her shoulder. He leans forward, hips pinning her lower body in place, and cocks his head to the side. "What are you doing here, Princess?"

"None of your damn business," she grunts, still fighting against him.

Bellamy clucks his tongue. "Not fair. I answered your questions."

"You're a dick," she snaps, trying to head butt him now.

"And you're being a brat. Now if we can just-" her elbow came out of nowhere, clipping his cheekbone and making him stumble back with its force. She brings her knee up next, effectively sending him tumbling to the ground with his face screwed up in pain. In one continuous movement, she jumps over his prone form and grabs the gun from the floor, swearing as she tries to find the clip.

Bellamy staggers to his feet, pulling a knife from his pocket and lunging at her. "Oh no you don't Princess," he mutters, grabbing her and sending the two of them to the ground.

A scuffle ensues, both fighting to get the upper hand and, in the girl's case, grab hold of his knife or at least divest him off it. He manages to get a good blow to her ribs, but she just shrugs it off and hits him back twice as hard.

He's not sure how long they've been going at it- or how much noise they were making- considering he had to focus all his attention on fending her off, so it's a surprise to them both when the compartment door slides open to reveal his target flanked by two burly men.

Everyone freezes for moment, and then he and the woman are flying apart to tackle each of the guards. Bellamy still isn't quite sure where his gun is, but he does have his knife which gets the job done well enough, albeit a tad messier. He turns to see if the girl needs any help only to find the other man down for the count and she's shoving a gagged Mbege into the sitting chair at the other end of the room.

She catches a glimpse of his stunned expression and has the gall to wink at him while she handcuffs the other man in place.

"Well this has been fun," she says, slipping a hand into the man's jacket and plucking out a small velvet bag.

Bellamy lunges at her once more in an attempt to get the bag- and the diamonds inside it- from her, but she sidesteps easily and grabs hold of the hair at the nape of his neck, bashing his head against the wall making everything go dark.

He's still not 100% sure how long he's been out for but when he finally comes to, his skull is pounding, almost every bone in his body aches and the girl is gone, leaving three dead bodies in her wake.

Bellamy has never been in this type of situation before. Ever. So he does the only thing he can think of; laugh.

He laughs until he's clutching at his already sore ribs as staggers back up, and gasping for breath as he hauls himself back out the window after piling the bodies up in a corner. Even when he finally catches his breath, the images of the snarling blonde stays with him as he disappears into the French countryside.

Virginia, 2100 hours, present day

"Did you bug the feed as yet?" Clarke asks as Bellamy leads them out onto the dance floor with the other couples.

He huffs impatiently, even as he places one hand on her waist and the other remains grasping hers in an almost perfect stance. "Of course I did; I'm not a fucking rookie."

"Just making sure," she snaps, following his lead and taking a step back. It's easy for them to fall into step together, moving synchronically to the music even as they glare at each other. He leads her into an impossibly low dip and she follows through, arching her back as far as it can go, before snapping back up so that their faces are only a hair's breadth apart once more. She falters slightly as his breath washes over her face, and the hand on her waist tightens imperceptibly.

"All right?" he asks, smirk pulling at the edges of his lips.

"Peachy," she bites out before pulling him close. "What time?"

"Ten; there's supposed to be a changing of the guard in the surveillance room around that time so no one should notice when it goes on loop," he says lowly, "Think you can handle me for another hour, Princess?"

Clarke snorts delicately, hiding her grin against his shoulder as they continued to sway on the spot. "Just barely," she replies drily.

Bellamy pinches her side before leading them into spin. "See anyone you know?" he asks after he pulls her back in to his chest.

"A few. No one of significance though. You?"

"A few," he mimics and Clarke has to refrain from kicking him in the shins.

"Anyone might get us in trouble?"

"Hmm," he pretends to think about it for a moment, "Well, there is that one woman who I turned down earlier-"

This time she doesn't refrain and Bellamy buries his snicker- and accompanying wince- in her hair.

Manila, 0900 hours, 4 or 5 years ago

He gets a good talking to from his employer when he shows up with half the job done- three bodies but no diamonds- and it makes him wonder why he didn't just kill the blonde when he had a chance. But, as he spends the coming weeks watching his bones mend and bruises fade from purple to mottled yellow, he knows why.

She intrigued him.

He's never met anyone who was more than able to keep up with him when sparring, except maybe his sister, and then she shows up out of the blue, whoops his ass, and then walks right back out without leaving so much as a name.

He's on the fence about wanting to see her again however. It's obvious from that first meeting that, even though their targets might be similar, they're definitely not on the same side. She works for some agency- government is he had to hasten a guess- paid to do their bidding with more just like her at their disposal and he does what he wants when he wants with just a small handful of other people. They probably don't run in the same circles however, considering that this is the first time he's seen her in all his years of espionage.

So after a few months have passed and he runs a few more ops- successfully this time- without seeing hide or hair of the mysterious blonde, Bellamy puts the matter out of his mind and moves on with his life.

And then she burst back into his life. Literally.

He's staying in one of his usually hideaways that uses when he's not running any missions, and he can count on one hand the number of people who know of its existence. Which is why, when he hears the shattering of glass just as he steps out of the shower, he freezes.

Bellamy doesn't even bother fully drying off, instead he drags on his jeans and grabs the gun from behind the medicine cabinet and makes his way to the kitchen, gun cocked and waiting at his side.

He doesn't know what he expects to find- someone contracted to kill him maybe?- but it certainly isn't the girl, this time with her blonde hair thrown up into a haphazard bun, skinny jeans, and a faded Rolling Stones hoodie covered in paint stains sprawled off in a pile of broken glass.

"What the fuck," he blurts out, staring at her and almost dropping the gun.

The blonde looks up and squints at him. "Bellamy right?" she asks, "I need a place to lay low for a while."

"What the fuck?" he hisses again, flicking the safety on and shoving the gun in his pocket. He makes no move to help her up, too stunned to do anything else but fold his arms across his still slightly damp chest and observe her.

"Please," she begs, voice taking on a tinge of hysteria, "I just need to sort things out and there's nowhere of mine that I could go where they'll find me I promise I'll be out of your hair in a few days tops just let me-"

"Breathe, Princess," he cuts in. Satisfied once she's done so, he takes a step forward and hold out his hand to pull her up from the ground. "You all right?" he asks, giving her a critical once over.

She nods. "I'm fine."

"Good." The grip on her arm tightens as he pulls her out of the kitchen and to the living room where he pushes her on to the couch none too gently. "Now," he says, looming over her with the gun out once more, "Who are you and how did you find this place?"

The blonde rolls her eyes. "You're not that hard to find, especially since you already gave me a name to work with- that was a stupid thing to do, by the way."

Bellamy grunts. "I realise that now," he concedes, "But I know for a fact that I am not an easy person to find, and neither is this place. So start talking, Princess, before I decide to throw you out of here."

"Nice to know you're still a dick," she grumbles to herself, not even flinching when his glare intensifies and he mutters 'brat,' under his breath. She sucks in a large breath. "I'm Clarke," she says, extending a hand for him to shake. Her hand is all but lost in his when he accepts, and its warmth startles him.

"Bellamy, though you already know that," he says, a reluctant smile slipping out. She grins back at him.

"As for finding you, well..." The flush of colour on her cheeks fascinate him and for a moment Bellamy wants to know what he can do to get it to darken and spread. He pulls himself off that train of thought quickly. "I was there in Shanghai a few months ago when you were there and I may have, um, followed you, a little bit."

"You followed me," he deadpans.

"Only a little bit!" Clarke protests, "In my defence if you don't want to be followed you should pay better attention to your surroundings."

Bellamy heaves a bone weary sigh and swipes a hand across his face. "I feel like I'm going to need to put on a shirt for the rest of this conversation. And maybe get a whiskey while I'm at it," he says, walking off towards his room.

"Well I wasn't going to complain," she says, and he can practically hear the smirk in her voice.

He's back in less than a minute, pouring two glasses of whiskey. He slides one over to her before settling next to her on the couch. "I'm all ears, Princess," he says, taking a sip from his glass.

The smile falls from her face and for the first time since she's got here, she looks like a lost little girl and Bellamy's heart constricts (though only a little.)

"I work for ARK," she starts off, before smiling self depreciatingly, "Or at least, I used to. I'm not quite sure where I stand right now with them; nowhere good I think." She reaches inside the pocket of her hoodie and pulls out a flash drive. "My dad... he used to work for them too, and then they killed him," she spits harshly. "They killed him and made me think it was an accident and I believed them, until I found out the truth," she passes the drive over to him before continuing in a softer voice, sounding more fragile than he's ever heard, "I found out last week so I wiped everything he ever did for them from the servers and ran. And now they're after me. I think. I didn't really stop to check."

"So you came here," he says dubiously, turning over the flash in his hands.

"I have nowhere else to go where they won't find me. I've been at ARK all my life," she protests.

"But why here? Why me, some stranger you've only met once over a year ago?"

This time Clarke hesitates before stating softly, "You could've killed me when we first met, but you didn't."

Bellamy drains the rest of his whiskey. "You're a fucking moron if you think that's a good enough reason to trust someone, but hey, it's your funeral."

She takes a measured pull from her glass. "So you kicking me out, then?" she asks, face neutral.

He snorts and stares at her, good and hard until she starts twitching in her seat. "Nope," he says at last, getting up and taking her glass from her to place in the sink, "Because I'm a fucking moron too. Just try not to kill me, or else I'll be really pissed in the afterlife."

The smile she gives him is brilliant, and Bellamy already begins to regret his words.

(Even more so a few days later when they're back sitting on the couch, this time watching her argue at the TV with shitty take out in front of them. Bellamy knows he was screwed from the moment she knocked him out, but now he's sure that he's on his way to being well and truly fucked.)

Virginia, 2200 hours, present day

They're in the hotel's rose garden when the timer on Bellamy's watch goes off. Before that, they spent the last half hour or so simultaneously running surveillance and trying to beat the other at Candy Crush.

"Do I even want to know where you're keeping your gun?" he asks, frowning at the tight, floor length black gown she chose to don for the evening.

Clarke flicks him in the forehead. "Thigh holsters are a thing. You know thigh holsters are a thing," she says as she makes sure her chignon is properly secured. "How much time do we have?"

"About an hour," he says, focusing on putting his gun back together. The click of the safety shutting off rings out in the night. He grins over at Clarke. "Ready for this, Princess?"

"Put that thing away and start walking to the elevator; I'm not scaling any buildings in these shoes," she grumbles, prodding him in the arm.

They take the long way around, walking briskly, arm in arm to keep up the facade in case they bump into any guests or staff. It's all for naught however, as they reach the back elevators without incident.

"So Cage Wallace," Bellamy asks once they're safely in the elevator, "How much of a dick is this guy?"

"Definitely a bigger one than you," Clarke chirps from his side.

He laughs, "Wow, someone actually outranks me? Must be a real douchebag."

"The biggest," she nods, "He's a supposed 'art connoisseur,' who spends his time refurbishing damaged works of art. Realistically, he just pays someone to do but hides state secrets in them and then sends it out to the highest bidder."

Bellamy purses his lips. "I see. So we're the good guys here then?"

Clarke lays a hand on his forearm. "He got a hold of ARK's records. Nearly all of them, including mine," she says, "I don't know who he's planning on selling it to, but there's a lot of people out there who want me dead, including ARK. I don't need them teaming up and coming after me. I kind of liked living in solitude."

"You don't live in solitude," he snorts, "You follow me around like a lost puppy."

"Close enough."

He squints at her, the smile slowly fading from his face. "No one is going to find you, even if those records get out somehow," he says, "They're all over five-" he ignores he correction of 'six', "- years old. And even if they do," a dark look comes across his face, "I'll make sure I kill them before they can even think of getting to you."

"You're sweet," she says, absentmindedly petting him, "But it's not just me I'm worried about. ARK keeps a record of rogue spies," she slips her hand into his and gives it a squeeze when he stiffens.

"Octavia," he breathes.

"And you," she points out.

Bellamy smiles without humour, "I don't matter; if I was that important to ARK they'd have sent someone after me long before you showed up."

Clarke cuts him a sharp glare. "Don't say that," she reprimands him, "You matter to a lot of people, Bellamy, even if you're a dick sometimes."

"You are such a brat," he says, rolling his eyes even as he bites back a smile. The elevator dinged and its doors began to open. "Ready to kick some ass, Princess?"

"Shut up and let's go, old man," she huffs, shouldering him out of the way, gun drawn.

The first set of hallways is empty, clear of guards and guests alike. Clarke didn't get the exact floor number Wallace is staying on, just that it was somewhere between the top three, even as his father hosted the celebration below.

She and Bellamy take the stairs to the next floor, and just as they finished canvas the first corridor, they hear the muffled though slowly drawing nearer chatter of what are undoubtedly guests. With nowhere to go and weapons in plain sight, the two of them stare at each other for a moment in sheer panic.

"I thought you said it would be empty," Bellamy hisses as he tries each door for one that's open. He had already taken away her gun and shoved it in his jacket with his, but there was nowhere in sight for them to hide themselves.

"They were supposed to be," she snaps back in return, "They must have decided to skive out on the party."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he grinds out when they come to face a dead end. "Now what do we do."

The voices are drawing closer and suddenly Clarke has an idea.

"You trust me, right?" she breathes, pulling him behind a potted plant that would do barely anything at all to hide them.

"Unconditionally," he replies, bracing one hand by her head as he frowns down at her.

Bellamy doesn't get to ask any more questions however as Clarke all but yanks him down by the lapels of his jacket and seals her mouth over his.

London, 1700 hours, 2 years ago

Despite all but living together, Bellamy and Clarke, surprisingly, don't work together at all.

The small group of friends-slash-'co workers' Bellamy has garnered over the years are a bit hesitant of her at first, (Octavia calls him nearly every variant of 'idiot' she can think of, while Miller accuses him of thinking with his dick) but they eventually grow to accept her, even though it's at least two years before Clarke takes up any small op.

Before that she was more than content to spend her time travelling around with Bellamy and critique him every time he runs a mission. They both figure she should play it safe and lay low for a while, but Bellamy also thinks it's because Clarke doesn't really know what to do without ARK handing out missions whenever she's available.

So after two years of just following him around, he does what he does best and meddles around to find something for her to do. He gets a few cat burglaries, and petty undercover reconnaissance for her and that's all it takes for her to jump right back in, doing her own thing and popping up occasionally to let him know that she's still alive.

(They spend almost a year apart with only a handful of meetings between them, and it's...weird. Later on he would realise that she eventually started taking on ops in the same countries, sometimes even the same cities as him, and soon enough they're back together again. He tries not to think about what that means.)

He tosses the sandwich- probably now all soggy- at her where she lay on the bed in his hotel room, playing on his 3DS.

She barely even looks up, but says anyway, "Didn't you just make a seventy five hundred after squeezing out every bit of intelligence from doctor whatshisface? Can't you afford to feed me something better than corner shop food?"

Bellamy snorts and drops down on the bed, taking the game away from her and trying to salvage this round. "Says the girl who just made a million killing that software developer. If anything you should be buying me lunch."

Clarke can't come up with a reply to that so she just kicks him in the shins and says without any real heat, "Dick."

"Brat."

She sighs and rolls over on to her belly and watches him play while gnawing on a hangnail. "Why don't you ever want to run any ops together?" she asks after a while.

"Tried it before. Twice. I work better on my own," he grunts in response.

"But what if I told you that I got one and I might need some help with it?" she hedges.

It's no use however, as Bellamy snaps the DS shut and urns over to glare at her. "No."

"But-"

"I said no, Princess."

"Can I ask why?"

"I told you," he sighs, scrubbing a weary hand across his face, "I tried it before and it didn't work out."

"With who?" she prods.

He squints at her for a moment before finally conceding, "Murphy and Octavia. I tried to kill one and the other almost got me killed. I reckon it might fall in between there with you."

"But we've never tried-"

"We don't have to; we're going to end up fighting about whose method might work best, or who gets to do the interrogation and implode. And if that doesn't happen, then I'm probably going to end up worrying about you- needless, I know, but you've met me," he tacks on once he sees her going to protest, "I'll end up worrying about you more than myself and end up doing something stupid."

"Don't worry, you do stupid things without me being there," Clarke points out before sighing, "So you don't want to try it at least once?"

"Nope."

"Ugh, fine," she groans before flopping back down on the bed, resting her head on his shoulder. She drops it for now, and even listens to his suggestions of maybe going at it with Octavia or someone else if she's so up for partnership. She does and when she returns back to his side after the fact, she tells him that he was right, and she may prefer working alone.

Virginia, 2200 hours, present day

When Bellamy imagined kissing Clarke Griffin for the first time (because yes, he did think about before; Octavia teases him mercilessly about it once she found out) he always thought that they would be by themselves and it would be all heat and fire just like it always is between them.

Instead they're in the middle of an op and she's holding him down by the lapels of his suit, lips moving furiously against his as he stands there, virtually frozen. It's only when she tentatively threads her hands through his hair does he snap out of it, hands going immediately to her waist and all but crushing her to his chest. It is all heat and fire; just like he thought it would have been, but a different find, fast and messy, teeth clacking together more than once as his tongue swipes at hers, instead of deep and downright filthy like the kiss he always wants to give her when she's sitting on his couch at home, making some stupid quip or the other while wearing the hoodie she stole from him.

There's a muffled 'Get a room!' from the guests who they're trying to throw off in the first place, and he waits for the thud of a door slamming shut, pulling two more kisses from her before pulling away.

"What the fuck," he says, heaving slightly. Clarke's lipstick is smudged and he passes a hand across his mouth, trying not to grin when it comes away red. She did that to him after all.

"Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable," she says, pushing past him, business as usual once more. "I was just doing what I could to make sure our cover isn't blown."

He tries not let her complete dismissal get to him- they're on a mission after all- but it still stings just a little bit.

Instead he does what he always does best, falling into step with her and knocking his shoulder into hers. "I think you just wanted to kiss me," he teases. "I don't blame you, of course, I'm very-"

"I always want to kiss you," she mumbles, surging on, head held high even as her cheeks stain red.

Bellamy however comes to a complete stand still and stares at her in shock.

Eventually his mind catches up on what she just said and he scurries to meet her once more.

"You don't spring that kind of thing on someone when we're in the middle of an op, Clarke!" he hisses, following her up another flight of stairs to the rooftop suite. "We are definitely revisiting this later because if we get into it now, we're not leaving this staircase for another half hour."

She cracks her fingers and looks up at him, face impassive. "You plan on arguing with me on why I'm wrong for half an hour?"

The grin he gives her is positively wicked. "Amongst other things," he murmurs, stepping closer and crowding her into the wall from just a moment. He pulls back before the temptation to give in is too much though, and gestures towards the door, "After you, Princess."

She holds her gun at the ready in front of her, and in one quick movement, pushes open the door and sends a bullet through each of the guards' head before he even has time to blink.

Bellamy steps forward to take on the third that steps out in close range, dodging the fist that comes his way and easily snapping his neck while Clarke works on picking the lock. Two more come scrambling around the corner but he catches them before they could even make sense of the scene in front of them, hitting each at point blank.

The door clicks open behind him and three more guards come tumbling forward. Clarke takes on the first two, leaving the next one to him. They've clearly got them by surprise, as neither of them found anytime to reach for the semi automatics holstered at their sides.

She's just jabbed her knife into the neck of the last one, gun having been lost in the midst of the scuffle, when there's the sound of a gun cocking behind her and everyone freezes.

The man- Wallace, he suspects- is holding the shotgun to Clarke's temple and she's standing there in front of him, weapon-less.

"Look what we have here," he chuckles, jamming the gun more forcefully against her head; Clarke winces. "You're not getting out of this so easily."

Bellamy gives him the most unimpressed look that he could muster. "Listen up, buddy, we've been doing this a long time and you're a right idiot if you think this is the first time we've found ourselves in this situation."

He's barely even finished with his little spiel when Clarke throws her head back, catching Wallace on his chin and there's an audible click as it dislocates. She wastes no time in elbowing his stomach and digging her heel in hard into his instep. He stumbles back, face screwed up in obvious pain, and Clarke ducks out of his hold. No sooner has she moved out of the way does Bellamy fire, once hitting him straight in the head, and then another time just because he can and because Wallace is the world's greatest douchebag.

"You all right?" he asks Clarke while she gives the room a cursory glance for any leftover paintings; most are already in a giant duffle.

"Fine," she says, hoisting the bag on to her shoulders and batting his hands away when he tries to help. "Come on, this thing isn't going to be able to fit through the vents; we'll have to take the rooftop exit strategy. Here," she says, throwing him her heels which he only just manages to clumsily catch. At his confused look she adds, "I told you, I'm not scaling a building in those heels."

"Oh my god, you are such a brat," he says, even as he helps her through the window.

"Yes, you've established that many times, now let's go; we only have a few more minutes before the cameras are back to normal," she tells him as he gropes around his pocket for something. He hooks one end to the windowsill, tugging on it to make sure it'll stay, and then lets it drop.

He tugs Clarke close to him, banding an arm around her waist. "Ready, Princess?"

She jumps up, hooking her legs tightly around his middle. "Let's go, Blake."

Without any further hesitation he jumps off, holding on tight to the rope as they rappel down the building. They stumble slightly as they land, and Bellamy, still holding on to her shoes, helps her scale the fence and into the car he parked behind the building.

She throws the duffle in the backseat and he pulls off minutes before his watch beeps once more to let them know that their time is up.

By the time news of the hotel reaches airwaves, the two of them have already changed out of their formal wear and Clarke is working on prying the miniature microchips out of each of the paintings.

"What do you plan on doing with them?" he asks, watching her from the couch where he's sprawled off.

"Destroying these obviously," she says, jerking her chin towards the growing pile of chips on the coffee table. "I don't know about the paintings though; sell them maybe? We'd get enough money to retire."

"I've had enough money to retire since I've met you, Princess," he snorts. "Stay low for a little while with them and let all of this settle down first. And then after a year or so, we can sell it."

"'We' huh?" she says slyly, "I've been meaning to mention that to you. Changed your tune about partnership?"

Bellamy smirks at her. "Well, considering you want to kiss me and love me-"

He gets cut off when Clarke throws a pillow at his face. "Dick," she says, blushing, "I should have never told you that."

"You like me," he grins.

She heaves a long suffering sigh. "God knows why."

"I can show you why," he offers with an exaggerated lecherous wink that has Clarke biting back a giggle, "But you seem busy right now so I'll wait."

She bites her lip for a second, and then, very deliberately, puts her tweezers down and clambers on to his lap. "That can wait," she murmurs, hooking an arm around his neck and leaning down close, "You've been running your mouth all evening and now I think it's time for you to make do on your word."

"Really?" he says, grinning up at her, thrumming his thumbs against her hipbones as she rocks into him. He sits up, still holding onto her hips, and slides one hand up to cradle her jaw. His nose skims across her cheekbone. "Then allow me to demonstrate," he rumbles, before pulling her in and finally giving her the kiss he's been wanting to all these years.

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