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The 100 fic: Fall to Pieces

falltopieces.jpg
The 100 | 1454 words | [PG]
Canon divergent. After a year on the ground, Bellamy and Clarke are finally ready to confront their feelings. As long as Bellamy doesn’t break his neck first. Written for April Camp NaNo.


By Clarke’s calculations, they’ve been on the ground for around 380 days. It’s the end of September. Or maybe it’s early October. It’s hard to tell. The chill of autumn has chased away the sweltering heat of July and August, but summer is making a last stand. The sun that filters through the treetops tickles her skin, leaving little goosebumps down her arms. She glances to her side—those might be from another reason, though.

Next to her, Bellamy’s hair flutters around his head in the warm breeze. He repeatedly shoves it out of his eyes with a huff, but it does no good. Watching him try makes her grin.

“You need a haircut.”

He snorts. “Thinking of making a career change to hair stylist, princess?” he asks without any of his usual derision. He shoots her a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and releases a swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

Clarke looks away before he can see her blush. She’d never hear the end of it. If there was one thing Bellamy was good at it was teasing her. He knew how to push all of her buttons. Which, she has to admit, isn’t always a bad thing. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him still smiling. It looks good on him. She wishes he would do it more often. “Why are you in such a good mood?

“What do you mean?”

She doesn’t believe his innocent act for a second. And she’s not going to fall for his charm. Not much anyway. She narrows her eyes at him, hoping she looks more stern and less like he has her insides doing gymnastics. “You’re acting weird. What are you up to?”

“Are you always this suspicious?”

“When it comes to you—yes.”

They stare at each other a moment before they both crack a smile. Bellamy shrugs. “It’s a nice day. I don’t have to deal with the whining back at camp. What’s not to be happy about?”

He has a point. It does feel nice to get a break from the monotony of camp where everyone constantly needs her attention. Bellamy, though, seemed especially eager to get away when she mentioned she needed an escort to the river. Usually, he pawned babysitting off on one of his gunners—Harper or Monroe went with her a lot. This time, he jumped at the opportunity then looked embarrassed by his enthusiasm. It was kind of cute.

Bellamy hops onto the crumbling remains of a wall. She watches him balance along it like a tightrope walker, arms out, as he climbs higher.

“You’re going to fall,” Clarke says, blocking the sun with her hand as she watches him cross the wall ten feet in the air.

“I’m not going to fall. Will you relax, Clarke.”

She rolls her eyes. Why did he have to be such a pain? “One of us has to be responsible.”

He ducks under the branch of an overhanging tree and looks down at her. “You think I’m not responsible?”

She squints up at him again. She can’t really see his face with the sun blinding her, but she imagines his annoyed look. “Not with your own life. Not really.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He sounds genuinely offended.

Clarke shrugs. “When it comes to your own safety, you don’t seem to care much.”

“I’m just trying to keep everyone alive.”

“I know, but you don’t have to risk your own life to do it.”

He cocks his head. “So who’s life should I risk? Monty’s? Jasper’s? Yours?”

“I know you know what I’m talking about so quit acting like a jerk and get down here.” She bites her lip when he wobbles a little, but he recovers effortlessly. She’s pretty sure he did it intentionally just to give her a heart attack.

“Now I’m a jerk?” At least the devilish grin is back on his face.

Her heart flips. She’s not sure if it’s from that look he gives her or the fact that he’s one wrong step away from breaking his neck. He eyes a tree a good five feet from the wall.

“Bellamy-” Clarke warns, but as usual, he doesn’t listen.

He jumps, snagging the branch easily. His smirk lasts about three seconds. Then the branch gives with a loud crack. Bellamy lands with a thud on his back, the air rushing out of him in a groan.

Clarke runs over, sliding to her knees next to him. “Are you okay?”

His eyes roll back as he fights for breath, but eventually, he gasps. Clarke lets out her own relieved breath then smacks his chest. “I told you to be careful.”

“No, you didn’t.” He pries a rock out from under him, tossing it into the woods. “You just said I would fall.”

“And you did.”

Bellamy gives her a crooked grin. “Still didn’t tell me to be careful.”

She smacks him again. Sometimes she thinks he argues just to annoy her. “You didn’t give me a chance. Besides, it’s implied, smartass. Are you all right?”

“I think so.”

Clarke helps him sit up, watching him carefully for signs of injury. He seems okay. “You know, there are easier ways to impress me.”

His face flushes scarlet. “Why do you think I’m trying to impress you?” he sputters, voice sounding a little strangled. She has to bite back a smile because his awkwardness is adorable.

Neither of them says anything for a long time. They’ve been dancing around their feelings for over a year. It’s exhausting. She’s about to tell him she’s tired of playing games, but he cuts her off.

“I wanted to spend time with you. Is that such a bad thing?” Bellamy says softly. He picks up a twig and nervously breaks it apart. “We’re both always so busy.”

Clarke sucks in a sharp breath. She didn’t expect him to come right out with it, but now that they’re actually talking about this, she’s a little terrified. She swallows hard but the lump is still stuck in her throat. “If you wanted to spend time with me you could have just asked. You didn’t have to fall out of a tree to get my attention.”

Bellamy ducks his head. “It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

“Uh-huh.”

His cheeks are still rosy, but Clarke sees the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “For reference in the future, what do I have to do to impress you?”

Her heart does another backflip. “For starters, just tell me when you want to hang out instead of elaborate plots to get me alone.”

He blushes again—it’s charming how insecure he is right now. “What if I want to do more than hang out?”

His eyes widen. She’s not sure who’s more surprised by his confession. Before he can take it back, she leans closer. “Then quit being a baby and make a move.”

She can see the moment he realizes she’s serious. He cups her face slowly—giving her a chance to change her mind. It makes her love him even more. The second their lips brush, an explosion of desire chases the butterflies away. Clarke’s entire body vibrates. The heat between them burns her skin, but she can’t get enough of it. She tangles her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck causing Bellamy to growl. The sound makes her head spin. She’s lost and doesn’t care if she’s ever found. How does he even have this effect on her?

When they finally pull apart, Bellamy’s pupils are shot, giving him a dazed look. “Wow,” he murmurs, breathless. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Clarke’s heart threatens to beat right out of her chest. The way he’s looking at her right now might be the most beautiful thing on Earth. And it took way too long for her to find it. She pulls him closer—she’s tired of waiting. “I think I do.”

This kiss is sweeter. Tender. It’s a side of Bellamy she wouldn’t have believed existed a year ago. She’s glad he’s finally showing it.

“Am I impressing you yet?” he says against her lips.

Clarke laughs. “Bellamy, you’ve been impressing me since the day we met.”

He leans back, eyebrow cocked. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

She pretends to think. “I’m not sure. You might have to kiss me a few more times-” He doesn’t give her a chance to finish. Which is fine. Clarke can’t remember what she was talking about anyway. It may have taken 380 days, but it was worth every argument and smartass comment it took to get here. Well worth it.

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The 100 fic: Us Against Everything

usagainsteverything.jpg

[Bellamy/Clarke]
Canon divergent. With a brutal winter ahead, Bellamy realizes there might be more than friendship growing between him and Clarke. Written for April Camp NaNoWriMo: breathe.
1539 words | [PG]


Bellamy gets back to camp late. It’s hard to tell the exact time with it getting dark so early, but he figures it must be after nine. The sun went down long ago, and it’s abysmally cold. He blows into his hands, trying to warm his numb fingers. Two fires are burning, but the space around them is empty of their usual laughing kids.

Sterling and two of the other guys he’s with make a beeline for the fire, practically holding their hands in the flames. The other three high-tail it into the dropship. Raven and Monty are still working to get the heat going, but eighty-something bodies crammed into a tin can keeps them warm enough for now. It’s better than being outside anyway.

It’d taken all day, but they’d finally buried the three they lost last night–Edith, Jerome, and Bennett. Edith was only fourteen and down here for talking back to a teacher. He shakes his head. He still can’t believe what they did to these kids. Sure, some of them were hardened criminals. There were killers and rapists among them, but most of the kids were arrested for petty stuff—shoplifting, fist fights, hoarding. It’s almost as if they knew they needed the bodies to fill the dropship so they arrested the kids for anything. Bastards.

His body aches, but he still goes down the line, checking the tents to make sure everyone has moved inside. As he nears the dropship, he hears something in the darkness. His hand drops instinctively to the hatchet at his waist. He approaches slowly. Someone gasps then goes quiet. Crying. He finds Clarke leaning against the dropship, wiping away the tears with her fingertips as if trying to erase the evidence. He’s not sure what he thinks about that.

Bellamy looks around, wishing one of her friends would suddenly appear. Monty or Raven or Octavia. Someone that isn’t him. They’ve been getting along okay the last few weeks, but that doesn’t mean he wants to listen to her blubber about whatever girl thing is bothering her. Of course, there’s no one in sight. He wants to leave her, but an instinctive force compels him forward.

He’ll probably regret this. “You okay, princess?” His voice sounds rougher than expected. Must be the cold.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, not looking at him.

Of course she is. He steps closer. “Then come inside; it’s cold out here.”

Clarke laughs flatly, her breath hanging in the air for a few seconds. “It’s cold in there, too. It’s cold everywhere.” She sniffles, covering her face with her hands.

Bellamy taps his finger against the hatchet. Definitely going to regret this. Joining her against the dropship, it’s obvious why Clarke picked this spot. He can’t even see camp from here. Their world is suddenly nothing more than trees and brush. And darkness. It’s comforting and intimidating. Vast yet intimate. He listens to Clarke cry softly. He thinks he understands. He’s just as frustrated. Just as scared. He worries about everyone constantly.

It used to be just Octavia. He came down to protect her—his sister, his responsibility—but instead, he gained ninety-eight other brothers and sisters. They’re down to eighty-two at last count, and every death weighs on his mind. Every grave dug takes a bit of his soul. The deaths seem nearly daily now which is why he ordered everyone inside tonight. Too little, too late. They’ll be lucky to make it through winter. They’ll be lucky to make it through the month. If the cold doesn’t kill them, they’ll starve to death soon enough. He leans his head back with a sigh. He doesn’t know what else he can do.

“I can’t save them,” Clarke whispers, mirroring his thoughts.

Bellamy looks over at her. Her arms are wrapped tight around her as she stares into the darkness. He doesn’t know what to tell to her because the weight of those eighty-two lives crushes him, too. “We’ll figure it out,” he finally murmurs. Because what else can he say?

“We’re going to die.” She sniffles again.

He hates seeing her cry almost as much as Octavia. He reaches for her without thinking but stops, hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder. She looks up at him with desperate, watery eyes. Something cracks in his chest, letting a warmth rush in. He slips his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.

He’s surprised when Clarke wraps her arms around his waist and settles her head on his shoulder. “We’re going to figure this out,” he whispers.

“How?”

He has no answer. “I don’t know, but the two of us together can do this.”

“But they keep dying. And I can’t save them.” She sucks in a breath and lets it out in a sob. Bellamy tucks her head under his chin, rubbing little circles on her back like he used to do for Octavia

“You’re not a doctor, Clarke. You’re doing the best you can. I should have made everyone move into the dropship days ago.” He swallows hard. “You warned me, and I didn’t listen. So if anything, it’s my fault.” He keeps making one mistake after another. He just buried three of them.

“It’s not going to be enough. There’s still no heat. Food and water are low which is making everyone edgy. The bullies are preying on the other kids-”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“And even then our chances are slim. All it will take is someone coming down with a virus. Everyone packed in close quarters is a recipe for disaster. Everyone will get sick and they’ll die.” The words tumble out.

He cups her face in his hands. “Clarke, breathe.”

She grabs his wrists, gasping for air as she fights to regain control. Bellamy finds it more than a little unsettling to see her like this. He’s come to rely on Clarke to be strong. He looks to her for guidance. If he sees that almost imperceptible nod of approval or the little twitch of her lips when she’s trying not to smile, he knows he’s on the right track. He needs Clarke. The thought blindsides him, but the moment he thinks it, he knows it’s true. A sudden lump in his throat threatens to choke him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against hers. “We’re going to get through this,” he tells her firmly, trying to convince himself as much as her. “You and me.” He’s not really sure what he means. His words are filled with more meaning than he’d intended.

“Do you really believe that?” she asks.

“I do. We can do anything together.”

When he opens his eyes, her penetrating gaze meets his, sending his heart racing. Damn, when did this happen? When did Clarke start having this effect on him? He’s not sure he likes it, but he can’t look away. She slowly licks her lips—his eyes tracking her tongue. Why is he thinking about kissing her now? This is not the time. No, there is never a time because it’s never going to happen.

Then why does she seem closer than she was a second ago? Did she just look at his mouth? He’s suddenly not very cold anymore. In fact, he feels sweat trickle down the back of his neck. Crap. He doesn’t want this. His life is complicated enough without falling for Clarke. They can barely stand to be around each other half the time.

Before he can do anything stupid like kiss her, he tugs her into another hug. Her arms wrap around his neck this time. He wishes he knew what she was thinking because his thoughts are bouncing all over the place. They keep landing back on how good it feels with her in his arms. How he never wants to let her go. How much he wants to kiss her. He shivers at the thought.

Clarke steps back with a sigh—almost reluctantly. She wipes her eyes and laughs. “I’m a mess.”

Bellamy bites back a smile. “We’re all a mess, Clarke,” he says, wiping his grimy hands on his even grimier shirt.

“I meant on the inside.”

“I know.” Her eyeroll settles his nerves. They’re going to be okay. They have to be because he’s not sure he can do this without her. He doesn’t tell her that, though. He bottles up all of the emotions—all the urges— raging through him then clears his throat. “We should get inside before we freeze to death.”

Clarke grabs his wrist. “Promise me, Bellamy,” she says, voice cracking. “Promise we’re going to make it.”

The lump is back, making it hard to breathe. Her hand slides down until their fingers tangle together. He can’t make that promise, and she knows it. But he nods anyway. “I promise.”

She gives him a weak smile then squeezes his hand once before letting it go. She squares her shoulders then marches out of the shadows and into the light of the fires glowing in front of the dropship. Bellamy follows her because he has no other choice. They’re in this together, and they will make it. Together.

The 100 fic: End of the Line

endoftheline

[Bellamy/Clarke]
An alternate scene in episode 1.07. Clarke and Bellamy disagree on how to handle the captured Lincoln. Because there’s no coming back once you cross that line.
690 words | rating: PG-13


“There are things you do, and things you don’t do,” Clarke said, voice full of righteous indignation. “And this crosses the line.”

Bellamy stepped into her space. She stumbled back—uncertainty replacing the disapproval on her face. “And who decides where that line is? You?”

Her eyes darted to the grounder tied up behind him. “This is wrong, and you know it.”

Bellamy lowered his voice so only she could hear. “All I know is that I have to protect this camp. That’s what everyone wants, right?”

“This isn’t the way to do it.”

“Then tell me what is the right way. What am I supposed to do here?”

Her mouth opened then closed wordlessly. That shut her up. The problem was he knew she was right. It made him angry and resentful, but he was stuck. What was he supposed to do? Let Finn die?

“Torture isn’t the answer,” she finally whispered.

“Clarke.” Bellamy sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time to argue or wait for him to get chatty.”

“There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t. Finn is going to die.”

She crossed her arms in an obvious challenge. “You were willing to let Jasper die. You helped them hang Murphy. You took the radio to save your own ass. You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself. Now suddenly you care if Finn lives or dies?”

What the hell? Was that really what she thought of him? She stared him down until he looked away, ashamed. Of course she thought that. Why wouldn’t she after all the things he did? But this was different. Things were different. Frustrated, Bellamy scrubbed a hand over his face. “Clarke-”

She cut him off. “You don’t even like Finn.”

“But you do,” he said, eyes on his boots. He swallowed hard. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “And Raven cares,” he added, but he knew the damage was done.

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair. “Look, it doesn’t matter what I think about Finn. All that matters is he’s going to die if we don’t get some information. Is that what you want? Because it’s starting to sound that way. He did break your heart so why not let him die?” That was low. She looked away, biting her lip. “The lines sure get fuzzy when it’s someone you care about, huh?” he said softly.

When she looked up, her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “Please don’t do this, Bellamy.

“Then give me another option,” he pleaded. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do, Clarke, because I’m making this up as I go along. Finn’s going to die if I don’t do something. And we’re out of time.”

Behind him, Miller stopped pacing. “Yo, Bellamy, we going to do this or what?”

Clarke shot Miller a disgusted look. When she turned back, she looked drained. “This isn’t you.”

“Maybe not, but it’s who I need to be if we’re going to survive.” His fingers brushed her arm. “Someone has to make the hard decisions. Better me than you.”

Bellamy held his breath, hoping the conversation was over because he couldn’t handle her looking at him with that mixture of pity and disappointment. He sighed, dropping his hand. “You should go. Check on Finn.” He didn’t want her here. Didn’t want her seeing him like this. “Please, Clarke.”

She looked ready to argue, but the desperation in his voice must have changed her mind because she let out a tired breath. “This is a line you can’t uncross, Bellamy.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know.”

She gave him one last grim look before disappearing down the ladder. Bellamy closed his eyes. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to wake up in the morning with one more reason to hate himself. Why couldn’t she understand that?

“Let’s do this,” Miller said way too enthusiastically.

Bellamy picked up one of the straps laying on the ground. He rubbed his thumb over the buckle. “It’s just who I have to be,” he mumbled before turning towards the grounder, jaw clenched with determination.

The 100 fic: Wash Away the Pain

blood

Clarke has too much blood on her hands, but Bellamy is there to help wash it away.
1272 words | rating: PG-13


Clarke staggers through the trees towards the rush of water she hears in the distance. Her right hand presses against a growing pain in her side. Her left hangs limply, knife dangling from her fingertips. The noise of the river drowns out the echoing screams of death in her head.

She falls to her knees on the bank, retching until the bile erases the bitter taste of copper that stings the back of her throat.

So much blood.

It’s everywhere—staining her clothes, caking her hair, dripping from her eyelashes. She stares at her hands—sticky with red—until they blur behind a curtain of tears. She thrusts her hands into the freezing water, scrubbing her skin raw, but the red isn’t going away.
Her chest seizes up as another sob wracks her.

It’s not my blood.

“Clarke?”

She’s not sure if she’s relieved or terrified that it’s Bellamy that followed her. She goes back to scrubbing the blood from her hands. Bellamy squats next to her, pulling her hands from the water to hold between his. He gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and wipes a line of blood trickling from her temple.

“What do I do?” she whispers. “I can’t get it off.”

He looks down at her hands. “They’re clean, Clarke.”

She doesn’t believe him, but she’s afraid to look again. He watches her a moment longer then stands up, pulling her up with him. “Come on.”

He unties his boots, kicking them to the side. He tosses his jacket to the side and peels out of his t-shirt. Clarke swallows, squeezing her eyes shut. She doesn’t want to think about how perfect he looks without a shirt on or how he does have a smattering of freckles across his shoulders. It’s both adorable and sexy. And completely inappropriate.

Bellamy leans over and dips his shirt in the water then starts wiping her face. He’s gentle, starting at the top and working his way down. Despite the cold, she feels the heat rolling off of his bare skin.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

With my life, she wants to tell him, but the words catch in her throat. Instead she nods. Without saying another word, he carefully pulls off her shoes and socks. The rocks dig into her blistered feet, but she doesn’t complain.

He bites his lip—his eyes catching hers. He holds her gaze as he carefully removes her jacket. His fingers trail down her arms, sending a shiver up her spine.

He grips the hem of her shirt. “Still with me?”

She nods again, closing her eyes as he lifts the shirt off of her. She’s not sure she can look at him now. He casually undoes her pants, and she steps out of them, shivering. But he’s not done. She hears the zipper of his pants—the fabric pooling at his feet. He grips her hand tightly and guides her into the river.

The water is like a thousand tiny daggers hitting her all at once. She gasps and nearly sucks in a lungful of water. Bellamy wraps his arms around her waist—their chests pressed together—to keep her from sinking.

Bellamy carefully leans her head back and washes her hair, threading his fingers through the knots. Then he wipes her cheeks with his thumbs. His hands glide down her arms, pulling her hands between them. He rubs at her finger nails until the dark stains are gone.

When she looks up at him, his face is blurred behind tears. She blinks them away. He gives her that shy, sad smile he reserves just for her. She knows the emotions behind it. The way she keeps breaking his heart. The way he just accepts it. Because that’s who he is. She loves him for that.

She swallows down the lump. She might be in love with him.

Before she can think better of it, she reaches up and wipes a smudge of dirt from his temple. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her as she returns his favor—cleaning his face and hair. Even when she’s done, she can’t stop running her fingers through his curls. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer until their bodies are completely flush. His nose brushes hers, and she lets out a little sigh.

“Clarke,” he says, voice rough. He pushes her hair from her face, letting his fingers skim her chilled cheeks. Everywhere he touches heats up. He leans in closer until their lips are barely touching. But something stops him. He pulls back ever so slightly, and she thinks she might die from the anticipation. He clears his throat. “Clarke, we-”

“Please,” she whispers. “Can we just forget about everything else. Just this once. Can it be just you and me. No Ark, no Earth, no grounders, no war.”

“No Lexa?”

She shakes her head. “Lexa’s gone.”

“Clarke, I don’t want you to forget her.”

“I’m not. But-” She runs her fingers over his lips. They’re chapped but soft. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose my chance.”

He chuckles softly. “With me?” He waits for her to look up. “Never, Clarke. I’ll be here when you’re ready. Whenever that is.” He slips his fingers into her hair and pulls her face closer, planting soft kisses on her forehead. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. I love you, Clarke.”

Every molecule in her body hums alive at his words. She wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. He doesn’t question her breakdown; he just holds her tighter. When she finally gets control, she pulls back just far enough to see his face. The sun is setting behind him, casting him in shadows, but his eyes are wide, tracking her movements. She places a hand on either side of his face. The blood is finally gone—her skin shining white in the waning sun.

Slowly she leans forward, letting their lips touch softly. He doesn’t react at first, but she presses, knowing he just needs a sure confirmation. And then he groans. His arms tighten in a bear hug as he deepens the kiss. It’s like he can’t get enough. And damn, Clarke doesn’t want this to end. Some small part of her mind starts to compare this with her first kiss with Lexa, but she shoves it away—surprised at how easily she boxes up the memories. It’s been over a year; she has to move on eventually. And Bellamy’s been waiting this whole time.

When she pulls away again, his eyes are slightly unfocused but with a hint of fear like he thinks maybe she changed her mind. “Bellamy.”

He tenses, obviously waiting for it all to fall apart. Her heart aches for him. She did this to him. She left him over and over. Chose someone else at every turn. And he’s still here. At her side every day without question. Her lip trembles. And not from the cold. “I love you,” she whispers. And to erase any questions he might have, she adds, “I’m in love with you, Bellamy, and I have been for a long time.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, his body completely still. She meets his gaze as tears gather in the corners of his eyes. She tilts his face closer, kissing each tear away before returning to his lips.

“God, Clarke,” he moans into her mouth. “I love you so much.”

“I know. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure out what I wanted.”

He kisses her softly. “You’re worth the wait.”

She smiles against his lips. “So are you.”

The 100 fanfic: Handle with Care

handlewithcare[Bellamy/Clarke]
Set not long after s1e10 (I Am Become Death). Clarke is left to clean up the dropship on her own, but Bellamy thinks there’s something more important that she should be doing.

886 words | rating: PG


Bellamy finds Clarke inside the dropship. She kneels next to the last two sick kids and helps them sip some water. Less than twelve hours ago that was him lying on the floor near death. A tremor works through him at the memory. He’d never been so scared in his life.

When the kids have had their fill, she makes them comfortable, wiping blood from their faces and whispering comforting words. Then she picks up a bucket and starts scrubbing at the floor. He looks down at the dark stain by his feet. The floor is covered in them, and the smell of death hangs heavy in the air.

He notices for the first time that no one has stayed to help her clean up. Anger burns in the pit of his stomach. It’s just wrong on so many levels. When Clarke sits back on her heels with a tired sigh and rubs at a spot on her shoulder, Bellamy’s had enough.

He clears his throat, taking a few steps inside. “Hey, Clarke, can I talk to you a minute. Outside.”

She glances over her shoulder then back at her patients.

“I’ll get someone to watch them. I need your help with something.”

She nods and gets slowly to her feat, dropping the rag into a bucket of filthy water. Bellamy grabs the first three kids he sees and tells them to go clean up the dropship or he’ll have them digging the next latrine. They grumble as they pass Clarke.

“Volunteers,” he tells her with a crooked grin.

“I’m sure.” She crosses her arms over her chest, watching him warily. “What do you need?”

He flinches at her tone. It didn’t used to bother him as much when she got this standoffish. He jerks his head to the side and starts walking, knowing she’ll follow out of curiosity, if nothing else. He leads her over to his tent and holds the flap back. She stops, a brow arched. “What is this about?”

“I swear it’s nothing bad.”

“You know what they’re going to think if I go in there?”

Bellamy laughs. “Since when do you care what other people think?”

Her eyes narrow, but she seems to take his words as a personal challenge, turning and marching inside. She looks around, eyes catching on the pile of blankets in the middle of the tent. Bellamy pulls a crate over and pushes her down onto it.

“What-”

Then he places a plate of food in front of her. “You need to eat something before you fall over.”

She stares at the plate. “I didn’t ask for your food.”

“I know you didn’t ask. I know you never would. That’s why I’m offering. Actually, I’m insisting.” He squats down and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Clarke, you do so much for us, and we repay you with whining and complaining and making you clean up that mess on your own. You deserve better than that.”

She shakes her head, pushing the plate away.

Bellamy holds it on her lap. “It’s time you let someone take care of you for a change.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Bellamy, I don’t know what to say,” she whispers, voice shaky.

He hadn’t meant to say all of that, but when she looks at him, tears trailing down her cheeks and lip quivering, he doesn’t regret it. He meant every word. And she needed to hear it.

He swallows hard, forcing down the sudden lump caught in his throat. “You don’t say anything. You just eat.” When she still doesn’t move, he taps her knee. “Come on, don’t make me feed it to you.”

That gets a laugh. “That won’t be necessary.”

Bellamy’s relieved when she finally starts eating. He pulls over another crate and swipes a piece of food from her plate. “I said I’d share, not give it to you.”

She laughs again then ducks her head. “Thank you.”

There’s a twinkle in her eyes when she looks up. He’s happy to see it’s no longer tears making her eyes shine. He shrugs. “You’d do the same for me.”

Her hand lands softly on his arm, sending a spark of electricity coursing through his entire body. “You scared me, you know. When you got sick.”

He forces himself to meet her gaze. “You scared me, too.” The air in the tent has gotten too hot and too charged with static for his comfort. Especially considering that it’s Clarke sitting across from him. He looks away. “I mean, I can’t run this place without you.”

Clarke tears apart a piece of meat. “Is that the only reason?”

Bellamy licks his lips, all sorts of thoughts and emotions swirling in his head. He’s not sure what his reasons are, so he decides to go with what he knows best—deflection. With a crooked grin, he takes the chunk of meat right out of her hand and pops it into his mouth. “Well, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

Clarke shakes her head and laughs, the tension easing. They finish the plate in amicable silence. And when Clarke looks up at him with a thankful smile, setting butterflies loose in his stomach, Bellamy knows for sure there are other reasons. But that’s something to share another day.

The 100 (tv) fic: Mid-morning Interlude

interlude Bellamy/Clarke (sort of)

They’ve been on the ground a week, and Clarke has had enough of the whining. She needs a break. Too bad Bellamy can’t seem to leave her alone. Too bad she sort of likes that about him.

1570 words | rating: PG-13


Clarke has had about enough of camp. Of kids whining about splinters and complaining about blisters. They come to her about every little injury or ailment. Not that she can do much to help any of them. They don’t get that, though. They see that she healed Jasper, so she’ll fix them as well.

But I’m not a doctor.

She’s done dealing with them. At least for today. Jasper is out of the woods, and only a girl named Melissa is sick with what might be chicken pox—Clarke’s not sure. Unless someone cuts off an arm, she doesn’t want to hear about it. Of course, they will never leave her alone if she stays in camp.

I’ll just go down to the river and collect some samples. Anything to get away.

She grabs her bag and a bottle of water then sneaks out the gate. Or what will be a gate eventually. It looks like a bunch of junk right now.

Nobody bothers her for fifteen minutes. She sighs in relief. At least she got away without being noticed. Of course that’s exactly when someone steps out in front of her. Clarke yelps in surprise. But it’s only Bellamy. Sometimes she really wants to punch that smug look off his face.

“What do you want?” she says, shoving past him.

“Going for a walk, princess?”

Clarke grits her teeth. “None of your business and quit calling me that.”

“None of my business? You traipsing around the forest alone and unarmed is what my business is all about.”

“Go away, Bellamy. I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now.”

He doesn’t go away. Instead, he falls into step next to her. “Where are you going?”

“Away.” He hates it when she doesn’t let him boss her around.

Bellamy huffs at her nonresponse. She expects him to turn around. Or start pestering her for more details about her destination. What she doesn’t expect is him grabbing her arm to stop her. His usual smirk replaced by a furrowed brow and tight lips. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke cocks her head. Is he serious? She tries to pull free, but he tightens his grip until she glares at him. In that moment she thinks she’s capable of murder. Why does he have to be such an ass all of the time?

“Clarke, what’s wrong with you? You’re acting-”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I just want to be alone. Okay. I can’t take the bickering and whining and bullying.” She emphasizes the last word then jerks free, turning on her heel. She’s not surprised that he follows again.

“Who’s been bothering you?”

She wonders if she’s imagining the concern in his voice.

“Nobody. Everybody. You.”

He snorts. “Wanna talk about it?”

She stops to stare. “You cannot be serious. Maybe I should be asking what’s wrong with you. Did you hit your head or something?”

Bellamy faces her, crossing his arms. “Why is it so surprising that I’m concerned?”

“Because you’re you. You don’t care about anyone besides yourself. And maybe Octavia.” She walks away again, slipping and sliding her way down a steep hill. She hears rocks falling behind her and knows he’s still following her.

She trips at the bottom, but Bellamy catches her. He gently sets her on her feet again, his hand lingering at her back. Clarke’s heart skips at his touch. She’s not sure what to make of that, but knows she doesn’t like it.

Liar.

“That’s not true,” Bellamy says as they start walking again. “I care.”

She frowns, frantically trying to clamp down on those unwanted feelings. “Really? Should we go over your resume of actions since we landed? Where would we even start? ‘Whatever the hell we want.’ Encouraging Murphy to get into a knife fight with Wells. Oh, threatening Wells with a gun. Letting Murphy bully everyone into taking off their wristbands-”

“Okay, okay, I get your point. You can stop now.”

When Clarke glances up at him, his face is tinted pink and he’s frowning. They walk in silence. The longer they go without Bellamy saying anything, the worse she feels. I shouldn’t care. He’s a jerk and deserves it. And yet her stomach coils into a knot like it knows she did something wrong. But I didn’t do anything wrong—I just told him the truth.

She sighs in relief when she hears the rush of the river ahead. It drowns out her swirling thoughts. Bellamy wanders down the bank, watching the woods for trouble. And brooding. She’s scraping moss from a rock when he returns, his shadow blocking her light. She watches him warily as she stands and shoves the sodden mess into her bag.

“I do care what happens to you, Clarke,” he says suddenly. “I know I don’t always show it, but I do.”

Clarke blinks, shocked by his confession. He looks anywhere but at her, body tense, one hand resting on his hatchet. She’s never seen him so uncomfortable. It’s kind of charming.

She wipes her hands on her pants, trying to put all the facts together in her head. He followed her out here to make sure she was safe. He stayed even after she told him to leave. He still hasn’t left. Would he do that for anyone else? Maybe.

The knot tightens, forcing a lump into her throat. “I care what happens to you, too, you know. You make it really difficult sometimes.”

Bellamy ducks his head. Clarke’s sure she sees him blush, but when his gaze meets hers again, he has his trademark smirk on his face. She waits for him to say something snarky, but he only smiles. “You ready to head back?”

Clarke sighs, looking around for anything else to do, but she’s already taken samples of everything. “Yeah, I guess.”

They scramble up the embankment, Bellamy pulling Clarke up by the hand. He holds it several seconds longer than needed. At least it feels longer. The knot in her stomach morphs into a pack of fluttering butterflies sending shivers up and down her spine. She hates that she kind of likes it.

“So, did you find everything you were looking for, princess?” he asks, interrupting her scattered and confusing thoughts.

She takes a deep breath to get herself under control. “Why do you have to keep calling me that? I’m not a princess.”

He chuckles. “Because it annoys you.”

“Of course you would do that,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

Forget what I said about charming.

“Come on, Clarke, lighten up a bit.” When she doesn’t say anything, he stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll stop. Okay?”

She’s not sure if he’s being serious. The look he’s giving her is intense and makes her body tingle all over. “It does bother me.”

“Okay.”

“You’re really going to stop? Just like that?”

Bellamy shrugs and starts walking again. “Why not? I can control my mouth when I want to.”

This makes Clarke laugh. Okay, maybe he can be charming. Sometimes. When he lets himself. She wishes it were more often.

“Can I ask you something?” The look he gives her is skeptical, but he nods. “How come you try so hard to be a jerk when it’s obvious you’re a nice guy? The way Octavia talks about you, you’d think you were a saint or something.”

He looks away, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, she’s my sister, so she has to say stuff like that.”

“I’m pretty sure there are no rules for siblings. She really means it.”

They can see the camp coming into view up ahead. He slows, Clarke matching his pace. “Let’s just say I do what I have to do to survive. You should do the same. Princess.” His eyes sparkle at her glare, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Last time, I swear.”

He walks away backwards, a disgustingly adorable grin on his stupid face then turns and swaggers through the gate. Clarke flushes—she can feel it from the ends of her toes to the tips of her ears.

And sometimes he can be too charming.

She really, really hates admitting that she gets a little thrill every time he calls her ‘princess.’ Especially with that hint of affection in his voice.

She takes a few seconds to pull herself together before entering the camp, hoping her face isn’t too red. Bellamy’s already barking orders at kids who are standing around. Clarke watches him a moment. She doesn’t get him most of the time, but she kind of understands where he’s coming from. He doesn’t have the luxury of being soft if he wants to maintain control. And it doesn’t bother her that he’s in control. He’s a good leader despite his faults. She admires that.

Not that I’d ever admit it.

Marley—the best friend of the girl with chicken pox—runs up in tears as soon as Clarke enters the camp, her face covered in little red dots. “Clarke, look at this. What is this?” She sounds frantic. There are three more waiting inside the drop ship. Clarke sighs. No rest for the weary, I guess.

Or the wicked.

She hears the last part in Bellamy’s voice, and it makes her smile. She follows Marley inside, confident the dim lighting will hide her blush this time. She’ll just have to ignore the butterflies.

 

The 100 (TV) fic: Every Time We Say Goodbye

everytime

Bellamy/Clarke

Saying good-bye gets harder and harder. Bellamy hopes this one isn’t forever. Episode tag for S02e16.

586 words | rating: PG


Every time we say goodbye, it gets harder and harder to let you go.

I want to tell her that. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but my pride stops me every time. Or fear. Fear of being rejected. Fear of being accepted. Fear of losing a part of me. I prefer the pride theory—it doesn’t sound as pathetic.

This goodbye just might kill me, though. My heart races when I realize she’s serious about leaving. Is she insane? Maybe there’s a tentative peace with the Grounders, but there are other dangers out there. And who knows how long the Grounders will honor the truce. Or if they all will. A lot of them dislike Clarke with a passion. She tends to have that effect on people. You either hate her or love her.

I know. Because I really hate the way her mouth keeps repeating, “I’m so sorry,” over and over. And I hate how defeated she looks. How defeated she makes me feel when she looks at me with those haunted eyes. I hate her for making me hurt this damn much.

“Clarke-”

She cuts me off, as she did the other four times I tried to talk some sense into her. “I just can’t, Bellamy. You have to understand.”

I’m trying. I really am, but panic is setting in and overriding whatever part of my brain is left for empathy. It’s selfish of me to want her to stay just for me, but I’m damn near close to begging her. The thought of her out in the forest alone scares me a lot more than losing my pride, but I bite my tongue and hold my breath.

My heart pounds in my head. I wonder how it got up there when it’s supposed to be in my chest. There’s probably no room left because I still haven’t let out that breath. She looks sadly over her shoulder at the camp. We worked so hard to get this started, I want to tell her. You can’t go now. Not yet. Not without me.

I’m ready to offer to go with her, but she catches me off guard when she leans up and kisses me softly on the cheek. It’s not my pride that keeps my mouth shut this time, but unbridled fear. Because I don’t know what that kiss means. I do know it’s not enough. The only thing keeping me from throwing her over my shoulder and dragging her back to camp is the fact that she’s carrying a knife and could carve my still-beating heart from my chest if she wanted.

That, and my unyielding respect for her. She walks away from me as I’m forced to swallow another breath, to keep pushing air in and out when it feels like the world is crushing me. She’s really doing it. And I’m letting her. And I think it might kill me, but what choice do I have?

If I told her the truth—that I needed her, that I didn’t think I could get through a day without her—would she change her mind? I almost died for her. I don’t ask, though, because it would hurt too much if she left anyway.

Maybe the next goodbye will be easier. If there is one. Because as I watch her disappear into the treeline, I vow there will never be a “next time” because I won’t let her go alone. Next time she won’t get rid of me as easily.

The 100(TV) fic: Follow You Down

followThere are a lot of dangers on the ground, but Bellamy found out quickly that the scariest one was Clarke Griffin. She had ways of hurting him he’d never imagined, and yet, he keeps going back for more. Like a moth to a flame in the center of hell.

849 words | rating: PG-13


He watches her. From across a room. Across the camp. Trudging through the forest when he should be watching for danger. But then again, Clarke Griffin represents a real threat to Bellamy Blake. At first it was a threat to his authority. He’d taken advantage of his age and the uniform he’d stolen to influence the kids on the dropship. Years of indoctrination had them automatically looking to someone older to tell them what to do. He liked having the power for once. He liked the way the kids looked up to him. Were afraid of him. Except Clarke.

No, she had to stand in his way, constantly challenge his decisions, or just ignore his orders. He may have had a “no rules” policy, but she split loyalties. Created a wedge in the group. And Octavia was on her side. That stung the most. For the first time in his life, his sister didn’t have that hero-worship glean in her eyes when she looked at him. That wasn’t Clarke’s fault, but it was easier to blame her than himself.

Later, the danger became physical because everywhere Clarke Griffin went, pain seemed to follow. She attracted trouble like moths to a flame. She was always going off on some fool-hearty mission, and bringing back trouble. She just had to take a group to find Mount Weather. A group including Octavia. That right there put her on his shit-list. But then she came back minus one geek, an injured Octavia, and a grounder army on her tail. And then wanted to go back out and find Jasper. She’d talked him into that particularly crazy scheme. Manipulated him to be more exact. It wouldn’t be the last time—Clarke knew how to push every one of his buttons.

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The 100 (TV) fic: At the Center of the Night

sleep Bellamy/Clarke friendship

Sleepless nights send Bellamy and Clarke on a crash course to finally fixing their friendship. Post season 3.

2043 words | rating: R


I’m not even sure why I’m here. I was on my way back to my quarters, but took a wrong turn. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. But now that I’m here, I’m not sure what to do. The hall is dark, the power low to reflect the late hour, and it’s quiet. Everyone went to bed hours ago. I think about turning around. I think about going through with it. I think about running for my life because I’m sure this might be the biggest fucking mistake of my life.

All of this runs through my head in the matter of seconds. While my brain is trying to sort it out, my feet get a mind of their own. Next thing I know, I’m standing in front of Clarke’s quarters.

This is okay. Isn’t it? We’re friends. After everything we’ve been through, it’s perfectly normal for one friend to call on another. I ignore the fact that it’s three in the morning. She said we needed each other. That had to mean something, right? And right now I need her. I need to talk to her. She always gets me like no one else can, not even Octavia. I need to talk to her. I need to see her face. To assure myself that she’s still here. That she isn’t some cruel prank my brain is playing on me. That she’s real, and she stayed this time.

She needed me.

And now I need her.

I hover in front of her door, rooted by indecision. On one hand, Lexa just died. It’s not like I’m asking her to marry me—I just want to talk. To spend time with her. We’re friends. On the other hand, the world is probably going to end in another month. There aren’t going to be many more somedays. I pull my hand back to knock, but then I hear footsteps.

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The 100 (TV) fic: Meanwhile, Life Goes On

meanwhileWith two new graves dug, Bellamy finally realizes he’s going to need help keeping everyone alive, but first he has to get everyone inside the walls.

1108 words | rating: PG


Bellamy finds Clarke sitting against a tree, staring at the freshly turned earth. The sun’s gone down, and it’s getting cold. Behind him, the kids are locking the camp down for the night. Threat of another Grounder attack blankets the camp with a layer of tension that weighs down everyone’s spirits. No one wants to be caught outside the hastily built wall, especially at night. Except one person.

Clarke hugs her legstight to her chest, face buried in her knees. Her shoulders rise and fall with each muffled sob. He has no idea what to say to her, butt if there’s onething he’s learned in the few days on the ground, though, it’s that you have to approach Clarke Griffin head-on.

Bellamy clears his throat. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

Clarke says nothing, but she tenses at the sound of his voice.

“Look, it’s getting dark. You need to come back inside the wall where it’s safe.” His eyes dart to the grave in front of her—one of two new ones dug yesterday.

“What do you care?” she murmurs into her knees.

Why does he care? Clarke has got to be the most frustrating person Bellamy’s ever met. She’s bossy, brash, and overbearing. It doesn’t matter what he does, she’s arguing the opposite side, making him second guess every decision, sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. But then there are moments she takes him completely by surprise.

Two days go, he watched her plunge a knife into someone’s neck. She didn’t do it all cold and emotionless. No, not Clarke Griffin. She hummed, showing the compassion of a lover as she killed a boy to save him from a drawn-out, painful death.

Bellamy had threatened to kill Jasper in a moment of arrogant superiority. He really thought he could do it if it settled everyone down and put the kid out of his misery. It wasn’t murder if the kid was going to die anyway, right? But then Atom. He sat there watching his friend die, and he couldn’t do it. But Clarke could. In that moment, he’d seen someone entirely different from the pretentious, know-it-all princess he assumed her to be.

She lets out a sob then sucks it back in. Bellamy runs a hand over his face then squats down in front of her. “Hey,” he says, tapping her knee. “Clarke.” She refuses to look at him. He sighs, letting his hands dangle between his knees. “I know this is hard for you, but you need to come inside. It’s not safe out here.”

“Just leave me alone.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Not gonna happen, princess. I can’t leave you out here alone.”

“Why not?”

“For one, you’re not armed. And two, you’re not exactly in the best state of mind for making rational decisions.”

She snorts. “Because you’re such a great judge on rational decision making.”

He smiles—surprised that Clarke even has a sense of humor—then sinks down next to her. He rests his head against the tree, eyes fluttering closed. The air tingles his skin in an unfamiliar way. It feels good. It feels natural, unlike the recycled air on the Ark. A fight breaks out inside the wall, but he’s too tired to care at the moment.

“Are you really going to sit out here all night?”

Bellamy glances down at her. “If you’re staying out here then I’m staying out here.”

She frowns. “Why?”

He’s tired of dancing around the subject. “Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“No, seriously.”

“I am being serious, Clarke. These kids need you.”

She looks away. “Right, the kids need me.” She sniffles again.

“Clarke-”

“God, Bellamy, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Anger boils up. Why does she have to be so ungrateful all of the time? But then she starts crying again. Big, stupid tears spilling down her cheeks, soaking the knees of her pants. Something wrenches in his chest then drops to the pit of his stomach. He thinks it might be his heart.

He squeezes her arm gently. “Because you just lost your best friend, and you shouldn’t be alone. Because you’re the closest thing to a doctor we have. Because-” He sucks up his pride and catches her eyes. “Because I can’t run this place on my own. I need your help.” The other night made him realize that, because there are things he’s not prepared to do—can’t do. But Clarke never hesitates.

As if to highlight his point, the yelling from inside the camp gets louder. There’s a crash and a scream. Bellamy rubs at his tired eyes, letting his head fall back.

“What happened to ‘whatever the hell we want?’” She sniffles then wipes her nose on the sleeve of her jacket.

He groans. He knew that would come back to bite him in the ass. “Things are different now. The Grounders-”

“I’ll go inside,” Clarke interrupts, “if you admit you were wrong.”

He frowns at her, trying to hide his relief. “Wrong about what? No one suspected there were people on the ground.”

Clarke’s eyes narrow, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “That’s not it.”

Bellamy stands, stretching his arms over his head. “Wrong about how useless princesses are?”

“Close, but no.”

He bites back a smile at her eye-roll then reaches a hand down to her. She stares at it for a few seconds before gripping it tightly. He easily lifts her to her feet but doesn’t let go. Her fingers are cold but soft—so different from his own covered in cuts and callouses. His thumb rubs over her knuckles as he steps closer.

“Fine. You were right,” Bellamy says softly. “We need rules or someone’s going to get hurt.” They both look at the mounds of dirt marked by simple wooden crosses. He sighs, letting her hand slip from his. “Maybe if we work together we won’t be digging graves every other day.”

Clarke sniffles then wipes her cheeks with the backs of her hands. When her entire body trembles, Bellamy puts a gently hand on her shoulder, turning her towards camp. She goes without protest, his hand sliding down her arm as they walk. He squeezes her hand once when they get to the gate. She gives him a weak smile then walks in ahead of him.

Bellamy takes one last look into the dark forest then glances at Miller standing guard. “Anyone else missing?”

“You’re the last.”

“Good. Lock ‘er up,” he says, twirling his finger in the air as he follows Clarke. At least they’re all safe for one more night.

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