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Archive for the tag “fanfic”

Stargate SG-1 fic: When I’m Gone

Just a little team miscommunication courtesy or Jack’s twisted sense of humor.

190 words | rating: G


“Remember me when I’m gone,” Jack said, appearing at the door of Sam’s lab. Sam and Daniel looked up from the plan they were working on.

“Why?” asked Daniel. “What’s wrong?

“Are you sick, sir?”

Jack sat heavily on one of the stools. He didn’t even spin. “Yes, sick.”

“Oh, god. What is it? Cancer? Poisoning? What was that alien thing SG-9 caught last week-”

Sam interrupted him. “Sir, is it serious?”

“Very.”

Daniel looked panicked. “What can we do, Jack? Is there a treatment?”

Jack sighed. “Unfortunately, no.”

“No,” Daniel yelled, “this isn’t right. You can’t die. We’ll talk to the Tok’ra. They owe us.”

“Who said anything about dying?”

Sam and Daniel exchanged looks. “You did,” they said at the same time

“No, I didn’t. I said to remember me when I’m gone. Hammond just told me I’m being sent to Washington for the week. This is serious business. There’s no treatment for boredom by politician.”

Sam rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Sir-”

Jack just smiled.

“Sometimes I hate you,” said Daniel.

“Well, my work here is done,” Jack said with a clap. “See you next week.”

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) fanfic: Always & Forever

always[Bellamy & Octavia]
Just a little snapshot of a cold night on the Ark for young Bellamy and Octavia.
673 words | rating: G


Bellamy was half asleep when a small hand rocked his shoulder.

“Bell?” Octavia said softly.

“Hmm?” He didn’t bother to open his eyes.

She didn’t say anything.

He counted to ten in his head. He had a test in the morning in physics, and he needed a good grade or he’d be stuck cleaning toilets the rest of his life. “What do you want, Octavia?” he mumbled.

“I’m cold.”

“So?”

She made an exaggerated shiver. He popped one eye open to look at his ten-year-old sister. She wore only her nightgown which was just one of his extra shirts that was way too big on her. Captain Wigglebottom, her stuffed bunny, was tucked tight to her chest. She shifted from foot to foot as if to prove how cold the ground was.

“Bellamy-”

He propped himself up on his arm. “What?”

“It’s cold in here.”

“It is. You should put on some warmer clothes.”

She crossed her arms, pouting. “I only have one outfit and Mom is washing it.”

His face flushed. “Oh.” He glanced over to the empty bed Octavia usually shared with their mom. She’d gotten into the habit of disappearing at night. Bellamy didn’t ask a lot of questions because he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers.

Octavia bit her lip, waiting. Part of him wanted to tell her to get lost. She had her own blanket, and he needed to get some sleep. But she looked at him with big, watery eyes and a quivering lip. Whenever he got frustrated with her, he tried to remember that she had no one else. Her entire existence was this room. Him and their mom—that’s all she knew. As socially awkward as Bellamy was thanks to his circumstances, at least he could say he had friends. He’d even had a girlfriend or two. Octavia had nobody. And never would. He was her only friend.

He sighed then scooted over, lifting the blanket. She dove in next to him and curled up to his warm body. He yelped when her ice-cold feet touched his legs as she squirmed around, looking for a comfortable position. Sliding his arm under her neck, Bellamy pulled her close to keep her still as much as to warm her. Soon her breathing evened out, and he could tell she was falling asleep.

Bellamy laid back and stared up at the ceiling of his bunk—the little seven by three foot space he could call his own. The bed wasn’t made for two, and even with Octavia’s tiny frame, it was a tight fit. But he didn’t complain.

For one, he was a lot warmer with her in the bed with him. And two, he had to admit he kind of liked having her close. They shared a bed when they were little until around the time he turned twelve, and well, his body started changing. He demanded privacy. At six, she didn’t understand why he kicked her from the bed. Now he regretted it because he always slept better with her near. That way he knew she was safe.

He covered his eyes with his free arm and tried to fall back asleep.

“Bellamy?” Octavia mumbled into his chest.

“What?”

“You’re the best.”

He smiled at the ceiling. “No, you’re the best. Just next time, don’t leave your feet outside of your blanket until they go numb before coming over here. You’re not fooling anyone.” He jabbed a finger into her ribs. She giggled and tried to touch his leg again.

“Okay, time to go to sleep,” he said with a yawn. “Or you’re going back to your own bed.”

“Would you do that?” Her voice sounded tiny.

Bellamy stared at her for a long time. He couldn’t believe she thought he was serious? Octavia looked back at him, eyes wide, her lip caught between her teeth. He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her softly on the forehead. “No. I’ll always let you stay, cold feet and all. Always, O.”

And he meant it.

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.

Read more…

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.

Read more…

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.

Flashback Friday Fic: Rainbow of Brushes (Firefly)

Welcome to Flashback Friday Fic where I go back and repost fic I wrote years ago.


rainbowbrushesFirefly/Serenity
River, Jayne (no pairings)
River really is a tad loony as Jayne finds out…the hard way.

275 words | rating: T


Red plastic, cold and hard, flecks of paste still stuck between the bristles.

Plain white, utilitarian, always perfectly clean and kept in it’s case.

Dark green, worn and battered, half the handle broken off, the bristles crushed from months, no, years of use.

Hand carved of ancient ivory, bristles so fine and white they glistened, Chinese characters inlaid in jade on the handle, a piece of art in itself.

This one buzzed when you pushed the button. Bzzz, bzzz. The bristles were green and in a circular pattern, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz.

Pink and sparkly, a cheerful tune played if it moved.

Another plain plastic one, this in brown with a soft rubber grip at the end, clean and new.

This one was her favorite, though. She picked it up and held it to her eyes. Inside the clear blue plastic swam tiny little orange fish. At least they were supposed to look of fish but they were a mite too small and made of plastic to be real fish. But they floated and bobbed up and down the handle. But if you shook it too hard bubbles formed, and the fishies were obscured.

“Girl, what in the gorram world are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning the floor like the captain asked,” River said as she pushed the red brush against the cold steel decking.

“Gwai-gwai long duh dong! That’s my toothbrush,” Jayne yelled.

Without looking at him she held up the glittery pink brush. Jayne snatched it from her hand.

“Crazy nutter,” he mumbled as he stormed back to his bunk, a cheery tune following him as he went.

“You’re welcome,” River called after him.


This story was originally posted at livejournal on February 3, 2008. It has been slightly edited for grammar and clarity.

Flashback Friday Fic: All They Have

alltheyhaveMillers Kill Mysteries
Russ/Clare
Russ takes a little time off from the busy July 4th crowd to spend a little time with Clare.

293 words | rating: PG



Clare watched the fireworks from her spot on the faded, worn blanket spread out in the grass of the park. Overhead the bright shower of sparks exploded with a loud pop. She jumped, her body going rigid at the sound.

“Flashbacks?”

She glanced over her shoulder to find Russ standing a few feet away, still in uniform, but with his hands jammed in his pockets. She shrugged in answer then turned back up to watch another shower of colors descend over the “oohing” crowd.

“It took me years to not jump at every backfiring car or bottle rocket going off.”

“I know.”

After a moment, he lowered himself to the blanket next to her and sat quietly. She noticed he wasn’t watching the show. “Are you still on the clock?”

“Once a cop, always a cop.” His eyes finally slid over to hers, and she felt her pulse speed up. She quickly looked away, her face flushing under his scrutiny.

Another pop caught her off guard, and she gave Russ a sheepish grin. He just smiled, scooting closer until their legs were touching—not overtly intentional looking, but obvious to her nonetheless. She didn’t even notice the next blossom of sparks; her eyes fixed on Russ. He spread his hands away from his body and leaned back on them, mimicking Clare’s position. As his face turned up towards the show, she felt his fingers brushing against her hand. It took every ounce of will power not to look down at them, not to draw attention to the illicit touch. She swallowed hard and followed his gaze up to the night sky trying to be content in the little gesture of friendship he offered. It was all they had.


This story was originally posted on July 9, 2011. It has been slightly edited for grammar and clarity.

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