Disclaimer: I do not own The 100 or anything that relates to The 100.
Summary: Clarke is on the run and bumps into a dark haired stranger that may be able to help, but only time will tell if he's friend or foe.
Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Clarke Griffin [Bellarke]
Continuity: Modern AU
A/N: This drabble is dedicated to my girl craniumhurricane over on Tumblr. The prompt was "Well that's pretty rude of you to say" and/or "Do you trust me?" Enjoy!
Ride Or Die
By: sushigirlali
Clarke's long legs burned as she barreled down the street, determined to evade capture. She'd already been busted for graffiti twice, so if she got caught again, there was a real possibility she'd go to jail. Judge Jaha would just love that. He's been looking for an excuse to lock me up for years.
Slinging her heavy drawstring backpack over her shoulder, Clarke briefly contemplated tossing the evidence but knew she'd have a hard time defending herself in court if the cops were to find it; her prints were all over the bag and its contents, after all.
Chancing a look behind her, Clarke realized that she'd managed to lose the officer who'd chased her from the scene. If she could get out of the area before he called in the cavalry, she'd be home free.
"Now's your chance, Clarke, move it," she huffed, dodging pedestrians as she zoomed down the crowded sidewalk. No one seemed to be paying her any mind, likely because her black leggings and mocha tank top gave the impression that she was just an innocent jogger, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Cutting behind the next building she passed, Clarke crossed the road and entered a deserted alleyway, intending to put as much distance between herself and potential witnesses as possible. But no sooner had she turned the corner than a figure in all black smacked right into her, taking her to the ground.
"Oof!" Clarke groaned, dropping her bag and landing flat on her back.
"Oh, shit!" a husky voice swore. "I didn't see you there! Are you okay?"
"I—am—not," she wheezed, trying to catch her breath as she stared up into the softest brown eyes she'd ever seen. The guy who'd collided with her was braced above her on all fours, his wavy coffee colored hair flowing free around his handsome face. Well, hello.
"Sorry," he said again, more softly this time, clearly doing some looking of his own, "I'm—"
The crackle of a nearby police radio stunned them both into silence. "This is Officer Miller, requesting backup. We have two suspects on foot, heading west towards Logan Circle. My partner and I were separated while pursuing them. Please advise."
"They're after me!" they hissed in unison. Then, "Wait, they're after you?!"
Confused, Clarke opened her mouth to start doling out questions, but her fellow criminal beat her to it. "Looks like they're after us, Princess, so what'd you do?" he asked with a conspiratorial grin.
"Princess? Really?" Clarke shot him a look, but answered anyway to expedite the situation. "All I did was tag some asshole's car," she said shortly, nodding toward her backpack. "You?"
"Swiped some food from a fancy grocery store," he replied. "Unfortunately, I dropped it all on the way here."
She could tell there was more to the story, but now wasn't the time to make friends; there was no telling when more cops would show up, or where the officer's partner was. Coming to her senses, Clarke grunted, "Get off me!" and shoved the stranger backward.
"Hey! I said I was sorry!" he yelped, scrambling off her and holding his hands up in supplication. "You alright?"
Clarke dusted off her clothes and put her backpack on. "Yeah, just peachy."
"Here," he said, shaking his head in amusement, "let me help you."
Hesitantly accepting his offer, she tried not to notice how warm his skin was as he leaned down and pulled her to her feet. Stop it, Clarke, you don't even know him. He could be a total creep.
"Officer Miller?" The tagger and the thief froze as a dispatcher responded to the police officer hovering just out of sight. "Back up is on the way. What's your precise location?"
"Thanks, dispatch. I'm on the corner of…"
"We gotta move," the man said quietly, still holding her hand.
"What?" she snapped, shaking him off. "What do you mean 'we?' "
"For some reason they think we're together, so it's probably best that we team up for now," he explained. "I can get us out of this, but you're going to have to trust me."
There were a thousand reasons to refuse, to knock him down and run in the opposite direction, but something told her that she could put her faith in this man. Something foolish, no doubt. "Alright."
"This way," he instructed, leading her back the way he'd come. They jogged down the alley between two huge apartment buildings until they reached the next road. Her newfound accomplice peaked out from behind the closest building, making sure the coast was clear. "Come on, it's safe."
"Which way now?"
"Right. The cop said they were tracking us west, so let's head north for now."
Keeping on his tail, Clarke instinctively knew that if she wanted to get out of this jam, she'd have to stick with the man in black. He carried himself like a solider, tactical and quick on his feet, but he looked pretty young to already be ex-military. If they managed to get away, she'd have to ask him about it.
"I'm Bellamy, by the way," he called over his shoulder.
"Clarke," she returned.
"Clarke," he repeated. "I like it."
"I don't care," she said wryly. "Where are we going?"
"I parked my bike in an alley on fifth," Bellamy panted, picking up his pace. "It's close, so if we can just get there…"
They were on third now, only two blocks away. Hope bloomed in Clarke's chest. "Okay! I'm right behind you!"
Bellamy ducked down a side street on the left, sprinting past the dumpsters and debris littering the way. Matching his hurried steps, Clarke ignored the stitch in her side as they neared their destination, unwilling to be the reason they got caught. Anything you can do, I can do better… she hummed to herself.
"We're here!" Bellamy said scant minutes later, sliding to a halt in front of a large wooden palette. "Give me a hand, will you?"
Clarke nodded, moving forward to assist him as she tried to control her harsh breathing. "What do you want me to do?"
"Lift the left side and I'll get the right."
"Got it." They worked together to move the heavy palette out of the way, dropping it to the ground a few feet away. "That's your ride?" Clarke said dubiously once the shoddy looking motorcycle was revealed. The dark purple paint was scraped off in several places and the kickstand looked like it was one good day away from snapping in half.
"Yeah," he said, swelling with pride. "Isn't she beautiful?"
"She's something," Clarke said dryly.
Kicking his leg over the front seat, Bellamy rolled his eyes at her lack of enthusiasm. "Do you trust me?" he asked, reaching behind him to produce his gloves and headgear.
"What?"
Bellamy held out a sleek black helmet. "Do you trust me?"
"Not on your life, street rat."
"Well that's pretty rude of you to say," he grinned, tossing the helmet at her before pulling his gloves on. "Kind of childish, in fact."
Clarke caught the safety gear with ease. "Says the man quoting Aladdin."
"Yeah, yeah. Stop complaining and get on, Princess," Bellamy commanded, whipping his keys out of his back pocket. "We gotta go."
"But—"
"Now, Clarke."
"Fine!" she said indigently, dashing forward to mount the bike. "But only because it's the expedient thing to do. Don't think you can get away with ordering me around under normal circumstances." Settling in behind him, Clarke tugged on the helmet and braced her feet on the back pegs. "Happy now?"
"Almost," Bellamy smirked. "Wrap your arms around my waist."
"What?"
"You heard me," he said a little gruffly.
Was he embarrassed? Because she sure as hell was. "That's okay, I'll just hold onto the seat."
"It's safer if you hold onto me." He looked over his shoulder at her. "Please, I don't want anything to happen to you."
Clarke bit her lip, trying not to notice how attractive he looked with his dark hair falling over one soulful eye. "Okay, whatever."
"Thanks, Princess," he chuckled, twisting the key and revving the engine.
Just then, sirens blazed behind them.
"Oh, shit! Go! Go!" Clarke cried, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding on for dear life.
Bellamy zipped out of the alley, racing onto the main street and through several red traffic lights. "Hold tight!" he warned, taking a hard left immediately followed by another jerk to the right.
"If I fall of this motorcycle and die, I will kill you so dead!" she shouted over the wailing wind.
"Deal! Now shut the hell up and let me focus on not killing us!"
Clarke pressed her cheek against the middle of his muscular back, tightening her grasp until she felt more secure. Putting all of her trust in a relative stranger was a hard pill to swallow, but for some reason, it was easy with Bellamy. Maybe it was because they shared the same occupation and dry sense of humor, but Clarke had never felt so in tune with another person before. Whatever the reason, she was suddenly, inexplicably dreading the end of this little escape attempt. What is wrong with me?!
Swerving to avoid a semi that was changing lanes, Bellamy swore at the near miss. "Shit, sorry! Looks like traffic is backed up ahead!"
"It's okay! Just take the next left!" Clarke instructed, recognizing a shortcut she'd used a few times to avoid pileups.
Following her directive without hesitation, Bellamy shifted his weight to guide the bike onto the side street and out of sight of the main road. Clarke let out a breath as the police sirens abruptly dulled to a low hum, indicating that the law had veered off in a different direction or were stuck in the mess they'd just avoided.
Bellamy and Clarke rode in companionable silence for another ten minutes or so before he decelerated to a crawl in front of a shady looking walkup. Pressing a button on the small controller attached to his keychain, Bellamy turned the bike around and lined it up with a set of faded tire prints on the pavement. Amazingly, a basement elevator gradually rose before them, large enough for two people and a motorcycle to squeeze into.
"What the hell?" Clarke gasped.
"Impressed?" he said good-naturedly.
"Getting there."
Walking the bike forward, Bellamy hit the button again once they were securely inside. It was a little claustrophobic, but a few minutes later they were standing in a dimly lit basement.
"Please tell me this isn't your murder room," she said drolly.
"Not hardly," he laughed, plucking the helmet off her head.
Stepping off the bike, Clarke shook out her long blonde hair, looking around with interest. "Lights?"
"One sec." Bellamy lowered the kickstand and stowed his equipment before hitting a switch on the wall.
"Whoa!" she exclaimed when the overhead lights flickered on, surprised by his high-tech setup. There were computers and electronic equipment strewn across several large desks, forming a half circle in the center of the room.
"Welcome to the Batcave," he joked.
"Is all this yours?" she said in awe.
"If only," he said wistfully. "This is actually my friend Monty's place."
Clarke raised one pale brow. "And he won't mind that we dropped in unannounced?"
"Nah, he's family," Bellamy dismissed, striding to the other side of the room and flopping down on a beaten-up old couch.
"Do you do this sort of thing often then?" she inquired, joining him on the sofa.
"This sort of thing?"
"Rescuing strange women and bringing them home with you?" she teased.
"Definitely not. I actually have a bit of a reputation for avoiding unnecessary entanglements," he shrugged. "Not that I don't care about people, it's just…hard for me to connect sometimes."
"I know what you mean," Clarke sighed, recalling her last few disastrous relationships. "Sometimes I wonder why I even try."
"No kidding," Bellamy agreed. His tone was odd, stirring her memory of how they had ended up here in the first place.
"Bellamy, who were you stealing food for?"
"Oh, uh, my little sister," he stammered. "It was stupid, really. I got caught like a rank amateur, but she's been having a really hard time lately, and I just wanted to make her happy." Bellamy frowned. "Am I making any sense?"
"Yeah." She knew all about irrational behavior. "That car I tagged earlier? It was my ex's. We've been done for a while, but I guess I needed to get all of my anger out to truly move on."
"And…have you?" He looked like he was holding his breath.
Clarke debated on making him wait for an answer, but his puppy dog eyes were too irresistible. "Definitely."
"Good. That's good."
"In fact, Bellamy, I think we—"
"Make a pretty good team?" he finished uncertainly.
Stunned that he'd literally taken the words right out of her mouth, Clarke stared at him for a space of seconds. "Um. Well, yes."
Appearing galvanized by her answer, he continued, "Any chance you'd like to stick around for a while then, Princess? No pressure, but I'd like to get to know you."
Searching his sincere expression, Clarke felt compelled to take a chance. "Yeah, I think I would."
Bellamy slowly covered her hand where it rested between them, as if testing her reaction. "How about we clean up and grab some dinner then?"
"Sure," she smiled, threading her fingers through his. "But you're stealing."
-FIN-
A/N: Get it? "But you're stealing" instead of "But you're buying!" I like to think I'm funny sometimes lol My other Bellarke fic is called "New Blood" and it's a grounder AU where Clarke and Octavia battle for the title of Commander while Bellamy looks on helplessly from the sidelines. Check it out! And if you enjoyed this little fic, please review!