Season 1 Episode 2: Earth Skills

Bellamy

A low, agonizing moan floated along the wind and through the branches. It was distant, barely perceptible, but everyone heard it. The little rescue party stood alert and suspicious in an instant. Clarke looked up, her small, delicate fingers hovering above the blood-stained rocks Finn had just found. Bellamy saw in vivid detail the muscles in her neck tighten as her breath caught in her throat, and he wondered dimly why he even bothered to notice.

"What the hell was that?" Murphy asked next to him. His voice showed neither concern nor fear, but rather a hint of annoyance.

Bellamy opened his mouth, ready to reprimand his apathetic second-in-command, surprisingly irritated at the kid's indifference. This is someone's life on the line, he wanted to say, but Clarke spoke first. "Now would be a good time to take out that gun," she said, watchful, searching the trees. Before her decree was even finished, she took off at a sprint toward the source of the moaning.

Finn was the first to reach the clearing. It was large enough to land a helicopter or jet, antique pieces of machinery Bellamy vaguely remembered reading about in earth history class on the Ark. Tall grass stretched out from the center of the forest, surrounding a single tree. Barren branches stuck out in odd directions. Tied to the tree, his body sagging as if the life inside had already been drained away-

"Jasper!" Clarke gasped softly, stopping dead in her tracks.

Jasper let out a groan, his shaking body assuring the others that he was still alive. He was shirtless, wearing instead dozens of deliberate scrapes and cuts. Dried blood stuck to his raw, pink skin. Vines wrapped around his waist, chaining him to the tree, and his arms were bound above his head. He was completely exposed and utterly helpless.

The rescue party stood frozen with bewilderment, incapable of movement as they stared at the poor boy. Bellamy didn't know exactly what they would find when they set out earlier that day - actually, he was pretty sure that they wouldn't find anything at all. Yet here they were, just a few yards from the kid they were searching for, strung up like meat and battered with wounds.

Bellamy knew the grounders were dangerous - anyone or thing that didn't come from the Ark was a potential threat - but he never once believed they could be barbaric enough to do this. If they could easily manhandle and torture just one kid, one innocent guy in the wrong place at the wrong time, what else were they capable of? Who was safe, if anyone?

Clarke was the first one to snap back into action. She ran forward, hacking through the tall grass with her arms. "Oh my god!" She was nearly hysterical, disregarding Finn's cautious warnings. "Jasper?!"

Bellamy tucked the gun into the back of his pants, close behind Clarke. Truthfully, he didn't care much for Jasper; he barely knew the kid. But as the reality of the situation dawned on him, for the briefest second, he felt scared. Terrified, even. His blood ran cold and the hairs on his arms stood erect. His safety, his sister's safety, hell, every one of the hundred that came down from the Ark - they were all threatened. "What the hell is this?" Bellamy's thoughts raced a hundred miles an hour in every which way when suddenly, he was angry. Angry that he had let Jasper go on that stupid expedition for Mount Weather. Angry that Octavia had gone with him; she could've been attacked and captured, too. But above all, he was angry that Jasper was taken under his watch, his protection. Bellamy was furious, ignited by a sense of personal responsibility strikingly different from his original whatever-the-hell-we-want policy. How dare they do this to one of my people?

As if in response to his silent threat, there was a loud crackling noise, like branches or leaves crunching underfoot. Bellamy's shoulder brushed against Clarke's, and before either of them knew it, before Clarke could even cry out, she was falling. She half-turned, trying to catch onto the ledge, but instead she caught Bellamy's arm.

Bellamy stiffened, tightening his grip on her wrist and bracing her weight with his other hand. He looked past Clarke and into the pit below; tall spikes covered every inch of the deep hole in the ground. Not a bad trap, he thought, privately giving kudos to the grounders. I'll have to get these dug around the drop ship. He glanced back down at the blonde princess clinging to the end of his arm, blue eyes boring into his. Pleading.

Somewhere distant, in the farthest reaches of his mind, he was astounded that he even bothered to notice just how blue her eyes were.

Clarke squeezed, fingernails digging into his arm, and his fingers grazed against something smooth and cool to the touch. The wristband. Bellamy pressed his lips together as his mind tossed this perfect opportunity back and forth. He could let go. He could drop her. Then he wouldn't even have to worry about getting that wristband anymore, let alone cutting off her hand, as he had said to Murphy. He wouldn't have to hold her down and take it by force, like with Wells, either. No, those lethal spikes would take care of it all for him.

"Clarke! Get her up!" Finn's voice was a million miles away. He and Wells ran forward, yelling, "Pull her up! Get her up, get her up!" but Bellamy could barely hear them, trapped in Clarke's blue eyes. They darted back and forth between his face and his hand, holding hers. Bellamy stared at her, breathing hard, and tried to swallow the bile rising in his throat. In this little moment, in these few seconds, he had the power to decide whether this brave little princess lived, or died. Clarke was completely at his mercy.

Bellamy idly came to the conclusion that, although he greatly enjoyed being in charge, he was downright thankful he wasn't God.

If I dropped her, Bellamy reasoned, I could say she slipped. It wouldn't be my fault. Clarke gasped as if she forgot how to breathe, and she started squirming around in a fruitless attempt to climb out of the pit on her own. She knew what he was thinking. When he peeked back down at her, Bellamy dimly wondered just how much of his thoughts were written on his face.

A series of bloody images flashed before him like a movie in slow motion. He lets go. Without his support, Clarke's hand slips away. Her mouth opens in a cry. She looks like the sun as she plummets to her end, long blonde hair flying out in all directions like sun rays, encircling her head like a halo. Her blue eyes widen and Bellamy has this strange sense of drowning. Then abruptly, she goes limp. A stake driven straight through her abdomen. Blood pools at the entrance of the wound and drips down the sides of her slack body. Her head hangs off her shoulders, eyes still open, mouth still open. The wristband continues flickering, informing the Ark of Clarke's death.

Clarke's death.

No.

Bellamy blinked rapidly, trying to push these grotesque pictures out of his head. He nearly crushed Clarke's wrist under his grasp, trying to reassure himself that he hadn't truly let go, that she was still alive. Bellamy readied himself to pull, coming to a decision.

It would be my fault.

No matter his efforts, Clarke's lifeless body still haunted him. The image seared itself into the backs of his eyelids. He couldn't unsee her death. He couldn't unsee the life draining away from those vibrantly blue eyes.

But then it wasn't just Clarke he saw, dead below. In his mind's eye, each spike bore another dangling body. He saw Jasper, speared through. He saw Murphy, Atom, and Monroe, gaping holes where their hearts ought to be. The girl he had just fooled around with in the drop ship whose name he couldn't remember. Finn. Wells. Monty. The bodies kept piling up until the pit extended out in all directions for miles, a hundred bodies skewered like meat. Worst of all, he saw Octavia's lifeless body at the epicenter.

Bellamy gazed down at Clarke with a new ferocity. You're not dying today, he tried to say, you're not dying because of me. But the message was lost in her fear of death and his fear of causing it.

And then the other three were there. Finn grabbed Clarke's other hand, Murphy secured Bellamy's grip, and Wells supported them all from behind. They heaved together once and Clarke was out of danger - from the pit. Bellamy's heart hammered as he watched Murphy's fingers inch towards the wristband; she wasn't safe from him.

Bellamy swiftly knocked Murphy away, glowering at his second. Leave it, he said in one look, and Murphy shuffled back reluctantly. Bellamy returned his attention to Clarke. She panted heavily from the adrenaline rush, and her hand still clutched firmly onto his arm. We're not like the grounders. We're not barbarians.

As she kicked backwards and away from the edge of the pit, unsettled from her near-death experience, Bellamy just couldn't bring himself to let go. She's safe now, he reminded himself, you didn't kill her. Yet while the disturbing images of death lingered in the corners of thoughts, his fingers defied him.

"You okay?" Spacewalker hovered over Clarke, trying for comfort. Bellamy had wanted to ask if she was alright, but when Finn beat him to it, he became aware of the simple fact that he cared, despite his distaste for the princess and her privileged background. He couldn't understand why; she was aggravatingly insistent on going against every damn word he said. Why should he care about her well-being at all? The only person Bellamy would ever care about was his sister; that's why he was on the ground in the first place.

His hold on Clarke loosened and she pulled away, nodding to Finn. Unable to talk at first from the shock, finally she let out a breathy, "Yeah" as Finn lifted her back onto her feet. Scrutinizing the pit, Clarke retreated a few paces for good measure before glancing at Bellamy. As soon as their eyes locked, he felt his chest tighten. She's alive. Shaken up, maybe, but alive. It wasn't until she had looked at him that he realized he was holding his breath. I wouldn't have let you fall, he wanted to say, but then her gaze returned to the pit and he figured he lost his chance.

"We need to get him down," she grounded out. Bellamy could see her mentally shove aside her fright, focusing again on Jasper. Her jaw clenched and she straightened her back.

There's our brave princess, he thought, a little too cynically.

Finn and Clarke seemed to be on the same page without even looking at each other. Spacewalker nodded once before announcing, "I'll climb up there and cut the vines."

"Yeah, yeah," Wells agreed, and hurried to follow him. Bellamy couldn't help but roll his eyes, thinking back to their earlier conversation about Wells' invisibility. "I'm with you."

At this, Finn halted immediately and turned, glaring daggers at Bellamy. If looks could kill, he mused, I'd be dead a dozen times over by now.

"No. Stay with Clarke," Finn demanded. His tone was harsh. "And watch him."

Bellamy returned the glare. I wouldn't have let her fall. He wanted to strike back and show everyone that he wasn't the bad guy here; the grounders were. Those who strung Jasper up like live bait, those who set the trap Clarke fell into. The grounders were the enemy, not him.

But he didn't say anything. He simply closed his eyes and picked apart the slow-motion movie that wouldn't let up, even though Clarke Griffin stood unharmed and breathing, right next to him.

Clarke

She wasn't sure how or when their connection was established, but all it took was one look, their silent conversations startlingly clear as day. Clarke and Finn squatted together, heads close, fingertips reaching out to the blood-stained rocks they had just found.

Jasper's blood? Finn questioned, raising his eyebrows.

She inclined her head. He's in trouble.

A dim, very faint groan of pain echoed throughout the forest and Clarke's head snapped up, suddenly wary of her surroundings. She froze, as if her stillness would somehow protect her from the grounders lurking in the woods, despite the four boys around her still moving and talking.

"What the hell was that?" She couldn't tell if Murphy was frightened or irritated, but she didn't care. The sound was indefinite, but it was undoubtedly human, and in pain. No grounder would be stupid enough to give away his position; that left only Jasper.

"Now would be a good time to take out that gun," she said, turning slightly over her shoulder in Bellamy's direction. Clarke didn't like to think that violence should be their first instinct, but it was barely their second day on the ground and already one of their own was injured and taken.

She led the group in Jasper's direction, running faster as the sounds of his groans grew louder and closer. When they finally found him, he was suspended to the center of a tree, secured by vines around his waist and arms. Joy swept through Clarke at the sight of him, but her elation was quickly replaced by anxiety. His bare chest was ragged and raw, nearly sliced to ribbons. An unnaturally dark spot oozing blood covered the area over his heart. Skin hanging off his bones and ribs colored black and blue, Jasper looked like a corpse beaten like a piñata. But his stomach fluttered up and down consistently in strenuous attempts for breath, so Clarke relaxed. As long as the sweet kid with the goggles was still among the living, she could help him.

Clarke hesitated as suspicion paused her movement. Were the grounders that strung Jasper up still here? Her rescue party would be no use to him if they were all killed in an ambush.

"Jasper!" Clarke called out, eyes darting back and forth, examining the clearing for any sign that others were present. The tall grass bent with the wind, creating a disturbingly false sense of calm, but otherwise there was no movement.

Another tortured moan escaped the poor kid's lips, spurring Clarke back into action. "Oh my god!" Heat boiled her blood, causing her arms to feel heavier, slower. Finn said something behind her - be careful, maybe? - but the words had no meaning. She needed to get to Jasper.

Her attention belonged solely to her friend tied to the tree, so she didn't notice the patch of dirt before her, how it was the only spot in the clearing that lacked tall swaying grass. The dirt was slightly darker and looser, too. No, Clarke didn't see any of the irregularities; she missed all the subtle signs until it was too late and her foot was sinking farther down than it should have. Clarke yelped as realization hit her: she was falling. She tried to act quicker than gravity, flailing her hands, reaching, groping for anything, when Finn's hand grabbed hers.

Clarke's chest clenched tightly in relief and she opened her mouth, ready to thank him, but her throat contracted in on itself as soon as she looked up at her savior. Her blue eyes connected with dark, brown eyes. But they didn't belong to Finn - they were Bellamy's.

Her shock must have been clear on her face because, in quicker than a second, Bellamy's expression mirrored exactly how she felt. But just as quickly, the surprise in the creases between his brows was replaced by something else she couldn't quite decipher. Then his eyes turned bright, gleaming with a new idea, and his fingers loosened.

Clarke's heart sped up with terror. He's going to let go.

She squeezed, digging her fingernails into his wrist. Even through his sleeves, little half-moons pressed into his skin. Don't, she pleaded. Clarke glanced once at his hand, growing slightly slacker with each passing moment, then back to his face. This isn't who you are! His dark eyes narrowed, and Clarke could only guess that he was trying to decide whether to murder her or not. She exhaled in a fleeting sense of solace; he was hesitating. Meaning, he had a conscience, a moral compass. Meaning, he wouldn't actually drop her.

Would he?

Clarke imagined what it would be like to die, how it would feel. She knew that these kinds of thoughts were the worst to have in her present situation, but she couldn't stop herself. Would it hurt? Of course it would hurt, those spikes below were sharp. How long would the pain last? Would her entire life flash before her eyes like in the movies? And what would she see? Would she even be satisfied with the life she's led so far?

Bitterness made her mouth sting. Clarke had spent the last year in solitary, alone, drawing. Cooped up in a cell because she knew the truth and tried to help her father get it out to the people. Hidden away from the world as she knew it, then abruptly thrown into this new one filled with intense wonders and a multitude of dangers. All that she'd suffered, all that she'd endured - only to die on her second day on the ground.

Finn and Wells were somewhere. She could hear their voices calling out, but she couldn't understand what they were saying over the blood pounding deafeningly in her ears. Where were they? Bellamy still hadn't pulled her up, and too much time passed as he was making his decision. His hold was relaxing. Clarke wriggled and twisted around, kicking her feet, trying to find a foothold. If he wouldn't pull her up, maybe she could get out herself. But all her efforts were to no avail. The grounders had smoothed down the walls of the pit, and the balls of her feet just kept slipping off. Clarke looked back to Bellamy. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed him. Help me, please!

A series of different emotions warred for dominance over his face. She watched, perplexed, as each one smoothed then wrinkled his features, wondering desperately what the hell he was thinking. There was fear. Shock. Was that grief? And then all of a sudden, he squeezed, Clarke wincing slightly at the force. She blinked up at him in confusion, then faintly noticed that he was blinking rapidly, too. Resolve gave him a newfound strength; his jaw clenched together, teeth bared. Clarke realized with relief that he wasn't a murderer after all. She was right about him; the guy's an ass, but not an executioner. She almost felt guilty for doubting him and pinning him as a killer.

She knew Bellamy was fully capable of pulling her out on his own, but all at once the others were there, too. They hauled Clarke out of the pit with one pull and then she was free. Bellamy's hand was still wrapped around hers as she tried to turn around, and she wondered again what he was thinking. Then she laughed inwardly; she'd probably puzzle over Bellamy Blake's thoughts a hundred thousand more times as long as they were both on the ground together.

Finn squatted down next to her, his hand squeezing her shoulder gently, comfortingly. "You okay?" he asked. Clarke exhaled breathlessly, trying to squirm out of Bellamy's grasp. When he finally let go, she nodded, trying to stand. She felt Finn's hands go under her arms as he lifted her up, and she let herself sink into him, just a little bit. Quietly, in their odd way, she thanked him for choosing to come along after all; this was the second time that day he'd saved her from a potential attack from Bellamy.

"Yeah," she promised, leaning towards Finn. Clarke couldn't take her eyes off the pit and its spikes, but when she felt Bellamy's gaze on her back, she turned warily. His dark, narrow eyes were brooding, his lips pursed together. One look, and she knew. He wouldn't have let me fall. Clarke raised her hand to reach out to him in gratitude, but changed her mind at the last second, instead pulling her pack around more securely. She squared her shoulders and trained her focus back to Jasper. "We need to get him down."

A/N: What I love most about this ship is that they started out hating each other, but then grew together as leaders. In this story, I'll be touching on each Bellarke moment that I think is important. Expect a new chapter every Thursday - it'll be like experiencing the show all over again! (At least for me. This is how I'm keeping my sanity as we wait for season 4.) Let me know what you guys think!
Thank you to my two wonderful betas, Caitlin & Sapph, for all their hard work and help in keeping Bellamy and Clarke in character. This chapter wouldn't be as it is now if not for them!

This story is also posted on AO3 at Write_Again (still me!)

Disclaimer: I do not own The 100 or its wonderful characters.