Chapter 1:

She does not agree with the saying, "I'm willing to die for my freedom" she thinks you have to be willing to kill for freedom. Dying is not an option when one is important for survival—important for victory. The fight, the victory—that's what mattered. Clarke was not a fool, she knew people died in war…she just did not see the point in dying for a cause, when killing delivered the message more severely. She never thought that way before she landed on Earth. She never thought of battle strategy before she had to, either. But there she was in the small tent with Bellamy, her hair pulled up sloppily and her jacket discarded on the ground by her feet. She had a death grip on the pencil in her hand as she wrote on a scrap of paper. It laid flat against the table one of the kids, who knew something about wood work, crafted for Bellamy as a peace offering. It was another late night and she felt as if her head were going to shatter into a million pieces if Bellamy asked her to explain herself one more time.

Her writing started to shake as Bellamy started to fidget restlessly. She peered up at him, he ran his hand across his face, fighting sleep so they could finalize the guard shifts and the Action Plan in case they were attacked in the middle of the night. She stopped writing but continued to speak to him slowly because she was distracted by him. "…but I wouldn't put Alec and Mali in the same guard shift. According to Octavia, Mali and Alex are going through the 'what-are-we' phase and—stop looking at me like that, I know what I'm talking about." But she was the one staring at him, studying his mannerisms and taking it his rugged expression. He shook his head after a quick second of looking into her eyes.

"I did not realize you had time to gossip with Octavia." Bellamy started pretending to be a major dick, "I'm out there busting my ass and you're what? Sipping tea and talking about the relationship statuses around camp? Real fucking perfect." Bellamy was a grumpy when he was exhausted but Clarke knew it was a façade. They kept searching each other's face, kept waiting for each other to say what was really on their mind. They were in a high-stress situation…they could easily fall into arguments that would be regretted by the morning. "What?"

"If this plan wasn't imperative to the camp's survival, I would leave you here to finish it yourself. I find the time to talk to your sister…I apologize for not having sex with every member of the opposite sex like you do. I guess because we do different activities during our down time that makes me unproductive." She fired back with a frown. Her searching gaze faded because she did not know what she was looking for on his tan skin. "Back to guard shift...Alec works well with Miller. Mali works well with Monroe. Simple fix."

Bellamy's face was in a permanent frown, "I don't sleep with every girl in camp." He was annoyed with her accusation. "In fact, I haven't—"

"A healthy percentage, then." Clarke put the pencil down, rubbing both hands across her features before she yawned. She did not see how his face softened at her small natural actions. She did not see the small smile on his lips while her face fell from "stern-leader Clarke" to just "tired Clarke"—the girl who gets amazed by small phenomena and has a passion for artistic things. "I really don't want to talk about what you do three feet away from this table right now…or ever, for that matter. You're a dog and everyone knows it."

He snorted before he reached across the table and took the pencil she dropped and reviewed what she'd written on the paper. He nodded along with the words on the page but Clarke was starting to question if he was actually reading them or not. At some point, the words started to shrink before her and twist and turn—and she got an hour of sleep in the drop ship before she started this meeting. "It looks decent." He commented, his voice less aggravated.

"Decent? Would it kill you to say that I'm good at this?" She began to argue.

He groaned, "Can we not fight?" They were doing a lot better with suppressing their anger although it got out of hand at times.

"Bellamy Blake does not want to fight. Let me make a note of this really quick." She snatched the pencil from him. She pretended to write down the information until Bellamy's strong hand took the end of the pencil and pulled it out of her hand. He chuckled as he moved it around his fingers. "What?" She asked, a small laugh moving through her lips.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes." He leaned across the table and continued to smirk. "You're quite different when it's late and you're tired."

"I think you're saying that because you're tired, too." She informed him with a smirk on her lips, "Might want to shut up before you break down a few walls and hate me in the morning because you don't know how to keep your mouth closed."

"I wouldn't hate you in the morning. I think I would really like you." He said suggestively, triggering a frown from her. He winked before he set his face in a thin-lipped smile. "Seriously."

"Seriously think we're done for the night." Clarke breathed uneasily, gathering up her things before extending her hand out for the pencil. He put the pencil in her hand, grabbing her wrist and rubbing his thumb along the sensitive skin. "I don't know what you want, Bellamy." She nearly whispered, "But I know it's not me."

"How?"

"I'm just convenient, Bellamy." She said quieter than before, "You have needs and they impair your common sense. I'm leaving." He continued to rub circles into her skin until he released her. "I won't mention this ever…" She said before she departed the tent, her eyebrows furrowing as she battled confusion.

No…