Her first thought when she discovers Bellamy sneaking off in the middle of the night is that he's planning on leaving.
She dreads the thought as quickly as it comes, guilty for considering the possibility that he could so easily walk away from them—from her.
In Clarke's defense, history shows that Bellamy Blake was once willing to do whatever the hell he wanted; if it benefited himself or his sister, always willing to prioritize their safety over the rest, nothing was off limits then (including stepping on anything, or anyone in the way).
Things are different now though—settled, calm.
Happy.
Maybe that's what scares Clarke the most. Bellamy is good at being needed, having a sense a purpose to wake up to every morning, a set list of things to take care of. If he realizes how quiet their little corner of the world has become, the peace that's come with it, she not sure it'll be enough to keep him here.
He tried deserting them before, when they were foolish enough to hope the Ark would survive the fall, in the midst of a war with the grounders, when things were at their worst—he wanted to abandon her.
He didn't, she tries reasoning.
And yet he was willing to, another voice whispers, this one louder, laced with fear and doubt; anxiety's is cruel mistress.
If he considered it once, he could easily do it again.
It's enough to send her heart racing, mind spinning, panic coursing through her spine.
Breathe.
In.
Out.
Bellamy's been good (recently). He hasn't given her any reason to mistrust him in so long. Not since he stepped off his throne to co-lead with her as an equal, enforcing the rules they agreed to, having her back while she negotiated truce with the grounders, and just—he's been there, when she had no one else, the person she relied on most.
But it's still not like she can just forget everything that got them to this point, or that she even should. Her mind won't let her.
The road they first chose was anything but simple. It was twisted and harsh, dead ends, and cursing each other's names vehemently across camp, shame when Clarke raised her hand to him after Finn got hurt on a scouting mission that she irrationally accused Bellamy of letting happen.
The look on his was enough to make her realize what she was about to do before she tried it, his voice dangerously low in her ear when he ordered her back to his tent.
"I don't care how pissed I make you, Clarke. Don't ever think I'll let you get a chance to put your hands on me—not like that."
She ducked her head to hide the furry of tears threatening to spill. "I'm sorry," she chocked. "I wasn't thinking."
He sighed, scrubbing his palm over his face. "You really think I'd let Collins get attacked by a rabid dog on purpose?"
She brushed a loose curl behind her ear and sniffed, "You were saying you'd wish he'd stay out of the way only a few days ago."
"From the council meetings, Clarke," he said, seething. "Jesus, that wasn't a threat to get him killed! You should know me better than that by now. I'm not that guy."
"Not anymore," she huffed.
His eyes narrowed. "I'm going to let that slide, because I know you're worked up over nearly losing a patient."
"Finn's more than just a patient!" she bit back.
"Not right now he isn't," he told her, colder than before, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You need to learn to compartmentalize, Griffin. Separate your emotions from what needs to get done, whether that means saving someone's life when you want to cry, or biting your tongue when you want to scream, clenching your fists when you want to hurt something. You. Do. It."
"What if I can't?" she whispered, more vulnerable than she'd ever allowed herself to be with him before.
He reached for her then, pulling her close until they were nose to nose with him hovering above her. "Then I'll be there to hold you together," he said, like it'd be that fucking easy to believe him.
She blinked, stunned by their proximity and the words leaving his lips. Her breathing returned to normal when he took a step back. She had to know. "Why?"
His lips curved up, eyes fluttering for a fraction of a second. "Just returning the favor, princess."
Things were different between them after that. The climb to common ground wasn't such a steep slope, not like before—that slippery storm cloud of fury and frustration. Knowing they needed each other, but not understanding how to express it without fuming full of defensive aggression building between them, threatening to flood anything in its path.
The resentment dissipated.
Gradually, they were able to decipher what the other needed with flick of eyes and a raise of brows. He knew when Clarke needed her space or when she needed to get out of head. In return, she recognized when he needed to get something off his chest, when more time was needed consider her opinions, before making his own, when he wanted to wait to speak her privately, or have an audience.
They eventually fell into a comfortable routine. Sometimes it was enough just being in the same room as the other, filling in the silence when being alone with their thoughts became too much to bear, taking turns to distract each other with city designs they could never dream of constructing, or sips of moonshine under a starlit night, whispers of repeated apologies in the history of them, forgotten wishes lost in stories of where they came from, the differences in upbringings.
She knows him now, all the pieces he keeps hidden from the rest—more deeply than anyone she's ever met, in space or on the ground.
Which is why, it baffles Clarke so when she discovers Bellamy sneaking off in the middle of the night.
Every. Single. Night.
The second thought she has is one that makes her throat tighten and chest burn for reasons she's not yet willing to admit, the possibility that he is meeting someone in secret.
She's very much aware no one been occupying his tent for a while, not that she's been going out of her way to keep tabs on his sex life, or lack thereof. It's only because it happens to be in their best interest to stay updated with past and current personal affairs of their people, in the unfortunate circumstance where complications may arise, like pregnancies, or STIs.
It's also been useful when assigning jobs around camp, figuring out who works best with who, which of them may abandon their duties in favor of getting each other off behind a tree, allowing themselves to get distracted in the middle of a jealous spat, or those who may be bitter enough over an ex-lover to put the lives of an entire hunting party in jeopardy.
There are plenty of reasons for Clarke to make it her business to know whether or not Bellamy is currently getting laid.
She doesn't have a personal interest in who he makes his bed with, just practical one.
Or at least that what she's comfortable telling herself when she goes to sleep at night.
That being said, he's never been shy about whom he was screwing, or where, so it's definitely out of character for him to keep any new conquests private from her.
Unless it's a grounder.
She has to admit the possibility is extremely farfetched. Despite their treaty with Trikru, Bellamy still doesn't trust anyone he doesn't consider rightfully theirs.
It took him long enough to place his sister's own lover in that category and even longer for him to allow Lincoln to walk freely behind the walls they built.
It can't be an affair of the heart, she decides, a sigh passing her lips.
She's having a hard enough time imagining him letting himself grow bored and desperate enough to sleep with an outsider, much less allowing himself to become romantically entangled the same way Octavia did. She doesn't want to think about why it hurts her head so much to dwell on the thought of it, the chance that could—
No.
She's not convinced Bellamy's ever been in love with anyone and falling for someone that he would have had to first consider a potential threat to his people, to her, it's entirely unlike him.
Right?
Even if he is capable of catching feelings outside satisfying carnal needs, he'd have to actually build some semblance of trust with said person to get there.
But that would mean him originally having an ulterior motive, if it is in fact true. It's possible he could be in contact with someone from another clan—passing along information to Trikru, keeping their enemies close.
But even if that were the case, why would keep it from Clarke? He'd still be risking the treaty they worked so hard to get. While she can't fathom Bellamy would ever be so dismissive of her safety, she certainly doesn't want her feelings for him clouding her better judgment either.
I can trust him, she thinks, replaying it in her head over and over until she believes it without a doubt.
And yet—
Her instincts have let her down before. Her suspicions are technically warranted. As much as she hates going against her gut, she owes it to their people not to ignore something that could potentially put everyone she cares about danger, no matter who could be the cause of the problem.
Even if it's the only person on Earth she'd bet her life on.
That is why she chooses to follow him.
One thing her failed attempt at a relationship with Finn gave her was some ability to know how to track a person. She's horrible with animals, but it seems that Bellamy isn't even trying to hide his steps, making her mission significantly easier.
He leads her about a mile outside the boundaries of their home. They're still on their own turf though, which is a relief and concern all at once.
She doesn't like the idea of a stranger invading their lands.
To her surprise she follows him to a hot spring, unmarked on any of the maps she recalls sketching, with him in her ear detailing the perimeter. He hesitates before stripping himself of his gun holster and jacket, glancing around as he does so. His eyes flick over to where she's crouched behind some shrubs and she quickly ducks down, hoping the light of moon isn't enough to catch glow of her hair.
She curses her stupidity when her foot slips, the snap of a twig rooting her to the spot, afraid to move from where she fell. The silence that follows is deafening. She waits for him to call out for her, or someone else.
As time stretches on and nothing is said, she finds the courage to take heavy breath, allowing herself to peek out once more.
He's turned away from her now, unmoving, a statue of tense muscle, frozen, looking up at the sky, like she's caught him doing in the past, searching for the answers that never came, a lost civilization in the stars.
She waits for any sign that he knows she's there, feels her watching him, before she allows herself to move deeper into the darkness, careful where she steps. She closes in behind the trunk of old oak tree, waits for the sound of footsteps surely coming up to greet him any moment now, or the lure of a woman's voice whispered in wind.
No one comes.
He begins to shed his clothing, shirt first, which is enough to make her breath catch, pants second, and . . .
She squeezes her eyes shut, turning around to lean against wood, realizing all at once how much of a fucking idiot she's been.
Bathing.
He comes out here to bathe in the hot spring.
Although, she's a little pissed that he's kept its location secret, a part of her can't even blame him for wanting a place just for him, apart from everyone else, apart from her.
The sound of a soft groan catches her attention, from what she assumes to be his reaction to submerging himself into the pool, the light splashing confirming her suspicions.
A jolt of jealousy hits her, and giving in to to her curiosity, she peeks out from her hiding place.
She bites her lip to hold back the gasp that wants to escape at the sight. Bellamy's head is thrown back, droplets of water making their way down his neck. His arm is moving back and forth out of her line of vision where she can only conclude he is tugging on his cock.
This is the part where she should stop watching and plan her silent escape while he is most certainly distracted.
Instead she finds herself drawn the crease of his brows, and the bottom of his mouth sucked in between his teeth, clearly concentrated on whatever fantasy he's conjured up in his head.
Just when she starts to let herself pretend that he's thinking of her, a gentle murmur escapes him, and the pounding in her chest speeds up with sound of it.
Princess.
Her breath catches. She must have misheard. He couldn't mean—
"Clarke," he groans louder this time. "Come on, baby."
She covers her mouth to muffle her squeak of surprise, while her other hand digs into the bark of the tree for support.
Her surprise dissipates when he moans grow louder and his arm motions grow more frantic, a different feeling replaces the old. Her thighs clench.
There isn't much thought that goes into allowing her fingers to slip past the waistband of her pants, beneath the fabric that separates them from her flesh. She bites back the moan she wants to release at the feel of her slick heat. The angle isn't the best for fingering herself, and she always struggles finding the right spot on her own. So instead, she toys at her entrance, coating herself in her juices before sliding up to rub her clit, the quickest and easiest way she's found to get herself off.
Her eyelids flutter back open just in time to watch Bellamy's face as he comes apart with her name on his lips.
She ducks back behind the tree, leaning against it to steady herself, while she continues to work herself up with the images of what Bellamy could be imaging doing to her (or her doing to him).
She doesn't know exactly how long it takes her to find release, but it's definitely faster than she's ever been able to achieve in the warm comfort of her bed under fur blankets.
Her breathing finally evens out when the last jolt of her orgasm runs though her body, leaving her sagging with relief.
Like many things Clarke has discovered on the ground, relief is a short-lived emotion, never to be taken for granted.
"It doesn't seem fair that you get to hide from me, while I put on such a nice show for you, princess."