Title: Side by side (it's always been just you and me)
Timeline: set in the future

A/N: This is a series of vignettes in which Clarke and Bellamy slowly realize that there's something there that wasn't there before. Set in the future, as they settle in their new camp and go from just surviving to living. Somewhat canon-divergent from the end of season 2 because I started writing this ages ago.

Title from Bastille's "Skulls" which is my ultimate the 100 song.

Hope you enjoy!


He finds her in the makeshift med bay – she's always in med bay these days, what with all the stupid accidents and injuries from building their new camp and hunting, but his feet would take him to her wherever she is anyway. Something about the sun and the moon gravitating around it, or all the maps that always lead to her. Whatever.

Clarke doesn't turn as he comes in, unannounced; she knows it's him. She knows Bellamy like the back of her hand now, has a mental map of all the scars that mar his body, can recognize the sound of his boots on the ground, the changes in his breathing, the very scent of him, woods and earth and blood and dirt and something that's just Bellamy – which is, she admits it herself, a ridiculous thought because Clarke can't pinpoint what it is but she calls it Bellamy, familiar and warm and home.

He squeezes her shoulder as he kneels down beside her, his hand reaching out to tuck a lost stray curl that fell from her plait behind her ear; he'll have to braid it again later. Clarke's hands can do many things, comfort and soothe and heal, but she's hopeless when it comes to keeping her hair from falling in her eyes. "Thanks," she says, the faintest blush tinting her cheeks.

Bellamy smiles before turning his attention to Jasper who is lying on a cot. "How is he?" he asks, his gaze turning soft and worried as he takes in the sleeping boy's still red skin.

"He's getting much better," Clarke assures him as she applies a wet cloth to Jasper's forehead, gently brushing his hair off his forehead. "He just needs to rest and stay hydrated."

Bellamy shakes his head, letting out a low, breathy sigh. "I should have made sure they took a break and got some water," he murmurs, guilt dripping in his tone – it's always there now, so much that it's become his default setting. It's his job to make sure everybody's safe and whenever one of the kids gets hurt it feels personal, like he failed them.

Clarke senses his turmoil – she always does – and she tilts her head to meet his eyes, hers impossibly blue and soft. "This is not your fault, Bellamy," she says quietly, "you did tell them to take a break. But everybody wants the walls and cabins to be done, and sometimes they push themselves too much. You can't do anything about it." Clarke pauses, letting her words sink in before she adds, "It's just a sunstroke, Jasper's gonna be fine."

He wants to argue – maybe he can't do anything about it, but it doesn't mean he won't try. But Clarke gives him that look, the one that says you did good here, you're doing good, and he presses his lips in a thin line and gives her a nod. There's no fighting Clarke, no convincing her that she could be wrong when she's decided to put her faith in someone, and for the life of him Bellamy doesn't understand why she believes in him so much; but she does, and he'll spend every minute of his life trying to deserve it. That's a vow he made to himself a long time ago, one dark night in the woods where the monsters turned out to be just trees.

Clarke gives him a smile before propping her hand on his shoulder to push herself off the ground and get up, extending a hand to him to help him in turn. "Did you need me for anything?" she asks. It's not exactly like all they do together is run camp and try to keep the kids alive, but it kind of is, so when Bellamy comes to see her there's usually a reason.

"We're going hunting," Bellamy tells her. "I just wanted to let you know."

"Oh."

Clarke averts her gaze, focusing her eyes on his chest instead of his face as she tries to hide the frown that's burrowed its way between her brows. Bellamy sees it – of course he does – but he lets her be for a moment. He gets it, it happens every time; he goes to tell her he's leaving and Clarke freezes for a second, that lost, scared look in her eyes, and he can't blame her. How could he? If Earth has taught them anything, it's that something bad happens every time they're apart. But they're the leaders and people look up to them, they can't show weakness; it doesn't mean it's easy – it probably never will be. If it was the other way around, if he had to watch her go, Bellamy knows he would worry like crazy, too.

He has before.

But it's the way things are. Clarke's the healer, the nurturing one, and her place is right here at the camp; his is out there, hunting and guarding. He doesn't have to like it, and he doesn't; he hates seeing her distraught and knowing that he's the reason why. Bellamy wants to say something; that he's sorry, that everything will be fine, that she doesn't have to worry, but it'd be a lie and they both know it so he doesn't say anything. Instead, he lets her adjust the strap of his rifle, her fingers smoothing the fabric of his shirt on their way and then going to his belt to check that his knife is there. She's fussing over him but trying to hide it and honest to God, it's ridiculously cute and Bellamy kind of hates himself a little bit for thinking things like this. Clarke's upset and he shouldn't find her cute, but with her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and the sheer concern and care on her face, he can't help the small smile that tugs at his lips.

"You be careful, okay?" she murmurs, her breath tickling the exposed skin over his collar as she still refuses to look him in the eye.

"I always am, Princess," he replies easily, and when he feels her scoff, Bellamy gently cups her chin with his hand, tilting her face up. "Clarke," he speaks her name softly, fondly, because that's the only way he knows how now. She still looks scared but he can feel the tension slowly dissipating as he runs his thumb over the dent of her lips, and then Bellamy moves his hand to cup her cheek and the little sigh Clarke lets out as she leans into his touch almost makes him change his mind about leaving.

Miller can lead the hunting party; all he wants to do is stay here all day.

Maybe one day. Not today, though. Bellamy reluctantly drops his hand and hers find his chest again, gently patting there. "Just be careful," she insists in a low whisper. "I'm not patching you up if you come back with another scratch. I mean it."

Bellamy laughs. "You say that all the time."

Clarke tries to look offended, but ends up laughing, too. "I mean it this time!" He rolls his eyes and she pokes a finger at his chest. "Okay, go, now. Bring me back a boar."

Bellamy grins before embellishing a ridiculous bow. "As you wish, Princess."

Clarke rolls her eyes, aims a ridiculously light punch at his shoulder and he exits the med bay, her laughter following him.


(He comes back with three.

She smiles so brightly it puts all the stars in the sky in the shade.)


to be continued