"Hey, you shouldn't be lifting that." Bellamy said gently, his deep voice reproachful as he took the armful of firewood away from Clarke.
"Hey!" She protested, folding her arms above her round belly crossly. "You don't need to coddle me. I'm Wanheda ya know." She leaned forward and hit Bellamy's shoulder as he laughed at her. "Commander of death remember?"
"Okay, well you keep yourself busy commanding death and leave the heavy lifting to me, Abbey would have me whipped if she knew you were bringing in firewood eight months pregnant with her grandchild."
Clarke rolled her eyes and followed back to the hut, repeating his words in a high-pitched voice, the act complete with quotation marks when she said the word 'whipped'.
Bellamy ignored her, stamping the snow off his boots in the doorway, pleased to feel the warmth of the fireplace after following his wayward mate out into the icy forest that surrounds them. Clarke did the same, taking off her beanie and shaking the snow off it before pinning the door closed. She shook out her wavy golden hair and unwrapped all the layers she'd piled on for her walk outside, finishing with removing her boots.
She was wearing a pair of hideous woollen socks Raven had knitted for her during her attempt to find a hobby that wasn't building explosives or hacking nuclear computer systems. They never failed to make her smile, and she reminded herself to go and visit Raven before the baby was born, as she curled up on their bed in front of the fire.
After he'd stacked the firewood and shed a few layers himself Bellamy joined Clarke on the pile of furs that was their bed.
The hut was small, the walls were lined with barrels and boxes of supplies, their furs were in the middle and they had their mud and stone built fire place to keep them warm. It was humble but it was home.
"You know I'm fine by myself, right?" Clarke asked, snuggling against Bellamy's chest as the fire crackled merrily beside them.
"You're out of your mind if you think I'm letting you do this alone." He replied, cradling her with one hand, pulling into his lap with the other.
They sat for a while, her in his arms, just enjoying the precious quiet, enjoying peace with each other.
Bellamy stroked her pregnant belly gently, pausing when he felt kicking. He kissed Clarke's forehead softly before resuming his route across her body.
"Bellamy, do you think we can actually raise this child, love it, teach it right from wrong? How long until it realizes we're hypocrites? Until it knows that mom and dad are mass murders? Why would we even deserve this happiness?"
Clarke's voice betrayed how deeply she worried about this, how her mixed feelings about their struggle to reclaim earth constantly weighed on her heart.
Bellamy was quiet for a moment before he answered.
"Who are we to judge who gets happiness? We survived and we will teach our baby to survive. I am not ashamed Clarke. I will live with what I've done, as long as I get to live with you."
He hugged her tight and planted a kiss on her mouth. "And no more calling our baby it, you know there's a little warrior princess in there." He said, lightening the mood, and giving her tummy a pat. "Octavia demands it."