Title: "If I Should Fall Behind"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13/Light R for some sexiness
Character/Pairing: Clarke, Bellamy/Clarke
Spoiler: "Survival of the Fittest"
Length: multi-part
Summary: Three years after they land on earth, Clarke and Bellamy expand their family. Clarke isn't sure they'll get a happily ever after.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Author's Note: This has been in my head since the summer, but I've just found a way to put it into words. My life is about to get back to normal (I've had a herniated disk that's finally on the mend), which is great for me because I can get back to my life, but bad for my fic writing because when I'm mobile, I like to get out of my house. So figure weekly updates as we move forward. But enough about me. I love babyfic! as a catalyst for exploring larger changes in characters, and this fic will focus on Clarke and Bellamy dealing with the consequences of an unplanned pregnancy. Keep in mind, they're an established couple, so the pregnancy will not bring them together, but rather bring them closer and force them to reevaluate some of the things about their lives and choices. Title courtesy of Bruce Springsteen. Enjoy.
It starts like any other morning. Sunlight falls through that crack in the roof, painting Bellamy's skin in molten gold. He keeps meaning to repair it, but then Jasper has questions, or Kane needs something, or Clarke notices that his pants are particularly low-slung that day, and the chore falls to the wayside again. She doesn't mind. Once, her world was four metal walls and a death sentence breathing down her neck. She's seen the earth, breathed free air; she can live with a hole in her ceiling.
She teases the curve of Bellamy's shoulder with one finger, smiles at the contrast: soft skin hiding hard muscle. The man is the same. Try as he might, he can't help but wear his heart on his sleeve, like when he opens his eyes and smiles at her. Her caress has woken him, but Clarke knows he doesn't mind. He'll let her do almost anything if it means her hands on him.
"Morning," she says, watches carefully as he blinks the sleep from his eyes.
They're clear today, no trace of shadows, and Bellamy grasps her hips to pull her flush against him. "Morning," he says, tangles his fingers in her hair as he lifts his head to kiss her.
Clarke deepens the kiss, angles her jaw so his tongue slides into her mouth, and captures his groan with her smile. It's a good morning, the air cool around her and Bellamy hard against her and the sunlight across her back and – the sunlight. It's the sunlight that breaks through the fog.
"Bell, what time is it?" Clarke asks and pushes to a sitting position, still straddling his hips.
He blinks a different haze out of his eyes, mouth still rosy and swollen, and reaches for her father's watch on the nightstand. "It's…shit," he curses and Clarke's eyes slide closed as he confirms the bad news. They have a meeting with the united Woods Clans, and they overslept, and Clarke wouldn't put it past Indra to stick a spear through them for wasting her time.
"Fuck," she mutters as she rolls off Bellamy and searches for her clothes. She's usually well-organized (Bellamy's cadet training has bled into every aspect of their lives), but the previous evening had concluded with a tedious, exhausting talk with her mother, and when she'd walked through the door of their cabin, she'd stripped off her clothes and let them rest where they lay. All she wanted was Bellamy to hold her, and he had, all night long, which is why she slept well – too well—and is in this predicament today.
Bellamy smirks as he throws a pair of pants in her direction. "I wish, but you seem to have more important things to do."
Clarke ignores him as she buttons her pants and hooks her bra into place. Bellamy frowns as his favorite part of her body disappears behind all that worn, fraying cotton. "I'm late."
"She'll get over it." Bellamy comes over and presses one palm to her back, fingers splayed over the base of her spine. "Breathe, Princess, breathe. It's going to be okay."
It might not be, because Clarke can't find a shirt, or her left sock, and her toes protest when she forces a boot over her bare foot. It'll blister, but there's no time to worry about it, not with Lexa and her army waiting outside the gate. Still, Clarke feels her heartbeat slowing, her breathing easing from just Bellamy's touch, the feel of his skin sliding over hers. When he tugs a shirt over her head, she almost feels calm.
"We're not done," he says as she grabs her pack and starts for the door, her left heel already protesting.
Bellamy looks pointedly at the bed and Clarke contemplates throwing it all to hell, except she knows what will happen if this alliance falls, if the Ice Clans can't be defeated, and she owes it to her people. "Tonight," she promises and straps her pack over her back.
He grabs his own pack and she waits in the threshold for him to kiss her goodbye. They're late, so it's short and to the point, but no less meaningful. Clarke's lost hours of her life in his kiss; it's time she never wants to give back.
"I'm holding you to it," Bellamy vows and swats her on the behind as he ducks out the door and heads towards the training barracks.
Clarke shakes her head, body already tingling in anticipation. She shifts her pack and hurries to the Council Room. She's so, so late. And because she's so late, she never sees the teacup.
Clarke rubs her temples and shifts in her seat to get some feeling back in her ass. The moment with Bellamy has long since faded as the meeting drags on. Camp Jaha wants more, the Grounders are trying to give less, and the Sky People's youngest chancellor has a headache.
"Enough," Clarke says forcefully, takes a breath to collect herself. She might want to punch all these people in the face, but they can't know. She can't let them think she's weak.
Six sets of eyes meet hers and Clarke forces a thin smile. "I have a solution." All those eyes look to her in expectation rather than surprise and it only makes her head hurt more. "We're getting nowhere arguing about grain deliveries and guard schedules." She fixes a sharp look on her mother. "What do you want?" She shifts her gaze to Kyla, one of the Grounder representatives. "What about you?"
Neither side wants to cave first, but maybe Abby sympathizes with her daughter, or maybe she remembers how hard it is to lead, because she sighs heavily and lists her demands. "We're only planting corn. If we don't rotate crops, our fields will die." She looks at Kyla. "I know you have wheat and barley, maybe even alfalfa or soy. We'd like to start trading for all grains."
Indra's face is permanently set in a glare, and nothing changes while she and Kyla confer in Trigedasleng. "You'll have your grain," she says and Abby gives a rare nod of satisfaction.
"What do you want in return?" Clarke addresses Kyla, even if Indra will ultimately make the call.
"We'd like guns," Kyla says and a collective silence falls over the group; even Indra looks like she might actually be feeling something. "Our people are ready."
Abby's jaw tightens and Sinclair looks worried, but Octavia smiles broadly and turns in her seat to grasp Indra's hands. "I'm glad you're doing this."
Indra's face is still impassive, but there's pride in her eyes for how far her protégé has come under her tutelage. "The mountain has been taken. Now we must break the ice."
"Together," Octavia adds.
"Together," Indra agrees, the barest hint of a smile curving her mouth. Clarke feels a little like she's fallen into a different dimension, but she won't question a diplomatic Indra. Octavia's been good for her and vice versa. With her Grounder braids and tattoos twined around her collarbone, it's hard to remember the girl that chased butterflies.
"You'll have your guns," Clarke confirms. "We'll teach you how to use them."
She rises from her seat and the others get up too, bow their heads before filing out of the room. Only Abby stays behind, arms crossed and jaw tight as she regards her daughter. "Guns? Really?"
Clarke pauses in organizing her files. She's had this conversation before, and she's not backing down either. "It's been three years, Mom. If we don't trust them now, we never will."
Abby raises her chin and Clarke doesn't like the look in her eyes. They're dark, and full of judgment, and remind her too much of a boy she once loved. "You're leading us down a dangerous road. I wish you'd talked to me about it first."
"I wish you'd talked to me about a lot of things, but you didn't." Clarke's fingers tighten around the files. Abby looks pained and Clarke feels bad, for half a second, until she remembers that her mother opened this can of worms. It's Jake again, the secret Abby shared, a betrayal Clarke's never sure she'll be able to forgive. She raises her own chin and doesn't back down. "My decision is final."
"I hope you know what you're doing." Abby's footsteps are heavy as she storms out the door.
Clarke smoothes out her files. She hopes she does too.
Dinner's cooking over the fire when Bellamy gets home, just a simple stew of venison and tubers, but there are herbs now, mostly rosemary and thyme, and on very rare, special occasions, sometimes even salt. It's not one of those nights, but Clarke thinks it will still taste okay. Better than the charred meat and boiled roots they choked down their first few months on the ground.
Bellamy kisses her cheek when he comes in and Clarke smiles but doesn't look up from her list. She's trying to figure out which guns to give Lexa's army; her people will want the newer models but she doesn't think it's a good idea to train novices on weapons that have seen better days.
"Fight any mutant gorillas?" Bellamy asks as he joins her at the table. He pulls out his own file of guard rosters.
Clarke's smile widens and she glances up from her work. "Get locked in a cage, drained of your blood?" He smiles back to let her know that he's okay.
It was Murphy that suggested it, humor to heal trauma, and they'd both stared at him like he'd lost his mind as he'd shrugged and turned back to the fire. "Even I know I'm not that funny, but it helps."
He's rarely funny, but it does help, and the jokes have been a thing between them, a way to lighten the load without forgetting where they came from. In case she needs a reminder, Clarke knows the map of scars across Bellamy's back that matches the scar on her forearm. No one comes out the mountain the same.
"My mom's being a pain," Clarke says and flips over the document. In the morning, she'll need to meet with Monty to discuss the new planting program, and she wants to be prepared.
"What else is new?" The stew hisses and lets them know that dinner's ready. "I'll get it," Bellamy says and pushes back his chair. "You have enough on your plate."
He does too, but Clarke lets him. She looks up from her work and watches him bend to take the pot from the fire, traces the long, lean line of his back with her eyes. She'll make it up to him later.
"I love you," she says before she slides down around him, smiles at the way his eyes drift closed and a small moan escapes his lips. He's beautiful like this, open and exposed, and she waits to move, extends the moment as long as she can.
He knows her, knows her too well, and he presses his mouth to the pulse point in her neck and so her hips jerk. "I love you more." He shifts his hips and it's her eyes that slide closed, stars pressing against her eyelids.
It's like the teacup isn't even there.
They wake up on time the next morning, wrapped up in each other, with the sun shining weakly through that crack in the roof.
"We really need to fix the roof," Clarke reminds Bellamy as she gets dressed. He's already up and moving, fixing a quick breakfast of porridge and berries.
He nods and sets two bowls on the table. "Hopefully, I'll get to it this afternoon."
"Will Kane give you the time off?" She picks up her teacup and fills it with hot water, gives the herbs some time to seep before attempting a sip.
Bellamy just smirks at her. "Like he has a choice."
It's a good threat, but Clarke knows he won't follow through. Kane might only be a de facto general, but Bellamy respects him. He won't duck out on his responsibilities, no matter that he can. Clarke blows on her tea and prepares herself for another morning of sunlight alarm clocks. At least they're not late today.
Bellamy's halfway through breakfast before Clarke tries her tea, and she sputters on the first sip. It's never tasted great, but it's especially strong this morning. "You all right?"
Clarke nods through a cough. "I think I messed up the proportions. I don't remember it being so bitter."
He pauses in bringing his spoon to his mouth. "But it's okay, right?"
She takes an enthusiastic sip and smiles widely. "Everything's fine."
Bellamy turns back to his breakfast; Clarke gulps down her tea. For the second time in as many days, she hopes she's right.
"Clarke? Clarke? You there?" Monty's face is full of concern. It's two weeks after her meeting with Indra and Kyla and he's spent the morning explaining how they'll preserve the barley and alfalfa seeds through the winter. They have a small winter wheat crop growing, but their main diet will still be corn and salted meat. It turns her stomach just thinking about it.
"Sorry," she says and takes a sip of water. "I'm having some trouble concentrating today." She wouldn't normally admit to weakness, but it's Monty, and he's like an armored vault. She knows no one, not even Jasper, will hear about this.
Monty smiles. "Trouble sleeping?" His smile is devious and Clarke rolls her eyes.
"More like worried about winter. My mom still thinks scurvy is a possibility."
The distraction works and Monty jots a note on his clipboard. "I'll talk to Max tomorrow, see how the Grounders supplement their diet."
"Great." Clarke forces a smile, even though the nausea lingers. She can't believe she's this affected by the possibility of eating dried deer all winter. "Let's check in later this week."
They part ways and she rushes to the Council Room for the daily lunch briefing. It's the usual complaints – "my cabin isn't nice enough", "I hate my work assignment" – and Clarke asks Murphy to see what he can do. He's different after whatever happened in the City of Light, like he sees more, and he's been good at delegating responsibilities. They don't want people stuck in jobs out of habit, but there are basic tasks that need to be done. People are afraid of him, the all-seeing eyes and eerie calm, and listen when he asks them to help out. He's also good at matching them with the right role. Clarke doesn't know what happened to him there, but she doesn't question it either. This Murphy doesn't make her want to sleep with one eye open.
She pushes her food across her plate as Sinclair gives an engineering update. Her stomach is still queasy and her eyes are heavy and shredded boar isn't all that appealing. She nibbles on a roll and sips her water instead, makes a note to ask Wick about the status of the hot water heater. With winter approaching, cold showers won't be an option any longer.
It doesn't get better as the meeting continues, and she has to pinch herself a few times to keep from falling asleep. It's unsettling to say the least. She's gotten a good eight hours each night for the past week; she has no idea why she's this exhausted.
When they break at 3:00, she goes home for a quick nap. If she doesn't, she's fairly certain she'll pass out on top of her factory reports. They're not moving quickly enough to have a camp's worth of coats ready by the first snow.
She's still in bed when the sun sets and is jarred awake when Bellamy sinks onto the mattress and presses a hand to her forehead. "Princess?" His voice is rough with worry. "What's going on?"
Clarke shoots to a sitting position. She can't believe she slept away the entire afternoon. "What time is it?"
The worry spreads across Bellamy's face. "It's dinner time, Clarke." When she only blinks at him in confusion, his mouth flattens into a thin line. "I'm taking you to the med-bay."
The thought of dealing with her mother again is enough to completely wake her up. "I'm fine, really. I just got tired." She swings her legs out of bed and opens the breadbox to make an easy dinner. Rolls and jam will have to do.
Bellamy doesn't look convinced, but lets the matter drop. Clarke ignores the concern in his eyes.
Three days later, she's in the bath with Bellamy, his hands trailing rough and heated over her slick skin. It's a luxury they rarely allow themselves, but Bellamy built the tub and helps her carry the water from the fire, so once a month they dump in lavender fronds and spend time soaking until the water is cold.
He's cupping her breasts, thumbs circling the nipples, when his hands still. "These are new."
She glances down. Nothing seems different to her, but he's always loved her breasts and paid them far more attention than she does, so maybe he's right. She squints to get a better look. "Are they?"
His mouth drops to the curve of her shoulder. "I don't mind, but yeah, definitely bigger."
She lets her head fall back to deepen the angle. "Maybe I gained a little weight." It's unlikely, but she's always been on the curvy side. An extra pound or two doesn't always show.
"Stop talking," he mumbles against her skin, and shifts so she's in his lap, his chest pressing against her back. She can feel his heart beating rapidly through all those layers of muscle and bone.
"Yes, Sir," she says, gasps as his hand slips beneath the water and she forgets all about their conversation. He feels too good inside her to be able to think.
Clarke has never been a good liar, and she's even worse at lying to herself. It's been a month and the symptoms haven't gone away. Her breasts are sore,
food makes her want to wretch, and she's in bed before 8:00 most nights. She has to pee all the time too, which is about the only thing she can hide from Bellamy. Thank god he isn't with her all day long.
The other things are worrying him, and there's only so long she can hold him off before he marches her straight to Abby and Clarke no longer controls her own story. She can't let that happen. Maybe more than destroying the Ice Clans, she can't let that happen.
She's been late before, but never while she was having regular sex with Bellamy. It was in the early days, when there was no food and too much exercise and fighting just to stay alive took up all her time. Frankly, it was a relief; she hadn't been looking forward to waddling around with leaves or moss in her underwear.
But that had been then and this time is different. She's late, and soon Bellamy will realize it too. Fall is always crazy busy as they prepare for winter and the date might have slipped his mind once, but not twice. Her time is running out.
There's a meeting with Lexa to exchange information about the Ice Clan threat and Clarke turns it into an all day affair. They don't make much progress on a plan, except agreeing to keep training through the winter and attack in the spring. The ice is real and the enemy rarely leaves its lands until the first thaw, so there's time. Clarke does the calculations in her head; if she's right, she'll barely be able to walk when the attack launches.
Except she doesn't know and when the meeting wraps, she makes an excuse about checking in with Nyko regarding medical supplies and leaves her entourage at Lexa's mess hall. Miller assures her that everything will be fine and she believes him. Under his father's and Bellamy's guidance, he's grown into a good man. Perhaps not a leader, but still excellent at following orders. One day, when Bellamy is general, he'll be a strong second.
Clarke watches Miller get the guards settled before slipping out and circling to Nyko's cabin. She's always liked it in there, with drying herbs hanging from the roof and shelves of bottles filled with odd powders and potions lining the walls. The med-bay is cold and sterile, but this room is comforting. Clarke breathes in the herbs and flowers and feels her senses clearing.
Nyko looks up from pounding at a mandrake root. "Chancellor," he says flatly.
Clarke nods her head in acknowledgement. "Healer." All these years later and Nyko is still wary; Clarke doesn't blame him. The truth of Finn's crime came out eventually and Nyko has never looked at her the same way again. She might not have pulled the trigger, but the blood is still on her hands. It only makes this request harder, but she's desperate. There's nowhere else to go. "I need your help." Nyko's face is indifferent and she tries again. "I need your help. Please."
Perhaps it's the note of begging that changes his mind, but he puts down his pestle and gives her his full attention. "What do you need?"
Clarke can't quite look him in the eye so she fixes her attention on a bunch of tansy hanging from the ceiling. It's likely why she's here in the first place. "I think I'm pregnant. I need you to find out for sure."
A rare smile breaks out across Nyko's face, joy filling his eyes, and it takes Clarke a moment to remember how sacred children are to the Grounders. They have fertility problems from their radiation exposure and carrying a baby to term is rare. Only the strongest of them survive and it keeps their numbers from growing. "Goufa," he whispers and Clarke nods.
"Yes, a child."
He rummages through the objects lining a shelf and presents Clarke with a wood cup. "I'll need you to urinate in this." She stares at him blankly and he gives her shoulder a little push. "Go."
It's one of the more surreal experiences of her life, squatting behind Nyko's cabin to pee in a cup, but she does it with as much dignity as she can muster. When she pulls her pants up, she's pretty proud of not getting anything on her boots. She only has the one pair after all.
She can't look at Nyko as she steps back into the cabin, and keeps her eyes focused on the worn wood of the table as he takes the cup and pours a few drops onto a pile of white powder; the smell makes her eyes water. "Bleach," she says in awe, ponders where the Grounders have found it, if her people can get their hands on it too. It would do wonders for sanitation and cleanliness in their camp.
The little pile of bleach fizzes and foams and Clarke feels a little dizzy. It's Nyko's test, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out the results. "Congratulations," he says and she grips the edge of the table to keep herself upright. She might have the truth, but it doesn't mean she has any idea what to do with it.
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