A/N: I don't know where the hell this came from. I just wanted to write something.
Warnings for: Bellamy/Raven/Clarke, pirate AU (no seriously), implied sexual content, Clarke being period-typically prissy, general ridiculousness.
"Come on, put your back into it!"
"I am putting my back into it, and the rest of me, too –,"
Clarke hears voices as if from miles away, but suddenly the driftwood barely keeping her afloat is rocking ominously, and just as suddenly there are hands on her, dragging her limp body onto a rough wooden surface. The deck of a ship, she thinks, vaguely relieved.
"Oh, shit," the first voice says, startled. "It's a girl."
"What?" responds the second. A moment later, gentle hands are brushing Clarke's matted hair from her face. "Shit. I think it's –,"
"Jasper. Monty. What the hell is going on?" a different voice calls, this one unmistakably female. Clarke forces her eyes to open, squinting up at the blazing sun as she attempts to get her bearings.
"You need to come take a look," one boy says. He's kneeling next to Clarke; the other boy is standing behind him. "We pulled her out of the water, and – well, I think she's Princess Clarke."
Footsteps approach – the distinctive thudding sound of a cane accompanies them. Clarke, rapidly becoming more alert, turns her head to look and sees a girl, a very pretty girl, dressed curiously in a pair of breeches. Her hair is tied back, very no-nonsense, and she's eyeing Clarke speculatively. "Well, I'll be damned," drawls the girl, her brown eyes alighting with interest. "Go tell the captain, Jasper."
Clarke has only a few seconds to think, but suddenly, she spots something that makes her blood run cold. Over the sailor girl's head, she can see a flag whipping in the wind at the mast. The flag bears not the crest of a royal ship or a trader, but rather the skull and crossbones.
"You're pirates," Clarke gasps, moving to scramble to her feet. She is weak enough from thirst and exhaustion that her legs give out on the way up, and the boy kneeling beside her awkwardly catches her before she collapses completely. Clarke doesn't spare a second to think, she just clumsily slugs the boy, causing him to release her with a yelp.
Falling to the deck once more, Clarke starts to crawl away, hardly sure of where she hopes to escape to, but a cane firmly prods her in the back of her thigh. "Hey," the sailor girl says. She starts to bend over to speak to Clarke, but flinches briefly and straightens up again, leaning on her cane once more. "As of right now, I can promise no harm will come to you. I can't promise you that if you plan to keep assaulting members of the crew."
Clarke glances over at the pirate boy – Monty, she presumes – and notes with a pang of guilt that he's rubbing gingerly at his eye, which is already slightly reddened from her lucky punch. She ignores the urge to apologize and looks back up at the girl. "The crown will have your heads if any of you touch me again," Clarke warns, determined to keep as much of the upper hand as she can.
"The crown will have our heads one way or another, my lady, regardless of what happens to you," the sailor girl says dryly. "Monty, get up, you're fine. Harper, Sterling, get over here and help me get her below decks. Be careful with her, though – she's precious cargo."
Clarke is vaguely uncomfortable with those words given the situation, but she struggles to ignore the strange warmth that heats her cheeks at the sight of the girl's accompanying grin. It's not an unpleasant sensation, and Clarke is quite sure the pirate girl notices her blush, though perhaps she chalks it up to sunburn.
Two pirates – one boy and one girl – step forward. Each grips Clarke by her elbows, hauling her to her feet and ushering her forward. Her legs still feel rather weak, and her throat is as dry as sand, but Clarke feels slightly better – physically, at least – once she is swept into the cool dimness below deck. Clarke can't see the pretty pirate, but she can hear the shuffle of her footsteps and the thump of her cane hitting the wood as she follows them.
Rather quickly, Clarke's guards draw her to a halt in front of a door. Behind them, the pirate girl calls, "Captain, I have our guest here to see you."
Barely a second later, the door swings open, revealing a small room littered with maps and scraps of paper. Seated at a tiny table are two people, a young man and a girl roughly Clarke's age – Clarke isn't sure which one of them is the captain, but she had certainly never expected to meet such an attractive bunch of pirates. Also in the room is the boy from before, Jasper – he'd been the one to open the door.
There's a moment of silence, and then the man speaks, a handsome (if a bit cocksure) smile playing at his mouth. "It's a bit crowded in here," he says, and his voice is deep and just coarse enough to make Clarke shiver slightly, though not fully from fear. "All of you except Raven and the princess may leave us."
The girl at the table immediately opens her mouth to protest, but the captain cuts her off before she begins. "Octavia, I need you to keep an eye on the crew while Raven and I are occupied," he says seriously.
Octavia rises, still looking slightly irritated about being dismissed, and brushes past Clarke to leave with Jasper following close behind. Clarke is nudged forward into the room by Harper and Sterling, who then make themselves scarce as well. Raven shuts the door, leaving just herself, the captain, and Clarke alone in the small room.
"Please," the captain says, gesturing to the chair Octavia had vacated seconds before. "Have a seat, your highness. Forgive me if I won't bow to you."
"You don't need to bow to me," Clarke says, as coolly as she can manage while trapped in a tiny room with two scandalously good-looking pirates. "You simply need to let me go."
"Considering we're miles from the nearest port, and even more miles from the nearest friendly port, how am I supposed to do that, princess?" the captain drawls. "Dump you back into the open ocean?"
"A lifeboat would be helpful," Clarke replies, rather tartly.
"Sadly, I don't have any to spare," the captain says. "Are you going to sit or not?"
"Sit," Raven murmurs in Clarke's ear, startling her slightly. "He'll shut up faster if you do."
"I'm not deaf, Raven," the captain says, fixing her with a brief but communicative look.
Raven doesn't seem cowed in the slightest – she merely smiles and presses Clarke forward with a hand at her back. Clarke allows herself to be pushed, strangely enough. "Sorry, Bellamy," Raven says. "You do have a tendency to give speeches, even when they're not really that necessary."
The captain rolls his eyes as Clarke takes her seat. As Raven pulls up another chair – the only one remaining in the cramped space – he carefully rolls up the map that had been spread out on the table. He must have noticed Clarke trying to memorize the course charted on it, though what good it would've done her, she can't say. She's not entirely sure why she hasn't been thrown back out to sea yet – or worse. Don't pirates hate royalty?
"How do all of you know who I am?" Clarke asks carefully.
Bellamy and Raven exchange a smirk. "We've all seen your portrait," Bellamy says. "Princess Clarke at Her Window. It's quite the masterpiece."
That portrait had been stolen months ago – rumor said it had been taken during shipment by a pirate, one Captain Blake, but no trace of either the painting or the thief had been spotted since. "So," Clarke says. "Bellamy Blake, I presume?"
He nods, his deep brown eyes glinting in the flickering light thrown from the nearest lamp. Clarke is slightly startled to note the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose; it makes sense that a man who spends a lot of time in the sun would have freckles, but it's an oddly charming feature. "Captain of the Dropship. This is my first mate, Raven Reyes. Our reputation clearly precedes us."
Clarke must choose her next words carefully. She cannot promise anything, given the manner in which she'd left the capitol, but as long as Bellamy thinks she can give him something, he may keep her alive long enough to let her put her feet back on solid ground. "If you take me to a port – any port – where I can reach my mother, I can arrange for you to be pardoned for the theft of my portrait. And for your other crimes – piracy, smuggling, whatever else."
Bellamy smiles faintly, and Raven gives a soft snort. "The government would cut off my head long before they pardoned me," he says. "That's how the crown works, isn't it?"
"Perhaps," Clarke says, resisting the urge to fidget with the folds of her tattered skirt. She must stay strong. "But it's not how I work."
"And how is that, princess?" Bellamy says. His gaze flicks to meet Raven's ever so briefly – she is still smirking, as if she knows something nobody else does.
"I don't believe in executions," Clarke says. "Not for crimes like theft, at any rate."
"Is that why you left?" Raven asks suddenly. Her expression has grown more serious, and she is leaning forward slightly in her chair. Her eyes are as warm and brown as Bellamy's, and Clarke cannot hold either of their gazes for very long without feeling flushed.
"Why she left?" Bellamy repeats, sounding rather taken aback.
"I heard the rumors when we docked in Polis," Raven says. "The crown says she's been kidnapped, but the Grounders are whispering that she ran away. You'd have heard it, too, Bellamy, if you ever left the ship."
Bellamy doesn't dignify Raven's final comment with a response. "Is it true?" he asks. He looks oddly curious. "What did you do? Buy passage aboard a ship in stolen jewels and gold?"
"I snuck aboard a ship, if you must know," Clarke snaps. "They threw me overboard when they found me."
"Should've told them you were a princess," Raven says, leaning back in her seat once more. Clarke tries not to notice the way Raven's loose, ragged shirt drapes over her upper body. "There's a hefty reward out for your safe return."
"Well," Bellamy says. "That changes things."
Clarke swallows her dread. They're going to take her back to the capitol – or as close as they can get without being attacked by half the royal fleet – and claim the reward. Even if Clarke manages to reconcile with her mother, she will be trapped once more, and there will certainly be little opportunity for escape any time soon.
"When Raven said you ran away, my first thought was to offer you a position in my crew," Bellamy says, almost leisurely. "It doesn't pay very well and it's dangerous, but if you really abandoned your throne, you can't be too worried about money and safety. But we could use that reward money."
Clarke opens her mouth to speak and then closes it again, conflicted. Piracy is not something to be taken lightly, and by staying on this ship as anything more than a hostage, she opens herself up to criminal charges just like the rest of the crew. But she simply can't go back, not yet. Her one shot at freedom has already nearly resulted in her death, and once she goes home, she will have wasted it. Finally, she blurts, "I can work for you."
Raven and Bellamy are both silent, watching her expectantly. Clarke continues, "I have some talent at medicine. More than some, really."
The crew must run into a lot of injuries, given the nature of their work – if it can be called that. It's an effective bargaining chip, but it certainly doesn't outweigh the prospect of a reward. Still, Clarke thinks she sees something in the next glance Raven and Bellamy exchange – it looks a little like pity. Perhaps even pirates can sense how badly she wants to shirk her title for a while.
"Alright," Bellamy says. "I'll let you join up. But if you – or anyone acting on your behalf – do anything to harm my ship or her crew, I'll carry you back to your mother's throne myself."
Clarke nods. "Understood." As an afterthought, she extends her hand and says, "Thank you, Captain Blake."
"Don't make me regret it, princess," he says. His hand is large and calloused, but his grip is not cruel when he shakes her hand. When Raven rises and tugs Clarke to her feet to exit the room, he watches them both go with an oddly thoughtful look on his face.
"Don't mind him," Raven says casually, as she leads the way back from whence they'd come. "He's a little dramatic."
"A little?" Clarke repeats, and Raven startles her by laughing.
"He's a good captain, though," Raven says, sobering slightly. Suddenly she stops, and despite her bad leg slowing her down slightly, Raven still manages to surprise Clarke when she turns and steps in close. "And regardless of what Bellamy said about taking you back to your mother if you betray us, you should know that if you betray us, you'll have to deal with me before you deal with Captain Blake or Queen Abby."
Clarke isn't exactly afraid – she knows that the minute she wants to leave, all she has to do is wait for the ship to pull into port and then she can slip away. Still, she gets the feeling that Raven is not one to be trifled with. Rather than drawing back in fear, Clarke stands her ground, intrigued. She's always been fond of a challenge. "I know."
"Good," Raven says, a clever smile spreading across her face once more. "You strike me as a smart one, my lady."
Clarke grimaces. "You don't have to call me that."
"Does it bother you?" Raven asks.
"I'm used to it, but the others on board might find it –," Clarke explains.
"Prissy?" Raven interjects.
"I was going to say pompous, but yes."
Raven grins. "I'll make them walk the plank if they breathe a word of it," she says, and Clarke is fairly certain she's teasing – surely pirates don't really use planks.
Clarke's first task as a crewmate is to doctor an injury she herself had inflicted. There's not much she can do for Monty's eye, as it's only bruised and she has no ice with which to reduce the swelling, but it feels good to be able to apologize now that she's relatively sure nobody is going to kill her. Monty, bless him, takes the whole thing in stride. "You were frightened," he says, as she inspects his pupil and iris for damage. "It's actually an honor to be punched by a princess."
After that, Clarke figures she's supposed to help out with regular duties. She mostly follows Monty around and does whatever he can't manage at the time. A few snide jokes are made at Clarke's expense throughout the course of the afternoon – including one from a boy named Murphy which earns him a smack across the back of his head from a passing Captain Blake, who then throws a grin at Clarke as he breezes by her – but most of the crew gets over the shock of her arrival fairly quickly. None of them seem to like her very much except for Monty and Jasper, but Clarke is hopeful that she won't be murdered in her sleep if Bellamy and Raven have anything to say about it.
She sees Bellamy only the once during the day, but the smile he gives her is enough to make her uncommonly warm whenever she thinks of it. Raven appears periodically, sometimes barking orders and sometimes cracking jokes, but always offering a little wave to Clarke as they pass each other. Clarke has been onboard the Dropship for mere hours and already the two of them are driving her nearly to distraction. The knowledge that surely nothing will come of it keeps her from saying anything about it to anyone.
When the sun sets, the crew relaxes quite a bit. Monty starts handing out cups of ale, although he advises Clarke not to drink hers on an empty stomach, and she heeds his warning. She can smell food being prepared, and is quite surprised when someone suddenly thrusts a tray with a laden plate into her hands. "It's not for you," warns Miller, whom Monty had introduced her to earlier that day. "It's for the captain."
"I don't know where he is," Clarke points out.
Miller rolls his eyes, but when he speaks, there's no real malice in his tone. "His initials are carved into the door to his quarters. You'll find him there."
Clarke nods, then heads below the upper deck once more, the tray rattling with each step she takes. She still isn't quite used to the constant movement of a ship; her experience with them had been rather limited until she'd run away. Really, her experience with everything had been pretty limited. Spending time on a pirate ship is something she could write stories about, if she lives long enough to pen them.
She knocks on the captain's door with some trepidation. The crew seems to hold great respect for Captain Blake, but he is still a pirate – an unknown, the actions of whom she cannot predict.
"Yes?" he calls from inside.
"It's Clarke Griffin," Clarke responds, feeling slightly foolish. "I've brought you your dinner."
There's a moment's pause, and then the door swings open. Clarke nearly drops the tray.
Bellamy seems quite unashamed of his half-dressed state; he is barefoot and shirtless, clad in just his breeches. Clarke is so startled by the sight that it takes her a moment to glimpse Raven, who is lounging on a bed in the corner, barefoot but otherwise still dressed with her hair falling loose and wavy to her shoulders. It's then that Clarke takes in Bellamy's equally disheveled hair and realizes what she must have interrupted. Oh.
"I'm sorry," Clarke manages. "I just – Miller sent me to bring you this."
Bellamy looks both amused and slightly exasperated. "Of course he did. You're new; you'll be running errands for the others until someone else comes along." To Clarke's immense surprise, Bellamy steps aside from the doorway, motioning for her to come in.
Clarke steps into the room and sits the tray down on the captain's desk, eager to escape. Raven is still watching from the bed, and when Clarke meets her gaze, she smiles reassuringly, as if trying to say it's alright, it doesn't matter that you just interrupted what was sure to be excellent sex.
"Bellamy and I have already eaten," Raven says then. "Why don't you have the captain's dinner, Clarke, and tell us about your new views on piracy."
Clarke opens her mouth to refuse, but almost as soon as she glances down at the tray again, her stomach growls. It really has been ages since she'd last eaten anything, and she's been feeling the effects of hunger all day. Raven must not be too upset about the interruption if she's inviting Clarke to sit and eat, and Bellamy doesn't say anything to dismiss the offer – he just gives Raven one of those looks, the ones that seem to say so much without a single word spoken.
"Go on, princess," he says after a moment, and he even goes so far as to pull out the chair at his desk for her. Faced with his proximity and with both of their stares on her, Clarke sits.
She has to force herself to remember her manners, even though what she really wants is to dive into the meal like a starving animal. Still, she's in the company of pirates, so Clarke doubts seeing her stuffing her face would disgust them. "Thank you," she remembers to say, already reaching for the single fork on the tray.
There are no other chairs in the austere room, so Bellamy pads on silent feet over to the bed, sitting on the very edge of it. There's a somewhat respectable distance between him and Raven, although Clarke is still so close to them that she can't help but notice when Raven reaches out and lightly runs her hand down Bellamy's back, as if she can't bear not to touch him. Clarke can't exactly blame her; he is rather distracting.
Bellamy says, "So. Has the crew treated you well?"
Clarke swallows her mouthful of food and nods. "Well enough."
He smiles. "Don't mind Murphy. He's more bark than bite. Usually."
Clarke takes a sip from the cup on the tray – it turns out to be ale. "Your crew members," she says, once she's lowered the cup. "They're all very . . . young."
It's true; Clarke hasn't met one crewmate that looks older than her, and some must be even younger. Bellamy seems to be the oldest on board, and he can't be more than a handful of years older than the rest of them. It's just a bit odd, really, that they're all so young.
"They're all orphans," Raven says, as Bellamy's smile fades. "Or at least, they don't have anybody around to take care of them."
"Oh," Clarke says hesitantly. She herself is half an orphan, but even if her mother passes tomorrow, Clarke can be sure that she will be safe and provided for if she goes home and plays at having been kidnapped. "I didn't realize."
"Most of them have lost parents to an execution block, myself and my sister included," Bellamy explains. "All were criminals before they ever joined the crew, if that's what you're wondering, princess. I didn't kidnap a bunch of children and turn them into outlaws."
"That's not what I was wondering," Clarke says, although it had momentarily been a concern of hers. Only momentarily, though. "I don't think that lowly of you, even if you are a pirate."
Bellamy's posture relaxes slightly, and he laughs a bit. "I'm honored," he says, and a moment later he leans back onto the bed, resting his head on Raven's lap. She rolls her eyes but does not protest.
Clarke watches, slightly fascinated, as Raven runs her fingers through Bellamy's tousled hair. He closes his eyes for a moment, and the sight is so peaceful that Clarke starts a bit when Raven speaks. "So, Clarke," she says, "you still haven't told us how you really feel about being a pirate yourself now."
Clarke pretends to be chewing a very tough bite, but in reality, she's thinking up an appropriate response. "It's . . . different," she says. "It certainly isn't where I thought I'd end up when I left home."
Raven raises her eyebrows slightly. "I don't think any of us ever expected to end up here, either," she says. "But it has its rewards."
"Like my portrait," Clarke says, surprising herself. She hadn't meant to bring it up, but it's been a bit of a sore spot for her all day – the knowledge that every member of the crew had already memorized her face before she'd ever been brought on board. Just once she'd like to be known for her own abilities, rather than for having had lots of portraits made.
Raven and Bellamy both laugh. Bellamy opens his eyes once more, lifting himself up onto his elbows. "It is a lovely piece," he says. "Don't you think?"
"Almost as lovely as the princess herself," Raven replies.
Clarke flushes, sure she is being made fun of. She knows what she looks like right now – her dress is tattered, her hair tangled, her exposed skin pink and tender from the sun. "Right," she says, unable to keep a sudden frostiness from her tone. "I'll go now, if that's alright."
"Wait," Raven blurts. As Clarke rises, and as if he is moving the way Raven currently cannot, Bellamy sits up smoothly and reaches out, catching her by a fold of her skirt before she can sweep away. Clarke stops, cursing the infernally cramped quarters of boats for impeding her escape.
"Sit," Bellamy implores. Clarke tries to give them both a look that conveys malice, but she undoubtedly fails miserably. She perches on the edge of the captain's bed, and Bellamy releases his hold on her dress. They are forming a sort of triangle now, Bellamy and Clarke facing each other and Raven lying alongside them. Now that Bellamy isn't partially blocking Clarke's view of Raven, she can see that Raven's overlarge shirt is hanging crookedly off her shoulder, revealing tan skin and what looks like a small bruise, undoubtedly from Bellamy's mouth.
"I wasn't mocking you, Clarke," Raven says. "You'd know if I was mocking you."
Bellamy sighs. "What Raven is trying to say," he clarifies, "is that she really does think you're pretty."
"I'm flattered," Clarke says, with a touch of sarcasm, but she kind of is flattered. A lot.
"Bellamy thinks so, too," Raven says, rather smugly. Clarke suddenly suspects that they're up to something, although she has no idea what. All she knows is that Bellamy is sitting close enough to be utterly improper. Clarke must have had a moment of insanity, sitting down on this bed, but for some reason, she still hasn't moved to get up.
"Well, it's widely known that I have excellent taste," Bellamy tells Clarke conspiratorially. "In art and other things."
It's just ridiculous and charming enough to make Clarke laugh, and Bellamy grins, and then all of a sudden, he is kissing her. It's very brief, so brief that Clarke almost doesn't realize it's happening, and then it's over. Clarke has but a moment to feel sorry that he'd stopped before she remembers where she is.
Clarke casts a slightly scandalized glance at Raven, expecting her to look outraged, but she seems utterly nonchalant. She looks pleased, actually.
"What's going on here?" Clarke says finally, her gaze flitting back and forth between the two of them.
"Nothing, if that's what you want," Bellamy says carefully. "We don't mind if that's the case."
Clarke still can't quite absorb the fact that Bellamy has just kissed her in full view of Raven, his lover or first mate or wife or whatever he considers her, and that Raven is not currently swearing viciously at them both. Clarke throws another look at Raven, who meets her eyes evenly.
"Did you want him to kiss you?" Raven asks, with more patience than Clarke had initially expected.
Clarke's first instinct is to lie, but she's so far in over her head here that she figures honesty is the best course of action. She nods.
"Do you want me to kiss you?" Raven continues. An unmistakable challenge is in her eyes, daring Clarke to tell the truth once more. Clarke nods again, and Raven smiles.
"Come here, then," Raven says, and Clarke obliges her by leaning in. Raven's lips are soft and warm, and she kisses Clarke for quite a long time. It seems Bellamy had made the opening gambit, but Raven is every bit a part of this game as he is.
Finally, Raven breaks the contact. When Clarke opens her eyes, Raven reaches up and gently brushes a blonde curl from Clarke's face. "Are you sure about this, Clarke?" Raven asks. Clarke knows this is a chance to leave and forget this ever happened, no questions asked, if she decides to take it. She doesn't. This feels like something important, but not like something to run from.
"Yes," Clarke says, "I suppose I am."
Bellamy's body is still a warm, solid presence beside them, and when Clarke looks at him again, he leans in and catches her mouth with his own. Clarke hopes he finds she's a much better kisser when she's not caught off-guard.
Clarke really ought to be nervous about all this – she shouldn't even be here, shouldn't be doing these things – but Bellamy and Raven are both sure and steady enough that she wants to keep going with whatever this is. It takes a lot of careful positioning, what with three people kissing and touching on a bed made for two, but Clarke supposes being tangled together is really the point.
"They'll have my head for this, my lady," Raven teases quietly after a few moments, running a small, clever hand up Clarke's thigh under her skirt.
Bellamy's chuckle rumbles in his chest, which is currently pressed against Clarke's back. "Then you'd better hope the princess says a prayer for you."
Clarke laughs breathlessly, and privately hopes that the nearest port is still miles away yet – she won't be leaving so soon.