CH. 3

The door creaks ever so slightly as Clarke passes into the bedroom. She does not bother lighting the candle on the shelf, even though the moon isn't helpfully illuminating the room like usual. Fingers running over Bellamy's shirts, then his pants, then his socks, then her socks, her pants, her shirts, Clarke peels off her chilly layers and replaces them with drier versions. Her shoulders rise of their own accord as cold snow-water drips from her hair. Her fingers nimbly plait it back, flipping the tail inside itself to lock the braid, as she makes her way around the bed.

Clarke can barely see Bellamy in the darkness, can picture the blankets pulled up to his nose at least. He won't wake up, unless maybe someone whispers the word "Grounder" on the other side of the village.

"Blakes are not made for cold," he's always muttering. "We sucked at being in space."

Clarke presses her lips together in a suppressed chuckle, and moves toward the wall and her real reason for being so quiet.

The cradle was also Bellamy's design, just like the fireplace/wall. He built it for Octavia's son August, probably to work off some of the stress brought on by his little sister being married, to a Grounder no less, and then pregnant as well.

"I'm having as many kids as I want, Bell," had come Octavia's response to any of his grumbling. After that, he had channeled the guilt into carving more intricate designs into the cradle.

It had made its way to Clarke when she fostered a baby named Amon.

Octavia had cheerfully marched up to the gates of Camp Jaha one day, a 6-month-old August on her back and newborn Amon in her arms. Bellamy had been stunned, wondering how Octavia and Lincoln had managed that one.

"Do Grounder kids gestate faster or something, O?"

But no, Amon had been orphaned by a sickness spreading through the villages north of TonDC, including the one where Octavia and Lincoln now lived. Octavia had stepped around her brother with purpose and handed the baby over to Clarke.

"Could you check that he's still healthy?"

A simple request, that so easily turned into Clarke carrying Amon to dinner with her, playing with him by the fire, letting him fall asleep in her bed. Just a precaution, Clarke had said. But Bellamy could hear her through the wall, humming softly or laughing at Amon's little noises. Octavia didn't ask for Amon when she went away and Clarke sighed with relief. She had playfully tossed Amon into the air and laughed while Bellamy sprinkled grass over his head, causing his brown eyes to widen in surprise, and felt, for once, whole.
And when Octavia came back for the annual New-Unity Day celebrations, a chubby one-year-old August on her hip, Lincoln was with her too, carrying the cradle in their haul from the northern villages.

"Octavia! I made that for you!" Bellamy's brow had crinkled, obvious offense taken. Then came his sister's answering scoff.

"Bell." She popped a kiss to August's cheek and rolled her eyes. "No you didn't."

Bellamy grumbled something unintelligible and reached out for August, jogging away with him, smiling at how his nephew laughed at the bounce.

"C'mere, 'Gust. Your mama's a crazy lady."

Clarke only had Amon for a few more months, but all together she had cared for him for almost a year. Then a Grounder woman arrived right before the snows would slow down most travel and provided enough proof that she was Amon's aunt, Sara. She had been ill with the same sickness that had taken her brother and his wife, but the sickness had passed. The Wanheda was kind...but she had another sister who could help. Amon was a Grounder, not...

Clarke had nodded and immediately headed for the cabin; Bellamy followed. He helped her gather Amon's few things from Clarke's room, his eyes flitting up to her stoically composed face.

"You can be mad about this," he had told her gently. But Clarke shook her head and hoisted Amon into her arms.

"Just because I took care of him doesn't mean he's mine."

Later, Clarke stroked Amon's cheek as Sara, looking composed but relieved, held him.

"We're still family." And Bellamy was the only who heard her.

Clarke tried to move the cradle onto Bellamy's side of the cabin but he'd shaken his head, halfway out the front door.

"Don't clutter up my space with your stuff, Griffin." And he was gone before she could answer.

Now, toes still feeling a little frozen, Clarke runs her hands over the deer and the bear making up the ends of the cradle, the tiny leaves and arrows that trail along the sides. Octavia had known better than to think Bellamy was specially honoring anything to do with August's Grounder heritage; the entire thing was obviously about Artemis.

"Protector of children? Geez, Bell. Your dork is showing."

"You're the one who got the reference. Just take it, Octavia."

Clarke smiles as she remembers standing off to the side of this encounter, just waiting for her arms to fling out and squeeze Bellamy all on their own. She reaches one finger down to stroke along the button-nose of the crib's current occupant.

"Hi, baby. Hi, Diana."