Chapter 4

The next day, Clarke was left with no doubt that her feelings certainly were not what was holding her back from grabbing on to Bellamy and holding on to him for dear life.

Clarke was training a group of five who were normally assigned to the scavenging team. They'd finally assembled enough first aid supplies for her to be comfortable with sending out small med packs with each team, including supplies for bandaging wounds, small sutures, and basic wound cleaning and disinfecting.

"OK, I know this sounds counterintuitive, but for puncture wounds, if it's deep, leave whatever caused the wound in place, it will prevent bleeding."

"You mean leave the knife in, like with Finn," one of the girls piped up.

"Or a grounder's spear," a boy said darkly.

"Yes. Unless you need to remove it to get away quickly. But if you can try to break it off and leave the embedded weapon in place. Otherwise, if it's something small, or a shallow wound, you want to try to remove the object, carefully, without causing more damage, then let it bleed for five minutes to clear any other debris from the wound, unless they're bleeding profusely," she went on, explaining that unless they were near a water source, their best bet was to cover the wound and get back to camp.

"But if we're near water-" the curious girl piped up again, but was cut off by shouts from outside.

Clarke glanced towards the fabric curtain that had been fashioned from the parachute fabric to form a partition, separating the med bay from the rest of the bottom floor of the drop ship. Monty stuck his head in. "Incoming wounded."

"Who?" she asked, motioning for the assembled teens to stand to the side.

"Not sure, the hunting party that went out this morning. Everyone else is back already," Monty explained, rushing to get the basic supplies ready.

Clarke's stomach clenched, Bellamy had been with that group. Octavia burst into the med bay, her pale face confirming Clarke's fears. "It's Bellamy."

Clarke moved to the entrance but Miller and Drew came in, half carrying Bellamy between them. Bellamy was swearing loudly, shouting orders. "Next time I tell you to move, Mark, you fucking move." The guy bringing up the rear, Mark Block, a guy with ruddy cheeks, square face and curly hair cut into a flat top, hung his head. "Did you hear me? You don't think, you just act. Got it?"

Mark jumped at Bellamy's volume and anger. "Yes, sir."

"Get out there and skin that damn cat. I want its pelt to look like something that graced the homes of those fuckers that pushed the buttons to drop the bombs, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

Clarke indicated that Bellamy should sit on the table, but he resisted, standing for a moment assessing his own wound before undoing his pants' fastening and starting to push the fabric down his legs. He glanced up to see Clarke's pale face, then over at Octavia, who was hovering a few feet away. "I'm fine. Just going to need some stitches."

"Sit down, Bellamy," Clarke instructed, only to be ignored as he struggled to work his pants off, with the shredded fabric stuck to the wound in his thigh by blood.

"Damn it," he roared.

"Stop," Clarke ordered in a commanding voice that had no impact on his efforts. After another few seconds of ignoring her, he overbalanced and tilted dangerously to the side when his leg wouldn't hold his weight, Miller grabbed him and forced him back upright.

"Seriously, Bells, just do what she says, she's the doctor!" Octavia shouted.

"I just need to…" he looked up to see Clarke's pissed off face and paused in his struggles. "Just don't cut them off, there aren't many clothes here that will fit me," he finally said reasonably.

Clarke rolled her eyes but dropped to her knees, untying his shoes and easing them off each foot before beginning to peel his pants down his legs slowly, her hands skimming along his thickly muscled thighs.

From the side of the room where her trainees still stood, watching the drama with wide eyes, they heard a whisper. "Jeeze, is she going to suck him off or stich him up?"

Bellamy cut a glare at them, but as soon as he looked away, seeing the red stain Clarke's cheeks, the little bastards continued.

"I don't know, maybe both."

"Well that's one way to end a fight."

"That's the best way to end a fight."

Everyone in camp had heard Clarke and Bellamy's shouting match that morning. She had been planning on going out with Monty and a few others to the lake to gather more seaweed, since it would die off with the cold temps, but Bellamy had nixed the plan instantly. The fight that ensued was both loud and public since they'd been at the campfire when he'd heard her plans for the day.

He'd been incredulous that she planned to go out when even the least Earth savvy among them could track a group in the fresh snow, let alone the Grounders. She'd found his tone to be insulting and his attitude controlling. It was downhill from there.

"Get out!" he said quietly in a tone that was more menacing than if he'd been shouting.

"No," she countermanded him, rising to her feet once she'd gotten his pants off. "They're here to learn, and now they can observe a real treatment."

"They're going to get to observe my fist, up close and personal," he threatened.

Clarke ignored him, putting on her best detached doctor attitude, before showing the observers how to assess the wound, how to clean it, the treatments they had available for disinfectants and antibiotics, finally stitching together the three cuts the cat's claw had made in Bellamy's thigh, and wrapping the wound.

One of them turned green and ran from the room when Clarke made her first stitch, and two others looked decidedly queasy. "If you're going to throw up, leave," she ordered. "No one will think any less of you." Bellamy's expression called her words into doubt, but two more quickly exited the room.

When Clarke had finished with Bellamy she looked up, as if only then realizing that Miller and Drew where still there. "He'll be off his feet for at least a full 24 hours. It should be closer to three days, but-"

"Not going to happen, Princess, there are too many things to do," Bellamy cut in.

"You'll need to cover his guard shifts, no excursions outside the gate until he can balance his whole ego on his injured leg," she sassed, drawing a snort from Miller. "You can take him to his tent to rest now. Octavia, go with him, if the wound feels hot or he starts running a fever, come find me immediately," Clarke instructed, turning around to drop the soiled bandages in the trash, then wash her hands of his blood.

Clark blocked out everything else, but getting his blood off of her. Their existence was fragile, could be ended in a single moment from a danger they'd never considered or the 501 ways they'd already discovered to die on Earth. Her hands were shaking, and that upset her more. She needed to be able to be detached when treating the 100, but especially the people she cared about. Their lives could depend on her ability to be calm in a crisis. She clenched her hands into fists until her short broken nails bit into her palms, the pain somehow clearing her mind.

Octavia hesitated, but left the drop ship with Monty, Miller and Drew at Bellamy's curt head nod.

"I'll just rest here for a minute, if you don't mind, Princess," he said softly once they were alone.

He saw her back stiffen and waited for her to face him, but she just busied her hands putting away supplies in their tidy, makeshift containers.

"Clarke," he called her, but she continued to ignore him. Standing up he shuffled towards her, his first step quiet, but the next drawing a grunt from him as the pain kicked up a couple notches when the movement put pressure on his damaged leg.

Clarke spun around, flinching quickly then rushing at him. "What are you doing, you stupid idiot?" she shouted, but he could hear the rasp of tears in her throat. She hugged him from the side, supporting his weight and walking him back to where to could lean back on the table, relieving his leg of his weight. "Do you think? Do you ever stop to think-"

"Calm down."

She glared at him through glassy eyes. "You're such an asshole."

"Yeah, well, your bedside manner sucks, Doc." She shook her head at him. "We were hunting a panther, little did we know it was hunting us. It would have killed Mark, I killed it instead," he said simply. "I'll be fine."

"Not if I stab you in your sleep."

"And undo all your work patching me up? You don't mean that, Princess," he teased, coasting his hand up her arm to her shoulder and tugging her closer while his other hand curled around her waist. Cupping his hand around her jaw he lifted her face for a kiss.

"Someone could see," she said softly in warning, but didn't move away. Her heart was still aching with the possibility of losing him, and she didn't want to step away from him, wanted to stay right there in his arms for as long as she could.

"Then let them," he said, kissing her again and relaxing into her touch as her hands slid around his waist.

They hadn't been hiding the changes in their relationship from the camp, but both made a concerted effort to avoid touching each other when they were in full view of everyone. Close quarter living afforded little privacy to anyone, and even less to the two leaders of their camp.

-The 100—

Three days later, Clarke had just finished changing Bellamy's bandage when she stood upright again and he noticed the flinch of pain on her face. "Are you hurt?" he asked suspiciously.

"No, just a kink in my back," she explained casually. "I must have slept weird."

"Well, since my leg is almost healed, thanks to you, how about I return the favor, give you a massage tonight? I guarantee I can work out any kinks you have," he flirted.

Clarke shot him an amused look, not quite the reaction he was going for. "Your leg is not 'almost' healed, but if you follow my instructions it should be mostly functional in two more days. If you follow my instructions and rest."

He sat back on the medical table, crossed his arms, and smirked at her. "Make it worth my while, Clarke."

She looked nonplused at first then smiled, tilting her head at him as she approached. "If…" she reached him and stood between his legs, resting her hands on his thighs, careful of his injury. "If you are a good boy, I will let you give me that massage once you're healed."

His hand tangled in her hair and tugged her closer. "You can do better than that," he said huskily.

Her lips were curved into a smile as she leaned forward to press her mouth against his. He didn't content himself with a chaste kiss, banding his arms around her waist until she was glued to his chest, his tongue dueling with hers.

Clarke was breathless when he released her. "I'll look forward to your counter offer, then Mr. Blake."

Bellamy smiled and used the wood crutch one of the younger kids who was good at carving and whittling had crafted for him to exit the drop ship.

-The 100—

An hour later, Clarke finished up removing a large wood splinter from one of the teens who was working on fortifying the wall. "Keep it clean," she said.

"And pay more attention next time," Octavia said sternly.

The boy pouted, but left without comment.

"You're getting better at treatments every day, Octavia, but showing compassion is also a good trait in a doctor."

"That kid needed some tough love. He got the splinter trying to look cool for Megan," Octavia said scornfully. Clarke shook her head, she had enough trouble with her own love life to be concerned about anyone else's. "Speaking of dumb asses, have you talked to Bellamy yet about Oliver?" Clarke ignored the question and continued cleaning up. "Damn it, Clarke, you're supposed to be the reasonable one." Clarke looked at the pretty dark haired girl in question. "Bellamy is the hotheaded one, you're the reasonable one."

"Exactly," Clarke said. "No need to start drama with your brother."

Octavia huffed out a breath, but didn't push for Clark to change her mind.

-The 100—

Octavia found Bellamy at the evening campfire and waited anxiously for him to finish his dinner before pouncing. "I need to talk to you."

"Yeah," he said flatly. "I got that."

"What?" she said in annoyance. "Is it a crime to want to talk to my brother? Do I have to go through Miller to get a pass or something?"

He used the crutch to walk slowly towards their dorm. He'd put Octavia next to him, and Clarke next to her, the rest of the guys he trusted in the other rooms, though he fully expected Clark to vacate her room eventually, if he could ever convince her to take a chance on him.

"No, but you haven't actually talked to me about anything except for camp related business in weeks. The rest was more bitching and complaining than talking," he said scornfully. Octavia's anger had been tough on Bellamy, used to his sisters adoration and devotion, her sustained cold shoulder had been a slap in the face. He'd occupied himself with the camp, and whatever was happening with Clarke, and the belief that he was doing what was right for Octavia whether she could see it or not. "And you certainly haven't sought me out," he finished explaining, and Octavia's steps faltered.

"Yeah, well you messed up," she attacked, her shoulders rigid with self-righteous anger.

"So did you, O. So did you."

She scowled at him. "I'm not here to talk about me. I want to know why you aren't doing something about what happened to Clarke?"

Bellamy scowled, stopping to look down at his sister. "What do you mean?"

"She's hurt, Bells, come on. She's not that good of an actress. Tell me you haven't noticed?"

Bellamy's face clouded with anger and he scowled. "Hurt how? When? And why didn't you tell me?"

"The same day you got hurt, and I'm telling you now," she said defiantly. "Oliver Garard."

"Who?"

"Oliver Garard hurt her," Octavia said quietly. "He pushed her down on the wood pile. Hard. She's got a huge bruise. He's an ass. Especially to Clarke, but he went too far this time and before you ask, I tried to get her to tell you, since I thought it would be better coming from her."

Bellamy stopped outside the dorm door, knowing Clark was inside since he'd watched her go in while he'd been eating and waiting for Octavia to spill whatever it was that had her bouncing from one foot to the other.

He grabbed the collar of his sister's jacket and hauled her up onto her toes. "To be clear, if you ever, ever hear about anyone in this camp, especially a girl, being hurt by someone else, you tell me immediately. You got that?"

"Yeah, geeze."

He released her and went inside, pushing aside the curtain that made up the fourth wall of Clarke's room, seeing her slip her jacket off then reach for her shirt. He waited silently; he'd seen her without her shirt in one of their more heated makeout sessions, and wanted to see what her injuries were for himself since she clearly wasn't going to be honest with him about it.

When she lifted the shirt he couldn't miss the damage even in the poor illumination from the single lantern she had. "When were you going to tell me about that?" he seethed.

Clark spun, covering her chest even as she registered that it was Bellamy who had spoken. "Bellamy!" she shouted, stepping backwards instinctively at the look of absolute rage on his face.

"You weren't, were you? You never would have told me," he said coldly.

He could see the uncertainty on her face, the regret, but it didn't diffuse his temper. She was his. His to protect and he'd failed. He stepped towards her, cornering her easily since the space was only eight feet deep to start with.

"Bellamy," she tried again, but for once the sound of his name, spoken in her raspy voice didn't please him. He wrapped his hand around her forearm and drug her into his chest, closing his arms around her carefully even as his mouth plundered hers.

He was angry, boiling over from it, and he needed to work some of it off before he confronted the asshole who had touched her. He had to be calm, rational and in control for that, and at the moment he was anything but.

Clarke acquiesced to the forceful kiss, her hands clutching at his arms and shoulders as her breasts flattened against his chest. After several minutes she tried to draw back, but he fisted a hand in her hair, holding her in place as he nibbled on her full upper lip, before sealing his mouth over hers again. The second kiss was no less demanding, but less angry.

Breaking the kiss, he stared into her eyes, feeling a deep well of satisfaction that her pupils were dilated and she was obviously a little hazy and disoriented.

He kissed her again, pressing his mouth firmly to hers, hearing her murmur of approval before spinning her around to look at her back. She let out a gasp, clearly not expecting the move, but she recovered quickly, trying to turn back around to hide the bruise from him.

Bellamy seized her shoulders and easily pushed her down onto the mattress full of pine needles, sitting astride her hips to hold her still as she struggled.

"You'll tear your stitches," she huffed at him, turning her face to the side so she could see him, but he ignored her, running his hands along the edges of the bruise what were already yellowing, indicating that it had begun to heal.

Three days, she'd been hurt for three days and he hadn't known, she hadn't told him. "Why?"

"You were injured, I didn't want to-"

"Don't lie to me. The only reason I didn't notice or find this is because I was hurt. My injury is how you hid yours, it is not why you did it."

He saw her face tense, and she turned her head away from him, hiding her expression. "I don't… you can't fight my battles, Bellamy. Oliver is angry, and I understand why. I do. I don't want you to-"

"Kick his ass?" Bellamy finished for her. "That will just be the start of it, Princess."

"Just listen, OK? I knew Oliver on the Ark. His mom was sick. You know how it works, there's only so much medicine. If you can't be healed with the amount allotted to you, there is no more."

She shuddered as his fingers continued exploring her back, coasting over her soft skin, always circling back to the large bruise the occupied a good portion of her left upper back.

"You know what it's like to lose a parent, we both do. The anger, the grief, the feeling of being hopeless and helpless… he's angry."

"That's not an excuse to hurt someone else," he said, cold anger burning in his voice, in direct contrast to the softness of his hands on her. For Bellamy violence was almost always about achieving something, not making himself feel better.

"I know," she agreed, the tension rushing out of her body as she admitted defeat. " I don't like how he's been treating me, but-"

"Wait," he said sharply, remembering Octavia's words. Treating you? This wasn't a one time thing?" Octavia had said something about the boy going too far this time.

"He's never hurt me before, just… he's rude. Aggressive. Demeaning. Not that different that quite a few others, if you recall," she baited him.

"I never laid a hand on you in anger, no matter how annoying you were," he said, bending over her to press a kiss to the nape of her neck to take the sting out of the words.

He sat up quickly, the move putting too much pressure on his stitches, and he'd hate for her to be right if they tore now. "Who else?"

"What?" she asked, pushing up onto her elbows and twisting to see his face, but as his hands stroked over her back she fell back to her stomach. Somehow his touch was both soothing and arousing, and Clarke meant to enjoy it, and hope that touching her would let him calm down some more.

"Who else has laid their hands on you?"

"No one."

"I will find out Clarke, you may as well just tell me. It'll be better coming from you," he said in a tone that asked for her trust.

"I'm not going to tattle to you because someone pulled my hair in the water tent, Bellamy," she said in exasperation.

His hands paused on her back, making her sad that they were heading for another fight. "Do you think you're the only one he'd be willing to use violence against? Do you think that by protecting him, you're helping the camp? You're not. So he has a beef with you because of the Ark's laws. Who's to say he won't have a beef with someone else over something else. How will you feel when he attacks someone else? You're the one who wanted us to have rules, Clarke. And I agree, we need them."

"Who decides? You asked me that once and-"

"We do. We decide. If we're wrong, the group will let us know, but we decide Clarke. That's the way it is. And since this was a crime against you, I decide."

"Bellamy," she said plaintively, her compassion for others, even the guy who'd hurt her, clear in her voice.

"I won't banish him, or beat the shit out of him, but he will be punished. We set an example, now, and end this shit before it spreads."

He waited until he saw her nod, then resumed his massage. After he felt the last of the tension leave her back he unsnapped her bra and turned her over beneath him, revealing her chest and rosy cheeks to his avid gaze.

Still sitting astride her, he cupped her breasts gently, his thumbs stroking the distended tips. She looked up at him, taking in his pleasure in touching her and feeling the connection, the attraction, between them rebound and grow.

Sitting up she slide her hands up his arms, loving the firmness and cut of his muscles, knowing that she could depend on him to be strong for the camp, and yet gentle with her.

She kissed him slowly then pulled away, sliding backwards on the bed and drawing him down with her.

-The 100—

The next morning, Bellamy watched as Oliver Garard, a guy who had at least 60 pounds on Clarke ate his breakfast alone. Bellamy kept tight hold on his temper, seeing several others give him dark, disgusted looks as they passed him. The camp had made its own judgment and now Bellamy would issue his.

Standing and making his way to the center of the gathered teenage delinquents, Bellamy saw Miller, Drew, and Monroe fall into position around the camp, already briefed on what was coming.

"When we first got here, I wanted us to revel in our freedom." There were shouts of approval. "But we quickly realized that we were not alone and living on Earth was not the paradise we had heard about in stories." The group settled down. "We have rules. Rules to keep us safe, rules to keep us alive. I hoped that that would be enough. The Ark said you were all criminals. Here, on the ground you had a second chance at freedom. But violence against the group will not be tolerated. Today, we make a new rule. If you don't like it you can leave. Make your own way outside the fence. Alone. We will wish you the best of luck, but we will not tolerate anyone inside the fence preying on others. Is that clear?"

There were hesitant nods, some fearful, some relieved around the group, and Bellamy wondered what else he had not seen. Charlotte had been the youngest among them, but there were a few others not much older than her. And a few of the girls were small, meek, they would be easy targets for someone without scruples.

"Oliver Garard, step forward."

The boy stiffened, glanced resentfully at Clarke, who was standing with Raven, Monty and Jasper.

"Garard assaulted Clarke. Does anyone dispute that?" No one spoke. "Garard, you are sentenced to sanitation duty for ten days, on top of your other responsibilities. Fail to get all your work done, and it will double to 20 days. Fail again, and you'll answer to me."

Oliver only met Bellamy's eyes for a second, before wisely looking down and nodding his head in acceptance. Bellamy looked at him in a way that left no doubt that this was not the punishment he'd wanted to issue.

Miller stepped forward and nudged Oliver forward. "Get moving. You have a lot of work to do, Garard."

Monroe fell in step beside Miller. "Consider yourself lucky, Bellamy wanted to put you on half rations. Three guesses who objected, and the first two don't count."

-The 100—

Words 4346

Not many reviews for the last chapter... so if you're reading and enjoying, consider leaving a review.