Title: "The Earth is Not A Cold Dead Place: The Only Moment We Were Alone"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13/Light R for some sexiness
Character/Pairing: Bellamy/Clarke/Finn
Spoiler: "We Are Grounders, Part II"
Length: Part IV of V
Summary: Clarke makes it back from Mount Weather; Bellamy and Finn are waiting for her.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Author's Note: So I totally lied. This fic is now five parts because this chapter got so ridiculously long that it needed to be split in two. I don't think anyone will really complain. Again, thank you for the support for this fic. Multi-part stories are really hard for me, but I've really liked writing this one. So much that I can guarantee that this fic will be complete before NaNo because I promised multiple people that I would actually finish the novel this year. Title courtesy of Explosions in the Sky. Enjoy.
Clarke wakes up tangled up in Bellamy.
He's curled against her back, one knee tucked between her thighs and the muscled length of his forearms curving over her stomach. His breath puffs against her throat, soft and ticklish against her skin, and she holds in the shiver but lets out a smile. When he'd left her last night, this wasn't what she'd expected in the morning.
She'd kissed him by the fire and he'd let her, hands cupping her face as he eased in closer, slipped his tongue in her mouth and pulled her flush against him. He'd been solid and warm even through the tattered layers of his clothes, and it had felt a bit like melting, the way her limbs turned boneless and her temperature rose several degrees just from kissing him.
He'd been the first to pull away, rest his forehead against hers as his breathing evened out. "My shift starts in five," he'd said. He'd sounded annoyed, regretful too, and it made her only like him more, something admirable about a general mucking around in the mire with his troops. Not every member of the Council pulled guard duty.
"I'll be here," she'd said, smiled against his mouth then pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. She hadn't wanted to make him late, but a small distraction wouldn't hurt. He hadn't returned the kiss and he'd dropped his hands to her shoulders to stare at her in the moonlight. "What?"
He'd shaken his head, and kept his hands on her shoulders while refusing to meet her eyes. "I just need to know. This isn't to get back at Spacewalker, right?"
Annoyance had bubbled through her, because the last thing she'd wanted was Finn interrupting this moment, even if she understood it. Finn had been by her side from the moment she'd arrived on earth and until two days ago, there was no reason to think otherwise. "Bellamy," she'd said and her tone had been serious enough for him to finally look at her. "This is about me and you. No one else."
He'd nodded, dropped a kiss on her cheek before shouldering his rifle and heading for the gate, and she'd gone alone to her tent and fallen into a restless sleep. For once she'd gotten things right but felt like she'd done everything wrong.
So when she opens her eyes and Bellamy is there, wrapped around her so tight that he's almost a part of her, she thinks it might actually be working out.
She shifts, because she's losing feeling in her left arm, and Bellamy stirs as she flexes her fingers. "Morning," he says into her neck, blows the hairs back from her nape; this time, she doesn't hold in the shiver.
"Morning," she whispers, snuggles deeper into the hard planes of his chest.
It might be the best way to start her day.
She can feel Finn's eyes on her.
They're watching – burning – when she leaves her tent. Bellamy had slipped out an hour earlier to meet with Kane before the Council's breakfast session, but somehow Finn still knows.
Clarke can feel those eyes on her during their meeting too, especially when she comes in a few minutes before the start and slides into the only available chair. It's to Finn's right, her usual place, but there's no easy smile waiting for her when she takes her seat. He tenses, shoulders tightening into a rigid line and he stares straight ahead. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke watches his hands curl into fists.
It hurts. Wells' death left a gaping hole in her heart and Finn had started to ease that pain. She knows she made the right choice, but she still misses her friend. She misses the notes he'd pass her during long-winded speeches or the honey he'd sneak for her porridge. She misses having someone on her side.
Across the table another pair of eyes rakes over her face and she glances up from her breakfast. Bellamy is watching her and while his expression is blank, Clarke can see everything she needs in those dark eyes.
She might have lost Finn but there's still someone who'll always be on her side.
It's not until late afternoon that they talk about it.
Mission readiness has stepped up as the launch date approaches, and most of Bellamy's day is spent training the combined troops. Finn stops by a few hours before dinner to discuss her supply request. It's part of his job, managing inventory and the camp's needs, and he has an issue with her order.
"You might be on the Council, Clarke, but even you don't get a wish list."
Clarke glances up from Lincoln's sketchbook. She's almost halfway done and working through a drawing of something called steeplebush. It has an intricate type of petal and she wants to get it just right before they begin medicinal collection in spring. She puts down her charcoal. "It never hurts to start with hello."
Finn stalks over and all but slams her list onto the table. "I said necessities, Clarke. You know antibiotics don't grow on trees."
Clarke blinks up at him, anger swelling in her chest. She knows she hurt him, but that doesn't mean she deserves to be treated like this. His expression is thunderous but his dark eyes are filled with pain. A stab of guilt replaces the anger. She was the one to turn this sweet boy into something different. "Finn," she sighs. "That's not what I was trying to do." His expression doesn't change and he crosses his arms over his chest, waits for her to explain. "I know how much you like to explore. Leaving camp for a few days to find medical supplies…I thought it would be a good distraction."
Some of the anger slips from his face, but the pain in his eyes only deepens. "You know me so well."
"You were my friend first. I miss you," she says, grips the edge of the table to keep from reaching for him.
He shakes his head and laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You were his enemy and look where you are now."
He's right, the way she hated Bellamy and resented Bellamy and then needed him to keep it together. No matter how they started, something changed and there's no turning back. "I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did and it won't go away," she says softly, forces herself to meet his eyes so he understands the truth in her words. She's not sugar-coating anything for him. "I don't want it to go away."
Finn sucks in a breath and his eyes shine wetly in the muted light. "So it's real then."
"Yeah, it's real."
"I think…" He pauses, swallows heavily and finds his words. "I need some space." He doesn't give her time to answer and his shoulders slump as he walks away.
Clarke doesn't know which guilt is worse: the pain she's caused him or how she doesn't regret picking Bellamy.
She's learned that lesson well: sometimes there is no choice.
She doesn't see Bellamy for the rest of the day.
One of the engineers falls from the roof of the new town hall and needs his tibia inserted back into his leg. It requires surgery too and Clarke can't find it in her to feel guilty about being late. Bellamy isn't going anywhere and the really interesting surgeries don't happen too often.
She listens to her mother's instructions, holds the blood vessels and inserts the clamps, and ignores the ache in her back from standing on her feet for hours. It's well past midnight when she washes the last of the blood from her hands and wipes down the table. She hasn't eaten since noon, but food is the last thing on her mind. She just wants to be in bed.
Bellamy isn't there when she pokes her head through the door of her tent and she stops for a moment, breathes in the cold night air and debates what to do. They've set no ground rules, laid out no terms; there's no expectation that he should be there waiting for her.
Except she remembers the look in his eyes when he kissed her goodbye, or watched her across the council table, and it feels like all the permission that she needs. She quickly runs her fingers through her hair and dabs mint paste on her tongue. It's the best she can do on short notice. She takes a deep breath at the doorway to his tent before pushing inside.
Bellamy sits at the table fussing over a scale model of the camp. He has two small cabins clenched in his left hand and his chin propped in his right as he studies the arrangement of buildings. His hair falls over his forehead and with his freckles he looks about ten-years-old. It's legitimately adorable and so unlike Bellamy that it makes her grin, but isn't what actually catches her attention.
His shirt is drying over the back of his chair leaving his chest bare. His skin is smooth and golden in the firelight and she audibly gasps at the ripple of muscles as he reaches over to place one of the cabins behind the mess hall.
She can't see more than his profile but there's no hiding the slow smirk curving his lips. "Hey there, Princess," he says, raises his head to look at her. She can only stare back, fighting to keep her eyes fixed on the handsome planes of his face. "Cat got your tongue?"
It's the most cliché thing he could say, but it washes over her all the same, heat flaming in her cheeks as her mouth suddenly turns dry. She just nods, watches that smirk grow even wider. His eyes are darkening in the dim light, slipping away from her face to the zipper of her parka. They keep trailing down her torso and she's fully clothed but it feels like all those layers of insulation aren't even there.
Bellamy rises to his feet and pushes his hair back from his face, stares down at her as he takes up all the space. He reaches for her, fingers tangling in her hair, and her stomach growls so loud that she can feel it though the parka and sweater and t-shirt that she's wearing.
Bellamy's hands still and laughter rumbles through his chest, vibrates against her breasts as it bubbles up through him and he buries it in her neck. "Way to kill the mood, Princess," he says into her skin.
Clarke frowns. This wasn't how she'd wanted the evening to go. "Surgery took forever. I missed dinner."
"Then let's get you fed." He pulls away and digs through his bin, pushes aside the model and lays out a spread of nuts and berries. "Dinner is served."
There's only one chair so Clarke shrugs out of her parka and sits cross-legged on his bed. She munches on her nuts while he straightens up, lines up his boots by the door and stows away his jacket. He doesn't put his shirt back on.
"I'm impressed," she tells him, angles her head towards the model. She's seen the fruits of his labors in the camp that's rapidly becoming a village, but the extent of his planning is still a bit awe-inspiring. "Where did you learn woodworking?"
He shrugs, leans his rifle by the entrance. "We didn't have many visitors growing up. Had to find a way to fill the time."
"You're good at it."
He starts towards her and Clarke expects him to sit at the table, but he kneels behind her and rests his hands on her shoulders. "I'm good at a lot of things." His fingers knead her tired muscles and she doesn't bother repressing the moan. He laughs, digs the knuckle of his thumb into a particularly tight kink.
Clarke closes her eyes, loses herself in the play of his hands moving over her. She can't wait to see what else he's good at.
Bellamy's gone the next morning. The mission date is fast approaching and his team is practicing maneuvers in the woods for a few days.
She didn't think much of it when he told her. She'd literally been alone for six weeks; she could handle two days without him. And she does make it, setting fingers and bandaging blisters and treating colds, but she can't avoid the niggling feeling that something is missing.
He's dirty when he walks through the gate and already ordering his team to head to the meeting hall for a debrief, but her chest settles, something bright and warm blooming through her just from laying eyes on him.
For entirely different reasons, she wonders how she got by without him.
His hair is wet when he pokes his head through the flap of her tent and Clarke watches mutely as a bead of water slides down the strong chords of his neck.
He walks to her, slow and steady, takes her hands in his and pulls her up from the bed so she falls against his chest. "You say the word and I'll walk away."
Clarke has gotten good at showing him what she means and she cups his jaw in her hand, pushes to her tiptoes to press a butterfly kiss against his lips. "I want you."
It's all the permission he needs and he's on her, hot and hard as they fall back on the bed.
Her clothes are long gone when his fingers grip her hips, roll them against him so they're both groaning. It's almost there, the moment she's been waiting for all this time, but she can't have it without baring her soul too. She remembers the last time, the lies that spoiled something that should have been beautiful.
"I've only ever been with Finn."
His hands still on her bare hips and he blinks up at her, falls back against the pillow and laughs. It's pretty much the last reaction that she expected. "Raven said the same thing."
It hurts, a pinching, stabbing pain that works its way through her chest and closes in around her throat. She can't breathe and she wants to hit Bellamy and she wants to blame Raven, but she mostly wants to go back in time and stop any of it from ever happening.
"When?"
She's acutely aware that she's straddling his hips and that they're both naked and she can feel him pressed up against her, but she can't quite let the conversation go. Just once, she wanted something in her life that had nothing to do with Finn.
Bellamy sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "When you and Finn didn't come back from the hunting trip. It happened once and it didn't mean anything."
It's Clarke's turn to blink at him. She was kidnapped and threatened and Bellamy was having sex with Raven, just the way she was having sex with Finn when Raven was risking her life to find him. She was with Finn once and it meant everything and Bellamy isn't holding it against her. She can't blame him for doing the exact opposite.
The fight slips away and she mostly feels sad and defeated. "Were you ever going to tell me?"
"Were you ever going to tell me?"
"I'm telling you now."
"So am I!" He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair again, but there's a hint of a smile when he looks back up at her. "This isn't going how I planned it." He shifts his hips, just the tiniest bit, and that smile lights up his whole face when she gasps.
"Bellamy…" she starts because it feels unfinished. She's not sure they can really move on.
"So things got weird for a minute," he says, wraps his arms around her and flips her on her back. "I don't care about what happened before." He brushes her hair back from her face. "I only want you."
He keeps watching her and she realizes this is it. He's giving them a fresh start; he's asking her to do the same. "The past is the past," she says, cups his head in her hand and drags his mouth to hers.
He kisses her hard and hot and the familiar heat flares through her belly, burns away the memory of Raven and Finn and everything that came before. All she sees and hears and feels is Bellamy.
He slides between her thighs, murmurs into the sharp line of her clavicle. "Lie back and enjoy the ride."
She does.
Clarke wakes up tangled up in Bellamy.
He's molded to her back, one knee tucked between her bare thighs and the muscled length of his forearms curving over her breasts. She smiles and opens her eyes, turns in his arms so she's pressed up against the hard planes of his chest. "Morning," she whispers.
"Morning," he says against her mouth, pulls her closer and slides his hands over her skin so she's shivering against him.
It's by far the best way to start her day.
He stakes a claim at dinner.
Clarke is chatting in line with Javi, one of the guards from the Ark. They're the same year and had some classes together, but they're really just predicting if dinner will be venison stew or bear stew when Bellamy stalks over.
He doesn't say anything, just glares at Javi and drops a hand to Clarke's hip. His grip isn't hard, but his stare is and everything about his body language says mine.
Javi glances between them and steps away. "Later, Clarke," he says and practically runs to the end of the line.
Clarke rolls her eyes. "Cut it out."
Bellamy huffs. "He should know that you're off limits."
Clarke steps back, out of his reach. "Unless you stop acting like a possessive asshole, it'll be the same for you."
Bellamy swallows hard. "No one knows about us. I'm not going to make some kind of grand announcement, but I don't want to hide. Do you not want people to know?" His expression is blank, but is voice makes it clear how scared he is of her answer.
Clarke steps closer, reaches out and takes his hand. "Our lives belong to everyone else. I just wanted something that was mine."
He glances at their hands, twists his fingers so they twine with hers. "I didn't mean to push you, but I spent my whole life keeping secrets. I don't want to anymore."
She's had her own secrets, spent a year locked away to protect the secret her father died to keep buried. She doesn't want that either. She wraps his arm around her waist, leans into his side as they step back in line. "Let's start with dinner, okay?"
It's venison after all, a little tough and very under-seasoned, but Clarke barely notices the food. She's alive and the night is cool and she's with Bellamy. There's nothing else she needs.
Finn turns up the next day with five bottles of expired penicillin and a sheepish expression.
"I'm sorry I was such a pain," he says as Clarke counts pills and wonders if they'll kill people before helping them. "It's not easy being dumped."
Clarke looks up from the table and tries to keep from grimacing. She thought they'd already finished this conversation. "Finn…"
He holds up his hands in supplication. "I got the message. You've moved on and I will too." In the past he'd stop and chat, tell her about his day and the problems he'd solved, but today he doesn't linger. "See you around, Clarke," he says and shoulders his pack, calls out over his shoulder, "Bye, Doctor Griffin. I'll get that seaweed to you by tomorrow at the latest."
Abby thanks him and waves goodbye, stands in the doorway with her daughter and watches the activity bustle through camp. Half the cabins are finished and the finishing touches are being added to the town and mess halls. Their makeshift camp is almost a real town.
"He's good for you," Abby says, crosses her arms over her chest and leans into the doorjamb.
Clarke frowns. She and her mom can be civil, but the last thing she wants to discuss is her love life. "We're not together," she says, which is vague but also the truth. Whatever she and Finn were, it's over.
Abby smiles. "I'm not talking about Finn."
Clarke follows her mom's sightline and spots Bellamy. He's standing in the town square gesturing at a team of builders digging a well. It never fails to amaze her that he can be in so many places at once, that he's so good at everything he does.
"Mom…" Clarke starts, but really, what is there to say? I'm glad you like the guy I'm banging? She knows that Bellamy cares about her, but that's as far as any kind of relationship talk has gone.
"He reminds me of your dad," Abby says and it makes Clarke freeze, an icy shiver washing over her skin. It's the only topic that's strictly off limits. Besides, Clarke already knows that it's a lie. Her father was a pillar of the community, respected and admired; Bellamy tried to assassinate the chancellor. "I wasn't always married to the Chief of Engineering," Abby adds. "Once, he was just a lowly mechanic from Mecha station. Your grandmother hated him." Abby pauses, a nostalgic smile ghosting over her face. Clarke keeps her eyes focused on the floor to keep from drifting into the past. "She thought he wasn't good enough for the daughter of a former chancellor, but I knew better." Abby reaches out, lays a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Bellamy might not be perfect, but that's okay. He does what he thinks is right and that's the part that matters."
There are tears in her mom's eyes when Clarke finally meets her gaze and she's a little blurry because Clarke's also trying not to cry. Her dad died for what he believed in and Bellamy almost did too: Octavia was his world the way the Ark's survival was her father's.
"I really like him," Clarke says and Abby's watery smile widens.
"Good," she says, wipes her eyes. "You deserve happiness."
Clarke looks at her mother, her familiar face and the tears they've both cried for the man they lost, and she feels more of the anger fade away. She knows something about making decisions that cost her the people she loves.
"Do you want to join us for dinner?" Clarke asks, the words slipping out before she can really think about what she's saying.
Abby's smile brightens her entire face. "I'd love to."
Clarke nods, pads back to her section of the medbay. She's not ready to forgive but that doesn't mean she can't begin letting go.
Kendra becomes a constant presence in her life.
Clarke doesn't notice at first, because Kendra's also her friend, but after a week or so she sees that Kendra is everywhere: behind her in the food line, lingering by the well, causally walking with her from the council room to the medbay.
"Stop following me," Clarke says and pauses in her drawing of arrowroot. Across the room, Kendra stops swinging her legs under Clarke's medical table.
Kendra sighs and rolls her eyes. "Talk to the boss man."
Clarke rolls her own eyes and prepares for the fight.
She thinks it will be easy to have the upper hand when all Bellamy wants is her naked. She's not entirely right.
"Why is Kendra following me?" she asks the moment Bellamy steps into her tent. She's wearing her sweater and jeans and an expression that tells him not to bother touching.
Bellamy sits on her bed and tugs off his boots. "She's guarding you."
"She's an engineer."
Bellamy slips out of his jacket. "She wanted a change of pace."
Clarke folds her arms over her chest and ignores how he's playing dirty. His sweater comes off next, followed by his t-shirt. She swallows hard and tries to keep her gaze pinned somewhere over his shoulder. "We already had this discussion. You can't order me around."
He pauses in working on his belt buckle and peers up at her from under his lashes. It's a good distraction, except for the genuine worry in his eyes. "I need you to be safe."
She fails in keeping from looking at him and walks towards him so she's standing in the space between his knees. "I know it's a difficult concept for you, but if we're going to be in a relationship, you'll need to acquaint yourself with this thing called compromise. I don't need a full time guard."
Bellamy grips her hips and tugs her towards him so his face is level with her stomach. He rests his cheek against her, slips his fingers under the hem of her sweater. "Okay. You don't need a guard when you're in camp, but someone from my team is with you the moment you step outside the walls."
His fingers slide higher, push the fabric of her various shirts up her chest so he can trace her bellybutton with his tongue. "Deal," she manages to say.
He smiles against her stomach and before pulling back to stare up at her. "And we're already in a relationship."
Clarke isn't remotely ashamed by the dopey smile breaking across her face.
Octavia returns a few days later bearing sewing supplies.
She had been reluctant to leave after the initial meeting, but the Ark survivors needed lessons in how to make fabric and needles and their own clothes, and Octavia was their only seamstress. Armed with supplies from Lincoln's village, she's back for good.
"Do you think this will work?" Octavia asks and holds up a shirt made of bumpy grey fabric. It looks a bit like the waffles Clarke once saw in a cookbook but the cotton is soft. It will serve hospital patients well.
"Yes, great," Clarke says and turns back to her own pile. All morning they've been sorting the scavenged clothes that Octavia brought and made good progress. Clarke thinks (prays) she might even score a second pair of underwear. "We really appreciate you doing this," she adds. "I know it's not an easy trip between camps."
Octavia shrugs. "Lincoln's village is my home but you're my people. I miss you when I'm gone."
"You could always come back," Clarke points out. "Bellamy would love it if you were here."
Octavia ducks her head, hides behind her thick curtain of dark hair. "Bellamy's the reason I stay away."
Clarke feels that familiar flare of annoyance. Bellamy risked his life time and time again for his sister and this is the thanks he gets? "He would have died for you."
"I know," Octavia whispers, her voice so soft Clarke can hardly hear it over the rustle of fabric. She reaches out and rests her hand on Clarke's wrist so she has to put down the clothes and meet Octavia's gaze. "My brother was six-years-old when I was born. I love my mom, but she gave him a responsibility no child should have had to bear. His entire life was about me: protecting me, saving me…he needs his own life and we need to love each other without it killing us." She pauses and smiles knowingly. "Besides, now he has you to boss around." Clarke feels her cheeks turn red and Octavia's entire face gleams with triumph. "I knew it! Even back in the old camp, I knew there was something there."
"It just started," Clarke says. "It's not even serious yet."
Octavia laughs. "Please. You have met my brother, right? He doesn't do anything half-assed."
It's Clarke's turn to hide behind her hair. "I know. It's something, isn't it?"
Octavia laughs again. "Good luck. He wouldn't even let me go to the bathroom by myself when we first landed."
Clarke laughs with her, even as the she realizes the challenge ahead of her. She's ready for it, but there's nothing easy about Bellamy Blake.
It gets serious fast.
It's late and they're in Bellamy's tent and they didn't make it to the bed. Bellamy is on the floor, back pressed up against the bed frame and Clarke is in his lap, legs locked around his back and arms wrapped around his shoulders.
He's doing this thing with his tongue and his hips all at once and Clarke's trying to say his name but it comes out on a strangled moan. "Bell…" she hisses and he seizes up inside her as the world explodes around her.
Later, they slip into the bed and she rests her head on his chest while he idly plays with her hair. His heartbeat is still an uneven, frantic pitch beneath her ear and she feels a smug little tug of satisfaction.
"I like when you say my name like that," he tells her and it sounds casual, but Clarke knows him well enough to recognize that there's deeper meaning there.
"Octavia calls you that," she starts, waits for him to fill in the missing pieces.
Beneath her cheek, his heart beats even faster. "The people I love call me that."
She pushes up so she's looking down at him, brushes her hair back from her face so there's nothing hiding the look in his eyes. They're terrified like they were that night by the campfire, but so full of hope that it makes it hard for her to breathe.
"I love you," she says softly, watches the relief pool in his eyes. "I think I have for a long time but I wasn't brave enough to say it." She realizes it's true, the way things changed after that night at the bunker, the way they built and swelled until she couldn't imagine a day without him.
She kisses him, soft and tender, feels the love coming off him in waves. She doesn't mind waiting so long when he can make her feel this way.
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