CH. 4

Sometimes Clarke doesn't believe Earth is real, or at least that Earth could be real for those not born on it. Plenty of drama and pain and excitement and contentment had happened on the Ark, but Earth is different. She wonders if the Arkers were innately born with a sense of pause, of purgatory; they're supposed to be the gap generations. She wonders if their visceral battles with the Earth, just to scrape by, will end up too foreign for them to survive it. She wonders if they are too alien.

But she feels deeply human, willing to suffer through any earthly extreme, when she looks at Diana. If she had a daughter on the Ark she knows she would feel the same way. The Ark couldn't pause that.

Diana doesn't wake when Clarke softly greets her, runs the tip of her finger across her chubby cheek. Even at 2 years old, Clarke's daughter is fully extreme in herself; a loud, brash kid during the day and a heavy sleeper at night. Clarke tilts her head, her doctor's eyes moving over every part the baby, assessing. Finally, Clarke stands. Diana is an Earth-baby; she'll end up surviving so many more winters than Clarke will.

The moon's light starts to make its way through the window, muddied glass that has filtered moonlight both on Earth and in space. Clarke sees the snow is coming down even faster than before and hurries over to her side of the bed, suddenly shivering. She slips her feet under the blankets and furs and extra pillows that Bellamy insists on; she can feel the scarcity of his upbringing fill with each cover he piles on their bed. Clarke edges as close to Bellamy as she can without touching him. He is deeply asleep, breathing evenly, and bundled up to his nose; Clarke cannot bring herself to shock him with her frigid skin.

She's so aware of them both, her man and her baby, when she's trying to fall asleep. She listens to them breathing instead of counting sheep (she used to count oscillations, but that was in the Ark-days). The heat radiating from Bellamy's cocooned body is like a drug. She sinks into the bed as if the weight of him were on top of her. She wishes.

"What're you doing over there?"

Bellamy's gravelly voice startles her from her pre-sleep haze. She pushes her face further into the pillow.

"Performing surgery." Clarke yawns and tiredly orders, "Scalpel." She feels rather than sees him grin against the pillow.

"I mean, why are you so far away? I bet you're freezing."

"I am. I didn't want to wake you. I was being nice." But Clarke's already scooting toward him, and Bellamy's arm is arching over her to pull her hips flush against his.

"I can handle a little cold," he says as she sighs in relief against his chest, snuggles even closer. Bellamy twines their legs together.

"Your toes-!" He yanks his feet away.

"Shh!"

Clarke's head pops up to look toward Diana, but of course nothing happens. Bellamy nudges her chin with his thumb, shaking his head.

"She's out, believe me. Wick had her all afternoon, and you know him."

Clarke's mouth twists in an expression of half-amusement and half-disapproval.

"He had her sorting components again? He knows she's not allowed to 'engineer' until she's at least four." Bellamy pulls her down and she feels the slight rumble of laughter starting in his chest.

"He knows. He just had her run around one of those wooden spools a bunch of times..." Clarke tilts her face toward his, expectantly. "...while dragging that wire we salvaged."

"What?!" Clarke shoots into a sitting position. Bellamy is trying to cover his laughter in the crook of his elbow, at which he is failing, so she thumps him on the stomach. His hand comes out to stroke her forearm.

"I said she's fine. She really is. Just tired." He hoists a bulk of the blankets over her, his chuckles rising again as this effectively shoves Clarke horizontal. She lands a few inches away from him, pretending to be unamused.

"Can't Wick use his own kid to do his chores?" she mutters. Bellamy starts to slide his hand across her waist and she can't quite keep herself from leaning toward him.

"Wrench was there too. There were a couple of spools." His voice is regaining its sleepiness. Bellamy mumbles, comfortingly, "You were really proud when she started walking early. She's a genius."

Clarke grants him a smile. He pulls her back into his arms, his legs against hers, even his toes. Clarke nestles her head underneath Bellamy's chin, suddenly smiling at the thought of what the Clarke from even a few years ago would think of this. Well, past-Clarke would be pretty jealous, actually. She should have jumped him the day he showed her the plans to their cabin.

She's drifting off to sleep when it starts. Clarke often relishes reflecting on moments like this, how much falling in love with Bellamy has healed her, how much having Diana has opened up happier parts of herself. Her scars aren't so tight and noticeable when she's around them. But every once in awhile, her brain will throw out all of the horrible things that could happen to them.
Clarke has already talked herself through the decision to choose love and fear over being alone and numb. But right now, her heart doesn't care; it's terrified for her. Suddenly, Bellamy is too, too warm. Her hands feel numb and yet jittery, and she curls her fingers into his shirt, trying to hold them still.

Bellamy isn't immune to his own heart, either; he still has nightmares that are decades-old and months-fresh. When Clarke's fingers suddenly grip his shirt, he rises out of half-sleep immediately.

"Hey, Princess," Bellamy's voice is soothing as he sits her up in the bed and eases the covers down to her knees. One hand holds hers in her lap, the other stroking circles on her back.

"I just- I just can't stop it," she gasps, breathing hard.

"Just ride it out, Clarke." He kisses her shoulder. "It's not real and I'm here. I'm right here. Squeeze my hand, Clarke." And she does. His hands are everything familiar; she knows every callus and scar, the shape of his fingertips. She thinks of him reading to Diana, mythology of course, by the fireplace. The pace of her breathing starts to slow.

Bellamy is so present and the ache in her heart is already starting to fade. But she brings his hand up to her lips and sighs against his palm. Bellamy kisses her cheek, once, twice, and Clarke can smell only him, and a little bit of Diana, and woodsmoke from Bellamy's, their, fireplace.

"It could happen someday," Clarke sighs, sadly. It doesn't feel like a substantial concern, even a few minutes after the thoughts gripped her so viciously, but she still has to say it out loud. Even though she knows he knows, thinks about it too.

Bellamy turns his hand against her cheek, cupping her jaw. His voice is right against her ear, his warm breath fanning out against her neck.

"Whatever happens, Clarke, " the earnestness of his tone brings tears to her eyes, "We're so much better together." She nods fiercely, mad at herself for pushing him to think he needs to say these things.

"I know," Clarke whispers, trying to convince him.

"Does it make you want to run?" Bellamy's voice is challenging her. Clarke twists toward him, arms sliding around his neck. She feels him take a deep breath.

"No, no, never. I never would, not again." She is afraid for a moment that she's never convinced him. But then she feels him nod. He's only been trying to prove something about her to her, as usual.

"I know," he whispers, sounding certain. "It's so scary but it's so good." His lips graze her neck with each word and she can't get enough of him, ever.

She laughs a little, squeezes him tighter. "It goes away so much faster than it did before," she promises. Clarke leans back so they're nose-to-nose, plays with the curls at the nape of his neck.

"...when you rub my back."

Bellamy's eyebrows raise in surprise. Clarke lets out a large sigh, feeling lighter, and nods at him. His arms fling out to his sides.

"You want a back rub right now? After I've been all emotionally supportive?" His surprise is quickly transforming to a smile as Clarke sighs and nods again, resigned.

"Really, thanks for the support. But it's the only real cure," and she lifts her shirt over her head. Clarke slides down slowly onto her stomach, sweeping her hair over one shoulder, looking back at him. Bellamy is smirking down at her now and Clarke feels his fingers twitch through the blanket where they are resting on the back of her leg. Bellamy's eyes are intense and Clarke can feel her body grow warm in anticipation, so she makes it better and worse; she closes her eyes.