A/N: Enjoy Everyone!

Disclaimer: I do not own the 100. The story is rated M for adult themes and will feature spoilers.

Impossible by James Arthur

I remember years ago
Someone told me I should take
Caution when it comes to love
I did

Resolutions- Chapter 8- Antebellum

Octavia gave Bellamy a small smile.

"Good news," she said, "You haven't died. Bad news, there is still time for that." She swung a balled fist at his shoulder, lightly striking the thick muscles that reside there.

"Okay, Bell. You guys look like shit," she said tactlessly, "I have a place for you to rest. It will take a few days before we leave." Bellamy began to argue on the timeline but stopped as he watched Clarke sway on her feet.

The stress and exhaustion, as well as the pain from the trip, had caught up with her. He huffed slightly before nodding in agreement. He knew that he also needed time to repose. Though it would be difficult with their present company, he needed to be calm and focused.

Octavia led her brother and Clarke towards a small hut. It looked poorly constructed and partially caved in, but Octavia seemed proud of the small, dilapidated structure. The wooden slats were tethered together with thin vines. Each plant weaved between the other planks, creating a strong base for the house.

Clarke carefully inspected the creation. She knew that if they survived and rescued the 100, the first step would be to create winterized homes at the Dropship. They would need to build sturdier cabins than this home, but Clarke carefully remembered the materials that were used in its construction.

Octavia opened the door and showed them inside the space.

"You shouldn't leave this house while you are here, Bel. The people are scared of you. You know what happens when people are hurt and angry."

She gave him a sharp look. An image of Murphy suffocating from a rope around his neck filled his mind.

"We will stay here," he quickly confirmed. As he said that, he finally looked around the space. The room held two pieces of furniture. On one side of the room, a large bed sat low to the floor. Animal skins covered a mattress made of dried leaves. A small wooden table with books, a few lit candles, and two sharpened writing tools rested on the adjacent wall.

Bellamy looked around the room questioningly, "Whose house is this?"

A look of sadness crossed his sister's face. He instantly knew that he stood in Lincoln's house.

"Never mind," he muttered. He longed to stop O's pain, but he knew that it was useless. He would be inconsolable if he lost her or someone equal important.

Like Clarke, his mind supplied unwillingly. He steeled himself against the idiotic thought. Though he liked Clarke and respected her, Octavia's pain would be different than his. She loved Lincoln. Bellamy just didn't want to be in charge alone.

It was funny how things had changed between the two of them. Initially, Bellamy hated Clarke's attempt to lead. It felt like her moral compass was leading the 100 down a dangerous path. She couldn't get the big picture.

Over time, he had respected her wisdom and maturity. He wished that she could balance those feelings, but appreciated her sensibility when things were rough.

As he thought about his female partner, he realized that they would be staying in the small hut by themselves. For days. With only one bed.

A string of expletives threatened to escape, but he managed to maintain the outward appearance that he wasn't bothered by the turn of events. Thinking optimistically, he knew that this was actually the best case scenario.

He didn't trust the Grounders. They had buried too many of the 100 for him to ever think that he would be comfortable with these people. At the very least, having Clarke in his sight might give him a little bit of comfort.

"Do you still have any food or water?" Octavia asked.

Clarke and Bellamy both nodded.

"Not much though," Clarke solemnly answered.

"Tomorrow, I will get something for you guys. With all the tension, I don't want to give anyone the chance to sneak something in it. I have my own place for the night so I will be there. I will check in on you guys tomorrow morning."

Bellamy felt his control slip a little more as he began to understand just how much Octavia had grown. She seemed level-headed and thoughtful. It was a complete one-eighty from when they had landed on Earth in the Dropship.

He watched her turn to leave for the night.

"Wait a second, Octavia. You have a lot to explain to us," Bellamy exclaimed. Clarke watched the two Blake siblings with her sharp, inquisitive eyes.

"Bel, I can't tonight. I have to meet with Indra and find out what is going on."

"Why would they include you? What did you say to her?"

"There is a lot that you don't understand. I can't explain tonight. I'm sorry."

Quickly, she slipped out the door, letting it slam shut behind her. Bellamy growled in frustration and threw his hands in the air. Clarke opened her mouth to say something, but let it go. The situation between Octavia and Bellamy wasn't any of her business.

She walked over to a corner of the bed and sat down. She leaned over, unlaced the shoe, and slowly peeled off her boots. She wiggled her toes and sighed in relief as the throbbing began to lessen gradually. She dramatically threw herself back into the bed.

Bellamy eyed her warily. He did not need the visuals of Clarke lounging in the bed.

"You can have the bed," he said hastily. Clarke sat up and frowned at him.

"You don't have to. Do you see the size of this bed? It's huge."

Bellamy's mind went straight to the gutter with her thoughtful words. A barrage of images flooded his mind. In his defense, his libido had not been soothed in quite a while.

"That's okay," he said shortly.

"Look, Bellamy. I'm not going to insist, but your other option is the floor. I know you enough that if you do choose there, you will barely sleep. It's pretty obvious that I need you healthy, not exhausted. As long as you keep your hands to yourself, it's fine if you sleep in the bed."

Bellamy's eyes darted between the bed and the dirt floor.

Choosing his usual brand of snarky, he said, "Princess. By the end of this night, you will be begging for my hands."

"You also can't be a creep," she said expressionlessly. Bellamy smirked at her in response.

Clarke yawned loudly and stretched her hands over her head, "I'm probably going to go to sleep now."

"You don't want anything to eat?"

"No. I'm pretty exhausted." Clarke settled down on the small bed. Bellamy watched as she curled herself into a tiny ball on top of the animal skins.

"Careful, Princess. Don't get your paint all over the bed." He listened for her response but was met with muteness. Bellamy chuckled as he walked over to his backpack. He pulled out a few pieces of dried meat.

He sat on the floor and quietly chewed on the tough jerky. Occasionally, he would hear Clarke groan and shift on the bed. He felt a sense of Déjà vu as he gazed at the small form on the bed.

While she was recovering from her war wounds with the Grounder, he would spend most of his time with her, carefully watching over Clarke.

The members of Camp Jaha had questioned why he did it. He gave them an excuse at the time, but he didn't fully understand why he refused to leave her by herself. At the time, he tried to dismiss the protective feelings for his co-leader as a survival instinct based on her skills. He kept her alive for her abilities as a healer and orator.

He laughed as he thought about her challenging Murphy and him. He could have killed her then, but she had the knowledge to keep his people alive. She also had the strength and intelligence to keep them together as a group.

She managed to tame an entire crowd of rowdy criminals, including himself. That alone impressed him. It also made him wary because he was not an inept teenager struggling with how he felt. He knew Clarke meant more than most, and it made him worried.

He cared for Clarke; probably more than he should. She wasn't sweet or naïve, but strong and powerful. She called people out on their bullshit and made them strive to be better; made him better.

If Clarke hadn't come down to Earth in the Dropship, he never would have attempted to be the person that Clarke saw in him. He probably wouldn't have lived for long either. The Ark would have killed him for his assassination attempt against Jaha. Her charisma and power of persuasion managed to save him.

Everything about Clarke ensnared him. Personality-wise, she didn't try to be sexy or smart. She wasn't exceptionally agreeable, and people often misinterpreted her bluntness as rudeness. But he quickly realized that those qualities weren't turnoffs.

Plenty of women were attractive, but her beauty was different. He would often find her with cuts, bruises, blood, and mud caked on her skin. Her clothes hung loosely on her body and needed to be sewn back together and cleaned, but he ignored those imperfections because she had something that other women from the 100 lacked.

She was authentic, through and through.

Her fiery personality, brains, and stubbornness challenged him. If she thought she knew better than him, she would act on those feelings. Usually, she was right about it. Her eyes would pierce through Bellamy's as she brusquely told him that he was wrong and an idiot.

It was different. Bellamy's strong personality usually dissuaded the females from the 100 from saying anything significant; they were too worried that he wouldn't want them after they spoke their mind.

He internally scoffed. They were so scared that he would leave them, but not because they loved him or anything as ridiculous as that. No, they didn't want to lose their ticket into his bed, and the bragging rights that came with it.

He watched as she squirmed and extended her arms over her head. Her top rose even more, giving him the opportunity to see the outline of her ribs, the smooth skin of her stomach, and the top of her hipbones.

Her body was also another part of her that he couldn't seem to get off his mind. Her silky, sun-kissed skin and curves hypnotized him. He lazily allowed his eyes to drift from her golden and wind-tossed curl to the prominent bones of her clavicle, down to the roundness of her chest.

Heat traveled to his groin as he stared at the tops of her visible breasts in their skintight cloth covering. Her body was twisted so he couldn't see the delicate skin along her back or her apple shaped rump in her snug, dark-colored pants.

He looked away as she restlessly moved again. He felt a small amount of shame over his depraved thoughts.

He was attracted to Clarke. Finding Clarke had cemented those feelings, and nothing could change that. He knew that he wouldn't act on it. He wouldn't let thoughts like that distract him.

Let her distract me, he corrected.

Bellamy realized that he had quietly been sitting on the floor for a long time. The cold from the night time air had seeped into the wooden shack. He stood up, shaking his stiff ligaments out.

He pulled out his canteen from his pack and took a small bowl that sat on the table. Dumping some of the water into the bowl, he used it to clean his face and arms. He took a swig of his water and swished it around his mouth, trying to clean out the taste of meat. He spit the liquid on the floor, using the toe of his boot to kick dirt over it.

It wasn't a toothbrush, but it would do for tonight. He used the bottom of his shirt to dry his face.

Mid-swipe, he stopped. He hadn't thought of the Camp Jaha but as he wished for a toothbrush, he realized that the Council hadn't expected them to be gone for more than two days, maybe three.

They will probably think we are dead, Bellamy thought morbidly.

He sighed and walked over to the bed. Looking down at Clarke, he realized that one, she was a huge bed hog, and secondly, she sat on top of the animal skins and would probably get cold during the night. Either way, Bellamy knew he would have to shift her over.

He leaned over and slowly moved Clarke into his arms. She squirmed a little bit before settling with her head against his chest. He rolled his eyes at her behavior.

After situating her in one arm against his chest, he used the other hand to tug the covers down on the bed. He laid her closer to the edge of the bed, giving both of them plenty of space. He rolled one of the skins, placed it under her head and drew one of the larger skins over her body. He finished by covering her with another one.

He walked back over to his side of the bed and pulled off his shoes and socks.

He reached for his shirt but stopped. He looked over at Clarke and debated with himself on what to do. Generally, he never slept with a shirt or pants anymore. Hell, half the time he didn't even wear boxers.

When he first arrived on Earth, he had felt too nervous about not being battle-ready, so he wore clothes to sleep.

He quickly stopped doing that when he began to wake up from nightmares about Grounders, Jaha, and his sister. He would jolt awake with wide eyes and covered in sweat. The fabric would be tangled around his skin, restricting his movements.

No, he could not sleep with them on. He grasped the hem of his shirt and swiftly pulled it over his head. He removed his pants too, setting both the shirt and cargo pants on the floor next to his shoes. He walked over to the table and blew out the candles, instantly shrouding the hut in darkness.

He carefully walked back over to the bed and sat in it. Before he laid down, he brushed off the dirt on his feet, leaned back in the bed, and dragged the coverings over his legs. He practically groaned in pleasure as he sank into the mattress.

He did not have another bedspread to roll into a pillow, so he tucked his arm and closed his eyes. He was lulled to sleep by the gentle whisper of Clarke's breathe.

The next morning, Bellamy woke up feeling extremely rested and warm.

He moaned as the light from outside blinded him and tried to roll away, but something soft had molded to the right side of his body during the night. His eyes opened wide, and he looked down at the small thing that was pressed against his chest and his leg.

His eyes grew impossibly larger as he realized that the thing baking his skin was Clarke.

During the night, both Clarke and Bellamy had moved to the center of the bed until she was lying almost fully on top of him. Her head rested on the center of his chest, and her legs entwined with his.

Her body scorched his where bare skin met bare skin.

He panicked. He needed to move her off before she woke up. Otherwise, he would be murdered before they had the chance to talk to the Grounder's leader.

He tried to disengage her legs from his and nervously shift her away.

He recalled as a fifteen-year-old watching a movie in class. They were supposed to learn about thinking critically or some bullshit thing like that, but in actuality, his teacher's husband was in trouble for something with the Council. For obvious reasons, she didn't want to teach that day.

The movie featured a detective. He thought carefully about the name. Pink Panther; the name of the film was The Pink Panther.

Right at that moment, he had the theme song from the recording going through his head as he carefully extracted himself from Clarke. Any shift in her breathing sped his heart up. He had finally rolled her away from himself when he noticed that her breaths were coming out unevenly. Little moans escaped her mouth and filled the air, going straight to his groin.

He tried to pretend to be asleep.

A few minutes, later he felt Clarke shift and sit up. He heard the rustle of clothes and felt her leave the bed.

He listened closely to the sound of feet padding across the ground before opening up his eyes. He pretended to stretch and groan as he sat up in the bed.

Clarke looked over at him and smiled softly.

"Morning," she whispered. She rubbed at her face with both hands.

"Morning," he replied roughly.

"How'd you sleep?" She yawned.

Bellamy almost answered how great it was to wake this morning, but quickly changed course with a simple answer.

"Fine. It's too damn bright in here, though." Clarke laughed at his reply.

"How about you?" he asked.

"To be honest, it was the best sleep I've had in a while." She smiled. Bellamy felt a burst of self-satisfaction at her response.

"Those beds are pretty comfy. We need to make them for when we get back." Bellamy nodded in agreement.

He slid out of the bed, stretching his arms over his head.

A small squeak escaped Clarke. He looked up at her face with concern to see her openly staring at his body. Her mouth formed a small "O" of shock. Bellamy struggled to keep in the chuckle that threatened to escape his mouth. He cleared his throat causing her eyes to rise swiftly to his face.

"Where are your pants?" Clarke exclaimed. The apples of her cheeks were tinged a light pink.

"Sorry," Bellamy retorted with a smug smile adorning his face. He walked over and pulled his pants up over his black boxers and pulled his shirt back over his head.

"What the hell!" she said angrily. She seemed to struggle with the next sentence.

"I don't like wearing pants. Hey, you can take your pants off too if it bugs you so much," he said innocently. He gave her a charming smile and watched with glee as her cheeks turned from pale pink to a rose-colored blush. He had never seen it turn that color before. It was actually pretty enticing.

"Not the point, Bellamy," she growled.

"It's not a big deal, Clarke. I swear I won't molest you in your sleep." Clarke rolled her eyes and turned away from him. Sadly, she didn't realize how close they came to that last night.

He sat down and began to lace up his shoes. He scrutinized her carefully as she filled the water bowl. She washed her face with the water repeatedly. Large amounts of paint disintegrated into the water, trickling down her neck.

"So how do you want things to go today?" Bellamy asked.

"I don't know. At this point, we are kind of at the mercy of the Grounders," she replied. She trailed her fingers across her face, feeling for any remaining paint. She found more underneath her eyes and began scrubbing vigorously.

"I know. I don't like how things are going."

"What do you mean?" She asked, turning towards him.

"These Grounders keep blaming us. The bridge, the murders, everything. We were defending ourselves, yet they play the victim role?" He continued without pause. His voice rose in volume as he talked.

"How many of our people have died? We have buried what, 17? Sterling is dead too, now. So 18. You saw only 47 others at Mount Weather. Finn, Raven, Murphy, Monroe, Eric, and I survived. Not that like that is much of an accomplishment. Do the math, Clarke. There were lives taken on both sides when you turned on the rockets, and I'm angry at this situation. I think they are going to claim that we should be held accountable for everything," his chest heaved as he took in deep breaths trying to calm down. Clarke had stopped removing the paint halfway into his rant and was staring at him with startled eyes.

"We won't. I promise. But you've got to remember that I'm not the enemy, and we can't keep thinking the Grounders are either," she walked closer to him. "Our enemy is holding are people captive in Mount Weather. Those people are the ones that will suffer if they have harmed our people."

He frowned but nodded in agreement

"It could be worse," she said as she opened up her bag and took out some food and her container of water. She sat down on the floor. Bellamy sat down, next to her and grabbed some of the food from her bag. She glared at him but allowed him to pop in a brown nut into his mouth.

"How do you figure that out?" he said as he chewed.

"Octavia's here. It doesn't seem like she is hurt."

"I guess. She seems different though. I don't like it."

Clarke laughed loudly. Bellamy glowered at her.

"She's growing up, Bellamy. It happens."

"She's only 16. I came down from the Ark to protect her. But, I've pretty much screwed up her life every way possible."

"You are too hard on yourself. She is different, but she seems more in control. I'm not saying that she was horrible or anything, but she did things on a whim. The more you tried to control her, the more she would lash out, which was dangerous for her and the others. I think she has found herself."

Bellamy looked at her stubbornly but refused to spend time arguing with Clarke. They ate quietly. Bellamy went back over to the bed while Clarke pulled out a gold hand mirror.

Breaking the silence, Bellamy asked, "Where did you get that?"

"My mom gave it to me after our meeting with the Council. She got it as a gift for her wedding from my grandma supposedly." He watched as she pulled small pots of paint out and set them on the table. She lit the candle using her flint from her bag and watched it burn for a few minutes.

Grabbing her knife from where it rested on the table, Clarke pulled a small amount of her hair forward. Bellamy observed her curiously as she used her hunting knife to saw off a half an inch of her hair and rolled the strands close together. She leaned over, blew the candle out, and dipped the chunk of hair into the hot wax. She held the strands to eye level and watched as it hardened around the hairs.

His curiosity got the best of him as he wondered what she was making.

"What are you doing?"

Clarke looked at him impatiently, "I'm making something to paint with."

He could hear the clear dismissal in her voice and took that as a hint. He went over to the table and grabbed one of the books off of the table, and went back to the bed.

Both Bellamy and Clarke became enraptured in their own worlds. Bellamy read through each of the journals, and Clarke traced all the lines on her skin as well as repainted her face.

Bellamy had finished reading the second to last journal when he heard the knock on the door. Clarke immediately dropped her make-shift paintbrush on the ground and stood up.

They stared at the door, waiting to see who would enter. Bellamy could see the eagerness on Clarke's face, but he felt wary and gripped the knife that he always carried close to his shoulder.

He practically sighed in relief as Octavia popped her head in.

"Hi, Guys. I've got more good news," she said cheerfully. "The commander is going to listen to your proposal. We leave tomorrow, morning."


A/N: Thanks for reading and supporting Resolutions! Feel free to review.