Day 13 (Continued)
Bellamy found her sitting by the graveyard. Mud was splashed all over her, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. She looked beautiful sitting back against the tree trunk, her head tilted back and her eyes on the canopy of leaves above her. Water would drip from the leaves and onto her face, leaving streaks that looked like tears. His initial anger at her being outside of the wall faded away as he watched her. Cheyenne belonged on the ground, there was no doubt about it. The Ark was never her home.
"Do I need to dig a grave for Finn?" she asked, breaking the still silence.
"No, Clarke says he's going to be fine."
Cheyenne could hear the strain in Bellamy's voice. He had crossed a line when he tortured that grounder for Finn. He'd given away a piece of himself that he would never get back. Selfishly, she was glad. He couldn't look at her as broken if he was coming apart at the seams, too.
"I should have done it for you." Cheyenne's head moved to where she was looking at him instead of the sky above. Now that he could see her face clearly, it was obvious that the streaks that colored her face were tears and not water like he originally thought. "Doing that isn't something you can take back, Bellamy. It's not something you should have to bear when I'm already doing it. It should have been me."
"No." He came closer to her, crouching down to box her in against the tree. "No, you don't get to carry all the heavy stuff. This was my burden, just like Atom was. But I was too selfish to do it. I let you and Clarke take that burden from me, and now it's on you and her and it shouldn't be."
Small fingers brushed his cheek, smearing the blood that was ever present in her eyes. He was beautiful covered in blood, covered in shame, covered in nothing. He was light and she was dark and he chased away her demons with his gorgeous brown eyes and calloused fingers and harsh kisses. The tears welled again in her eyes even though she thought she was cried out.
"You're too good, Bellamy. I'm just going to bring you down. People like me don't get happy endings."
"I don't want a happy ending. I want you." He tilted her head up from where it had dropped to her chest. Her tears were just as beautiful as her fear and her anger and her emptiness. "You're mine, remember? Whatever I want."
"Whatever you want," she echoed.
She followed him back to their newly erected tent, unable to bring herself to care if people saw them together anymore. Before, she wanted privacy. She didn't want people to think the worst of him when they inevitably saw her bruises under her sweatshirt. But now, she just wanted him and to show Raven Reyes that she was not ashamed. He'd laid down a sheet of metal for a floor and fashioned a cot so that they were no longer sleeping on the ground. The table was back, too, and their bed already made. A small pile of clothes was at the foot of the bed, clean jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt and clean socks and underwear. One of his jackets was tossed next to it.
"Those are for you," Bellamy said, motioning toward the clothes. "They were stashed in Roma's tent. She doesn't need them now that she's…"
"Dead – she died when you guys went after Octavia, didn't she? Her and Mbege and Diggs?" Cheyenne watched as he nodded, distress clear on his face. "I know you were close to them. I'm sorry."
She couldn't give much sentiment other than that, and he knew it. He didn't ask for it, either. Pointing to a bucket next to the table, Bellamy told her it was boiled and hopefully still kind of warm for her to wash off the grossness. Hot water or cold water didn't really bother Cheyenne. All the showers in the Skybox were cold.
Sitting on the bed, he watched as she stripped off her old, muddy clothes. They were stained with blood and dirt and sweat. Her bruises had all faded to yellow and green over the course of the last three days, all but a few stubborn ones that held a bit of gray and the new ones on her arms from where he had grabbed her to snap her out of her stupor before the storm. The newest ones were the worst, such a deep purple that they were nearly black and in the perfect shape of his fingers. A terrible mixture of disgust and pride filled Bellamy at the sight of them. When she had said he could carve his name into her skin, he wasn't sure this was what she meant. The new jeans were not skinny jeans, but they would work until she could wash hers. Clean undergarments were relished in, as they were extremely rare around the camp seeing as they were sent with mostly the clothes on their backs and that was it. Before putting on the new shirt, Cheyenne flipped her hair over and shoved her entire head in the bucket of water, scrubbing as hard as she could at the greasy strands. She was under there long enough to worry him, but finally, she came up and squeezed as much of the water out as she could.
When Bellamy's hands came to rest on her hips, she leaned back against him. He ignored her wet hair as one of his hands trailed up her stomach, between her breasts, to grab her throat. His grip was tight, but not tight enough to bruise her again. Cheyenne's mouth released an encouraging noise when he kissed from the bottom of her ear to her collarbone, with his free hand sliding down the front of her jeans.
"Who do you belong to, Cheyenne?" his voice growled against her flesh. Goosebumps rose on her arms and the back of her neck.
"You, Bellamy," she answered breathlessly. "I belong to you."
The bed was more comfortable off the ground. He was gentle when he stripped her of the rest of her clothes, gentle when he wrapped her legs around his hips, gentle when he pressed inside of her, gentle when he wrapped his fingers around her neck. His touch lit a fire in her veins so hot she felt like she could melt. She couldn't help it when his name left her lips in a cry, or when her nails dug deep into the muscles of his back. With her head thrown back and her eyes clenched shut, she only saw him. Only his hands touched her. Only his mouth tasted her skin. He built her up like a temple just to destroy her, over and over again. When it was over, he'd forgone pulling out of her, instead rolling her to lay on his chest and catching their breath. They fell asleep that way, warm and comfortable and together. Looking down at the hand resting on his chest, she was surprised to see no blood.
Day 14
Raven's tenacity was something to be admired. Though she hated the girl for reasons still unknown to herself, Cheyenne had to admit that things got done when she was doing them. A communications tent was put up with live video and audio links to the Ark. Kids were lining up to talk to their families. Neither she nor Bellamy made any move to go talk to anyone, despite Clarke's urging to Bellamy that he needed to talk to the Chancellor. While she knew Clarke was right – Clarke was always right – she didn't blame Bellamy for avoiding it. When you shoot a man, that doesn't just go away because he didn't die.
Sitting on the top level of the dropship, Cheyenne observed Octavia as she cleaned up the grounder and gave him food and water. Miller was delivering more bad news to parents of dead kids, and Cheyenne had offered to supervise Bellamy's little sister while he was out hunting. He had been reluctant to let her leave the walls since he'd kidnapped the very man she was babysitting for fear of her getting caught up in retaliation. Their relationship had shifted slightly to where they were speaking to one another in public, instead of communicating through Clarke or in the shadow of the dropship when no one was looking. He no longer cared if people saw him bring her food or water, or if their hands brushed together when they stood a little too closely. Miller told no one of the things he'd seen and heard between them the day of the hurricane, and it sparked a small bud of trust in Cheyenne's chest for him. Gossip spread like wildfire throughout the hundred, so knowing she knew someone that wouldn't blab other people's business felt like it might be an ace in her pocket one day.
It was embarrassing when Miller's voice coming up the ladder shook Cheyenne into awareness. She had dozed off leaning against the wall while Octavia fed the grounder again. She tried to shake the haze out of her head that had been making her sleepy for days.
"Come on, Octavia. It's time for you to go," Cheyenne said quietly. Bellamy had given Octavia a certain amount of time that she could have with the grounder and judging by the disorientation that came with waking up, that time had long passed.
"You know, for a murderer, you sure are good at being my brother's lapdog," Octavia snapped, snarling her nose in distaste.
Cheyenne didn't take the bait. She watched impassively as the other girl stomped down the ladder. Once she was gone, Cheyenne sighed to herself. Miller's head popped up a few seconds later, covered in his green beanie. She didn't bother to move, knowing he had enough common sense to realize when someone didn't like being crowded.
"I don't see her problem with dogs. They're supposed to be man's best friend," Miller joked a few seconds after he sat down. Her lips pulled up into a slight smile, but the sleep didn't leave her face. "You can sleep if you want. I won't leave you alone with him."
"I'm not scared of the grounder." Cheyenne eyed the man tied up in the corner. "I've seen scarier."
Miller nodded, letting the silence stretch between them for a few minutes. With the hatch open, some of the sounds from below filtered up for them to hear. "That's what you got arrested for, right? Seeing scarier, and getting rid of it." He felt her looking at him, wondering how he knew anything about her when no one else in camp seemed to. "My dad was one of the guards that arrested you – David Miller."
"I don't remember being arrested," she admitted quietly. "Your dad could have been right in my face and I would never know."
Now uncomfortable, she slipped down the ladder to find Clarke. She was more tired than before by the time she got to the bottom rung, but she pushed that to the back of her mind. Clarke was standing outside of the communication tent wearily when Cheyenne finally found her.
"There's a council meeting tomorrow. They want me to be there," Clarke said as she felt the other girl stop beside her.
"You should be – you and Bellamy both should be." Cheyenne could see the outline of someone already inside the tent. "I'm worried, Clarke. They might pardon me, but that doesn't mean much to the people on the Ark."
"I'll make it mean something. I'll make it mean something for you and for Bellamy. You're… you're my best friend. I'm not going to let them hurt you." Clarke's voice was like steel. It gave Cheyenne hope because once Clarke set her mind to something, she made sure it was done.
"You're my best friend, too. Just, you know, in case you didn't already know. You and Bellamy are the first people to ever be my friend."
Cheyenne wandered off again, wondering why she was being so disgustingly sentimental that day. The words she'd said hung in the air around Clarke. They pressed in on her, suffocating her and making her feel helpless. She was a leader here, with Bellamy. She could take care of people, take care of her friends, take care of Cheyenne and Finn and Bellamy and Octavia and Raven and the rest of the hundred. When the Ark came down, though, what would she be able to do to keep her promise? How could she protect them from the people that didn't know them the way she did? Her best friend was a girl that had never had a friend before, and when the Ark came down, the girl that had attacked someone because she thought he'd hurt her was going to be snatched away and locked back in a cage. Bellamy was going to be executed for the attempted murder of Chancellor Jaha, or at the very least, locked up for the rest of his life. She had to do something. She had to protect them, the way they protected her and the way they protected each other.
