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Content note for Cage being misogynist and offensive.
Clarke has been working as an apprentice in med bay for less than a week when she finds out what's behind that locked blood supply door. Proof if any were needed, she thinks, that it is always easier to bring a system down from the inside.
That's a thought which really makes her miss her father. He knew what he was doing, when he decided to go public about that oxygen fault.
Today she's been invited to give a Mount Weather resident their blood treatment, under the watchful eye of one of the younger qualified doctors – a Dr Jones. She manages the treatment easily, sends the patient on their way. Dr Jones is nodding, quiet and approving.
That's why Clarke decides to take the risk and ask the question.
"Why don't I need a blood treatment? Or any of my people?" She asks, carefully naïve in that manner she has perfected lately. "I understand how to give the treatment. But I don't really understand why. How does it work?"
Dr Jones keeps nodding, still looks approving. "It's for the radiation. Our people don't have any resistance to the radiation so we need to blood from the savages to keep us healthy. Your people don't need it because your bodies handle radiation so much better. You're even more resistant than the savages. Dr Tsing thinks it's because you were exposed to so much radiation in space."
Clarke blinks. Can it really be as simple as that? A straightforward answer to a potentially thorny question?
She really must be on the inside, now. All this gratitude – and starting a career – must really have convinced the locals she is serious about integrating.
She pushes her luck a little further. "The savages? You mean the people we called the grounders?"
"Yes. No one talks about it much, but it's a win-win isn't it? Fewer savages outside to terrorise our ground patrols, and we get our blood supply." Dr Jones says, utterly unconcerned.
Well, then. There must be a hoard of captive grounders behind that locked door.
Clarke doesn't know how she functions for the rest of the day. It's a revelation which shouldn't come as a surprise, given what she and Bellamy had already figured out about this place. But at the same time it's a revelation which feels so big, so overwhelming, that it is a real struggle to keep that calm medical-apprentice mask in place.
And beneath that mask, her mind is working a mile a minute.
She's trying to figure out the links here, trying to join up the dots and make sense of President Wallace's master plan. The teenagers from space have been welcomed with open arms. They haven't been locked up behind that door – at least not yet. And they have outstanding resistance to radiation, compared with the grounders.
The way she sees it, there are two options. All this overt friendliness could just be a distraction, and her people could be locked away to be drained of their blood any day now. But in all honesty, she doesn't think that's very likely. It would be a pointless waste of effort and resources to treat them kindly, only to turn on them so brutally later. If Wallace wanted them in cages, it would have been easier to put them in cages right from the very start.
That's why she thinks the second explanation is more likely – namely, that they are here to be absorbed into the population, in the hope their genes will benefit future generations. The authorities here must want the remains of the hundred to breed with their own youngsters.
That's a problem, she figures. It's a problem on a number of levels. First and foremost, she dislikes the idea that her people are some kind of indebted hostages, that they might be obliged to have children against their wishes with people they have not chosen. Everyone should have the right to make their own decisions about such things.
But it occurs to her that it also leaves her with a more immediate logistical problem. So far, she's been able to share intel with Bellamy – and depend on his support – by pretending that they are in a relationship. But he's a healthy twenty-three-year-old, so if Wallace and his friends do have some sick breeding programme in mind, they will surely request that Bellamy takes part pretty soon.
What if Clarke were to volunteer first?
What if she were to bear the weight of this deal, so her people don't have to? What if she were to hand over her body and her eggs, in exchange for her people being able to make their own choices? What if she were to offer herself up before Bellamy were to be taken, and protect him the way he is always protecting everyone?
No. That's a question for another day. Right now, she has a more pressing priority – the grounders behind that locked door. No one should live in captivity and misery. She knows how it feels, to be locked up. And beyond even that, she still feels an instinctive need to know everything that's going on in this place. She figures that having all the intelligence is the way to see her people safely through the unknown.
She makes it through her day on the medical ward, more or less. She cooks up a few plans, decides what she will say to Bellamy that night about what she has learned.
Most of all, she looks forward to explaining all this in the comfort and safety of his arms.
…...
Bellamy doesn't much like training with the Mount Weather security services. He wonders whether he hates the idea of training with these specific guards he doesn't know well or trust, or whether it's a more general thing. Maybe he never did want to be a guard at all, but only ever started down this path on the Ark to protect his sister.
No. He thinks that's not quite right. He genuinely did enjoy teaching the hundred how to shoot, despite the frightening circumstances. Sure, he would rather he hadn't been teaching them to shoot for the sake of survival. But he genuinely does find guns pretty interesting and enjoy teaching people useful skills.
In other words, he'd rather be the instructor, instead of finding himself at the bottom of the heap all over again.
That's perhaps unfair. He isn't actually at the bottom of the heap. Cage Wallace, as head of security and son of the president, has made it his business to interfere personally in Bellamy's case. He decided that Bellamy should skip the first stages of the programme and head straight to training for a ground unit, in light of his unique experience. Bellamy knows that's supposed to be a great compliment and a sign that their new hosts are determined to show them a suspiciously warm welcome – but frankly it just makes him uncomfortable. Training for a ground unit is evidently a prestigious thing, and all the other people on this course with him are five to ten years his senior. Half of them even have families of their own, for goodness sake.
In other words, they are all real adults. And here's him, a young man who lost his youth along the way, and who's playing house with a woman who is somehow younger but wiser than he is.
He just doesn't fit in at all.
He spends all day, every day, reminding himself that he's doing this for his people. Just like he's spent almost every day of his life to date living to protect others. He thinks that's why this fake relationship with Clarke is so tantalising, actually. It's a little taster of what he can never have – a home life built on mutual love and respect, rather than on him endlessly giving everything he can.
He spends all day, every day doing something dangerous, too. He spends all day, every day, dreaming of sitting on the couch with Clarke.
It's not something they do a lot. Only ever for an hour or so, in the evenings, just before bed. They spend most of their leisure time in the dorm with their friends, or else having sex. But most days they do take a few moments to act like a lovestruck couple by cuddling up on the couch and watching something on TV.
It has fast become Bellamy's favourite activity.
He's rushing to pack up, now, thinking he might go back to the apartment, and put his feet up, and switch the TV on. If he gets home before Clarke, then he could create a nice atmosphere for when she arrives back from the medical ward. She might want to sit and cuddle with him for a while, before they head to the dorm or to supper or wherever she decides they are going next. Yes, that's a good plan, he decides, stuffing his gym towel in a small bag. That was a tough workout. He should probably grab a shower before he -
"Good work, Blake." One of his new comrades says with an approving nod.
"Thanks, Lovejoy." Bellamy nods back at him. He's spoken to the man in passing before now, but they are far from close.
To his surprise, Lovejoy presses on. "I mean it. You've got guts – that's what they're looking for on the ground units, from what I hear. I know some guys talked when you got into this programme but you really deserve the place." He says, with another firm nod.
Bellamy frowns, nodding in turn. "Thanks. I can understand why some people would be frustrated – I know I didn't earn this place on merit, but I'm trying to make up for that now."
Lovejoy gives a stiff laugh. "I don't know. You might as well have earned it. You have more real experience on the ground than even our most experienced scouts."
Bellamy simply nods, with a cautious smile. He's not sure what to make of all these stilted compliments from one of his new colleagues.
"You're in an apartment down the hall from us, right?" Lovejoy asks now. "You and your girl? Clarke, isn't it? You should stop by and visit some time. I know my son would love some different company. It's pretty quiet around here for the kids."
"You have a son? How old?" Bellamy asks – further evidence that he really is the odd one out, in this group of specially selected and experienced troops.
"He turns six next month. Bright little lad – but I guess every father says that."
Bellamy grins. This is a conversation he can join in more fluently, he thinks. "I know I used to think my sister was a really special kid. I raised her."
"Oh?" Lovejoy gives him an approving sort of a look. "Then you really need to come over and meet my boy. He's at that age where he'll argue with me and his mother about anything – maybe you've got some tips."
Bellamy laughs. "He'll grow out of it. That's all I've got. But probably not until his teens at least."
Lovejoy laughs, too. "Thanks, Bellamy. Good to chat to you – come by some time."
With that, his new friend is gone, striding off down the hall. Going home to his family, presumably.
Bellamy watches him go, a little bemused by that whole experience. It catches him by surprise every time he realises that one of the residents of Mount Weather is human, somehow. He feels that way whenever he has a cheerful chat with Maya, too. His mind simply cannot balance the overt friendliness of all these people with the fact they are sustained by some mysterious supply of blood.
That's quite enough worry for one day, he tells himself firmly. Clarke doesn't like it when he makes a martyr of himself in his concern, doesn't like it when he causes himself to spiral. She likes to tell him to trust her and try to get some sleep.
He'd better go home and see if he can relax a little before she gets in from work.
…...
Clarke has had a lovely evening with Bellamy.
It's the strangest thing, when her newfound knowledge about the captive grounders is simmering away in the back of her mind. But she wants to wait and tell him that later, in bed, when she has the opportunity to whisper to him for a long time. She thinks it will be a lengthy conversation.
So it is that she has tried to force that to one side, tonight, whilst visiting their friends in the dorm, and then eating supper with them, and then coming back to the apartment to simply sit on the couch with Bellamy.
OK, she's not exactly sitting. She's snuggling more than anything, tucked into his side, a blanket around her legs as they watch some long-outdated documentary of the wildlife that used to live on Earth before the bombs.
"Do you ever watch these kinds of shows and wonder if these animals were even real?" Bellamy asks, now, as a rather lethargic sloth shuffles across the screen. "To me they might as well be from the myths my mum used to tell me."
She frowns. "I guess the biology of it interests me. And I think it's important to remember all these animals were real and human bombs wiped a lot of them out. I hope that will remind us not to destroy the Earth again." She fears that might be a naïve hope, though. She for one has made a lot of extreme decisions with very little choice, since she came to Earth. She can see how destruction happens – and finds it frighteningly easy to imagine herself making horrific, world-ending choices if the circumstances conspired against her.
Bellamy hums lightly. "I like this. I like discussing stuff like this with you. It reminds me of the way we used to argue back at the dropship but less angry."
"And with less risk of death." She adds tiredly.
He nods, hugs her a little tighter against his side. "Yeah. There's that too."
"I know what you mean." She agrees. "It's good to sit and talk about a documentary instead of worrying about taking care of people for a change. We should make time for this more often."
"I'd like that."
Silence sits for a few moments. Clarke is content to let it. That sloth really is a fascinating animal. She wonders whether any of them made it. If she were to take a very long walk – or perhaps a very long swim – could she see one, still?
No. That's a totally foolish dream, isn't it? At this rate, she will never live a quiet enough life to go searching for relics from Earth before the bombs.
The documentary draws to a close. Bellamy yawns a little, pressing a kiss to Clarke's forehead.
"Bed?" He suggests brightly.
"Bed." She agrees with a firm nod.
They make short work of their bathroom routines and of getting ready for bed. There's a kind of comfortable domesticity between them, now, which Clarke likes far more than she ought. It's a long time since she has felt simply at home with anyone – or in any place. Since her father's rebellion, and her time in solitary, and her arrival on Earth, she hasn't felt this sense of relaxed belonging.
When they are both in bed, they start kissing. It's instinctive at this point, the way they reach for each other and end the day with some kind of physical intimacy. There's often sex in the morning, too, and even sometimes when they are simply loitering at home together in the afternoon.
Clarke's no longer sure whether that's because they need to convince security that they cannot keep their hands off each other, or whether they're both enjoying the chance to find some comfort with each other along the way in these frightening times.
Tonight she wants to keep the foreplay long and slow. She wants to have the chance to hold a substantial conversation with Bellamy.
Kissing her way along his neck, now, she reaches for his cock with a gentle hand as she starts to speak.
"The blood supply comes from captive grounders. I found out today. It seems like everyone's fine with it – the doctor who told me called them savages." She explains, stroking his cock slowly all the while. It's so incongruous that she wants to laugh, or cry, or maybe both.
Bellamy places a hand over hers, wordlessly asks her to be still. That's a fair point, she decides. She doesn't actually need to be starting to get him off – she just needs to look like she is. As long as her hand is under the covers, they're all good. She can probably stop groping him while they have this difficult conversation.
She's just got too used to touching him while they talk about difficult issues, in recent times. She wonders what it might be like to sleep with him without plotting a revolution, one of these days.
No. That's a silly thought. This is just temporary, and she has just let herself enjoy it too much along the way.
Bellamy, meanwhile, has gathered his thoughts and is whispering back to her. "That's awful, but it's not a surprise, is it?"
"No. You're right. I really want to get into the place where they're holding them." Clarke suggests. "We could find out how many there are and how they're keeping them captive. We might be able to release them to fight with us if it comes down to it."
"Trojan horse. I like it."
"Or we might be able to do something even more than that. These people must all know they get the blood from grounders. But would they stand for it if it turns out the grounders are kept in horrible conditions and we tell them that? Could we get the Mount Weather citizens themselves to demand change?"
"Revolution suits you, Princess."
"You know I was in solitary for treason?" She asks. They've never talked about that, and it's a bit off topic, but suddenly she finds that she wants to share that very personal part of her story with him.
"Yeah. That's why I just said that." He kisses her, light and teasing. "I'm proud of you."
"I haven't done anything yet." She counters, a little flustered.
He smiles. He leans back in for some more whispers. "You've done more than you know."
She flushes at that, kisses him a little more. It seems like quite a big kind of compliment, she thinks – and somehow a deeper one than she was expecting.
"What's the plan?" He asks now. "You want to take a look behind that locked door?"
"I've got a different idea. There are vents all over this place to circulate the air from the scrubbers. What if we start out at the maintenance closet nearest that locked door? You think there might be air vents leading from there?"
"That sounds like a start."
Clarke makes an agreeing sort of sound, and decides that a start is good enough for now.
It's time to get back on with stroking his cock.
…...
Bellamy thinks that this latest mission has gone well, more or less. They've certainly made more progress than they did on their first couple of covert investigations. They did find a ventilation shaft leading from the maintenance closet, and they got a good enough view of the grounders in captivity to find out a few things – first and foremost that the conditions are horrific, with hundreds upon hundreds of grounders crammed into dirty cages. Bellamy may have been fighting these people, a few weeks ago, but all the same it turns his stomach. It's horrific to see them disrespected and dehumanised like this. And apart from anything else, it's scary to know that their hosts in Mount Weather are capable of such brutality.
There is good news of a kind here, too, though. The locks on the cages do not look especially robust. If they wanted to free this grounder army, they would only need to steal the keys or find some bolt-cutters. When Bellamy considers how much more confident and proactive Wells and Miller and the others have seemed since Bellamy and Clarke moved out of the dorm, he thinks that there is a good chance for a rebellion by force, if they find themselves making that choice.
He's rather hoping they can find a peaceful solution, though. Clarke has taught him that peaceful solutions can be nice. That peace itself can be a good thing, and that quiet and comfortable time on the couch is something everyone should be able to enjoy once in a while.
It's when they crawl back through the ventilation shaft and return to the maintenance closet that they realise they have a problem. They barricaded the door, more or less, with a few boxes that were in here. And on the other side of the door, someone is hammering away and ordering them to open up.
"Don't worry. We've been here before." Clarke murmurs to him, calm and level-headed despite the situation. "Here. Drop your pants and sit down." She gestures to a crate.
He does as she asks. He tugs his clothes aside, sits on the crate. Is she really hoping all this will simply blow over with another blow job? She can't be. They've tried that before and were told in no uncertain terms that they were to use their room in future.
All the same, his cock stiffens at the mere thought of it.
Oh. Wow. Not a blowjob. But rather Clarke pulling her own clothes aside then sinking straight down onto his cock, wriggling in his lap as she gets comfortable. Wrapping her arms around his neck, then starting to ride him briskly.
It feels incredible. He knows he really shouldn't be concentrating on that right now. But as well as feeling good on a purely physical level, it also feels right to have her sitting on top and setting the pace like this. Everything from the way she decided on this plan, to the way she told him what to do, to the way she's now riding him, is getting him rather riled up.
He always did prefer leader Clarke to giggly Clarke.
"Sounds like there's someone at the door." She announces loudly, with one of those false giggles. "I love it when we get caught. I love being caught with you, Bellamy."
So that's the angle they're going for. "You're a naughty girl, Princess." He tries, deep and throaty. "But we really should open the door."
"No, we -"
At last, the guards on the other side of the door force it open. They don't look so much as slightly surprised – just embarrassed, and exasperated, and really rather tired.
Bellamy almost feels bad about that, until he remembers the grounders in cages.
He holds Clarke, tight and protective, as he peeks over her shoulder to address their visitors.
"Hey, guys. Sorry – what can I say? She loves the rebel in me." He offers, smug and cocky.
One of the guards clears her throat. "You're to report to Cage Wallace, Mr Blake. Immediately."
He nods, smirking a little. Cage Wallace, not President Wallace? Is that because Cage is his commanding officer as a new recruit to security, or is there something else going on here?
"I'm coming with him." Clarke insists, petulant, managing to look rather younger than her usual mature manner.
"No, Miss Griffin. You're to go home. Mr Wallace just wants to see Mr Blake." The guard insists.
Bellamy swallows tightly. That's good. If there is serious trouble here, it sounds like only he is in serious trouble. He has clearly done a decent job at making it look like he is the one calling the shots – and the rebel out of the two of them, too – and Clarke is just a naïve young girl he's leading astray. That's perfect, as far as he can see. That means she has some protection, and he will face the blame.
"Go on, Clarke. Go home and wait for me." He tells her, with a kiss on the forehead.
"Don't wait up." The guard counters. "Mr Blake may be gone some time."
Crap. They really have gone and done it now, by the sound of it. But that's OK, he tells himself. Clarke is safe. Even if he is killed or thrown from the bunker or some other horrific fate, at least she will still be here to save their people. And she has much more information at her disposal than she did only half an hour ago. She'll be fine, and so will their friends.
When the time comes, and his clothing is back in place, he leaves the closet with his head held high. He strides down the corridor with the guards, trying to keep his arrogant smirk in place at all times.
In his head, he's reciting his story. He's just a joker and a rebel. Just a stupid guy who gets off on sneaking around. Just taking advantage of Clarke's naïve fascination with his rule-breaking side.
He only hopes he can keep his smirk convincing enough to pull this off.
He arrives at Cage's office. The man himself is still up, frowning over some documents on his desk. The guards announce Bellamy and then flee with all haste.
No one seems to like Cage at all, in his experience. People seem to run away from the President much less quickly.
"Bellamy. I'm sure you know why you're here." Cage begins, frowning.
Bellamy shrugs, carefully light. "Calling the security forces out late at night again. I'm sorry – I know we have the apartment now. But it's just not the same, is it?"
"Not the same?" Cage asks, eyes narrowed. Good – he's biting, buying into Bellamy's excuse.
"Yeah. Not the same as sneaking around. I get off on that, you know? I guess I have a kind of kink for the forbidden." He says, arrogant, leaning back in his chair. As if danger is something to be flirted with, rather than feared.
Cage grins slightly. Thank goodness. That's just the creepy reaction Bellamy was hoping for. "I get that. All the ladies like a rebel."
"Clarke certainly does." He says, coarse and laughing. "She can't get enough of blowing me in storage closets."
"You're a lucky guy. I like a girl who doesn't complain about getting down on her knees, don't you?"
Bellamy nods, covers his horror with that same smooth smirk. Wonders about pointing out that Clarke is a woman, thank you very much. That she's a mature adult who can lead people, and that Cage should not refer to her as if she's so juvenile.
No. That probably wouldn't help his case.
Cage presses on. "She's an interesting girl, your Clarke. She doesn't seem like the rebel type."
That's so far wrong Bellamy simply has to laugh. But then he presses on, makes use of his laugh for the greater good. "I know what you mean. She was so up-tight when we first met. You know her mother is a politician on the Ark? That's part of the attraction, to be honest with you. What better way of sneaking around than to corrupt a councillor's daughter?"
Cage snorts out an undignified and rather disturbing laugh. "Good for you, Blake. That's one way of taking down the system."
Bellamy simply shrugs, as if he cannot help being so dangerously attractive, as if breaking sexual and social rules is simply his calling in life.
Cage tries to adopt a stern expression, but it's not really working for him. He's already ruined any credibility he ever had, Bellamy thinks, by joining in such disgusting locker-room chat with a young recruit who is under his command.
He thinks Cage might be the most repulsive man he's ever met, actually.
"Blake – I get it. I really do. We all have our urges, you know? But I can't keep calling guards out in the middle of the night to move you on. These late-night expeditions stop here."
Bellamy makes a point of laughing. "It doesn't feel so filthy and forbidden in broad daylight, though."
Cage laughs at that too. "We don't get broad daylight down here anyway. How's that for a deal – you can play at sneaking around as long as you do it in the daytime? I can't keep calling the guards out of hours. And stay out of the way – nowhere near the medical wing. Let me recommend the storage facility on level two." He says pointedly.
Bellamy nods, smirks. Did his commanding officer really just recommend a little law to break? Did he genuinely just say he would turn a blind eye to that smaller act of rebellion?
This man really is a piece of work. But at least it seems Bellamy is still breathing, and likely to stay that way for a little while yet.
He thanks Cage and goes on his way. He's keen to get back to Clarke, back to the relative safety of the apartment. Back to the comfort of her arms, most of all.
He's keen to get back and have a hug, so he can pretend he didn't just say all those disgusting things about her. He can tell himself that he did it for her own good, yes. That he did it as part of their cover story, did it to save the two of them and ultimately their friends.
But at the end of the day, he knows he just told Cage he's attracted to Clarke for all the wrong reasons. Because she'll blow him anywhere, any time. Because of who her mother is – or was – and the chance to stick it to the system. Because she's some kind of object to possess and use and flaunt.
It doesn't sit well with him at all, because it's rude and hurtful, and because it couldn't be further from the truth.
Thanks for reading!