Another Thursday, another chapter. Huge thanks as ever to Stormkpr for betaing, and to everyone who left encouraging comments! Happy reading!
Bellamy is looking forward to a nice quiet afternoon. He'll play some chess with Wells, probably, and then hang out with all his friends and Clarke until supper. Or maybe he and Clarke will sneak back to their apartment just before the meal for a quick -
"Bellamy?" Clarke sits down on the couch at his side, says his name a little too loudly.
He shoots a glance at her, startled. He didn't miss anything. He could swear he didn't – he wasn't so deeply lost in thoughts of sex with Clarke. So why is she saying his name quite like that, as if it doesn't taste right in her mouth?
"What is it?" He asks, suddenly apprehensive.
She's not helping him, here. She's fidgeting in her seat, slanting quick glances at him from the corner of her eye rather than meeting his gaze head-on as she usually does.
"Clarke?" He prompts, gentle, reaching out a hand to rest on her thigh instinctively.
She seems to relax a little under his touch. She visibly gathers herself, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
"Would you come to my drawing place this afternoon?"
He frowns. "What?"
"Would you like to come join me while I draw? There's this little alcove I like to sit in. It's quiet and the floor is always clean – everything's always clean in this place." She rattles on, as if he might be concerned about getting a dusty backside.
As if that's why he's looking at her like she's lost her mind.
"You're asking me to join you while you draw? Are you sure?" He asks, frowning harder than ever. "That's – it's your time. I don't want to get in the way of that."
"You wouldn't be in the way. I was thinking – I'd really like you to come with me sometime. I always used to spend a lot of time on my own but lately I've been wondering whether that's the best thing for me. I was wondering whether maybe I need to find a better balance. Whether some time on my own is good for me but I – I don't need to be lonely any more." She concludes with visible effort.
His heart breaks, there and then. He could swear it's true. "Clarke -"
"Only if you want to." She presses on, speaking quickly now. "I get it if you'd rather spend the afternoon with Wells and Miller and the others. It's only a suggestion."
"I want to." He says firmly, before she can worry herself any further. "If you want to share your drawing space with me, of course I want to be there for you."
She nods, smiles tentatively. "I hoped you'd say that. I've been thinking maybe I need to practise sharing things like this with the people I trust."
He gulps. He's on the list of the people she trusts. He's top of that list, implicitly – how else can he look at it, when this is clearly the first time she's asked anyone a request like this? When she is so deeply nervous about this conversation that she barely looks like Clarke in this moment?
"I'm honoured I make the list." He says, carefully light. "You're right – you don't have to be lonely any more. We've got each other now."
She nods, more determined than truly convinced, he thinks. She's evidently still struggling with the magnitude of the invitation she just issued.
He decides to do what he can to help her out with that.
He keeps it simple, just sidling closer to her on the couch and pulling her into his arms. He wants her leaning right up against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, even. He wants to reassure her that he's right here, and he's not going anywhere, and she absolutely can trust him with anything and everything she chooses to throw at him.
She gets his message. She wraps an arm tight around his waist in turn and rests her head on his chest, gradually relaxing in his embrace until she feels more like the calm, confident Clarke he knows and loves.
Loves as a friend, of course. As a good friend and fake girlfriend, as a colleague and companion and bedmate.
Or – maybe as a little bit more than all that.
It's only then that he realises it. Only then that his head catches up with his heart, and he realises something about this entire conversation.
They've had it all out loud. In normal, carrying voices, not urgent, secretive whispers. They've conducted the whole conversation at the volume they usually use when putting on a show for the benefit of the security team.
But this was a conversation for them, wasn't it? He could swear it was. It was a conversation about the state of Clarke's head, and implicitly about the state of her heart. It was a conversation about the genuine connection they share, he's sure of it – and not a conversation about two horny youths playing at falling in love.
Maybe she's started to forget the parts they are playing, too. Maybe he's not the only one who's feeling the lines blur, relaxing further into domestic bliss.
All the same, he decides he owes it to her to check. He'd never forgive himself if he made her uncomfortable and infringed on her privacy by mistake.
"Was that real or for Cage?" He asks, whispering against her neck. "I can make up an excuse to leave you alone if you need me to. I get it if you think I'm supposed to be there, but -"
"Real." She interrupts him, firm but still whispering. "Sorry – I should have made that clearer. But even with this act we're putting on, I don't think I could bring myself to lie about things like loneliness and letting you in."
He frowns. He's not sure that sounds like Clarke, to be honest. Or at least not the Clarke he first knew on the ground, who would sell her own soul if it meant protecting her people. He knows she's softened and relaxed a little while they have lived in relative peace here, and he's happy for her.
It's an interesting idea. That even amidst this lie, there are some lines she will not cross. That there are some things which touch her heart too deeply to include in the act. He's never sat down and thought of it that way – he's just instinctively been trying to show her he genuinely does care about her, as well as being obliged to appear to care for her for the sake of their fake relationship.
"OK. Great. Then I guess I'm coming to your drawing place this afternoon." He concludes, pressing a kiss to her cheek to seal the deal.
…...
Clarke thinks the time spent in her drawing alcove with Bellamy goes as well as could be expected, really. An improvised date to a small space under the stairs is never going to be the stuff of epic romance. But they chat a little, and then he reads quietly while she draws, and occasionally she shows him her sketching or he reads her an extract from his book.
Anyway – it's not really about what they do, is it? She didn't invite him here to judge her shading or quote Woolf or look at the wallpaper. She invited him here as an almost symbolic thing, to show herself and him that she doesn't need to be alone any more. That she can choose her own company, sometimes, if she genuinely wants it, but she can ask for his support when she prefers that instead.
After a couple of hours, she is the one who suggests they should leave. She knows Bellamy won't – he's evidently somewhat nervous about breaking the sanctity of her safe space, apprehensive about saying or doing the wrong thing.
"What now?" He asks, as they get to their feet and start walking. "You want to head to the dorm and play some chess?"
She knows what she wants, honestly. That relaxed time with Bellamy has put her right in the mood to get him naked and ride his cock. She feels close to him, in this moment, perhaps more than she ever has before, and she wants to take that feeling and run with it.
But she remembers her role as his giggly young girlfriend and tries to decide how to go about phrasing her demand.
Best to avoid the subject altogether, she thinks. Best to silently suggest the idea to him.
"I want to go back to our place and drop my sketchbook off." She says, carefully innocent. But even as she says it, she brushes the back of her hand against his, shoots him a loaded look.
He gets the idea. Their communication is that good, these days. His eyes are heated as he leans close to whisper in her ear.
"You don't usually drop your sketchbook off before playing chess." He murmurs, teasing.
"I know."
"Is this all some scheme to get me into bed?" He presses, smirking slightly.
She simply nods. He grins at her, satisfied, and straightens up to keep walking.
He reaches out to take her hand, though, so that's progress.
They walk quickly, as they head back to their apartment. Too quickly, probably, the anticipation getting to them. Clarke wonders whether she will ever stop being excited at the thought of screwing Bellamy. She still gets this odd jolt deep in her core whenever she thinks about it, as if her body hasn't quite realised this is real, yet.
Sorry – not real. Fake. Fake, but happening. And wonderful, too.
They arrive through the door, and Clarke even stumbles a little over her own feet in her eagerness. Never mind – that will help her to appear suitably naïve if anyone is watching, she hopes.
She really does wonder how often the Mount Weather security forces watch them fuck.
She kicks her shoes off and puts her sketchbook down all at once. Bellamy does likewise with his shoes and book, apparently desperate to get started.
Maybe he enjoyed that sweet afternoon of closeness, too. Maybe he enjoyed sitting pressed up against her and growing closer emotionally, all at once.
"What do you want today?" He asks her, reaching out with his hands to seize her upper arms and pull her close against his chest.
"You." She says simply. She's not feeling fussy. She just wants to feel loved.
Sorry – appreciated. Liked. Pleasantly used.
He nods. He pulls her closer still, so their hips are pressed together already by the time he starts kissing her hotly. It's the oddest combination of urgency and tenderness, some of the peace of this afternoon under the stairs following them home. She tries to match him, tries to respond in kind with eager lips and gentle hands.
He starts undressing her first. That's often the way – it's simply a product of the characters they have created for themselves. She follows his lead, tugging his shirt over his head, unbuckling his belt with clumsy fingers.
At last, they are both naked. Naked and collapsing onto the bed with loud sighs. Tumbling over one another in their eagerness, laughing into the kiss. Clarke has to admit, she loves how purely fun sex with Bellamy can be when he gets like this. When he's feeling confident and lighthearted and not doubting himself and his performance all the time.
Bellamy takes the lead. He takes the lead by asking her to take the lead, because that is how their fake relationship works. He tumbles them over on the bed, Clarke clasped tight in his arms, until he is on the bottom and she is sprawled on top of him, giggling lightly.
She's pretty sure she didn't used to be capable of giggling like this, at the dropship. It's a special sort of lightness she hasn't felt since she was a carefree child, and she's overjoyed to have rediscovered it in bed with Bellamy.
"Sit up and ride my cock." He tells her, too quiet to be meant for the cameras, too loud to be a conspiratorial whisper. It's just for them, pure and simple. A part of the moment.
She makes a point of taking her time. She teases him a little, reaching in for a few more kisses. Then she's wiggling her hips, making a show of being slow to find his cock.
He loses patience. He reaches down to grab his own erection, angles it towards her pussy with a pointed glare. It's such a mess, this – the two of them reaching over and around each other as they play together – but it's the best possible kind of mess, she thinks.
She sinks down onto the length of his cock and starts moving right away. She's teased him long enough, now. She's teased herself long enough, too, and is more than eager to chase her own pleasure.
She needs to take care of Bellamy first though – or at the same time, maybe. He'd never forgive her if she focussed on his pleasure to the detriment of her own, she's pretty sure.
"Clarke. Stop thinking too hard and fuck yourself on my cock." He mutters now, reaching up to squeeze affectionately at one of her breasts. He's become firm friends with her tits in recent weeks.
She likes that he felt he could say that. He's getting better at communicating honestly with her in the bedroom, despite the inherent deception of this fake relationship.
She grins at him, tries to do as he asks. He's so right – she does still struggle to let go of her concerns and anxieties. But in her defence, she's better at it when she's in bed with Bellamy than she is at pretty much any other time.
She focuses as best she can on the sensations. His cock in her pussy, of course. His hand on her breast, sometimes his lips and tongue when he strains up to catch a nipple. But then there's the other things which are harder to name. That sense of warm muscle beneath her, firm stomach in front of her, toned hips against the inside of her thighs. The smell of Bellamy, and of sex, and of Bellamy having sex. The sound of breathless desire and her own eager wetness as she moves against him.
Then there's something new in the mix. Amidst all those sounds and sensations, she picks out a low groan, barely audible, as Bellamy starts to waver.
"You're OK. I've got you." She reminds him, moving a little faster.
He simply nods, groans louder.
"I've got you. I'm close too. I'm -"
She never finishes that sentence. She's distracted by Bellamy coming, letting out a tortured moan as he falls apart.
The sheer delighted shock of it is enough to push her over the edge, too. She's amazed. Absolutely thrilled. To have Bellamy dare to come first must mean something, she thinks. He's so damn insecure about his sexual performance. If he's relaxed enough with her to simply enjoy himself and not sweat the timing, that's brilliant, she decides, as she sags forwards and tries to withstand the strong aftershocks of her orgasm.
She stays there for several long seconds, slumped with her hands on his chest and her core giving way. She simply breathes, smiles, and stares somewhat pathetically at Bellamy's utterly relaxed face.
"That was good." She says. She knows she needs to, otherwise he'll probably start apologising. He's like that.
"It was." He agrees, with a cautious smile.
She goes to lie down at his side for a cuddle, when they are finished. That is their usual routine now, as far as she is concerned. But this time, she does not curl up on his chest. She's not quite sure how it happens, but one moment he is shuffling across the bed, and the next moment he has his head cushioned on her breasts, is snuggling his cheek against her sensitive skin.
He doesn't speak. He just lies there, close, breathing.
Clarke's fine with that. She's in no hurry to leave this place, doesn't feel much need to talk. The skin of Bellamy's cheek is soft and warm against her breast, his hair silky beneath her fingers as she starts to stroke his hair.
It's not until a couple of minutes later that she realises he's fallen asleep.
She shouldn't be surprised. He's been working so hard at training for the Mount Weather security forces, and she knows he's been feeling increasingly tired, of late. He's not said anything, of course – he's Bellamy. But she knows him well enough by now, she likes to think, that she can see it in the heaviness that's been settling around his eyes all the same.
She lets him keep sleeping. Obviously she does – he's exhausted, and she cares about him, so leaving him to rest is the sensible choice.
There might be a little more than that going on here, though, if she's truly honest. She likes having Bellamy take a nap on her chest. It feels good, to have him warm in her arms like this, all soft skin and firm muscle. Most of all, though, she likes what it means. She likes to know that he is so relaxed and comfortable around her that he can give himself a break.
She knows the moment he wakes up. He stiffens slightly in her arms, before evidently remembering where he is and relaxing all over again. He squeezes her a little tighter and presses a soft kiss to her chest.
"I'd say I'm sorry for falling asleep on you, but you'd tell me not to apologise." He murmurs, wry.
She laughs slightly, still stroking her hand over his hair and down as far as his shoulders. "I would. Good nap?"
"Yeah. Lovely actually. You make a good pillow." He jokes. "Thanks. I – yeah. I've been a little tired recently."
"I know. I notice these things." She murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.
Silence sits for a moment. She wonders whether he might doze off again, whether he took that conversation as implicit permission to be vulnerable with her about such things as tiredness.
But he still sounds awake, she thinks. His breathing hasn't softened or lengthened so very much. He's simply lying there, awake but restful, enjoying her embrace.
That's why she says it. That's why it seems the perfect moment to say the words she was beginning to fear she would never say to anyone, until she moved into this peaceful apartment with Bellamy.
"I love you."
She says it loud enough that he can presume it is for the benefit of their security eavesdroppers, if he wants to. They were going to have to say it to each other sooner or later, weren't they? It was bound to form part of their act eventually.
But she's not acting, as she says it. Or – not quite. She's saying it for real, because the genuine connection she has with Bellamy, through this shared experience, is real even if the relationship itself is fake.
In short, there is definitely love here. Whether it's romantic love, or a friendship forged in the jaws of hell, love is still love.
"I love you too." He says, just a moment too late. Just a beat of disbelieving silence before he says the words.
But he says them. He says them like he means them, like he's been delighted and even moved to find something real amidst this ruse, too.
Clarke feels like she has left solitary at last.
…...
Bellamy doesn't feel like he's at his most functional, the following morning, as he tries to get on with his day's training.
That's partly because he's tired, despite a decent night's sleep holding Clarke close. It's partly because he's frustrated that he's not come up with some brilliant plan to get their people safely out of here without being drilled for their bone marrow or forced into some monstrous breeding programme. He's really beginning to wonder how long they must spend, here, biding their time while Clarke learns what she can. He understands that she wants to be well informed, wants to have all the pieces of the puzzle before making her move. But all the same, being patient while his people might be dragged into danger at any moment is hardly his greatest strength. And whilst he might not like the grounders very much, he struggles to put out of mind the idea that they are suffering while he and Clarke wait around.
There's another reason he's not feeling very functional, though. He's a bit preoccupied with something. There's three little words, circling around and around and around in his head and driving him out of his mind.
I love you.
Clarke said that yesterday. He knows, because he was there. He heard her say it, and he said it back, and then went to get on with having a perfectly normal evening as if nothing remarkable had happened.
She loves him.
He knows it must be the truth. Not for so much as a second does he seriously consider that she might have said it only for the sake of their act. After what she said about there being some things she couldn't fake, he's pretty sure a love confession is not something she would throw out at the world to support the ruse of their fake relationship.
So he's not torturing himself wondering whether she loves him. He's torturing himself wondering how she loves him.
Does she love him as a friend, or a brother in arms? He thinks she'd feel comfortable saying the words in that case. But he can't help but feel she implied a more specifically romantic love by saying it in the time and place she did. Saying I love you whilst cuddling in bed is normally an unambiguously romantic kind of a confession, isn't it?
But does that mean Clarke actually feels romantic love for him? He's pretty sure he doesn't deserve to get that lucky, not after every mistake he's made in this life. Not after -
"You holding up alright, Blake?" Lovejoy slaps him heartily on the shoulder as he asks the question.
Bellamy blinks, tries to bring himself back to the moment. He's in the locker room at the guards' training centre. He's supposed to be changing out of his sweaty kit and taking a shower.
He's supposed to be focused on his training, not on Clarke.
"Yeah. Sorry. Just tired this morning." Bellamy says, carefully light.
"You said that yesterday." Lovejoy tells him, eyes narrowing in a paternal sort of concern.
Bellamy laughs very deliberately. "I guess all that time running our camp up topside is still catching up with me."
Honestly, he doesn't know why he's so exhausted. Training is tough, yes, but he's known tougher. The stress of wondering what will happen to his friends is tough, and he does sometimes stay up later than he ought in order to spend as much time as possible with Clarke. But none of these things on their own ought to be so very tiring.
Maybe it's the combination of all of these factors stacked together, he wonders. Or maybe there is some truth in what he said to Lovejoy – that he is still catching up with himself after a tough couple of months.
"Take care, Bellamy." Lovejoy says now, frowning slightly. "You've got to pace yourself. I remember when I first started training it was tough – mentally as well as physically."
Bellamy nods. He wasn't expecting to have a conversation with any of his colleagues that was actually about anything – not even with Lovejoy, who is probably the closest to a friend he has on the Mount Weather security team.
"You're lucky – you've got your girl to support you. Your Clarke. She taking good care of you?"
Bellamy snorts out a short laugh at that. He can't help it. "Yeah, she's looking after me." He says. It's a gross oversimplification of everything they are to each other, but it is correct in essence, at least.
She loves him. Clarke loves him.
But Lovejoy probably doesn't need to know that.
He tries to steer the conversation in a new direction. "I guess it's tough to stay motivated when we haven't been up topside yet. Do you know when we're getting our first ground mission? Cage seemed to be saying it would be soon."
Lovejoy glances around the otherwise empty room, then leans close. "I've heard it might be as soon as some time this week. There's something out there they want a big scouting party to go take a look at."
"There is? What kind of thing?"
"No idea. Can't be one of the savages' villages. We've had those mapped for years. Could be anything – but what would be that big?"
Bellamy has no idea. He has absolutely no clue at all.
But one thing he does know for certain – Clarke will want to hear about this.
…...
Clarke is on edge at work, the day Bellamy goes on his first ground mission. She knows that's silly – nothing is likely to happen to him out there. He has natural resistance to the radiation, so he does not run the same risks in going up topside as the Mount Weather natives. He's pretty confident on the ground, knows how to handle himself in most situations. And he now has access to top quality weapons and a bulletproof vest, so he should be more than capable of keeping himself safe.
All the same, she's nervous. She's nervous because everything happened so quickly – it's less than twenty-four hours since he first heard that rumour he might be going out on a ground mission. She's nervous because it sounds like this is an unusual kind of mission, both in scale and type, although Bellamy was told very little about it before he left. She's nervous because the grounders do not use bullets, which leaves her wondering if Bellamy is wearing a bulletproof vest for some other mysterious reason.
She's nervous, because he's not safely by her side. And she supposes she'll stay nervous until he's back where he belongs.
She does her best to concentrate on her day job. She has a couple of patients in for blood transfusions today, and she forces herself to make a start even though there are grounders behind the walls supplying that blood. She wishes there was a way out of doing this without rousing suspicion. She wishes -
Oh no. What a crying shame. She has accidentally tripped over her own feet and damaged to IV line. How foolishly clumsy of her.
She thinks she does a good act in being naïve, since she came to this place.
She heads to the medical ward office. It's Dr Jones on duty in there today, and she looks up and smiles as she sees Clarke enter.
"I'm sorry. I had a stupid accident." She lies through her teeth. "I think I need a new transfusion kit. But I'm worried I might have damaged the line where it's built into the wall. Can we still use it? Or do I need to leave those transfusions for today?"
Dr Jones narrows her eyes slightly. "We can't risk having a problem if you think equipment is damaged. And neither of those transfusions is urgent – they're both routine top-up treatments. They'll wait a couple of days."
Clarke nods, carefully obedient.
"I'll go unhook the donor from the line." Dr Jones says, getting to her feet.
That gives Clarke pause. It doesn't seem like a very Mount Weather thing to do, she thinks. She's not sure every doctor in this place would urgently go disconnect a bleeding grounder from the equipment the second a transfusion failed.
She considers it, pulls together her thoughts as quickly as she can. Dr Jones who is always giving her hints and tips. Who tells her more information than she probably should.
Who doesn't like to leave grounders bleeding to death for no reason.
Maybe there is more to this colleague of hers than meets the eye. She tests her theory with a simple question. "Could I come with you to help with that?"
Dr Jones shakes her head. "Best not. Only qualified doctors past that door. We don't want anyone to suspect you of getting too curious." She says pointedly.
Clarke nods. She hesitates. She wonders what to ask next, how else to show Dr Jones she thinks she might have figured it out.
Dr Jones presses on regardless. "Are you OK, Clarke? You look nervous. You're not going to get in trouble for one silly accident. No one was hurt."
Clarke shakes her head. "It's not that. I think it's more – Bellamy. He went on a ground mission today and it seemed like a big event, but no one would tell us where he was going."
"That's not unusual round here. Information is on a need-to-know basis. I've spent years trying to get involved in Dr Tsing's bone marrow research but it seems to be shrouded in secrecy." Dr Jones says, too carefully light and casual as she walks towards the door.
"Bone marrow research?" Clarke asks at once.
"Yes. Bone marrow. Why – is that a research area that interests you?" Dr Jones says, with a pointed look which makes it quite clear it ought to interest Clarke. Perhaps even that it ought to interest her urgently.
Clarke gathers her thoughts as quickly as she can. This is it, isn't it? This is the dark secret at the heart of Mount Weather. Bone marrow – that's what they want the kids from the sky for. And all at once, it seems too convenient that Bellamy is out of the bunker today, and that Clarke herself is scheduled for a full day in med bay. That seems more likely to be tactic than coincidence, she fears.
Today is the day Dr Tsing is making her move. She would stake her life on it.
In fact, she supposes she's about to do just that.
It's go time. It's go time, and Bellamy's not here – that's precisely why she needs to go now.
She never thought she would have to act without Bellamy. She was starting to hope she might never have to do anything without him ever again.
She shakes herself. This is not the time to worry about that. She simply needs to get on with it. She'll head straight to the president's office and propose a deal. They will donate bone marrow on a voluntary basis in return for access to Mount Weather resources and technology, perhaps. Children will be able to opt out if they wish to, and everyone will be treated humanely.
And part of the deal? The grounders will be freed.
Clarke gathers her courage, looks Dr Jones right in the eye.
"Would you excuse me?" She asks. "I am feeling quite faint. I think that's why I tripped and had that accident. I think maybe I need to lie down for the rest of the day."
Dr Jones nods. "Of course. I understand."
She's standing right next to Clarke, now. She leans in, just a little, just enough to whisper.
"Don't worry. I'm on duty here for the rest of the day. If I hear that they've taken any of your friends, I'll release the prisoners. That was my plan all along, if it came down to it – create chaos and hope for the best."
Even amidst this sticky situation, Clarke has to laugh at that. "You'd get on well with Bellamy. Thank you, Dr Jones."
"Please – I think you should call me Mary. Take care, Clarke. You're not alone – I'm not the only one."
That's what has Clarke holding her head up high, as she strides out the door of the medical ward and heads towards the President's office. She might not have Bellamy by her side, but isn't the world full of friends in unexpected places?
She is not alone.
Thanks for reading!