100 One Shots #6
Disclaimer: I do not own The 100 nor do I own anything on CW.
Wounded Animal
Bellamy sat on a makeshift stool just outside his tent sharpening his knife. He mentally counted each scrape his knife made against the whetstone, the sound oddly comforting after so long on the ground.
This basic manual task calmed him, allowing his hands to keep busy while his mind wandered. It helped when he was feeling stressed about camp, or when Octavia was giving him one of her 'I need to be free' speeches. His worries would settle as his blade was honed to a razor sharpness, glinting dangerously in the bright sunlight.
1… 2… 3… 4… 5… Turn the blade, and repeat. This was simple- easy. This was something he could control, unlike the camp full of delinquents who counted on him for survival.
He couldn't say he disliked being a leader because he liked it very much. However, there were certain things about the job that he disliked. Like the constant complaints the teens brought to him at all hours of the day.
"There's a whole in my tent!"
"I can't start the fire!"
"Someone stole my jacket!"
They were never ending, and each more ludicrous than the last. It grated on his nerves, and he feared that one day he would snap and resort to violence. They were like sheep, needing to be told where to go, what to eat, and where to sleep.
Bellamy tried his best with the day-to-day running of the camp, the work details, guard roster, and hunting parties. Clarke had her hands full with the endless number of injuries the kids seemed to acquire, spending nearly all of her time in the self-declared infirmary in the drop ship.
He'd seen her many times with her brow creased in frustration as a stream of injured teenagers flowed into medical with burns, cuts, colds, and who knows what else. She barely had time to care for herself let alone help him with construction. Not that he needed help. He had Miller, Sterling, Finn, and Deek- they were good with camp work. He just liked having her there.
Although Finn was more focused on Clarke than the work that needed to be done, and Bellamy had caught him pestering the blonde as she worked alongside Octavia in the med-bay.
He'd go to check in on his sister, only to watch as Clarke tried, and failed, to hide a look of exasperation as she turned away from Finn and pretended to be searching for something, her lips forming a thin line and her eyes rolling in annoyance. He enjoyed those moments they made him laugh.
Bellamy looked up from sharpening his knife to see Clarke walk out of the drop ship. Her gaze swept over the camp, obviously looking for an escape. He knew that look, and knew what would follow.
So it was no surprise when Finn followed her, grabbing her arm, and pulling her to a stop. They began to talk, which quickly turned into a hushed argument. Bellamy could tell by the stiffness in Clarke's shoulders that she was angry, but Finn looked more pleading with a hint of frustration.
It wasn't until Finn leaned forward and kissed Clarke that Bellamy shot to his feet. In his haste his knife slipped, leaving a clean cut in his palm. Blood oozed from the wound, trickling off his fingers and dripping to the earth at his feet.
Bellamy growled, cursing his clumsiness, dropping his knife and the stone. He tried to wipe the blood away leaving a dark red streak on his pants leg. However, the flow wasn't slowing.
He finally looked up to find several people staring intently at him, Clarke being one of them. He could tell she'd seen the blood, and she was already moving in his direction- taking his hand in her own and turning it to better view the damage.
"Follow me," she said, leading him gently by his injured hand to the drop ship.
"Get back to work," Bellamy shouted to the onlookers, causing them to duck their heads and return to their chores.
Clarke led Bellamy to a table, "Sit," she said before turning to rummage through her menial medical supplies.
When she'd found the things she would need she turned back to him, taking his hand in her own once more. She tried to be professional, keeping her eyes from meeting his and showing him just how much he'd scared her when she'd seen the blood coating his skin.
The cut wasn't deep, but it was long, and she knew it had to hurt. She felt him shiver at her touch, so she tenderly brushed a thumb over his wrist. Then she made the mistake of allowing her eyes to float up, catching on his much darker ones.
Bellamy felt his breath hitch at the worry he saw in her eyes, worry for him. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to ease her fear, and see calm settle in the blue pools.
"It was an accident," he said, hoping to downplay the bloody gash.
"And here I thought you did this on purpose just so you could come and see me," Clarke said with a small smile as she began to clean the wound.
"I can see you anytime I want," Bellamy replied smirk.
This once again brought Clarke's gaze to his own, and this time he was pleased to see her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.
"You need stitches," she said, breaking his trance, "This might sting."
Bellamy nodded, his male ego believing that he could handle anything she threw his way. He watched as she gently removed the cloth over the gash, fresh blood seeping from his torn and tattered skin.
Clarke gave him an apologetic look before pouring a small trickle of moonshine onto his palm, the liquid burning fiercely as it mingled with the blood on his hand.
"Might sting," Bellamy grumbled, "Princess that DID sting!"
"I gave you fair warning, Blake," Clarke said with a smile.
"Just stitch me up and be done with it," Bellamy said grumpily.
"Whatever you say, Boss," Clarke replied with a mock salute before telling him to hold a piece of cloth over his palm while she went for her suture kit.
"Are you going to tell me this MIGHT hurt," he asked when she returned.
"Oh hush, you're as bad as a wounded animal," Clarke said cutting him off, "Do you want me to take care of this or not?"
Bellamy nodded reluctantly; watching as she sterilized her hands with the moonshine, heated the needle, and threaded it quickly.
"This will probably hurt," Clarke smiled sweetly.
"You're going to be the death of me, Princess," Bellamy said unable to hide his smile.
He couldn't seem to look away as she began to pull the needle through his skin. It did in fact hurt, but a quick intake of breath is the only indication he gave that he felt anything.
Clarke could see right through his act, and she knew this was hurting. She steeled herself against this thought- the thought that she was causing him pain- and gave him a reassuring smile. After she'd finished she gently bandaged his hand, and looked up with a relieved smile.
"You're all done," she said, her questioning gaze fixing on his face, "How did this happen? You're never this careless."
"I got distracted," Bellamy admitted with a sigh, knowing exactly where this was going.
Clarke often distracted him. It was the way she stood out from the crowd with her golden curls and her eyes that seemed to change color with her mood. Her rough edges, and the softness of her touch as she cared for the younger ones. Her selflessness, and the frustration that plagued him when she refused to admit that she needed help.
He enjoyed being around her, even their arguments. Clarke Griffin had more passion in her little finger than most people could boast in body and soul. Maybe that's why his gaze followed her continuously, hers was the only fire that matched his own. He never feared that they would burn- together they only burned brighter.
"And what, pray tell, was so distracting," Clarke asked suddenly, pulling Bellamy from his thoughts.
She watched him as his dark eyes roved over her features, something shimmering in their depths that she couldn't quite define. They seemed to search her own as though she held the meaning of life.
"You," he admitted finally.
Clarke was shocked into silence for a moment, her mind refusing to form a coherent sentence and her mouth refusing to utter it. His hand was still held gently in her own, and where their skin touched it was warm- like holding her hand above a flickering flame.
"I got mad when Finn kissed you," Bellamy said softly, his dark gaze holding hers captive.
"I didn't know I was so interesting," Clarke said softly, "Finn was being Finn. Determined to get me back. I wish he would turn his attentions onto someone else."
Bellamy couldn't help but laugh at the blonde's indignant, unladylike snort. He didn't deny that he felt relief at her explanation, and he was thankful that he now didn't have to get rid of his competition.
After hearing his melodic laughter, Clarke had to admit that she enjoyed the sound. It was rare, and something she knew she wanted to hear again. She continued to stare at him as silence stretched between them, both sporting soft smiles.
Then Bellamy was leaning forward, his lips caressing her own in a sweet, tender kiss. Clarke was shocked at first, but it took only a second for her to respond. She wound her arms around his neck, as his bandaged hand cupped her face while his good hand gripped her waist and pulled her closer.
It was almost a full minute before they broke apart for air, both breathing heavily. Bellamy rested his forehead against hers, taking her in and reveling in what had just happened.
"If this is how you treat your patients I might injure myself more often," Bellamy said with a deep chuckle, earning him a light slap on the shoulder.
"As much fun as I've had caring for you," Clarke said, pulling away so she could look into his eyes, "Please don't do this again. I'll run out of medical supplies."
Bellamy absorbed her giggle, his lips closing over hers in another heated kiss.
"Whatever you say, Princess," he said as he pulled away, smiling down at the beautiful woman in his arms.
-Lin
