a/n I never meant for this to happen. This started out as a friendly request for a short smutty oneshot about rovers and now... Now this happened. Happy reading!
Clarke needs to get a grip.
It's the end of the world. It's literally the end of the world, the death wave bearing down on them in only a matter of months. She really ought to be doing something more useful right now than standing around watching Bellamy load a rover.
But it's kind of metaphorically the end of the world, too, because she can't be caught getting hot under the collar at the sight of her closest colleague's arms, of all things. Bellamy is too essential to her for her to go and do something stupid like fall in love with him.
She loses the people she loves, and she's pretty sure she wouldn't survive if she lost Bellamy.
So, yeah, she needs to get a grip. But gripping is a word she's struggling with, at the moment. Watching him grip huge boxes with an effortless strength that leaves her wondering what it would be like to be held in those arms. Dreaming of her nails digging into his neck as she grips him tight. She's always thought it would be pretty hot if their first time involved him shoving her up against a tree and holding her there in a casual display of power that would -
No. That's not what she's meant to be doing, here. She's in charge of Arkadia right now, and she's simply being a good leader and checking that her people set out on their mission safely. If she happens to take that duty a little more seriously when Bellamy is one of the people involved – well then, no one has to find anything amiss in that. It's not as if Monty is a mind reader or something, and it's not like Harper can hear what she's thinking. They have no idea that she gets insanely turned on by watching Bellamy load – or unload – vehicles for a mission.
There's just something about the combination of raw strength and doing his duty that really gets her motor running. It's so very Bellamy, the way he always packs the equipment himself rather than ordering others to do it for him. And the implicit bravery in the fact he signs up for so many of these missions is another point in his favour, and the caring leadership he shows by looking out for his team doesn't hurt, either.
But yeah. It's mainly the arms.
There she goes again, getting distracted. She could swear she's a functional young woman and an entirely suitable candidate to lead her people through a crisis, but there's always been something about Bellamy that seriously interferes with her ability to think straight.
"You could still come with us." Bellamy interrupts her flustered thoughts with the suggestion.
She wants to. She really, really wants to, because she hates letting him out of her sight even though she knows, with some instinct she cannot name, that he will always come home.
"No, I can't. Arkadia is just plan B. It doesn't help the grounders. I'm not stopping until we have a solution that saves everyone."
He looks at her with understanding. "We save who we can save today."
She nods. "Stay safe. Come home in one piece." She cannot help adding that request.
"I will." He pauses for a moment, leaning towards her as if contemplating a hug, then turns and makes for the door of the rover.
She represses a sigh and watches him go.
…...
Clarke is there when they get back. Just by coincidence, of course. OK, not coincidence as such – more because she's acting Chancellor, so it's only right that she should check whether her people get home in one piece. And it was an important mission, and that hydrogenerator is essential, so really she has a perfectly good reason to be waiting here.
It's not because she likes watching Bellamy unload the rover almost as much as she likes watching him load it, or anything.
She thinks she might hug him when he hops out of the driver's side door. The do hug, sometimes, and she feels like a day out in Azgeda territory is probably cause for enough anxiety to justify a hug. It's not because she wants to hold him, or anything.
She's just about worked up the courage to go through with that hug when her plan is ruined. Long before Bellamy gets out, or Monty or Harper or any of the other passengers she was expecting, a bunch of people she barely recognises are tumbling from the back of the vehicle.
Then she sees Riley, and that's even more confusing.
"Riley?"
"Clarke?"
So it is that she ends up hugging Riley, an inoffensive guy she dated a time or two, even while Bellamy finally gets out of the driver's seat and approaches them. It's not exactly the hug she was expecting, but she's so confused and overjoyed at finding her old friend alive that she doesn't dwell on it for long.
"I can't believe you're alive." She says, pulling back to take in the sight of him. He doesn't look particularly well, but there are no obvious injuries that she can see.
"Get Riley and the others to med bay." Bellamy instructs the crowd at large. It always makes her smile, when he does that, like he thinks they're still back at the dropship camp and every new development needs him to make a mildly pretentious public announcement.
She's quite fond of him, OK? She can find him pretentious and still find him hot. The two aren't mutually exclusive.
Things start to unravel, then. Her disappointment at not getting to hug Bellamy or watch him unload the rover is replaced rather abruptly by her horror at the news that they did not get the hydrogenerator, but instead used it to liberate a bunch of people they will now not have the capacity to save from the death wave. It's the end of the world, and she can scarcely get to grips with the scale of Bellamy's misjudgement in destroying the machine that could have saved them.
But he came home safe, and in all honesty, she will always care about that more.
…...
It shouldn't be possible, but it gets even worse after that. The following week he's loading the rover to go pick up their latest batch of dried meat from Niylah, and she notices that his lips do this hot little frown when he's checking that he's packed everything he needs. And once she's noticed it, she just cannot stop staring at his mouth. And staring at his mouth is presumably not going to help her save the world.
He doesn't even have much to load this time. It's a simple trade expedition, and he's only taking Miller for company and a couple of small boxes of unwanted clothes as items to trade with Niylah.
But it's still Bellamy loading a rover, so it still has her blushing for the rest of the day.
"You could come with us." He offers, with the ghost of a grin. It's as if they're making a little routine of this now – her checking up on him, and checking him out, and him inviting her to check out of the camp with him.
"I can't." She says, like she always does. "Stay safe. Come home in one piece."
This time she is certain he wants to hug her. It's right there, in his eyes, in his slight lean into her personal space, in the way he grips his belt a little more tightly than necessary, as if keeping his hands occupied.
But he doesn't hug her. He just nods at her, and hops into the driver's seat, and sets out to do his duty.
…...
The unloading is a better show, that day. She's not sure she should be thinking in that tone – it feels like she's objectifying her good friend, and she's uncomfortable with that idea. She doesn't only like him for his arms, she reminds herself firmly. There's also his big heart, and his bravery, and his neck, and his silly optimistic sense of humour, and his hair -
No. Not the hair. She mustn't get distracted by the hair.
It takes him a long time to unload the rover today. Niylah has sent a lot of dried meat, and a few bits of scrap metal she had spare and thought Raven could find a use for, too.
"Can I help?" Clarke volunteers. It seems a better idea than just standing around openly staring.
"We're all good, thanks." Bellamy hefts a substantial crate and tosses it onto a nearby table like it weighs nothing. She wonders if he might do that to her, one day, if she asked nicely.
"You sure?" She tries not to sound disappointed by his answer.
"Sure. I got this. Don't you have to go save the world or something?"
"I'm taking a break."
"Taking a break to watch me move rations?" He asks, something in his eyes that she cannot quite make sense of.
"Taking a break to hang out with my friend." She corrects him, chewing on her lip and wondering if she has given the game away.
He laughs, sounding more cynical than actually amused, and tosses a piece of twisted metal in her general direction.
She catches it, barely. One day she's going to get so distracted by looking into his eyes that she's going to have an accident or something.
"What's this?" She asks.
"No idea. Gift for Raven. I've got the rest of it here." He gestures to a crate of smaller scraps. "You want to come with me and hand it over?"
Of course she does. She's not going to say no to a chance to hang out with her friend. And if that friend happens to be Bellamy, and he happens to be carrying a heavy box with jaw-dropping ease, so much the better.
…...
It becomes something of a ritual, in those last precious weeks before the world burns. Clarke watches him load the rover. He says she could join him, she points out that she can't. And then she watches him drive away from her.
She thinks that's only fair. He had to watch her walk away from him, once, after Mount Weather. So maybe it's her turn to be left, now.
But the wonderful thing about Bellamy, is that she knows he'll always come home.
"What's on your mind?" He asks, one day, recently arrived home from picking up another batch of dried meat from Niylah.
She shakes her head, dazed. His question is not a simple one. There are so many things on her mind, from the breadth of his shoulders to the narrow slither of time that stands between them and the end of the world, that she scarcely knows where to begin.
"I'm happy you're home safe." She says, in the end. It's both true and more or less appropriate.
"I'm happy to be home safe. On the ground coming home in one piece always feels like something to celebrate."
"Exactly." She nods decisively, and reaches for a nearby crate. She's far from weak, and she figures it's past time she started actually helping him to unload the rover rather than only staring at him.
She's far from weak, but this thing must weigh an actual ton. She flounders helplessly for a few moments, and only really succeeds in dragging it towards her such that it's perilously close to tumbling off the back of the rover and onto the floor.
"Thanks, Clarke. Really. But I got this."
Bellamy nudges her gently out of the way, and she resigns herself to watching in heated silence.
…...
Clarke is up early on the morning of the day nominated for taking the hydrazine to the island. She's up early because she's more or less in charge round here and has things to do, of course, and not because she doesn't want to miss a single moment of hanging out in the hangar bay with Bellamy. It's not only the chance to check him out, these days. She's becoming increasingly fond of their little ritual for its own sake. It's one of the few chances she gets to simply hang out with him and chat about the news of the day with no expectation that she will save the world right this minute.
He's started expecting her to be there, as well. She can tell that from the way his jaw relaxes, just a little, the moment he sees her approach.
"Hey. Ready for the big day?" He asks by way of greeting.
"As ready as I'll ever be. How are you doing?"
"Not bad. Long day of driving ahead of us, though."
She hums, but she's no longer really listening. As if he's trying to mess with her self-control, he's just pulled the hem of his T shirt up to wipe the slight sheen of sweat off his forehead. No one should be allowed to have a stomach that beautiful, and they certainly shouldn't be allowed to go around flaunting it.
If she didn't know better, she could almost believe he was doing this deliberately.
She's still trying to gather her thoughts when she notices him crouch to lift one of a clutch of distinctive blue barrels.
"Hey, Bellamy. Stop. Don't try to lift that yourself. You could get hurt."
He lifts it anyway, of course, grunting only a little with the effort. "I got this."
If he says that one more time, she's going to kiss him. She's going to ruin it all and goddamn kiss him.
"Bellamy, it's heavy and you really don't need to -"
"It's OK." By now, he has deposited the barrel in the back of the truck. "I can do it. I'm surprised that you were more worried about it being too heavy for me than, you know, it being explosive."
"That too, I guess. Just – shouldn't someone be helping you with this?" She does find it very slightly attractive that he's such a stubborn selfless idiot, but she also needs him not to hurt himself.
"You're here." He says, as if that answers anything.
"But you never let me lift anything."
"Believe me, you're still helping."
Before she has had chance to ask him what that even means, Monty arrives, and the moment is lost.
…...
It's been a stressful day, what with the hydrazine truck being hijacked by Azgeda, and a high-speed chase across bumpy terrain that had Bellamy and Roan saving her just in the nick of time. Now they're at the shore, and she's standing by Bellamy's side, staring out across the water and trying not to be too devastated that they're about to be separated for the foreseeable future.
She just hopes she'll get to see him again before the Earth goes up in flames.
"Shouldn't you be unloading the fuel? Isn't that your thing?" She asks him, hoping for a teasing tone. It seems better to tease him about the amount of time he spends faffing with luggage than to tell him she's worried that this might be goodbye.
"Roan wanted to do it. I think he's trying to apologise for his people being a bunch of worthless traitors." She shouldn't laugh at that. Of course she shouldn't.
She does, anyway. Or at least, she gives one dry chuckle. Only with Bellamy is the end of life as she knows it worth living.
She expects him to leave, then. He has driven them here, and that was his duty, and now, presumably, he ought to go back to Arkadia. Apart from anything else, she knows he must want to go back to his sister and try to reconcile with her in the precious time they have left. But she's no idiot, so she doesn't ask him when he's leaving. She doesn't want to imply that she's trying to get rid of him, or give him any incentive at all to leave any sooner than he has to.
It is Roan who broaches the subject in the end.
"Still here?" He asks Bellamy, with that brusqueness that seems to come so naturally to him.
"Yeah." Bellamy bristles a little, and Clarke sighs. She's not sure why the two of them can't get along, even after they spent the afternoon working together to save her life.
"I thought you were going back to Arkadia."
"I am. But not until I've helped you get the fuel to the lab."
"We can take it from here." Roan argues. "If you want to get back -"
"I'll stay until I've done what I came to do." Bellamy says firmly, and the matter is dropped.
Murphy and Emori arrive with the boat not long after, and with some clever handles for wheeling the barrels around that have Raven's ingenuity written all over them. It's a good idea, of course, to be able to drag the fuel more easily and safely from place to place, but Clarke cannot help but feel a little disappointed all the same. It seems she is to be deprived of one last chance to check out Bellamy engaged in a spot of heavy lifting.
She is fascinated to learn various new pieces of information in the minutes that follow. She learns that watching Bellamy load a boat is every bit as mesmerising as watching him load a rover, for one thing. And she learns that it is very specifically Bellamy who gets her hot under the collar – Roan is an objectively attractive guy, and Emori a cute and rather strong-willed woman, but the sight of them carting luggage about does nothing to get her heart racing.
They have to unload the boat once more on the other side of the water, and Clarke forces herself to make a useful contribution to the operation. This is not the same as her hanging out in the hangar bay with Bellamy – there are other people here, watching her, and she needs to look like a competent leader who isn't afraid to get her hands dirty.
So it is that she makes a start on wrestling with a barrel and one of those clever contraptions Raven has supplied to help drag them to the lab.
"What are you doing, Clarke?" Bellamy asks, dismayed.
"Helping." She says as if it is obvious.
"Let me -"
"I can do it."
"I know you can do it. I'm pretty sure you can do anything. But Murphy's doing a crap job of supervising so I think you should go swap with him."
She gives a reluctant grin at the obviousness of his scheme. This is why he was so good at leading a hundred teenagers, she thinks fondly. Rather than pointing out she was making a dangerous mess of moving a barrel she couldn't lift, he went and appealed to her skill-set and offered her something more appropriate to do.
She's in trouble. She can't love him. She mustn't. If she loves him, he'll go and die on her, and she can't have that.
…...
There are eleven barrels of hydrazine, and five people on the boat. They therefore take one each for the first two trips, and Bellamy even permits Clarke to drag one slowly along the rutted path when she argues that he can't deny her the opportunity just because she's a woman. He stops trying to change her mind, at that, and simply gives her a smirk that makes her cheeks grow warm.
It is Bellamy, of course, who volunteers to go back for the last barrel. And Clarke jumps at the chance to go with him, desperate to stretch out these last moments in his company. He said he'd stay until the hydrazine was all in the lab, so that means he'll be gone within the hour, by her calculations.
She watches him shamelessly on the walk back to the boat, drinks in every second of the time she has left with him. They chat about the disasters of the day, because that passes for light banter when the world is ending. He tells her of the fear he felt on opening a bag that he thought might hold her dead body, and she instinctively reaches out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. That's a thing they're allowed to do now, she's pretty sure. It's him who started it last month.
They arrive at the boat all too quickly, and Clarke stands idly by while he gets the final barrel. This isn't going to be the last time they share this ritual, she promises herself. They will have other chances to load and unload cargo together before the death wave comes for them. All the same, she cannot stop herself from staring at him, trying to memorise every detail of his flexing muscles and cocky grin.
"You doing alright?" He asks, starting to drag the barrel along the track.
"Yeah. Yeah, fine."
They lapse into silence, but it is not the comfortable silence she is used to sharing with Bellamy. There is a tension in the air she cannot quite make sense of, and every time she turns to look at him she finds him staring at her with a slightly concussed expression.
They are half way to the lab when she decides she can bear it no longer.
"What is it?" She asks him, more than a little alarmed. "What's wrong?"
He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again, with a tired sigh, and clamps his jaw soundly shut.
"Bellamy? You know you can tell me?" She stops, and turns to him, and reaches out a hand to flit over his shoulder once more.
He admits defeat, then. With infinite care, he sets the barrel safely down on the ground. And then he visibly gathers his courage and forces the words out. "You watching me unload the boat was kind of a turn-on."
She stands, stunned, utterly convinced she must have misheard him. "Me watching you unload boats turns you on?"
All at once, his self-control snaps in a glorious mess of words. "And loading them. Rovers too. It's stupid, OK? I get that it's stupid. It's just – it's like you're always going to be there waiting for me to come home. Welcoming me back at the end of the day. I know that's some stupid patriarchal shit but – it's like Penelope, OK? It's like I'm Odysseus and you're Penelope and you're just there looking for me to come home. And sometimes – sometimes I think I catch you checking me out when I lift things. I know that's probably just wishful thinking, and you probably don't feel that way at all and now I've gone and made a -"
She cuts him off with a kiss, flinging her arms about his neck and smashing her lips against his. It's not exactly the most delicate invitation she's ever issued, but in her defence, the world is ending, and they haven't the time to eat a candlelit dinner, first.
"Clarke?" He pulls away from the kiss, sounding somewhere between confused and overjoyed.
"To be clear – yes. That was me checking you out you were seeing."
He laughs, a big, warm sound that has her wondering why he doesn't laugh more often. She supposes his life has not exactly been abundant in comedic moments. But she's not here to listen to him laugh, she's here to get screwed against a tree, so she swallows his laughter down her eager throat as she gets back on with kissing him.
She knows she should slow down and savour it, but she doesn't want to slow down, damn it. And really, now she comes to think about it, this whole day – or even this whole month – has been one long bout of cargo-hefting based foreplay, so she thinks they've taken it slow for quite long enough.
She backs him up against the nearest tree first. She likes the way his head tilts back against the trunk as she trails kisses down his neck and has him gasping in pleasure. It's utterly beautiful, watching him lose control like this, knowing that she can get him so deliciously turned on. But he doesn't let her play with him for long, and within minutes he has turned them round and her back is pressed against bark and her front is pressed against Bellamy and if the world is going to end, she wants to go out like this.
He doesn't bother undressing her, and she doesn't bother undressing him. They haven't got the time, if he's taking that boat back to the mainland in less than half an hour. He simply tugs her trousers down, and unbuckles his own to release his tangibly excited cock. And then he gets on with it, as if reading her mind and sensing her urgency, hoisting her legs up around his waist and thrusting inside of her.
This is what she wanted from him, all those weeks she spent staring shamelessly. Those arms she has so long been obsessed with are now holding her tightly, a dizzying paradox of protectively hugging her close and firmly caging her in. And he's keeping her supported as if she weighs nothing, as if he really could toss her over a table like a half-empty box of supplies.
It doesn't last long, and she's almost sorry for that, but then she remembers they don't have long to play with. She comes, hard, and he comes, groaning, and it's really quite a satisfactory experience all round.
Turns out screwing her distractingly attractive colleague is something she should have tried months ago. And it's only sex, right? It's not like it puts her in more danger of falling in love with him, or anything. It's not like it puts her in more danger of falling in love with him, and thereby causing his untimely death.
Then he goes and ruins it all by speaking.
"I've wanted to do that for so long." He breathes against her ear, as he eases her gently back down to the ground.
No. He can't go around saying things like that. "That was hot." She says, aware that it sounds like an empty platitude, but not willing to tell him any of the more substantial thoughts currently crowding her mind.
"You look so beautiful right now." He adds unhelpfully. She's always liked his dogged determination, before today, but doesn't he realise that he's only making this more difficult? The world is ending. He is leaving imminently. They might not see each other again.
They can't afford to get any more deeply attached.
"Clarke?" He looks worried, now, as he tucks a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. "Are you OK? I didn't hurt you or anything?"
She snorts. Bellamy Blake, hurt her? She'd sooner believe John Murphy could fly. "You didn't hurt me. I'm great, and I enjoyed that. Thanks. I just – you're leaving soon."
"I know." He lets out a long sigh and looks her right in the eyes. "Clarke, if I don't see you again -"
"No." She stops him with a brave finger on his lips. "You will. I'll make sure of it."
She wasn't going to get any more deeply attached. She remembers deciding that, only seconds ago. But the warmth in his eyes and the way he started that sentence has her thinking that she's got a pretty good idea of what he was going to say.
If there's any chance at all on this Earth that Bellamy is in love with her, she's going to make damn sure she comes home to him before the world burns.
…...
She counts down the seconds, as they approach the lab. She even genuinely contemplates feigning a sprained ankle to stretch out their time together, but their relationship has always been based on honesty, not deception.
So it is that the moment comes all too soon. He delivers the barrel to Raven, and goes to pay his respects to Abby and Miller, and ask Emori to drive him back to the mainland.
Only that is not quite how it turns out.
"You can't go now, Bellamy. It's getting dark out there." Abby sounds indignant at the very thought.
"I'm sure Emori's made that journey in the dark before now." He says. Clarke supposes she ought to be contributing to the conversation, but she's a bit preoccupied with staring at his still-swollen lips.
"But there's no rush to do that today." Abby is firm on that matter. "And anyway, that would leave you driving back to Arkadia all night. That doesn't sound safe."
"I'll be fine. I can handle the rover."
"I know you can. But I don't want to risk you having an accident." Abby insists, with a warmth Clarke has rarely heard her use towards anyone other than her, as her own daughter.
Bellamy is visibly erring, now, reluctance to cause anyone distress warring with his obstinate desire to do what he thinks is his duty. Clarke allows herself just a hint of hope, just the barest breath of optimism that she might not lose him so soon after all.
Abby presses her advantage and carries it home. "Stay here for the night. Just until it's light again, then you can get on your way safely."
"I wasn't planning to stay. I didn't bring a change of clothes." He protests weakly, as if lack of clean clothing presents any challenge to a man who spent his first month on the ground wearing the same pair of pants.
"There's plenty of things here. Why don't you and Clarke go and settle in, have a shower and find something clean to wear. I hear Murphy's cooking some supper."
Just like that, she gets another twelve hours on the clock.
…...
They don't start with taking a shower and finding some clean clothes. They start with discarding their dirty clothes, and getting even more sweaty, as Clarke ends up pressed against the wall of the first vacant bedroom they come across, while Bellamy kisses down her throat.
"Bellamy." She tries for a commanding tone, but it sounds rather more like a whine.
"Mmh?" The noise is somewhere between a grunt and a moan, and she likes it.
"Can you throw me onto the bed? Please?"
He pulls away to look at her, confused. "Throw you?"
"Yeah." She looks away, embarrassed. "You know, scoop me up and carry me over there and then – toss me down on the bed?"
He doesn't look convinced. "I'll try."
He does try. Really, he does, scooping her up and cradling her close to him as if she's something precious. And then he walks towards the bed, carrying her as if she is made from air and stardust, kissing her all the while.
He doesn't throw her, though. He can't. She feels him break away from the kiss, and she opens her eyes to the sight of him frowning in concern. And then, in stark contrast to their hungry kisses and the hot and messy tree-sex they shared scarcely half an hour ago, he bends to set her gently, carefully, delicately on the bed.
"Sorry." He says, sheepish. "I just – why would I want to throw you? You're too important to me to go throwing you."
She thought it would be hot, and she wonders about trying to explain that to him. But somehow this is even hotter, the raw authentic Bellamy-ness of it all, the swirling mess of care and concern, protectiveness and passion.
He gets back on with the passion, then, rutting against her until she sees stars. They might not have long until the world burns, and they might have even less time before Bellamy goes home, but if they keep this up Clarke thinks they'll make the most of every moment.
…...
It's a good morning, as good as any of the final mornings of planet Earth – in fact, substantially better than most.
It starts out well, with Clarke jerking Bellamy off while they lie in bed together, and him coming all over her chest, painting her breasts with his sticky mess and saying that this makes her his, now.
Then, of course, because he is Bellamy, he gives a little self-deprecating laugh as soon as he's got control of his breathing once more, and says he hopes that didn't sound too possessive.
It sounded very possessive indeed, but Clarke's not inclined to complain. After so many months of leading a substantial portion of the human race, it is rather lovely to hand over so much responsibility to Bellamy in the bedroom and have him take the lead.
He returns the favour, after that, fingers fluttering against her and inside of her until she can scarcely remember her own name.
She still remembers his, though, and cries it out loud as she falls apart around his hand.
After that, the morning gets only better. It shouldn't be possible, but it does.
Clarke knows that this is goodbye. Her mother may have put it off last night, but this morning Bellamy is going to get into that boat and then drive himself home to Arkadia. Try as she might, she cannot keep him in the bedroom any longer. That's when they go down to breakfast and see the other residents of the island already gathered there before them.
That's when the morning gets better.
"You're staying." Abby announces, the moment they enter the room. "I've spoken to Marcus, Bellamy, and he wants you to stay here."
Clarke watches Bellamy frown in confusion. "But I was supposed to be heading back to Arkadia."
"Marcus says they have plenty of guards there and he thinks you're needed here. And I think you're needed here, so that's that."
"But the rover? I was going to drive the rover back. They must want that."
"They have another rover. Marcus has sent a team out in it to pick up your rover and drive it home. And they're leaving the truck for us, so it's all been dealt with."
Clarke has never loved her mother as much as she does in this moment, she's pretty certain.
"You're sure?" Bellamy asks, blinking as if the light is too bright for him.
"I'm sure. Chancellor's orders." Abby tells him, with a maternal smile. "And former Chancellor's orders." She adds as an afterthought.
It is Murphy, of course, who has the last word. "And we all know what Clarke's orders would be, and she's really in charge."
…...
The days that follow are some of the worst of Clarke's life. They drill for bone marrow, like the monsters of Mount Weather. Like them, too, they experiment on an innocent man, and make plans to take it further still. Clarke hates herself, and she hates every minute of it. And most of all she hates the planet that has forced her into this horrific situation, this beautiful, terrible planet she has so quickly come to call home.
The nights that follow, though, are some of the best of Clarke's life. Without fail, every night, Bellamy is waiting in their room to welcome her home. He doesn't venture into the lab much in the day. He tells her early on that it reminds him too much of being harvested at Mount Weather, and that's a good enough explanation for her. He doesn't talk much about his time in the Mountain, but she knows it hurt him deeply. So it is that she understands all too well why he never spends the day with her.
She almost likes it better, this way. She can see, now, what he meant about the way she would send him off each morning and welcome him home each evening when he would take the rover out. There's something special about knowing the person she loves will be there to welcome her home.
She's ready to admit to herself that she loves him, now. She figures they're all dead anyway if they can't solve this nightblood problem. And as long as she doesn't say the words to him, maybe he might just about scrape by.
She tells him that she likes coming home to him, one evening.
"You were right." She whispers into his bare chest. "It's good to know you'll always be waiting for me."
"You see? It's like I said about Penelope!" He is overjoyed, of course, at the chance to use his mythology metaphor once again.
"Bellamy. That thing about Penelope was cute the first time, but -"
"You always think I'm cute." He interrupts, growing a little too sure of himself. She likes that. She likes to see him confident and happy.
"I only think you're cute when you're loading a rover." She tries to put him in his place.
"And unloading it. And carrying fuel. And carrying you. And screwing you up against -"
She cuts him off with a kiss, and before long she is sinking down onto the length of his cock and the conversation is forgotten.
Their relationship has become a beautiful, urgent, messy thing in these precious few days – just the kind of relationship that belongs on this chaotic planet. They have a lot of loud sex, not artistic or adventurous, but engaging and almost efficient.
Clarke doesn't mind that they never linger. They haven't got time to linger, not if she wants to make love to him as many times as possible before the death wave hits. It's a good job she's got an implant, she thinks, or she'd risk bringing a little freckle-cheeked baby into this mad world.
"You still with me?" He asks her, looking concerned, as they take a shower together that night. He's soaping her breasts with more care than she thinks is strictly required, and she has to admit that, as usual, she's just standing by and watching him do the work.
"Yeah. Just thinking – you'd make cute babies."
She expects him to laugh that off, but he does no such thing. He pulls her tight against him, and rubs a cheek against her wet hair. "We'd make cute babies, one day. If ever we can stop saving the world and make a proper home."
"One day." She echoes, her tears dripping down his shoulder with the water of the shower and flowing, unnoticed, down the drain.
She thinks she's beginning to work it out, now. She thinks Bellamy's arms are the only real home she will ever have.
…...
Clarke ruins it all, days later. The death wave is hours away when she locks Bellamy's beloved sister outside and pulls a gun on him.
So much for his arms being her home, she thinks sourly, as they ride in the rover to the island. So much for her always behaving like some loyal Penelope. She can see in his eyes that he still feels betrayed.
He didn't even want her help loading the rover for this trip. That's how she knows she's really screwed up. He insisted on doing it himself while he sent her on some fictitious errand to see her mother. Sure, he has always done the actual loading himself, but this is the first time he's ever not wanted her to stand around and watch.
He won't look at her, while they make a start on driving out to the island. His eyes are fixed on the road, which ought to be a perfectly normal sign that any other driver was concentrating. But she knows Bellamy, and before today, he has always spent more time watching her face than the way ahead.
She needs to try to fix this.
"I'm sorry, Bellamy. I didn't know what else to do. No matter what I do it always seems to be the wrong choice. I just – you're my home, Bellamy." She repeats his name for good measure, desperate and crying, remembering with disappointment verging on heartbreak those precious words about the future they shared in that warm shower a few short days ago.
It's looking increasingly like they won't get a future.
He forgives her. Or rather, he says he forgives her, and treats her to the ghost of a smile. But it's lacking a lot of its usual affection, and he hasn't made any attempt to touch her in hours. All in all, this doesn't look much like his normal forgiveness, and she doesn't like it.
Then they crash, and the ticking clock in the back of her head starts counting down ever more loudly.
…...
Things go wrong, badly. Badly and quickly, and the situation is spiralling away from them.
Clarke hates feeling out of control.
No, that's not quite right. She doesn't mind feeling out of control when it's caused by Bellamy screwing her six ways to Sunday. But outside of the bedroom, and of the protective cocoon of those distracting arms, she needs to feel in control of the situation.
And no one is in control, right now. The death wave is minutes away, and Monty is passed out somewhere in the trees, and they will all die if Raven's signal cannot be sent to the Ring.
So, yeah. It is, quite literally, the end of the world.
Bellamy is about to leave, now, off to look for Monty, and Clarke is headed in the other direction. And it hits her, all at once, with even more force than the recent rover crash that landed them here, that he might die, or she might die, and that they cannot part ways with things left unsaid. She remembers regretting that when Lexa died, wishing she'd said more while she had the chance, and she certainly recalls being heartbroken that Wells died when they were only just reconciled.
If she's going to lose Bellamy today, she needs him to know the truth.
"Bellamy -"
"Clarke, if this is one of those moments when you tell me to come home safe, save it. You know I always will." He sounds almost as exasperated as he does affectionate, the lingering traces of yesterday's anger still souring the atmosphere between them.
"Just – hurry." She takes a deep breath, works up the courage to force the words past her nervous lips. "And remember that I love you."
It's the first time either of them has said it, but he doesn't even appear surprised. He just looks her dead in the eyes and says it straight back.
"I love you too." He swallows thickly. "So much. Stay safe and tell me that again when we're up on the Ring, OK?"
She nods, beaming from ear to ear, and runs off to do her duty. If she gets this right, and runs fast enough, they might finally get to make that proper home together.
Now she knows that Bellamy is in love with her, she's going to make damn sure she comes home to him before the world burns.
…...
She does stay safe, after a fashion. Safe but for the radiation burns and the vomiting and the lethargy so deep she thinks it might be rooted in her bones for ever, now.
She doesn't come home to Bellamy before the world burns, but while it burns, and she doesn't get to tell him she loves him on the Ring, because she doesn't make it to the Ring. He does, to the best of her knowledge, so that's something. That's a hope to hold on to.
Hope is just about all she has left, now.
…...
Clarke needs to get a grip.
It's the end of the world, sure, but that doesn't mean she can't deal with this. She can deal with anything, as long as she reminds herself that Bellamy will come home to her in five years' time.
She just wasn't expecting to have to deal with this particular complication, OK? She's got an implant. She didn't expect to get pregnant.
Apparently implants do not get on well with Earth's atmosphere, or Earth's radiation, or any one of a dozen inhospitable features she could mention of this godforsaken planet. In fact, she thinks churlishly, she can well imagine her implant giving up out of sheer spite at being expected to endure in such stressful circumstances.
OK, she needs to get a grip. She really needs to get a grip.
She's definitely pregnant, and that's that. She took a blood test, here in the lab, to check she was recovered from the radiation and ready to set out into the word. And, to be clear, the blood test indicates that she is thoroughly and absolutely pregnant.
She's freaking out a little, because bearing and raising a child alone amidst dangerous levels of radiation wasn't exactly top of her list of life goals. But at least as much as she's freaking out, she's rejoicing.
This is going to be one hell of a surprise for Bellamy to come home to.
…...
Bearing and raising a child alone may not have been top of her to-do list, but it turns out that discovering a feral girl in the only green space on Earth makes it even more difficult. And the gouges in her leg from the bear trap don't exactly help matters, either.
She can't break. She mustn't. Bellamy is expecting her to be here when he comes home.
She doesn't break. She sits down with charcoal, and salvaged paper, and draws his portrait. His smirking face, to hang above the bed she has claimed as her own. She knows it's stupid and sentimental, and if he were here he'd probably tell her she was pining pathetically like one particular lonely woman of ancient myth. But it makes it better, and it makes her smile.
Most of all, it makes the feral child warm to her. She is fascinated by the process of sketching, and fascinated by Clarke's pictures of Bellamy most of all. She likes to point to the drawings, and to Clarke's gently swelling belly, and ask in broken English sprinkled with Trig whether he is the notu.
Clarke is very proud to tell her that he is.
She manages to get rather more of a grip, once the feral child is speaking to her rather than stealing her things. She begins to realise that the radio messages she has been sending Bellamy since the death wave must not be getting through, and starts to wonder whether there is another way.
It looks like it's time to load up the rover and take a trip to Arkadia.
…...
She finds what she is looking for. Squirrelled away in the remains of the engineering department is a box of flares. There is some irony, of course, that beacons of fire should be the thing that survives the world going up in flames. But they were kept in a fireproof case for exactly that reason, to prevent any stray spark from causing them to blow the camp sky-high. As a result they are now in perfect condition, ready for Clarke to send Bellamy her message.
She loads the box into the rover, and sheds a tear or two as she does so. It's a silly thought, but she's not supposed to load the rover. Bellamy is supposed to load the rover, and she is supposed to stand around and fall in love with him. It's one of those little snippets of daily routine which just isn't the same without him.
As she drives away from Arkadia, she tries to decide what to do with the flares. There are quite a few of them, and she dreams of being able to create some kind of Morse code message and spell her love to the heavens. But she thinks she had probably best settle for the more realistic goal of showing him she's alive.
He'll get that message, she knows he will. He'll remember that night by the flares, when they talked about wishes and shooting stars and looked at each other with real respect for the first time.
Madi is fascinated by this plan, and watches, mesmerised, as the pink flames streak into the sky.
"You made stars." She says in wonder.
"Yes. Pink stars. You want to wish on them?" Clarke invites her.
"I wish that Bellamy sees them and knows we're waiting for him. And I wish that the baby comes safely."
Clarke wishes that too. Any day now, if all goes to plan, she will meet her little bundle of freckle-cheeked joy.
…...
All goes to plan – or close enough. The only substantial cause of distress to Clarke is that Madi insists on watching the whole process, despite her insistence that the child should leave. And she cannot exactly forcibly remove a stubborn six-year-old whilst fighting contractions.
The baby arrives safely, a healthy boy, and Clarke is more or less well, although rather tired. That makes this probably the biggest success she's ever had on planet Earth, she thinks ruefully.
Now she just needs to name her son.
It's a big responsibility, she decides, single-handedly choosing a name for her absent lover's child. She's briefly tempted by Telemachus, because she knows that Bellamy thinks his Odyssey analogies are cute, but she wouldn't wish such a clunky name on such a beautiful baby.
She's also steering clear of that name because she's not sure how to go about admitting to Bellamy that she's been sleeping with a battered copy of the Odyssey under her pillow since he left. She reckons he'd mock her, if he knew she'd pilfered one from the wreckage of Becca's mansion and carried it everywhere with her since. But it makes her feel close to him, and helps her to remember their story, and gives her hope that he might come home, one day.
So Telemachus is out. And she doesn't want to name him after any of their dead – Lincoln kom Trikru and Wells Jaha and Jake Griffin were great men and deserve to be remembered. But Clarke wants this new life she made with Bellamy to bear a name all of his own, a name of life, not death.
It's a big responsibility, but the answer is an easy one, in the end.
How could she call Bellamy's little boy anything but Augustus?
…...
Clarke's life has a funny way of presenting her with the unexpected.
She wasn't expecting to come to Earth when she should have been floated. She wasn't expecting to lead her people, nor to watch the world burn.
And she sure as hell never expected to give birth in the presence of a six year old child on an irradiated planet all because she found her colleague sexy whilst loading a rover.
She makes the best of it. She has Madi and Gus to help her, with their liveliness and infectious joy. She finds genuine fulfilment in caring for the children, takes pride in their everyday achievements.
Every couple of months, when she can feel her grip slipping, when she can feel herself falling into loneliness and despair, she sets off a clutch of flares.
She needs to remind herself that Bellamy will come home.
…...
Months become years, the Earth continuing its journey through space oblivious to the mess the human race has made of its forests and lakes and farmland.
Clarke, however, is very much aware of humanity's failings. It's been four years, now, and she still comes across scattered remains of people killed by the radiation whenever she ventures into a new part of the wasteland.
It's silly to venture into the wasteland, of course, but they do it anyway. It keeps the kids entertained, and it keeps Clarke curious and optimistic. There's always that hope that each journey will bring up a new book, or another component to try fixing the radio with, or perhaps even more miraculously surviving nightbloods.
They find the odd book, here and there. Radio components are in plentiful supply. But no sign of another nightblood.
…...
Clarke is unashamedly excited on homecoming day. She tells the kids everything, even though Gus is still too young to truly process it. Today marks five years since their dad went to space, and that means it's safe for him to come home.
And he always comes home.
They plan quite the party – a lot more food than usual, a banner formed of scraps of fabric patched together, with Welcome Home painted in berry-juice pink. Madi asks if Bellamy will want to play at catch, and Clarke assures her that it will be his first priority.
She fears she might have stretched the truth a little, in saying that. She suspects his first priority will be hugging all three of them, and cooing over Gus and those perfect freckled cheeks, and ruffling Madi's hair and thanking her for looking out for her mum.
But after that. After that, he'll definitely play catch.
…...
Clarke has always thought of herself as a logical woman. She knows there could be a perfectly good reason why Bellamy and the others have not come home on the day she expected. It could be something as simple as them counting the days differently, or perhaps Raven has taken some atmospheric readings and concluded that it's not quite safe, yet. But she's always struggled to be so perfectly logical where Bellamy is concerned, so she's panicking by the time midnight comes and goes.
The children are already in bed, now. They stayed up as late as she would allow, but eventually she convinced them to get some sleep, and promised that she'd wake them up when their dad got home.
He hasn't come home, though. So she takes advantage of her children's absence and cries.
Madi knows something is wrong the following morning. Clarke can see it in her gaze – she's perceptive and rather bright for her age. Gus is a sparky child, too, but he's only four and rather more interested in his breakfast than his mother's red eyes.
"Where's dad?" Madi asks, frowning.
"He's still in space, I think." Clarke decides honesty is the best policy. "I'm not sure why he hasn't come home. But he will do, just as soon as he can. You know that?"
"We know." Gus pipes up. He's familiar with that message.
"Do you think something's happened to him?" Madi sounds scared.
"I don't know." Clarke mustn't let herself cry, not now. "I'm not sure. But no matter what happens to him, you know he won't let anything stop him from coming home, right?"
Madi nods, solemn. "Like the Odysseus story."
"Exactly like that." Clarke agrees, with an eagerness bordering on the frantic. "Just like Odysseus. No matter how many challenges he has to face, no matter how many monsters get in his way, he's going to come home to us, OK? And he's going to be so happy to see you when he does."
Madi accepts that, and Gus asks for the story of the Cyclops, and the matter is dropped.
It doesn't leave Clarke's mind, though. She reads that tattered paperback a great deal in the months that follow. She memorises every adventure, reminds herself firmly that love is good at overcoming obstacles. Most especially she reads the homecoming scenes, and reassures herself that he'll be back in his own time. It's just like he always said about the rover, she tells herself, trying to remain calm and sensible. She's waiting for him, holding the camp together while he takes a different path, just like he always loved her for.
She tries not to read the paragraphs about the affairs Odysseus has along the way. She doesn't think dwelling on such things can help anybody, just now.
…...
Clarke needs to get a grip.
It's not the end of the world – it's just an unknown spaceship falling from the sky. She's faced greater dangers. She needs to hold it together and protect her children, not fall apart from fear.
"Who is it, Clarke?" Madi asks.
"I don't know, Madi. You take Gus, and you hide, OK? You hide where you used to hide from the flamekeepers. And you don't come out until I come and get you."
"Or Bellamy." Madi adds, sweetly but rather unhelpfully, Clarke thinks.
"Or Bellamy." She concedes. "If you're really certain it's him. Go, now."
"Bad guys come in the Odyssey." Gus reminds them brightly. "The bad guys come and sit in the palace."
"You're right, baby boy. They do. And I have to go and stop them."
…...
Clarke needs to get a grip.
She knew Bellamy would come home to her. He always does, remember? But she has to admit that the perfect timing has her almost hysterical with relief.
He's kissing her within a heartbeat of entering her holding cell, tangling his fingers in her hair and tangling his tongue none too subtly with her own.
"Did you miss me?" She asks, on the verge of desperate laughter, when he pulls away.
"So much." He sneaks another kiss. "I knew you were alive, we saw the flares. I just knew that was you. It's so good to be able to hold you."
She makes an agreeing noise, reaches up for yet another kiss. They have six years of wasted opportunities to make up for, and she doesn't intend to waste a moment. She knows they're still in an Eligius holding cell, but time and place never have never mattered to her much, as long as she's in Bellamy's arms.
He breaks away first. "Come on. Let's get out of here before they change their mind. I said I'd go finish unloading the rocket, you want to help?"
"Unloading the rocket?" She repeats. He's smirking, and she reckons that has to mean something.
"Unloading the rocket. You know, you being in a cell wasn't quite the reunion I had in mind. I thought you'd be standing there with your arms crossed and that pretty frown, waiting for me to come home and unload a few crates -"
"Stop it." She slaps ineffectually at his arm. "You're the worst."
"Tell me I'm not right."
"You're right." She admits, standing up and gesturing to him to lead the way out of here.
He doesn't talk as they leave the Eligius transport ship. He seems to be thinking quite hard about something, jaw clenched firm. She's thinking hard too, tossing up options in her mind. She's desperate to ask whether the children are safe and well – she thinks they must be, because she'd have heard about it if Eligius had got hold of them – but she doesn't want to spoil the surprise by telling him about them before he actually meets them. Then again, she doesn't know how long he plans to take over unloading the rocket, and she really is desperate for him to meet them as soon as possible.
She needs to get a grip. It's hardly the end of the world. All she has to do is tell them they need to go to the hiding place first and the rocket afterwards.
She's on the point of saying that, when he speaks first.
"I already met the kids." He gets out in a rush. "I'm sorry. I guess you wanted to introduce us. You must have been looking forward to that for years. But then Madi found me, and she introduced me to Gus and – yeah. I'm sorry."
She shakes her head, angry with his apology and with his apparent lack of interest in their family. "Why would you be sorry? I'd have liked to see the look on your face but it doesn't matter."
"It doesn't?"
"It doesn't." She confirms, annoyed that they are still having this conversation at all.
He must be out of practice at hearing her anger, she thinks, based on what he does next. Of all the things in the world, he chooses this moment to sweep her up against a nearby tree and start kissing her hard.
She splutters, and pushes him away from her by the chest. "What are you doing?"
He frowns, confused. "Saying thank you for raising two beautiful children? Telling you I love you? Celebrating coming home?"
"You like the kids?"
He's looking at her like she's lost her mind. "I love them, Clarke. It's just – it's incredible. I worked out you were alive but I never dreamed I was coming home to a whole family. I couldn't ask for a better surprise. Madi is such a smart kid, and she laughs just like you, you know? And Gus somehow has your nose but my freckles and I can't believe you managed that all on your own."
"Madi's not ours by blood." She points out, scared on behalf of the little girl who idolises him so much but was not the product of that beautiful, terrible week on Becca's island.
"She's ours in all the ways that matter." Bellamy says firmly.
Clarke sighs in relief, then. He loves the kids, and he loves her, and all is well. So what if they had a little minor miscommunication, there? It is normal to find the occasional bump along the way when it comes to a homecoming after so long apart. The Odyssey's a bit like that, after all, with that part when Penelope asks him that trick question about the bed.
She admits defeat.
"I have a new favourite book since you've been gone." She tells him, eyes averted.
"What is it?"
"Maybe I'll let you look beneath my pillow tonight and see." She teases, brow arched.
He laughs. "Are you trying to get me turned on?"
"Is it working?"
"Maybe. Why are you so keen for me to find out about this book, anyway?" She smiles softly to herself, happy to hear that he's still more interested in books than in much else after all these years.
"You'll see."
He gapes at her for a moment, catching on. "You don't mean...?"
She nods, and takes him by the hand, and continues walking. She's not entirely sure where they're going, but she trusts him to show her the way.
They walk for a little while, until he speaks again. "Do you want to go to the ship? I kind of want to go see the kids again instead. Get on with getting to know them."
She wants that, too. "I thought you needed to go to the ship?"
"I made that up." He says. "I wanted an excuse to get you going and then screw you up against a tree."
He's only been back in her life ten minutes, but she could swear she loves him more now than ever. There is none of the nervousness that characterised their getting together, nor any of the reticence of their pre-Praimfaya relationship. It is as if they have decided to get on with being open and affectionate in case the world should catch fire once more.
"So screw me against a tree now and we can get back to the kids sooner." She suggests, entering into this newfound spirit of absolute honesty.
"You sure? Are you ready? You haven't had a chance to watch me lifting anything yet."
"I'm ready." She promises him. She couldn't be more ready if she tried.
He doesn't argue further, simply gets on with bringing their relationship full circle. His lips over hers are as eager as ever, and the scratchy beard is new but not unwelcome. He still holds her just as tightly, but perhaps a little more protectively, cradling her against the tree trunk as if he'll never let her go.
She begins to suspect that might be the truth, actually.
"You OK?" He mutters, as he gets himself properly arranged inside of her.
"Yeah." She tilts her hips a little. "It's been a while."
"We can stop if you need to." He is all concern.
"Don't you dare stop. I've waited six years for this."
He doesn't disappoint, building up a rhythm that has her moaning his name. She'll have scratched shoulders from this tree for days, but she's pretty sure the hickey she leaves on his neck will be there for weeks, so she figures that's only fair.
He grips her even tighter as he finishes, sighing into her mouth just as she falls apart around him, too.
After all these years, maybe they might be able to stay in step long enough to build that perfect home, after all.
…...
He loves the kids. She can see that the moment they get back to the village. Gus runs straight to him, and Bellamy bends down to scoop him up and hoist him up onto his shoulders.
Damn it. Watching him pick up their child does even worse things to her sanity than watching him pick up a crate to load a rover, it turns out.
Madi hangs back a little, evidently nervous as to whether Bellamy will mind whose blood she bears. But he doesn't, of course, and he makes that very evident to her, beckoning her forward and freeing an arm to wrap around her shoulders.
"You have to tell us stories." Gus insists, commanding the world at large from his place of honour on his father's shoulders. "Mama says you're good at stories."
"I'd love to." Bellamy says, pretending not to be emotional about this whole situation. Clarke isn't fooled.
"Which story are you going to tell us tonight?" Madi asks shyly.
"Not Odysseus." Gus groans. "Mama tells that one all the time and we're sick of it."
Madi disagrees, and she is not shy about telling her brother so. "She tells it a lot, but we're not sick of it. It's a good story. It reminds us that the people we love sometimes have to go away, but they always come home."
Clarke meets Bellamy's eyes, then, smiling a smile so bright she thinks her love would probably be visible from space, if there were anyone still up there to see it. And he looks back at her, apparently oblivious to his son tugging on his hair as mouths an I love you right at her and she responds in kind.
One of these days she fears he's going to get so distracted by looking into her eyes that he's going to crash that rover again.
a/n Thanks for reading!