They were fine. They had only stopped to take a quick break. She had been nagging him about the importance of hydration; so, they stopped. Bellamy knelt down beside the crystal clear river. Clarke lifted her face to the sky. She closed her eyes as she soaked in the sunshine.
Life on the ark was both dark and dull. They had been breathing the same oxygen for almost a century, and living on Earth was so different from living in Space. For years, she dreamed of what it would be like to feel sunlight and to breathe fresh air. Reality was far better than her childhood fantasy of the earth.
The cool breeze ran through her long, blonde locks. Clarke diverted her eyes to the tree line across the lake. The tall, green figures swayed back and forth with the wind. She needed this. She needed to get away from camp and to get away from Finn. She needed a distraction from her heartbreak. She felt used. She felt betrayed, but she knew she couldn't feel as betrayed as Raven.
Her heartbreak, however, quickly turned into instant panic. Fear ran throughout her veins just as the water ran throughout the river at the base of Mount Weather.
Clarke tried to yell, but her muffled cries we're stopped by the cloth being held tightly against her mouth. She looked to her right on their side of the lake. A tall, dark figure crept from behind the rocks and boulders towards Bellamy.
One minute, they were fine. The next, they weren't.
She thrashed in attempt to free herself as she was dragged back into the woods. She had to warn him.
Clarke violently threw an elbow into the grounder's side. Both arms of her captor wrapped around her arms in an effort to restrain her.
"Bellamy!" She shrieked in fear. His head snapped to follow her voice. He watched as the grounder holding Clarke began to back further into the woods with her. Bellamy froze and fell to his knees. An arrow stuck out from where his arm and shoulder meet. He bent over and grasped his arm with his right hand.
His hands trembled as he reached for his hand gun.
He felt his heart pounding through his chest. Bellamy wouldn't have a clear shot with the way the grounder held Clarke against his body as a human shield. The other grounder was closing in on him.
"Take the shot," Clarke screamed.
"He will kill her," The grounder warned. Bellamy was too focused to noticed that the ground spoke English.
The grounder's grip on her tightened. Chills ran down her spine when she felt the pressure of a cold, hard tip of a knife against her neck. Clarke hadn't noticed the tears trickling down her cheeks.
She had felt fear when she was arrested and when she watched her father meet his fate. She had felt fear when she was placed on the dropship. She had felt fear before, but this fear was different.
They had her. They had Bellamy. The two were helpless and powerless.
Bellamy lowered his weapon, and he yelled in pain as the grounder pulled him to his feet by his arms. His eyes met Clarke's eyes, and they spoke for him. I'm sorry. He should have paid attention to his surroundings. He should have fought harder.
The cool touch of the blade left Clarke's neck before the grounder violently shoved her forward. He guided her over to the other grounder and a injured Bellamy. They bound Clarke's and Bellamy's wrists in the front with rope and tied them to the other rope stretched to the horse's saddle.
The two prisoners did their best to keep up to refrain from being dragged behind. Bellamy looked over at Clarke.
"I'm so sorry, Clarke," Bellamy apologized once more. He should have been more alert and more aware of her surroundings. He should have protected her.
"It's not your fault, Bellamy." Clarke said. It was her idea to leave camp. It was her fault. "I'm the one who-."
"Quiet," the grounder behind them ordered. Bellamy and Clarke looked at each other before looking away. They slowly marched through the forest.
Clarke winced when felt a sharp pain in her side as the walked. She lowered her bound hands to her waist. The blade that she had forgot was in the waistline of her pants had made a small cut in her skin.
She reached for it and desperately yet discreetly cut at the rope around her wrists. She looked at Bellamy before turning and slitting the walking grounder's throat.
He shouted as he fell to the ground, and the other grounder quickly dismounted the horse. The blood from his artery splashed on her face, and Clarke felt the large hand grip her neck as she was thrown against the tree. Clarke struggled to breathe and fight as the grounder's grip tightened around her neck.
Bellamy tried to free himself from the rope, and he ran up to the horse to untie his leash.
He wanted to scream in pain at every movement he made, but he had to save Clarke. He stole the sword from the dying captor's body and lifted it into the air. Bellamy yelled in agony as he used all his strength to drive it through the other grounder. He lifelessly fell to the ground along with Clarke who coughed and gasped for air.
Bellamy froze when the loud sound of the trumpet pierced through the air.
"Run!" Bellamy shouted. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could. She stumbled as she began to run. She looked back expecting to see Bellamy running behind her. Instead, she saw him on the ground and bending over grasping his shoulder with his right hand.
"Bellamy!" Clarke screamed through the pain in her throat. Her eyes focused on the green fog coming from the trees.
"No, Clarke, go!" He yelled. They wouldn't make it if she waited for him. He would only slow her down. Clarke ignored him. She ran back to him and knelt down beside him. She took the knife and quickly cut away at the rope that still remained on Bellamy's wrists.
"What's happening?" Clarke asked out of breath.
"Acid fog. We need to take shelter, now." Bellamy said looking up at her.
"Follow me," she said as she looked around. As much as she hated to go back to this place, it was their only option if they wanted to live. She took his good arm and wrapped it around her neck.
They ran throughout the woods jumping over fallen trees and branches in their path. She did her best to support him. Clarke fell to her knees and scattered the leaves covering a door.
"What is this?" Bellamy asked out of breath.
"Just get in," Clarke said. She stood up and held the door open as he jumped in first. He raised his good arm to meet her hand and help her in. The door slammed shut behind her.
"You need to sit down over there and let me look at your shoulder," Clarke said pointing over to the bed. She walked over to the counter and lit three candles with a match.
"I'm fine, Princess," Bellamy said.
Clarke gave him a look and walked closer to him.
"Bull. Now, give me your hand," Clarke said.
She stood in front of him and held her hand out and up. Bellamy rolled his eyes. He lifted up his arm to give her his hand, and he groaned and immediately dropped his arm back by his side.
"Fine," Bellamy huffed.
"Thank you," Clarke said. She crawled on the bed beside him. She pulled his shirt over his head and inspected his wound.
"What is this place, Princess?"
"Art Supply Store. It's an old bunker. I guess the owners never made it in time during the bombs. Please, don't call me princess."
"Oh, c'mon, Princess, you know I don't listen very well," Bellamy said with a smirk. Clarke pulled the arrow from out of his shoulder, and Bellamy yelled.
"Fine, I won't call you that anymore," Bellamy said in pain.
"Thank you," Clarke said with a smirk. She rustled through her bag until she pulled out bandages and gauze from the dropship and gently wrapped his shoulder.
She stood up to walk away. Bellamy watched her closely. He could tell something was on her mind.
"Are you okay?" Bellamy said. He stood up as well. Clarke could tell there was something different about the tone in his voice. It was almost as if he cared.
"I'm fine."
"Clarke, you're not fine."
"You don't know me," Clarke snapped. She turned around to face him.
"We were attacked. You almost died,"
"So, I told you; I'm fine. That's not the first time we've been attacked," Clarke said. She pretended not to care.
"He had a knife to your throat, and his hands were around your neck, Clarke!"
"Yeah, but I'm—"
"You're what? You're fine? I swear to God, Clarke! If you say that one more time,"
"You'll what?"
"I—," Bellamy stuttered and sighed. He wasn't quite sure what he would do. He knew she wasn't fine. She watched as he was shot with an arrow. She had a knife to her throat. She slit a man's throat. She was almost strangled. Clarke turned her body to face him. His eyes diverted to her neck. "You've got bruises all over your neck, Clarke, and blood. Did he cut you?"
He reached his good arm out and stepped closer to her. He lifted up her chin with his hand.
"No, that's from you and him."
"Oh." he cut her off. An awkward silence lingered in the small room. Clarke cleared her throat, and Bellamy stepped back.
"Do you think they'll come looking for us?" Clarke looked in a mirror. She pulled her long sleeve shirt over her head.
"Who? The grounders or our people?" Bellamy said as his eyes remained on her. She felt her cheeks turn red when she noticed he was staring. He looked down after making eye contact with her.
"Either." Clarke dampened part of her shirt with the bottle of alcohol and began to wipe the blood off of her chin.
"I don't know about the grounders. I told Miller and some of the others to come looking if we weren't back before dark tomorrow."
"Thank you, by the way, for saving me, and I'm sorry you got hit with the arrow."
"Anytime, Princess," Bellamy said. She rolled her eyes, "and you know it's not your fault."
"Yeah, but I suggested to leave camp and look for the bunker. Maybe if I hadn't tried to warn you then they wouldn't have shot you with the arrow."
"You did the right thing, Clarke. You're the one who saved us. I guarantee things might would have been worse for us if you hadn't tried to escape and if the fog hadn't come." He stepped forward. "Here," he stuck his hand out. Clarke placed her damp shirt in his hands.
He pulled her hair back and over her opposite shoulder to expose her neck. She felt his breath on her neck before he began to gently wipe her neck with her shirt. She winced from the light pressure on her bruises as he wiped the blood from her neck.
He placed the shirt down on the counter in front of her. Their eyes met through the mirror.
"Brave Princess."
"I was so scared, Bellamy."
"Come here," Bellamy said. Clarke turned around and was surprised by his embrace. He did his best to hug her with a wounded shoulder. "It's okay, Princess. We're safe now."
Clarke let out a sob, and Bellamy held onto her tighter. Clarke gained composure of her emotions and looked up at Bellamy. Her eyes met Bellamy's eyes. They suddenly both became aware of how close they were to each other.
"We can't, Bellamy," Clarke managed to whisper.
"Give me one reason," His lips grew closer to her lips, "and I won't," He challenged.
She tried to think of any and every reason not to go any further with him. How would they still lead together when it all went to hell? They led their people better together than apart. They had to survive. They had to get their people to survive. She couldn't be selfish, but she needed to be just this once. She needed to forget all that had happened that day, and besides, it was Bellamy. He was the king of one night stands.
"You're making it really hard to think."
"Exactly,"
"I can't—,".
"Can't what?"
"I can't think."
"So don't."
They were close enough for Clarke to almost feel his smirk move across his lips.
He wrapped his good arm and placed his hand on her face. He took his thumb and wiped an old tear from her cheek with his thumb. Immediately, he noticed her body tense up.
"What's wrong, Clarke?" Bellamy stepped back.
"That grounder—his hands he—," Clarke stuttered.
"It's okay," Bellamy cut her off. His voice was low, but there was comfort in his tone. It was a foreign concept to her. Bellamy wasn't one to care. "We don't have to."
"No." Clarke stepped closer to him as she had been. "I want to."
Her arms rose to his shoulders, and their eyes locked. Bellamy's hand tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
"Was that okay?" Bellamy asked. Clarke nodded. "There's no going back," Bellamy said. He leaned his head forward until their foreheads were pressed together.
"I don't wanna go back," Clarke looked up at him and whispered before he crashed his lips onto hers.