a/n Hello and welcome! I'm taking a break from the angst of Twist or Stick to post this ridiculously fluffy Valentine's appropriate oneshot, in response to a request from the wonderful ebwalker for "a Bellarke first date". If anyone else has any requests for cheesy seasonal romance, give me a shout. Happy reading!
Clarke intended to finish at seven. Really she did. But it is now, she must concede, seven-fifteen, and she is still writing up the last of her notes. And then she still needs to wash her hands one last time, and then, finally, she will be able to leave Med Bay and go in search of what passes for dinner round here.
She really has to pee, too. And there are real latrines in Camp Jaha and everything, not just the holes in the ground that she so hated at the dropship. It's stupid, really, that she blew up three hundred grounders the other week but she still cannot bear to pee without a toilet seat.
She shakes her head, shivering a little at the very thought of it, and gets on with washing her hands.
"Clarke?" Her mother walks in, a confused line marring her brow. "What are you still doing here?"
"I'm just washing up. I was finishing redressing that -"
"Go, honey. I could have done that, you know I could. And poor Bellamy must have been waiting out there a good twenty minutes by now."
"Bellamy?" Clarke seems to remember that she's a reasonably intelligent young woman, but she's rather struggling to comprehend her mother's most recent conversational detour. "Why would you think Bellamy would be waiting for me?"
"Because he is waiting for you." She says it as if it is the most natural thing in the world. "I saw him outside the door, twenty minutes ago. I just said that."
She didn't just say that, not exactly. But that hardly seems to be the most interesting thing going on right now. "He is? Why would he be waiting for me?"
Her mother is looking at her as if she has lost the plot. "We're talking about the same Bellamy, right? That guy who went on a wild goose chase looking for you the other day? The one who broke out of camp to search for you? The one who gave you that uncomfortably long hug when he got back? I know I'm your mother, Clarke, but there's no need to be coy about this."
"I'm not being coy." She says, somewhat bemused, struggling to take in the sudden readjustment of ideas that must, of necessity, come in the wake of her mother's words. Is it really like that between them? Is that what people think? Sure, she has realised that the bond they share might not be the most normal of friendships, but it has never occurred to her before that it might be like – well – like that.
"You're not being kind, either. That nice boy has been pacing out there for ages."
"That nice boy? That nice boy you watched get arrested when you first landed?"
"Well, I didn't know how he felt about my little girl, then, did I?" She says with an uncharacteristically girlish laugh. "Go on, Clarke. And blame me for keeping you, yes? I won't have him thinking you kept him waiting."
Clarke is perplexed to say the least as she walks towards the door of Med Bay. This is all a bit much to process, really, when she's tired from a long day in Medical and still reeling from watching Finn massacre that village only the previous day. Not to mention, of course, that she really needs to pee.
At least she is able to clarify one thing on reaching the door. Sure enough, her mother was telling the truth and Bellamy genuinely is pacing outside.
"Hey." She greets him with a smile which she fears might be a little too enthusiastic, a little too obviously fond. "What are you doing here?"
"Just waiting for you." He shifts his weight from foot to foot. "I thought you might want some company at dinner, and you said that you'd be finishing about now, and – yeah."
"I said I'd be finishing at seven." She corrects him carefully.
"True." He gives a strained chuckle. "But I didn't mind waiting. It's not like I have much else to do."
She decides not to explore any further the question of why he has waited for her, and gets on with simply embracing her joy that he has. She therefore gestures down the corridor and starts walking herself.
"What have you been doing all day?" She asks, picking up from his previous comment.
"Not much. Kane let me watch the guard training session for a bit, but I think my pardon only goes so far."
"You'll be training with them again in no time." She tries to sound reassuring. "They're bound to realise how talented you are."
"Talented?" His voice has a quality to it she hasn't heard before.
"Yeah. What else would you call it? You're good at tactics, and leadership, and I don't know much about guns but you're a great shot as far as I can see."
"Thanks." He mutters, as they exit the building and head in the general direction of the food. "You're a better leader, though."
"I think we're better as a team." She tells him with a smile. It is surprisingly easy to smile now that she is behind the fences of Camp Jaha, she finds. Sure, they still need to rescue the forty-seven trapped in Mount Weather, but with Bellamy by her side she's pretty sure she can do anything.
"Yeah." He agrees, then sucks in a long breath. "So listen, Clarke, about tonight -"
"Hang on." She holds up a hand to stop him as they arrive at the latrines. "I really need to go. See you in a minute."
She returns scarcely ninety seconds later, feeling even more comfortable, smiling even more easily.
"Thanks for waiting for me. Again." She grins at him. "What did you want to say?"
"Nothing." He tells her, a little too quickly. "Nothing at all. Tell me more about your day?"
She is only too happy to oblige. It has been good, in the last twenty-four hours, to fall back into the easy routine of working in Med Bay. It reminds her of a rather more innocent time when she had nothing to worry about besides being her mother's apprentice, and it takes her mind off all the challenges that still lie before them. She can only imagine that Bellamy's day, free from such distractions, has been rather less enjoyable, so she is more than willing to distract him now with anecdotes about the silly injuries some of the Arkers have managed to acquire in the course of building their home here.
They arrive at the servery, and take their food. Bellamy offers to carry her tray, which puzzles her a little. Sure, she's tired, but she's not that tired. She's coped with harder tasks than carrying her own supper.
"Where are we sitting?" She asks brightly.
"Over there?" He gestures with a nod of the head to a vacant table for two on the edge of the crowd of diners.
"Sure." She sets out in the direction he has indicated.
They have taken scarcely four steps between them when Raven's voice cuts through the din.
"Clarke! Bellamy!" She is in the middle of a long table some way away, Finn opposite her, a bunch of people Clarke vaguely recognises from engineering at her side. "Over here!"
"It's Raven." Bellamy comments, less than usefully.
"Yes." She agrees, rather wondering what has got into him. "Come on. We should go sit with her."
He frowns a little, but makes a noise of agreement, and it is really quite a strange combination but Clarke chooses not to dwell on that. She simply walks towards Raven's chosen table and takes a seat. And Bellamy sits opposite her, and attempts something that resembles a smile when she looks up and meets his eye.
She seems to remember they were talking about their days, once upon a time. She supposes she ought to continue with that. "So what did Kane -?"
"Clarke." Finn interrupts her, his customary earnest expression creasing his forehead. "Where have you been all day? I've hardly seen you."
"Med Bay." Bellamy answers briskly before she has even opened her mouth.
Finn looks at her, forehead ever more creased, as if demanding confirmation of this startlingly unsurprising fact.
"Yeah." She agrees, sensing that something might be afoot here that she has not entirely understood. "Set a couple of fractures, dressed a few minor injuries. It was good to get back to working with my mum."
"I can understand that." Raven chimes in, tone rather more chirpy than Finn's. "The crutches are a pain, but it was good to get back into some proper engineering. Using real equipment felt good after making do at the dropship for so long."
"I can't wait to see what you're capable of now." Clarke hopes her tone is encouraging. It is beyond awful that her friend has been so seriously injured, so it warms her heart to hear that she has found a sense of purpose despite the circumstances.
"Sinclair wants me to get to work on a comms tower, so we can try to get in touch with the other stations."
Clarke makes a positive sort of a noise, but apparently Finn is growing bored of this conversation in which he has no share.
"So what are we doing this evening?" He asks, and Clarke cannot help but feel that his naive enthusiasm seems a little out of place, given recent events. A little flippant, perhaps. "Planning our rescue mission?"
"Clarke and I were going to get a drink together and make the plan." Bellamy informs him, voice hard, while Clarke tries not to choke on her stew.
She's really rather confused, here, because she has agreed to no such drink and no such planning, and because Bellamy must know this full well. But, she presumes, he must have said it for a reason, so she supposes she ought to play along. Sure, he doesn't always think things through, but on balance she's inclined to trust his judgement. And, besides which, she can think of worse ways to spend an evening than talk and tactics with this complicated man.
She decides that, if she's going to play along, she might as well go all in. "We're heading to Moonshine Corner straight after we've eaten, actually. We'll let you know tomorrow what we decide about the rescue mission."
"Or we could come with you?" Finn suggests, earnest as ever. "Four heads are better than two, right?"
"You said you were going to help me get my workshop set up." Raven reminds him sharply. "I mean, I get it if you're too busy to help your injured ex-girlfriend, but..."
"I'll be there." Finn confirms, resignation in his tone. "Of course I'll be there."
Bellamy seems to find smiling a little easier, now, as he moves the conversation onwards, asking for more details about this workshop Raven has to rearrange, commenting on the consistency of the slop that they are eating for dinner. And it is not long at all before Finn scrapes the last of his meal from his bowl, and suggests that perhaps they ought to get on with their chore for the evening.
"I'm done." Raven agrees, decisive as ever. "Let's go. See you tomorrow, guys. Good luck with your planning."
That strikes Clarke as an odd comment. Not the words, as such, which are exactly the words she might expect in such a situation, but the careful emphasis and the quirked eyebrow which stays in place even as Raven hops to her feet and leaves the table, Finn at her side.
Whatever. She has more important things to worry about, like forty-seven of her people trapped in Mount Weather, and a bunch of delusional adults who don't understand the realities of their situation.
"You doing OK?" Bellamy asks softly, and she looks up to find him considering her with a concerned gaze. "You went quiet on me there."
"I'm fine." She tells him, with a half smile that she knows will not fool him. "Just worrying about what we're going to do next."
"I get that. What we're going to do next is get our people out of there, right?"
"Yeah." She takes a slow spoonful of supper. "Getting us in is easy. I told you, there are loads of tunnels, we just have to dodge the Reapers."
"Easier said than done, from what I've heard."
"Yeah. But easier than getting out again. If they think that our people's blood will heal them, they won't let them go without a fight."
"So we fight." He says it as if it is the simplest thing in the world. In days gone by, she knows, his nonchalant suggestion of violence would have sent shivers down her spine. But now it only makes her feel warm, somehow, and protected, and reassured by his steadfast presence at her side.
"I guess so." She confirms reluctantly.
"Great." He finishes his supper, drops his spoon onto his tray. "So we get in through the tunnels, we fight, we get our friends out of there. Sounds like a plan."
She laughs at that, despite the seriousness of the situation.
"What is it?" He asks, brow furrowed. "What did I say?"
"You said it sounds like a plan. So I guess my evening just freed up, because I seem to remember I was supposed to be drinking and making a plan. But it sounds like we already made a plan."
He does not join her laughter. He is silent for a moment, jaw tense, and she is beyond confused.
And then he breaks the silence, and her confusion grows only deeper. "We could get that drink anyway?"
"What?"
"We could still get that drink. I mean, there might be more details we need to plan out, or something." He suggests in something of a rush.
"Right." She agrees, wondering why he still looks so tense. "Details. You're right, it's not a very thorough plan. Let's go get a drink."
She stands up then, and takes her tray back to the servery, Bellamy hot on her heels. And then the two of them leave the dining area, and make tracks towards the part of camp that has quickly become Moonshine Corner. It is quiet today, fewer than half a dozen of the barstools occupied, and Bellamy is quick in pointing out a deserted table well away from the other drinkers.
"Have a seat." He recommends, pulling out a chair for her as if she cannot deal with her own furniture. "I'll be right back. Do you want moonshine or moonshine?"
She laughs at that, and lowers herself cautiously into the chair he has so unnecessarily arranged for her. She's not sure where her caution stems from, not quite, but only knows that pulling out chairs for her is not something he has ever done so far in the time she has known him. Sure, he's killed for her, and stood up for her, and searched for her, but pulling out a chair for her – that seems like rather a more interesting development.
She allows herself to reflect, just for a moment, on her mother's words earlier this evening. On her suggestion that there might be something here worth being coy about. No, that can't be right. She dismisses the notion quickly. Being kind and considerate and helping unnecessarily with furniture is not something Bellamy does for his sexual partners or romantic interests. As far as Clarke can tell, pretty much all he does with them is sleep with them, actually, and then move onto yet another girl the next night. And there's absolutely no way he'd be thinking about her in that way, anyway. She is not leggy and alluring like Bree, would not follow him unquestioningly as Roma used to. No, she is opinionated and exasperating and short, and definitely not at all his type.
She considers for a moment another angle. He is kind to his sister, she has noticed, even when it is unnecessary or a little out of place. She remembers, for example, the way that he gave her a blanket when they returned from that supply depot, as if Octavia was not a young woman perfectly capable of picking up her own damn blanket. And hugging is a very brotherly sort of a thing to do, too. Yes, that must be it. This surprisingly big-hearted young man sees her as another sister figure, another burdensome yet treasured responsibility.
That's fine. That's OK. She can live with that.
He returns soon, of course, as the queue to be served is not exactly long. He deposits a drink before her, and moves a seat so that he is sitting close by her side. That seems a bit unnecessary, she cannot help but think. She is hardly likely to be attacked by anyone here, is not expecting to need brotherly protection in the immediate future.
"So where shall we start with the details for this plan?" She asks brightly, throwing back half of her drink in one so as not to feel the burn. "I should have brought my map, I didn't think of it. Want me to go and -?"
"Clarke." Bellamy interrupts her. "Don't worry about the map. We can look at that tomorrow. We're stuck here until your mother approves the mission so there's no need to rush and plan it all tonight."
"But I thought we were here to plan?" She asks, confused beyond belief. He really is a bundle of contradictions, tonight.
"Or we could just talk." He gives a shrug that she's pretty sure has been staged for her benefit. "You know, just chat and catch up."
She takes another gulp of moonshine for something to do. Chat and catch up? What were they doing over dinner if not chatting and catching up?
She sort of wants to ask him that, but he looks a bit uncomfortable and she doesn't want to make it worse. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes look somewhat sad, and she really would rather it all went away.
"They'll be OK." She tells him, presuming he must be worried about Mount Weather. "My mum will let us go, and if she doesn't I guess we'll just go anyway. Don't you think you'd feel more comfortable if we made a proper plan? So you know what's going to happen?"
"I'd feel more comfortable if I was any good at this." He mumbles, eyes fixed on his drink, and she's not at all sure what he's on about. He's good at quite a lot of things, she seems to remember mentioning that only recently.
"Any good at what?"
He does not answer her question, not right away. Just gets on with babbling the kind of shapeless babble she has not heard from him since their trip to that depot all those weeks ago.
"I'd feel more comfortable if I had the first idea how to go about asking someone out, which clearly I don't, otherwise you wouldn't still be sitting there talking about the damn plan. And I know I should be thinking about the plan, that's the worst thing. I know it makes me a terrible person that I even want to ask you out when all our friends are trapped in that mountain. But I just got you back and I'm terrified that you're going to disappear on me again and – God, this is stupid – I just knew I had to at least try before we go on this stupid rescue mission." He runs out of steam, then, throws back the rest of his drink, and then stares in sullen silence at the table before him.
Clarke takes a deep breath and wonders why the camp seems to be spinning around her. It would appear that, reasonably intelligent or not, she has misinterpreted a few clues this evening.
"You were trying to ask me out?" She decides, at last, that this is the logical place to start.
"Yeah." He grinds out the single syllable, gaze still fixed on the table.
"Why didn't you just – you know – ask me out?"
"Believe it or not, Princess, I don't have a whole lot of experience at that." He sounds angry now, and she's pretty sure anger is not supposed to be a feature of first dates. If this is still a date at all, that is, and she has not ruined it by being so embarrassingly slow on the uptake.
"You must do. You seem pretty... experienced."
"Yeah, at screwing people in broom closets. And recently tents. But I didn't exactly have a chance at a real relationship with my little sister hiding under the floor, did I?"
"I guess not." She says, hoping her tone sounds soothing. "I'm sorry I didn't work it out. I don't have a lot of experience at being asked out."
He snorts, evidently still less than pleased. "Sure. Like Wells didn't ask you out every other day."
"He didn't." She bites back, annoyed and upset that he would stoop so low as to bring up the friend she lost so recently. "He knew I didn't feel like that about him, and he never pushed me or tried to make me feel guilty. He was – he was really good to me." She swallows, thickly, aware that he must be able to hear the tears in her voice.
"Clarke?" He looks up from the table at last but she takes care to avoid his gaze. "I'm sorry, Clarke. I shouldn't have said that. I'm such an idiot. That was – that was out of line, and I'm sorry."
"Great first date." She tries to arrange her features into something resembling a smile, hopes that her teasing tone conveys that he is more or less forgiven and she's not intending to be tearful for the entire evening.
"What?"
"Great first date. I hope they'll be better than this in the future. You know, less crying, fewer rescue missions to worry about. If we could not have Finn and Raven third and fourth wheeling at dinner, too, that would be good."
"In the future?" He is staring at her with a rather unflattering look of stunned confusion on his face.
"Yeah."
"You mean that – that if I asked you out in the future, you'd say yes?"
She knows that she's looking at him as if he's lost his mind. In her defence, it does seem like a pretty mindless question for him to have asked, given the circumstances.
"Of course I'd say yes." After all, she cannot help but notice, now that he has sowed the seed of the idea, that it would hardly be logical to say no. "I trust you, you're hot, there must be a reason all those girls are queuing up to screw you. And sometimes your lame jokes are even funny."
For one, long moment, he gapes at her open-mouthed. Then he makes a visible effort to gather his wits, and a tentative smile breaks out over his face. "I'll have you know my lame jokes are always funny."
"I disagree."
"Of course you disagree. Disagreeing with me is your thing."
She laughs at that, and in a mad moment of bravery places a hand half way between them on the table. Just in case he should want to hold it, just in case he should want to entwine his fingers with her own.
He does, as it turns out, and it seems that he wants to ask her something, too. "Hey, Clarke, do you want to get a drink together some time? Look, there's a bar right here. How convenient."
"That sounds like a plan." She tells him, smile broad. "Good job on not screwing up this time."
"I'm sorry about earlier. I was – I was pretty nervous, I guess. And so uncomfortable. And I'd had all that time waiting for you outside Med Bay to get even more worked up about it."
"I can understand that. I feel the same way about peeing without a toilet seat."
"You're trying to compare asking someone out with taking a piss?"
"What? You said it made you uncomfortable."
He laughs, and squeezes her hand, and she finds herself rather glad that his feelings for her are decidedly not brotherly after all. In fact, now she comes to think about it, she's not at all sure why she ever pretended quite so carefully that she wasn't interested in thinking about Bellamy in this way. It seems so obvious, now, while he's looking at her with those lovely eyes and his hair is falling across his forehead and he even smells good, somehow, that she cannot quite believe she overlooked it for so long.
"Clarke?" He is frowning, again, and she wonders what has made him so uncomfortable this time. "Can I – if I screw up the first kiss, can I have a second try at that, too?"
"You know, I think the only way you're going to find that out is by giving it a go."
He nods at that, and inhales deeply. And then he's closing the gap between them, closing his eyes, too, and she can feel his warm breath on her lips as she prepares for this moment she has only just realised she has been awaiting for months.
He doesn't screw up the first kiss, as it happens. It is soft, to begin with, but persistent in the best possible way, and it is warm as he is warm. And then it is no longer soft, but rather fierce as she is fierce, and yet somehow she has never been more comfortable in her life. And as he pulls away and asks her if, perhaps, they might postpone their drink for another day and take themselves back to his room, it is all she can do to form coherent sentences and hold fast to his hand on the short walk across the camp.
And as for the screwing – well, he certainly doesn't screw up his first attempt at that.
a/n Thanks for reading!