Based off the prompt: Secret Santa (Okay I took a few liberties, this is basically a story about Bellamy being totally whipped and making Clarke presents and Clarke wondering why on earth anyone in camp would think she wants a collection of wooden birds)
Clarke was sitting in her tent, updating her map, the first time it happened. There was a soft thud from behind her. Glancing at the door, she noticed a small package laying on the ground. Frowning, she walked over to pick it up. It was crudely wrapped in burlap, and when she tugged at the string that had been tied neatly into a bow, the material fell away to reveal a small wooden carving. It's base was a branch that had been stripped of bark, two small figures had been added. The first was a tiny bird, perched atop the branch, and the second was a pear, hanging beneath it. Both were carved beautifully from a darker wood.
Puzzled, Clarke stuck her head out the flap of her tent, but there was no one around. It was a beautiful piece, but she couldn't imagine who would have made it for her. Shrugging, she set it down beside the map, and got back to work.
The next night, she shuffled into her tent, barely making it to the bed before collapsing onto it, face first. She was completely exhausted from patrolling with the guard all night, and wanted nothing more than to sleep until the sun came up. She was halfway into a dream when she heard it. A soft thud, just like the night before. Shooting to her feet, she dashed to the door, but once again the area around her was deserted. Clarke retreated, grabbing the package from the floor and sitting on her bed to open it. It was wrapped the same way as the first one, and turned out to be a carving as well. This one was two birds, nothing else. She admired the detail while wondering who had the time to put this kind of work into a gift. Especially an anonymous one. Her mind momentarily flitted to Finn, and the animals he folded out of pieces of scrap metal, but these were different. He had never shown any ability in woodcarving, that she knew of, and besides that they weren't exactly on good terms at the moment. She dismissed the idea. Setting the new birds next to the first branch, Clarke fell asleep and forgot all about them.
She woke up to find another package beside her bed. Despite being a little uncomfortable at the idea that someone had snuck into her tent while she slept, she tugged at the wrapping curiously. Three more carvings, each identical, tumbled onto her blanket. She picked one up, and immediately recognized it as a chicken.
"What the hell?" She wondered why anyone would think she wanted a collection of wooden birds. They were set next to the others, and Clarke spared them one last questioning glance before heading out to join morning patrol.
Later that night she was sitting at the fire, talking to Octavia, when she decided to bring up the gifts. She explained the way they'd come in the night, tossed into her tent with no note. Octavia lit up at the mention of something that didn't involve death or war. She leaned in curiously.
"What was in them?"
"These wooden carvings. A bunch of little birds. Weird right?" Clarke asked, expecting Octavia to agree. Instead, the younger girl looked amused. "What?"
"Nothing." Octavia said, too quickly. Clarke frowned.
"Do you know who they're from?"
"No." Octavia shook her head. "No clue. I wish I was getting gifts from a secret admirer though." She smiled wistfully. Clarke rolled her eyes.
"What am I going to do with them? It's not like my tent has a lot of space for decorating." Clarke sighed. Octavia stood up, and Clarke glanced up, surprised. "Where are you going?"
"I've got to do something. I'll see you later." Octavia said, before turning and practically sprinting away. Clarke just shook her head. She didn't really understand Octavia sometimes, but given the younger girl's history it was a wonder she was as well-adjusted as she was.
The next day passed uneventfully, and by the time Clarke fell asleep there had still been no deliveries. Good, she thought.
And it wasn't like she was disappointed the next morning either, when she woke to find nothing new. She wasn't expecting anymore gifts, or at least so she told herself. But she ran her fingers over one of the carvings wistfully before leaving the tent.
It was later in the evening when they showed up. Two more packages greeted her when she pushed open the flap to her tent. The first was more carvings, five more birds. Sighing, Clarke placed them on the desk, which was running out of room. The second parcel jingled when she picked it up, and when she opened it, instead of wood carvings, five small rings fell into her hand. They were gold, in color but not in construction. It looked like someone had painted them. Frowning, she slipped one onto the middle finger of her right hand. It fit, and she looped the other four on the string that had come with the wrapping, tying it to a loop of ripped fabric that hung from the ceiling.
Still pondering the appearance of the rings, Clarke fell asleep, and dreamt of a Christmas song she couldn't remember the words to.
The next three days saw a return to the one a day pattern, each gift arriving in her tent sometime during the day. They turned out to be, in order; six more birds the first day, then seven the next, followed by eight tiny women and eight tiny cows. The most recent batch, the women and cows, were even painted, and Clarke wondered not for the first time who had the time to make these. Every day there was one additional item, and they were all skillfully done. She couldn't remember anyone of the 100 having a predilection for wood carving, but she couldn't really imagine anyone from Camp Jaha knowing or liking her well enough to go to all the effort.
Clarke was working in the med bay when Bellamy came in. There was a cloth wrapped around his hand, and it was soaked in blood. She stood up so quickly her chair tipped over behind her, the noise echoing around the small metallic space. He gave her a look as he approached her, one that said Don't start, one that she had seen a hundred times before. Still, she frowned as she unwrapped his hand, sighing when she saw the gash running across his palm. He sat on the cot, staring off into space.
"Bellamy-"
"Don't start, Clarke." He warned her, out loud this time. She reached silently for the needle, stabbing it into his hand with a little more force than was necessary. He winced.
"What'd you do?" She asked, with a neutrality she didn't feel.
"I just cut it shaving."
"Shaving?" She ran a finger across the day old stubble on his jaw.
"Obviously I didn't get very far."
"Mhmm." She tied off the string, cutting it, and got to her feet. "Okay, you're good. I would say try not to use that hand for the next couple of days, but it's not like you would listen to me." She turned away, hearing the floor creak as Bellamy stood.
"Thanks." He muttered, and then his footsteps faded away. Ignoring the knot that formed in her stomach every time Bellamy walked into the med bay injured, Clarke turned back to the medicine she was organizing.
The ninth day was nine more women, twisted into shapes that Clarke could only assume meant they were dancing. The tenth brought a similar set, only they were men, with one more piece. Clarke had salvaged a crude set of shelves from the med bay, and they were now covered in the figurines.
On the eleventh day, Octavia showed up at her tent to see the carvings for herself. She laughed delightedly upon seeing them, picking one up with some familiarity.
"These are great." She murmured, looking through them. "Someone must really like you." Clarke shrugged.
"I guess. Anyone who knew me probably wouldn't have bothered with all this. I just don't understand the point." Octavia looked over at Clarke incredulously.
"Wait, do you actually not get it?" She asked. Clarke shook her head. "Don't you remember that old Christmas song? The twelve days of Christmas?" Suddenly a light bulb went off in Clarke's head, and she had lyrics for the tune that had been stuck in her head for the past few days.
"Turtle doves, French hens, lords-a-leaping…" She murmured, running through the verses and scanning the carvings. "Golden rings." She glanced down at the one she wore on her finger. "Ohhh."
Beside her, Octavia smiled.
"That's a lot of work for someone just to get your attention, you know. And there are only two days left. Do you think they'll reveal themselves tomorrow?" She asked. Clarke shrugged.
"I have no idea." She answered, but the idea of finding out who'd done all this brightened her mood a little. Her curiosity had been barely contained the past few days.
Later that night, Clarke was already in bed when she heard the telltale sound of a weight hitting the earth. She peeled back the covers, padding barefoot over to grab it. So far all the gifts since the rings had been more carvings, and this set was no different. Clarke pulled the first piece out, examining it. The shape was perfect, a pipe, and she suspected if she wanted to she could actually use it. There were ten more in the bag, and they went on the shelf next to the dancers.
"Eleven pipers piping." She said to herself, yawning. The next day, if she wasn't mistaken, were drummers. She fell asleep to images of little drummer boys with messy black hair and freckles.
The next morning Clarke swung by Octavia's tent to show her the pipes, but Octavia wasn't there. Knowing she'd be back any minute, Clarke waited inside. As she looked around, Clarke noticed a wooden chair that hadn't been there before. Close up, she realized it was hand carved, the intricate designs on the back looking suspiciously familiar. She straightened up as she heard Octavia come in.
"Where did you get this?" She asked. Octavia blinked.
"Bellamy made it." Clarke gaped at her. Realizing what she'd just said, Octavia grimaced. Clarke pushed past her, toward the door.
"Clarke, wait-"
"You knew the whole time?" Clarke demanded, more irritated than angry.
"It was obviously supposed to be a secret, I didn't want to give him away…" Octavia trailed off looking guilty. Clarke sighed.
"It's fine. At least now I know. I've gotta go." She ducked out of the tent, making a beeline for the tent where her partner, and apparent secret santa, lived. She thrust through the flap without hesitation. The scene in front of her was not what she'd expected. Bellamy sat at the desk he'd made for himself, a knife in one hand. There were pieces of wood littering the desk, and shavings everywhere. He jumped up when he heard her enter.
"Clarke! I…" He stood in front of the desk, trying to block her view. For a moment Clarke was silent. Then she burst into laughter. The way he looked, eyes wide, wood chips in his hair, it was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. It was also one of the most ridiculous. She walked up to him, brushing the debris out of his hair. He stared down at her.
"Hey." She said, smiling. He looked confused.
"Uh, hey."
"Are those my drums?" She asked. Something clicked behind his eyes, and he deflated a little.
"You know." He sounded disappointed.
"Octavia told me." Clarke said. There was something about the moment, the realization that he had done all of this for her, that made Clarke's heart skip in her chest. He was looking down at her, those big brown eyes so disappointed, and she couldn't help herself. She stood on her toes, pressing her lips to his, softly. It was quick, and innocent, and when she drew away the surprise in his eyes matched the surprise that she felt. Taking a step back, she almost tripped over a blanket. His hand reached out, automatically, steadying her. Instead of letting go, he slid his hand up her arm, pulling her back in, pulling her up.
When he kissed her it wasn't quick or innocent. It was heat and lust, and lingering. He smelled like wood, and earth, and sweat, and it was so familiar. He slid her jacket from her shoulders, and his fingers on her skin were electric, but his touch felt like home, and she lost herself in it. Clothes continued to drop to the ground, and soon she was standing in front of him naked, shivering from the cold but also from the way he was looking at her. She felt vulnerable, and safe, and when he pulled her back into his arms, lowering her onto the blankets, she just felt alive.
After, they lay in bed, only the sound of their breathing breaking the silence. Clarke sighed, resting her head against his chest. His arm wound around her waist, his thumb stroking her hip.
"I didn't know you could carve like that." She said, a little breathless still.
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, princess." He replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Clarke smirked.
"Like how ticklish you are?" She feathered her fingers across the spot on his neck she had discovered earlier. He shuddered, and glared at her.
"I hope you know that's privileged information." He warned. She snorted.
"Yeah, okay. I'll keep it to myself." She meant him, Clarke realized. She wanted to keep him to herself. It frightened her a little, knowing his history, but something about the way they fit together, even like this, even after, felt so natural she didn't worry.
"You okay?" He asked, his voice a whisper in her ear. She shivered.
"I'm fine." She rolled over, so her arms and chin were resting on his chest. "You should get back to work." He raised an eyebrow at that.
"Well, okay, but you're going to have to give me a minute." Clarke smacked him.
"That's not what I meant. I still want my twelve drummers drumming. I can't have an incomplete set." She smiled innocently up at him. Bellamy stared at her for a moment. Then he broke out in laughter, the vibrations going straight through her. He kissed her, one more time, then slid out of the blankets. Clarke didn't look away, and when Bellamy glanced down to find her admiring him unapologetically she could swear she saw him blush. He snatched up his pants, shoving them on.
"See something you like?" He asked sarcastically. Clarke grinned.
"Oh, maybe." She followed his lead, getting dressed, and was about to leave when he grabbed her hand. She looked over at him and realized he was staring at the ring.
"You actually wore it?" He sounded surprised. Clarke was kind of surprised he hadn't noticed it earlier, actually, considering where her hands had been, but…
"Yeah." She shrugged. It wasn't as if there was an abundance of jewelry on earth, at least not in Camp Jaha. "I figured, someone went to all that effort. If I'd known it was you…" She trailed off, suddenly feeling silly.
"You'd have come here a week ago and the exact same thing would have happened." Clarke laughed.
"Well there's seven days of lost time to make up for then." She said.
"More like a couple months." He told her, bluntly. Clarke blinked. He leaned in, but she pressed a hand to his chest.
"Hey. I meant what I said. You finish those drummers and then you can come see me about sex." She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, then nearly flounced out of his tent. She hadn't been in such a good mood in years.
That night, back with Bellamy, back in bed (of course), Clarke stared at the wooden pieces covering nearly every surface in her tent. She had no use for them, and they would inevitably get lost if they moved, but there was something she couldn't put her finger on that endeared them to her. Looking back at Bellamy, his face peaceful in sleep, she realized what it was. He had spent days making these for her, these stupid trinkets that she would never have wanted, could never use. She remembered the day he'd come into the med bay, his hand sliced open. This was his way of showing her he was serious, something she knew she would have questioned. His reputation preceded him, the endless revolving door of girls in and out of his tent. That had been a long time ago, Clarke realized, but it was suddenly fresh in her mind.
He'd done this for her, it wasn't about the gifts, it was the gesture, the declaration. The words to the song whispered in her ear.
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…