Chapter 20:

The deep gravel of her cough spurs him in her direction not that he needs any help in locating Clarke Griffin with her stubborn fixation concerning the welfare of their people. He reminds himself, kicks himself—really, that this whole thing could have been avoided if he'd been a little less stupid and a lot more open. Clarke is hunched over a swearing Raven smearing some type of sab on her welted legs. The scent of it wafts around the drop ship and he's pleasantly surprised by it's floral fumes. His eyes scan the sullied torn pieces of cloth that she's manufactured as semi-sanitary rags near her feet before he actually surveys her body. Pieces of dirt litter the floor from the ridges in her boots and her pants have small holes in them that she hasn't asked Octavia to repair yet. He imagines she fancies the idea of doing it herself or using her time differently. His eyes fall to the generous curve of her ass for a second out of habit.

He can't help how attracted he is to her.

Slowly, he finds himself studying the tenseness of her shoulders and the way she rolls her neck now and then.

It's Raven that acknowledges him in the middle of her hissing with a gentle nod in his direction. Clarke turns her head, meeting his eyes immediately. He wonders if she knew he was standing near the parachutes of the door the whole time. They've become pretty accustomed to each other's presence over the last week or so. He clears his throat before his eyes dart to her lips. She's chewing on the same spot, sucking a piece of her abused skin into her mouth until it's raised and swollen. Her actions are mesmerizing and he feels both aroused and idiotic the more time he spends lingering on her mouth rather than checking in on her.

When he returns to her eyes, she's giving him an expression that's torn between amusement and 'what could you possibly want?'. He could tell her fifty things that he wants right now that would either make her blush or punch him in the throat. But he could also tell her a few things that he wants that don't even involve sex.

He wants his mattress to smell like her and those fruity soaps Monty makes for her to test. He wants to tangle his fingers in her wild morning hair and he wants to be the reason she's smiling…there are so many things he wants from her that don't involve their sex-life and he just doesn't know how to tell her. He might die if he never feels the weight of her mouth against his again—even if she sounds like a frog when she coughs, ribbiting with panting breaths when she's trying to keep eye contact. "You're done for the day." Bellamy doesn't know when his voice became so soft, or how he could fit that much compassion into one sentence but he manages it.

"Go. I'm fine." Raven assists with a minor wince. "It's not like Octavia isn't capable."

Clarke opens her mouth but she's not capable of saying anything. He'd be willing to bet a month's rations that she has a perfect argument running around her pretty little head. As much as he hates seeing her sick, he kind of likes her inability to be a true smartass. He must say that out loud because she shoots him a death glare that could make Marcus Kane cry like a little bitch. She stands up, stretching out the stiffness from her joints before she walks past him with a scowl on her face. Bellamy tries to grab her hand but she jerks it away from him. He rolls his eyes, goes for her hand again so he can successfully stop her angry stomps. "You're going to listen to me…not that you have much of a choice."

Clarke rolls her eyes and pries her hand from his but she doesn't try to storm away. Improvement, he thinks to himself. "You're angry with me for being honest with you." Clarke opens her mouth but snaps her jaw shut, shifting her weight to her other leg in discontent. "But you've got to understand that I care about you…I care about you more than anyone else in this camp next to Octavia. That's why I won't lie to you. That's what makes you different from the other girl's that I've been with, okay? Because if it was them, I would feel obligated to lie but with you, I don't." He shakes his head, "I know that doesn't make sense because you're looking for something I don't know how to do right now…and anything I say doesn't change the fact that you deserve someone that can love you without hesitation…but I don't want to be with you, I don't plan to be with you, just because you're pregnant."

She squirms, releasing a little cough. Clarke whines and the next thing he knows, her hand is on the back of his neck and his mouth is against hers. His hands meets her hips while she slips her tongue between his readied lips. He really hopes Clarke hasn't caught some type of cold because he's positive he would be contracting it with every second their tongues dance together.

He's not apologizing for not loving her and she's not hating him because he isn't ready.

They're just moving on, moving forward.

He almost forgets their openly making out in public…Well, until Jasper comes out of nowhere with caramel colored goo on his hands and a mad scientist gleam in his eyes. Clarke steps away from Bellamy sheepishly, a faint blush on her cheeks. She can be shy all she wants, he's damn proud. "What Jasper?" Bellamy asks without the usual bark in his voice.

"Monty and I think we've mastered the new concoction for your constant—" Clarke shoots him a look and he holds out his finger to her, "Taste?"

Bellamy can't help but smirk to himself when Clarke widens her eyes and flicks Jasper on the nose.

For starters, let me apologize for not updating SOONER. Oh my god, I've had such writer's block with this story. It was like every time I started to write it, I'd get annoyed and scrap the whole thing. What did you think of this? Worth the wait? I know it's entirely too short but there WILL be more updates soon and a pretty decent amount of time jumps.

-Brooke.