I do not own the 100. Credit for the stunning cover art goes to wilderbiz from tumblr, who made my week with that beautiful image.

"Get out," Bellamy growled low in the back of his throat. The promise of violence hung thick in the air.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say," Jasper returned, using his let's just be calm about this voice. He kept his hand firmly clapped over his eyes, slowly backing away.

He could not have picked a worse time to show up. I wanted Bellamy all to myself. I wanted my answer. This man had just stepped up in the most telling way possible. I was still reeling from it. Couldn't we have one more minute together, without being reminded of how many more problems we were going to have to deal with today?

I stifled my uncharacteristic annoyance. This was a stolen moment. As monumental and overwhelming and life changing as the possibility of being pregnant was, I couldn't allow it to take over my head. Being leaders meant dealing with the hundred's problems. Either that or stepping down and letting someone else assume the title.

I eased back on my legs, away from Bellamy and our compromising position. I ignored the dark look he sent me as I addressed Jasper. "Was there something you needed?"

He paused in his retreat for just a second. "Oh, you know, the usual. Miller bumped his head but said he's fine, Octavia's driving Monty crazy and he can't get rid of her, Baxter's on strike, and I'm bored now that the wall's done and there are only so many nuts I can crack before I crack-"

"Five minutes," Bellamy interjected, clearly disgusted. "I was gone five minutes."

More like half an hour, but I could see how that seemed fleeting to him. It wasn't nearly enough for me either. "We'll be out soon, Jasper. Thanks."

"No problem." He turned and scampered, obviously trying to outrun Bellamy's increasingly thunderous expression.

He looked like a god sitting there with his legs parted, his big combat boots pointed out, and his shirt stretching across his chest because he was leaning back on his hands. A displeased god, judging by his clenched jaw.

This was the man who considered it his divine right to be my child's father.

My heart clenched in my chest.

I was becoming a fool. I knew that. I didn't trust him at the start. I didn't even trust him as recently as that night he first told me he had time and facts on his side. Since then he'd been chipping away at my heart piece by piece, putting his name on the bits that he managed to get from me.

The first time he told me to hold his hand.

Pissing me off so badly when he warned Finn away, then protecting me from prying eyes. When we were hiding, I knew I wanted him. I knew I was glad he was there with me. Even though I had to trust him with my life, though, I held back. I latched onto him because it was the last thing I'd do in the world, and I wanted to memorize everything beautiful and ugly about him.

Then he saved me. He let me cry. He didn't let me retreat. He kept tipping me over. He made me not just want him, but want him. For me. He made Clarke Griffin want Bellamy Blake all to herself.

The comb. The needles. The bed. The way he saved Sam and gave Baxter a purpose. Monty's flower water. Wanting kids. The way he told stories about Octavia. The sense of humor that peeked out from time to time. Our evenings.

The list got longer and longer every day. The baby? I was more than willing to be on my own, to take care of my body and accept the consequences of my decisions. He didn't have to be here.

I couldn't even call what he was doing choosing to stay.

He was emphatically rejecting the option of walking away.

I lowered my lashes to hide my thoughts from him. "I'll go see if Miller's really okay," I said, already starting to stand. "Then I'll talk to Baxter. There's got to be a reason for the strike."

"Not so fast, Princess." He didn't move so much as an inch; the power of his personality alone was enough to bring me up short.

He looked up at me like he could see right into my soul. That darkness that always clung to him was back in full force, reminding me of all the times I mentally compared him to animals. Not one speck of playfulness remained. It was like it never existed.

"We were having a conversation," he reminded me lazily.

I sighed. "And you said now wasn't the time to talk about it. It's true; we have to deal with other things."

He still didn't move.

I reached out and brushed a wild black lock from his temple. "Thanks for braiding my hair. You were right; I am impressed."

A big square hand captured mine before I could blink.

Dark, dark lashes framed piercing eyes. "One of these days," he rumbled, "you're gonna learn to get out of your head."

Before I could ask him what that meant, he pushed himself up to tower over me. I stumbled back to accommodate for the suddenness; he followed and followed until I was backed into the sturdy side of the waginogan.

I couldn't read his mood and that set me on edge. "Bellamy, what—"

He backed up just a little. I thought that was the end of it, but then his other hand came up and his fingers took hold of the hem of my new shirt—oh my god, why the hell was he lifting that—

His head bent and his mouth latched onto my chest. Right there, on the swell, where my left breast met new-to-me brastrap. I gasped and arched in utter shock. He snaked an arm around my waist and yanked me up into him, lifting me high from the ground while he sucked as hard as he could on my skin. I through my head back, staring at the ceiling for a wide eyed second, trying to assimilate just what in the name of—and then my brain short circuited and all I could feel was his tongue swirling right before he broke suction.

My entire body was malfunctioning. I had grabbed onto his shoulders instinctively for balance, and I stared at the scar on his forehead from the Grounder attack. "Bellamy!" I couldn't even make my voice go higher than a whisper.

He made a sound like a grunt or a groan and then he dipped his head again, running his tongue in a hot, wet, consuming circle on my tender skin.

Then he latched on again, pulling and making the most amazing noises in the back of his throat, like he was devouring me.

I didn't know what to think. I only knew how to feel.

When he pulled away again with a slight pop, his cheeks were flushed and my body was zinging in so many places I didn't know where to begin. He was panting. I wasn't even breathing, my mouth parted in pure astonishment.

His eyes grew hooded. "That's mine," he rasped. He palmed the breast possessively, running his thumb over my nipple. He tilted us and dragged his tongue along the underside of my jaw.

God.

Then he let me slide along his body to the ground, his semihard arousal out and proud against all the right places. My heart thundered against his chest, my shirt crawling up the further down I went.

His hand slid with me, covering my bare stomach with a hot palm. "So's this," he breathed into my ear.

This stark intimacy had me arrested. All the hair on the back of my neck stood up in response. Every nerve in me was alive.

"It's coming. It's happening. There's no stopping it. And when it does, we're going to use each other up so good." He circled his hips, making sure I felt all of him. "I won't let a goddamn thing get in our way—not Grounders, not the hundred, and no chances of tearing open your wound." He leaned in, his face over mine. For a second I noticed my pale hand next to his darker skin, and then I was caught in his gaze. "Better be prepared for that, Clarke."

He kissed me, short and hard, burning me deep.

When he drew back he looked like he could tear the whole world down. "Now you can go see if Miller's alright," he told me, stepping out of my arms. My fingers dragged against the fabric of his jacket unconsciously.

He pulled my shirt down, smoothing it over my belly. "Remember to put on your coat, Princess. You need to stay warm."

"Uh huh," I replied dumbly.

The corner of his mouth quirked. His eyes smiled at me.

I watched him leave, my brain total mush. All I could do was stand there, finally able to breathe, the spot he'd marked on my chest throbbing pleasantly.

Right over my heart.

My arms lowered, my hands going to my stomach without thought. I laughed a little at how dazed I was, shocked at how quickly Bellamy Blake could make me forget where I was.

So it was official, wasn't it? There wasn't one bit left of my heart that belonged to me anymore. It was all Bellamy's. I thought of Finn, and how I felt with him, and the pang in my chest was more of a stab of regret. I didn't want Finn to die. I'd always mourn that, but what I felt with him was barely a flicker compared to the way Bellamy filled me up. He made me vulnerable in a way that I couldn't recover from.

I love him, I admitted to myself at last. My lips twisted. I was in love with Bellamy Blake, and he was right; the word just didn't cover reality. We had more.

I didn't doubt that Bellamy was right for me. Not anymore.

I just hoped that I was right for him.

It had nothing to do with the baby. It had nothing to do with our positions as leaders for what remained of the hundred. Everyone was counting on us to make the right decisions, to help others survive. People here needed me because I was a healer. I was smart. I had certain knowledge. I knew that I could fill the role they required. I tried every day to make sure I didn't let them down.

But Bellamy? I knew he wanted someone to listen to him, to let him unwind in a way he couldn't let himself do in front of Octavia. He said it himself; he wanted me because I could handle his shit, but there was a big difference between want and need.

I wanted to step up. I wanted to be to him what he was to me. The rock. The counterbalance. The voice of reason when things didn't look quiet so clear anymore. I wanted to take care of him the way I felt taken care of.

But how? What could I do that had no ties at all to being his co-leader? That was just for him?

I realized that my fingers had gotten tangled in my shirt, and I smoothed it back down again. Pregnant or not, Bellamy and I were now a family. That was the way it was going to be. And later, when it wasn't time to be leader, when I could sit down and think like a real human being, I was going to figure out how to show him I was all for that plan.

Taking a steadying breath, I cleared my head. I methodically my jacket in hand and placed the zipper in its place, then pulled the tab up. By the time it reached my throat I was ready.

Time to go save the world one teenager at a time.

I left the med center with some basic supplies, planning to see a few patients in addition to Miller. He turned out to be fine, but I noticed Monroe standing off to the side, trying to pretend she wasn't watching us. At first I thought it was because Bellamy asked her to watch me. Her gaze, however, didn't dart to me. It kept sneaking to Miller.

Understanding dawned. She made eye contact with me, realizing I'd connected the dots. She looked embarrassed. I gave her a minute shake of my head, then got back to work. Her secret was safe with me.

An imp snuck up on me at the last minute, however. When I pronounced Miller fit to walk around, I added, "But just to be sure, someone should check on you a few times tonight. Anybody we know that could—oh, Monroe, come here."

Frowning, she ambled over.

"Can you make sure to drop by Miller's tent tonight and look him over? Nothing big, just making sure his eyes are fine. That kind of thing."

Miller grunted. "I'm not going to die in my sleep, Doc."

"If there's one thing I take as seriously as a knife in the ribs, Miller, it's head injuries. Monroe is going to check on you. End of discussion." I quickly walked away, flicking a look at Monroe as I did.

She looked happy, but was doing a good job of squashing it.

I tried to hide my smile, schooling my expression. Next stop, Baxter.

Which meant coming face to face with Raven for the first time in...a while. Since...

I slowed in front of her tent, just out of sight, and stared at it, chewing my lip. I had to get this done. I knew that. But it would be hard. I didn't know how Raven would react to me. I didn't know what to say. If she even wanted me to say something.

Well, I wasn't going to get anything done out here. I needed to go in.

"Anybody home?" I called out as I got closer. I bent down and peered in. There was Baxter and Sam...and Raven.

She was scribbling away at something. She paused at the sound of my voice. When she looked at me, I stifled a gasp. Her face was hollow and the dark circles under her eyes just made the bloodshot parts more obvious. We got lost in a moment, just looking at each other, when she broke eye contact and started writing again.

Baxter was sitting, or rather reclining, in a corner. He looked at me with none of the warmth I'd come to expect from him. Sam was rigid several feet away, fiddling with what looked like another comb.

"Hi." I came into the tent and sat down. "Something you want to talk about?" I asked without preamble.

"Why am I making all of these bowls?" he asked.

A frown creased my brow. "Because we need them."

"What do I need?"

"A break, I'm guessing."

His shoulders sagged. "You have no idea. Do you know how many of those stupid things I've made? Twenty. Do you know how many more I don't want to make? All of them. Because it's all me. See this?" He held up his hands. Blisters riddled them.

I swore inwardly. I got out my pack and got the necessary things ready. "Why didn't you tell Bellamy?"

"Have you ever tried to tell that guy anything?"

"Yes," I retorted, "and he listened because it made sense."

He sagged a little under my confidence, then rallied. "So, fine, he'll give us a break. But all these people are getting bowls. Tell me what we're getting in return?"

"You get the same food as everybody else." I tended his wounds. "Without having to go out and kill it."

"But I'm also doing highly specialized work that people cannot seem to understand takes time to complete. Every day somebody comes by and complains. Where are the bowls, where are the bowls? And you know what, they also broke three of the ones I'd already finished!" He waved a hand dramatically. "Tell me how that's fair!"

"So what do you want me to do about it?" I asked. "Reasonable requests, Baxter. And I'm not making promises. I just want to know what it is that would make you feel like things are fair."

"More people to help Sam and me."

I disinfected his palms. "I'm listening."

"Something to compensate us for our time."

"We can't institute a monetary system, Baxter. We have barter."

"Exactly, except I'm doing the work and the group is benefitting without exchanging something for it. I could have been on the wall, gotten the same amount of food, and I would have had a lot less to do."

He had a point. He was making an extra, concerted effort, and probably would continue to do so in the future. The fact remained, however, that we couldn't do any sort of credit system. It would introduce imbalance to a society that was barely able to call itself that. We'd just gotten rid of classicism. We didn't need it back again. "If we barter something to you, you'll agree to continue?"

"If there are extra people to help. And it can't be a one time thing. You've got to think about it—bowls are something that usually last for more than one use. Don't get me started on the topic of spoons."

I chuckled. "Okay. We'll see what we can do. For now I want the two of you to take a break. Rest. Eat. Doctor's orders." I looked at Sam. "That means you too."

"I like the work," she told me quietly.

"I like you well rested and able to continue doing what you like," I returned in the same reasonable tone I'd heard my mother use a thousand times. "Or make something for yourself, if you like. It can be pretty cathartic. Just don't go overboard, or I'll come back and give you both hell."

I gathered up my supplies after tying off a couple of light bandages on Baxter's palms. "You can trust Bellamy," I said to them. "He won't bite your head off for no reason."

Raven stopped scribbling. She was just staring at the paper. It looked like a grid. Like the map we wanted to put together that day we took a bath.

I steadied myself. "See you later, Raven."

I took a chance. I knew it was a risk when I did it, but I did it anyway. I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

She didn't respond.

I left the tent and was ready to go about my rounds, when I heard her call out my name. She came out of the tent in a rush, looking kind of wild. She took me by the arm and dragged me behind her, up the hill, past the med center, and behind the drop ship where there was no one around.

She let my arm go and started to pace. I caught a hint of that mint Monty had introduced to us. Her hair looked nice, but the rest of her...She clearly wasn't eating the way she should. She was gaunt, pale under her natural olive complexion.

She stopped, turning to me. "How are you?"

My brows raised. I wasn't expecting that. "Fine," I replied automatically. It was programmed, something I said without thinking. The standard response that meant nothing.

Her eyes welled. "I'm not. I'm not fine at all, Clarke. I'm really...really not fine." Her shoulders started to shake. "I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't seem to feel anything but this-" She held a fist in front of her chest. "I don't know what to say. What to do. I don't ever remember being without him."

I watched her, stunned by how quickly stoic Raven seemed to be crumbling.

And why not? A harsh inner voice retorted. Why not? She'd lost someone. Someone she loved profoundly.

I knew people were watching her. I knew they were making sure she didn't hurt herself. Suddenly I was realizing that no one had ever gotten around to showing Raven that she could go somewhere to grieve.

To keep all of that bottled up inside...I thought of Bellamy, and when I cried. Had anyone given Raven that chance?

Maybe she wouldn't want it from me. Or maybe she did. Why else would we be here?

"You're the only one out of everybody who comes close to understanding," Raven whispered in the end. She wasn't crying. She was breaking.

So I grabbed her to me, not caring if she hugged me back. It was so easy to forget that other people needed Bellamy and I to be more than leaders sometimes.

She stood stiff in my arms for what seemed like eternity. Then her hands grabbed hold of my jacket and she hunched, down, down, until her forehead rested on my shoulder.

And then she cried.