"Up in Flames"
Lucawindmover
Chapter Fifteen
"Between"
Clarke awoke from sleep in slow motion, her mind creeping from dreaming to awake at a leisurely crawl. It was nice for a change. Their afternoon had been largely uneventful. Dinner as well. Plans were made to make sure Raven and Miller had a solid fifteen or twenty minutes to check out the fan after dark and report their findings in the morning. So when the lights went down, she and Bellamy had gone to bed and tried to rest, showing the camera as much normalcy as possible. Miraculously, they'd actually fallen asleep.
Since the moment her feet had touched the ground, Clarke hadn't slept well. Sleeping was dangerous on the ground. Every time they closed their eyes, they were vulnerable. Vulnerable to wild animals, to Grounders, to one another. She hadn't trusted the others in their group at first and in order to sleep she could only do it for a few minutes at a time, usually clutching a knife as she did. So having the ability to sleep for several hours without fear of death and danger was a new feeling for Clarke, a feeling that she directly connected to Bellamy.
Bellamy…pressed against her back, his arm wrapped around her protectively, his warm breath rustling her hair and tickling the back of her neck.
She never usually got to see him sleeping. Somehow he always managed to let her fall asleep first and was awake before her in the mornings. She wondered for a moment if he would notice it if she rolled toward him.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to chance it and she turned in his arms, doing her best not to pull too far away in case the loss of body heat would be the thing to wake him.
Bellamy's arm tightened around her back as she settled. Other than taking one deeper breath than the others, it seemed as if her movement hadn't woken him.
Clarke smiled at her victory and took the time to really look at him.
She'd always known he was attractive but she had also always been too busy for that to count for anything. A lot of the guys in their camp were good looking but it didn't matter when they were running for their lives or scavenging enough food to survive. It didn't matter when they were all covered in blood and mud and struggling to put one foot in front of the other.
And while they were by no means safe here in the Mountain, it didn't seem like they were in immediate danger either. So for this moment, Clarke allowed herself to indulge in noticing.
She was a little annoyed by how much she liked his freckles. She couldn't always see them for the grit and grime that was usually ever-present. But he was clean now and she had the most ridiculous urge to run her fingers over his cheeks, mapping the way they were scattered there and across the bridge of his nose. Then there was that little scar along his upper lip. She wondered where that had come from. None of them were stranger to scars at this point but she remembered that he'd had this particular scar before they'd ever stepped out of the drop ship. He'd gotten it on the Ark.
Clarke hadn't even felt her hand move but there it was before her suddenly, her thumb hovering over that scar. She wanted to smooth it, just once, pretend to wipe it away and along with it the memory of what had caused it, which couldn't be a happy one. It was ridiculous and inappropriate and far more sentimental than she usually felt toward Bellamy.
Gently, she laid her hand against his cheek and gave in to the urge. The now-calloused pad of her thumb ghosted across his scar, feeling the softness and warmth of his lip and she held her breath. She remembered what his kisses felt like, the ones from that first night in the white room. They hadn't kissed each other on the mouth since then. She wondered if he ever thought about that. If they'd done it on purpose to keep from being too intimate. She couldn't remember intentionally not kissing him. But then, a lot of those white room memories were hazy, distorted and choppy now that the drugs were out of her system. But she did remember the feel of those lips against hers and it had been unlike anything else she'd ever felt before.
She had no idea how long he'd been watching her, how long she'd been focused on his mouth. But her eyes happened to flicker up and she froze as his dark brown gaze followed her movements.
She was breathless for a moment and entirely unsure of how to proceed, embarrassed for having been caught. "Uh," she said, starting to withdraw her hand. "Sorry."
He caught her hand before she could entirely drop it. "What were you doing?" he asked. He didn't sound angry, just curious.
Clarke swallowed. "It was nothing," she said, her heart hammering against her ribcage. "It was dumb."
Bellamy shook his head a little. "Tell me."
"Are you serious?" she asked, feeling her cheeks warm. It was dark, had been for a while now. He probably couldn't see her blush but she felt as if it could light up the room.
He nodded.
Slowly, she pulled her hand from his and placed it back on his cheek. "I was touching your scar," she said, letting her thumb skim across it again. "And wondering how you got it."
His brow furrowed but he didn't say anything, just watched her eyes as her thumb traced the corner of his mouth. With a sigh, she pulled her hand to her chest and waited.
After a moment he closed his eyes and rolled onto his back. Clarke felt the immediate loss of connect as his arm left her. He pulled his other arm out from under her pillow and brought both hands up to rub his face.
She was afraid that she'd upset him, that she'd crossed a line, and she couldn't help the feelings of disappointment that were building within her, spiraling out like little flames and filling her with a shameful heat.
Clarke turned her face toward her pillow, hiding from his reaction while she processed her own thoughts.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw as Bellamy looked over and took in her expression. His face softened in a way Clarke was unfamiliar with.
"Hey," he said, opening his arms a bit. "Come here. I'm not mad."
Uncertainly, she did as he asked and laid her head against her chest, both hating and loving how relieved she felt as he wrapped his arms around her. She could hear his heartbeat, pounding away steadily, each beat helping to calm her nerves a little.
"I brought up bad things, didn't I?" she asked. She couldn't see his face well from this vantage, not without turning to look up at him.
He sighed and tightened his arms a little. "Nah. Just stuff I hadn't thought about in a long time."
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she said. "I wasn't trying to pry."
He was quiet for a while and she wondered for a minute if he might not just take her advice. But eventually he took a deep breath, one that she could feel with most of her body pressed against his. "I got into a fight."
"Who, you?" she asked quietly, thick with sarcasm. "How out of character."
She was rewarded with a small chuckle and was glad he couldn't see how she smiled into his chest.
"Well I didn't always have the self-control that I have now."
"Shocking."
"Are you gonna let me tell my story or what?" he asked in a teasing tone.
She nodded against his chest and he continued.
"I was…I don't know, ten maybe? Eleven? I don't remember, young. But old enough to finally understand what the older boys had been picking at me about for years," he said. "Well, stuff they'd been saying about my mom but it might as well have been about me."
Clarke remembered how close he was to his sister. She couldn't imagine how much closer he must have been with his mother.
"Anyway," he said with a long sigh. "Suffice to say it was bad. Stuff about her being a prostitute or something. I don't know. But I tried to stand up to them about it one day after school and it didn't really work out like I meant it to."
"They busted your lip?" she asked. "But that shouldn't have left a scar."
He shrugged. "It does when you stitch it up by yourself with no mirror to look at."
Clarke leaned up on her elbow and stared at him with eyebrows raised. "You stitched your own lip up? At ten years old?"
He nodded.
"Why the hell did you do that?" she asked. "Why didn't you just come to Medical?"
Bellamy tugged at her to lay back down and she did.
"Back then I still wasn't always sure of which things could get me locked up and I was terrified of leaving Octavia without somebody to look after her," he answered. "I didn't want it reported so I got out my mom's sewing stuff and did the best that I could. Which was really stupid. But I was just a kid. What did I know?"
"I can't believe you did that. It could have gotten infected."
"I told you it was stupid, didn't I?" he said. "Besides, it's not like it's something you haven't done."
Clarke licked her lips for a second, staring forward toward the wall. "What are you talking about?"
He laughed. "I'm talking about that gash you had on your arm after we put up the fence, the one you got sneaking out without a gun."
She swallowed hard. "How do you know I was the one who stitched it?" she asked. "I mean, I taught Octavia and Raven how to do sutures."
"I don't think so," he answered. "I saw your stitches. You're the only one who does them neatly."
Clarke hadn't realized he'd been paying that much attention. "Okay," she finally said. "You got me."
"Did you end up with a scar?"
She shrugged. "Yeah," she said, smiling into his shirt. "But that's what you get when you stitch yourself up with no mirror to look at."
She knew he was smirking without even being able to see his face.
They were quiet for a while. Clarke was really comfortable and wondered if she could talk him into sleeping like this occasionally.
"Sorry I woke you up," she said after a little while.
He shrugged and she could feel his fingers rubbing idle circles on her lower back. She wasn't sure he even realized he was doing it but she really liked it. It was awfully intimate though and she wondered where their lines were any more, or if they even still had lines. She was very unclear on where they stood right now and it brought so many questions to the forefront of her mind.
Clarke propped herself up on her elbow again, making eye contact with him. "Can I ask you something?"
Bellamy nodded, his fingers stilling against her shirt.
"We stopped kissing each other," she said before she could talk herself out of it.
"That's not a question," he said with an eyebrow raised.
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Okay, why did we stop kissing?" she asked. "I mean, was it on purpose or did it just…I don't know, happen?"
His eyes closed and he swallowed hard, turning his face toward the bottom of the bunk that hung above them. Her question had apparently struck a nerve. "It was kinda intentional," he answered. "On my part anyway."
Clarke couldn't help the way her stomach clenched at the admission. She figured she must be a glutton for punishment because she then asked, "Why?"
Bellamy shrugged, still with eyes closed. "I don't know if it was the gas or what but kissing you was…really intoxicating. And I didn't want to lose what little control I had left."
"Oh," she said and couldn't think of a single additional thing to say. She completely understood. She had basically felt the same way. Those first kisses between them had been all fire and desperation. And while they had been the best kisses she'd ever experienced in her life, they'd also been hurried and frantic and had likely been caused by the chemicals running through their systems rather than desire for one another.
Bellamy finally opened his eyes and turned them to look at her, studying her expression as if he were waiting for her to yell at him or be angry.
But she wasn't angry. She was curious. Horribly and inappropriately curious. "I wonder…" she found herself saying out loud. And then she snapped her mouth shut because she couldn't finish that sentence.
"You wonder what?" he asked. But he must have had some kind of idea because there was a dark twinkling in his eyes that hadn't been there the moment before.
She didn't want to answer him but she knew that he might not let it go. "I wonder if that…intoxication…was just the gas."
She caught his gaze dip toward her lips for a moment and she knew then and there that he was wondering the same things she was.
"We could test it," he said and Clarke found herself horribly distracted by how close their faces were to one another.
"I thought we weren't going to mess with the free-will thing," she said softly, almost entirely unable to pull her gaze from his lips.
One corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk and her eyes met his in the dark. "I think you crossed that line first, Princess."
He was right. The night she'd helped him out, back in the white room. The memory of that moment flooded through her and she knew that her cheeks were flushed.
She swallowed hard as he adjusted, leaning up on his elbow as well. She looked up at him, the blood rushing in her ears, and tried to remind herself that this was just Bellamy, her partner and her friend. "It's just a test, right?" she said, almost a whisper in the quiet of the room.
Her heart caught in her throat as he brought his free hand up and cupped her cheek, pulling her forward. He leaned his forehead against hers. "It's whatever you think it is," he answered before pressing his lips to hers.
Gone was the desperation. Gone was the rush and the urgency of the kisses they'd shared in the white room. They were replaced with a tenderness she'd known he was capable of but had rarely been privy to, his thumb sliding across her cheek as she pressed closer to him. It was gentle and soft and she couldn't breathe.
It was over in a heartbeat, their foreheads still pressed together, eyes closed. Clarke could feel his hand trembling against her cheek and her own breath felt shaky and she struggled to find words.
He pulled back a little and her eyes opened to see him staring back at her, his expression almost sad. "So," he said softly, licking his lips as he spoke. "What do you think it is?"
"I think a good test requires repetition," she answered and reached up to tangle her fingers in his dark hair. Before he had an opportunity to respond she captured his lips and rendered him speechless.
This time was still sweet and tender but there was a building of heat behind it. When his tongue dipped out, teasing her, it was as if gunpowder had been thrown on those flames. She opened her mouth to him and was rewarded with his hand fisting her hair and his body pressing closer to hers. When she tentatively sucked his lower lip between hers, he groaned softly and it was suddenly as if her whole body was on fire. Memories of their actions from the white room rushed over her and she was instantly aware of the lines they were crossing. This was freewill. These intoxicating kisses were of their own choosing, not because of the drugs.
When they broke apart the second time, she could see the war raging behind his eyes. "So," he said, his voice low and gravely in a way that made Clarke want to kiss him all over again. "What do you think it is?"
She shook her head. She didn't know. She couldn't classify it or define it. She was trembling, his hand still in her hair and hers clutching tightly to the back of his neck.
"You aren't getting another one until you can tell me," he said.
"Who says I want another one?"
His brows dipped a little closer together. "Do you want another one?"
She did. She really did and she wasn't sure where it had come from or what it meant and she wasn't sure she could even dissect it right now. Not with his lips so close to hers and his hands touching her and his body pressing against her body. She felt raw and nervous and frustrated that she'd let herself get to this point.
"I'm highly tempted to give you a politician answer right now," she said, willing herself to let go of his neck and finding that she couldn't seem to do it.
"You're not a politician, Clarke," he said. "You're a leader."
She nodded. "Then yes. Yes, I want another one."
"Then I guess we know."
She frowned. "Know what?"
"Whether the intoxication was because of the gas or if it was because of—"
"Me," she finished for him.
He smirked. "I was going to say 'us'."
"Us?"
"Yeah. You're not the only one who wants another one."
Clarke felt her throat go dry at his admission and she was starting to be afraid that he could hear just how loud her heart was beating. "So now what?"
He shrugged. "It's your call."
She frowned and dropped her hand from his neck to his shoulder. His hand seemed to loosen a little in her hair but it didn't move. "Why is it my call?"
"Because you never seem to like it when I make decisions without you."
Clarke rolled her eyes and sighed which he seemed to think was funny. He let go of her hair and laid back on his pillow, pulling her with him. She laid her cheek against his chest as she had before, glad that she hadn't needed to ask him for this.
"Look," he said, his hand finding that place on her lower back again. "Wherever this goes…whatever this is or isn't…I'm trying not read too much into it. We're all going through a lot of shit right now. But I'm not going anywhere. So if you ever want to test things, you just let me know."
She could tell exactly what he was doing. He was giving her an out. He was trying to let her know that if she didn't want him, really want him, that it was okay. And she didn't know what she wanted from him, in the long run. She couldn't see the future. She could only see a step or two ahead and she hadn't factored in things like personal feelings and physical desires. It was complicated and her heart was still a mess that she didn't want to look at.
So she sighed and wrapped her arm across his chest, wishing she had some kind of answer.
"And I felt faint of heart cause I was caught between the weight of everything I couldn't say."
Courrier "Between"