Sorry is Never Enough
Disclaimer: I don't own the 100 or its characters.
Author's Note: This one is finally a bit longer than the others and since you all are so great, I thought I'd go ahead and post it, hope you enjoy! Please continue to read/review and thank you again for the follows and favorites! :)
Chapter 7
Bellamy was thankful that the two girls had cleared out by the time he carried Clarke into his tent. There was no sign of them and he felt faintly comforted that Clarke hadn't seen them there. He was well aware what she thought of him and his romantic conquests would surely be on her list of his many faults. He smiled wryly at the idea of him being romantic.
He laid her down as gently as he could manage while also carrying her pack and his weapon in a sling on his back. She still didn't stir and he was grateful. He imagined her waking up as angry as a wet cat and he was eager to avoid that reality this early in the morning. He left to get them both some food, still trying to decide how he would question Clarke when she finally woke up.
Clarke was dreaming of her oak tree and the valley and the peace there, content that Earth finally seemed like the one she had imagined on the Ark. She could enjoy for her dad and Wells and Charlotte and maybe even tell them all about it one day if there really was a heaven.
She woke suddenly, her recently honed instincts reacting to someone walking through a tent flap. When she saw it was Bellamy Blake and realized that she was back in the 100's camp, she groaned, covering her eyes. "Screw heaven, I'm in hell."
Bellamy couldn't stop the harsh chuckle that erupted from him. "Well, good morning to you, too, Princess."
She opened her eyes again and looked at him as he made to sit down across from her. She felt her hackles rising and sat up too quickly, immediately feeling dizzy as she scooted backwards away from him. He saw her reaction to him and took on a look of disgust to hide how offended he was. "Don't worry, sweetheart, you're not my type." He set the food he had brought in front of her and made the motion of eating in case she had forgotten. She bristled at his patronizing attitude.
"Cut to the chase, Blake. How did I get here?" She pushed the food away, still feeling queasy and trying to remember how she had come to be unconscious and at the camp.
Bellamy tried to affect what he had heard was an old Southern accent and responded with his biggest defense mechanism, sarcasm. "Why, miss, you were dropped off here by the stork himself."
She came to the sudden realization that he was half serious and that the one person she thought would never burn her had actually delivered her right back to the fire. Bellamy waited for her to say something but she looked to be a mixture of nauseated, pissed, and shocked. When she didn't speak for several minutes, he decided to get right to it.
"So who was the grounder you were with and where have been for the last six weeks? Are there more of his kind? Are they planning to attack? What have you been— "
Clarke quickly held up her hands and shook her head back and forth. "Bellamy, stop! Haven't you ever been told not to ask a compound question in an interrogation? You'll never get a straight answer if you badger me like some prisoner of war."
Bellamy's eyes narrowed and he spoke in a low, careful tone. "You walked away from this camp and the people here, Clarke. We have no reason to believe your loyalties don't lie elsewhere."
Clarke laughed at him and then laughed at the sudden rage in his face. "You seem to have forgotten how easy you made it to walk away. What was it you said, 'Good riddance to bad rubbish?' You should have been one of the privileged, Bellamy. Your memory of your own mistakes is so very short."
He stood abruptly and started toward her, his long frame towering over her as she sat smugly aware of how angry she could make him. "I can admit my mistakes and, believe me, I remember them. And I don't walk away from the people I care about."
Clarke stood to address him, though it didn't make him any less imposing. Looking up at him and reflecting the same anger and disdain he wore, she refused to back down as she had the night Charlotte had died. "Do you care about them? Or do you just want to control them?"
Bellamy turned away, shaking his head to clear it of the confusion she created there. "I just need to know if your grounder poses a threat to this camp. You can tell me or we can send guards to find out."
"Jeshua is not a threat to this camp. And your guards would never find him."
He turned back to her as he heard the wistfulness in her voice. "And who is he?"
She looked down at her hands, fervently missing the freedom she had found away from this camp and the peace that Jeshua had helped her to find in her own mind.
"He's a friend. A lone grounder surviving on his own. He doesn't harm anyone and he doesn't need control to feel like a leader. Or like a man for that matter." She didn't know why she felt need to throw a sideways comment on Bellamy's masculinity or imply that she and Jeshua were anything more than friends. He was simply a mentor and an ally and had saved her from going completely crazy, but Bellamy didn't need to know that.
Bellamy's eyes narrowed once more and he drew himself up to his full height. "I see. Since I have no reason to believe what you say and have no indication that this isn't part of a larger plan to attack this camp, you will remain here to ponder the many virtues of your 'friend.' You are hereby placed under guard as an enemy combatant. Clarke Griffin, you are a prisoner of war."