Clarke was drawing meticulous lines on a map when Jasper came barging into the command tent, breathing heavily and unable to get more than three words out. Bellamy, who was having a serious conversation with Raven, not about their curse, but about water filtration, stared at him down.
"He's...it's...you…I...need" His face was ashen.
"Words, Jordan!" Bellamy demanded.
"It's Monty! He's...fuck, he's almost dead! Clarke-,"
Clarke stood, tugging the handcuffs between her and Bellamy. They hadn't had a huge issue of knocking the other over in a while, and it was more of a 'hey, okay, switch gears' signal between them. Finally, Clarke thought first, someone needs me medically.
The second was worry. Extreme worry. She really enjoyed Monty and from how freaked out Jasper was, it couldn't be good.
"What happened, exactly." Clarke began walking and was glad Bellamy immediately followed, no questions asked.
"We were near that old car. We were trying to dig it out, and one of the metal pieces is trapping his arm. It's like...almost torn off and he's lost a lot of blood, Clarke!"
"Fuck," Clarke groaned. Blood loss was killer here. If they were just a second too late...she'd hate herself.
"Wait!" They were at the camp gates.
"What? Bellamy now isn't the time!" Clarke snarled, spinning on him, "So suck it up and come. With. Me." She said, digging her feet a few forward.
"I'm not telling you we're going to leave him for dead, gosh, Clarke!" Bellamy looked offended she would even be suggesting it, "But I need to leave someone in charge of the camp."
In Clarke's flurry, that hadn't crossed her mind. Also, it wasn't her job.
"Oh. Well," She felt her face turn bright red, "Well, hurry up then!"
Bellamy looked at the group that had followed. Clarke pulled Jasper next to her since he needed to lead them. She also waved Paul over, knowing an extra hand that sort of knew what they were doing could be the difference between life and death.
Bellamy's gaze floated between Raven, Murphy, Octavia, and Finn. He grimaced, sighing.
"Raven's in charge." He said rapidly, making the best decision with those closest to him.
"Can you run?" Clarke asked Bellamy.
He gave a half-smile, "Can you keep up with me?" He said until it seemed he remembered the situation at hand, "But, yeah. Yeah."
"This way!" Jasper yelled, taking off through the woods.
They heard Monty's moaning long before they reached him. It echoed eerily through the woods, catching on all the branches and hanging like snippets of sound, like ornaments of horror.
"Jasper Jordan!" Bellamy yelled when he saw the state Monty was in, "Of all the stupid, asinine, ridiculous-,"
"Not the time!" Clarke hissed.
"It was poorly thought out, yes! But we thought how cool would it be to have a car?" Jasper groaned.
Clarke dropped to the ground. She moved the car a bit and saw the extent of the damage. Immediately, her brain switched to a decision-making mode.
"Jasper, I need your belt. Paul, start a fire. We'll need fresh water too, and some lengths of fabric. Bellamy, you-," She looked up and saw his face completely ashen, and he looked more green, "Oh, for the love of Ursa Major!" She huffed, "If you're going to barf, do it that way!" She commanded. She was yanking the shared arm down to start to see if it was a clean-cut or not. She belatedly remembered how Bellamy had frozen while trying to kill Atom. She looked up to see his one hand holding his mouth.
"Jasper!" She called.
"Here, here," He said, belt dangling in her face.
"Great. Unlock us so Bellamy can throw up not near my patient." She said hurriedly. She began making a tourniquet on Monty's arm.
"It would be easier if you stopped moving," Jasper said, trying to jab the key between her flurry of movements.
"No time," She said, and somehow, Jasper managed to unlock them. Bellamy immediately took four half-steps away and leaned against a tree to unload his stomach.
"Paul, go get water and some of that seaweed. Jasper, take over the fire-making." She looked at Bellamy, knowing he was pretty much useless right now. However, Bellamy wiped his mouth.
"What about me?"
"Are you done?" She asked, tightening the belt around Monty's upper arm, making sure it was properly secured. Bellamy winced but nodded.
"Help Jasper with the fire. Oh, crap, we need an ax."
"Is Monty losing his arm?" Jasper asked his voice pitching.
"Hard to say. Maybe."
"I'll get it," Bellamy said, looking relieved to leave. Clarke made a noise in the back of her throat as he took four steps, "Fuck. Guess I won't."
"Fire making. Jasper. Run. Ax." Clarke said, pointing toward camp. Jasper nodded, sending one last mournful glance at his best friend, before taking off.
By the time he returned with the only ax in the camp, the fire was going. Paul had returned.
"Okay, boys, over here. I'm going to need all of you to help me shove this car door away." It was still sort of attached to the car, making it extremely heavy.
"Won't he bleed out?" Bellamy asked, eyes wide.
"He shouldn't. Not with this." Clarke patted the belt, "But it doesn't matter. He'll die of infection if we leave it. Now, on three!" She said, and everyone surged to the car, "One! Two! Three!" The car groaned and creaked as they swayed it back and forth until they managed to tip it over. The sound of the metal scratching against each other was a cacophony that scared birds. By this point, Monty just moaned weakly.
Clarke said a prayer of thanks to see that his arm was not spurting blood uncontrollably.
"Paul, we need to start getting some of the blood away," She said. She dipped her hand into the water sack and poured it over his wound, and Paul followed suit.
"Is it salvageable?" Jasper asked tearfully.
Clarke sat back on her heels, sniffling and wiping her nose, "On the Ark, yeah. Down here…" She exhaled hard, "Jasper, it has to go."
She grabbed the ax and grabbed a stick, placing it in Monty's mouth.
"Hold him down!" She yelled, "It's nearly off anyway."
Monty howled as she brought the ax down. It only took one whack, and luckily, it was only half his forearm and his hand. Well, not luckily, but it wasn't his whole arm.
She immediately threw the ax over the fire, and once it was hot enough to almost burn her hand at the base, she pressed it against the bloodied stump.
This scream was almost worse.
The smell of burning flesh caused Bellamy to turn around and barf again.
Monty, thankfully, had fallen unconscious after a few seconds. She was sure it hurt like hell.
She let Jasper tip the seaweed solution into his mouth as Paul helped Clarke wrap the wound. Then, they carried him back to camp.
"I'll have to observe him for a while, which means you're with me in the dropship," Clarke informed Bellamy. Their cuffs were back on, "Sorry," She said, sure he was about to argue.
"No, that's…" He knit his eyebrows, "You saved his life."
She blinked, not expecting the awe in his voice, "It's what I do, Blake."
"I knew that, but I just...that was incredible, Princess." When he said Princess, it was not as snidely laughed as it often was. It was almost kind, "To see you in action...I would have frozen. I did… I froze."
Clarke felt weird with his compliments. Unused to it.
"You keep this camp running. I know that's not easy," She conceded, hoping this would put them on equal footing in terms of complementing each other.
"Yeah, but…" Bellamy almost laughed, "You can't really run much of anything if everyone in the camp is dead. So I guess...you win?"
Before, Clarke would have held that comment over him forever. Now, she just shrugged.
"How about neither of us wins and we just keep all these idiots alive."
"I can agree to that."
XXX
Most nights, Clarke didn't really think much about Wells.
It wasn't out of malice or anger. Truthfully, she was just so busy that most nights as soon as her head hit that pillow, she was out. And then once she was awake everyone was doing something and well, time was such a luxury she did not have.
So she thought she was sorta...doing okay with it.
Maybe she was.
Maybe she was, until she absolutely wasn't.
This was one of the first times she truly, really, entirely despised this curse. The first time she wanted to scream obscenities to the sky and give it a good middle finger because she did not want Bellamy, of all people, to hear her agonized sorrow.
What tipped her off?
At first, it seemed like nothing. She went about her day as usual.
But then she went around the side of the dropship. There must have been a tent covering it, or maybe a tarp or something had moved because she noticed something etched in the side of the metal she hadn't thought about in what felt like a very long time.
First son, first to dye.
She and Bellamy passed it and she would have missed it, had Bellamy not made a sound in the back of his throat and made some comment about buffing that out.
Her first thought was that she knew Murphy was smarter than this, and she wondered if he'd be doing it ironically, or if maybe it had been one of his cronies to carve it, or maybe she wondered if Murphy actually couldn't spell, but he could read. And she was so caught up in wondering if she would have to teach Murphy to spell, and then wondering if other kids needed it too (kids like Charlotte had probably never gotten a full education) that she was all the way up and personal with Monty's stump of an arm before her brain even reminded her who the message had been about.
She'd been so preoccupied for hours with the education status of the camp that she'd forgotten it had been written about her best friend.
And her best friend, who could have very likely been a great educator, was dead.
She thought that she could feel her guilt quickly, and then let it go. She had so many other things to worry about right now. So, when she and Bellamy went on their bathroom break from each other, she apologized to Wells for forgetting about him and made a promise she'd help Bellamy personally erase that message.
So that was the end of it, right?
Wrong.
By nightfall, the guilt and anger, and loneliness were eating her away. She'd made two stupid mistakes, mistakes Paul noticed and finally sent her to sleep. She was glad Bellamy couldn't tell a syringe from a needle because he'd surely be either making fun of her for making such basic mistakes or worrying about her. Both made her feel upset to imagine, but maybe it was the big old ball of sadness that was rolling around in her stomach.
She wasn't sure, now that she looked back on it, she'd ever really gotten a chance to mourn Wells. The realization that he hadn't been the one to get her dad killed had come so fast that by the time he was dead in the ground, they were dealing with Charlotte. And she'd mourned the life of a young girl who couldn't handle earth, who she should have helped. She'd cried for that life lost, but had she cried for Wells?
Well, she sure as hell couldn't now, not with Bellamy tied perpetually five feet away! And she needed to have a Good Cry. The sort that you just knew you needed to have every once and a while, but the kind that drug out every sorrow within you and left you shivering, runny-nosed, and empty of all feeling, so that you could be filled with goodness later.
And the more that she was unable to cry for Wells, because Bellamy was eating his dinner right next to her, or he was doing tomorrow's food menu right next to her, or that he was telling off a thirteen-year-old right next to her was making it so much worse.
She waited until bedtime.
If this curse wasn't in play, she would have snuck away to a safe spot in the woods and just let it out. She would have screamed to the heavens of the unfairness of it all, she would have yelled so loud that hopefully, her past self through time would have realized Wells would never betray her and that past-Clarke should have shaken the truth out of him and repaired things, she would have opened a gate to hell with her sobbing.
But she could do precisely none of that. She and Bellamy's tent was in the middle of the camp, even worse. Usually, this was perfect, as they needed quick access to anything at any time. Right now?
Well, Clarke was sure she was being punished for more and more of all the shitty things she'd done because this curse was really fucking up more than just having to share a space with Bellamy. It was even digging into the things Clarke thought were minor on a sliding scale. Sure, killing was on that list, and she assumed that in some messed up way that's what it was, but now she was sure that this curse was diving deep into every single bad thing Clarke had ever done. That time when she was five and she'd stolen a stub of a crayon from the Rec Center? This was probably payback for that. Or when she'd lied to her mother about who broke her cactus plant. Payback. Or when she was ten and she told Stasia Huron that her shirt was ugly. Sweet, sweet payback.
Clarke tried to cry quietly. She pressed her hand over her lips to muffle the sobs and tried to let it eke out, bit by bit.
This didn't work. What it made her think of was the last time she'd cried, Wells had found her. And he'd told her that her all-out sobbing sounded like a mandrake from Harry Potter.
For a second, she was laughing instead of crying, but it all just dissolved away to Clarke crying harder than she'd ever cried before right in the center of camp, sitting outside of her tent.
"Fuck, Wells, I miss you so much," She hiccuped, "And I'm a terrible, terrible person, we already knew that and I'm so selfish, and I'd do anything to get you back."
The tent zipper squeaked beside her. She tried to stop crying, but one did not just stop ugly-sobbing on a dime, so when Bellamy stepped out of the tent, Clarke knew exactly what he saw. He saw his least favorite person (or, well, maybe middle-of-the-line favorite person, they were sorta-friends now, she reminded herself) sitting curled up, eyes puffy and red, snot leaking from her nostrils, and her whole body wracking with her cries.
"Gonna laugh at me? Just do it, okay?" Clarke said sourly, looking away, sure that he would love nothing more than to remember this moment forever. The moment when he could remind her that Clarke Griffin was human, just like the rest of them.
"Why would I laugh at you?" He sounded horrified.
"Because you and I hate each other," She muttered, "And seeing your enemy cry is like cake on your birthday."
"We're not enemies, not anymore. Or…I thought we weren't…" Bellamy said slowly, almost hurt.
"Can you go? And let me…cry?" Clarke said bitterly, "Just leave!"
"Can't." Bellamy said, letting a wry grin, "Curse, remember?"
"You can go in the tent," Clarke replied.
"My mother would skin me alive if she knew I just went to bed while a girl cried outside my house," Bellamy gave a throaty laugh, "What are you crying about?"
Clarke almost wanted to be juvenile, and spit back something childish like, 'your mom!' or 'how ugly you are', but she was just too sad.
"Wells. I never got to cry before." She said, "And I just really, really want to talk to him again. And I feel so angry at myself."
"If you should feel angry at anyone, it should be me," Bellamy whispered into the darkness.
Clarke sniffled, "Why?"
"I got him killed," Bellamy said, his voice echoing around the empty dark, and it hung there.
"You didn-,"
"I did. I thought the advice I gave Charlotte would help her. It didn't. It just encouraged an already unsteady girl to kill him…" he looked down, "And then killed herself. And I will never forgive myself for that."
There was a long pause.
"Can I sit out here with you?" He asked in a tiny, unsure voice.
"Why? Because the spirit of your mom would give you a lecture otherwise?" Clarke asked, rolling her eyes, as though her sorrow was a moment for him to be a 'better person' or some shit.
"Because I think maybe I need to cry just a bit too," He said in such a quiet voice she almost missed it, "I have a lot of blood on my hands."
His words felt like a confession. She didn't answer or pry. She didn't think he actually would cry; he was Bellamy Blake. He walked around like he was such a big, strong man. Would he actually cry?
When she heard a sniffle, she paused, her brain already trying to re-route.
Wells would tell her to look for the best in people.
Thinking of his advice, of what she knew he'd be saying if he were here and she did get to talk to him, let down her guard entirely and she broke down entirely again.
Beside her, Bellamy let out a gasping shudder. His hand reached for hers, a squeeze, almost a 'you're not alone with your guilts', and in the shadow of a new, absent moon, they bawled over blood spilled and people lost.
XXX
Once you cry with someone, you pass a stage and can never go back.
It's like you cross an invisible line. A line that maybe with other 'friend' things you could walk back to being enemies, but once you both just let everything out in that cathartic sort of way, you can never really hate them again.
They decided to have a real funeral, for everyone. They'd been so 'go-run-go' and trying to survive they hadn't ever gotten around to it. And there were already so many dead. Most of these kids weren't fully developed; they probably didn't know they had the right to be sad and cry and just miss their friends.
So they held a funeral for everyone. There wasn't a dry eye in the entire camp, and well, Clarke would call that a success.
It also bonded everyone else together.
That was good because a few days later, everyone would need to get real close and cozy with one another.
Stirling alerted everyone first; from a high cliff point, he brought Clarke and Bellamy out to see angry dark clouds gathering, coming their way fast.
By the time the trio had made it back to camp, the wind was already whipping the tents around like they hadn't driven those tents six feet into the ground with deep stakes. The air was charged with some sort of energy that Clarke knew was nothing good.
"Into the drop ship! Grab what you can now! Tents, food, weapons, everything!"
She looked at Bellamy, realizing she'd taken over his job for a second, and she expected him to scoff and disagree with her. Instead, Bellamy stared out at the wide-eyed kids.
"You heard Griffin! Move, people, move!" He shouted, and the camp was sent into a frenzy.
"Will we fit?" Mbege worried out loud.
"We all came down on it together, we'll all make it back on together," Clarke snorted. Of course, they'd be cramped with their gear inside too, but what was their other alternative? Mbege seemed to realize this after a second, and after Murphy shoved his back, telling him to help him catch one of the food tents before it sailed away into the storm.
If this was not some cataclysmic and terrible torrential storm, Clarke would be warmed at how everyone in the camp was moving together like they'd trusted each other their whole lives. She would have been thrilled at the leaps and bounds her people were making as a team, and she'd have a sense of security settle into her, a knowledge that with people letting other people help them, they'd surely be able to survive. And yes, she'd come to this conclusion later.
For right now, she was eyeing the storm warily, one eye always on the horizon, waiting for the moment she and Bellamy knew they'd have to abandon whatever was left outside and take cover.
"Are post-apocalyptic storms usually this bad?" Bellamy asked, rather, screamed over the loud wind.
"I mean, hell! Death fog? Death rain? Seems per the course," Clarke said, throwing buckets toward the dropship where kids were darting out to grab them, "Maybe it's a hurricane or a tornado or hell, some mutated storm we can't even begin to imagine."
"Welcome to Earth," Bellamy snorted as he helped pull their tent out of the earth, having already moved everything else that was in it inside the dropship.
They didn't get much more time to move items. As soon as one of their wooden sharpened logs they used as the walls of the camp was picked up out of the earth and thrown through the air, turning someone's tent into a colorful and destroyed shish-kabob, they knew it was time to hunker down.
"Inside! Everyone, move, move!" Bellamy said in the rain, waving his arms wildly. He and Clarke managed to get everyone smushed together and close the door just as Clarke watched another log-of-death go flying through the air.
Immediately, Paul was throwing a towel at them.
"Can't catch a cold now!" He said cheerily.
Clarke used it to pat herself as dry as she could before she handed it to Bellamy.
"Headcount?" She asked Raven.
"All accounted for."
"Oh, small miracles," Bellamy gave a long sigh, "Supplies?"
"For the forewarning we had. It was maybe an hour if I'm being generous," Raven shrugged, "I'm pleased. I mean, we might have to think of some more permanent structures since a lot of tents are just gone, but hey, we can figure that out after-," She was cut off by something hitting the side of the dropship hard. Everything rattled. People clutched each other and screamed, panic rising up as quick as the storm had come.
"Hey! Hey!" Bellamy hopped on a table, Clarke having to scramble beside him, "This was built to survive coming back into Earth's atmosphere! It can take anything this storm throws at us! It might sound loud, but we're fine. We're fine, right, Raven?"
"One-hundred percent. Try to get some sleep. Find some people to play a game with. We'll just wait it out," Raven said with a smile, and even though the sounds that the dropship was making sounded ghastly, most people only gave surprised whimpers and seemed to try to find companions.
"Great job," Clarke squeezed Raven's hand, "Better hope it's true."
"I wouldn't say anything that wasn't," Raven seemed offended by the very idea, "This thing is probably the safest place for miles around. We're going to be absolutely fine. Don't spread any more worry, Princess."
"Hey, Princess is my name for her!" Bellamy objected. Raven rolled her eyes, muttering something about finding someone that knew mechanics to play some game that Clarke was sure was way over her comprehension level.
Bellamy and Clarke hovered for a few hours, making rounds. They made sure that everyone was comfortable. They made sure everyone was fed. They made sure no one needed medical attention. They made sure that people that shouldn't be near each other were separated.
They took such care of everyone else that when Jasper finally walked by, two blankets in his hands, he took pause.
"Everyone is falling asleep. Why are you two up?"
Bellamy and Clarke looked at each other and gave a shrug. They both mumbled nondescript answers, something about neither being the personality to allow themselves to just rest.
"Have you eaten?" Jasper challenged, "Do either of you have anything to sleep with? Are you both checked out by medical?" He said. At each question, Clarke and Bellamy wilted a bit, wincing.
They spoke over each other with excuses, until Jasper raised a hand.
"Who the heck is going to keep us safe if both of you die from freezing or starvation?" He asked, "I'm on watch with Tim. I'll send someone to get you some food. Go sit down or something!" He said, throwing the blanket into Bellamy's hands.
They watched him leave, blinking at each other. Then, Bellamy gave a slow shrug and sort of tugged Clarke over to one of the few free spaces left on the floor, against a wall.
He pulled the blanket around himself, and then as Clarke sat, pulling her hands into her sleeves to conserve warmth, he snorted. Silently, he lifted the blanket as a motion for her to move underneath it too. It was a small enough blanket that if they were going to share, they were going to have to get real cozy. Which, right, they were sort of used to, but this…?
Clarke shook her head, "I'm sure Jasper's runner will be back soon with a blanket of my own. Maybe our pillows."
Some of the younger kids were passed out in a great pile on their mattress, which she was fine with. She would be wanting it back. She might want the best for her people, but she also wanted her doctor's perks, thank you very much. Bellamy, who she was beginning to suspect had a sappier heart than hers, might be inches away from donating it to the 'poor, criminal youth'. Newsflash: Clarke was still technically the poor criminal youth.
"Clarke, get under the blanket. Just until he comes with your own," Bellamy said sternly, then backtracked a bit at Clarke's expression.
She scooted two inches towards him, letting him arrange the blanket over her so that her body was now toasty warm. A 'pro' of sharing blankets was the body heat, and between the two they were generating quite a lot.
Clarke was so tired, and despite the banging and clanging outside, she felt her eyes growing heavy. She lulled against Bellamy's shoulder, her body finding a place for her head to go, right between his collarbone and neck. He seemed to slouch into her too, a little tee-pee of bodies keeping each other upright but also allowing a place to sleep. She was edging into a peaceful slumber when….
"What the heck is going on here?"
Clarke groggily rubbed her eyes to see Murphy standing over them with some ration packs.
"You're Jasper's runner?" Bellamy asked in mild surprise.
"I'm not letting myself sleep in this. So, I guess if you're awake, you're making yourself of use." Murphy shrugged, trying not to let their surprise at him willingly help become a big deal. He tossed the packs to them, "And don't change the subject. What exactly are you two doing?"
"Trying to sleep," Clarke muttered to him.
"I can see that. But your head…it was on his shoulder!" Murphy said, horrified.
"Proximity curse," Bellamy said simply, jangling their handcuffs. At this point, the handcuffs were just white noise to Clarke.
"Yeah, yeah, I know that. Everyone does," Murphy was staring at them like they were long-division math, "But Clarke's head. It was on your shoulder. You were letting her. You're sharing a blanket."
"Yes, and we're trying to get to sleep," Clarke repeated, "Look, John." She knew he hated being called his god-given name, and delighted in seeing his lip twitch while using it, "It's a crisis moment. We gave up our pillows and blankets and mattress. Who knows whose dirty hair is on them. We're just trying to sleep. So, kindly, let us sleep." She said with a hint of aggravation, "Unless you're going to fix it by bringing us another blanket."
Murphy sighed, "No more around, boss. It's not that anyway, it's…" He tried to explain what was bothering him about this so much, but apparently, with both Clarke and Bellamy looking up at him with such tired, grumpy expressions, he thought better of it.
"Fine, fine! Just know that people will be talking." He warned, "Nighty-night lovebirds."
"Lovebirds?" Bellamy said, and Clarke laughed at the thought.
"He's just trying to find drama. We know Murphy." Clarke said, yawning wide, "Now sit back. Yeah, like that. Lemme just get comfortable again-," Clarke settled in, "Almost as good as a mattress. But we're totally stealing that back," She added.
"Yes, ma'am." Bellamy said, "By tomorrow hopefully this storm will have blown over."
"Here's to hoping…" Clarke had more to say, but her dreams tugged on her, and she had drifted off to sleep amidst the storm going on outside within seconds.
Bellamy too fell asleep quickly.
The storm certainly was done by the time they woke up. Had it been any other event, perhaps the fact that everyone had seen them curled up like that would have been the talk of the camp. But, maybe luckily, everyone had a lot more work to occupy the passing wonder of their two leaders being so at ease with each other.
XXX
Pre-Curse, people sorta took baths whenever. There was a buddy system, but it wasn't a thing.
Post-Curse, it very quickly became obvious that they had to re-evaluate how they bathed since the whole 'can't be more than a few feet from each other' had some awkward issues when it came to washing your body.
So, Weekly Bath Sessions were started.
Here's how it worked; the entire camp walked down to the tiny lake (with no sea monsters) and all got naked at the same time. Everyone bathed at once; no boys first, then girls or vice versa. Everyone passed the soap and everyone did in a big group.
As it turned out, when the entire camp was down to the birthday suits, it was less orgiastic and more just...a mundane activity of life. Clarke now knew what the significance of time and place meant for sexy things. In your tent and unclothing someone? Really sexy. Watching people wash their armpits surrounded by literally 90 other naked teens? Really unsexy.
It was probably best anyway. Their camp smelled much better on average.
The whole 'no rules' thing was great until you realized that some kids took this to mean never bathing or scenting themselves and walked around smelling like carrion. You could bathe more than once a week, but making the activity of washing your body down once per week was probably the smartest thing Bellamy had ever suggested.
Sometimes, kids needed to be commanded to wash the grit away.
So, Clarke had sorta seen Bellamy naked before, in the same way, she'd seen everyone's private bits because of this. It wasn't an 'ooh, ahh', as she'd previously established, and mostly, she just saw his chest.
This whole system, made exclusively so that they wouldn't feel awkward because one couldn't hide in the tree line while the other got clean, really worked.
Until, of course, it did not.
"Hold that cut! Hold it- blech!" Blood and pus were sprayed everywhere on Clarke, Paul, and Bellamy.
"I'm sorry!" Paul said, looking at the two leaders in horror.
"When I said hold it, I meant it," Clarke growled, wiping noxious smelling ooze from her face, "You good?"
Bellamy, once again, looked close to vomiting. This time, Clarke felt sorta like that too.
"That was really, really disgusting."
"I never said being a doctor was glamorous," Clarke snorted, "Ugg...we need to wash off and change."
She counted in her head how many days until group bath day. It was three days away. However, even if it was tomorrow, she realized quickly that sitting caked in someone else's body fluids was not an option.
"We could try to move it today?" Bellamy murmured, guessing her exact thoughts.
"Some of these kids hardly tolerate it on the scheduled day it does happen. They'd riot." Clarke groaned, "We're being babies. We'll just go wash off. No biggie."
"Yeah," Bellamy agreed, but his voice had pitched a bit, "It's nothing. We'll just...walk down to the lake. Alone. And get undressed. And wash off."
"Exactly." Clarke said with forced brightness, "Paul, you'll go after. Hold down the fort while we're gone."
As they walked out of the dropship and grabbed their spare clothes, Clarke coughed.
"We should ask others if they want to join." She ventured.
"Of course," Bellamy agreed, "Out of kindness."
"Yes, and practicality! I mean, we're just being logical to ask others."
"In case they wanted to go another time. Strength in numbers."
"Uh-huh," Clarke said, relieved, "Others."
So they asked pretty much everyone in camp. Out of being nice people, as they previously established.
But Raven was doing something and muttered practically gibberish when they interrupted her. Monty was still healing. Jasper and Octavia were out of camp, and neither wanted to wait for their return. Harper and Monroe were in the middle of food prep. Finn was making a map and could not be disturbed. And Murphy (they even asked Murphy) was in the middle of sex and they really didn't want to walk in on that. Anyone else they would have asked was putting the camp back together after the storm, and well, that was important.
So, well, they tried, you know?
They walked slowly to the lake. At the banks, Clarke fished out the key from her neck and they uncuffed themselves.
"So, uh, just like normal?" She asked, her voice squeaking.
"I'll turn around. You get in the water. Then you turn around," Bellamy said, seemingly shaking off his unease.
"That's...yes! Of course, we should do that." Clarke knew that he wasn't going to look. Despite how he portrayed himself originally, she spent literally all her time chained to his side. So she knew that he was a good guy.
She shed her clothes quickly and jumped into the lake. She brought her clothes and hugged them close to her body.
"You can come in now."
She spun around quickly in the water before she could see if Bellamy had heard.
But, in just a few moments, she heard clothes rustling. The sound of his belt buckle clicking sent a blush running up her whole body. She swallowed and began furiously scrubbing her clothes free of blood and pus, trying to distract herself.
However, she seemed extremely keyed into the sound of his pants hitting the forest floor. Her heart thud fast, like the wings of a butterfly, as she heard the water break around his figure sinking down.
"Can I have that soap?" She nearly jumped out of her skin.
She turned, fingers trembling as she offered it to him. She hoped he'd think it was the coolness of the water making her shiver, despite the fact it was actually very comfortable here.
She watched as Bellamy began to scrub out his clothes. Actually, she was distracted by how the water droplets plinked from the strands of his hair, catching on his broad shoulders and running rivets to the lake.
Bellamy glanced up from scrubbing to catch her gaze, and they held it for a few taught seconds, unsure how to go from here.
"It's in your hair," Bellamy said, pulling a face. He made a 'turn around' motion. Clarke tilted her head in confusion and slowly turned.
She understood when she felt Bellamy's breath on her neck and he handed her his half-washed clothes. He started with his fingers, brushing them through her long blonde hair, itching deep to the root and massaging with the suds.
Without warning, Clarke let out a little moan of pleasure.
She felt Bellamy freeze his actions and she bowed her head in sheer embarrassment.
"I'll, uh, take that as a good sign," He said. Clarke nodded stiffly, screwing her eyes shut and trying not to imagine Bellamy naked behind her. She didn't know why, today of all days, that sort of imagery gave her such uncontrollable jitters.
She focused on the sound of his breathing as he helped her wash her hair.
"There, done," He said, his voice slightly breathless.
She turned and found he hadn't moved an inch. He was almost pressed up against her.
Clarke licked her lips, and before she could stop herself, reached up to kiss him.
And Bellamy kissed back.
