Chapter Text
"When all of this is over,
Love me like there ain't another day
Lead with the heart, ain't that the only way?
Keep thinking 'bout how much we changed today
When all of this is over.
Now I really think you're heaven-sent
'Cause you've been forcing all these hollow hearts to feel again
Now I really think you're heaven-sent
But there's a beauty in being broken, I've been seeing it
Can't tire of thinking 'bout you."
Bellamy Blake never faltered, never hesitated in doing what needs to be done.
It’s a promise he made to himself over and over, ever since he was a child.
Weakness is death, fear is death.
The thought hadn’t really hit him until now that maybe he’s like that because he never had any other choice.
When he was trying to hide Octavia on the Ark and keep her safe, being afraid or vulnerable was never an option. And now, as a leader on the ground, faltering isn’t something he can afford to do. It’s a heavy burden he must shoulder alone. Otherwise, people die.
He’s leaning against a tree at the edge of camp, watching the place like the guard he once was. He’s still wearing the jacket, so maybe it’s giving him extra credentials. This place, these people, they’re his responsibility.
The arguments have already begun over rations and he knows they will have to go hunting again soon. It doesn’t mean he has to like it. The threat outside the walls is still too imminent. The Grounders lie in numbers too mysterious to even guess, waiting to pounce the second there’s a crack in their defences. Again, it’s something Bellamy can’t afford to be lax about, even for a second.
The only place that is half safe to travel to is the river near their camp for water and bathing — that's as far as Bellamy will allow for now. Their makeshift walls won’t be much to keep out the Grounders, but at least it offers the rest of them some peace of mind.
The Grounders haven't attacked any of them in a week, but he still won’t take the chance of venturing too far outside camp. That’s a problem for another day, though. For now, his biggest problem is that some fool is getting up into Miller’s face about hiding food and the argument keeps building until it spills over with a push. Bellamy sees Miller stumble slightly but he catches his footing, surging forward to deliver one of his own.
Bellamy watches from where he’s standing, rolling his eyes as the commotion grows and the crowd that has formed around them starts cheering, encouraging the violence. He pushes off the ground, shoving his way through the spectators: a circle of vultures, hungry for drama.
God, it’s too early for this shit.
As he gets closer, he realises it’s Dax, one of the more dangerous members of their little group. All of them have committed a crime, one that secured their one way ticket to be testers for the radioactive Earth. Crimes up on the Ark were fickle though and their version of criminals was weak at best. But Dax? No, he deserved his place, Bellamy knows that for sure. It doesn’t mean Bellamy hasn’t earned his just as hard.
Bellamy storms right into the middle of them, shoving Dax harshly away from Miller with one hand. Dax’s eyes flash with fresh anger, the urge to attack bright in them until he focuses properly on his pusher. He won’t challenge Bellamy, not here — not in the middle of his camp.
“What the hell is your problem?” he growls.
“He has a stash of boar from the other night,” Dax responds evenly but it still sounds threatening. It still sounds like he’s preparing to rip someone apart.
“Yeah because you can stash meat without it going off,” Miller snaps sarcastically from behind Bellamy, clearly sharing Bellamy’s courage — no matter how dangerous Dax is.
“Look,” Bellamy shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear because it’s something that needs to be heard. “We’re all hungry. But we have enough problems with the Grounders without attacking each other as well.”
“We’re all going to starve, especially if that moron is stealing more than his share of—”
“Get it together,” Bellamy cuts Dax off, more of a warning than a suggestion.
Dax seems to understand that it’s going to be the final word on the matter because he snaps his mouth closed, gives Bellamy a sour glare and turns away. His friends go with him, stalking off to the other end of camp — probably plotting Bellamy’s murder along the way.
“I can handle Dax,” Miller mutters from behind him. “Especially with this.”
Bellamy turns around to see him waving one of the guns they found in the underground bunker a couple of months ago. Miraculously, they still work and now, it offers them some bit of protection against the Grounders.
That’s the thing though, the only reason Clarke allowed the guns in camp was because of the outside threat — not an inside one.
“Quit it,” Bellamy bites. “Put it back into weapon storage if you’re finished watch and stop waving it around. It’s for protection, not intimidation purposes.”
Miller smirks at Bellamy trying to boss him around but nods anyway. “Fair. But between you and me? Dax is right. We’re going to starve if we don’t go hunting.”
Before Bellamy can respond, Miller saunters off towards their wooden hut that stores their arms, the handgun held tightly in his fist. Bellamy watches him go, blowing out a long breath through his nose. He’s right.
As dangerous as it is outside the walls at the moment, it’ll become just as bad in camp if food supplies stay low. It’s a tough call, and he’s the one that has to make it.
Well. Him and Clarke.
He scoffs, hating to admit to himself that she is in fact a leader as well. Even if he can barely agree with her about anything. Bellamy likes to think this is just his camp, that these are just his people. Deep down, he knows they’re hers too.
He turns his head, searching for the blonde glow of her hair in camp. He spots her easily, pulling the ropes around the beams of the med-hut tighter.
For a bunch of kids forced to make civilization down here, they didn’t do too bad. Clarke spent a full week building that small hut for herself, insisting that she can’t keep treating them on tent cots. She carried the wood and spent ages twisting the plant fibres together to make the rope. Bellamy has to admit, the girl has drive.
He figures he should consult with her on this before making any decisions. He’s learned his lesson countless times when he’s just gone ahead and plowed on with his own plans for camp without her. It’s not worth the headache that follows.
She spots him coming when he’s a few feet away and she’s not subtle enough to hide her eye roll. “What now?”
Bellamy barks out a laugh. “I don’t always come bearing bad news, Princess.”
She gives him a pointed look as she tugs on the rope. “Unless there’s a crisis or you’re criticizing me, you don’t talk to me about much else.”
The air is damp from this morning's rain and there are tiny droplets falling from the edges of the med-hut. Clarke refocuses her attention on the ropes, her eyes laser focused on the knot. It looks like she’s struggling to get a tight hold on it but Bellamy doesn’t dare intervene. Clarke’s bark is often worse than her bite but still, he won’t risk the snap.
“I was just thinking,” he begins, trying to approach the subject of hunting in a way that won’t cause a huge brawl between the two of them. The camp has had enough drama and it’s barely noon.
“That’s never good.” She uses all her strength to tighten the rope, standing back afterwards to admire her work.
He sighs, squinting in the sun as he looks around the camp, purposefully avoiding the glare he knows he’s going to earn. “We should probably get a group together for hunting.”
“No.”
The response is simple, effective and expected. He doesn’t check her face but in his peripheral vision, he knows her posture is rigid. He’s pretty sure she’s not looking at him either, still scanning the side of the med-hut for weaknesses. She does that with him all the time too. Maybe that’s why she’s so good at getting under his skin.
“You know as well as I do that rations are running out.” Bellamy never does well with keeping his emotions in check, but he’s pretty damn proud of himself for keeping the anger out of his tone.
This time, she doesn’t answer him at all. She simply taps the roof of the hut, making sure it stays solid.
“Look, I don’t like it either.”
She remains silent, occupying herself as if he’s not even there. The birds chirp around them, oblivious to the troubles of humans below as they go about their business in the trees. The camp is alive with the hum of morning conversation, the crunch of branches beneath their feet and the odd laugh from a member of camp, but the silence is thick around Bellamy.
Clarke Griffin has this unique ability to make feeling ignored the worst thing in the world. If it were anyone else, Bellamy would scoff and roll his eyes, walk away while muttering some immature comment to make himself feel better about the ordeal. Hell, when they first landed here, he wouldn’t give a damn about being ignored by her. In fact, he’d be delighted and just do what he wanted to do anyway.
But now, the vexation starts to burn at the bottom of his stomach, venting smoke up his oesophagus to clog his throat. His lungs constrict, protecting themselves like breathing in this toxic air would be deadly. He narrows his eyes at her, swallowing the volume of the words he wants to roar at her.
“I’m granting you the courtesy of discussing this, Princess, considering you wanted to be involved in the decisions of camp,” he manages to get out, even if it sounds a little strangled. “So I’m thinking we have one group for scavenging nuts and fruit while the other hunts.”
“Nope.” She smiles at him, as false as she can manage with a hint of smugness in there. “It’s not worth the risk to our people. We lost one last week while hunting the boar. So that’s my decision. No. Discussion over.”
She pushes past him, about to head across camp, presumably to her tent. Bellamy inhales sharply through his nose, biting his lip as he tries to calm himself down. This girl will honestly be the death of him.
“Fine, then. I’ll go by myself.”
She whips around so fast that her neck almost snaps. She glares at him bitterly and Bellamy gets a surge of satisfaction at the fact that this seems to bother her. She can have a say with their people but not with him.
“What?”
“I said I’ll go by myself.” He forces his shoulders back, enjoying the power play between the two of them. “No point in risking the other's safety but I can certainly go hunting.”
Clarke turns her body around, folding her arms as she puts her weight more on her right leg, staring him down like it should intimidate him. “You’re going to go out there by yourself?”
“Well, my best friend and I.” He smirks, lifting his top to show his gun tucked into his pants.
He’s the only one who carries a gun at all times. The rest of the 100 has to check them in and out of weapon storage depending on their guard shifts. This is his gun, the one he brought with him from the Ark. The one he earned his ticket to Earth with. He figured it deserved to have a place on his hip at all times. That was something Clarke didn’t get a say in.
He watches her eyes flit down, lingering half a second too long on the exposed skin by his hip before shoving her gaze back up to his face. “That’s a stupid idea.”
It must be killing her. She has no control over him, no choice in his decisions. For the welfare of their people, they manage to come together (with difficulty), but with each other? Two leaders on an equal playing field? They have absolutely no authority.
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me, Princess?”
He wonders if she can tell how much he’s enjoying this. It’s how most of their interactions go — a toss of power, both struggling for the upper hand and counting their wins and losses with each other. Bellamy considers this a victory for him.
She rolls her eyes. The usual blue that resides in there is swallowed by darkness, despite the fire burning in the center of them. “Fine. Get yourself killed.”
“Fine,” he snaps back, still smiling tauntingly. “Then you’ll have the camp to yourself.”
“Why are you always so goddamn reckless?” she barks loudly, causing a few heads to turn.
He gets a small thrill out of knowing she’s losing decorum. It usually means he’s won the battle, even if it’s not the war. He squares his shoulders, cocking his head condescendingly. “The same reason as you’re so goddamn stubborn, Princess.”
“Go to hell,” she snaps, her long blonde curls whipping the air as she spins around.
Bellamy scoffs, smirking for show to their onlookers. On the inside, though, he’s just as irritated. He came to her to talk about this decision, which is a pretty fucking important one, to avoid the trouble of Clarke challenging him on it later had he done it without her. It still ended in an argument, and these wins are starting to bring less and less satisfaction.
The others go back to their jobs in camp a split second later, accustomed to Bellamy and Clarke having it out. It’s a pretty common sight. He watches her storm off through camp, her body language tense and frustrated.
“Go to hell.”
Leading a camp of delinquents with Clarke Griffin? He’s already fucking there.
There’s dried blood caught in between the cracks of Clarke’s fingernails.
The result of stitching up Roma after she fell during guard duty. It was a minor laceration but it bled a lot, probably a result of her drinking the previous night. Her blood was thin and considering the strength of Monty and Jasper’s moonshine, Clarke was surprised Roma didn’t bleed alcohol.
She picks at the dried flakes, turning her fingers towards the glow of the fire to get better light. The water from the river wasn’t enough to remove it and she finds herself missing their crappy soap on the Ark.
The dark of night brings with it the sound of crickets and other insects, making themselves known intermittently through the cracks of the flames. Clarke scans the camp, deciding to give up on cleaning her nails, and her gaze lands on Bellamy. He’s over by their camp walls, deep in discussion with Miller. He’s gesturing to the handgun in his hand while Miller turns the rifle in his, like they’re comparing weapons. She knows instantly that he’s trying to decide which one to bring for his hunt.
His sister is stretched out beside Clarke, absorbing the fire's heat like she can’t get enough of it. Her boots are off, discarded beside her as she wiggles her toes against the flames. Her head is resting on the log Clarke is sitting on, so she has to shift to look at her face. Her eyes are closed but she’s definitely not asleep, not when the camp is still so busy. Not many have retired to bed at this hour.
“Was he always this difficult?” Clarke mutters, still annoyed from their argument this morning.
Octavia opens her eyes, tiredly staring across the camp at her brother. She doesn’t even have to ask Clarke who she’s talking about.
“Yep,” she sighs out, adjusting her neck so that it’s more comfortable. She seems to think better of her answer then. “Well. No. He was pretty cool when we were kids.”
Clarke scoffs, finding that hard to imagine. She watches him finish up with Miller, making his way back towards the fire that they’re sitting around. His head is down, watching his feet as he walks like always. There’s a hard set to his jaw and the jacket he’s wearing has too many holes in it, but it’s unlikely that he’d let Clarke stitch it if she offered.
Somehow, the night sky is lighter than his inky curls but he has the stars in his eyes, like he stole them from space on their journey down. The only reason she knows is because they twinkle when he thinks he’s winning an argument with her.
Clarke forces her eyes away before he catches her looking and begins working on her nails again. “When did that change?”
Octavia makes a noise like she’s thinking, stretching out her legs even more. “I’m not sure. Haven’t seen him since I was 12. But here on Earth? Definitely more tense than before.”
Clarke winces, suddenly sorry for bringing that up. It was no secret that Octavia Blake was locked up in the Skybox for being an illegal child, something that was far from her fault. Clarke can guess that she was reintroduced to a very different brother than the one she was taken from. A stab of pity hits her heart, realising for the first time that it must have been hard on Bellamy, that maybe there’s a reason he’s the way he is.
Still doesn’t make him any easier to deal with.
He plonks himself down next to Murphy, taking the glass jar from his hand with some moonshine in it. Clarke watches as he tips his head back and takes a large gulp, his throat bobbing as it goes down. As irritating as it is to admit, he’s not hard on the eyes. That’s common knowledge though, considering he’s slept with half the camp.
When he comes up for air, his eyes land directly on Clarke in front of him across the fire. She flutters her gaze away, clenching her teeth because she knows he probably has that stupid smirk plastered on his lips.
“Want some, Princess?” she hears him say, an airy note of teasing in his tone.
She doesn’t answer him, blinking a little too long. She’s still mad at him, as usual.
“Stop it,” Octavia mumbles, her eyes closed and her hands folded over her stomach. “You know she doesn’t drink.”
“First time for everything,” Bellamy responds.
“Don’t tell me the two of you are arguing again,” Murphy complains, taking the jar back from Bellamy.
“They’re always arguing,” Octavia hums out like she’s bored.
Clarke stiffens, pursing her lips together as she avoids Bellamy’s eye. Could he not have chosen a different fire to lounge at? Like one with a bunch of girls that would give him the attention he wants.
“She’s just angry that I’m going hunting in the morning,” he explains.
Clarke picks her nail a little too hard, staring at it with just as much intensity. “Do whatever the hell you want. You always do.”
She doesn’t want to admit that she’s worried about him. Just because he’s a royal pain in the ass doesn’t mean she wants anything to happen to him.
“I’m a big boy, you know.”
She looks up, feeling his eyes on her. She expects the same condescending smugness to reside there across the flames but instead, his expression is solemn.
“A big boy with his handgun against an army of Grounders,” she bites out with a fake smile. “Grown but not too smart, eh?”
“Shut up,” he snaps, nostrils flaring.
The whole atmosphere around the fire instantly shifts and Octavia sits up straight, wide awake now. “Alright, enough.”
Murphy is biting back a smirk, enjoying the trouble, even when it’s not him causing it. Bellamy glances at him and seems to suck some moral support from him. His shoulders sit back and an easy smile comes onto his face, reclaiming some casualness. He likes to do this, thinks he’s good at hiding the fact that Clarke can get to him.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Princess. I’ll come back to you in one piece.”
Clarke flushes. She wets her lips to regain some control herself. “Just don’t want to be wasting good medical supplies on you when you come back with a spear wound.”
He barks out a laugh, taking the moonshine back from Murphy. “If you saw reason in this whole thing, I could bring back some of those too.”
“I see reason,” Clarke argues. “It’s just not safe right now.”
“It’s never safe,” he protests. “If it were up to you, we’d die inside our precious walls. Just like the Grounders want. I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”
Clarke looks to Octavia, hoping for a bit of support. Surely she doesn’t want her brother venturing out into the wilderness when the Grounders have already taken out some of their people.
Her dark hair reflects the fire light when she moves her head, shifting her gaze from Clarke to Bellamy. “I mean, we don’t know enough about the Grounders. Maybe it’s only a certain group of them attacking us.”
Clarke flicks her eyes across to Bellamy and for the first time all day, she can see that he’s on the same page as her.
“They’re all dangerous, O.”
Octavia clamps her lips closed, not pushing that any further even though Clarke can tell she wants to.
“Then why go out there?” Clarke jumps on the opportunity, turning the conversation back on Bellamy.
“Because despite what everyone believes, Princess, I’m not a self-serving jackass,” he says, a rare flash of hurt crossing his eyes. She might have missed it if she blinked. “I agree with you about not risking any more camp lives, but we need food. So someone has to go.”
“I will, then.” Clarke cocks her chin up, preparing herself for this argument.
Bellamy opens his mouth to start but closes it again, his gaze focused on something behind her. His jaw tightens and he looks down, muttering to himself like he doesn’t want Clarke to hear but she does anyway.
“Like you’ll be let.”
“You will what?” Finn’s voice appears before he does, stepping over the log and sitting down beside Clarke.
Octavia and Murphy both cough and shift uncomfortably. Neither of them like Finn and even though Bellamy has never openly said it, it’s obvious by his tense shoulders and his eye rolls that he doesn’t think much of him either.
“I’m going hunting tomorrow,” she tells him, ignoring Bellamy’s scowl.
A laugh tumbles from Finn’s mouth. “You? Hunting?”
The hurt seeps into Clarke’s chest and redness tints her cheeks, hating to be embarrassed like that in front of the others.
“What? You don’t think I can?”
She’s proved herself here in the last few months. She’s more than competent as a leader and more than able to fend for herself. Finn has a tendency to act like this — like a woman shouldn’t be in charge of anything. He has a dated perception of things like this sometimes and it bugs her.
“Well, I’m just saying.” Finn chuckles, looking around at the others. “Might be best left to someone like Bellamy.”
“I agree,” Bellamy tacks on, a low rumble in his voice that makes Clarke’s breath stutter for some reason. She’s about to rip his head off until he adds: “But not because Clarke isn’t able.”
“No, no, of course.”
Finn waves his hand dismissively, reaching across and grabbing a handful of Octavia’s nuts from the tin bowl on the ground. Bellamy’s jaw clenches so hard that it might snap. Octavia rolls her eyes dramatically, like she can’t show how much she dislikes Finn enough.
“I just mean it’s more of a man’s job,” Finn explains with his mouth full. “No offense, babe.”
“Sweet fucking God,” Murphy mumbles, burying his face in his hands like he’s embarrassed for Finn.
Clarke’s nose pinches in disgust. This is why she’s been distancing herself from him. Well, that and Raven. Finn had failed to mention his girlfriend on the Ark and it was a shock when she arrived in a small pod a few weeks ago. It definitely put a halt to whatever was happening between her and Finn. Clarke is more than grateful now, especially considering how he behaves.
He’s lazy and immature, lounging around camp and refusing to partake in chores or jobs. Everybody takes shifts with guard duty or collecting water. Finn is useless. It’s probably why he lost Raven too. Word on the grapevine is that the Skybox changed him, or maybe just gave Raven enough distance from him to see what he’s really like.
“You’re such a pig.” Octavia folds her arms across herself, slouching down so that she’s lying against the log again.
Finn holds out his hands innocently, looking to Murphy and Bellamy as if for support. “What? It is. Right?”
“No. Clarke is more than able to hunt for the camp,” Bellamy snaps, his voice like sandpaper.
Clarke raises her eyebrows. She’s surprised he’s defending her with such fervor considering how little he thinks of her. He seems to realize his error though and straightens his spine, correcting himself.
“Doesn’t mean she’s going in the morning.” He fidgets with the cuff of his jacket, like he’s trying to come up with an excuse as to why. If he says it’s unsafe, that applies for him as well. “I’m a better shot.”
Clarke’s mouth drops open as she exhales a laugh. “What, because you’re a man?”
“Don’t make his argument mine,” he says, heated.
Clarke groans, pushing herself up from the log. “I’m going to bed.”
She hasn’t walked ten feet from the fire when Bellamy catches up with her. He stops her by curling his fingers around her bicep and she can’t help but look at the action. It’s rare that they touch physically unless she’s shoving a finger into his chest or pushing past him. He seems to realise it too because once she’s turned around, he pulls his hand away.
“Listen, you know I think you’re more than capable.”
The softness in his tone makes her eyes set on his. She can’t remember a time when he didn’t talk to her without any snarkiness. The brown of his eyes hold her to the spot. Even if she wanted to move, she couldn’t.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll go in the morning.”
“Clarke,” he drags out, tipping his head back. “Fuck. Everything doesn’t have to be such an argument.”
“So stop making it one.” She quirks her eyebrow at him.
“It’s already decided. I’m taking this round,” Bellamy says adamantly. “You’re our only healer.”
“I’m training Octavia,” she points out.
“And she’s nowhere near ready.”
“So you’re saying you’re more expendable than me?”
She hates that she’s coming across a little desperate, not wanting him to go. He sighs, like he’s truly tired of having this fight. Clarke mirrors the movement and decides to just drop it.
“Goodnight,” she mumbles, turning away from him.
“Clarke,” he calls after her. When she turns, he’s shifting uneasily on his feet. He looks back to the fire to where Murphy, Octavia and Finn are still sitting. “Are you still entertaining him?”
“Does it look like I am?”
Bellamy takes a step closer, his eyes still on Finn behind him. “He still seems to think it’s okay to flirt with you.”
She bristles. “Well I’m not flirting with him. He makes me uncomfortable.”
“He has that effect on everyone.”
“I mean it, Bellamy,” she bites out, a little defensive over the subject. Finn can be a little heavy handed and she knows he’s not like that with everyone.
Bellamy blinks with confusion. When he speaks, she hates the concern she hears in his voice because she doesn’t need him pitying her or trying to get involved. “Alright, well tell me. What’s the problem?”
Clarke folds her arms across herself, deciding not to get into it. “Nothing. He’s just different than what I thought.”
“I could have told you that,” he tells her flatly.
She frowns. “Yeah, well the day I come to you for dating advice will be a cold day in hell.”
Bellamy definitely isn’t one to talk. He has a reputation of his own around here and he knows it. His thick curls and straight white smile make girls around camp swoon. One look at those broad shoulders and defined muscles and he’s secured himself a partner for the night, even if it’s a different one all the time.
“Ouch.” He smirks. “That was below the belt.”
She tries to bite back the smile forming on her lips but it seeps through anyway. It’s a shame he’s such an ass because he can be funny when he wants to. Still, she’d take him any day over Finn. He might be an argumentative idiot that likes to sleep around but he’s decent in a way that Finn isn’t.
She turns towards her tent, a singsong tone in her voice. “Goodnight, Bellamy.”
“See you in the morning,” he calls after her.
Clarke blows out a long breath as she opens her tent flap, disappearing inside. She has to admit, she does feel a little guilty that she’ll be gone hunting before he wakes up.