Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

(xxxix.)

Bellamy insists on walking her back and she doesn't have to suggest that they take the long way because he already seems to know. There's a shyness in her that doesn't fit the situation, not when she's just spent the last half hour trading kisses, but she can't help it. It's different now that he knows how she feels and she knows how he feels. There's more consequence to every interaction, more intention behind every movement. Earlier, as soon as he saw that she was cold, he'd draped his jacket over her shoulders, ignoring her protests, and she'd spent five minutes overthinking it even as she slipped her arms through the sleeves and let it hang big over her frame. When her hand accidentally hits his, she nearly jumps backwards, but then she laughs and he laughs and takes her hand in his, tangling their fingers together. It's comforting, actually, to feel how sweaty Bellamy's palm is, to know that he's nervous too.

Halfway through their second tour around the ship, somewhere between the control room and the third floor supply closet, she asks him a question she can't not ask anymore. "How long?"

He doesn't need to ask what she means. "Before my birthday. That's when I realized. But it started before then, little by little. You’re my favorite person to see every day, my favorite person to talk to. I thought I was so obvious. A lot of people thought so too."

"Not me," Clarke says, a little stunned.

"You never pay attention to these things."

"Yes, I do," she argues, lies. "How was I supposed to know? You were either with Echo or still in love with her so—"

He pulls her to a stop, very serious when he says, "I'm not."

"I didn't mean now."

"Before. I haven’t been for a long time."

Pleased, but not wanting to show it, she bites down the smile she wants to show. "Okay. You weren't. But it wasn't obvious to me."

"I almost kissed you that time."

"And then you apologized for it."

“I thought I had ruined our friendship! And you didn’t want to talk about it, I can tell when you don’t want to.” She scowls a little. Yes, but, on her tongue. Yes, but he’s right. “And I was jealous when Madi brought up you taking someone else to the dance.”

“I thought you were just mad.”

“I was. And jealous.”

What was it people said about hindsight?

“I didn’t think you were. Or would be.”

"Because you're not good at picking up these things," he sighs, as he pulls her along again, slowly so that she walks in step with him.

"Like you can talk," she retorts, slightly offended. She wasn’t the best at it, but it wasn’t like he was either. "I spent every day for six years trying to send you messages. What else would that mean?"

His hand tightens around hers. "Even then?"

"Day 219. I couldn't tell you what we were doing, I don't remember that. But I do remember finally saying it, that I loved you. I should've known before, but I didn't. Madi always said she knew." They stop again and his hand gets tighter. "Bellamy."

"I should've told you earlier," he says, rambling. "I should’ve said it right when I realized. I should've told you I was stupid jealous of Lon, I should've told you that I wanted to go to the dance with you, I should've told you so many times before, I should've told you before Praimfaya—"

"Hey," she cuts him off, like her mind isn't spinning right now, trying to process all of the information he's just tossed at her in a span of a few seconds, "let's not do that."

"I should've waited for you," he says. In her most uncharitable moments, she'd thought this too, her regret spun into bitterness, a way to vent her anger at her own mistakes and fears and insecurities. But she doesn't like hearing it from Bellamy, not like this.

"Don't," she says, sounding of warning. "Don't do that. Trust me, I've been down this road. It isn't a good one."

"Six years, Clarke."

"What were you doing to do?" She cocks her head at him. "Commandeer the ship away from Raven and come down where you would've died from radiation immediately?"

"We could've found a way."

"You're being ridiculous."

He starts to object and then stops. "I know. We could've had more time."

Her answering smile doesn't quite get rid of its sadness in it, but it's passes quick. "We could've. Except I wasn’t ready to hear that. I wasn’t ready to say it. But," she lifts their hands and smooths over his knuckles, "we have time now. Isn't that what you told me the first night we were here?"

Bellamy grimaces with a laugh. "What?" she asks.

"I said that," he makes another face, "to be a dick to you."

"I know."

"I'm really sorry about that still."

"I know." This time, she's the one pulling on his hand so that they start walking again. "You apologize too much."

"As opposed to not apologizing enough?"

"Good point."

He makes a hum of agreement to her acquiescence, but otherwise, falls silent, his fingers intermittently tightening and loosening as they walk down the hall. But she can tell he still has more to say; sure enough, he starts again a few minutes later. "You let me off too easy sometimes."

That thought had crossed her mind before. "Maybe I do. But why don't you let me worry about that?"

"When have I ever done that?"

"Would you rather me be mad at you?"

"Not particularly."

"Should I give you the cold shoulder?"

"Preferably not."

"Do you want me to storm off and say I never want to see you again?"

"No!"

"Then you can't complain."

"Then how else can I pick fights with you?"

"Have you ever considered not picking fights with me?" He grins when she looks over at him.

"My first memory of you is picking a fight with you. I like that too much."

"I knew you only did that to annoy me."

Bellamy's laugh rings loud in the empty hallway. "That was just a bonus," he says, as they make a turn that brings them to the corridor of their rooms. Now that they're here, Clarke is loathe to let go of his hand, wishes that they could stay in this moment, these past few hours without going back to their lives. It's nice, though, to know that he feels the same way, if his steps slowing down is any indication.

She can see her and Madi's room up ahead, getting clearer as they get closer. Before long, they're standing outside the door, Clarke leaning back against the wall and Bellamy hovering over her. She looks up at him to remember the way his hair falls over his forehead and the way his smile reaches his eyes. She remembers when her classmates would come to class and gush about the boys who had walked them home the night before. She'd always rolled her eyes when they started, but now she understands. "Thanks," she eventually says, quiet enough to not disturb anyone, "for waking me up at 4 AM."

When he leans in, she can count his freckles. "It was closer to 5. Almost a normal wake up time."

She stifles a laugh. "And thanks for coming to find me."

"There were only a few places you could be."

"And," she says, when he's a breath away, "thanks for walking me back." He kisses her then, with enough longing and lingering in it that it makes her dizzy, holding onto his shoulders for support.

"I had a really… really nice time tonight," he says.

"Me too."

"Do you," he stops himself, picking back up a second later, "well, do you want to have lunch with me later?"

"Like as a date?" Clarke blurts out, which is a silly question, and she knows it is, which is why she starts laughing into his shoulder.

He laughs too, relief in it. "That's what I was hoping."

"Yes, yes, I'd, um, I'd love to." He kisses her again, short and sweet.

"Okay, uh, I'll see you tomorrow. Well. Today. Later today," he says, stepping back from her reluctantly, his expression not doing enough to hide his reluctance.

She understands completely. "Wait," she calls, a little louder than she should, before she lowers her voice again, wincing at the sound. Her hand reaches out to grab his wrist.

"Yeah?"

"Did you—" a slight pause, "did you really love me before Praimfaya?"

His face softens. "Yeah. But it was different."

"How?"

"It was… this is better, I think," Bellamy's thumb finds her pulse again, a steady beat that must be so loud, "I didn't know you then and I loved you. I know you now and I love you more."

Clarke's heart soars. "You talk too much," she finally says, right before she rises up to kiss him. You love me, she thinks. You love me, you love me, you love me. "But I love you too."

He does leave after that, after another embarrassingly long, drawn out ordeal where they keep making excuses to stay, so when she finally steps inside her room, she lets out the happy sigh she's been holding in all night. Thankfully, Madi's still asleep, sprawled out on the bed, as violent of a sleeper as she always is, so she can live with her happiness alone for a little bit longer.

She might've spoken too soon. "Clarke?"

"Hi sweetie," she whispers, because Madi's half-asleep and just needs the right mood to fall back into it. "Sorry for waking you up."

"What time is it?" That is a good question.

"Not early enough to wake up. Come on," she pulls the blankets up to cover her up, "go back to sleep."

She nods, closing her eyes. Just as Clarke is about to walk away so she can change into her sleep clothes, Madi's voice pulls her back. "Were you hanging out with Bellamy?" She asks, voice too drowsy to hold any hint of glee or victory.

"Yes, I was," she replies, if hanging out was a good way to describe it. "How did you know?"

Snuggling closer into the blankets, she grins. "You're wearing his jacket." She looks down and blushes. So she is.

Within minutes, Madi is back asleep, her light snores filling the air. Clarke changes out of her clothes and into something more comfortable, almost reverently folding Bellamy's jacket over the back of the desk chair. Almost as soon as she leaves it there, her hands are drawn back to it, picking it up, tracing the lining on the sleeve and the worn patch on the elbow, and hugging it to her chest. She lets out another happy sigh before she lets go of it and heads to bed.

*

(xl.)

Lunch is going well. That was the only deliberation Clarke allowed herself to give, too afraid to jinx it otherwise, but she could say with almost certainty that even if someone else had said it, they would be telling the truth. After a near disaster of a start (both of them had overslept, then literally run into the other on their way here, and then managed some truly spectacularly awkward small talk that she did not want to relive), they started laughing, feeling more at ease before Bellamy took her to the kitchen, and they had scrounged up a late (late, late) lunch from whatever was around.

There's not much around: some crackers, a thing of oatmeal, a few protein bars, the remainder of the peanut butter, the last of the celebration cake, and some questionable bread.

"I think this is from those sandwiches Murphy gave up on halfway through," she comments, gesturing to the leftover bread.

"I have a feeling we shouldn't touch that," he says warily, which makes her eye the bread with suspicion.

"Noted." Pushing the bread away, she returns to the crackers in front of them. "Oh! Let me show you something!" He watches, amused, as she spreads some peanut butter on a cracker and holds it out for him to see. "Madi taught me this."

"Wow," he drawls slowly, unimpressed but laughing regardless. "That's high cuisine right there."

"All I know is high cuisine."

"I can tell."

"Don't be jealous. You're the one who isn't utilizing Madi's talents."

"I don't need to. I'm having an excellent lunch of protein bars and tea."

"The flavors that no one likes."

"This isn't so bad." Bellamy looks down and breaks off a piece, holding it out for her to take. She does, popping it into her mouth, chewing, and grimacing. "You're exaggerating."

She snickers. He did know her a bit too well. "It's fun. And you made fun of my invention."

"Your invention."

"Isn't that what I said?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must've misunderstood," he teases. "I shouldn't have made fun of your invention."

"I accept your very sincere apology."

Bellamy laughs a little, but slips into something solemn quickly after. His face turns into an apology as his shoulders fall slightly. "This probably isn't the kind of date you wanted."

"It isn't so bad," she says, taking the corner of her slice of cake.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "You do not have to say that."

"I'm not," she says easily. "I really don't mind it." And she doesn't. She hadn't exactly had the time to wonder what this date would be, let alone have any semblance of expectations for it. She just liked that she was here with Bellamy, making him laugh, and laughing with him.

"Clarke—"

"Bellamy," she says, before he can say anything else. "It's honestly fine. If we just sat here and talked about… restocking the kitchen, I'd still think it was a nice date." Clarke swipes at the frosting with her fork and tastes it. It's still sweet.

"It isn't much."

"Why does it have to be much?" She asks, watching as he looks puzzled, and then thoughtful. She pauses before her next words, the weight of them heavy on her tongue, the instinct of keeping them quiet too strong to push past. "I just like being with you. That's enough for me."

Bellamy doesn't say anything. Instead, he leans over and closes his mouth over hers, in a kiss that skirts the edge of improper in public, with one hand cupping her cheek. It's still a little startling, but she isn't freezing like she did last time. When they break apart, he murmurs against her lips, "I like being with you too," and kisses her again, too quick to be a real kiss. "But you also deserve more."

Heat climbs up her neck and settles on her cheeks. "Well," she says, leaning in to kiss him, just because she can now, "Let's start small, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees, picking a piece from her cake and laughing at her affronted look. "What were you saying about restocking the kitchen?"

*

(xli.)

People find out about them pretty fast, no thanks in part to how obvious Bellamy makes it. It's not that he's big on PDA, not the big, flashy kind at least, but Clarke discovers that he's definitely not adverse to it. Even before they started dating, which is probably the best way to describe what they're doing, if the constraints of a spaceship with very limited settings can be accounted for, he'd always been one to express himself through touch. People had wondered before, but there's a difference now.

She sees it in his casual touches to her back as he passes by her, the squeezes to the back of her neck when he gets close to her, the arm slung around her shoulders when they're sitting next to each other. It's in the quick kisses he presses to her temple, her cheek, her mouth to say hello, or goodbye, or anything in between. It's clear in the way he plays with her hands, always seeking them out. (He loves holding her hand.) Clarke soaks it all up, the attention and the affection, so really, maybe she's half to blame.

Everyone has questions, but none moreso than Madi, who asks her every chance she gets.

"If you really want to know," Clarke says drowsily, pulling the blanket closer, "ask Bellamy."

It shouldn't surprise her that Madi chooses to follow this directive, but it does.

"So how long have you liked Clarke?" She asks, eyeing him innocently over her spaghetti. Clarke's fork clangs against her plate when it slips out of her grasp.

"I didn't tell her to ask that," she informs Bellamy, eyes wide. "I didn't tell you to do that."

Madi twists some spaghetti onto her fork. "You said if I wanted to know, I should ask Bellamy. I am!"

There's some sauce on her cheek so Clarke wipes at it with her napkin. "I was kidding. And that was weeks ago."

"I had to think of all the questions I wanted to ask!"

"Madi!"

"It's okay," Bellamy interjects, slight smirk on his face. "She can ask them."

"Just pretend Clarke's not here."

"I am here."

Smooth as anything, Bellamy leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. She supposes it's to show Madi how unbothered he is, but Madi doesn't look that impressed. Clarke wishes this was not happening. "I've liked her for a long time."

"How long?"

"Do you want it to the day?"

"That would be nice."

"I'll calculate it and get back to you about that. But at least six months. More if we want to get complicated about it." He glances over at Clarke and she flushes under his gaze. None of this is new to her, of course, but she feels so bare having it addressed in front of someone else, even if that someone else is her 13-year old pseudo-daughter.

"What about Echo?" Clarke turns her aborted laugh into a cough.

"What about her?"

"Do you still…" Madi makes a face. "Like her?"

"No," he says, and without knowing she had been waiting for it, Clarke perks up. "What's with the face?"

Madi scoffs, pointing the fork at Bellamy. Sauce falls onto the table. "Clarke's better."

"Madi," she groans, not out of disagreement, but out of embarrassment. She appreciates the loyalty, but—like this?

Both of them ignore her. "Was I supposed to disagree with that?" He says, eyes alight and dancing, though they quickly turn fearful when he says, "I don't, by the way. I don't disagree."

"Good," Madi says, satisfied, removing her fork from its threatening position. "What's your favorite thing about Clarke?"

He thinks for a second. "How stubborn she is."

Before Clarke can object, Madi continues. "What's your least favorite thing?"

He grins. "How stubborn she is."

"Hey."

"Madi asked. It's a compliment."

"Do I need to remind you about what a compliment is?"

"Do you swear," Madi says, as if they hadn't interrupted her in the first place, "to never make Clarke cry?" She has a very serious face on, the kind she has when she's angry about something and figuring out ways to do something about it.

The teasing from earlier disappears off Bellamy's face as he leans his head in. "I swear," he says. Madi holds out her pinky and he hooks his onto it. Clarke can't help but sigh at the sight.

"Okay, good," she says, pushing the last of her spaghetti away from her. "If you're not eating it, can I have your jello?" He looks down and smiles, offering it to her immediately.

"Bellamy, don't," Clarke says tiredly, because this is the third time she's had to say this, "she doesn't need to be spoiled even more."

"I'm not being spoiled," Madi argues, pouting at her. "Bellamy doesn't even want his jello. Right?"

"It's true. I only got it because I knew she'd ask."

"See?"

Clarke shakes her head. There's no point. "She used to be so well-behaved when it was just the two of us."

"Like when she locked you out of the Rover and tried to drive away without you?"

"That was once!" Madi protests, now pouting over her cup of jello. "And I apologized!"

"Two weeks later."

"Clarke!"

"I didn't even tell him that story. You did." She laughs at Madi's scowl. "This is why you shouldn't ever tell Bellamy anything."

"I'm going to find Monty," she says in a huff, getting up from her chair with her jello in hand. Before she escapes, she adds, "Thank you for the jello, Bellamy."

"Anytime, Madi."

Once she scurries away, Clarke drops her head onto the table. "I really, really, really didn't mean she had to actually ask you about it," she mumbles. A second later, Bellamy's moved over to the seat Madi's vacated and lays his hand on her back, rubbing it soothingly.

"It's fine, Clarke," he says, "and it went a lot better this time than the first time she did it."

She freezes. "The first—what are you talking about?"

"She pulled me aside last week and asked me a bunch of questions like that," he says. "She's very scary when she wants to be."

"That sounds like Madi," she mutters, groaning again. "I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have done that."

"Clarke, honestly," he hauls her up, laughing, "Madi's just looking out for you." As she always had, even when it wasn't necessary. "Besides, someone has to question the boyfriend."

She hears how faint her voice is. "Boyfriend?"

He pauses, searching her face. "Only if that's what you want. I assumed—I—it's been a few weeks and we've—"

"Yes," Clarke breathes out, not letting him finish his sentence. It hadn't occurred to her they hadn't discussed this yet, despite the many dates they'd had since that night, because she, like Bellamy, had also assumed it, without putting it into words. She had never called him her boyfriend, but he was her boyfriend. "Yes, I want that."

His face lights up. "That makes you my girlfriend, you know."

She likes the sound of that. "I'm pretty okay with that."

He leans in and sneaks a kiss from her. "That's settled then," he says after, right before she steals the roll off his plate and he's protesting, pretending he cares, when a thought strikes her.

"You're my first," she blurts out, suddenly, cutting his dramatics off.

"First what?"

Blushing, Clarke says, "First, um, real boyfriend."

"Really?"

"Yeah. So I don't really know what I'm doing most of the time." It didn't help that she didn't exactly have a particularly stable relationship with either Finn or Lexa. Since she had never actually dated them, really, Clarke had nothing else to go by.

"I don't know what I'm doing most of the time," Bellamy says. "But I don't think we're doing too bad. Are we?"

"No," she says, thinking back to the last few weeks of lunchtime dates and stolen kisses and midnight strolls. "We aren't."

*

(xlii.)

"I should, ah," Clarke closes her eyes as her presses her into the bed. Bellamy's bed isn't the most comfortable, but that doesn't register right now, not when she has more important things to think about like the weight of him on her or how dangerously close his hand is to the hem of her shirt. "I should… go," she sighs out eventually, the words coming back to her.

Too busy trailing kisses down her neck, his response is almost lost in the crook of her neck, but he manages to pull back by the end of it, so she hears a rough, distracted, "I guess it's getting late," right before he returns to his earlier task.

"Yeah," she agrees, though all she does is tilt her head to give him better access. Unwittingly, she arches her back, pressing closer to him. "And I was only here to talk about—" She can't remember right now. "Something."

Out of everything she had not imagined, Clarke is the most unprepared for how much she wants Bellamy. Wanting Bellamy had been a state she'd lived with for years, the secret she'd hidden from Madi, from Bellamy. It'd lived with her for the same amount of time. She knows she wants him, but the intensity of it takes her by surprise. It isn't some muted, discreet sensation either; it thrums through her body whenever she touches him, it zings a loud note whenever she kisses him too long, whenever he wraps his arms around her, or brackets her body with his, it follows her as a constant reminder that she is all too aware of whenever he looks at her too much (it's always too much).

Thinking back on it, it's the latter that had led her to this moment, shivering with anticipation as Bellamy eases his hand under her shirt, grazing her skin. She'd found herself in multiple opportunities like this lately. Yesterday, he had caught her as she was taking her laundry out for a lazy makeout session that had left her lips red and swollen and her neck marked by at least two (that she's seen) light bruises that make her legs weak when she thinks about them. The day before, she'd almost been late to her shift because she couldn't (didn't want to) disentangle herself from his arms. A few days before that, although they weren't doing anything at the time, Monty had a knowing look on his face when he walked into the bridge for their monthly state of the Earth meeting.

He's saying something now. Through the haze of her desire, she pieces the words together. "If it helps, you were very good at talking about that something."

Her hand curls in his hair. "You used to be better at this," she says.

It gets the intended effect as he pulls back from her, looking offended and well-kissed. "Hey."

"Convincing people you're not lying, I mean," she grins.

He huffs anyways. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little preoccupied."

There’s not much she can say to that, mostly because he captures her mouth with his, throwing all thoughts of preoccupation to the wayside. He tends to kiss her like he wants her to lead, inquisitive of all the things he can learn from it, but sometimes—like now—he's almost like the Bellamy who'd kissed her in her dreams. This kiss is rough and insistent and so sure of itself that she feels the idle stirrings of desire in her chest, in the pit of her stomach turn into something urgent and unabated. Part of it, she knows, is because he so rarely kisses her like this. She loves the way he follows her lead and the way he never pushes for something she isn't comfortable with.

But she loves it even more when he lets his guard down with her. She'd gotten a glimpse of it before, but not like this, not with his mouth burning a path down her neck like this, not with his hands all over her like this. Bellamy has an innate ability to make her feel praised, even when she's doing nothing but clutching him closer and gasping in his ear. He skims his mouth across her collarbone and shifts so when she rocks up into him this time, she can feel the weight of him on her thigh. When she lets out a soft moan, he tightens his grip on her hip and unbuttons the top few buttons of her shirt so that his mouth is grazing along the top of her breasts. There's too many clothes between them, she thinks, so delirious with desire that she's sure her eyes are as dark as his are right now, so she shakily brings a hand up to her chest, unbuttoning one more button, waiting for him to take the hint.

He doesn't need the prompting, bending down to kiss her knuckles before replacing her hand with his, undoing the next button. All of a sudden, it feels more real. The air around them stills and she watches his eyes rove over each section of skin exposed as he makes his way down her shirt slowly, deftly. When she had stopped by earlier to talk about Monty's latest doomsdaying, Clarke could safely say that she hadn't expected the night to end like this.

His breath ghosts over her stomach, tantalizing in its warmth and excruciating in its proximity. She holds her own breath as he works on the penultimate button, struggling a little, a laugh spilling out of him. She's not sure if it's this innocuous action that does it, or if it's everything building towards this, but as soon as he gets to the last button, she exhales, all tension in it.

"Wait," she says.

He pauses, looks up.

Her hand goes to clutch at her shirt. "Stop."

He stops, pulls back, has to shake himself from the haze of desire. "Did I…" His forehead creases. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she says, with a frantic shake of her head. “I—” Her voice is dry in her throat.

"What is it?" Bellamy asks, reaching for her, stopping short of making contact. "Tell me what I did."

"It's nothing that you did," she says. "It's—it's me. I…" Hastily redoing her buttons, her fingers slipping on each one, she can hear how small her voice is as she explains, "I haven't… done this in years. I don't even know if—if I know how to—" Clarke grimaces, embarrassed and upset.

"Hey," he says, serious, "we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"No, that's not it," she sighs, almost with a laugh. "Trust me. Wanting to is not the problem here."

HIs mouth opens and closes a few times, hit by the force of her words, even though she hadn't meant them to be particularly devastating. To Clarke, they were just words that reflected a truth. A moment later, he finally asks, "What's the problem?"

She has to hide her face behind her hands to say it, the embarrassment too much for her. "I'm just not… ready for this. To… have sex." She even stumbles on the word, tripping over it like it's forbidden. She should've known this would happen. It'd taken her a while to be comfortable with kissing him, even longer to kiss him for an extended period of time. The last person she was with was Niylah, six years ago, and the last boy she was with was Finn and she barely remembered that. She could dream about it and she could imagine it and she could think about it, but it didn't exactly mean she was ready for it. Not now, at least.

Bellamy slowly lowers her hands from her face and she doesn't know what she'd expected to see on his face, but it's an expression of understanding. "I'm not expecting anything, okay? Have I made it seem like I am?" Worry etches across his features.

"No," she says, "you've been great. Really great. I trust you. I'm so—" She rubs her eyes. "I'm such a mess."

"You are not," he says firmly, mirroring his tone with the way he squeezes her free hand. "Don't say that."

"Even though that's what I feel like?"

"Especially then."

"That's not very fair."

"You can try to appeal it but it's not worth the trouble."

Flopping back onto the bed, she curls up so that she's facing him, her cheek propped up and resting on an arm. "I really do want this, you know."

He lays down next to her, fitting around her, and caresses her cheek. She shivers at his touch. "I want this too. When you're ready." She wants to say sorry, because it's on the tip of her tongue, but she bites it back. Logically, she knows she has nothing to be sorry about, but logic isn't the easiest to accept.

"Okay," she says instead, tracing the divot in his chin. "I, um, really do think about it a lot."

He turns his face into the sheets, just enough that she can still hear him say, "You can't just say something like that."

"Why not?"

"Because," he turns back to her, a stern look on his face, "that's all I'm going to be thinking about now."

"Maybe that was why I said it," she teases, coming closer to him. "Maybe I want you to think about me all the time."

He doesn't waste time in closing the space between them and kissing her. "Believe me, I already do."

She sucks in a breath and tries to ignore the thrill his words send down her spine. It doesn't change her mind, but she'll really never get over hearing him say and knowing that he wants her. "Then you shouldn't have a problem with me saying that." A long second later, she adds, more reluctantly, "I should go."

"You don't have to," he says quickly, beseeching in tone before it smooths out. "You could stay. Not for that. Just… to stay."

She’s already sinking back into his arms. "Madi's going to ask questions."

"I can take her."

Clarke lets out a laugh, curling into Bellamy's warmth. "Okay, I'll stay."

*

(xliii.)

She doesn't mean to overhear the conversation, but—well, she has no good excuse for it. She just catches it because the door to Bellamy's office space is slightly open and their voices carry. She could've walked away so that she couldn't hear it, but she doesn't. She's never claimed to be that good of a person.

"So you and Clarke?" Raven asks. Clarke can't see her expression, but she can hear her tone, a mix of curiosity and slight judgment. It's almost a trademark.

"What about me and Clarke?" Bellamy says, unmistakably wary.

"How long's that been going on?"

"Raven. You know how long that's been going on."

Breezing past it, she tries again, "You guys serious then?"

Clarke at least berates herself for how eagerly she waits for his answer. "Yes, Raven, we're serious." She smiles down at her feet. She hadn't doubted it, but it was still nice to hear it.

She sounds taken aback by his words. "It's only been three months. How do you know?"

"I knew you knew," he says in vindication. "You knew it was serious with Shaw about two weeks in."

"That was different."

"Right." A pause. "Did you have a point to all this?"

"Answer the question."

"You know," he says, "I'm not sure this is out of concern."

"Jesus, Bellamy, I'm not asking to sabotage you or anything. It's just a question."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I'm not asking for her," Raven retorts. "I'm done playing messenger."

"You say that like I'm sending any messages."

"You're avoiding the question."

He sighs, long and frustrated. "I know because it feels right this time. Because we know each other this time. We get each other. And we both want this."

Clarke really, really, really should've left once she heard their voices. It's definitely past the point of something she can pass off as an innocent curiosity. With that in mind, she backs away, keeping her steps light. Maybe if she takes a turn around the floor, Raven will have left by the time she's done.

The walk doesn't help much because it gives her an opportunity for her guilt to fester and prick at her, but when she makes it back to Bellamy's office, Raven's voice has disappeared, so at least that's not a problem anymore. She knocks three times, quick in succession, and before he's done saying, "Come in," she's already in, making a beeline for him, kissing him the second she's close enough.

Bellamy looks at her, dazed, when she pulls away and sits on the edge of his desk, facing him. "I don't think I can joke about expecting someone else, right?" He says, eyes focused on her mouth before he seems to remember that it isn't very polite.

She ignores it anyways. "I have to tell you something," she rushes out.

"That doesn't sound good."

"I overheard your conversation earlier." It's better to just come out with it. Bellamy frowns, remembering. To stave off his rightful protest, she keeps going, explaining, "I didn't mean to, well, I didn't leave, so I kind of did mean to, but I feel awful about it and I'm sorry. I'm so so—"

"How much did you hear?"

She thinks. "Um, Raven asked about us. Until you answered how you knew. That we were serious, I mean. I mean it, I'm so sorry. I’ll never do it again—"

He kisses her quiet. "It's not like I wouldn't have said that to you anyways."

"But still," she grimaces, "I shouldn't have eavesdropped. I won't do it again. I'll walk away as soon as I hear any voices."

"I"m sorry you had to hear what Raven was saying." A dark look passes over his face. "I know you've said you don't want me to talk to her about how she's treating you, but if you change your mind, you know that I would, right?"

She knows. That's the problem. Whatever's going on between her and Raven is something she wants to tackle herself. Hearing her question Bellamy today had hardly been unexpected, nor had it been particularly bad. Maybe in some way, she was concerned. Maybe she was just curious. "I know," she says, closing her eyes briefly when he reaches up and presses a kiss to her forehead, "but then I become the girl who sends her boyfriend after her friends to intimidate them."

"I'd use my diplomatic voice," he says, both the joke of the statement and his tone telling her that he won't pursue this any further.

"I've heard your diplomatic voice."

"So you know how effective it is."

"If that's what makes you feel better."

"Thank you for agreeing. That makes me feel better."

"As much as I appreciate you practicing your diplomacy for me, I think I'll pass on the offer."

"All right," he sighs, not actually disappointed. "I've still got a few things left to do, but I'll be done soon and I can come find you if—"

"I can wait," she says, leaning forward to push the hair from his forehead back, eliciting a smile, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes, from him. "I just wanted to see you."

It always fills her with a sense of triumph when she flusters him. He flusters her so much all the time, even when he's doing nothing, that she loves getting the chance to do it to him. Bellamy tries to sound unbothered, but there's no mistaking how pleased he is. "I don't have to finish this today."

"You don't?"

"I could finish it tomorrow." He's already gotten up, crowding closer to her, his body framing hers as she loops her arms around his neck. "What do you think?"

"I think you should kiss me."

"Will do."

*

(xliv.)

"That can't be right."

"It's as right as it'll get."

"Then run it again."

"Bellamy."

"Bellamy, I've run it ten times. I've run it a hundred times. It all ends the same."

"Then let me take a look at it."

"You think that if I made that much of a mistake, I wouldn't be able to catch it but you would?"

"Just let me see it."

Monty throws his hands up and walks away from them, releasing a loud huff of annoyance aimed at Bellamy. Clarke feels a headache coming on. It's been almost an hour of this back and forth between them, ever since Monty had delivered the news about the Earth. After twenty minutes, everyone else had shuffled out of the bridge, but she had stayed to look over the figures Monty presented them as if they made sense to her and Bellamy had stayed because he couldn't, wouldn't accept that there was no way the Earth was going to sustain any life for at least ten years.

Bellamy glares at Monty, as if all of this had been his doing. “How could this happen so fast?”

“I’ve been warning you of this possibility for months. Clarke, back me up.”

He had. “I think we all need to step back for a bit,” she says, at the same time that Bellamy snaps, “Yes, the possibility, not the actuality of it!”

“The problem is that you refused to consider it as more than a possibility, not that I didn’t warn you enough,” Monty argues, his chin jutted out in anger. “I warned you plenty of times.”

“No, you said—”

“Monty,” Clarke says loudly, cutting a warning glance at Bellamy that makes him sink back onto the seat he’d jumped out of seconds before, “what should we do now? We don’t have the resources to stay up here for that long. I don’t even think we can stay for half that time.”

“I was hoping you guys would tell me you had ideas,” Monty admits. “I don’t know. I need to get back, but I’ll come by later and talk about this?” He casts a wary look at Bellamy, who’s gone moodily silent hunched over the screen.

She flashes him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, no problem. Let’s talk later.” Monty shuts the door behind him with more force than usual. Without even turning to him, she sighs, “Bellamy.”

“I know,” he says, contrition already there, “I’ll apologize to him later.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of not shooting the messenger?”

“I only shouted at him.”

“That might be worse.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, with no amusement in sight. Just a few hours ago, he’d laughed with her and Madi. Now, he just looked tired. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

"We both know better than to believe in supposed tos anymore," she says gently, walking over to stand behind him.

He tilts his head back, half looking at her, half looking at the ceiling. "I know. But I still let myself hope."

She threads her fingers through his hair and waits a few minutes before she speaks again. "I really miss Eden right now." This was the Ark all over again, except this time, they had no planet to deposit a hundred delinquents, and this time, they would never do that. Her fingers still in his hair.

"We could get it back,” he says, a quick upturn of his head to catch her eye, “if we find a way to survive up here for ten years longer. Maybe even more.”

“You never know. We’ve found our way out of worse problems before.”

“So you have another spaceship hidden somewhere? Some magic blood up your sleeve that’ll let us live without water or food or air?”

“Not so much.”

“How are we going to find our way out of this?”

“The same way we always do,” she answers, bending down to rest her chin on his shoulder. His hand comes up to cradle her head. “By exhausting every option and then hoping for the best.”

“You’re very good at this reassuring thing,” he says dryly, finally cracking a smile that she can hear in his voice.

“I haven’t had a lot of practice in it,” she nudges him, “you’re the reassuring one out of the two of us. Now I have to pick up your slack.”

Bellamy laughs, low in his throat. “You’re not worried?”

“Of course I’m worried. But if both of us show it, then nothing will get done.”

Moving his head away from her, he stares at her for what feels like an insurmountably long time. She always forgets how much his eyes are, especially when they’re focused on you. Then, he leans forward to drop a kiss on her mouth. “I like you so much,” he says.

“Who knew that’s all it takes to win you over?” She teases through a blush. “I mean it, though, we’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah, we always do.”

*

(xlv.)

In the end, they aren’t the ones who figure it out. It’s Shaw. The answer is so simple that it stuns the entire group of people gathered in the bridge.

"Why can't we go into cryo? It's worked before."

Judging by the looks on everyone else's faces, they had also forgotten that the cryo room existed. And then, like a spell had been broken, the commotion starts, questions rattling off one by one, over each other, talking to no one and everyone all at once.

"How long would we be asleep?"

"Is it weird?"

"Do we have enough for the whole ship?"

"Why didn't we think of that before?"

"This sounds too easy."

But Clarke only has one question in mind. "Will it work?"

Shaw looks at her and nods. "The pods should still be functional and there are more than enough to fit everyone on the ship. I guess we'll have to figure out what happens if someone doesn't want to go, but isn't the more important thing that we have a solution?"

"It is," she says, feeling the sharp cold of relief filter through her. For the last week, they'd been running through every option they could think of, ranging from the most unrealistic (waiting as long as possible) to the most cruel (floating people to conserve resources, though the suggestion had been born of a more biting criticism than genuine idea), and none of them could've worked for them. But now, now, they had something. "If it works, then I think it's the best of our ideas right now."

"I agree with Clarke," Bellamy says, over the sound of someone scoffing. "But we need to be sure the pods still work. And we need to figure out the logistics if they do."

"And," she adds, "how many people are willing to do this."

"Exactly."

"I can check on the pods," Shaw says, getting up.

"I'll go with him," Raven offers, following him out the door. Their exit sets off a chain of exits, Monty to his figures, Harper to the greenhouse, the rest to their respective work, until just Bellamy and Clarke are left in the bridge.

Immediately, Bellamy pulls her into his embrace, hiding his face in her hair and breathing out his own sigh of relief. Her laughter muffles in his shoulder. "What did I tell you?" She says. "We always find a way."

"Shaw gets no credit?"

"Oh, I'm planning on creating a whole monument dedicated to him once we get back to Earth."

"What if the pods don't work?"

"Nix the monument."

"Clarke," he laughs.

"They'll work. And I'm not saying this only because I want them to work. I don't think Shaw would've offered that as a legitimate suggestion if he wasn't more than sure in it." His response is a hum that she takes as an agreement. "You can stop frowning all the time now. You've got a line between your eyebrows."

"I think it might be permanent." Pulling out of the hug, Bellamy rubs at his forehead, as if he can erase the so-called line by doing so. Of course, there isn't one, but he has been sporting a drastic frown for most of the past week.

"It's okay. I like you either way," she says, making him laugh again. "Will it make you feel better if we check on Shaw?"

“He might get offended that I don’t trust him.”

“So trust him.”

“I do. It’s not that I don’t!”

“I know. We can stop by. I’ll say I was curious.”

He perks up. “Really?”

“Yes,” she laughs, even more so when he kisses her cheek sloppily. Bellamy finds very little reason to kiss her all the time. She can’t say she objects. “But then you’re going to get some sleep. You haven’t slept at all lately.”

“You know, I still don’t take orders from you.”

“Then take it as a very strongly worded suggestion.”

*

(xlvi.)

The first time she wakes up that morning is because of Bellamy's stupid alarm, too loud and right by her ear. It rouses her immediately, even as she's fighting with herself to ignore it.

"Sorry," she hears, a mumble in the dark, as Bellamy maneuvers next to her to shut it off. Clarke was beginning to regret sleeping over, but then again, it had been really late last night and the thought of walking those few extra steps to go to her room and wake Madi up as she got into bed had not been appealing. Or maybe, (definitely) she hadn't needed a reason. Now, she wishes she'd foreseen this.

"I don't want to get up," she says, words muffled in the pillow, curling closer to Bellamy's warmth.

"I have to meet Diyoza so she can yell at me about whatever it is she's going to yell at me about today," he says, kissing her temple before he turns over and lifts the blanket off his body. "You have to sleep."

"I have to get up later, though." Her hand sneaks out to keep him there, but her grip is loose and she's already drifting back to sleep. "Come back."

Bellamy kisses her head again and releases her hand from his shirt. "I will. Go back to sleep."

He doesn't have to tell her twice. She's asleep before the door is closed.

The second time she wakes up that morning, Bellamy's slipping back into bed, and the hour is more reasonable. Clarke makes space for him right away, smiling sleepily when he strokes her cheek. "Stop staring at me," she says.

"Can't. You drool in your sleep. It's hard to look away."

"Liar. I'm a tidy sleeper."

"Tidy?"

"I still have two hours before I have to get up, stop bothering me." She tugs the blanket up, intent on savoring those two hours, but Bellamy has clearly set it upon himself to take that away from her.

"Guess what?"

She grumbles, not a response. A minute later, she yields. "Did Plenge's group change their minds?"

"Yes, they—how did you know?"

"Last night, Plenge told Shaw who told me."

"That just leaves Frost."

"He's still thinking about it. I was hoping," she informs him, hoping that as soon as she's done with this, he'll give up, "you could check up on them later."

"I will," he affirms, "but that's not what I wanted you to guess."

“Bellamy, please,” she begs, without opening her eyes, “I’m so tired. Just tell me whatever it is.”

He chuckles and slides closer to her. “Your schedule is all clear today. You can sleep as long as you want.”

"I have a shift and inventory and the records in the control room to look over," she points out.

"I got Jackson to take your shift," he says, and this time, Clarke opens her eyes, blinking the sleep away so she can focus on him. "He owes you for that week you covered for him and he said he'll be happy to do the inventory, unless you want to do it some other day. And I'll look over the records."

She blinks at him some more, almost wondering if this is some weird half-dream she's in. "You didn't have to do that."

He makes the face he always does whenever she says something like that. "Yes, I know that. I wanted to. Do you remember when I asked you what you wanted more than anything in the world?"

Clarke thinks about it. It's vaguely familiar in a way that she remembers the words, but not her answer. Then, slowly, it comes back to her. "We were playing chess."

A smile flickers across his face. "And you said that you wanted a day where you didn't have to do or worry about anything."

"How do you even remember that?"

"My exceptional memory."

She rolls her eyes, but can't ignore the flutter of emotion that floats behind her chest. "I hope you know I wasn't exactly telling the full truth then."

He freezes. "What? Why?"

"Because I didn't want to say what I really wanted."

"What did you really want?"

"I'm sure," she answers primly, gasping slightly when he grazes his hand over her hip, settling there after a moment, "you can figure that out for yourself."

His voice holds too much victory in it. "You should tell me instead."

"No," she says, stubborn, turning away from him and closing her eyes to force sleep to come back to her. "I'm going to sleep."

Bellamy laughs behind her, his breath ghosting over her neck as he kisses her shoulder. "Sorry for waking you up. Will you have lunch with me later?" She mumbles a yes and he kisses her again. Clarke waits until she hears his breath even out before she turns back around, dropping her head onto his chest. His arm comes around to hold her.

"Thank you," she whispers against his shirt. For this, for being here, for knowing. She doesn't need to elaborate. He already knows.

*

(xlvii.)

The night before they're set to go into cryosleep, Clarke can't sleep. It's funny, in a way, that she can't sleep now when she'll be sleeping for 10 years soon enough, but as she tosses and turns in bed, she doesn't find it funny at all.

Finally, giving up on the pretense of sleep, she swings her legs around, mindful of Madi, and gets out of bed, picking up a cardigan to shield herself from the chill of the nighttime air. Her first thought is to head towards Bellamy's room, but it's quickly discarded, her feet taking her almost of their own volition to the cryo room. Once she's there, it's clear that she isn't the only person with the same idea.

"What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Bellamy asks, looking at her in confusion from his spot on the floor.

"I couldn't sleep," she answers. "What about you?"

"I couldn't sleep either." He gestures for her to join him on the floor, so she does, lining up her shoulders with his and leaning slightly against him.

"What are you thinking about?"

"All the ways this," he points to a cryo pod in front of them, "can fail."

"Morbid." But it's exactly what's been keeping her up tonight. The closer it gets to the date, the less she's been able to keep the thoughts at bay and the positive outlook on her face. This problem has too many uncertainties and relies a lot on something Clarke, despite six years of practicing it, has never been great at having: patience.

"I'm sure you're up because you're too excited to sleep." He knows her too well.

"I don't like not knowing what's going to happen. What if we don't wake up? What if it's not enough time? What if it's too much time?"

Bellamy's voice is quiet, but holds the same concern as hers does. "What if the Earth doesn't come back? Do we stay asleep? Do we stop it?"

"I don't know."

"I don't know either."

"But," she starts.

"We don't have any other choice," he finishes. They fall silent after that, a depressing note lingering in the air. Her head resting on his shoulder, she thinks back to Madi’s complaints yesterday, her laments about not wanting to go. At the time, she’d listened and dismissed them as something amusing — just the day before, she had been super excited for it — but deep down, and especially now, she’d understood. Maybe she didn’t have the same desire to not go because she didn’t want to leave, but she could sympathize with a feeling of not wanting to go because she didn’t know what the future held.

“Have you thought about it?” Bellamy says suddenly, breaking the silence. "What our life will be like once we're back on Earth?"

"A little," she admits. "But I didn't want to jinx it."

"I have too."

"Indulging in some fantasies?"

"Maybe a little."

She laughs, tugging on his arm. "Tell me."

"I want us to find a lake," he tells her, sounding wistful. "You made it sound so nice. And we could live right by it and this time, we know what we’re doing.”

“We do?”

“Well,” he amends, looking over at her, “more than we used to.”

“A lake would be great. I can teach you how to swim.” She could see it so clearly, the bright shine of the sun reflecting off the deep blue of the water, the scattered presence of their friends around them, leaving them alone. She could hear the laughter rolling around, bouncing off the water, rippling through the air, and she could feel the way Bellamy wrapped his arms around her, the lesson forgotten.

“Would you?”

“I’m an excellent swimmer. I guess you could ask Madi to teach you but I have to warn you, she yells more than me.”

“I guess I’ll choose you then.”

“Thanks so much,” she says dryly.

"How do you feel about a garden?"

"In general?"

"Specifically for me." A pause. "And you, if you'd like." She smiles instantly, one corner of her upturned mouth hidden in his shoulder.

"I love our hypothetical garden already," Clarke says sincerely, even though it's less about the garden and more about what he means.

"I'm glad," he almost sighs. She smiles even more.

"I hope it's like this when we get back down there."

"Like what?"

"Like… it's easy. Like, no matter what happens, it'll be okay as long as we have each other." There's silence again, but a comfortable one, one where her words take root.

"I pro—"

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Bellamy," she says before he can finish his sentence. Promises are hard. She doesn't want a promise.

She feels his head move, nodding. His hand finds hers and intertwines their fingers, his thumb over hers. "Then I hope so too. And I love you," he tells her, watching as his eyes soften, his mouth relax. "Whatever happens next, I love you."

"I love you too," she says, closing her eyes and sinking into the kiss he gives her, feeling, for the first time that night, that they'd find their way out.

*

(xlviii.)

Waking up from cryo makes her groggy and disoriented.

Finding out, in a matter of minutes, that they didn't just sleep through the past ten years, but the past one hundred and twenty five, that Monty and Harper are gone, that they have a kid named Jordan, that there's a new planet, is almost enough to make her start screaming and never stop.

But she doesn't. She asks Bellamy for the room and then she cries: for Monty and Harper, for Earth, for Eden, for the years that skipped them by. And then she straightens up and she remembers Monty's plea.

When she exits the bridge, Bellamy stands outside, his own eyes rimmed with red, and gathers her into a hug. "You okay?" He asks, because that's the kind of thing you ask when you don't know what else to say.

"No," she says honestly, "but I'll be okay. How are you?"

"About the same."

Both of them disentangle themselves from the hug at the same time, scanning each other's faces. For a selfish moment, she wants to stay here, like this, and not have to tackle everything else that lies in wait for them. Clarke thinks of Madi, soundly asleep in her cryo pod. "We should wake the others up."

"Jordan," his face twists with a brief glimmer of pain before it returns to normal, "he's waiting for us back in the cryo room."

Nodding, she pulls away from him, wiping at her face, twisting her hair back into a messy bun.

"Ready?" Bellamy says back, holding out his hand for her.

"Ready," she says back, slipping her hand into his. Her heart feels heavy, but beneath that, optimistic too, buoyed by Monty and Harper's trust, the hope of this new world, and Bellamy's warmth, all encompassing in its reassurance and support.