Blame it on the Rain

Summary: After talking to Jaha, Bellamy starts avoiding Clarke in camp and sets on an unforeseen chain of events that force him to rethink what direction he's going in.

Set post S01E8, cannon until then, whatever the hell I want after that point.

Chapter 5

"Leave me alone, Bellamy."

She didn't even turn around to see who it was that had come into the drop ship. She didn't have to. No one else would try to approach her right now.

He didn't say anything but his footsteps came closer.

"I'm not in the mood," she said, her shoulders tensing further at his approach.

"In the mood for what?" he asked softly, his normally loud and rough voice unusually gentle.

She turned to face him, her expression one of absolute weariness. "For talking about whatever new problem there is. For talking about how to prevent more deaths in Grounder traps. For talking about how we help them move on after another senseless death. For talking at all."

His dark eyes searched her face, wondering how she did it, how she handled providing medical care for The 100, day in and day out, as their population slowly decreased and Clarke and Bellamy inevitably failed to keep them all alive.

They'd lost another one that day. A girl that Clarke had barely known. She'd taken a wooden spike to the stomach and by the time they got her back to camp and to Clarke, she was already in bad shape. Bellamy could see that with his limited first aide training that he'd received as a guard.

But Clarke had tired anyway, performing surgery with her few tools, nearly no medication, and no assistance from her mother. She'd worked valiantly for almost a hour before she realized that this was a battle she wasn't going to win. The spear had perforated the girl's stomach and intestines. She was going into septic shock and the best Clarke could hope for was to extend her life a day, at most, as she slowly died a painful death. With medical supplies, Clarke could have saved her life. A simple dose of antibiotics and IV fluids and she would have healed in a week, been back on her feet in two, and back to work in three. Instead Jones was digging another grave.

Bellamy hadn't been inside at the end, but Octavia had told him in hushed tones how Clarke had let the girl say her goodbyes then ended her life as humanely as possible. Bellamy had no trouble imagining it. He'd seen Clarke's face as she realized that there was nothing she could do for Atom, and quickly transition to what was best for her patient: a quick, nearly painless death.

"Then we won't talk," Bellamy said as he tugged her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She was still in his hold at first. Distant. It was her way of dealing. But he wasn't going to let her handle the guilt and grief alone.

He hugged her tighter, feeling the softness of her body conform to his, and finally she relaxed against him, her muscles going fluid as her hands slipped around his waist and clung to him.

She didn't cry, but she did let him shoulder some of the burden. Earth was beautiful and terrifying. It was the only reason they were alive, and it was killing them slowly. But at least she didn't have to face it alone.

-The 100-

The next day, Clarke entered the drop ship to find it clean and ready for its next patient, despite the fact that she had left it a mess the night before, unable to let the routine tasks soothe her. There was no sign of the blood and despair of the day before, instead there was a glass bottle with small white flowers sitting on the counter where she recorded information on medicinal plants, injuries and treatments. Emily, Octavia, Monty and a few others referred to it as her desk, as if she was a real doctor working in a real clinicians' space.

A soft smile curved her lips upwards. The flowers were from Bellamy, of course. Monty was sweet enough to give her flowers, but it was unlikely he would never think of it. He saw plants as tools, not as objects of beauty. Finn might have given her flowers once upon a time, but not anymore. Their friendship had been strained first by his lie and wavering between her and Raven and then by her increasing alignment with Bellamy about camp decisions, and if she was honest, her choice of friends. Emily liked flowers and would pick them whenever she could while outside the fence with Clarke, but she only ever went outside the fence with Clarke. Instead of growing more comfortable with the 100 and Earth, Emily had carved out her little area where she felt safe, and she kept herself to that little area.

The flowers were from Bellamy. Just like the blanket, a partially empty notebook he'd found along with a few lead pencils, a book on art and another on survival medicine, and a new pair of thick socks. Clarke wasn't blind and she wasn't stupid, but it hadn't been until he'd handed her the large format art book with its slightly damaged edges and still bright prints that she'd realized what all the attention- from him and the camp- was about.

It still sounded ridiculous, even in the confines of her own mind. Bellamy liked her. Liked her, liked her. It was silly, that something so small made her smile in wonder, even now, after three days of getting used to the idea. He liked her. That was his big secret.

She nearly laughed. Here they were struggling to survive, struggling each day to feed and clothe and protect the remaining 100, and the one thing that stayed constantly on her mind was that Bellamy Blake, rebel leader, criminal and all around badass, liked her.

She'd even caught her mind wandering, wondering what would have happened if the Ark had not been failing, if they had met there; he as a guard, she as a medical apprentice. Would they have liked each other or thrown off sparks? Would those sparks have turned from antagonism to attraction or would they have stayed in their own lives, forgetting about the boy or girl who had riled them up that one time.

But the Ark had failed, and they were on Earth, and it was here and now that she had to make a decision. That was if Bellamy ever actually came out and said anything to her directly. Or if she grew impatient enough with his soft, slow approach and forced the topic.

Most of the people in camp might see Bellamy Blake as being as hard as stone, but Clarke knew better. He was vulnerable with the people he cared about, and now that she knew she was one of those people, possibly only one of two, she felt a responsibility to be certain and be careful with his heart.

Her tender smile grew to a rueful grin, the movement of muscles in her face almost unfamiliar, but pleasant. Bellamy Blake liked her and had given her flowers, and that was reason enough to smile. She lifted a sprig of the small white blossoms and sniffed, immediately sneezing.

She laughed and cocked her head to one side, putting the flowers back and deciding that it would be better to admire them from afar. Clarke wondered what there was that she could get him, a small gift of some sort. He liked guns. Things that blew up. Weapons in general. She actually had no idea what hobbies he'd had on the Ark, besides reading and taking care of Octavia. Suddenly her face lit up. There was something she could give him, something that didn't require leaving camp, which was helpful since he was less than accommodating when it came to her requests for a guard to take her out to find medicinal or edible plans.

It should bother her, but it didn't. Not as much as it had before, anyway. Not once she realized that he was just being an overprotective ass. Because he liked her. And because he usually only authorized her trips when he could accompany her himself. Because he liked her.

Maybe their basic survival needs would always trump (and should always trump) something as ultimately meaningless as a boy liking a girl, but they had to have something to live for, something to hold onto. The question was, did Clarke want to hold tighter to Bellamy or let him down gently?

-The 100-

The next day, Clarke took advantage of a day with few injuries to get outside and enjoy an increasingly rare sunny day. Sitting against the fence some distance away from the others, she had her pencils and several pieces of scrap paper in her lap. Immersed with her drawing she was drawn back to reality only by the sound of Bellamy's voice.

She watched as he gave orders to his troops and listened to Miller and Jones as they reported in on progress and things left to accomplish in the days they had left before the first snow when temperatures would become dangerously cold overnight.

She studied his face as the sun glinted over his cheekbones, illuminating each of his freckles, and was struck by the urge to draw him instead of focusing on the elements of her gift for him.

"So you wanted to talk to me about that thing?" Raven asked standing over Clarke.

"What? No. What?" Clarke looked confused, blinking up at Raven in the bright light.

"The medieval catapult. Or maybe you think I meant whatever thing Bellamy Blake has for you. Or the thing you have for him."

"There is no thing."

"Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself."

"Raven..."

Raven smiled and sat down beside Clarke, leaning back against the rough wood logs that made up their best defense. "Hey no judgment. Good girl has a thing for the bad boy, that's a tale that goes way back," Raven teased.

"It's not like that," Clarke protested earnestly.

Raven grinned. "OK, so poor boy, rich girl, equally old-"

"No," Clarke laughed.

"You know once we figure out the catapult, I was thinking that we might be able to design and make some cross bows."

"Cross bows?" Clarke said with a blank face, having a hard time following Raven's rapid topic change.

"Yeah, 'cause we're going to run out of bullets, and making gun powder is dependent on us having the right supplies."

"You know for once, I'd just like there to be one day of only good news. Is that too much to ask?" Clarke said wirily.

"Here?" Raven scoffed. "Yeah, probably. Unless you hole up with your non-boyfriend boyfriend and hide away from the rest of us. Which you should totally do," Raven laughed.

Clarke laughed along with Ravens contagious laughter, feeling Bellamy's gaze find her, probably drawn by the rare sound of laughter. Clarke met his gaze and smiled, losing herself for a moment until Raven cleared her throat nosily.

"Yeah, he's totally not your boyfriend," Raven scoffed.

"I told you, it's not like that."

"Well it should be, and don't think I didn't hear the 'yet' on the end of that sentence."

-The 100-

That night Clarke got tired of pretending not to notice Bellamy watching her from across the campfire as their dinner cooked over the open flames. She made her excuses to the group she was sitting with, a combination of the defense team and her medical team- which had gotten to know each other better as they realized their interdependence on each other. The defense team (who also doubled heavily with the hunters) were hurt more often than the rest of the 100, and it was the defense team that was ultimately responsible for keeping the 100 from harm.

Clarke walked up to Bellamy, his dark eyes tracking her progress, noting that she stopped to say hi to several of the teens, and was stopped several times by others. Clarke had become part of the camp. Finally. She was still separate, so was he, but she was no longer a princess in a proverbial tower.

When she arrived at his side he offered her a drink of the tea he held in his hand in a hammered metal cup.

"Thanks," she said, accepting it and tasting the refreshing minty taste. She handed the cup back and stood by him silently, but instead of looking at the fire, she held his gaze, which never left her. "Are you ever going to talk to me?"

"Is there something in particular we need to talk about, Princess?" he said with a half smile. "'Cause it seems to me that we talk all the time."

Clarke resisted the urge to grind her teeth together in frustration. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?" he asked one eyebrow quirking upwards. "I suppose the real question is what do you think we need to talk about?"

She gave him her best no nonsense look.

"Suddenly you have nothing to say?" he teased, completely unintimidated by her.

"Bellamy..."

"Tell you what, Princess. How about we talk over dinner."

"Dinner," she said doubtfully.

He shrugged one shoulder and smirked at her. "Yeah."

After dinner he walked her to her tent. Clarke looked up at him, her face softened by a smile. They had talked, about a variety of topics, but he hadn't taken the opportunity to tell her that his feelings for her might have changed or that he wanted something different from their relationship.

"So tomorrow the last group moves into the new structure," he said, looking at the looming wood structures that dwarfed the few tents that remained.

"Yeah."

"Including you."

"And you," she replied. They'd decided to move into the last structure, partly so everyone else was taken care of first, and partly because it was more towards the center of camp where they could keep a handle on things more easily.

"So we'll be neighbors," Bellamy said. Her smile widened and Bellamy smiled back at her. "So that talk..."

"Yeah..." she said with a faint smile, wondering what he would say (if he ever actually got around to it).

"I don't think now is a good time-"

"Seriously, Bellamy?" she sighed, tilting her head to the side with a look of exasperation. She'd thought once they were alone (or as alone as they were going to get in a small camp occupied by 80 odd teenagers) he'd finally say something.

"Maybe tomorrow."

Her jaw shifted forward stubbornly and she was about to open her mouth to argue when he reached out and cupped her jaw in his warm hand, his thumb tracing over her cheek in a gentle caress that stole her words.

"Tomorrow. Maybe," he reiterated.

She watched as he walked away from her, disappearing into the darkness.

-The 100-

Bellamy trudged through the frigid darkness, back towards camp after a long day of hunting. They were expecting the first snowfall of the year and Bellamy had the hunters, scavengers and food gatherers out every day, going longer and longer distances from camp in a desperate effort to store up as much food as possible before it got too cold for them to stay out for more than a few hours at a time.

He was tired and cold, but knew his day was not over. Not only did they have another half hour of hiking left, but the third lodge had been completed that day and he wanted to move his stuff in that night. He was tired enough to just want to fall into bed, but the lure of sleeping in a warm bed was too powerful.

Entering camp, Bellamy dropped off the doe he'd carried on his back and turned towards his tent, only to find it gone. Assuming that they'd taken it down and just dumped his stuff in his room, Bellamy turned towards his new home in exasperation.

Entering the bedroom at the back he was surprised to find that everything was set up. His bed made, the items that had been on his table placed in approximately the same spot, even his clothes were laid over a chair, just as he'd had them in his tent. Smiling, Bellamy moved towards his bed, considering skipping the meal he probably needed, but he stopped suddenly. His gaze focused on the rough hewn wood wall, seeing a framed picture hanging there.

Moving closer he recognized Clarke's work. It was a sea battle drawn from the perspective of the commander standing on one of the ships. He knew exactly what it was, but if he needed more context the quote at them bottom clinched it. "I inherited brick and made it marble."

Bellamy turned and left the building abruptly making a beeline for the drop ship. Ignoring the few people who greeted him, he entered the makeshift med bay to find Clarke standing over a boy, talking to him reassuringly, her hands bloody.

She broke off mid sentence when she saw Bellamy striding towards her quickly. "Oh good, you're back, I-"

He interrupted her, his hands gripping her shoulders and pulling her close until her chest was pressed to his, his lips covering hers.
Clarke let out a little yip of surprise, her hands fluttering at her sides, unable to touch him without transferring blood onto him.
Pressing closer to him she parted her lips and Bellamy responded immediately, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and tasting her for the first time.

Uncaring that they had an audience, Clarke let Bellamy carry her away on a tide of emotion and sensation.

Finally he eased back from her , glancing at her bloody hands. "Problem I need to know about?"

"Head wound. Bleeds a lot, nothing serious," she answered, her expression dazed.

"Good," he replied with a smile, before wrapping his arms tightly around her and taking possession of her lips again.

Eventually she pulled away, stumbling back a few steps and giving him a warning look as he took a step to follow her. Walking unsteadily to a basin that held clean water, she quickly washed her hands, then dried them, doused them with a bit of alcohol and turned back to Bellamy, her stomach still fluttering madly but the rest of her body more or less under control.

"What-"

"Thanks for my gift," he interrupted her.

She arched one amused eyebrow at him the stepped into his embrace, sliding her hands up his arms and shoulders to curl around his neck, leaning her body into his. "You're welcome," she said just before she pressed her lips to his, enjoying the way his arms tightened around her.

After several more minutes, during which even the boy with the head would vacated the med bay, Bellamy and Clarke finally separated.

"We should talk," he said.

"Now?" she asked incredulously, even as she realized that she shouldn't be surprised. Bellamy was an 'act first' type of person. Which made his slow methodical approach to her all the more puzzling.

"Yeah. Now," he said grabbing her wrist and tugging her towards the exit, wanting privacy if she was actually going to make him put his feelings into words and needing privacy if she let him show her how he felt instead of vocalizing it.

He turned back, his expression suddenly uncertain as she balked, pulling back and refusing to move.

Clarke smiled at his expression but wrapped her free hand over the wrist of the hand that was grasping hers, squeezing it lightly. Bellamy immediately released her, but before he could move away from her, she slid her hand against his, twining their fingers and stepping up beside him.

He frowned, but nodded quickly, understanding that she was setting the rules – he would not pull her along behind him, but she would walk alongside him of her own free will.

Exiting the drop ship, Clarke tried to ignore how many eyes were on them, resisting the urge to hide behind Bellamy's larger stature. Forcing herself to hold her head high, she looked around the group gathered around the campfire, meeting their gazes evenly.

She was sure that being with Bellamy, in a relationship on top of their leadership partnership, would come with complications, but she wasn't ashamed or embarrassed by her feelings or him.

-The 100-

Lying in his bed later that night, Bellamy looked up at the drawing she'd done for him. "The Battle of Actium, huh? I thought you said you didn't know much about Agustus."

"I didn't, I don't. You painted a pretty vivid picture."

"And the quote?"

"Octavia," she replied simply. She waited for him to ask about the quote, or the incongruity of a picture of battle being paired with a statement about nation building, but he didn't and she didn't explain, assuming correctly that he was more than capable of understanding the message she meant to send.

-The 100-

The End.

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