Lost Love Found [ #Wattys2015 ] {Bellarke}

Early Rising

Clarke's POV

When Clarke had finished stitching Bellamy's wound, she set down her mediocre surgical tools and stood abruptly, knocking over the wooden stool she had been sitting on. It fell to the dirt floor with a hollow thump, echoing the hollow beat of Clarke's tired and empty heart.

Running an unsteady hand through her mangled hair, she started to pace back and forth from one end of the tent to the other.

Bellamy wouldn't die - not while blood still coursed through Clarke's veins. If he happened to break out into a fever because of his injury, she was sure he could overcome it. She was convinced that Bellamy could overcome anything. He would survive this. He would survive this because Clarke needed him alive - she needed him. The revelation washed over Clarke, cleansing her sight and mind, baptizing her in a way that she never expected.

Clarke realized that she didn't want to live in a world without Bellamy Blake. He was the other half that made her whole. They balanced each other in ways that even Clarke couldn't comprehend.

She ceased pacing and stood in the center of tent, gazing at Bellamy's sleeping form. She studied the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the soft intake and outtake of breath. Once again, Clarke was reminded of how young he truly was, of how young they both were. He was handsome, that much was undeniable, but his attractiveness stemmed from something much deeper. Perhaps it was his broken soul that appealed to Clarke's fragmented heart or the way that he fiercely protected those he loved. Either way, Bellamy was like no man she had ever known before.

Clarke took careful and slow steps towards Bellamy. Bending over, she picked up the wooden stool and dragged it closer to him. She wouldn't leave him, not tonight, not when he asked her to stay.

She reached over and touched the side of his face, her fingers softly winding his inky curls. Clarke thought she saw his eyes flutter beneath closed lids, but dismissed it as nothing more than lucid dreaming. He had fallen unconscious halfway through Clarke's procedure, giving into the seductive and painless nature of oblivion. All he needed right now was rest, time for his body to recuperate. She would find the pain-reliving drugs he asked for when he woke up.

Yawning, Clarke placed her arms on the cot beside Bellamy's and laid her head on his bare chest, far away from his wound.

"Night, Bellamy." She murmured.

Eventually, the gentle beat of his heart and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulled her to sleep. And, despite the fact that they were surrounded by hundreds of Grounders, Clarke had never felt safer sleeping by Bellamy's side.

. . .

Bellamy's POV

A gruff and guttural voice awoke Bellamy from his euphoric dream. And for a moment, he felt no pain, felt no sorrow, nothing but the empty promises of an elusive reality. Of course with his vision blurred and his senses dulled, Bellamy believed he was still within his dreamscape. It was as if he was floating in space and was merely an observer to events beyond his control. After all, in what reality was Clarke Griffin snoring softly and curled fast asleep next to him? In what reality was she not berating him?

She was pressed against him, her head on his shoulder, her breath teasing his jawline. Bellamy, too, was turned slightly towards her with his arm fastened tight around her waist. The cot was so narrow that even with one of Clarke's legs dangling off the bed, there remained little room to move. And how she got herself into this position was up to the imagination.

Hell, he thought, it certainly didn't look comfortable.

Bellamy tried to shift his weight over, but that only resulted in a severe, stabbing pain to his side. He swore, unintentionally, and right next to Clarke's ear. She mumbled something in her sleep and reflexively swatted his chest.

And it appeared that, even while she slept, Bellamy couldn't escape Clarke's stubborn criticisms.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the pillow. Gazing down at Clarke from the corner of his eye, the realization hit him - Clarke was sleeping beside him. Granted, it was more like she was sleeping on top of him, but still, to have Clarke snoring by his side was unexpected. Bellamy had only asked her to stay with him, not to sleep with him.

Brushing her hair back and running it through his fingers, Bellamy suddenly recalled the images from the night before. He remembered the taste of her skin, the gentle curve of her shoulder and the softness of her lips. Clarke herself was not sensual, but the way she kissed him that night invigorated Bellamy in ways he never thought possible. She wasn't like the other girls he had slept with, no. Clarke was more alive, touching him and urging him as if every second would be their last.

Bellamy tossed an arm across his eyelids and let out another deep and lengthy sigh. Clarke was beautiful, but she was not his - she wasn't anybody's. Her heart had been torn and patched back together one too many times. And that kind of pain did not heal easily. The mind may forget, but the heart never does.

He had almost fallen back asleep when he heard the low, gruff voice again. Only this time, the speaker barged into the tent without further warning.

Lifting his arm slightly, Bellamy noted the large and burly Grounder stomping around the tent wielding a massive claymore. When the man saw the other Grounder incapacitated on the ground, he shouted out in their tongue. Seconds later, Lexa shoved her way through the animal skin entrance, her face hardening into a scornful expression. The man grunted something, pointed to Bellamy and Clarke, then turned back to his commander.

Lexa's eyes immediately landed on the pair stretched out across the cot and her entire body bristled with anger. She snapped at the Grounder standing before her and slapped him hard across the cheek. The man didn't even bother with apologies, merely bowed his head in resignation. When she turned her attention back towards Bellamy and Clarke, her eyes locked onto the girl cradled in Bellamy's arms.

Bellamy caught a brief moment of longing in Lexa's eyes. It was quick, but he could've sworn that the look was a look of yearning. His arm instinctively pulled Clarke closer to his chest, disturbing her gentle slumber.

"Bell," she muttered, nuzzling his neck. "Bell, it's too early for this..."

By now, the Commander had realized that Bellamy was awake. He looked from Clarke to Lexa, then back to Clarke. She had must have heard Clarke and somehow blamed Bellamy for her sleepy fondling. And judging by the way Lexa was curling her fingers into fists, he suspected that she wasn't happy about it.

"Clarke," Bellamy whispered anxiously in her ear. "Clarke, wake up."

"Can't we just stay in bed?" She mumbled and Bellamy felt her arm tighten around his stomach, wanting him to stay even in sleep.

Lexa cleared her throat. "Am I interrupting something?"

When Clarke's ear registered the Commander's voice, she shot upwards, her head nearly colliding with Bellamy's chin.

"What?" She hurried, her voice a high pitched squeak.

Lexa placed a fisted hand on her hip and scrutinized Clarke with a harsh glare while Bellamy chuckled at Clarke's disheveled appearance: her shirt half way up her back, clothes wrinkled and hair in disarray. He reached over and tugged the fabric down, his fingers trailing down her back. Goosebumps immediately formed along her skin. She quickly turned around and stared at him. For a moment, a look of confusion was chiseled across her features before her eyes widened in realization.

"Bellamy?" She breathed and immediately jumped off the cot, almost tripping in the process.

"We're leaving for Polis," Lexa interjected, trying desperately to regain her composure. "And I need to speak to Clarke - alone."

With that being said, Lexa stormed out of the tent, taking with her all her rage and aggression. The Grounder, who for this entire time was stationed beside her, followed her out wordlessly.

For a moment no one moved, not until Clarke looked back over her shoulder at Bellamy.

"What the hell was that all about?" He demanded, propping himself up on his elbows. He managed to do so without cringing in pain.

She shook her head, dismissing the question. "I'll find out what I can about this trip. I'll be right back."

"Clarke -" he started, but she was already gone.