Work Text:
He's not expecting Clarke to actually relax for the whole night--Clarke doesn't seem like the type to relax for more than an hour at a time--so he isn't surprised when she comes back to talk to him again after an hour. He is surprised when she's cheerful, all bright, perky smile and warm cheeks, no gloom and doom at all.
"I won," she announces.
"What did you win?"
"Drinking game."
"Congratulations."
"Yeah, I'm pretty much the best."
Since the bunker--honestly, since before the bunker--he's kind of starting to think she is, but that's his own issue. "I dunno, this is a little sad. Do you always go to parties and hang out with the only adult you can find?"
"You're not an adult."
"I am."
"Not a very good one," she says, and he snorts. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Twenty-three."
"That's pretty old," she grants, thoughtful.
"Thanks." He nudges her shoulder. "Seriously, aren't you supposed to be having fun?"
"This is fun."
"More fun," he corrects.
"Fine," she says, like fun is a great hardship, a burden he's throwing on her. "You should at least drink something."
"Water," he says, straight-faced.
She sticks her tongue out at him. "Never mind. You are an adult."
*
She dances for the next hour, not that he's watching or anything. But the dance floor is right in front of him, and it would be harder to watch something else than it is to watch her.
Really.
She dances with a few girls and a few guys; she doesn't dance with Finn, although he sees him ask. Bellamy doesn't really care about the Raven drama, but--he does care that she's not dancing with Finn, much as he doesn't want to.
After another hour or so, she comes back to him and takes his water.
"Hey," he protests, mildly.
"Hey!" she says, grinning at him. She drains half the flask and hands it back. "Dehydrated."
"You know there are other sources of water, right?"
"You think I should go dunk my head in the river?"
He snorts. "I think you'd fall in and drown."
"Exactly." She squints at him. "You're not really planning to just stand here all night, are you? Even if the Grounders come, you're just one guy."
"Are you telling me I should get drunk because we're screwed either way?"
"If you want to be blunt about it, yeah."
He can't help laughing at that. "Even fun you isn't that fun," he teases.
"I'd be plenty of fun," she grumbles. "You're the one who isn't fun."
"So have fun without me."
"I'd rather have fun with you," she says, then takes his water, drinks the rest, and wanders off again, leaving him staring after her.
*
"Hey, how many bones in the human body?" she asks an hour later.
"Uh," he says. She's kind of swaying on her feet, which means she's drunk enough she probably thinks this is vitally important. "Two-hundred something? You're the doctor."
"Two-hundred-six!" she says, triumphant.
"If you already knew, why were you asking me?"
Her face scrunches up, like she is trying very hard to answer the question. It's fucking cute, and he is not doing well with this whole night. "I had a follow-up," she says, finally.
He laughs. "Uh huh. How drunk are you?"
"Middle."
"Middle drunk," he repeats, charmed in spite of himself.
"Definitely middle drunk." She looks at him, contemplation and something else he can't identify in her eyes. It makes him want to straighten his collar. "I should walk it off."
"Probably."
"You should come with me. Anything could happen to me alone, outside of camp."
It's tempting to say no--he's trying to do better, to be the kind of leader these kids need--but she's smiling up at him, and he doubts anything is really going to happen here.
And she keeps coming back, like she wants to hang out with him. It's hard to resist that.
"We're staying close, okay?"
"Of course," she says. "I can really sober up in a crisis."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
She stumbles before they're even out of camp, takes his arm in both of hers and holds on. "If this is middle drunk, I don't even want to know what high drunk looks like," he remarks.
"That's when I'm high and drunk," she says, sagely. "Also known as the Monty Special."
He laughs, can't help it. "I walked into that one, fine. Still."
"See, this is fun," she says, apparently ignoring him. "And if you were drunk, we'd have more fun."
"I'm not a very fun drunk," he admits."
"No?"
"You saw how much fun I am when I'm high," he points out. They haven't really talked about what happened under the tree, even if it's changed everything about the two of them. "I doubt drunk would be much better."
"Hmm."
They lapse into silence, but it's a nice silence, just the two of them in the darkness, Clarke still holding onto his arm. It's companionable, relaxed, and Bellamy feels like he can appreciate Earth for the first time, the clean, fresh air, the soil beneath his boots, the great array of stars in the sky.
The pretty girl at his side.
"That's Orion's Belt," he says, pointing it out.
"I know," she says. "And that's the Big Dipper."
"Ursa Major," he corrects, and she laughs.
"Sorry, sorry."
"I used to draw the constellations for Octavia," he says, not sure why. "She couldn't go out and see them herself, so--"
Clarke squeezes his arm. "Okay, so tell me more."
"Ursa Minor, there, obviously," he says, pointing. "And see that cross of stars there? That's Cygnus, the swan. The northern cross." She's looking at him, not the stars, and he gives her a sheepish smile. "You did ask."
"I remembered what I was going to say about bones."
"You are a lot more than middle drunk."
"It's a pickup line. There are two-hundred-six bones in my body, do you want to give me one more?"
He doubles over laughing, because she sounds so proud, like remembering this was a major life accomplishment. "You cannot tell me that line actually works," he says. "That is awful, seriously."
"I think my boobs tend to help," she says, bouncing a little. Which, okay, yeah, she probably doesn't have to do much work. "So, you don't want to?"
"Wait, you were going to use that line on me?" he asks, incredulous.
"Obviously."
He stares at her for a minute, disbelieving, but she just looks back, steadier than he expected. He opens and closes his mouth and then says, "Sorry, I top out at low drunk for propositions."
"I figured," she says, with a long sigh. "I was trying not to get drunk, but you weren't being helpful. Or we could both be drunk."
"You wanted to get me drunk and have your way with me, Princess?"
She shrugs, defiant. "So?"
"Sober's a better idea," he says, wetting his lips. "Both of us sober," he adds quickly.
She bites back a smile, and it kind of sucks, that she's not sober, because he'd love to kiss that expression off her mouth.
He's pretty screwed, all things considered.
"Sober," she agrees, reclaiming his arm.
He has to smile. "You really had this all planned, huh?"
"Except you don't have fun," she grumbles.
And that's how she ends up convincing him he can do one round of the drinking games she likes. She's a lot better than it than he is, utterly destroys him, but it's worth it for the smile of triumph she gives him after.
So screwed.
*
"There's something I thought I'd never see."
Bellamy stirs awake reluctantly; he's warm and heavy and there's something on his chest. Every part of his body feels he should still be asleep.
"What do you want, O?" he asks, and then he blinks and sees that Clarke is the something on his chest. Some of her hair is up his nose. "Fuck."
"I was going to get you for breakfast," she says, gleeful. "But you look busy."
"Nothing happened." Well, he's pretty sure they made out, but it's kind of a blur. He knows they didn't have sex.
Octavia gives him a look that clearly says in bed with Clarke Griffin is not nothing, which he has to admit is true. But Clarke is stirring awake by his side, and that seems more immediately pressing.
"I'll eat later," he tells his sister, pointed, and she rolls her eyes, but does, at least, leave. He's happily left plenty of girls alone the morning after since he came down, but he can't imagine doing that with Clarke. If nothing else, she'd chase him down.
Besides, he wants to talk to her.
"Bellamy?" she asks, blinking.
"You followed me home," he says. There's a fond smile on his face, he's sure.
She yawns and settles back in next to him, closing her eyes. "You said I could have my way with you. When we were sober."
"I'm amazed you remember."
"I was only middle drunk."
He laughs, and she leans up to kiss him. He definitely has muscle-memory of this, of her pressed up against him, the feel of her lips on his, his hand tangled in her hair. But the reality is better.
Sober was an awesome idea.
"Grounders," he protests mildly. It's hard to pretend he actually cares.
She smirks and kisses him again. "They'll keep."