The 100/Bellamy and Clarke

Either/Or

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


Chapter 1

They were fighting again. Disagreeing on what the 100 should do. Again. They had become the de facto co-leaders of their ragtag band of misfits, and striking a balance between her idealism and his pragmatism was never easy. She wanted peace through consensus. He wanted safety through strength.

Bellamy was adamant that they take an aggressive course, the only course in his opinion, the hard line which was contrary to his "whatever the hell we want" approach when they'd first landed: His word was law. Whatever he said went. Anything he hadn't made a decree on yet, was up for the banished teens to decide. Clarke wanted to involve the group in the decision making, wanted to appeal to their better selves, their higher consciousness. She wanted to involve them, share information, build a community. She wanted them to make the right choices for themselves, together, proving that people were good, and that they deserved to live.

Despite recently having arrived at a working relationship that actually seemed to work for them and for the group, they still approached every problem like it was an either/or situation. Bellamy's plan or Clarke's plan. Fear or hope.

Neither wanted to recreate the class dynamics that had existed on the Ark. But there were jobs that needed to be done, and Bellamy's approach of assigning everyone to one or two tasks based on physical ability then letting them run wild the rest of the time was not going to get them prepared to survive the winter.

Clarke understood that there were some jobs no one wanted to do, and not everyone was suited for every job. But the work still needed to be done, and they needed more than a rickety wall and some nuts to survive.

They had been sent to the ground with an impossible task, to prove that Earth was survivable 97 years after a nuclear holocaust with nearly no supplies. Improbably, most of them were still alive. They'd cobbled together skills, food, shelter, and they'd survived. But now the true challenge had revealed itself, how to build a society that worked to keep them safe and together for the long run.

They weren't sure what was happening on the Ark, weren't stupid enough to believe that they could trust the little they were being told. The simple reality was that the plan to send down more drop ships, more of the Ark's population in two months, if the 100 survived, had been delayed. Possibly indefinitely. They were on their own, and maybe if they could figure out a plan being on their own gave them a better chance of survival.

But not if they didn't come up with a strategy that they could both agree on and that the group would accept.

She recalled something from school in years past, democracy. A government of the people, by the people and for the people. It wasn't what they'd grown up with on the Ark, that had been a more military style command, with some semblance of choice and voting. Unfortunately the 100 were young, and youth often meant stupid. And on top of that they were criminals who had been locked up in close confines for months or even years. Except for Octavia and Clarke they'd all broken the laws and been caught. Clarke had hoped that once they let off some pent up steam and aggression, that they'd start to understand that their lives depended on their ability to work as a team and be smart about it, but only Bellamy's strength and charisma had keep them together. Kept them alive.

It probably helped that he was older than the rest of them. Bellamy had five years on the oldest of them.

"Bellamy!" she yelled, cutting off his tirade. "We can't-"

"We can, we have the guns, we have the power now."

"There are less than a hundred of us, we have no idea how many of them there are, and frankly we don't know that they all want us dead, we might be able to make a truce-" she argued in her husky voice.

"Are you kidding? How much more evidence do you need that they want us dead?" he yelled. "They took Octavia! Killed three of us," he said loudly, his voice rough with emotions. He had taken control as soon as they'd crash landed on the ground, and each death weighed on his shoulders.

"We haven't even been back on the ground for three weeks and you want to start another war?" She asked incredulously.

He crowded her, towering over her making up tilt her head to look up at him, but she didn't cower. She was brave, never shrank away from him. Maybe he didn't scare her, though he suspected that initially he had, and it was her inner core of strength that had allowed her to stand up to him, oppose him, and as time had passed any fear she had of him had faded to nothing.

"I want us to survive for another three weeks, three months, three years, Clarke."

"Not like this, I won't let you-"

"I don't take orders from you, Princess," he sneered.

"What is wrong with you? I know you're better than this!"

He dipped his head to stare into her eyes, wanting her to understand that it wasn't negotiable; he would do whatever was necessary to keep his sister, all of them, alive. "You don't know me, not really, but understand this, I will do whatever it takes to keep my sister, my people, safe!"

"And what about the rest of us?"

He glared at her, his jaw tightening. Clarke was one of his people, whether she realized it or not. She was an asset, even with all her 'we're better than that, let's all get along and work together' delusions. And he needed her. She was strong, smart, understood the council and the Ark politics in a way he never would, and she was growing more and more comfortable each day in her role as their healer. He needed someone who wasn't afraid to disagree with him and not in his sister's reactionary way, but a measured, rational response. He was making it up as he went along, and he didn't want to make mistakes that would cost lives, and Clarke could play the role of his sounding board, his opposite.

"You don't get to make decisions with their lives."

"Every decision we make is a decision about life or death. You know that," he scoffed at her idealism. "Everyone can make their own decisions, to follow me or to die. There's your democracy."

"I know you're not a killer, but if you attack the grounders, you will be killing people, killing us. Why are you acting like this?"

"I am what I need to be, and I'll do whatever needs to be done."

"You don't make decisions for the rest of us. You may have put yourself in charge, but I don't have to listen to you, no one does. We let them decide for themselves with all the facts," she insisted.

She turned to walk away, moving to the heavy metal door of the drop ship that was their most secure shelter and served as their supply storage, med bay, and headquarters.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"And how did that work out for you last time? You told them that someone in camp killed Wells, and they turned into a blood thirsty mob. Is that who you want making decisions? The mob?"

She glared at him stubbornly, raising her chin in silent opposition.

His eyes ran over her face, taking in the now familiar delicate rounded features and blue eyes that still shone with innocence no matter what she'd experienced in her short life. He saw her withdraw, his words reminding her that her choices risked lives too.

"I was wrong before, I was emotional, I hated Wells when I thought he'd betrayed me, and I was horrible to him, and just when I figured out that he had just been trying to protect me..." she choked up, remembering how he'd accepted her rudeness and anger when all along he'd just been covering up her mother's betrayal, "and then he was killed. I needed to know."

"You wanted to blame someone," he countered. "You still think there is a right and a wrong in every situation. Black and white. There isn't, there's only shades of grey."

"Exactly. Apply that to the grounders. They can't all be bad. We need to learn to co-exist."

He shook his head. "We take the fight to them, we show them that we're not easy targets. Not anymore. And if a few "good" grounders die in the process, so be it."

"You think they'll be the only ones to die? You're not that stupid. How many of us are you willing to sacrifice?" She yanked her arm free and marched towards the door again, intent on her own course of action.

Bellamy followed her, grabbling her arm and spinning her around he crashed his mouth down on hers. Maybe he couldn't convince her, but he could delay her. Clarke got worked up, but she usually calmed down enough to let her rational side get traction again and that was when she was most open to compromise.

Her mouth moved under his, a sound of protest escaping her pink lips and he took advantage of it to sweep his tongue into her mouth.

Clarke's hands fluttered against his shoulders. She'd been pushing him away, but as he hauled her onto her toes and against his chest they fisted in the black cotton of his shirt.

He let himself get lost in the taste of her, the feel of her mouth under his and decided that kissing her was a much better use of his time than arguing with her.

He stepped forward, pushing her against the cold metal wall of the drop ship. His hands dropped to her waist, then skimmed down along the curve of her hips. Curling them around the back of her thighs he lifted her up and pressed closer, grunting his approval when she wrapped her legs around him.

He released her mouth, gasping in lungfuls of air, kissing a trail to her neck, satisfied with the pounding of her pulse he found there, proof that her heart was racing just as wildly as his.

But breaking the kiss was a mistake because she started to think again. Clarke fisted her hands in his messy dark hair, pulling his mouth away from her neck, but she didn't loosen her legs' grip on his waist. "What... are we doing?"

"Fighting."

"Oh." She smiled softly and he kissed her again, not wanting to actually start fighting again. It was inevitable, but not quite yet.

Their mouths melted together, and determined to take advantage of the situation while it lasted, Bellamy eased his hands under her shirt, his thumbs brushing against the underside of her generous breasts.

Clarke gasped at the contact, and Bellamy eased back, remembering that Clarke had been locked up when she was just 16, and had spent the last year in solitary confinement, since the chancellor had been intent on keeping the fact that the Ark was dying a secret from the populous, and locking up an innocent child had been an acceptable means to that end.

Bellamy wanted to kiss her again, keep touching her, fill his hands with her curves, but he'd bet his week's worth of rations that Clarke had been an innocent, goody two shoes until she'd been locked up, and her only experience with the opposite sex was whatever had happened with Finn since they'd been on the ground.

He eased back, his hands going back to her hips to support her then ease her down once she loosened her legs' grip on him.

"We shouldn't have done that," she said, not meeting his eyes as she tugged her clothing back into place.

"Why?"

His simple question drew her gaze back to his, but she didn't blush or stumble over her words. "It just complicates things."

"Not if we don't let it."

"We don't even like each other," she said, her voice a bit rough, a bit desperate.

"We respect each other."

She blinked, her mind obviously racing as she processed that.

He stepped back from her, needing the space to clear his own mind and let hers rest easy. "You want to build some grand society just in time for the Ark to come down and destroy it? Fine, waste your time, but I will keep us safe until that day comes, and then I will keep us safe from the Grounders and the Council."

She didn't argue that the Council wasn't a threat to them, she wasn't that naive. Not anymore. "Compromise?"

He stared at her, considering if there was any compromise to be made, then nodded, waiting for her proposal.

"We can elect representatives-"

"No," he categorically denied. "You and I make the decisions, and that's the way it stays. You can put people in charge of camp functions, decentralize some of the day to day responsibilities of running this place, make up teams to get things done, but they don't vote."

Clarke considered it, and nodded, it wasn't what she wanted, but it was a good first step. "And no raids."

"Clarke," he said, his tone dangerous, stepping towards her again threateningly, so used to using his physicality to make people rethink opposing him, but she wasn't afraid of him. He'd saved her life on multiple occasions, and she'd returned the favor. She disagreed with him as often as she agreed with him, but there was a baseline level of trust between them.

"We defend ourselves and we defend our camp, but we are not the aggressors. If you do, if you go out there looking for trouble, I will tell them everything and let the chips fall where they may."

Their gazes locked together, fierce brown against unyielding blue. Finally he nodded. "For now."

Clarke's stomach still felt uneasy, the emotion of the fight and the kiss making her tremble, but she tried to hide it. "Then we have a deal."

He nodded again, turning towards the only map they had, that was hanging on the wall. It was marked with a variety of additions, the locations of resources and dangers that they'd found in the territory around their camp.

"If the grounders come within our boundaries," he drew a circle around the camp that included the berry patch and the creek they'd been getting water from, "then we defend ourselves."

"I can accept that."

She walked to the door, spinning the hatch to open it. "Bellamy. I didn't mean that I don't like you... just that we don't-"

"I know, Clarke," he said as he met her gaze.

"So we're OK?"

"We're good."

She smiled hesitantly, but didn't argue or push for a clarification.

-The 100—

At the camp fire that night Bellamy stood by Clarke as she explained their plan after he'd told the surviving members of the 100 about their new defense plans and the boundaries they would hold.

"We'll take nominations for the following committee heads: food, water, medical, other supplies, shelter, fuel, exploration and supply gathering, and defense. In addition to whatever work detail you are assigned, we will all take turns on camp duties like food prep, sanitation and laundry. We'll rotate people through the groups, no one is locked in, no one is better than anyone else. Here we're all equals. But we have to work together to survive."

Bellamy nodded his approval. He'd been a lower cast on the Ark, Clarke the upper class, but neither wanted to replicate the class issues that had created such anger and disparities on the space station.

Clarke didn't ask if anyone had any objections, just sat back down on a log and looked into the fire as the teenagers began to talk, and in some cases argue about their new direction, but within 20 minutes most of the conversation had died down and several people had volunteered or been nominated for the leadership roles, some that had never really been in question – namely Clarke for medical and Miller for defense, albeit working closely under Bellamy, who they had agreed would not head up any committee but remain a leader at large.

Clarke wrote down the names of the nominated teens in her notebook, and looked up to see that Bellamy was watching her from where he stood with Miller and several of the others who would most likely be their core defense team. His gaze was warm and Clarke felt her stomach do another summersault and looked down.

Maybe they could work together. Clarke and Bellamy. The 100. Maybe they could survive. And maybe if they worked together and were smart they could hope for more than mere survival.

They had a loose societal structure, a common goal, and common enemies; civilizations had been founded on less.


AN-I'm not looking to write for another fandom, but I'm enjoying the 100 and this came to me, so I thought I'd write it up. No plans to expand on this right now, but my muse could strike again.

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