Chapter Text
“So,” says Miller, not unreasonably, “you’re going to have to explain this one to me. Because you wanted to fuck off to the woods instead of being happy you’re marrying the girl you’re in love with, and that’s a lot even for you.”
Bellamy rubs his face, feeling the scratch of stubble against his palm. In a way, he knows Miller is right. He’s getting married to a woman he wants to marry, which is something he’d never even considered as a possibility in his entire life. Until he got Octavia caught, he assumed he wouldn’t be able to marry because of her, and after she was found, he assumed the same thing, just for different reasons. And then, on Earth, the idea of surviving long enough to marry was laughable. Maybe he would have thought of it with Gina, if he’d really been able to think that far in the future, back then.
Clarke was a different thing. He’d never thought about marriage less because he thought he didn’t want it and more because it felt redundant and unnecessary. If he has his way, he’s never losing Clarke again, but it’s not up to him. If she stays, he doesn’t need to be married to her, and if she doesn’t, it doesn’t matter.
So there’s no good reason it bothers him, that she doesn’t care about marrying him either. He didn’t actually think she wanted to. He wasn’t expecting it. And that made it somehow worse. The marriage is logical, reasonable, and completely justified. If she’d said she had to marry a grounder, he would have told her she could marry him instead. He’s totally in support of this idea on paper.
“It’s nothing,” he tells Miller.
“We fucked off to the woods.”
“Yeah, but you like the woods.”
“Clarke thought we were doing it because I was so heartbroken. Which, don’t get me wrong, breaking up sucks, but this wasn’t my idea.”
He leans back on his sleeping pack, closing his eyes. “Yeah, I appreciate it,” he says. “But you don’t have to make me talk about my feelings. I know you hate this. We can just lie here in silence and–”
“Nope,” Miller says. “I want the gossip. Seriously, you’re marrying Clarke. This is supposed to be you, finally getting what you want. So explain this to me.”
“Look, I don’t care if I never marry Clarke,” he says. Miller snorts, but it’s true, so he doesn’t bother arguing. “But if I’m going to, I want it to be a big deal. I don’t want to get married for a ceremony and then once the grounders are gone, we never mention it again.”
“And that’s what’s happening?”
“Yeah. She said we needed to get married, and we do. And you’ve seen her since we got–” He trips over the word; it’s not like they’re engaged. “Ever since I agreed to it, she’s been in a shitty mood. She’s pissed we have to do this. And I don’t blame her,” he adds. “It’s a good idea and it’s worth it, but it’s fucked up.”
“She did ask you,” Miller points out, after a pause. “There’s no way she was going to marry anyone else. You gotta know that.”
“The grounders assumed we were already married,” he shoots back. “They picked me out for her. Them and Jasper.” He lets out an exhalation of breath, and admits, “I know I’m being an asshole.”
“Just an idiot,” Miller counters, easy. “I don’t know what she said to you, but trust me–Clarke Griffin really wants to marry you.”
“All signs to the contrary,” he says.
“Just the ones you’re looking at.”
“She’s expecting everyone she talks to to talk her out of it. She’s just waiting for someone to tell us it’s a bad idea. But she knows it’s not, because she’d have to marry someone else.” He sighs. “I know that too,” he adds. “I just–fuck, I couldn’t be there planning a fucking grounder wedding for us, with her wishing the whole time she was doing it with Lexa or something. I’ll marry her, I’ll do whatever she wants, but–in a week, it’s going to be done, and I don’t want to get invested.”
“A week of guard shifts,” Miller finally says.
“What?”
“I bet you a week of your shittiest guard shifts that you’re still married to her next month. And in a better mood because you’re getting regularly laid.”
“Deal,” he says. “I’ve got some really bad shifts for you.”
“Uh huh,” says Miller. “I’m shaking.”
*
They get back late the night before the wedding, and Bellamy is exhausted, by design. All he wants to do is collapse into bed and go to sleep, instead of thinking about what’s happening tomorrow. If he’s lucky, he’ll pass out so hard they can’t wake him up and they’ll have to cancel the ceremony.
Or they’d make Clarke marry someone else, and he doesn’t want that. The only thing worse than his marrying Clarke would be someone else doing it. So he’s going to wake up in the morning, but ideally after getting some amount of actual sleep, instead of just tossing and turning and being totally unable to turn his brain off.
The goal already seems ridiculously unrealistic and only gets more so when he opens up his cabin door and sees there’s new stuff in his room and Clarke in his bed.
He did tell her she could move in. He just didn’t really expect her to call his bluff, given he wasn’t even around. No one would have known.
For a second, he lets himself think about escalating. He could strip off his clothes and climb into the bed with her, wrap her up and–
He ducks back out and raps on Miller’s door.
“Fuck, you aren’t done with me yet?” he grumbles, opening the door. “I’m out of helpful shit to tell you. You’re a mess.”
“Clarke’s in my bed,” he says. “Can I sleep on your floor?”
Miller just stares at him for a second, and then steps out of the way so he can come in. To Bellamy’s relief, he waits until the door is closed to say, “So, the girl you’re in love with, the one you’re marrying tomorrow, is in your bed, and you want to sleep on my floor instead of with her? I don’t even like girls and I’d rather sleep with her than on my floor.”
“Yeah, it’s that level of detachment that lets you say that,” he says.
“Guess so.” He lets it sit for a beat and then adds, “So, you want me to marry her instead?”
“No. Shut up.”
Miller throws a pillow at him. “I’m thinking two weeks’ guard shifts,” he adds. “You’re making me put up with a lot of shit right now.”
“You’re a good friend,” says Bellamy. “Just think about how much it’s going to suck tomorrow.”
“It’s going to be something. Go the fuck to sleep.”
*
The next day is about as bad as he expected it to be. He doesn’t have to see Clarke, which is sort of a blessing, but it would in all ways be a better day if she was with him instead of Jaril, who’s a perfectly nice guy, but the makeup doesn’t make his nose itch and he doesn’t seem to think all of this is just a little much like Clarke would.
“I miss them too,” Jaril says, like he’s reading Bellamy’s mind, but not very well. “But soon we’ll be joined to them forever.”
As far as Bellamy’s concerned, he’s already joined to Clarke forever, but he just nods. “Yeah. Can’t wait.”
The worst part of it is honestly that the ceremony isn’t until sunset, but he’s done getting ready before that, so he just has to hang out in the tent away from everyone and everything, because that’s traditional. It feels like tradition could, at the very least, provide him with a book to read or something.
It’s almost a relief when he finally gets to go to the wedding, just because he’s not sitting around failing to make small talk with Jaril anymore. He’s just going to be able to get it over with.
And then he sees Clarke.
It’s not as if she isn’t beautiful. Of course she is. Clarke is beautiful in that easy, effortless way that people he loves are, a way that has very little to do with what she actually looks like at any given time and everything to do with how he feels about her. It’s impossible for Clarke to not be beautiful to him; it’s an inherent part of who she is.
But this is the closest she’s come in a long time. All he can think of is that day in Polis, a contender for the worst day of his life, Clarke telling him she wasn’t coming home with him, the explosion at Mt. Weather, the sure knowledge that everything he believed was wrong, that he’d been making the worst choices he could since he got to the ground.
And then he’d just kept making them.
He can’t look at her for more than a second at a time, and it’s worse than he imagined it could be, given he didn’t want to get married in the first place. But at the same time, she’s next to him, and her hands are warm in his, and her voice doesn’t shake as she promises to love him and stay by his side for the rest of their lives.
When he leans down to kiss her, chaste and brief, there’s a second where she tries to chase his mouth, before she–
Before she doesn’t. He doesn’t know why she tried to follow or why she stopped, but it makes his heart stop, makes his breath catch, makes him think maybe.
And then she disappears.
“I can’t wait to get out of all my worst shifts,” he tells Miller. He skipped the food and went straight for the moonshine, and Miller rolls his eyes.
“What’s happening?” asks Monty, confused.
“Bellamy’s a dumbass.”
Monty nods. “So, nothing new.”
“Fuck you both,” he says, and makes a face as he takes a long gulp of moonshine.
He doesn’t actually want to get drunk, just make a point to Miller, so he takes the next sip slower, with a little food, and tries not to be too obviously looking for Clarke.
Tries not to think too much about it as she doesn’t show up. He knew she was annoyed about the marriage, but this is seriously taking it to another level.
“Oh, yeah, I think I’ve got it,” Miller says, and before Bellamy can respond, Clarke’s at his side, with her hair falling around her face in soft, perfect waves. Her face is scrubbed clean, and she’s wearing a plain gray shirt and denim trousers. She looks like herself. Like his Clarke.
“That’s where you went,” he says, eyes roving over her. She wanted to kiss him, and she left to get changed. It’s hard to not feel a little optimistic about that.
It is his wedding night, in spite of everything.
She tucks her hair behind her ear, smiling a little. “Yeah, it wasn’t really my style.” She takes the moonshine from him and takes a generous gulp herself. “I think your moonshine is getting worse,” she tells Monty.
He raises his own bottle in her direction. “Yeah, but you keep drinking it. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” She turns her attention to him, and her smile is mesmerizing. She looks happy, finally. “We got married.”
“We got married. You look nice,” he adds, against his better judgement.
“Fuck, I’m not drunk enough for this,” Miller mutters. Bellamy kicks his ankle, because he is, at heart, an asshole. Miller deserves to complain. Miller deserves a medal, probably.
“I’m actually going to steal him anyway. Wedding night,” she adds, like this is a big secret.
“Told you,” says Miller, and Bellamy kicks him again, primarily so that he won’t look at Clarke. But–they probably need to talk. Clarke wants to, and–he really needs to know what’s going on, because he was so sure he knew, and for the first time, he’s wondering if he misread this.
Everyone else seems to think he did. He wouldn’t mind being wrong.
“We really don’t have to do this,” he reminds her. “Seriously. I don’t think the grounders care. They aren’t even paying attention to us.”
Clarke doesn’t look back; she’s heading toward his cabin with single-minded purpose. “I moved all my stuff into your place.”
“They’ll be gone in two days, so that was kind of overkill.”
She apparently doesn’t have a response to that, so she just yanks the cabin door open with way more force than necessary and shoves him inside. “What the fuck, Bellamy?” she demands.
“What?”
“Why are you being so–what’s with you?”
It’s a fucking unfair question. “What’s with me? You’re the one who’s been pissed for three straight weeks, just because I’m doing what you want.” He takes a breath. He really didn’t want to have this argument. Not when he thought she might want to make out. “You really didn’t have to move everything,” he finally says. “This’ll be over in a few days.”
She looks genuinely surprised. “What?”
“We needed to get married. We did. I assume we’re getting–divorced. Or no one actually cares. It’s not like we have a governing body that’s giving us property rights or tax breaks or something. You don’t have to–” She’s looking more and more confused, and he has to look away. He doesn’t know how to read her expression, and he doesn’t want to get his hopes any higher. He’s still not sure enough. “I can sleep on the couch for a few days. Or at Miller’s. Wherever you–”
“You want to get divorced?” she asks, which is just unfair.
“I figured we would, yeah.”
“Bellamy.” Her voice is fond.
“What?” he snaps.
She takes a step closer. “I was really expecting you to fight me on the whole marriage thing.”
“It was the right call. I don’t usually fight you when you’re right. Unless I’m bored,” he adds, in the interest of full disclosure.
“Tell me you think we shouldn’t get married.”
“We already got married,” he reminds her. “It’s a little late for that.”
“Humor me.”
“Fuck, you’re so demanding,” he grumbles. It’s mostly a stall tactic, because he doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn’t need to marry her, but–he thinks they probably should. If he had his way, they would. “We shouldn’t get married for a treaty,” he finally tells her. That he’s sure was stupid. Getting married for a treaty is never going to be a good idea.
Her smile is sudden, and she actually laughs a little, surprised and delighted. “No, we shouldn’t.” She takes another step toward him. “I was going to talk you into it, Bellamy. I had all these arguments but you just said you would, and–” She shakes her head, still smiling, and he can’t quite breathe. “It’s all the same argument, okay? You’re my best friend, and I love you, and I want to be married to you. I sort of figured I’d tell you that before we got married, but then you didn’t try to fight me on it, so–”
That snaps him out of it. “You weren’t going to tell me that unless I wouldn’t marry you?” he asks.
“It was going to be romantic!” she shoots back.
“You have some fucked up ideas about romance.”
She rolls her eyes. “You gave me an ugly bear,” she says, and he has to smile. It was not his most inspired gift, but–they’re married, and she was going to romance him. If he hadn’t just told her he’d marry her.
She said she loved him.
When he cups her face, she leans up, and this time the kiss is long and deep and perfect, Clarke holding him close and responding instantly, grinning against his mouth, and apparently he really should just argue with her all the time. Going along with her questionable scheme was the wrong choice. All he had to do was say no, and she would have married him anyway.
It’s not like he really would have wanted her to make it easy for him, even if the last couple weeks were needlessly stressful. He gets this; it was worth it.
He nudges his nose against hers. “Hey. I think we should get married.”
She laughs. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. All your stuff is already here. It just makes sense.”
*
He finds Miller at dinner the next day.
“So, what are your worst guard shifts?” he asks. “What am I in for?”
Miller snorts. “I fucking told you.”
“Yeah, you did. I guess I just needed to hear it from her.”
“And?”
“And I’m married,” he says. “It’s awesome. You were right, I was wrong. I’ll take as many shifts as you want.”
“Wow. Getting laid is even better for you than I thought.” He actually smiles, a real one, which is vaguely alarming. But mostly nice. “Congratulations on getting your head out of your ass. And the marriage, I guess.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I never thought it was gonna happen.”