Put Your Trigger Where Your Mouth Is

Bellamy crept carefully around the corner, sticking to the shadows.

His heart was pounding so loud it seemed to drown out everything else.

This was his last shot, his last chance to redeem everything that had gone so wrong. At least this time, he was only fixing it because it was his responsibility. For once, the dire situation wasn't his fault.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shock of blonde hair.

Clarke.

She had crept up on him, silently and with the greatest of stealth. He wished, once more sending his every scrap of will to high heaven, that she was on his side, his partner through thick and thin.

"Bellamy," she whispered, her voice carrying the same prayer as her feet took her into his space.

As she pressed him against the dark wall, the last cold scraps of him cried out to press his gun to her chest and end it, end her.

He couldn't.

She kissed him.

They melted into each other, his free hand cording through her hair. This is all he wanted, none of this crazy conflict that pitted them against each other. Just her warm lips on his, the faint smell of vanilla and earth and sky that was uniquely her, her weight leaning into his as if to say, "you are not alone."

Instead, she pulled away, taking a few timid steps like a deer as if she meant to fade away, back into the shadows leaving him bereft and much colder.

In a heartbeat her stance was strong. In a blink her gun was raised and she fired straight at his chest.

The cheap little vest dinged and started flashing green as Bellamy sighed.

Clarke flashed a grin as she ran off, throwing over her shoulder, "love you!"

Yes, thought Bellamy as he followed the exit signs to the lobby to wait out his team's inevitable loss for the third round in a row on this laser tag outing, yes she does.