congrats on the followers!! i would looove a bellarke drabble! could you do maybe one where clarke cuts bells hair and shaves his beard? and maybe madi comes in and makes fun of bell looking so young again? lol
Ahhh, thank you so much @bellamybb! You may have actually been my lucky number 400! I love this prompt and this drabble got away from me a little bit. A little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff. Set after whatever crazy stuff goes down in Season 7 and our heroes are allowed to RELAX (I’m speaking it into existence). Hope you enjoy!! 🥰💕
***
“Dammit.”
Clarke paused at the frustrated murmur that issued from the doorway just ahead of her. Curious, she approached and poked her head into the room.
“Bellamy?”
Bellamy sat in a chair with his back to the door, hunched over something at the table in front of him. He turned quickly at the unexpected voice, and if Clarke were someone else, she would have laughed. The lower half of his face was covered in a foamy, white substance and the hair on the left side of his head was shorter than the hair on the right. The thing on the table he had been leaning over was a tiny oval mirror. A bowl of water and 2 small towels sat off to the side.
Clarke crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway as a bemused smile crept across her face.
“What are you doing?” It was obvious what he was doing, but she couldn’t help asking.
When he saw who had interrupted him, he relaxed and turned back around to scowl into the mirror.
“Just trying to clean up a little bit. I was starting to look like one of the Eligius miners.”
“You look like an old man,” Clarke teased, coming over and looking pointedly at the foam covering his beard.
“Yeah, well,” he huffed out a laugh. “I am over 130 years old.”
They shared a smile at the joke and the bizarre life that fate had handed them. Clarke wondered if they could ever feel normal again and realized maybe that was the real reason behind Bellamy’s sudden need for change. He was looking for a fresh start. And she could help give that to him.
“I hate to tell you this, but if your goal is to look less like a convict who spent years in deep space drilling into asteroids, you’re failing miserably. Give it here,” she gestured to the knife in his hand.
“It’s not that bad,” he grumbled. But he offered her the hilt, settled back into the chair, and closed his eyes.
She smiled to herself and got to work, quickly evening out the sides and back so they fell just above his ears. Then she shortened the hair in front so it covered his forehead, but no longer flopped into his eyes. As she trimmed, his hair began to curl more tightly, just as she remembered it before Praimfaya. After a few more minutes, she stepped back to run a critical eye over her work. It was a little choppy, but a pretty good job overall.
Bellamy opened his eyes and squinted into the mirror.
“Thanks,” he sighed, running his hand through his now more prominent curls. “That feels better. Who knew the great Clarke Griffin was an accomplished hair stylist?”
Clarke nudged him with her elbow. “Well, I did spend six years taking care of mine and Madi’s hair. Though, braids were more my specialty. We’ll have to save that for next time.”
Bellamy smirked before turning back to the mirror. He tilted his head to inspect his foam-covered chin and sighed once more. “I don’t suppose you can help with this. I have this thing,” he held up a tool that Clarke recognized as a straight razor, “but I’ve never used one. I imagine it’s probably similar to using a knife, but…”
“Actually, I have used one of these before,” she held out her hand for the razor.
“Oh? Did you have a beard during those six years that I don’t know about?” he joked, handing it over.
She gave him a small smile before gazing down at the tool in her hands, a long-ago memory surfacing that caused an ache to bloom in her chest.
“Clarke?”
Bellamy had sobered and was watching her with concern.
“My dad used to have one of these, on the Ark. It belonged to his grandfather, I think. My mom,” she paused to gather herself and will away the burning that started behind her eyes. That loss was still very fresh. Bellamy reached out to place a comforting hand on her forearm. She took a shuddering breath and started again.
“We didn’t have a mirror, so my mom would help him shave. But then she got busy with being the head doctor and being on the council, so I learned how to do it. My dad was my hero, so I was always looking for some way to help him.”
She shook off the melancholy and squared her shoulders.
“Clarke, you don’t have to-“ Bellamy began, but she waved him off.
“I want to. Besides,” she attempted to bring some levity back into the conversation, “you never ask for help. Who knows when this will happen again? Now lean back.”
He looked like he was going to protest once more, but thought better of it and did as requested.
“Now try to keep still and don’t talk. I don’t want to cut you,” Clarke instructed.
He searched her face for a moment and then tilted his head back.
“I trust you.”
A thrill ran through Clarke at his words, and she knew they went much deeper than just this moment. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and pushed the emotions to the back of her mind. She would have time later to dwell on her feelings and what they meant. She pulled the towel and bowl of water towards her and got started on her task. For a long time, the only noise was the scraping of the blade against Bellamy’s skin and the faint sounds of conversation and laughter drifting up from the courtyard outside. She could feel his eyes on her as she carefully worked her way down his cheek to the line of his jaw. Somehow Clarke felt that this was new territory for them, a level of intimacy they had never experienced with each other. She reached the underside of his jaw and started very delicately on his neck. When she was done, she repeated the process on the other side, revealing more and more of the freckled skin underneath. Every now and then, she would adjust his position with a gentle hand on his cheek or chin. All the while, Bellamy watched her, the silence growing heavier between them. She worked methodically and with precision, and soon the only part left unshaved was a center stripe down his neck.
“Don’t move,” Clarke whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly would break whatever spell had settled over the room. She saw Bellamy’s hand clench where it rested on his thigh.
Holding the skin taut so she didn’t nick him, she dragged the razor over his Adam’s apple with painstaking care. Finally, she scraped off the last bit of foam and ran her finger softly along the ridge. Bellamy swallowed, and she was momentarily absorbed in the way it bobbed under her fingertips. Then he shifted under her touch and Clarke refocused, realizing he was probably growing uncomfortable with his head tilted back at such an angle.
“Done,” she murmured, turning to place the razor on the table. She picked up the clean towel and dipped it into the bowl of water. After wringing out the excess, she handed it to Bellamy who began to wipe his face clean. When he lowered the towel, Clarke felt as though she had gone back in time. There was the Bellamy who was her co-leader at the dropship. The one who went into the mountain and came to her rescue in Polis. The one she had drawn over and over in her sketchbook and the one she had talked to everyday on the radio to keep herself sane. Without thinking, her hands came up to rest on either side of his face, thumbs stroking the now smooth skin of his cheeks. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, and she could feel his pulse racing against her fingers. The silence became too much.
“Clarke, I-“
“Clarke? Clarke, where are you?”
Running footsteps echoed from the hall and they pulled away from one another.
Madi came skidding into view.
“Oh, there you are! I was just- woah,” she interrupted herself, taking in Bellamy’s appearance and the odd, weighty atmosphere in the room.
“Hey, Madi,” Bellamy smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Clarke gave me a haircut. What do you think?”
Apparently deciding everything was ok, the young girl looked him over once more. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as a grin took over her face.
“I think you look a lot less like you get to tell me what to do. You barely look like an adult!”
“Hey now!” Bellamy protested, pretending to be indignant. “Show some respect for you elders!”
“Too late!” she shot back. “Your beard is what made you seem old and wise. Without it, you’re just not as intimidating. Sorry!” She turned her attention back to Clarke. “I was just coming to find you because they’re about to serve dinner. Are you coming?”
“Yeah, we just finished up with this,” Clarke replied, looking at her daughter fondly.
“Ok, I’m gonna go save us some seats. See you there! Bye Bellamy!” she grinned cheekily. And then she was gone as quickly as she’d come.
A loaded silence filled the space between them. After a moment, Bellamy was the one to break it.
“Thank you for this,” he gestured at the towels and razor on the table. “I just… needed a change, I guess. I’m going to get this cleaned up, you go and meet up with Madi.”
Clarke had spent her whole life making decisions with her head. It’s how she and her people had survived everything the ground had thrown at them. But now- now that they were finally and completely at peace- she thought that maybe she could start making some decisions with her heart.
“Hey,” she reached out and grabbed Bellamy’s hand, letting his warmth become her own.
He looked back at her, an unspoken question in his eyes. The hope she saw there was echoed within her own heart and for the first time in a very long time, she wasn’t fearful of the future.
“Come on,” she tugged him towards the door. “We can clean this up later.”
He only hesitated for a moment before grasping her hand more tightly and allowing her to lead him from the room.
The suns were setting as they made their way to the dining hall. Tomorrow marked the beginning of a fresh start and a bright future for them, for their people, and for humanity. And they would welcome it hand in hand. Bellamy and Clarke. Together.
