Chapter Text
Bellamy didn't think this could be more awkward.
He was sitting in an armchair, drinking an overpriced cup of fancy coffee waiting for his little sister to actually show up. He wasn't sure what was worse – the pseudo-hipster atmosphere or the fact that his sixteen year old sister had hardly been home in the last week.
He was supposed to be the responsible one, and he had fought so hard for custody of his little sister that her avoidance felt almost like a betrayal – wasn't it supposed to be the two of them against the world? Bellamy felt the scoff escape them before he remembered where he was. Steeling his gaze, he glanced quickly around the store. He needed to see if anyone had seen him.
No one was looking at him funnily – which seemed like a plus to him.
And it was during this quick look that he completely missed his little sister walking through the door.
"Alright asshole, I'm here." His sister's exasperated sigh almost tipped his boiling point.
But Bellamy caught himself before he said something he'd regret, "When are you coming home?"
The brunette across from him scoffed before dropping into the nearest chair, her small limbs splaying over the armrests. Her green eyes narrowed before she sat upright, elbows resting on her knees, "When are you going to forgive me for calling Roma?"
Bellamy caught himself glancing around the eclectic coffee house before turning his gaze back to his sister, "There's nothing to forgive O, god, I just can't for the life of me understand why you called my ex-girlfriend when you knew, or at least assumed, that Clarke was here? What could possibly have been gained from that?"
Octavia just shrugged, "I figured our oldest friend would have told you that you were acting like a fucking idiot and thinking with your dick."
He hardly caught his eye roll before he spoke, "Why don't I believe that? O, I know you. You thrive on drama and on information. I don't know where you get it – but you love gossip. And I swear – "
"Who the hell do you think I learned it from?" Octavia's interjection caught him off guard, and Bellamy listened with his mouth half open, "After mom, hell even before she died – you were the one who raised me. I paid attention. Knowledge is money, information is safety. I just needed you to see how stupid you were being! Besides, isn't that the one night stand rule? Call the ex. Easy out?"
Bellamy's jaw snapped shut before Octavia continued in hushed tones.
"Bell – Clarke is seventeen. Even if she turns eighteen soon, it's essentially suicide for you to pursue anything with her! Do I like her? Eh. Unimportant. Do I think she likes you? Most definitely. But none of that matters if you get fired, or if her mother comes after you for statutory. Just keep it in your pants. Go back to Roma – or after some girl who isn't bad news."
And at that Octavia stood and rushed out of the building.
Bellamy sat shocked for a few moments before realizing she'd never said when she was coming home, or who she was staying with. He took a long drink of his coffee before sliding into his armchair and dropping his head back.
She wasn't wrong.
Roma didn't know why she was here.
Bellamy hadn't had much to say to her in the last year and a half since they'd broken up – though she'd stayed close to Octavia. Roma smiled as she thought of the small girl, growing up with Bellamy had only increased the fire within her. And just because Bellamy broke up with her didn't mean that Roma was going to 'break-up' with Octavia. She was as close to a little sister as Roma would ever get.
Letting out a sigh, she raised her fist to knock on the door. Bellamy probably wasn't home – and Roma really needed to talk some sense into that girl. It had been irresponsible to call that morning – who knows how things would have played out if Roma hadn't checked her jealousy after seeing the gorgeous blonde girl standing in the Blake's living room, wearing nothing but Bell's shirt. As it was it had been difficult not to claim 'MINE', and instead to make light of an extremely awkward situation.
But honestly, Roma liked the girl. It had been obvious that Bellamy was extremely interested in her, and the reverse was true. But she knew why Octavia had called her, however ill-advised. The girl wanted to protect her brother, and the only parental figure she remembered. Roma also knew that O wanted she and Bellamy back together more than Roma did.
Which was saying a lot.
But Roma would never pursue something with Bell again – the ball was in his court. Too many broken hearts and not enough commitment had almost ruined their friendship after their relationship had ended.
And obviously Bellamy had moved on. She hadn't seen that quiet relief in his eyes when she let herself into the apartment. He didn't need her anymore. But it was clear that Octavia still wanted her around.
It felt like forever that she'd been waiting, and still no answer at the door. Sighing, Roma reached into the potted plant by the front door and felt for the little frog sculpture (really it was more of a piggy bank, and way too obvious as a key holder. For a cop Bellamy was awful about security) and unlocked the door before replacing everything as she found it and stepping through the door.
Clarke was wallowing in self-pity.
That was really the only way to describe what was happening.
She'd woken up still drunk, covered in dew, curled between Jasper and Monty.
The three had started their morning by day-drinking and avoiding her mother's phone calls, giggling between sips of moonshine and basking in the morning rays.
But recklessness can only last for so long before real life starts to creep back in, and by noon on that Saturday, they were bundled up – relatively sober – and Clarke had been deposited on her doorstep. Sneaking into the house while on the wrong side of tipsy was not fun – and the irritation she felt was only magnified when she saw her mother's note on the fridge.
Her mother had flown back to Phoenix for the weekend to tie up some loose ends with the house. What really irked her was the fact that Clarke had had no clue. She lost an opportunity to see Wells, and to say one last good-bye to her childhood home.
And the more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Forgoing the water she went to the kitchen for, she stumbled back to her bag – grabbing her cell phone from her purse, Clarke squinted as she scrolled through her contacts.
As she held the phone to her ear, dull ring helped soothe her before she heard the deep baritone she missed most in the world.
"Clarke?"
She sunk into the couch, releasing a sigh as she fell.
"Clarke? I can hear your breathing. Don't be creepy."
The laughter escaped her before she could stop it, "I missed you Wells. I miss you."
"Hey. Your mom is here."
"Yeah, I just saw the note. I don't know why she didn't tell me – "
"I asked the same thing. Apparently, you're not adjusting well and coming back would've been too confusing. My father started psycho-analyzing you through your mother, I tried to say that the might not have the whole story but – you know how they get."
Clarke felt a scoff escape her, "I do. Doctor Mom and Doctor Dad – at it again. We're just lucky they aren't diagnosing any disorders yet."
The silence on the other end of the line made her nervous.
"They aren't, right?"
Silence.
"Wells. You're scaring me. Please tell me the prescription pad hasn't come out."
"Clarke – I cannot tell a lie. I'm like Pinocchio."
"Motherfuck – what the hell do I have now? Narcissistic Personality Disorder? Bi-polar depression?"
"From what I heard this morning, you're exhibiting some symptoms of BPD. And Dad thinks you would benefit from resuming your sessions. Phone or Skype is recommended."
Clarke leaned forward onto her elbows as she buried her free hand in her curls.
"Are you fucking serious? Borderline Personality Disorder? God."
Through her frustration, Clarke found herself standing and started to pace about the living room.
"Can't I be a fucking teenager? Anxiety, depression, impulsive behavior. That's all a part of being a kid! Let alone a kid who was just transplanted halfway across the country with few friends and even less to do! And it's not like mom knows about the drinking – "
Clake winced as she caught herself before she said anymore.
"Drinking? Clarke, I mean… I know we got those fakes a while back – but it's not like we ever actually meant to use them. Are you drinking? Have you thought about… you know… anything…?"
"Wells, if you're asking if I want to kill myself the answer is no. Self-destructive behavior? Sure. Suicide – no. Besides I don't have half of the symptoms of BPD! I swear – if it weren't for my mother I'd be perfectly sane."
To his credit, Wells did laugh at that, but Clarke could still sense his underlying worry.
"You promise that you'll call if that changes, right? You may be halfway across the country – but you're still my best friend."
"Back atchya, worrywart."
Clarke didn't move until she heard the disconnect on his end. Her buzz was completely dead at this point.
Fuck it – self destructive or not, she needed a drink.
Hopefully, that bartender hadn't heard about her whole underage thing yet.
Needless to say, Bellamy hadn't said shit to Wick – or if he had, the bartender definitely didn't give a fuck.
"Cinderella! You're back!"
The smile on the blonde man's face was genuine as Clarke slid onto the barstool hours after her phone call with Wells. He moved quickly, sliding a shot of vodka in front of her with a wink before she had time to respond.
"Your prince isn't here tonight, but we'll keep this our little secret until he does."
Clarke raised her eyebrow at the tiny glass of clear liquid in front of her, unsure if vodka was where she saw this night going. Ever attentive, Wick leaned against the bar in front of her, "Alright Princess, last time you were here it was obvious you were wallowing."
Clarke snuck in a shrug and a half nod before he continued, "You proceeded to go home with tall, dark, and mysterious before sneaking out. You haven't been back since – which to me could mean you're avoiding him, or you haven't had a reason to come out. But – now you're here. You don't look nearly so depressed, so you're here for fun. Yes?"
Clarke didn't even get a response out this time.
"Princess – I have never met a person that vodka didn't help in the fun department. Sure – it tastes like shit and could probably be used to strip the paint off of the walls, but give it thirty minutes and you'll be ready for whatever happens."
Releasing a sigh, Clarke didn't have a choice but to smirk as she grabbed the shot glass, "Touché. Here's to fun."
Puffing out her cheeks, and breathing out as much as she could, Clarke brought the shooter to her lips and tipped back as quickly as humanly possible.
That didn't help the taste – and dear mother of God was it bad.
Vodka was not fun.
Apparently, her expressions were all over her face if Wick's reaction was anything to go by.
He was completely doubled over, clutching his stomach, and laughing loudly. And instead of words – which were closer to impossible than she cared to admit – Clarke thanked him the only way possible, with her middle finger extended straight into the air.
Luckily for Clarke, the second, third and fourth shots went down slightly more smoothly than the first.
An hour after she'd arrived, she was oddly happy – her blood felt warm and as she moved she felt tingles run up her arms and over her skin.
She felt alive.
Which is why she hardly noticed when someone slid into the seat next to her, scooting closer until their arms were brushing. And she definitely wasn't aware that that they'd bought her a drink until Wick slid it in front of her with wide eyes, and a 'you-go-girl' look on his face. Because Clarke had definitely not ordered a vodka-cranberry.
After staring blankly at the drink in front of her for a couple seconds, she turned to the person at her side, "Thanks – but I can't possibly accept this –"
"Nonsense. You're stunning and I wanted to."
Clarke felt her cheeks flush and let out a small smile as she reached for the drink in front of her, "Well. Thank you. Clarke, by the way."
"Lexa," the woman next to her replied, "My name is Lexa. And when you finish that, I'll buy you another."