Chapter Text
A few more weeks pass, and the Blake Orphan Home gets back to normal. Bellamy loves these kids, so he pushes his confusion around Clarke in her entirety onto a back burner, and goes back to focusing on the children in his care. Clarke still comes round every few days after school. Most of the time she brings in a couple who want a child, and brings down the kids who fit their lifestyles – sometimes older, depending on the people – and letting them have their interviews. Bellamy hands her a key to the house, because it’s about time that she should stop having to knock on the door, and he doesn’t want to be woken up in the early mornings by Fox each weekend.
Monroe finds him in his room, almost a month after John’s infraction with the police. He’s searching through his book shelves, trying to find his copy of The Iliad – Octavia’s supposed to be reading it for English, and she’s lost her copy – when there’s a timid knock at the door. Bellamy glances over.
“Hey, Roe,” he smiles, looking back to the book shelf. Monroe shuffles into the room until she’s standing next to him.
“What are you looking for?” she asks.
“The Iliad,” he replies. “It’s bright yellow – tell me if you spot it?” The search in silence for a moment; Bellamy scouring the top shelves and Monroe the bottom.
“Is it that one?” Bellamy looks down and Monroe has a finger pointing at a book. He crouches down to her height and nods, slotting the book out from the shelf. After, he places it on the desk and takes a seat on his bed. “What’s up, Buttercup?” Monroe keeps staring at the book shelf for a little longer, before swivelling on one foot.
“I’ve got an interview today,” she tells him. Bellamy nods, patting the bed next to him. The little girl hesitates before climbing up onto the mattress.
“I heard,” he says. “Are you nervous about it?” She nods.
“Miss Griffin says that I’m not allowed to be mean to the couple,” she says. “And I’m not allowed to push them away or lie to them or throw a tantrum or anything.” Bellamy smiles sympathetically, wrapping an arm around Monroe’s shoulders. She automatically leans into him; small and warm against his side. She’s been here the longest and Bellamy can remember potty training her at three years old – a little late by the bar of most children, but she hadn’t really learnt before coming into his care.
Hell, Bellamy knows everything about Monroe; from the way she can’t click her fingers to how she will only eat baked beans if they’re mixed with mashed potato. He knows that she’s afraid of heights but not spiders, likes it when he speaks Filipino and repeats the phrases back, and can say the alphabet backwards. Bellamy doesn’t have favourites out of his kids, but he’s never raised a child for as long as he has Monroe.
“I know you like it here, Roe,” he sighs, and it hurts his heart that he has to tell her this. “But there’s going to be a family out there that will love you and care for you, and will want you with them. It’ll be better for you there.” She frowns up at him, and Bellamy swallows.
“But I’m loved here, right?”
“Yeah, you are,” he says. “But living with twenty people means that you’re not going to get the attention that you deserve.” He hates that Clarke is right.
“I get all the attention I want though,” she replies. “There’s twenty people here.” Bellamy bites the inside of his cheek and presses a kiss to the top of her head. For once, her hair isn’t braided, and instead it’s loose about her shoulders, tangled and frizzy.
“I know, Roe.” Bellamy’s voice is quiet. “I love having you here, but there’s going to be a better place for you – parents and siblings, pets that you can look after. You won’t be able to have that here.” She looks up at him, watching with large eyes on the verge of tears. They match his own and he squeezes his shut for a moment before continuing. “You can’t be afraid to leave and move on; this is an adventure you have to go on. It’s an opportunity to start again, and it’ll be great if you take hold of it with both hands and face it with a smile. Monroe – I know it’s scary and it might be hard, but you won’t regret it if you meet a couple that you like, and that want you to be their daughter.”
They stare at each other for just a second before the tears slip down her face. Monroe burrows into his embrace and they hold each other tightly; her little arms not even reaching around his torso, and his grip on her probably too tight. Bellamy presses his cheek into her hair and tries to dear God not to cry. She’s like his own daughter and he doesn’t in any world want to send her away, but Clarke’s right – they’re all right.
Monroe is here to find a home that will be best for her, and living in a packed house with no privacy just won’t be. They stay like that for a while; letting the sounds of the rest of the house surround them, and hold each other until the tears run out. Eventually, Monroe sniffs and pulls back.
“Okay,” she agrees, nodding. She roughly swipes her hand across her cheeks, and Bellamy doesn’t even hesitate before his thumb gently catches the remaining tears down by her jaw. “Okay,” Monroe repeats. She slips off the bed and pads to the door, Bellamy watching her go.
When she reaches the door frame, Monroe looks back. “If… if I don’t like the couple, I don’t have to go, right?” Bellamy smiles – it’s as close to an ‘I love you’ as he’s going to get. He shakes his head.
“You don’t have to – but give them a chance, okay?” She nods her head once more, before heading out into the hallway, and Bellamy gives himself a minute to breathe, before picking up the book from his desk. He makes his way to Octavia’s room silently, knocking on her door and listening to the faint come in before entering.
Once in there, he holds up the book for her to see and she smiles. It falters after a moment, though.
“Are you alright?” she asks, climbing off of her bed and heading slowly towards him. He nods, placing the book on her empty desk chair, before looking towards her.
“Sometimes this is just really hard,” he says at last. Her smile is small and sympathetic, before she wraps her arms around him in a hug. They stand there, embracing, for as long as Bellamy needs, and he’s thankful to every deity there was and would ever be that even if his kids leave, Octavia is with him for life.
-
Clarke smiles at him, the next day, when two men are sitting in the interview room with John Murphy. She comes and sits in the office where he’s filling out paperwork – all the boring stuff the government wants to know – and watches him for a moment. He then looks up and studies her.
“You know,” he starts. “You don’t have to dress up all fancy every time you come into the house.” Clarke pauses, looking down at her clothes. They’re similar to normal; she either dresses in a pencil skirt or dress trousers, with a blouse and jacket.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Clarke questions, and Bellamy catches the heat rushing to her face.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with them,” he says. “It’s just that you’ve been here for a while – the kids all call you Miss Griffin, you’re always dressed up… it’s almost like you’re not comfortable, you know?” Clarke shifts in the chair that she’s sitting on.
“It’s called being professional,” she replies with a pointed eyebrow.
“They’re kids,” he points out. “They’re not going to care if you come in here dressed in a suit or shorts. They know what your job is, the clothes won’t change that. Besides, you’re part of the family, you know?” Clarke studies him for a moment; they look very different on either side of his desk. It’s almost as if she should be behind it; the powerful woman in expensive clothes, and Bellamy should be the other side, with a thread bare t-shirt and jeans. Even so, it feels like too much of a secret that he just said aloud.
“Are you trying to give me advice?” she asks, practically ignoring his admittance. Bellamy shrugs, thankful.
“I suppose that’s what it’s called?” She purses her lips.
“I’m supposed to look professional for the couples,” she tells him. “And when I go to the office, I need to look like I’m in a work environment.” Bellamy lets his pen roll onto the desk and leans back in his office chair.
“I was just saying,” he defends. “I happen to like your less formal clothes. If you’re wearing them when you turn up here, no one’s going to mind.” Clarke eyes him for a moment before a small smile forms across her lips.
“Your opinion is noted,” she replies. “But, part of the family, huh?” Bellamy groans on the inside.
“You know what I mean,” he replies half-heartedly.
“What, like I’m the mother or something?” She questions, raising an eyebrow. Bellamy shrugs, looking away. “Are you the dad?”
“Of course I’m the dad,” he replies. “That didn’t even need to be a question.”
“And I’m the mum?”
“Step-mum,” he corrects.
“Was Cage the original step-mum?” Bellamy laughs, looking up at the ceiling, before looking at the playful smile on Clarke’s face.
“Yeah, why not. And Miller and Monty are the gay uncles. Welcome to the family.”
It’s a weird step, but it happens all the same and Bellamy finds that he doesn’t regret it. He regrets questioning her clothes, and doubts she’ll change anything, but he’s proven wrong. It doesn’t happen immediately, but he hears a few of the kids referring to her as ‘Clarke’ and not ‘Miss Griffin’ – a part of the family, ringing in his ears - and she comes in with jeans some days and the pencil skirts others.
He sends her secret smiles when she does, and she tends to roll her eyes. Then there’s the day, only a few weeks later, when she comes in wearing a summer dress. Bellamy doesn’t mean to stare – but, well, he does. He’s never seen her like this – he’s seen her formal, he’s seen her stained with paint, but he’s never seen her like this, and it does something to him that he can’t quite explain.
Clarke smirks when she catches his eyes following her, before strolling up to him, head held high.
“You were right,” she says. “I’m sticking around, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t wear whatever I want.” It feels purposeful, and Bellamy’s stomach ties in knots at even that idea of that. He just nods, not trusting his mouth to say the things he wants it to. This just makes her smirk harden. They’re in a room of other people, so she leans down, whispering in his ear, “take a picture, Blake, it’ll last longer.”
As she leaves, he hears her call over one of the kids, for their fortnightly session, but by God Bellamy would be lying if he said he looked away before she disappeared from his sight.
-
Then there’s the day Harper tells him why she’s been acting off for so, so long. It’s a night like it was at the beginning, and he’s sneaking in to flick off the glowing lamp at about one in the morning. The girls are all tucked in, curled up under their duvets. Monroe has the bottom bunk on the right, and even in the light from the hallway, he can’t see her at all apart from the shape of her body. On the top bunk is Raven, her hair spilling over the edge of the bed. On the other top bunk, Fox rolls over in her sleep – she’s always moving, even when unconscious.
Then the bottom bunk, with Harper, who speaks as he turns off the glowing pink light.
“Hi,” she says into the darkness. Bellamy pauses, straightening. He waits a moment before he can hear the shifting of the bed covers and turns, watching her sit up in bed. Half of her face is illuminated, and her skin looks red and patchy. Bellamy frowns.
“Harper?” he whispers. “What are you doing awake?” She doesn’t really reply, so he swallows, creeping over. “You need your sleep, Harp,” he tells her, crouching down by the side of her bed. Up close, her eyes are bloodshot too. Gently, Bellamy cups the side of her face, running his thumb along the red, puffy skin under her eyes.
Harper sniffs, averting her eyes. “Harper?” he asks. “What’s wrong?” She just shakes her head, looking away. There’s a moment of silence, and Bellamy doesn’t know what to do; he doesn’t like seeing her hurt this way, he doesn’t know how to cope with that.
“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?” she questions, her voice almost silent and fragile. Bellamy swallows, slipping his hand down her arm and taking her hand.
“Come on, kiddo,” he tells her. She looks at him curiously, but follows him out into the hallway. Bellamy leads her downstairs quietly, flicking on the light as he goes. He was all ready to go to bed for the night, but this is more important than his sleep. They go into the kitchen, where he turns on the lights and pours her a glass of water.
They sit on stools at the work surface in the middle of the kitchen and Harper takes tiny sips from her glass.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Bellamy says quietly. Harper scrunches up her nose, and takes another sip of water.
“I don’t like school,” she replies.
“Why not? What happens that you don’t like?”
“It’s the people,” Harper says after a pause. “They don’t like me.”
“How do you know that?” She doesn’t look at him, just stares at the glass in her hands. Bellamy places a hand on her back, rubbing in slow circles.
“They’re mean to me,” is all she says. Bellamy swallows. He doesn’t know what to do; he’s never done this before. But this is part of his job, this is what he’s here for. He’s here to love and care for Harper and the kids.
“What do they do?”
Harper carefully places the half empty glass on the worktop and glances over at him. Concern is etched into every crevice of his face, and she doesn’t look at him for long.
“They yell rude things in the hallways, and take my lunch just to throw it at me. They’re rude and mean, and…” Harper trails off, and Bellamy moves to wrap his arms around her. He pulls her into his chest and she stays there for a few seconds before hugging him back.
“How much does this happen?” he asks into her hair. She shakes her head against the crook of his neck.
“Every day.”
If Bellamy were ten years younger and couldn’t lose his rights to work with kids, he would go to her school and beat the shit out of Harper’s bullies. But that’s what got him in trouble when he was a kid; and Bellamy knows that violence isn’t the answer, even if it’s often the route that worked best for him at her age.
Harper pulls away and he finds tears viciously streaming down her face. She tries to wipe them away, but that only makes her sob more. Bellamy’s heart clenches, and he doesn’t even hesitate before pulling her back in for another hug.
“I tried to do what you said,” she tells him through heavy breaths. “I tried to be strong and make it through, but I really hate it, Bell. I really fucking hate it.” Maybe tomorrow Bellamy will tell her that swearing isn’t okay for twelve year olds, but he doesn’t tonight – because sometimes the English language doesn’t convey pain like the word ‘fuck’ does.
“I know,” he sighs. “I know you hate it. And you are strong, Harp – but warriors don’t win every battle, okay? There are some that are just really, really difficult to fight.” She nods into his shoulder, and he rubs soothing circles against her back. “But you know to tell someone if you’re being bullied, Harper, why didn’t you say anything?”
She pulls away, her eyes angry but also so, so tired. “Because I’m a fucking orphan who’s being bullied, Bellamy!” she exclaimed. “What else does a person need to pity me for?”
“Harper,” Bellamy replies gently. He tries to wipe away her tears and she just cries more where the damp patches are left. “Listen to me for a second.” She looks up, so young and innocent, hurt painted across her face and red scratched into her skin. “You are strong, and smart, and beautiful, and an amazing older sister to every kid here. You are so, so loved, Harper. And sometimes people need to ask for help – it’s not something to pity, it just shows that you’re human, and you can’t hold up the sky by yourself.”
“Atlas,” she murmurs, and Bellamy nods. Harper’s been in his care for only two years after having been passed from home to home throughout her life. But he loves mythology, loves telling the stories of the gods to the new kids, to the little kids, to make them feel at home. The older ones often get the story of Atlas; the Titan left to hold up the sky – because Bellamy knows better than anyone how it feels to have that weight on their shoulders.
“Any time you’re having problems, you just have to tell me, okay? I can help you hold the sky if you just let me know when you need me to.” Harper nods, running a hand under her nose. “How about we don’t send you to school tomorrow, and instead we talk to Clarke about this, and we can look at our options, okay?” Harper frowns.
“I have options?”
“Yeah, you do,” he replies. “We can look if you want to change schools – the one Octavia goes to is only ten minutes from yours, and you might like it there. Or we can look at how you can combat the bullying, and what teachers we should be talking to.” Harper seems to brighten, just slightly, at the prospect of changing schools, but Bellamy’s also not sure about it. He wonders if it’s running from her problems, or if it’s just good sense.
But it’s one AM, so it’s not the time to be thinking about this. He cards a hand through her hair, before cupping her cheek.
“You’re going to be okay, Harp,” he promises. “How about we get you to bed? Everything is better after sleep, that’s my number one rule. Then we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“And I don’t have to go in?” There’s so much hope in his eyes, and Bellamy presses a kiss to her forehead – his child.
“You don’t. I’ll call Clarke in the morning, too.” Bellamy walks Harper up to bed and pretends his heart doesn’t break in two when she wraps her arms around him tightly, whispering thank you, before slipping back into her bedroom.
But who is he kidding? His kids break his heart every day.
-
Bellamy spends the next day in his pyjamas with Harper. She’s in the same pyjamas she wore the night before, and they share a blanket on the sofa, watching films until Clarke arrives. When she does, she’s wearing the same oversized jumper she was wearing the night John Murphy was arrested, and she watches them for a moment before joining on the other side of Harper.
They wait until the end of the film to start talking about the matter at hand, but Clarke is very serious about Harper’s wellbeing, and Bellamy catches a glimpse of something familiar in her eyes.
He probably has it in his own at any one time – but it’s a lot like love for Harper, and a lot like wanting to destroy anyone who’d even consider hurting her.
Whilst they’ve been working through their steady friendship – starting from indifference to where they are now – this is moment when their previous conversation flashes in Bellamy’s mind. She’s part of the family, she cares, she’s like the mother of the house; her words in the station, getting them into a better life is my priority, and yours is to love them, and care for them, unconditionally.
Together, we might just have a chance.
-
The day it all ends – all the confusion in Bellamy’s mind, all the questions, the stares where he can’t quite place his emotions – is a Saturday. He’s up early for once, and when Clarke comes in, just before nine AM, she’s in jeans and a blouse, with her bag slung over her shoulder. Bellamy’s in the dining room with a bowl of cereal, and he watches as she spots Fox in her arm chair and goes over to say hello.
She sits down on the sofa, and her face lights up with enthusiasm as she talks to the six year old. Fox smiles back, comfortable and at ease with her social worker – with Clarke, because they’re calling her by her first name, now. Bellamy sits down and watches for a moment, before Clarke glances over and spots him.
She says something to Fox, who nods and waves, before wandering over.
“Morning,” she greets.
“Morning,” he replies with a nod. “Want some breakfast?”
“Already ate,” Clarke says. Bellamy shakes his head, mock disappointed with a smile playing about his lips.
“You do realise you pay for that food, right? When you could eat free food here.” Clarke smiles at him and slips into the seat next him on the bench.
“Wouldn’t want to eat you out of house and home.”
“You’re right,” he agrees. “I already have twenty kids who do that for me.” She still reaches over anyway, taking a sip of his coffee, and it feels friendly, affectionate, even if she wrinkles her nose up at the taste.
“Sugar?” she questions. Bellamy nods. “Not setting a good example.” He raises a single eyebrow.
“Me? Not setting a good example?”
“It’s unhealthy,” is her only defence, and the two smile at each other, shaking their heads. “I should show you some healthy food some time,” she continues, her voice purposeful. Bellamy raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t think I’ve cooked an actual meal in years,” he replies. “Any unhealthy diet I have is down to Miller.” Clarke smiles, fond.
“I’m a good cook,” she says. “I could show you a thing or two sometime.” Bellamy pauses before nodding.
“Yeah,” he smiles. “Yeah you could.” Clarke glances down at his now-empty bowl, and stands up.
“I’ll help you wash up,” she tells him, and takes his mug before he has the chance to protest. She walks purposefully to the kitchen, not even looking back to see if he’s coming along, too. But – Bellamy’s interested. He wants to follow her, so he does and sets the bowl down by the sink. Before he even has a chance to speak – to arrange that dinner because it sounds an awful lot like a date to him (he’s not complaining in the slightest), Clarke tugs on his hand.
As Bellamy turns, his lips crash into Clarke’s, who had surged up to meet them. His eyes are wide with surprise for only a moment, before they gradually shut. Bellamy pushes back into the kiss; melting into it, into her. His hands find purchase on her hips and hers graze up his arms, sending shivers through his body.
He bites down gently on her lower lip, and when she opens, licks into her mouth. He can feel the corners of her lips quirk upwards, but he smothers it, hands roaming, kissing with purpose. Her fingers begin to card through his hair, nails carefully scraping at his scalp and making his breathing heavier than it already was.
Bellamy loses himself in Clarke; his head spins, his thoughts vanish. He’s not sure how they made it to this point but it feels inevitable, it feels right. It’s like the only person who could ever make him feel this way could be Clarke – like she’s perfectly aligned with him.
When they pull apart, it’s slow, chaste kisses against each other’s lips as if they don’t want to cut off the contact just yet. Bellamy’s eyes flutter open, to watch Clarke’s do the same, and he presses his forehead against hers.
“What was that for?” he asks, low, quiet. She smiles.
“Couldn’t resist,” she replies. “I’ve always thought that just going for it is the best way to resolve a crush.” Bellamy’s heart flips at the word crush and he grins.
“I think that’s a good idea,” he says. “I’m all for that.” Clarke nods, pulling away from Bellamy and studying him in the light. It’s quiet, he realises. The world isn’t really awake yet, and they have this moment to themselves; their own little bubble.
“I was serious, about me cooking for you some time,” Clarke tells him. “I know you don’t get much time to yourself, but-“
“But I can get Miller and Monty to cover them,” Bellamy replies immediately. God knows he deserves a little me time – and if he gets the chance, Bellamy’s not going to mind spending his free time with her. Clarke smiles up at him, hands drifting down his arms until she reaches his own hands; much larger and more calloused than her own. They hold each other’s hands for a moment, letting themselves have that contact, before there’s the sound of a crash coming from upstairs.
“I should probably-“ Bellamy sighs, letting their moment be broken.
“I’ll join you,” Clarke says. It’s like a partnership, and from there out – things are easier, with the two of them rather than one.
-
At dinner a month or so later, the bell rings and immediately the sound of footsteps running down the stairs are the only sounds that Bellamy can hear. Children rush to the table; Finn and Raven, holding hands and tugging one another along; Harper sitting down by Monroe; Dax and John Murphy taking over one end of a table with their friends. It’s all very familiar; the smell of food wafting into the dining room, Miller opening the hatch so the food can be served, Clarke finding herself a seat because she’s been staying for dinner more and more often (which only makes his heart jump a little) and on the nights she doesn’t, it’s because he’s at her home instead.
Bellamy quietens them down and looks around the room. Their faces all turn towards him and he smiles because this is his home and his family.
“Is everyone here?” There’s silence for a moment. “Speak if you’re not.” It still gets a giggle – Bellamy will die with that joke coming out of his mouth. His eyes land on Octavia who’s counted the group and sends him a thumbs up.
“So,” he says. “We have a lot to be thankful for tonight. We can be thankful because we have some amazing food to eat, because we have a roof over our heads and fresh water on tap. We’re all alive, we’re all well fed, we’re all in a place with people that care about us.” He sees a couple of smiles around the room and continues. “We have Clarke, here, who’s been working tirelessly to find you all good homes, and has succeeded a lot. We have more room at our table because a few more of you guys have been adopted. And also-“
Bellamy looks over to Monroe, sitting next to Harper. The latter of the two girls is smiling, and she’s such a long shot away from that night where he eyes were red and bloodshot and her sobs (those sounds that will probably haunt him for years to come) racked through her body. She wears the same uniform as Octavia now, and there’s pen on her arm from doodles, and notes in her books from friends.
Next to her, Monroe has her three braids in her hair, made by Bellamy’s hands. She’s smiling up at him, like always, but there’s a sadness on her face – because she knows what’s to come.
“Also, tonight is Zoe Monroe’s last night with us.” The faces in the room turn to her, now. “Monroe, you were the first child here at Blake Orphan Home, almost six years ago, now. You came here when you were three and tiny, and you’ve grown into such an amazing person.” Monroe grins up at him. “Monroe’s been adopted by a great couple – two women named Anya and Lexa Woods – who don’t live too far from here, so she’ll be able to visit and we’ll all definitely see her again. We will all miss you, Monroe.”
The room is silent for a moment, before he claps his hands once. “Alright, let’s eat.”
The food is passed out and Bellamy takes his seat in between Monroe and Clarke. Monroe leans into him at any and all times, and Bellamy helps her with twirling spaghetti around her fork because she still isn’t very good at it. Across from them, Atom talks about his day at school and tries to explain what he learnt in Science. Clarke joins in on the conversation, her knee constantly pressed up against Bellamy’s.
He can’t say he’s not in love with this woman, even though it’s so fast and it’s so scary to let himself feel like that for another person. Even so, Bellamy knows that he feels it inside. He knows that he can love someone who loves him, who loves his kids. He knows that he’d even share that title – if it’s with Clarke. He knows it because he feels it, in his gut, he feels the words ‘our kids’ spilling out of him just for this woman.
Bellamy knows that Clarke doesn’t need him, but she wants him, she loves him, and she keeps him all the same. And he knows, if he’s given the chance, he will be as dedicated to her as he is to every single one of their kids.
Bellamy Blake is pretty damn lucky, indeed.