Chapter Text
173 Weeks Post-Accident/172 Weeks Post-Op
Bellamy rolls onto his back to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock that is ringing way too loudly much too close to his head for such an early time. Clarke makes a noise of protest as she turns onto her side and cuddles against him for warmth. His arm just wraps around her on instinct after years of practiced ease, and she hums happily, pressing a sleepy kiss to the side of his chest.
“Don’t go,” she mumbles tiredly.
“We don’t all get to be big fancy artists with paintings in galleries, Princess. Some of us still have to work on a schedule,” he teases with a kiss to the top of her head.
“I’d like to argue that my schedule is more ruthless than yours,” she says, her words less mumbled as she wakes up. “You get to go home at a certain time, but if my brain decides that it’s got a new idea, I can’t leave the studio until I at least get it started.”
“Your boss isn’t a hardass,” he counters.
She laughs, and the sound still makes his heart soar after more than three years. “Your boss is Markus Kane, so neither is yours.”
He laces the fingers of his left hand through her left, playing with the ring on her fourth finger, smiling at the way the rock shines when light hits it.
“My job bought you this,” he says for the sake of not being the one to end their bickering.
“I would have married you even if you’d proposed with a dandelion stem tied in a loop,” she says, moving to prop herself up on his chest so that she can look down at him.
He smiles up at the woman he loves, watches as she bites her lip before leaning down to kiss him like she did that very first time when she’d just been learning to walk again, almost as if the thought of touching her lips to his still makes her giddy and just a slight bit nervous. His hand slides into her hair to anchor her against him as he seeks new ways to make her melt into him, to make her gasp and forget how to breathe. He succeeds every time, and he’s thrilled at the thought that Clarke is still as amazed with him as he is with her. She tastes incredible, stale morning breath and all, and he would do anything to never have to leave this bed to go to work.
When his alarm sounds again, he’s managed to roll them over so that Clarke is on her back; he pins her hands above her head and smirks at the way her chest rises and falls heavily, catching her breath. She struggles to fight free, but he only laughs, taking both her wrists into one strong hand, and shutting off the alarm clock with the other. When she realizes that she can’t break her arms free, she stretches up to instead press kisses to his shoulder, her teeth skimming over his collarbone in a way that makes him hiss.
“I’m gonna be late if you don’t stop that,” he says through his teeth, fighting against the urge to groan in order to keep his works intelligible.
“Make me stop,” she whispers, her breath feather-light against his skin.
“You’re gonna kill me, woman,” he groans before pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose and rolling to sit and stretch on the edge of the bed.
He feels her crawl up behind him and sit down on her knees before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “You’d like every second of it, though,” she says, nipping at his earlobe.
Fuck, he loves her.
“C’mon babe,” he tries again, but Bellamy knows that he’ll never complain too hard about giving his girl what she wants. “I have to go shower or else I’ll be late for work.”
“Good thing we’re great multi-taskers, then,” she says with a kiss to his shoulder blade that promises more.
“I guess it is a good thing,” he says, quickly looping his arms around her legs and carrying her to the bathroom across the hall on his back.
They’re both laughing when he puts her down in the bathroom, but the sound quickly dies off when Bellamy notices the way his wife is looking at him. He crowds her back against the wall and takes her face between his hands.
“I love you, Clarke,” he says, and he means it with every ounce of his being.
He doesn’t give her a chance to say the words he’s already heard her say a million times before letting his mouth travel down the side of her neck and over her collarbone. She reaches out and turns on the water, the bathroom quickly filling up with steam and something else as Bellamy has her chanting his name like a hymn before they’re even under the shower’s spray.
Clarke’s face is still flushed, her eyes still glazed over from the pleasure when she stands in the kitchen to kiss him goodbye as he finishes pouring his coffee into his travel mug. He brushes a still-damp strand of hair behind her ear, and she leans into his touch. They’ve been married for almost two years, and it still feels like the first time she kissed him. That was in her kitchen. Now, they stand in their kitchen.
He wraps his arm around her waist. “What are your plans for today?”
“I have to finishes those sketches for my proposal for Cage. It’s the stupidest thing. He’s seen my artwork, and he’s the one who asked me to do his commissions, so I don’t see why I have to come up with a proposal for it. I don’t know why he’s all worried that I’m suddenly going to start painting a bunch of dudes with their dicks out.” Clarke grumbles.
Bellamy barks out a laugh. “You know, Michelangelo did that in the Sistine Chapel, and we all still talk about him and how great his art work was.”
She laughs so hard tears pool at the corner of her eyes. “Are you telling me that my proposal for this seven hundred and fifty thousand dollar contract that will basically have us set for … at least a few years in this economy… should be How about you let me make you a bunch of dudes with their dicks out to hang in your three new hotels?”
“Well, it is Cage Wallace, so maybe the sure fire way to seal the deal is to offer to paint life-sized portraits of him instead. Whether or not he has his dick out is up to you.”
She laughs again, and he knows he’ll never get used to the happy sound. “You’re impossible,” she says, swatting at his shoulder.
“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” Bellamy answers with the smirk he knows she has a thing for.
“I do love you,” she says, reaching up to kiss him quickly. “Now go to work. Be safe. I want you in one piece – with no bullet holes – when you get back. I have dicks to go paint.”
“I love you, too,” he says, tightening his grip on her waist. “But say I do get shot at work today, is that really the last kiss you want to give me?”
She assures him that it’s not before wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him down to her in a kiss that makes him want to drag her back to bed.
210 Weeks Post-Accident/209 Weeks Post-Op
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bellamy asked as he watched Clarke fan her face with a flyer they’d just gotten in the mail. The summer heat was getting to her. “I can call in sick and stay home. Kane will understand.”
“I know that Kane will understand, but I’ll be fine, Bell. I have things to do today, and I’m picking Raven, Wells and the kids up at the airport, so they’ll be here to hover over me, and you can all fret about how poor Clarke is doing once you’re home after your shift. Go,” she urges. “I know how much you want that detective promotion. Every good day counts.” She’s right, but his expression must betray his uneasiness to trust her assurances. “Bellamy Blake. I am a grown woman, and I am capable of taking care of myself. Go. To. Work. Besides, if I remember correctly, it was me trying to get you to stay home from work that got us into this mess.”
She punctuates the last statement with a smirk that has him lunging across the table, palms flat on its surface to kiss it slowly and sweetly right off her face. She stands gingerly to meet him halfway and slide her hands over his shoulders.
“I love you,” she says against his mouth. “Now go to work.”
She walks him to the front door, and he turns to face her before leaving. “I love you. Be home at five,” he promises.
He kisses her forehead and turns to leave, but nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels her small hand pinches his ass. She laughs loudly at her sneakiness, but the sound dies the instant he sends her a wicked grin over his shoulder and walks away without another word.
His workday is long, and by half-past ten, the heat in unbearable. Miller has the A/C in their patrol car cranked up to its highest setting, but even that’s not enough to beat the scorching weather that has been plaguing Arkadia for nearly a week now. Drivers are getting antsy and less patient in traffic, older residents are having trouble staying hydrated, and there’s always some drunk idiot making a scene at the beach, so the radio is constantly buzzing with chatter, and if they’re not at a car accident call, they’re the first responders on scene for whatever heatstroke case pops up.
They stop for lunch in the first place they find that has air conditioning, and Miller talks about his upcoming wedding with Monty in September, running Bellamy through all the things he’ll have to do before then, like he does every day. Bellamy, for his part, can’t focus as he tries to text Clarke.
[Bellamy Blake] 12:16 PM
How are you feeling?
[Bellamy Blake] 12:18 PM
Come on, Clarke
I’ve been carting off sick people all day
Can you at least just let me know that you’re not passed out somewhere?
[Bellamy Blake] 12:22 PM
Clarke Blake, answer your phone before I have a heart attack
[Wifey <3] 12:25 PM
I was driving!
I’m sorry!
I’m fine, I promise xox
Just waiting for Rae’s plane to land
You worry too much
[Bellamy Blake] 12:25 PM
I love you too much
[Wifey <3] 12:26 PM
Not possible
[Bellamy Blake] 12:26 PM
You’re right
[Wifey <3] 12:28 PM
Flight lands in two minutes!
Go save the world, officer Blake
Come home to me <3
[Bellamy Blake] 12:28 PM
I always do <3
[Wifey <3] 12:29 PM
Love you! xxx
[Bellamy Blake] 12:30 PM
Love you more!
It’s another three hours of mindless calls in the afternoon, and Bellamy’s vest feels too tight and is rubbing him in all the wrong places. He’s sweat off at least five pounds on this shift alone. Miller is asking him a question about the meeting they had on Wednesday morning when a call comes through the radio that makes his heart stop.
“Ambo 28, person down; unknown causes,” the dispatcher says. “328 Tondc Avenue.”
He doesn’t even have time to say anything about the fact that it’s his address that they just called before Miller has the lights and sirens on, and he’s pulling a U-turn to take them across town. Bellamy swears.
“She’s gonna be fine, man,” Miller promises.
“You don’t know that,” Bellamy says.
“Blake, you legitimately met your wife because she got hit by a car. She’s strong enough to handle this.”
“Just shut up and drive faster, Miller.”
His phone rings and vibrates against his thigh. He pulls it out without even checking the display. “Blake,” he barks into the phone.
“Well hello to you, too,” Raven says. She’s about to add more when he can hear Clarke scream in pain, distant through the phone.
Bellamy swears again. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“Looks like we got here just in time,” Raven says.
“Why’d you call an ambulance? What’s wrong?”
“Well, this might be happening faster than planned, so we thought we’d beat the afternoon traffic.”
“Jesus Christ, Raven.”
“Just meet us at the hospital, Blake. Ambulance’s here.”
“Put Clarke on the phone?”
“She’s pretty pissed at you right now –”
“Tell Bellamy that he’s an asshole, and I hate him!” Clarke’s distant voice shouts.
“Yeah,” Raven drawls. “She’ll be fine, Blake. I’ll make sure she’s okay until you get here.”
“I might actually beat you there,” Bellamy says.
“Great. We’re on our way now. Wells is just calling your sister and Lincoln, and he’ll follow us in Clarke’s car with her things.”
Clarke shouts something intelligible in the background again, and he chuckles. She never changes.
210 Weeks Post-Accident/209 Weeks Post-Op/1 Hour Post Baby Blake
“She’s perfect,” Bellamy says in wonder looking down at the tiny little life Clarke holds in her arms. She already has wisps of blonde curls and tiny, nearly invisible freckles over her nose. Her pale cheeks are flush.
“You said that already,” his wife says quietly, her eyes look on the newborn.
“You’re perfect,” he says, brushing away the flyaway hairs that are still plastered to her forehead with sweat.
She tilts her head up to look at him. “We have a baby,” she says, and the glow in her eyes coupled with the smile on her face light up the entire maternity ward.
Bellamy leans down to press a kiss to the infant’s soft forehead. “And she’s beautiful.” He thought he couldn’t love someone more than he loves Clarke, but looking at this tiny little thing, he realizes that he does. And it’s not that he loves Clarke less now, but like his heart has expanded to hold all the love he carries for this precious human being.
“What are we going to name her?” Clarke asks.
“You pick. You did all the work. All I did was get awesome sex and then hear you complain for eight and a half months.” He laughs, and Clarke glares at him.
“Don’t wake her up. And don’t you think I wouldn’t smack you if I wasn’t holding my daughter,” Clarke says, but her words hold no malice as she smiles down at her baby.
“I’m sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around his little family. “But I want you to pick. I’ll love her no matter what. As long as her name isn’t something weird like Clarke,” he teases because he’s so giddy he can’t help himself.
“I hate you, Bellamy Blake,” she says.
“No, you don’t,” he says with a smile.
“No, I don’t.”
He kisses her and tries to convey the intense amount of love he has for this woman who tumbled into his life completely by accident and left him so much happier than he’d ever imagined he could be.
“Can you go get Wells and Octavia?” Clarke asks.
“Sure,” he says, and he ducks out into the waiting room to call their two friends in.
When the three of them are surrounding Clarke and the baby, Clarke reaches out to take Bellamy’s hand.
“I wanted the two of you to be here when we named your goddaughter,” Clarke says, and Bellamy squeezes her hand in happiness as he watches his little sister’s face light up.
“Clarke,” Octavia breathes.
“What’s her name?” Wells asks, equally fond.
“Say hello to Aurora Athena Blake,” Clarke says. “Rory.”
Bellamy’s heart does this sort of flutter where he thinks it’ll wind up in his throat, because of course Clarke would pick those names. He can’t stop himself from kissing her before Octavia comes over, tears rolling down her face. He watches as his sister hugs Clarke and the baby, and then Wells does the same.
“Do you want to hold her?” Clarke offers Octavia.
Octavia smiles and holds her arms out to take the baby. “Look at my little niece,” Octavia coos. “Look at how beautiful you are.”
“Look at how beautiful our daughter is,” Bellamy says to Clarke.
“I love you so much,” Clarke says to him.
“I love you more.”