Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bellamy doesn't mean to find out about Miss Griffin and Mr. Collins. As far as he's concerned, what his fellow teachers do in their own time is their own business. Not that he dislikes them--or, rather, he doesn't dislike Miss Griffin--but he has friends of his own, a life of his own, and he's never relied much on work for these things. He'll go to the pub with them every other week or so, smile and nod if he passes them on the street, but he doesn't keep up with the complicated web of personal relationships, who's courting whom, who's about to get married, who's having a child. For the most part, he'd rather not know.

But he does like Miss Griffin, so when he hears her hissed, coiled rage as she speaks to someone, he stops without thinking, wanting to make sure she's all right, that she doesn't need any help.

It doesn't seem like such a huge thing.

"You fucking knew what you were doing," she's saying, "don't act like you didn't. If you'd thought this was fine, then you would have told me about it before I said--"

"I was almost a child myself when I married her, Clarke." He recognizes not only Mr. Collins' voice, but his tone, this helpless confusion that rankles him. "I don't love her. Not like--"

"It doesn't matter if you love her," Miss Griffin snaps. "I don't care how you feel, Finn, I care that you didn't tell me that you were married, and you fucked me, and now I'm going to have to deal with that for the rest of my fucking life. You don't get to act like this is about your being hurt."

"It does--Clarke, I want to marry you. I want to be this child's father."

"And what good does that do me?" The rage is gone from her voice, but it hasn't been replaced by heartbreak or hurt. She's cool, detached, and calm, and Bellamy isn't surprised when Mr. Collins doesn't have a response. "That's what I thought. I knew what I was doing. I knew the risks. But I thought if the worst happened and a baby came, we'd deal with it together. But we're done. Whatever we had--this is over."

"Clarke--"

"We're through, Finn."

The sound of the door startles Bellamy, and he realizes guiltily that he was eavesdropping on a conversation that was absolutely and inescapably not his business. A conversation he never should have known about, a conversation Miss Griffin won't thank him for overhearing.

Before today, he wouldn't have even been able to come up with her Christian name, and now he knows that she thought Mr. Collins was going to marry her, and he won't. Couldn't, even if he wanted to, as he claims he does.

It's none of his business. It's not even in the remote realm of his business. But he knows how illegitimate children are looked on. His mother had been a respectable woman, until her employer discovered her pregnancy, and suddenly she was a whore whose husband had died too long ago to have fathered her child. She'd been laid off from her job, they'd been evicted from their home, and they'd ended up moving to a new city, somewhere no one knew them, and his mother had lied about a different husband who was lost at sea.

He'd been young, ten years old, only, but the memories are jagged in his mind. He remembers the feeling of eyes on him all the time, people telling him that his mother was a whore, a sinner, an unclean woman. His knuckles sting with the phantom memory of ripping on another boy's teeth at school, and he shakes his hand out.

Miss Griffin hasn't seen him. She doesn't know, and there's a part of him that thinks it would be kinder, to never mention it. To pretend ignorance and let her deal with the problem on her own.

She can still do that, though. If she doesn't want his input, she can tell him to fuck off too. He's confident she will.

He doesn't catch up to her right away; instead, he checks to make sure no one else seems to have been in the vicinity, which they were not, and then returns to his classroom for the afternoon classes. It's Friday, so there's a full weekend ahead of them, and while there's no good way to tell someone you're aware they're burdened with an unwanted and illegitimate pregnancy, he thinks this is the most considerate path he can take. If she doesn't wish him to know, then on Monday, he'll pretend he won't, as best he can.

Unfortunately, he is going to worry about her. That much he can't help.

Bellamy teaches history, while Miss Griffin does art, so their rooms aren't very close together. But he's able to leave promptly after the last bell and, as he hoped, when he arrives she's still there and alone.

Now all he has to do is figure out what to say to her.

She looks up when he knocks on the frame of her open door, gives him a polite if somewhat distant smile. "Mr. Blake. How can I help you?"

He worries his lip. "May I come in?"

"Of course."

He steps in and closes the door behind him, watching her carefully. "There's no good way to say this," he admits, careful, "but I overheard you talking to Mr. Collins at lunch." He can see her tense, see the way her shoulders stiffen and her jaw sets, and he goes on before she can reply, "I wanted to ask if you needed anything."

She falters, confusion clouding her face. "If I needed anything?"

Her classroom is all easels and chairs, and he grabs one close to her desk to sit in. "My father died when I was four, and my mother never remarried, but I was eleven when my sister was born. She'd been planning to hide the pregnancy and keep the baby a secret until she was a year or two old, pretend she was a niece whose parents passed away. But she was found out before O was born. We managed to stay for two months before it got so bad she couldn't handle it. We moved away and she claimed she was much more recently widowed than it was." He shrugs, awkward. "It's a relatively happy ending, but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone."

It's the wrong conclusion to draw, because she snaps, "Thank you, Mr. Blake, I had no idea I'd made a mistake."

He rubs his face. "Fuck, that's not what I meant. I just--I know the next few months may be difficult for you. And I know that it's hard to--if you need someone to talk to, I won't judge you. If you want advice, I'll give it. And if you'd like me to act like I didn't hear anything and go on as if I know nothing, I will." He rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward. "This was the best I could do for a speech."

To his profound relief, her mouth tugs up in a small smile. "Did you rehearse it? The speech."

"Not out loud. I thought you wouldn't thank me if any students overheard."

"No." She lets out a long breath. "I knew I shouldn't have spoken to him here, but--"

When she doesn't continue, he prompts, "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't willing to listen. If you'd like someone to talk to, I'm at your service, Miss Griffin."

She seems to be thinking it over, weighing her options carefully. "I would like that. But I should learn my lesson, and talk to you somewhere else."

He nods. "If you're willing, my house would be best for me. I need to make dinner before my sister comes home."

For another second, she hesitates, and then she smiles. "If you didn't want me to say yes, you wouldn't be offering."

"I could have very easily avoided this conversation if I wanted to," he agrees. "You're welcome to come. You can ever stay for dinner, if you'd like."

"Your sister would be--" She seems to be trying to figure something out in her head. "Sixteen?"

He nods. "At school herself, but not here. She said she'd rather not have to listen to other students talk about me."

"Oh?"

She has her things gathered, so he holds the door open for her. "The way she saw it, there were two possibilities: I'd be unpopular, and she'd get in fights with students who disliked me, or I'd be popular, and she'd get in fights with students who like me too much."

The statement feels boastful as soon as he's said it, but Miss Griffin just smiles. "I probably wouldn't want to go to school where my brother taught either."

"She works at a shop after school, so we'll have a few hours' privacy before she comes back."

Bellamy and his sister still live in the same house their mother moved to after the scandal with his sister, a small, cozy place that he's come to think of as a home. He wouldn't mind leaving someday, if he marries, perhaps, but only if he has some children, wants a little more space. For now, it's nice.

Miss Griffin smiles as he holds the front door open for her, looks around with interest at the furniture and photographs as he shrugs off his own coat and takes hers to hang.

"I'd offer you a tour, but there's not much to see. The den here, the bedrooms upstairs, and the kitchen. Would you like tea?"

"Always," she says. "Thank you."

"You can come sit in the kitchen," he says. "I might even have biscuits."

She's quiet as he fills the kettle, roots around the cupboards for something more to offer. It's not until he's sitting across from her and she has a mug of tea in her hands that she says, "I might as well start at the beginning."

"Might as well."

She nods once, to herself. "I won't say it was stupid," she says. "Naive, perhaps, but--I didn't have any reason to think he was married. He was charming, and I thought he was courting me. As to the morality of sleeping with him before marriage--that doesn't bother me. I wanted to, and I took the precautions I could."

"I'd be a hypocrite if I objected," he says, when it seems as if she wants a response. "I'm not married, but I'm no virgin."

"We hadn't been--it was only once," she says, sounding bitter. "I wasn't any virgin either, but this was the time--" She shakes her head. "He told me the next day it was a mistake, that we should wait to do it again. I'd thought he was just--hung up about it, but I didn't think much of it. But--when I found out about the baby, I had ever reason to think he'd do the right thing. I was--" Her voice catches. "Honestly, I was a little excited. I hadn't thought about a family, but it wasn't the worst news. It's not how I would have chosen to do it, of course, but--I didn't mind. So I told him last week, and he told me he already had a wife and he had been trying to figure out how to tell me. Apparently he was wracked with guilt for misleading me."

"How awful that must have been for him," Bellamy remarks, and to his relief, she laughs, softly.

"Yes. Obviously, I felt terrible for him. What a burden it must have been for him to lie to me me about his marital status." She huffs. "He tried to tell me he'd leave her, and I told him I wouldn't have him if he did. I refused to speak to him, and this afternoon, he cornered me. One last attempt to make himself feel better."

"I never liked him much," says Bellamy, and Miss Griffin snorts.

"Lucky you," she says. But she continues before he can apologize, "It's not as if he's--I don't know. Maybe I just want to make myself feel better about losing him. Maybe I really did love him. But I thought--I was happy about the baby, and babies aren't good news without husbands."

"No, they aren't." He wets his lips. "I am sorry. What are you going to do?"

She rubs her face. "Try to make it through the last few months of the school year. And then I'll probably go home, tell my mother, and let her find a husband for me."

"Your mother?"

"It's not my first choice. But--I like it here. It's early enough that if I can find a marriage over the summer and take some time off for the pregnancy, it won't be obvious that I--"

"Fuck," he says, and she laughs.

"Yes, exactly," she teases. "It won't be obvious that I fucked."

He ducks his head. "That was obviously exactly what I meant." He clears his throat. "It's just--it's awful that you're going through this, and Mr. Collins is going to get away with it. He can just do this, and--"

"I would like to tell his wife. But if I do, she might just make trouble for me." Her smile is bitter. "I'd appreciate knowing, but some would--"

"I know," he says. "Maybe once you--if you find a husband willing to claim you, then you're safer. And I do realize how awful that sounds."

"I appreciate your saying it." She's smiling, and it seems genuine. "I wasn't sure I'd have anyone to talk to about it without, well. My mother will help, but she won't be thrilled about it. Not that she should be, it's a mess and not--"

"I know what you mean. As I said, I'm happy to listen. I know it's hard to find people who will."

"What happened to your mother?" she asks, looking thoughtful.

"Nothing to do with the pregnancy, if you're worried. She got sick a few years back, and we didn't catch it in time, so--the doctors couldn't do anything." He shrugs. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Just death."

"I'm sorry," she says. "The same thing happened to my father. We thought he'd just caught a cold, and suddenly--"

He nods. "That's how it happens, sometimes."

They lapse into silence, Miss Griffin sipping her tea, Bellamy trying not to watch her. She doesn't seem like the kind of person who likes hovering or fretting; she came to speak with him because she needed to talk, but if she's done talking about her circumstances, he doubts she wants more sympathy.

"Is Myles Franklin in your class?" he finally asks.

She blinks, clearly taken aback. "He is, yes."

"So, what kind of art does he do? His history papers are a nightmare, so I figure he's either a misunderstood artist or just very strange."

Her laugh is soft, quiet enough it does feel a little like he might have imagined it. She doesn't laugh much that he's seen; he'd like it if she did it more.

"Those two often go hand-in-hand," she points out. "But not for him. Apparently he's no better at art than he is at history."

"English, maybe. I could see him having a secret talent for poetry."

"And you're sure he has a secret talent for something?"

"Doesn't everyone?" he asks. "We just have to find it. That's what teachers do."

Her smile is soft too. She's softer than he would have expected, alone. She's serious at school, stern and responsible, which is nice too, but--he's happy to be someone she can relax around.

"I suppose it is. What do you think of Charlotte Morgan?"

Conversing about students turns into conversing about educational theory, about teachers they had themselves, and Bellamy doesn't even realize how much time has passed until he hears Octavia call, "I'm home! Who's here?"

He's grateful he put the roast into the oven before he got distracted; it at least won't be obvious he forgot all about his responsibilities.

"A friend of mine, Miss Griffin!" he calls back. "The art teacher at Arcadia. My sister," he adds, to Miss Griffin.

"I couldn't tell," she teases, and he grins.

"You have another friend? When did that happen?" She sticks her head into the kitchen, flashing them both a smile. "Hello, Miss Griffin. I'm Octavia. I just need to get changed. What are you making, Bell?"

"I'm roasting that shoulder of beef I got the other day, so you'd better be ready to eat it for a while."

"It smells good," she says. "I won't start complaining about how I'm tired of it for at least two days."

"I want that in writing."

She rolls her eyes and disappears into the house, leaving Miss Griffin to shift nervously at the table. When she catches Bellamy's eye, she smiles. "I should go."

"Or you can have dinner with us, like I said. There's plenty, and you're welcome. I can walk you home after."

"I'm not sure the most prudent thing for me right now would be to be seen walking with an unmarried man."

"Beats a married one," he says without thinking, but luckily she laughs.

"When you put it like that."

He pitches his voice low. "If you want to go, of course you can. I'll take you home now. But you might as well let me feed you first. You'll be saving Octavia from a few more rounds of roast beef for lunch."

"You know you don't need to take care of me, don't you?" she asks, sounding more curious than anything. "Just because I'm--"

"I know. But while you're here, I might as well."

She bites her lip, smiling. "Then--I'd love to stay to dinner. Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome. It's going to be really good," he adds. "I wouldn't have wanted you to miss out."

"No," she agrees. "We can't have that."

*

If he's honest, the idea of marrying her himself is probably in his mind from that first night, walking her home in the last lingering traces of twilight. It's easy to imagine how they'd look, once she's mentioned it, a happy young couple on their way back from a nice dinner. It feels believable, and it's not even quite a conscious thought, but he's sure it originated there.

It's an idea that percolates. An idea he pretends he's not having, even within his own head, because it feels rude. Clarke doesn't seem to want or need saving--in fact, since the first night, they haven't discussed her situation at all--and she seems confident she'll be able to take care of it herself. And he's sure she will be able to, but he can't help worrying, just a little. He knows there are any number of reasons his mother never remarried, but finding a man who wanted to raise someone else's children was hard for her, too.

All of which is stupid, because none of this is his problem to solve. But he's found he likes Clarke. They've been talking more at school, walking home together sometimes. She's bright and engaging and good company, and they have similar values and senses of humor.

The truth is that if she wasn't pregnant, he'd probably be trying to court her in earnest, and it's an odd, guilty thing to think. As if his asking her if she'd like to marry him would be taking advantage, like it would be selfish.

"It's always better to have more options than fewer, right?" he asks Miller. It's only been a week, but he needs advice, and Miller is the person he's sure won't tell. Miller knows how to keep his mouth shut, especially when it comes to romance.

"Probably," says Miller. "But you might as well ask me what you really want to ask, instead of talking around it with inane rhetorical questions."

It's about what he expected, but still a valid point, and he rubs his hand over his face, letting out a long breath. "One of the other teachers at school is pregnant. The father is married, and she didn't know. I found out by accident, and I told her, because--well, you know that's not something that bothers me. I thought she could use someone to talk to."

"And?"

"And I want to offer to marry her," he admits.

There's a pause, and then he says, "Look, I know you, I know how you are. I get that you want to take care of everyone. But that's a whole fucking lot to do for someone."

Bellamy frowns. "You think that's why I shouldn't do it?"

"Why else wouldn't you?"

"I don't want to make her uncomfortable," he admits. "Or--she's stressed already. This is supposed to help, but I'm not sure it will."

"It's not your job to fix it."

"I never said it was. But she needs to get married, or she's going to get fired when the school finds out. I wouldn't mind marrying her. So why wouldn't I offer?"

Miller considers. "What happens if she says yes?"

"We get married."

"Exactly. Do you really want that? This isn't like giving her some cash to help out. This is the rest of your life."

"You know divorce exists, don't you? We could get married, stay together for a few years, and once it's as proper as it can be, get divorced."

"And you want to do that?"

It's a valid question that still feels unfair. Want implies that that's his goal.

"It's not as if we couldn't keep the marriage, if it worked out," he says, and Miller groans.

"You like her."

"I like her," Bellamy agrees. "I'm not claiming I don't. But I wouldn't be thinking about marrying her if she didn't have the baby coming."

Miller considers him. "So, what are you asking me, exactly? You want my blessing?"

He puts his head down on Miller's table. "Fuck, I don't know. I want you to tell me that if you were her, you'd feel more grateful for the offer than upset by it."

"I think if you're going to do this, you should be honest with her."

"Seems like it'll probably end up happening," says Bellamy. He's not much of a liar, if he's honest. He's never had the talent for it. "I just don't know if I should say it at all."

"What's the worst that's going to happen?"

"She can talk to me now. I don't want her to lose that."

"I think you're probably safe," says Miller. "Just be as nervous as you are now when you talk to her and she'll get that you're just trying to help."

"Thanks."

"Tell her that you like her," he says, surprisingly gentle.

"You think so?"

"Otherwise there's nothing in it for you. It's suspicious. I wouldn't marry some random guy who just said he wanted to help me."

"Yeah, well, you're a suspicious asshole."

"You know I'm right."

"I'll figure it out," he says. "Thanks."

"Good luck. You better invite me to your wedding."

"Don't worry," he says, slinging his arm around Miller's shoulders. "You know you're my best man."

*

As it turns out, proposing to marry someone isn't as easy as he hoped it would be. He'd always hoped he would marry some day, but he'd assumed that it would be in its proper context: after a courtship, because he loved the woman. When the marriage is the courtship, it feels more complicated.

It's two weeks before the end of the school year when Miss Griffin shows up on his doorstep unannounced, and he suddenly wishes he'd figured out how to propose sooner.

"Miss Griffin," he says. "To what do I--" He gets a good look at her face for the first time and stops dead. "What's wrong?"

"My landlady discovered I had prenatal vitamins. I tried to talk my way around it, but she didn't believe me that I was just thinking about pregnancy, since I'm not engaged or courting, so--"

"Come in," he says. "Did she--"

"I no longer have a home," she says, with a sigh. "And I'm sure she'll contact the school, so soon I'll no longer have a job."

"What if you were married?" he asks.

"I'm sure it would do some good, but I didn't have a good story for the landlady, and--" She huffs. "Even if I were to marry, that would take time."

"Marry me," he offers, and she freezes.

"Mr. Blake--"

"We can do it as soon as possible, tell people it's been a few months but we wanted to keep it quiet until the school year ended. It seemed like it might cause a scandal. If anyone asks to see the marriage license it might be a problem, but I'm sure there's someone who--"

"Mr. Blake," she says, more firmly. "You can't."

"It probably wouldn't be that hard."

"That's not what I meant," she says. "You can't marry me."

"Why not?"

She huffs. "Because it's not your responsibility to--"

"I know," he says. "I never said it was. You're not asking. I'm offering. I'll marry you."

"And you know I can't accept."

"Why not?"

"It's not fair to you. It's my problem and--"

"I like you," he says. "I know we haven't been--we don't know each other very well. But I always liked you before, and I like you more now. I don't want you to leave, I don't want your life to be destroyed. I can help. And if it doesn't work out, we'll get divorced in a few years. Once there's no danger of scandal."

"Divorce isn't exactly without scandal." But she's worrying her lip, thinking it over. "What do you mean when you say if it doesn't work out?"

He makes himself be casual, shrugging one shoulder and inclining his head. "I don't think it's out of the question the marriage could turn out well, do you? I'm not ruling that out yet."

He can see her wavering. She looks exhausted, and he's sure that all this, on top of the pregnancy, is causing her no end of stress.

"Clarke," he says, trying out her name for the first time. She looks up, and he smiles. "You don't have to say yes. But don't say no just because you don't want to take advantage of me. It was my idea."

Her mouth tugs up a little. "You say that like I haven't been thinking that's my best solution for weeks."

It makes sense, of course, but it still stops his heart for a second. "You didn't tell me that," he says, when he recovers enough to speak. "So unless you're trying to claim you're influencing me in my dreams, I don't know how you'd be responsible for the proposal."

"No, I'm not." She exhales. "You don't really think anyone would believe we were secretly married months ago, do you?"

He shrugs. "If we come up with a good enough story, they might. And even if they--" He sighs. "I'm not going to say there won't be rumors, and I'm sure they'll be worse for you. But I think it will be better than the alternative."

"And we can always divorce," she says. "But--it's years of your life."

"And yours. And don't tell me it's your problem. You don't deserve to have your life ruined by this either. You didn't do anything wrong, and none of this is fair." She's watching him, and he realizes his voice had risen, that he's actually upset, and he reins in his feelings. "So--do you want me to get down on one knee?"

She laughs. "No, I don't. But I want you to tell me your first name. If we're going to get married."

It makes him laugh too, the relief of it as much as the question itself. "It's Bellamy," he says. "Bellamy Blake."

"I can't thank you enough, Bellamy Blake."

"You can," he says. "You can stop thanking me any time. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?"

She nods. "I dropped my things in a boarding house for the night. I just--needed someone to talk to."

"I'm glad I could help. Do you want to stay? Have some tea? Or something stronger?"

"It's tempting, but--I should go."

"I think I can get the paperwork for a wedding by the end of the weekend. When do you want to say we got married?"

"You can get a fake wedding together that quickly?"

"Real wedding. Fake marriage certificate. Or at least fake dates. I know a guy."

"You know a guy," she repeats, but she's smiling. If he's honest, she looks more relaxed than she has in weeks, since the pregnancy, and he can't help feeling a little responsible. He is helping.

"Usually it's not something I brag about, but it should help. And my best friend said he'd be our witness."

She cocks her head. "When?"

"When what?"

"Did he say he'd witness?"

Bellamy feels the heat rush up his neck. "A few weeks ago, when I was asking him if I should offer. I was trying to work out how to do it."

"Thank you," she says.

Impulsively, he reaches down to squeeze her hand. "I'll see you tomorrow. You can be living here by tomorrow night. Respectably."

"I assume you'll be explaining to your sister."

He has to smile. "Honestly, I think she's going to figure it out."

*

"You got a girl pregnant?" Octavia asks. She does not sound at all convinced.

Bellamy considers, but he knows O won't tell anyone. "No,someone else got her pregnant. I'm marrying her."

"Why isn't he marrying her?"

"Because he's an asshole who's already married to someone else. So I'm going to marry her instead."

"I knew something was up with her," she says. "You don't just have friends over. You don't have friends."

"I have friends."

"You have Miller and a fiancee. Where's she going to sleep?"

"My bed, until we get her one of her own. And you don't have to share a room with the baby, don't worry."

"That's not really what I'm worried about," she says. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure," he says, without hesitation. "I'm happy, honestly. I like Clarke. I'm glad I can help her out."

"This isn't helping, Bell. I don't know what it is, but there should be a new word for it."

"Getting married," he says. "Do you want to come to the wedding?"

"Not if you paid me. But have fun, I guess. Congratulations. If there's cake, I want some."

"That's what I figured." He gives her a hug around the shoulders. "See you when I'm married."

He's meeting Clarke and walking her over to the courthouse for the ceremony, mostly because he'll admit it's not the best courthouse. Which is an advantage right now.

Bellamy has always assumed that John Murphy became a justice of the peace primarily because it made more sense to be a certified con artist than an uncertified one. Or he's just shitty at forgery, so he decided he was better off doing it the legal way. In any case, Bellamy knows that if he needs to massage the law, Murphy will enable that.

Clarke is waiting for him at her new boarding house, wearing a bright dress, nothing like a wedding dress, but still festive, different from her more conservative work dresses.

He has to smile, offer his arm. "So, everything's going to be on the level. The only thing that's not is the date on the marriage certificate."

"And we were waiting to tell people until after the end of the school year, to reduce gossip."

"It seemed like the best way to handle it but in retrospect we should have been honest from the beginning," he says, waving his hand. "Or at least told the administration. But hindsight is twenty-twenty."

"I still might get laid off," Clarke points out.

"I know. But I hope you don't. And if you do, I'll help you figure it out."

She pauses, jaw working. "I was going to say you didn't have to, but I don't know why I'd bother. You know you don't have to help. But I appreciate that you're doing it anyway."

It makes him smile. "In that case, you're welcome. Ready to get married?"

She takes his arm, her smile only a little weak. "As I'll ever be."

Miller's already waiting for them inside, stands at the sight of them. He and Clarke take each other in carefully, wary, and he hides his own smile. They'll probably get along pretty well, once they get used to each other. They can both think he's a little ridiculous.

"Clarke, this is my best friend, Nathan Miller. Miller, this is Miss Clarke Griffin, she teaches art with me."

"And we've known each other for a few months."

"I assume you bonded over making fun of me."

"Isn't that how all your friends bond?" Miller asks.

"According to my sister, I don't have friends except for you," he says. "So you tell me."

The ceremony itself is quick. Murphy greets them with, "Congrats on the baby," and Clarke tenses. He rolls his eyes. "Relax, I'm not telling anyone. You think you're the first couple who wants to fudge the marriage date? We all know why."

It seems to relax her, and Bellamy finds himself in the disconcerting position of being thankful for Murphy. It's never happened before, and he hopes it never happens again, but for now, it's nice. The more people who know the truth and don't hold it against her, the better.

They sign the paperwork, Murphy performs a quick ceremony, mostly because Bellamy's pretty sure Murphy likes performing the ceremonies, and then he tells them to kiss.

"Seriously?" Bellamy asks.

"Sorry, do you not want to kiss your wife? That's a bad sign for the rest of your marriage."

Bellamy looks at Clarke, and she just smiles, so he leans in and presses his mouth against hers. It's quick and dry and nothing special but it is, well, nice. Her mouth is warm and she's smiling, and that's all he really needs.

"Okay," says Murphy. "You're married. For the last three months. Have fun with that."

The whole thing only takes about ten minutes, and then he, Clarke, and Miller are outside, a slightly awkward group who don't know where to go next.

"You want to come over for dinner?" Bellamy offers Miller.

"Monty and I have plans." He arranges his face into a smile, offers his hand to Clarke. "Congratulations," he says, once she takes it. "Good luck with Bellamy."

"Yeah," she says. "I'll need it."

Once he's gone, Bellamy offers her a smile, hands stuffed into his pockets. "So, we can go pick up your things, if you want. I assume we can take them, between the two of us."

"I think so, yes. You aren't worried about this," she observes, giving him a shrewd look.

He starts walking. "Which part of it?"

"Any of it."

"I'm worried about all sorts of things. But I don't know which are going to happen, so I'll keep my anxiety to myself until then. Unless you want to talk about something."

"Your neighbors."

"Will be nosy. But we work together, so we can explain that's how we met, and they probably won't ask more questions."

"There's always talk with early pregnancies."

"But they keep happening. You know there's going to be talk," he adds, gentle. "I don't know what you want me to tell you, Clarke. We've talked all of this through. I think this is the best way to deal with your situation, but it's never going to be easy. But once we get through the first few weeks, that should blow over, and we just have to be parents."

"And you're planning to be a parent."

"For as long as you want me to be. I'm your husband, this is my child. That's how it works."

"Just like that?"

Her voice is amused, so he lets himself smile too. "Sorry, what did you think was going to happen when we got married?"

At that, she laughs outright. "Honestly, I had no idea."

"I guess that makes sense. We'll find out, right?"

"Yes," she agrees. "I suppose we will."

*

It honestly doesn't go as badly as Bellamy worried it might. The two of them go in on Monday morning, before Clarke's landlady has had time to spread any rumors she might be planning to spread, and speak with the principal. Clarke explains that they married earlier in the year but had thought it was best to wait to announce it until the summer break. When her landlady found out, she had been evicted, and it seemed easier to simply move in with Bellamy than to bring the marriage license to get her room back. Mr. Kane congratulates them and says he appreciated their discretion and desire for privacy, and wishes them happiness. His neighbors approach her one-by-one over the next few days, but the story is apparently fairly believable, and they also offer congratulations. For the first few days, Clarke is clearly hesitant about spending too much time at the house, staying at school late, spending time with friends, not returning until after dinner. But she shares Bellamy's bed, and they work together, so it only makes sense for them to go to school together, and that gets her used to him. By the last week of school, when he stops by her room to ask if she's going home, she joins him, and it feels like a major step forward.

He's on his way to pick her up, in fact, when he gets his first accusation that the marriage isn't real, and it comes from Mr. Collins which is, honestly, fucking rich.

"Mr. Blake," he says. "Do you have a minute?"

Bellamy doesn't think he's ever had a conversation with Mr. Collins, and it's a streak he wouldn't mind continuing. "I'm supposed to meet my wife," he says. He's not above rubbing salt in self-inflicted wounds. not when it's deserved.

"Just a minute," he says, between clenched teeth.

Bellamy shrugs. "If you'd like."

Mr. Collins jerks his head toward an empty classroom, and Bellamy goes in and lets Mr. Collins close the door behind them. It was his idea to have the conversation, so Bellamy considers it his responsibility to start it, and for a while, they just sit in stand in silence.

Finally, Mr. Collins says, "You married Clarke."

"No one else was doing it."

He knows Clarke and Mr. Collins had a conversation about the marriage themselves. As Clarke presented it, the conversation was as expected, Mr. Collins shocked and somewhat scandalized that she'd married, and Clarke refusing to give an inch. It had been short and mostly just annoyed her, and Bellamy had agreed that the man sounded like an ass.

In a way, he's excited to get his own encounter. He has some words he's been saving for Finn Collins.

"I would hate to see you take advantage of her situation," Mr. Collins finally says, and Bellamy nearly chokes.

"You're afraid of my taking advantage of her?" he asks.

"Clarke is a woman in a difficult position--"

As a young man, Bellamy had an admittedly quick temper. He carried around a lot of anger about all the responsibilities he had that his friends didn't, all the things he didn't really want to do. It was easy to be angry about the injustice of it, and to take that anger out on others. But he got older and, largely, got a handle on his feelings.

Mr. Collins is trying his patience, though.

"If Clarke's in a difficult position, it's because you put her there," he snaps. "You don't get to worry about her now. It's none of your business what either of us does."

His eyes widen in shock, and Bellamy wonders somewhat absently if Mr. Collins didn't realize that Bellamy knew what had happened between them. If he thought Clarke had proposed the marriage herself, without sharing the identity of her baby's husband, or if he thought Bellamy had found out about it through some other means and Clarke had righteously refused to name him.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he adds, when Mr. Collins can only gape. "My wife, as I said, is waiting for me."

It's about how expects Clarke's conversation with Mr. Collins went, so he doesn't feel so bad for it, except that Clarke might not have wanted Mr. Collins to know that Bellamy knew he was involved. In which case he'll apologize to her and cite Mr. Collin's incredible audacity as a motivating factor. He thinks she'll understand.

She looks up at the knock on her door, smiles when she sees it's him. While most of the teachers have heard about the marriage by now, the students have, for the most part, been distracted by exams, so he thinks that none of them will find out about it until the next school year, when her pregnancy will be obvious. If he's honest, Bellamy is already looking forward to the surprised reactions from his students when they find out he not only has a wife, but a child on the way.

He might like this whole thing too much. It feels possible.

"I'm almost done," she says. "If you don't mind waiting a minute."

"Not at all," he says, closing the door behind him and taking a chair. "Mr. Collins wanted to talk to me, by the way."

"Oh?" she asks, not sounding concerned. "I guess I'm not surprised. What did he have to say?"

"That he doesn't want me to take advantage of you."

Clarke blinks, as if clearing a fog from her brain. "How considerate of him," she says, careful, and Bellamy snorts.

"I might not have been kind to him about it."

She laughs too. "I hope you weren't."

"Still," he says, worrying his lip. "It sounded as if he didn't realize I knew he was involved, so--I'm sorry if you were trying to keep that quiet."

"No," she says, easy. "I didn't tell him because his life isn't any of my business, and he doesn't get to tell me now that he's concerned about how I'm dealing with any of this."

"That's basically what I told him." He sighs. "Do you think he'll try to come clean? Out of some misguided belief that he's doing the right thing by you?"

"The thought had crossed my mind. For his wife's sake, I hope he won't. But I still don't know what to do for his wife's sake." She pushes her hair out of her face with a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "What does it say about me that after all this, I'm still hoping that this really was about me? I don't want him to be a philanderer, I want to have meant something to him."

"I don't think it says anything bad," he says. "Of course you want to have meant something to him."

"My first choice would still be that he'd just stayed with his wife and left me alone," she says, and he smiles.

"I know. But once he bothers to seduce you, it would be nice if he was doing it because he genuinely cared for you."

She laughs again. "Exactly." Her smile is warm. "Are you ready to go home?"

He stands and stretches. "I am. What do you want for dinner?"

They stop by the market for supplies, and Clarke helps him cook once they arrive. She's admitted to not having much background in cooking, but she's eager to learn, and Bellamy is happy to teach her.

He's happy with her, honestly. His life feels as if it's going in the right direction.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with Finn," she offers, as they're getting dinner ready. "He shouldn't have come looking for you."

"Better me than you," he says without thinking, and she cocks her head. "If I were you, I'd never want to see him again."

"It's not my favorite thing," she admits, inclining her head. "But it's not something you should have to put up with. And I know you're going to say you don't mind, but I mind."

"If he tries to talk to me again, I'll ignore him," he promises. "And tell him to leave you alone, while I'm at it."

She bites her lip, and then, deliberate, bumps her hip against his, a kind of simple warm affection that makes warmth curl in his stomach. "My hero."

*

Two weeks after the end of the school year, Clarke decides she should go see her mother.

"Are you going to tell her the real story or the fake story?" Octavia asks, sounding curious. She and Clarke have been doing fairly well, in Bellamy's opinion. They're not close friends or confidants, but they interact easily, and they've even started joking around with each other. Octavia never pretends to be polite for long, but Clarke's stopped seeming put off by it, and now accepted it as a sign she's a part of the family.

"I'm not sure, honestly. I'm still making up my mind. I think if I tell her the real story, she'll like Bellamy more, but she won't rest until she knows who fathered the child, and she'll want him to face some kind of--consequences."

"I want that too," says Bellamy. "We're on the same page with there."

Clarke flashes him a smile. "You want that on our terms, though," she says, and it sends a little thrill through him that she's so straightforward about it. They want the same thing.

At least when it comes to Mr. Collins. He hasn't figured out how to inquire as to her hopes for the future of their marriage. But he's working on it.

"My mother will want to deal with it in her own way," she continues, "and I'm not sure I want her to."

"What if you tell her the fake story?" O asks.

"That's the problem. If I tell her Bellamy and I married in secret months ago, she's never going to believe me. She'll think you got me pregnant and then took too long making an honest woman out of me, and she'll never forgive you. So I think I have to tell her the real story."

"I don't know," he says. "I'm sure I can survive your mother not liking me."

"What's the point of that?" asks Octavia, sounding offended. "She should like you. Why would you lie to make her not?"

"She makes a good point," says Clarke. "And my mother knows I'm no blushing virgin." Bellamy raises his eyebrows, and Clarke inclines her head to say that she'll tell him later. "Would you be willing to come with me?" she adds, sounding a little worried. "It won't be longer than a day or two."

"Me?"

Her smirk is fondly amused. "Octavia can come if she wants, but I don't think my mother's nearly as interested in meeting her."

"And I still have to work in the summer, unlike the two of you," Octavia pipes up. "But you should go. Get out of the city, take a break for once."

"It's not going to be a relaxing fun time, O," he points out. "Even if she likes me, Clarke's mom probably isn't going to be thrilled about this." Of course, Clarke winces, and he immediately feels like an ass. "I'll still come with you," he adds. "If you want me to."

"I'd rather have her meet you now," she says. "If you don't come, she'll wonder why you didn't, and she'll probably come here to meet you. Easier to just do it now. As long as you don't mind leaving Octavia alone overnight."

He glances at his sister, and she shrugs. "I'm not going to get pregnant or anything. I don't want to steal Clarke's thunder."

"That shouldn't be the only reason you aren't getting pregnant," Clarke tells her, amused. "I don't recommend it."

At just under five months, Clarke's pregnancy is still fairly easy to conceal when she wants to, although now that the school year is over, she's no longer focusing on hiding it. It doesn't bother him, exactly, but he does find it disconcerting, the sudden swell of her stomach, not huge yet, but growing. Given the pregnancy is the whole reason he married her, it shouldn't be such a surprise that she is pregnant, but he still hasn't gotten used to it. And he still feels like he shouldn't be excited for it. He's looking forward to having a baby around, to having Clarke's baby. A baby he already thinks of as his own.

"Are you sure you're up to travel?" he asks. "You aren't--"

"I'm fine, Bellamy," she says, her smile soft. "Trust me. I'm achy and irritable, not infirm. But if you're worried, you should definitely come with me," she adds, a smile playing on her lips that makes him laugh.

"Well, if you insist."

Clarke calls her mother the next day, and Bellamy hears half the conversation, which includes Clarke saying, "I'm bringing my husband with me."

He can't hear her mother's side of the conversation, not her actual words, but he can hear her not responding to that. He'd been sitting in an armchair on the other side of the room from the telephone, but he can see the tension rising in Clarke's shoulders, so he rises, goes to stand behind her, giving her shoulder a squeeze. It's meant to be a brief thing, just to show his support, but she leans into the touch, resting her cheek against his hand, and he finds himself frozen there, staying by her side.

So he hears, "Your husband," in her mother's unfamiliar voice. Even not knowing her, it sounds flat and cold.

"I thought you'd want to meet him."

"I thought I'd meet him at the wedding. Or before it. Clarke, what did you--"

"So you never want to meet him?" she asks, mild.

"Clarke--"

She sighs, closing her eyes and leaning closer to Bellamy. "I'd like you to meet him. Can we come tomorrow?"

It's not the most encouraging interaction, but she tells them to come, so Bellamy finds himself driving out of the city the next morning with Clarke. He doesn't own a car of his own, but Miller does, and he lets them borrow it for the weekend, and Bellamy only takes a few minutes to get the hang of driving again.

It's his first trip with Clarke, which isn't surprising. It hasn't really been that long that the two of them have been spending time together, and they didn't have any kind of regular courtship that involved traveling together, or even going out to dinner. They skipped over all the starting steps of a relationship, which is probably why he has no idea where they've ended up. He keeps wanting to ask her what she wants from him, but it feels like the wrong time. She has enough to think about without having to worry about his feelings for her.

But it's still nice, to just be spending time together. That's all he really wants, for now.

"So, your mother," he says, once they're out of the city and driving down the open road.

"What about her?"

"What should I be doing? You want her to like me, so--"

"So as soon as she sees me, she'll know why we married. And when I tell her you're not the father, I'm sure her opinion of you will immediately improves." She pauses. "Once she realizes you're not looking for anything."

A lump rises in his throat. "Not looking for anything?"

"You just want to help."

It feels true and false at the same time. He doesn't want to agree, because he is looking for something. But nothing bad. Nothing that her mother should be upset about. As things to learn about the man who married your daughter to legitimize her child go, he thinks that his hope that the relationship might become romantic is one of the best.

"I want you to be happy too," he settles on, and Clarke smiles.

"Is that supposed to make her opinion of you worse?"

"No, I'm making my case. Giving you some arguments to make with her."

She smiles. "Appreciated. But I'm not worried."

"No?" he asks, turning his head slightly to glance at her.

"She's going to meet you. And once she does that, it's going to be fine."

"Just like that?"

"You're a good man," she says, with easy conviction. "She's going to be furious, but not with you. You're the hero in this story, Bellamy."

He wants to argue with her, but--it's her story. She gets to decide who the hero is. So all he says is, "I was just passing by," and she turns her smile down to her hands, like it's not for him.

When they get to the house, he realizes what her mother might have been worried about, in terms of his taking advantage. Because it's a large house, the kind that suggests Clarke's family probably has a good deal of money, and could be the subject of some sort of farce about conmen trying to steal their wealth.

"I didn't know about this, did I?" he asks.

"I assumed not. Did you?"

"Definitely not."

"Another reason my mother will like you." To his surprise, she takes his hand, twining their fingers together. She's gone to no trouble to hide the pregnancy, and he knows exactly what they look like.

But even if her mother decides to hate him, he won't mind. Clarke likes him. And Clarke's the one who matters.

He knows her mother's name is Abigail, she goes by Abby, and she works as a nurse. When she opens the door, he discovers she's about Clarke's height, with darker hair and wary eyes. She looks at him first, and he assumes she's seeing what most people see, the darkness of his skin and hair, checking his features and deciding something isn't quite as expected.

Then she sees Clarke, and her mouth flattens into a hard line.

"I thought this must be it."

"You're wrong." says Clarke. "It's not what you're thinking."

"Come inside," says Abby. Although Bellamy strongly suspects he should call her Mrs. Griffin.

Clarke's going to be Mrs. Blake at school next year, he realizes for the first time. The thought is alarming.

Once they're inside, Mrs. Griffin's rage explodes all at once. "You must be how far along? Four months? Five? And you didn't come to me? You didn't--"

"I wanted to finish the school year without anyone finding out." She glances at Bellamy. "It didn't work, but--we figured it out. I would have told you sooner, but I didn't want you to try to resolve the issue until I'd tried myself."

"And is it resolved?"

Clarke squeezes Bellamy's hand. "I found a husband and he's claiming the child, so I won't be fired and I have a place to live. I'm not worried."

Mrs. Griffin's eyes cut to Bellamy, and he looks back at her, not saying anything yet. He explained to his sister, Clarke explains to her mother. That's how it should work. They deal with their own families.

"He's not the father," says Mrs. Griffin, slow.

"No. He's my husband, but not the father. He teaches history, and he's--" Words apparently fail her, and he squeezes her fingers before he lets go to offer his hand to her mother.

"I'm Bellamy Blake," he says. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Griffin."

Mrs. Griffin does shake his hand, but she doesn't respond, turning her attention back to Clarke. "If he's not the father, who is, and why isn't he taking responsibility?"

"Because he's already married, and I'd honestly be happier if I never saw him again," says Clarke, defiant. "I know this is a lot to take in, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I was trying to keep my head above water until school was over, and I did. And that's largely thanks to Bellamy. You can be upset with me all you want, but not with him. He hasn't done anything wrong."

Her mother exhales, closing her eyes in the way that Clarke does when she's making up her mind about something. "I want to hear the whole story. Mr. Blake--"

"Please, call me Bellamy. Mr. Blake makes me feel like I'm still at school, and I try to avoid that in the summer," he adds, trying out another smile on her.

"Bellamy. Let me show you to your room. I'd like to speak with my daughter in private."

"Our room," Clarke says, and Mrs. Griffin looks a little surprised at that. "Husband," she reminds her mother.

"Of course. Bellamy can get settled in while we talk."

It's not as if it's a bad suggestion, of course. He wants to give them some privacy too, and he doesn't have anywhere else to go. There will probably be books or something else to keep him occupied, and to keep him from going out of his head with worry.

"Thank you," he tells Clarke's mother, collecting their bags. "Please, lead the way."

The room is larger than his, the kind that people keep forcompany, so that when visitors come they'll have a place to be. Bellamy's friends always just pass out on his sofa, and it's more than a little strange, to be in a home like this. It reminds him that in many ways, he doesn't truly feel grown up.

"Do you want a book?" Clarke asks, and he smiles.

"If you have one, that would be great."

She brings him a few options, and then kisses him on the cheek before she follows her mother out. It's strange to him, how she seems to be overcompensating with her affection, but he can't say he minds.

She's with her mother for almost an hour, which means that by the time she gets back he's only just managed to relax and actually get into the book. But as soon as she comes in, he puts it aside, of course. She's far more interesting.

He was lying on the bed to read, and to his surprise she just lies down next to him, closing her eyes like she might fall asleep right now.

"How'd it go?" he asks.

"Well, I think. She wants me to go to the clinic tomorrow so she can examine me herself, but I expected that."

"Is she going to find Mr. Collins and murder him?"

"No," she says, slow. "But she knows his wife. Apparently she had an accident a few years ago and injured her leg, and my mother helped with her treatment. She thinks I should tell her."

"About what he did?"

"She thinks that Mrs. Collins would believe me and not ruin my life. So I think I'll reach out to her. Once I've figured out what to say."

"Good." He shifts a little, getting closer to her. She takes the invitation to settle in against his side, head resting on his chest, and he toys with a few strands of her hair. This is intimacy that's familiar when they're in bed, but usually he has the excuse of being tired. This is just--affection. "Do you feel better?" he asks.

"I do. The longer I didn't tell her, the more worried I was about--I knew she'd be upset."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"You can upset someone without being wrong. This isn't what she wanted for me. But I think I convinced her I'm doing--well."

"Aren't you doing well?"

She laughs, curling closer to him. "I am. I think that's part of the problem, honestly. This is the kind of thing that I should be suffering for. My life should be ruined. I know that's not true," she adds, before he can say it. "But it felt like I should be talking about how I'm coping. Making the best of a bad situation. Not about how I'm happy."

His heart lodges somewhere in his throat, realizing that he hadn't actually thought that himself. He'd assumed she was doing as well as she could be, under the circumstances, but it goes without saying that this is--that it's bad. That this is something she's enduring.

"Are you?" he asks, squeezing her shoulders, and she catches her lip in her teeth, a nervous tick of hers.

"Almost." And then she leans up to kiss him.

Most of his brain is, of course, thrilled. His wife, whom he loves, is kissing him, her mouth warm against his, her hand cradling his jaw, a slight tension in her touch, as if she's waiting for him to push her away, as if she really thinks he might.

Even with the knowledge that they're in her mother's house, he can't help responding, tugging her close, pulling her on top of him, and he feels her grin as she settles in, the kiss turning from a question into conversation right up until his own smile starts to get in the way.

"No wonder your mother knows you're not a blushing virgin," he teases, when she finally breaks the kiss. "If this is what you do when you're home."

She laughs and cuddles in, her nose buried against his neck. Her happiness feels tangible, like it's thrumming under his fingers, and he hopes his own is as obvious to her. "You're my husband. This is completely appropriate."

"Completely." He kisses her hair. "I'd rather you did it when we were home. As much as possible."

"I wasn't sure if you really--"

"Yes," he says, catching her mouth again. "Fucking--of course, Clarke. Absolutely."

*

It's not his first night sleeping with his wife in his arms, but it's the first time they start out that way, instead of shifting in the night. He wakes up before she does and is tempted to stay with her, to soak in the feeling of her skin against his, the knowledge that she's happy she married him, that she's coming to love him too.

But he's her husband, as she keeps pointing out. He'll get to do this every morning. And he's hungry.

Her mother is downstairs already, sipping coffee at the table, and she looks at him critically. They spent time together the previous day, shared an awkward dinner and evening together, but Clarke had been there, smoothing over the rough edges of their unfamiliarity with each other.

Still, she's his mother-in-law. That's another thing to get used to.

"Good morning," he says.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you."

There's a pause that probably isn't nearly as long as it feels, and then Mrs. Griffin shakes herself, stands. "I'm sorry, I don't have company very often. Would you like coffee? Something to eat? I don't have much in the house, but--"

"Coffee would be great, thank you."

She pours him a mug and hands it over, considering him.

"You love my daughter," she says, and it's his turn to consider.

"It hasn't been very long. But--I think I could." He wets his lips. "I wouldn't have married her yet, if not for the baby. But I would have been hoping to marry her someday."

"And the baby?"

"What about the baby?"

"It's not yours."

"I had no idea," he says, the sarcasm second nature and thoughtless, and Mrs. Griffin smiles, at least. "It's mine," he tells her, honesty cracking through. "I already--I'm going to be that baby's father. I can't wait. I like kids," he finishes, with a helpless little smile.

"And you like my daughter."

"I like your daughter."

She nods. "Then--I'm happy for you. Given the circumstances."

Bellamy takes a sip of his coffee, thinks it over. "I'm just happy, thanks."

Like Clarke, Mrs. Griffin feels the need to hide her smiles. "Yes," she says. "That's exactly what Clarke said."

She's the one who delivers Bellamy's first child, a girl who's born early in the fall. His classes are, as expected, both shocked and amazed that Miss Griffin is now Mrs. Blake, and even more shocked and amazed that they're parents now.

Some of them also seem upset that Mr. Collins resigned, but he can't relate to that. Of course, they don't seem to know it was because of his recent divorce, but Bellamy doesn't tell them. It's best to keep the students from knowing too much about personal lives, and it really is an unnecessarily long story. If they want to miss Mr. Collins, they can. Even Bellamy can admit he might owe the man, in some twisted way.

But he likes to think he and Clarke would have found each other regardless. Sooner or later.

Mrs. Griffin also delivers his second child, four years after the first. This one is a boy, and Bellamy lifts Julia up so she can look at her new brother.

"He's so little."

"He's a baby, he's supposed to be little."

"But her tummy was so big."

Bellamy laughs and kisses her hair, and Clarke smiles too, tired. "That's how babies always are," she tells Julia. "Nine months of being a big deal, and then after all that, the difficulty ends and there's just this little red crying thing."

"Obviously this is the easy part," he teases. "Raising the children."

"Isn't it?" she asks.

It's hard to even remember the early months of their acquaintance and marriage, and part of him knows they weren't really the hardest. But they were difficult in a different way, because he and Clarke weren't a team yet, were stilling working their way there. Their life isn't perfect, and he's not particularly looking forward to another few years of having an infant, of lost sleep and stress.

But there's no one else he'd rather face that with.

"Let's not jinx it," he tells Clarke. He leans over to kiss her forehead. "But I think we can handle it."