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January, 1997. Washington, D.C.
Clarke Griffin was born to be on the ice.
At least, that's what her mom told her. And her dad. And everyone who's ever known her or seen the way she glides on her skates as if it's natural as breathing.
She leaps in the air for a simple jump and sticks the landing, gliding by the boards with a wide smile on her face.
"Clarke!"
Clarke looks up and sees Mom standing center ice, with an older woman and a gangly-looking boy next to her. Mom gestures for her to join them, so she skates over, gliding to a stop at her mom's side. She did mention that she wanted to try giving Clarke a partner soon, but Clarke doubts it'll stick. She's gonna be an ice princess all by herself, like Nancy Kerrigan.
"Clarke, I'd like you to meet Bellamy," Mom says. Clarke meets the eyes of Bellamy, and suddenly feels incredibly shy. She grabs her mom's hand and clutches it nervously.
"Uh, hi," Bellamy says awkwardly. His mom nudges him, and he sticks out a hand. Clarke looks up at her mom, who nods encouragingly.
She takes his hand and they shake.
They take a few laps around the ice in total silence, Bellamy's hand clutching hers tightly as if she might fall behind. Finally, Clarke gets annoyed at it and breaks it herself.
"Wanna play a game?" she asks. Bellamy looks down at her, doubtful.
"Like what?" he asks.
"Twenty questions!" she says cheerfully. At least he's talking. He's still a bit grumpy, but he nods at her, relenting.
"How old are you?" he asks, going before she can. Their legs are in sync, she notices, and they weren't even trying.
"I'm seven," she says with a small smile, as if it's something to be proud of.
"I'm nine," he says. "Okay, your turn, Princess." She bristles at the way he pronounces the word, all boyish and kind of mean, but asks her question in a very prim voice. She can be polite.
"How long have you skated?" she asks.
"Five years," he says easily. "I play hockey."
Ugh. Hockey players. "Why are you here?"
"Mom says this will make me better at skating." He looks down at her. "Do you like hockey?"
"Looks easy," she says. He frowns. "What?"
"Hockey is not easy," he says haughtily, "This is easy."
"Can you jump?" she challenges, annoyed at his dismissive tone.
"Can you?" he shoots right back.
Before she can reply that she's a very good skater, thank you very much, the speakers start playing an upbeat jazz song.
"You know dance holds, Bellamy?" Abby asks, skating up to them. He shakes his head. "Well, let's start, then."
February, 2006. Washington, D.C.
He shows up at her house with a two-liter bottle of Coca Cola, a cake bought at WalMart, and deep-dish pizza from their favorite local pizzeria.
"Dad, Bell's here!" she calls. "We'll be in the living room!"
She retrieves some chocolate ice cream from her freezer and they set up shop in her living room, spreading their food out on her coffee table as they wait for the first group of dancers to take the ice.
Her father emerges from his office with a grin for Bellamy, pulling the teenager in for a warm hug.
"I won't tell Abby about your junk food if you promise not to throw too much of a pity party and enjoy watching the Olympics tonight," he says. Bellamy cracks a smile.
"It's a deal, sir."
"Don't 'sir' me, Blake, you're family!" he huffs, rustling Bellamy's shaggy hair before retreating back to his study.
Clarke looks at Bellamy, who just opens his arms and lets her hug him tightly.
"I wish we were in Turin," she whispers.
"We'll show them, Princess," he replies, holding her tighter. "Just you wait."
November, 2008. Canton.
Their music cuts suddenly, and Clarke and Bellamy both freeze on the ice. Clarke looks at Abby in confusion, but her mother's face is stone as she skates up to them.
"I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you," she says, voice unnaturally even. "That was bad."
Clarke is a professional. She knows her mother's a silver medalist who knows the sport of ice dancing like the back of her hand. She knows her twizzles were out of sync with Bellamy's, and have been ever since her surgery.
So, like the very professional athlete that she is, she nods, not even glancing at her partner, whose eyes are currently boring holes into the ground.
"You're not connecting. You're not communicating. Hell, you two can barely even look at each other!" Abby yells, and this time, Clarke is taken aback. "What is wrong with you two? You have a three new programs to debut next month. There's no time for teenage bullshit. Vancouver is next season. Do you want to go to the Olympics?"
"Yes," she and Bellamy answer instantly. That desire, that hunger? Second nature at this point.
"Then work whatever is going on out, and don't let me see you on the ice until you do," Abby growls, skating off. Clarke knows she's crying, but she definitely does not want Bellamy to see, so she just skates in the opposite direction, leaving Bellamy behind.
Raven catches her as she takes off her skates by the boards.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Not now, Raven," Clarke sighs, and leaves her skates behind as she leaves. Her mom will be pissed, but whatever.
Bellamy just stands, center ice, and watches her go.
She kind of hopes he will follow her.
He doesn't. Of course he doesn't.
He's barely talked to her since the surgery, since their fight right before they cut her leg open. He's barely been there to listen to her terror over losing their skating career.
Fuck him.
Fuck her legs.
Fuck skating.
She drives to her house and locks herself in her room to throw a one-woman pity party, blaring her "sad music" CD that Bellamy burned for her a few months back. She cries into her pillow for a few minutes before she hears a gentle knock at her door.
"Baby girl, you have a visitor!" her dad says gently. "It's Bell."
"Tell him to go screw himself," Clarke mutters into her pillow.
"Clarke," her father chides, voice laced with disapproval, and she groans again, knowing perfectly well how childish she sounds.
"Fine, tell him to come on in," she mutters. Half a beat later, she hears her door open and close, and then her bed dips as Bellamy sits down by her.
"So I bought you a sketchbook," he says. Clarke doesn't move. "I also got you those fancy pencils you like. For when you need to take a break and sketch. I know it helps with the stress of having a dick as a partner."
She laughs despite herself and finally emerges from under her pillow, sitting up cross-legged to face Bellamy.
"You never called me," she says in a small voice. "I was so scared, Bell. I needed my best friend and you just disappeared."
"I know," he replies. "I'm sorry, Princess. I just…didn't know what to say. How to help. And I messed up." There's a beat, and then, "But you never called either. And when you got back, it felt different and I didn't know what to say to you-"
"I'm not mad, you know," Clarke interjects. "I'm just scared. I don't want to hold you back."
And there it is. Her biggest fear after her surgery. The dark voice in the back of her mind every time her leg goes numb or shoots with pain.
Immediately, Bellamy pulls her in for a tight hug.
"You could never let me down, Princess," he growls. "Never, you hear me? You're my partner and you're the only partner I'll ever want. Got it?"
She starts to cry again, but this time his arms are around her, and she feels like everything will be okay after all.
February, 2010. Vancouver.
"Okay, pausepausepause-" Clarke gasps, nerves alive and hyperaware. Bellamy pulls his mouth from where it had been doing very pleasant things to her neck, breathing hard. He rests his forehead against hers and pants.
"Pausing," he murmurs dryly.
She doesn't know who kissed whom first, just that as soon as they stepped off the podium, he pulled her to an empty locker room and now, their jackets and hats are both discarded on the floor, he's shirtless, and she's sweating.
They're still wearing their gold medals though.
She's still pressed against a cool metal locker in the changing area, and he gently lessens his grip on her, though he keeps their heads together, eyes closing.
"What are we doing?" she asks.
"Was it not obvious?" Bellamy jokes, hands squeezing her waits teasingly.
"Don't get-" his hands move to her ass and squeeze, "-cheeky." He laughs at her accidental pun, and she rolls her eyes. He's distracting. He's very, very distracting and it's obnoxious. Stupid Bellamy and his stupid lips and his stupid hands and his stupid-
Okay, okay, full STOP on that train of thought.
His lips are on her neck again. It feels good, and she needs it to stop, so she ducks away, her body immediately protesting at the lack of contact.
"Bellamy!" she snaps at him, and she's not proud of it. "Seriously, what are we doing?"
He blinks. "Celebrating accomplishing our dream?" He phrases it like a question, and she sighs.
"Bell, you know it's not that simple," she chides gently. Some of his bravado fades. "Is this…? What does this mean?"
Something in his eyes seems to shift then, closing off. She want to wince at it, but she forces herself to be rational as she stands before her partner in nothing but a bra and Team USA-issued sweats.
Bellamy is her closest friend. They have spent countless hours together, both in practice and on their own time. She has told him her every insecurity, and he has confided everything to her in return. They've stayed up all night, talking about their love lives, childhoods, hopes and dreams.
Perhaps it's because she knows him so well that she is so lost as to whether he has legitimate feelings for her or not. She can't judge based on their physical interactions. They've always been touchy, it just comes with the territory. And they've always been close, so she doesn't know if he's just comfortable with her or trying to tell her something.
Normally, she'd say something, let whatever it is that's happening keep going. She'd listen to her body, which still feels like it's on fire But their friendship is too valuable to screw up over a hint of a feeling.
God, she's so fucking confused.
"Do you want to stop?" Bellamy asks finally. She just stares. "We can forget this, if you want."
"Is that what you want?" she asks.
"I want what you want."
"That's not a fucking answer, Bellamy," she snaps.
He snorts. "Oh, like you're not being vague and confusing too?" Clarke opens her mouth to respond, but the thing is, he's completely right. She deflates.
"Bell, we've never crossed this line," she says, slow and purposeful. "And we still have Worlds, and then it's right back to work. We can't-we can't get distracted. We can't risk what we have because we're excited. It matters too much."
His face seems oddly blank. "Okay." Clarke blinks.
"Okay?"
He smiles, if a little resigned, and reaches out, pulling her into a very platonic, innocent hug. Well, as innocent and platonic as a hug can be while he's very clearly turned on and shirtless.
"Clarke, our partnership will always come first to me. You know that."
"I do."
"You also know that I think you're gorgeous," he adds. She looks down, then back up at him, cheeks red.
"I do."
He smirks. "Then as long as that's out there, business as usual." He releases her and bends down to gather his shirt and jacket. As he starts to leave, Clarke calls his name. He turns.
"Friends, then?" she offers, hands clammy for some reason.
His smile is reassuring, but a little sad.
"Always."
March, 2013. Vancouver.
A stony silence settles in Bellamy's hotel room as Clarke sits cross-legged on his beg, staring at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall across from her. She still has her hair in the intricate bun from their James Bond free dance. Her lips are still bright red and her eyes are still dark with the smokey makeup she had so loved only a few hours before.
Bellamy moves around the room, shuffling clothes as he looks for his watch.
"What time are you two going to dinner again?" she asks, as if she doesn't already have his schedule memorized for him.
"I have 30 minutes, calm down," Bellamy huffs as he shrugs on a dark gray button-down and begins to button it. He sighs. "Sorry, Princess, didn't mean to-"
"It doesn't matter," she interrupts. More silence. "We should have won."
"Preaching to the choir, Princess," he says.
"Yeah," she says dumbly. He finishes buttoning his shirt and reaches for a navy blue tie. "Where are you eating?"
"Don't know," he replies, "Just somewhere far away from here."
This is there new normal, Clarke thinks bitterly. Bellamy, desperate to leave as soon as practice is done, avoiding her after shows to get back to Gina, who she's still never been introduced to.
"I want to keep my work and private lives separate, Clarke," he'd said dismissively when she'd asked about Gina.
And she gets it, she really does. Competition season can be overwhelming. Their schedules are crazy, and they spend so much time away from their families. It's only natural for them to want to keep their home lives precious.
Clarke just wishes she could be that precious escape for Bellamy.
It used to be that way. They used to go bowling together, or she'd drag him to an art class. He'd call her and tell her to come to his apartment to try one of his Filipino dishes like sinigang or pansit, and she'd invite him over to watch movie marathons on TV.
But something about them is off, somehow. Somewhere in between him avoiding her after their moment in Vancouver and her ignoring him when her dad died, their friendship fractured. And god, she misses him, even when he's right in front of her.
Meanwhile, Raven and Finn just keep getting better. Their technical skills have skyrocketed, and their free programs have become more and more ambitious. Their bond is solid as ever, shining through in their near-perfect skates while she and Bellamy continue to sink.
Bellamy finishes tying his tie while she's lost in thought. He looks down at her, and something in his expression softens.
"Hey," he says softly, kneeling down by the bed. Clarke just stares into her lap. "Look at me." Her eyes rise to meet his.
"I want Sochi," she whispers. "I want to beat them so badly, Bell." He nods, grave.
"We'll win," he promises. "You'll see, Princess."
February, 2014. Sochi.
In hindsight, Clarke shouldn't be surprised. This season was never really theirs to begin with.
Finn and Raven took the Grand Prix Finals. They took Four Continents. They took Worlds. They were ice dancing's hottest commodity, what Bellamy and Clarke where back in Vancouver.
But some part of Clarke had still held out hope that they could win (Bellamy had promised), even as Abby paid less and less mind to them during practices to work with Finn and Raven. There was always a voice in her head that said that the bond she and Bellamy had would make the difference in the end.
But their desperation wasn't enough. Their bond wasn't enough.
She wasn't enough.
She sits alone in her room in the village, turning the silver medal over in her hands, wondering if she stares at it long enough, it will morph into gold. She's talked to Raven already, congratulating her training partner and hoping her bitterness hasn't showed.
God, did they peak in Vancouver? Is that going to be their legacy? Fading into the obscurity of their sport, unable to adapt to changing scoring systems and preferences?
She's gonna throw up.
Bellamy's somewhere. She doesn't know where and she doesn't want to know. He's been distant from her for the past year, so she's grown used to the icy sadness that creeps into her heart whenever she thinks of him and his flavor of the month girlfriends.
There's a knock at her door, and she indulges herself in a quick fantasy of Bellamy showing up at her door, pulling her in, and kissing the pain of loss away. She imagines him whispering a hundred apologies into her neck, calling her beautiful, telling her she's always been it for him.
It's Finn. Thank God, he left his gold medal in his room. He holds a bottle of red wine in his left hand and an un-popped bag of popcorn in his right.
She likes Finn. He's sweet in an unobtuse kind of way, always asking her how she's doing while they're at the rink and offering advice for their routines. Bellamy finds it annoying, she knows, but he means well.
"I think you were amazing," he says without preamble. "God, Clarke, you're just incredible. I'd skate with you in a heartbeat."
In that moment, Clarke Griffin has three thoughts:
One: This is a terrible, awful idea.
Two: She's miserable.
Three: There's an attractive man in front of her who's not Bellamy, but who looks very willing to make her feel wanted.
She kisses him and pulls him into her room, locking the door behind her.
April, 2014. Tokyo.
She can feel the judgment from all of the other skaters as she and Bellamy take the ice for Stars On Ice practice. Across the rink, Clarke notices, with a wince, Raven leaning against the boards, eyes set on her.
"I didn't know," Clarke whispers helplessly, gripping Bellamy's arm tightly.
She had showed up at his hotel room last night, sobbing and holding her phone, bombarded with a TMZ article with the headline:
ICE DANCER FINN COLLINS SETTLES FOR SILVER BETWEEN THE SHEETS
"He's been secretly dating Raven this whole time," she had said, crying hysterically into Bellamy's shoulder. "That son of a bitch. I'm the other woman!"
He had held her, told her it wasn't her fault, threatened Finn, and let her spend the night with him, like he had when she was dumped by her first boyfriend.
Like he hadn't when they came up short in Sochi.
(She finds out later that she came to him two hours after Raven, who left right before she arrived.)
Now, he slings a protective arm around her shoulders as Raven glides over to them. Her face is stone and her eyes are ice as she studies Clarke intensely.
"Did you know?" she asks, voice steely. Clarke can't breathe. She can't breathe and she can't think.
She hadn't known Raven and Finn were secretly seeing each other when he showed up at her hotel room the night they ripped gold from her and Bellamy's grasp. She hadn't known they had been seeing each other for the better part of a year when she kissed him and he kissed her back. She hadn't known the second time it happened, or the third.
"Answer, Clarke, did you fucking know?" Raven repeats, voice breaking.
"No!" Clarke insists, desperate and sincere and guilty, oh god, she feels so guilty…
Raven looks at Bellamy sharply. "Well, I guess that makes her better than me," she says simply, turning around and skating away. Clarke sees Finn waiting for her awkwardly, and she wants to vomit. Clarke looks at Bellamy, a question in her eyes. He shifts, looking uncomfortable.
"Raven and I…had sex last night," he says carefully. Oddly enough, Clarke feels nothing. She's blissfully numb. "It didn't mean anything."
Funnily, she believes him. Bellamy can do that: have sex with no emotions. Separate pleasure from emotion. She wishes she could learn that trick.
"I'm not mad," Clarke says, voice hollow. "Do what you want, I don't care." That's a blatant lie, but she's had enough cans of worms opened for one day. Bellamy's arm tightens around her.
"None of this is your fault," he says.
She meets Lexa the next day.
July, 2015. San Jose.
Clarke has a million things on her mind.
There's her art degree, a constant work in progress. There's the sponsorship deals she and Bellamy agreed to. There's Stars On Ice, now their sole source of income from skating following their retirement.
She jumps when her phone starts ringing, and she can't help but smile when she sees who's on the other line. Beside her, Lexa yawns and turns over, chasing sleep for a few more minutes. Clarke carefully rolls out of bed and steps out of the hotel room they're sharing while on vacation.
"Am I dreaming, or are you awake before noon?" she says in lieu of an actual greeting. She can practically hear Bellamy's eye roll.
"Good morning to you too. Where are you?"
"California still," she replies. "Much-needed vacation. What about you?"
"O's. She says hi, by the way," he responds. Clarke smiles.
"Tell her hi from me," she says. There's a pause, and Clarke wonders when they started relying on meaningless small talk to carry their conversations. "So, um, how are you?"
She should mention Lexa. She should really mention that she's here with Lexa. But that feels weird somehow.
"Gonna ask how the weather is in Minnesota next, Clarke?" Bellamy teases, and she laughs, relaxing a bit.
"It's a valid question!" she defends half-heartedly.
"I'm fine," he says dismissively. "I actually just wanted to call to tell you that, um, we should meet up soon. I haven't seen you since the tour ended. Feels like I'm missing an annoying limb that won't stop telling me my twizzles suck."
"You just have a way with women, Blake," Clarke deadpans. "But sure, that sounds fun."
"How's your mom?" he asks, shifting the subject. "Is she more fun on vacation than she is on the ice?"
"I'm actually here with Lexa," she blurts. A beat passes.
"Oh."
Another pause. He's always been awkward around her boyfriends and girlfriends. It used to annoy her when they were teens, she once complained to Harper that if he had such a problem with her dating, he should grow a pair and ask her out himself. She hoped that would end as they both got into serious relationships at the same time, but nope.
"Cool," he says. And he's trying, she knows he really is, but his voice still comes out a bit strained.
"Cool," she echoes. "Um, so say hi to Gina for me."
"Yeah," he agrees rapidly. "Yeah, I will, sorry for interrupting your vacation, I just-um. Yeah, go back to sleep. See you soon. Bye."
She frowns as the line goes dead.
January, 2016. Washington, D.C.
Clarke sits at a small table at the window of a small Starbucks, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm into her coffee cup. She hasn't seen Bellamy in weeks, busy working on her art degree as he's been with his sister, who now lives and trains in Minnesota with the US Women's Hockey team.
It's still so strange, only seeing him to tour in what used to be their offseason. She misses those hours in the rink with him. The laughs, the arguments. All of it.
"Hey, Princess," she hears behind her, and she grins widely as she turns to see Bellamy approaching, clad in a sweater and jeans. He leans down to press a chaste kiss to the top of her head before taking a seat across from her. "What's up? Stars on Ice have something for us?"
"Not exactly," she hedges, suddenly incredibly nervous. She had a whole speech planned, had even packed notecards just in case, but now she just feels frozen, and none of her preparation feels like enough. He tilts his head in that dumb, adorable way he does when she starts closing up.
"Stay with me, Clarke," he chuckles. "What's up?"
"I want the Olympics," she blurts out. He blinks. "Pyeong-Chang. I want gold. And I want to return to competition this year."
He leans forward. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she says fervently. "And I want Marcus to coach us."
Marcus Kane, her mother's old skating partner, was now working out of Canton, Michigan and training some of the best rising stars of ice dance. Clarke has been watching his students podium over the past two seasons at Worlds and the Grand Prix events.
She hasn't worked, professionally, with her mother since Sochi. The strain of it all, plus the issues they had been dealing with ever since her father passed away, had been too much. For the sake of that relationship, she had sworn to never train with her mother again.
Bellamy takes a deep breath.
"Is this what you want?" he asks deliberately, and her mind flashes back to a steamy locker room in Vancouver, gold weighing heavy on her neck and Bellamy's lips on her throat.
"I want what you want," she echoes. His hands reach across the table to encircle hers. And then, because she can't keep it in anymore, she adds, "Lexa moved out. Last week. She's gone." He freezes.
"Can I ask why?" he inquires cautiously.
"I told her I wanted to return to competition. We fought, and she left."
And God, it stung. Lexa was everything Clarke had ever dreamed of: intelligent, driven, and as a figure skater herself, she understood the rigors of competition, the freedom the ice gives her. She understood it all. All of it except for Bellamy.
"She didn't want you to return to competition?" Bellamy asks.
She didn't want me to return to you.
"Don't make me choose, Lexa," Clarke had begged. "God, I love you, but don't make me choose."
Tears had tracked down Lexa's face, smearing her mascara as she said, "Because there isn't a choice, is there? It's always going to be Bellamy."
"I love you," Clarke had echoed. Lexa had just shook her head and left, only returning with Echo and Roan in tow to collect her things and leave the next morning.
"I had to choose," Clarke says simply. "I chose us."
Bellamy studies her intently, still holding her hands, and Clarke thinks that whatever is between them has grown beyond Vancouver, beyond Sochi, beyond what she ever could have imagined. Lexa was right, she supposes. There never has been and never will be a choice. It will always be Bellamy.
"If we're going to do this again," he says slowly, "I'm going to lay all of my cards on the table. We're going to do this the right way." She nods. "Good, then. Well first, you should know that I broke things off with Gina."
Well then.
"I'm sorry," she says automatically. It's a total lie, of course.
"No you're not," he snorts. "And neither am I. Second, you should know that I'm sorry for how I acted after Vancouver. I was nuts about you, and I was hurt, and we never talked about it so I just let shit fester and it hurt us. I know it did. But I'm over it now. I'm over it and I'm ready to be the partner you deserve."
Okay, so all things considered, Clarke supposes there are worse things he could have said to her. He could have said no to the Olympics. He could have said he hated her.
But her stomach churns at the thought of him moving on from…whatever it was that bloomed between them in 2010.
"I think," she says carefully, "that whatever we are doesn't matter. I love you and you're my best friend, and I want to skate with you. I think we can win gold. The past is the past."
"Exactly," Bellamy agrees. "So…we're doing this then."
Clarke grins, any disappointment in her fleeing, replaced by excitement, determination, and elation. Whatever lies between them is a mystery, but what they can do on the ice? That's a no-brainer.
"Pyeong-Chang," she says with a conspiratorial smile. "We're back."
And God help anyone who tries to get in their way.
April, 2017. Canton.
It all starts with a flick of Clarke's fingers.
She's casually browsing Spotify as she and Bellamy drive to the gym for conditioning work, looking for something to play, when she stumbles across an old playlist of slower ballads she had put together to help her relax after practice.
Lana Del Rey. Young and Beautiful.
She lets out a breath and presses play.
Following their return to the ice and a flawless season that ended in gold at Worlds, she and Bellamy have struggled to find ideas for their next season. Clarke is the kind of person who wants to have everything planned and ready weeks, even months, in advance, and having no ideas for an Olympic season of all things is her worst nightmare.
As the opening chords of the song begin to drift through Bellamy's speakers, he shoots her a sidelong look, eyebrow arched. She stays quiet, knowing he'll pick it up soon enough. It's a side effect, she figures, of a partnership spanning nearly twenty years, ever since her mother plopped her on the ice with a gangly little boy with messy hair that covered his eyes and told them to dance their hearts out.
"I've seen the world, lit it up as my stage now…"
She feels the moment when it clicks in his mind. He pulls the car over, which probably isn't safe, but whatever. He shifts so he can look right at her, that spark in his eyes that she loves to see.
"Lana Del Rey for the Olympics?" he asks, wicked grin on his face.
"Gatsby for the Olympics," Clarke clarifies.
Bellamy looks at her for a long time, gaze searching and excited. Finally, he nods and pulls her in for a hug.
"Another gold, Griffin," he murmurs into her hair. "Let's go get it."
September, 2017. Moscow.
The media begins to obsess over them as they travel to Moscow for their first competition of the season. Qualifying for the Grand Prix Finals is still important, and they want to compete as much as possible to refine their programs before the Olympics.
Their short program came together quickly over the summer. Their biggest strength is their chemistry, and they capitalize on it with a sultry samba/rumba-inspired dance to Zella Day's "Hypnotic" and "Ace of Hearts." She's excited to debut it, and can only guess how their niche Twitter fans will react when it surfaces on Youtube. It's lucky that the ISU decided to choose the rumba for the short dance, she thinks. Though their required rumba pattern has given them their fair share of grief in practices, she thinks they're ready.
Clarke shakes her hands out as she and Bellamy await their turn to skate. Warm ups had gone well, her body felt lose, and she just wants to get onto the ice and skate. She can hear the swell of the music as the program of the French pair before them reaches a climax and takes a shaky breath.
As if on cue, she feels Bellamy's hands on her shoulders, working out a few stiff muscles. "Relax," he murmurs, lips near her ear. She leans back into him and his arms move to encircle her waist. They stand there, just breathing, for a long moment until Kane calls for them to get ready.
"I think I heard some cameras," Clarke whispers to Bellamy with a smirk. He rolls his eyes.
"It's your fault for being so beautiful," he murmurs, pulling back and winking.
She knows about the relationship rumors resurfacing. They've existed for most of their careers. They have what her mother called "once in a lifetime" chemistry back when she coached them to their first gold medals in Vancouver. That kind of chemistry has led to almost everyone in America believing that they're secretly in love or screwing.
They're not.
Screwing, that is.
Yet...
As the German team wraps up their short program, Bellamy pulls her aside and into a hug. She breathes with him, eyes shut, focusing on the warmth of his body and the words of encouragement he murmurs.
"With me?" he asks. She pulls back just enough to meet his eyes.
"Always."
November, 2017. Canton.
Word of their Gatsby free skate takes the media by storm. It's completely different from their past programs, telling a story of passion, tragedy and toxicity. And while their technical skill has never been at question, this program relies on their personal connection more than any program before it. It's dark and dramatic and intricate, and Clarke loves it.
They won easily at the Rostelecom Cup, and by a significant margin. The judges had liked their music choice and the story of their program, but their lifts needed some work and a few of their transitions were awkward.
Program tweaks throughout the season are nothing new, but she and Bellamy are struggling with their opening sequence. They go straight into a stationary lift, where he cradles her and then swings her over his shoulders before spinning her to the ground in an embrace. It's a beautiful lift, intimate and romantic, but there's something missing in it.
Marcus keeps suggesting things, but nothing clicks, and eventually he admits defeat and moves on, assuring her and Bellamy he'll think of something.
When they take a break for lunch, Clarke and Bellamy meet with Raven, who had been forced to retire in 2015 after suffering a nasty leg injury that left her unable to compete.
She hasn't talked to Finn since then. Neither has Clarke.
"How's Roan?" Clarke asks as she and Raven sit together, waiting for Bellamy to take their orders at the deli counter. Raven and Roan, another ice dancer who trained under Abby, began dating once she retired.
"Practicing for Skate America, just like you and Blake," Raven replies. "He's finally clicking with Luna, though their short is still hot garbage."
Clarke laughs. "Have you told him that?"
"Yes, both before and after sex," Raven deadpans. Clarke barks out a laugh and grins. Raven is always the perfect cure for ice dancing woes. "I saw your programs from Rostelecom."
Clarke arches an eyebrow. "And?" she asks, taking a sip of her water.
Raven leans forward, mischief sparkling in her eyes. "Be real with me, Griffin. Have you and Blake finally come to your senses?" Clarke coughs, swallowing the water the wrong way.
"Excuse me?" she sputters.
"I'm not even talking about that sex on ice you call a short program," Raven says. "I'm talking about all of the hugging and touching I'm seeing at rinkside and on the podium."
"That's just how Bellamy is," Clarke tries. It's not a total lie.
"Really," Raven deadpans. Clarke opens her mouth to go on about how they're just comfortable with each other, how their bond is beyond romance, but right as she's set to respond, Bellamy arrives with their food, setting the sandwiches down on the table and settling into the chair next to Clarke. His arm comes up to rest on the back of Clarke's chair. Raven shoots her a playful wink.
"What are we talking about?" he asks.
"I was telling Clarke how badass that rotational lift in your free was," Raven lies smoothly. "Nice choreography by Kane, for once, but I think you guys could stand to add some more flair to both your skates."
"I agree," Bellamy says. "Actually, if you're free, maybe you could come back to the rink with us when we're done eating. Kane's hit a wall with a tricky transition."
Raven perks up, looking to Clarke for confirmation. She nods with a bright smile.
December, 2017. Canton.
With Raven on their team, their programs both receive major overhauls. Clarke is surprised by how well she works with Kane, and how easily he takes her suggestions and incorporates them into their routines.
Their short program got high marks in the fall, but Clarke and Bellamy both know it needs some work for their component scores.
"Okay, pause!" Raven calls, and Clarke and Bellamy stop their step sequence, glancing over to where Raven is perched. "Get over here!"
They skate over to her. Marcus is standing beside her, arms folded.
"Smart money on what we fucked up?" Bellamy whispers conspiratorially. Clarke snorts as they reach the boards.
"Okay, look, technically, I have very few complaints," Raven begins.
"I might have a few notes," Marcus interjects. Raven rolls her eyes. "They can wait until Ms. Reyes is through," he amends.
"This program is supposed to be sexy," Raven says. "Right now, I'm getting ballroom tango vibes, which is fine, but not good enough. Focus on the little details that aren't just in the choreography. Eye contact. Breathing in sync. Reacting to each other's touch. In fact-" Raven turns to Marcus. "-we're going to try this thing off the ice again tomorrow to work on just that." He shrugs. "Anyways, give me sexy. This routine should make me hot and bothered."
"Do you want us to make out on the ice?" Clarke asks, half-annoyed and half-excited to be spending tomorrow working on touching Bellamy.
"Would that make you happy, Griffin?" Raven shoots right back.
"Alright, alright, enough banter you two," Kane cuts in. "Clarke, Bellamy, run the step sequence again, keep your skates close together."
Bellamy's hand finds her and she lets him pull her back to center ice. "You know Raven means well," he says.
"I know," she sighs. "And I love her. I just don't know how else to up the sex in this thing."
"You're plenty sexy," Bellamy supplies. Clarke turns to him in surprise, but he's already getting them in position for the step sequence.
Later, then. Maybe.
It becomes a game, after that. Unspoken, but still very real and very taxing on Clarke's sanity.
It's not like they've never both been single at the same time, but the energy between them has never felt this electric. They've never been in such a good place as friends and partners. That eternally fleeting "something more" has never felt like such a poignant possibility.
Bellamy begins to add things to their routines, both in practice and at competition. Small details like Raven said, but very real and very physical details. At Skate America, he presses his lips to the hollow of her throat during their short dance. At the Grand Prix Finals, he whispers the lyrics of "Young and Beautiful" to her. The internet latches onto it.
Clarke is just confused.
They weren't ready in 2010. He was immature and she was uncertain. They agreed to friendship, and nothing more. She's accepted that whatever is between them is beyond labels, beyond romance, blah blah blah.
But honestly, she's wanted to kiss him since they agreed to make a comeback and she's going to lose her mind if this goes on for much longer.
They top off a career-best season by taking gold at the Grand Prix Finals and Nationals, qualifying for the Olympic team and going to Pyeong-Chang as gold medal favorites. Raven officially joins Marcus as their coach.
"America's in love with the idea of you two as a couple," a reporter tells them at the media availability after Nationals. "What do you think?"
"I think America just sees what I see in Clarke," Bellamy replies easily. "She's driven, beautiful and just so much fun to work with. It's hard not to think anyone would be in love with her, right?"
"I think it means we're doing our jobs," Clarke amends, poking him in the cheek. "I think our chemistry is part of why telling stories is so easy for us. Whether it's 'American in Paris,' 'West Side Story' or our Florence and the Machine program from 2013, we've always been able to tell really beautiful love stories, and I'm glad people are invested in them."
"But are you two together?" the reporter presses.
"We might as well be at this point," is all Clarke says, earning her a hand squeeze from Bellamy.
That night, she gets a text from Raven:
Beyond romance my ass.
January, 2018. Canton.
As Olympics hype mode kicks into full gear, she and Bellamy spend every waking moment either training or doing media. US Figure Skating loves the idea of teasing the entire country about their dynamic, so they make several cutesy promos and make the rounds with media.
"What comes after the Olympics?" one news anchor asks.
"I'm not sure, exactly, but whatever it is, I hope it involves Clarke," Bellamy answers. "Maybe we can open a bakery together or something."
"I'm a terrible chef!" Clarke protests, laughing.
"But I'm great at baking, so you can take all of the orders. People like you better anyways!" Bellamy replies.
They have a collection of prepared answers for almost every question the media could possibly cook up, but Bellamy throws in answers like that when she least expects it, and the rumors continue. Even Raven has to double-check every once in a while to make sure they're still both single.
It was easier when he was with Gina or when she was with Lexa. No journalist dared ask them anything then.
Their gala program begins to pick up steam. Raven had found the perfect song, a sultry ballad by Demi Lovato called "Tell Me You Love Me." They incorporate their steamiest lifts and choreography into it, a gift for their dedicated fans and a creatively fulfilling challenge for them. It draws on their unique tension and athleticism; Clarke wears a glittery rose gold dress and Bellamy wears a black button down and pants that show off a good amount of his chest.
At their costume fittings for their Olympic gear, Raven sits in the room with them, openly ogling them both.
"Nice chest, Blake," she comments casually. "Been working out for Clarke?"
"For the Olympics," he corrects, though he does puff his chest a bit when Clarke glances over at him, cheeks reddening. "What do you think, Princess?"
What she thinks: he looks like a sex god.
What she says:
"Nice!"
Raven openly guffaws.
February 9th, 2018. Pyeong-Chang.
The opening ceremonies are a whirlwind of bodies, music and a whole lot of standing and waiting. Clarke latches herself onto Bellamy's arm as they slowly work their way out for the parade. On his other side is Octavia, the youngest member of the US Women's Hockey team.
Technically, they're already medalists. The United States managed to secure a team gold medal in figure skating, with Lexa's monster score on her free skate and Clarke and Bellamy's record-setting short dance securing their spots on the podium.
It's a lot of noise, but it's absolutely magical.
They take one interview before they compete.
"Why Gatsby, and why this year?"
"So much of what we do is storytelling," Clarke replies. "I think Gatsby is a very engaging story to tell, especially through ice dance, because it is so passionate and so tragic."
"There's a sense of longing in our program," Bellamy adds on. "It's the perfect storm."
"And Gatsby and Daisy are so complex," Clarke continues. "The heartbreak and vanity involved in those characters makes for a lot of powerful emotion."
"You two have the entire world buzzing about the status of your relationship," the reporter says with a smile. "What has that attention been like?"
"Weird, that's for sure," Bellamy says with a laugh. "But we take it as a compliment. People believe the stories we tell on the ice and they care about it. Can't ask for much more!"
"Bellamy's a dreamy guy anyways," Clarke throws in casually. "Hard not to fall in love with the stories he tells. Have you seen that hair?"
The reporter grins, delighted, and Bellamy ducks his head. Clarke nudges him playfully. This kind of teasing, this banter? Easy.
"You two have been partners for over two decades," the journalist goes on. "You've won a gold medal and a silver medal and you're going into your third Olympic games. What has this journey been like for you?"
"I wouldn't change a thing," Clarke says. "I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else."
"Ditto," tacks on Bellamy. "Clarke's my one and done."
Compartmentalize, Clarke, compartmentalize.
After the interview, they retreat to Seoul for a few days to practice away from all of the noise and distractions of the games. During rehearsals before their short dance, they try to focus on sharpening their step sequence. They know they need to perform well in this dance, which relies so heavily on technicality and precision.
Splitting her focus between precision and performing can be hard. She finds herself looking at their skates.
"Keep looking at me, Clarke," Bellamy murmurs and they twist their way over the ice. "We're hot for each other, remember?"
"How could I ever forget?" she snarks back, but he winks as they transition into their combination lift.
When he sets her down, she asks, "What did you mean by one and done?" He arches an eyebrow.
"Exactly that."
Raven's laughing as they skate over to her for notes.
"Only you two would find a way to argue before a combo lift and still make it look sexy," she chuckles. "Watch your arms on the intro to it, but other than that I think you're ready!"
February 18th, 2018. Pyeong-Chang.
The night before the short dance, several of the figure skaters all cram inside the room Bellamy shares with Monty, a singles figure skater and confirmed most adorable member of the US Olympic team.
Wells and Monty both squeeze into the small armchair in their room while Clarke nestles into Bellamy's side on his bed. Octavia claims his other side and Roan, Raven and Luna claim the floor. Murphy and Emori join them later, and they all elect to watch "Cool Runnings" for the hell of it.
Halfway into the movie, there's a knock at the door, and Clarke scoots out from under Bellamy's arm to get it. She almost starts when it's Lexa on the other side.
"Hey, Clarke," she says with a hesitant smile. "I heard I was missing a party."
"We're watching 'Cool Runnings,'" Clarke replies dumbly. They stare at each other for a long, awkward moment.
"I don't want this to be weird," Lexa finally says. "We didn't end well."
"No, we didn't," Clarke agrees simply.
"I…don't want things to be weird," Lexa repeats, voice unsteady. "Could I maybe join everyone?"
Clarke looks at the woman who once made her heart beat so loudly she thought it could be detected from space, the woman who was her everything, whom she loved so intensely their nasty breakup almost ripped her to pieces. There's no more malice in Lexa's eyes; that's all past.
"Sure," Clarke finally says, stepping aside. "Come on in."
Lexa sits next to Luna, exchanging pleasantries with everyone. It's a bit strange at first, but not for too long. As Clarke settles back into Bellamy's side, he leans in and whispers, "You good?"
Her phone vibrates. It's a text from Lexa.
I'm happy that you're happy. Rooting for you to get your gold.
Clarke smiles and types her reply.
We can compare medals when you get yours.
She nods at Bellamy, snuggling in closer to him. "Mmmhmm." His hand rubs soothing patterns on her arm.
No one really pays attention to the movie. Monty won his first bronze medal in the individual event earlier in the day, so he eventually Facetimes his best friend Jasper to show it to him. Murphy and Miller begin to discuss the NHL as Emori dozes on Murphy's shoulder.
When everyone leaves, Miller tells Bellamy he's going to go get celebratory drinks with Monty, and Clarke and Bellamy end up alone in his room, snuggling on his bed. She tries to keep her heart rate down, but her body has a mind of its own, going into a fluttery, panicked overdrive.
"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" Bellamy asks her.
"I don't think it will really kick in until we get there," Clarke confesses. "But I think we're ready."
"Me too," Bellamy agrees.
Ready. What a funny word. Ready.
Clarke's known Bellamy for most of her life. They've been best friends, strained partners, and everything in between. And through all of it, she's never once doubted that he is the one person who will always be in her life. Her one and done. Even when they were with other people, even when they were fighting, some part of her always knew that one day, they'd get it right.
It hits her like an avalanche.
She could spend the rest of her life with him. She can picture them together at 80, bickering over what channel to watch. She can picture kids, a dog. She can picture sketching his profile as she watches him sleep, eating Filipino leftovers while watching hockey with him.
She's always known, she realizes. Even when Bellamy was a brash, cocky flirt who paraded his girlfriends in front of her and she was an elitist teenager who thought he would never care about their sport as much as she did. She always knew that they would grow up and become the people they needed to be together.
Clarke doesn't want to compartmentalize anymore. She doesn't want to waste her energy pretending that she doesn't love Bellamy Blake with everything in her. The timing is finally right.
"After the Olympics," she says suddenly, "We should go somewhere sunny." Bellamy presses a kiss to the top of her head.
"I'll follow you anywhere," he says, and she believes him.
February 20th, 2018. Pyeong-Chang.
Their free program ends with Bellamy on his knees, clinging to Clarke as she clutches his head to her abdomen and stares upward.
She can feel his euphoric laughter against her stomach even before their music fades, and she tugs him to his feet the first second she is allowed to. Immediately, he has her wrapped in the tightest hug they have ever shared, lifting her off her feet and burying his face in her neck.
"I love you, I love you," he says into her skin. "Oh my God, Clarke, I love you so fucking much."
Clarke can't form words, can only let out a manic laugh of pure joy and cling to him as the crowd roars with applause. God, nothing else matters other than this. This moment.
"You're perfect," she breathes, pressing a kiss on his shoulder.
He sets her down, because they have to acknowledge the crowd at some point. They wave and bow, and she holds his hand with a death grip, never once letting go.
Raven and Marcus are there, and everything is a blue of hugs and tears and laughs. Somehow, they make their way to the Kiss and Cry, and Clarke practically sits in Bellamy's lap as they anxiously await their scores.
"Hi, Mom!" Clarke manages to say to the camera. "Thank you, I love you!"
"Love you O," Bellamy chimes in, his arm firmly wrapped around her.
The music fades, and the announcer requests the scores. Clarke's heart pounds. This is it. The culmination of years of work, of partnership. Years of dedication to the sport that holds her heart.
They earned an 83.67 in the short dance (and yes, it was a world record), but the competition is fierce and Clarke knows that it will take something that smashes their season's best so far to secure gold. But everything about that skate felt perfect. Magical. They were one on the ice, completely aligned and in-character.
She rests her head on his shoulder. Whatever happens, they're together.
"Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake have earned in the free dance a score of 122.40," the announcer says clearly. "A season's best." The board shows them ranked second in the free, but Clarke has no idea what anyone else in their group scored. She and Bellamy chose to skate blind.
She closes her eyes, so she doesn't see Marcus grinning or the elation that comes over Raven's face.
"-for a total score of 206.07 points, and are currently in-"
Her eyes open.
"-first place."
She's being lifted into the air again in the next moment, and everything is just Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy.
"Thank you so much, Princess," he says jubilantly.
"We did it, we did it," she says repeatedly. "We did it, Bell, oh my God!"
He sets her down and they just look at each other for a moment. Her eyes are filling with tears. He surges forward, pressing a bruising kiss to her cheek before they hug again, and Clarke thinks that this moment could last forever, and she'd never get sick of it.
The second they're backstage, away from cameras and media, Bellamy pulls her into his arms again. They only have a brief moment before the podiums, but this is their real celebration. This moment is for them and them alone.
Bellamy pulls back and looks her in the eyes.
"I love you," he says again, deliberately. And while he's said it to her hundreds of times throughout the years, this proclamation feels different. Clarke smiles.
"I love you too," she replies, and opens her mouth to tell him exactly how much when he starts talking again.
"No, Princess, I don't think you understand," he insists. "I love you. I want it all with you."
Clarke's heart soars, but she can't help but tease him. "Another Olympics? Worlds? Stars On Ice?"
"Clarke."
"It all is just so vague, Bell, you're gonna have to be-"
"Marry me," he blurts, and Clarke instantly freezes. Bellamy lets go of her and backs up, suddenly looking as terrified as she's ever seen him. He laughs, a tad manic. "Fuck, Clarke, look what you made me do, I had an actual proposal planned and you just-"
She doesn't let him finish, surging forward and capturing his lips.
When they separate to breathe, words tumble out of Bellamy's mouth.
"Clarke, I love you so much. It's always been you, ever since we were kids, and it will always be you and I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. God, Princess, you're just so perfect and we just won gold and it doesn't even compare to seeing you every day-"
"Breathe, Bellamy, breathe!" Clarke laughs, euphoric. Even when it comes to long-overdue love confessions, they're stupidly in sync. God, she loves him. "For the record, no matter how you were going to propose, my answer would always be yes."
"Glad we cleared that up," Bellamy snarks before leaning down to kiss her again. "We're gonna be so happy, Clarke."
She smiles into the kiss.
"I know."