Chapter Text
She doesn’t remember much about the moments leading up to the discovery. Honestly, she doesn’t remember much about anything that’s happened over the last week. It’s all a big blur of people and things wrapped up in a flurry of emotions. She can’t even remember the last time she felt so scared. It all happened so fast. In the course of a short three minutes, her life was over.
Her hands shake as she stares down at the small plastic stick. The pink plus sign seems to be taunting her as her eyes fill with tears. She squeezes her eyes shut tight and wills for it to disappear. When she opens them again and sees that despite her efforts it still remains, she lets a scared, quiet sob escape her lips. She stays that way, huddled in the bathroom stall until the school bell rings, signaling the end of fifth period.
Sniffling in as deep a breath as she can manage, Clarke quickly wraps the stick up in toilet paper and shoves it down low into her book bag. With trembling fingers, she unlocks the stall door and steps out into the tile-covered room and heads straight for the sinks.
She barely finishes rinsing the soap off her hands when the bathroom door swings open. She freezes and says nothing as the young girl drops her bag onto the ground and runs to the nearest stall. Clarke doesn’t wait for a second longer before wiping her hands on her jeans and rushing out the door into the sea of students on their way to their final class of the day.
Pressing herself up against the wall, she waits for a break in the group and then jumps in, eager to try and forget for just a moment how her life is over.
***
The sound of knuckles knocking on the front door stirs Bellamy from his long-overdue nap. Grumbling at being awoken earlier than he’d like, he pushes himself up from the comfort of his couch and, rubbing at his sleep-deprived eyes, trudges across the room to the front door.
Now, it’s safe to say that the last thing Bellamy Blake expected to see on his front porch at two in the morning, was a sniffling Clarke Griffin. He eyes her curiously, making sure to take a mental note of the state she’s in. She’s soaked from head to toe; which, given the weather the last few days, isn’t that big of a surprise. What is a surprise, however, is that he can clearly tell that she had been crying. Her eyes are red and puffy and the light mascara she normally wears is streaked down her cheeks.
“Hey, Clarke. Uh, Octavia’s not here. She stayed over at Harper’s tonight even though it’s a school night.”
Clarke sniffles. “Yeah. I know. I was actually just hoping I could stay here tonight? I understand if you don’t want me to but I can’t go back home right now and I really don’t feel like sleeping in my car.”
Bellamy scratches at the back of his neck while taking a quick glance at the mess of a room behind him. He wants to tell her no. He wants to apologize and say that it isn’t a good time because he hasn’t had a chance to clean the house yet. When he turns back to her though, that’s not what comes out.
“Come on in.”
She smiles at him; a small, thankful smile that falls from her face almost instantaneously when she crosses the threshold into the house. She keeps her head down and fidgets with the worn edge of her sweater while she waits for Bellamy to secure the deadbolt on the door.
When he turns to her, they lock eyes instantly and he can’t help but notice the way her bright blue eyes seem to have faded to something almost gray like. It’s strange to see her like this; so vulnerable and broken. Something has changed, and he'll never admit it, but he’s scared to know what.
Time stretches on in uncomfortable silence as they stand together in the middle of the room, neither of them willing to start the conversation. It isn’t until he hears her sniffle that he glances up to find her shivering and in tears. He doesn’t even think twice before he closes the distance between them and pulls her close, wrapping her in his arms. He holds her like that, not saying a word, just holding her close to him; afraid of what might happen if he were to let go.
“Look, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it. And that’s okay. You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he whispers into her ear while her head stays tucked securely into his neck. “I just, I want you to know that whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here. You can stay for as long as you like. No questions asked.”
***
Bellamy can’t sleep. Once he’s awake, there’s no way he’ll be able to get back to sleep. Then again, it isn’t like he’d be able to sleep anyways knowing that something is wrong with Clarke. It doesn’t help matters that she’s sleeping curled up only a few feet away from him on the living room couch. He had insisted that she take his bed but of course, she had refused. So, there he is at almost six in the morning, with his legs propped up on the coffee table trying hard to keep his mind from drifting. He promised her that he wouldn’t ask any questions; a promise that he intended to keep, but she did say that she would tell him everything in the morning after she’d slept.
“Bellamy?”
Lifting his head he finds Clarke staring at him, eyes wide and full of something he can’t quite put his finger on. Her hair is messed up on all sides and there’s a reddish mark on her right cheek from where it was smooshed up against the arm of the couch.
“Hey. How’d you sleep?” he asks as he sits forward in the armchair that served as his bed for the night.
Clarke rubs at her eyes. “Good, thanks. Would it be okay if I used your shower? School starts in a little bit and I don’t wanna go looking all gross.”
Bellamy chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I washed and dried your clothes from earlier. They’re on the counter in the bathroom.”
“Thanks, Bell.” With that, Clarke is off to the bathroom, her bare feet padding across the hardwood in the hallway.
Dragging a hand across his face, Bellamy waits to hear the door shut before getting up and heading to the kitchen. Despite his previous failures in the kitchen, and there are many, he’s determined to make them breakfast.
He’s halfway through spraying a pan with Pam when the front door swings open and his younger sister comes shuffling inside. He watches her in silence as she slowly closes the door and locks it. She moves to the bottom of the stairs and barely makes it to the second step when Bellamy clears his throat, catching her completely off guard.
Plastering on a fake smile, Octavia spins around to face Bellamy. “Hey, big bro. What’s up?”
Bellamy crosses his arms and gives her a look. “O, maybe if you don’t want to do the walk of shame, you should tell Lincoln to start bringing you home at a decent hour.”
“I wasn’t with—”
“Yes. You were. Harper called. Apparently, you left your bag at her place when you went out with Lincoln.”
Octavia cringes. “Dammit.”
“Yeah. Next time, try to remember all your belongings so your friend doesn’t have to rat you out, okay?”
“Oh, um, okay.”
Bellamy turns back to the stove, sets the pan down on the burner and turns it on. “We’re leaving at 6:30 so go get dressed.”
Turning on her heel, Octavia scrambles up the stairs and into her bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her.
Bellamy shakes his head at his little sister, not quite sure how he’s going to manage her next two years of high school all by himself. He knows that he’s going to come close to running himself into the ground.
Reaching into the fridge next to him, Bellamy withdraws the bag of bacon and a carton of eggs from the top shelf. He peels four strips of bacon from the package and drops them onto the pan. Letting them sizzle for a few moments, he carefully cracks four eggs into a bowl and quickly scrambles them up before pouring them onto the pan next to the frying bacon.
It isn’t long before the food is done and he’s separating it onto two plates he pulled out of the cupboard. He makes sure the stove is turned off and then carries both plates over to the small dining room table. He returns to the kitchen briefly to grab two cups and fill them with orange juice.
“Bellamy?”
Looking up as he sets the cups down on the table, he catches Clarke’s eyes from where she stands in the doorway, a smile spreading across his face. “Clarke, hey. You still like eggs, right? Because that’s really all we have right now. I haven’t exactly had a chance to go grocery shopping yet.”
Clarke smiles back. “Yeah, I uh, I still like eggs.”
“Good, good. I’m glad.”
They stand awkwardly staring at one another before Clarke makes the first move and takes a seat in front of one of the plates at the table. Taking a seat beside her, Bellamy digs in, not quite noticing when Clarke doesn’t touch hers. She’s still pushing her food around the plate when Bellamy gets up to place his dish in the sink.
Bellamy eyes her curiously as she continues to ignore the food in front of her. Her hair is still damp from her shower and continues to drip onto the back of her shirt, forming little wet spots along the collar. There’s something different about her now. Something in the way she holds herself and the way she speaks. It’s almost like she’s trying so hard to not break into pieces.
He turns his gaze to a spot on the floor, thinking back to not even two years ago when he and Octavia were just as fragile. It’s hard to think of those moments without wanting to break down and cry or just scream until there’s nothing left to scream about.
“Can we talk now?”
Bellamy looks up when Clarke’s voice interrupts his thoughts and clears his throat. She’s now standing in front of him with her plate still full of food and her cup halfway empty. He nods in response and takes the dishes from her to place in the sink along with his own.
“I did something really, really stupid and now I don’t know what to do and I’m freaking out,” her voice is quiet and shaking as she speaks.
Bellamy whirls around and finds Clarke shifting her weight back and forth between her feet and twisting her hands together in front of her. She’s nervous about their conversation, he can tell.
“Clarke,” he speaks, careful not to let his voice get too loud for fear of scaring her away from finally opening up to him. “I promise that whatever you did is not actually as bad as you—”
“I’m pregnant.”
Well, shit.