Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bangor, ME 9:34 AM

“O, we've got to go!” Bellamy has done a mental checklist in his head about five times and there is no possible way he's forgotten anything. He hopes. He turns towards the hallway leading to the apartment's bedrooms, ready to call out for Octavia again, when she appears. She's got a bag over her shoulder and her hair doesn't really seem to have any style to it other than up.

Of course, she's glaring at him.

“Remind me again why we have to leave butt fuck early,” she groans, dropping her bag at his feet and staring up at him. Bellamy sighs and raises an eyebrow at her.

“You can sleep in the car, remember? It's not like you'll be doing any of the driving.” Her glare intensifies and he smirks down at her. After a moment, she turns to look around the room, challenge forgotten. Bellamy watches her with concern.

“California's expensive,” she tells him quietly, staring intently at the couch they can't take with them, “I've looked it up. It's, like, a lot more expensive than anywhere else.”

“That's because it's gonna slide into the ocean any day now,” he tells her, trying to inject some levity into the thoughts he's sure are buzzing in her head, “they've gotta rake the cash in while it's still there.” She gives him a dry look and he sighs, adjusting his own bag digging into his shoulder.

“I can handle it,” he tells her seriously. She searches his eyes for a moment before nodding, bending down to pick her bag back up. He watches her with concern, not sure what exactly the right thing is to say in this situation. As per usual, his little sister finds it for him.

“We can handle it,” she amends and he smiles, nodding once before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and steering her out of the apartment, their keys left in an envelope on the counter.

-

Scranton, PA 5:46 PM

Fuck Scranton Pennsylvania.

Bellamy had driven almost non-stop for eight hours heading southwest from Maine in the shitty but dependable car he'd had since he was seventeen and saved his money up to buy a piece of shit car and work on it until it was a just a piece of crap car. Octavia had slept for three and complained for five about not having a chance to shower that morning and already feeling disgusting.

So, of course some asshole had to go ahead and steal his car.

They'd stopped for showers in Pennsylvania and had come out to find the car nowhere to be found. And Bellamy was absolutely positive he'd parked it right next to the large black SUV that was still there. It's not really anyone's fault except the creep that actually stole the car but Octavia is the closest person to him and Bellamy has never been great at keeping his temper in check. He's practically shouting at her in the mostly empty rest stop parking lot but Octavia, in true Blake form, is giving as good as she gets.

“If we hadn't fucking stopped for showers after less than a day-”

“Don't try to make this my fault, asshole! This could have happened at any rest stop,” she argues and, really, it's a fair point but Bellamy isn't going to give that to her.

“Oh, please, this wasn't fate, Octavia, this was stopping at a shitty rest stop!” He vaguely registers the sound of the SUV their standing in front of starting up and before Octavia can respond to him a short blonde is sending him a deadly glare and asking Octavia if she's all right.

“Don't worry about it,” Octavia assures her, “it's just my stupid brother being an idiot.”

“That's redundant,” Bellamy quips before he can stop himself and he can practically feel his face burning when Octavia glares at him. He sees the fight leave the blonde now that he's apparently no longer a threat and hopes that will be enough to make her leave. It isn't and suddenly she's questioning them like she isn't a complete stranger who just went out of her way to get in their conversation. Octavia makes a comment about getting “fucked by the gene pool” and he tries not to be hurt by the comment but, hey, she's all he has and this isn't his god damned fault.

He tugs his car keys from his pocket and jingles them in the air at her, telling her as much. Octavia remains unimpressed, taking a cheap shot at his car. Yeah, it's a piece of shit, but it's his piece of shit. Or it was anyway. Now it's some douchebag's who'll be lucky to get a few hundred bucks for it.

“Your car got stolen?” It takes him a moment to realize the blonde is addressing him now but before he can respond he sees Octavia's eyes lock on the SUV the blonde seems to have come out of and spin back around, asking if she'd seen anything. Ever the dramatic, when the girl says she hadn't, Octavia drops down on the curb and sulks. Bellamy realizes the girl is studying him and Octavia in turn and holds her stare in challenge. She doesn't even seem to notice, though, and he.. doesn't really know what to do with that.

“Where are you guys heading?”

Oh no.

“California,” Octavia tells her, using her best my-life-is-a-greek-tragedy voice.

Absolutely not.

“I'm heading west but I don't really have a destination. You could come with me if you want?”

“No,” Bellamy says even as Octavia is practically going airborne and shouting the opposite. No fucking way is Bellamy about to get into a strange car with some crazy girl who just lets strangers travel across the country with her. Who does that?

“Octavia, no,” he reiterates, trying to sound like there's no room for argument. He'll call the cops, they'll hopefully send someone to pick them up, and they'll take a bus or something back to Maine. End of story.

Christ he hates arguing with his little sister.

“Well, I'm going,” she bites, “you can stay here and hope your precious car comes back.” Bellamy crosses his arms and tries to look authoritative. He's terrible at winning arguments with Octavia but she has to realize that in this instance he is absolutely right.

“We don't know her,” he insists, not bothering to lower his voice despite the girl still standing in between him and Octavia. “We don't know anything about her.”

“I'm Clarke.” He turns his attention on the girl in question, a little surprised by her cutting in again. “Griffin. I’m heading west from Boston because I didn’t want to be there anymore and I have room in my car. Plus, I feel bad that your car got stolen right out from under my nose.” Octavia is grinning and Bellamy knows he's lost and god dammit he has to win eventually!

Before he can get a word in anyway, Octavia is introducing herself and pumping her fist in the air. She practically skips to the passenger side of the SUV, leaving her bag for him to deal with. Clarke follows her and Bellamy shoves his now useless car keys into his pocket and grabs Octavia's bag.

At least he was getting out of fucking Scranton.

-

Rolla, MO 4:08 AM

Bellamy only wakes up because, as large as the backseat of the SUV is, his legs are still aching from being cramped in the seat and the car hits the rumble strips on the side of the highway just enough to send a vibration through his head against the car door and spur him into consciousness. This is fine, not enough to actually concern him, what is is waking up to find Octavia behind the wheel.

“O?” He questions, straightening up and trying to relieve the tension in his shoulders from hunching against the car door. “Why are you driving?”

“Clarke was tired,” she shrugs and it seems to forced casual to be the whole story but Clarke is knocked out in the passenger seat so he doesn't question her. He's rolling his neck when Octavia lets out a surprised half shriek and they swerve so suddenly he falls sideways against the door. They hit the rumble strip harder this time, the whole car vibrating as Octavia tries to steer them back into their lane from the side of the highway.

“Motherfucker!” She barks, flinching as she glances over at the passenger seat. Bellamy rubs his shoulder where it hit the window.

“What the hell was that?” Octavia shushes him, motioning to Clarke but he stares at the back of her head until she answers.

“Some guy just tried to merge into me, it's not a big deal,” she tells him but her voice is shaking and it's a big enough deal for Bellamy.

“Pull over,” he instructs, “we're switching.” Octavia barely puts up a fight before pulling over the side of the road and letting him take over behind the wheel. He stops as they cross paths in between doors and puts his hands on her upper arms, stilling her.

“You okay?” She rolls her eyes, pushing his arms off of her.

“Please, Bellamy, I'm fine!” She steps around him to climb into the backseat and he shakes his head before sliding into the driver's seat. Clarke only shifts enough to press her head against the window but doesn't appear to wake up at the change.

-

Joplin, MO 6:48 AM

“You know, I've done a lot of stupid things in my life.” Octavia doesn't stop inhaling her french toast for long enough to acknowledge his statement with anything more than a snort. He glares at the top of her head and shreds a strip of bacon between his fingers.

“But,” he presses on, “this is by far the stupidest thing I've ever done.”

“Really?” Octavia asks, setting her fork down to raise an eyebrow. “Stupider than the time you and Murphy got caught pissing on that cop car, you know, the one that just so happened to belong to Miller's dad?” Bellamy narrows his eyes at her.

“You're not supposed to know about that.” Octavia sends him an enigmatic smile and tucks back into her food. He sighs and focuses back in on his own plate. He'd called the Scranton police to report his car stolen and explained that a friend was giving them a lift the rest of the way to California and they'd put out a notice on the license plate. Bellamy wasn't hopeful he'd ever see his car again.

“Oh,” Clarke murmurs from the table over, staring at her laptop screen, “that was anti-climactic.” Bellamy looks over at her, expecting some sort of elaboration when Octavia asks what's going on. Instead, she pulls out her phone and starts typing. He's about to repeat Octavia's question when Clarke finally answers.

“I haven't been cut off yet,” she says like that's a totally normal sentence before her phone vibrates against the table. Bellamy narrows his eyes and looks over her, the tells of an extremely fortunate upbringing he's previously missed now obvious. He clenches his jaw.

“What are you? A trust fund brat?” He asks but she doesn't answer, calling the waitress over to ask about an ATM and get their checks. He takes her lack of an answer as enough of one though.

She drives them to the gas station the waitress had given them directions to and he can't help but be a little bitter – okay a lot bitter – as he fills the tank. Spoiled rich kid makes sense when he thinks about her behavior. Looking for a cheap thrill or a chance to give back or something equally as pretentious by picking up two strangers practically on the side of the road. His stomach churns at the thought of being someone's charity case, their good deed before they go back to some lavish lifestyle. And he has to assume it's lavish, after all, most people don't use the term “cut off” like it's an every day thing.

Clarke comes back and he lacks the self control necessary to keep himself from getting in a few digs. He calls her princess and decides it fits probably better than she'd like to admit but it doesn't make him feel any better. He makes a point of climbing in the back seat and doesn't bother pretending not to be staring at her.

-

Oklahoma City, OK 10:52 AM

There's probably only two things in the world Bellamy is an absolute sucker for; His sister and anything with historical value. Combine the two in his sister holding up a pamphlet for a historical museum and he's pretty much a goner.

Clarke had rejected Octavia's invite to tag along and Bellamy had left her in the motel room with his body wash and his cell phone number. Just in case. He had to admit he was looking forward to the prospect of spending some time alone with Octavia and taking the opportunity to talk her into renting a car and making the rest of the trip on their own.

They're wandering through a room lined with miniature displays when he decides to broach the subject.

“O, listen,” he starts with a sigh.

“We're not leaving Clarke.” His little sister is too quick for her own good. He raises an eyebrow at her and she rolls her eyes, focusing her attention on a recreation of some battle with tiny little soldiers in surprisingly accurate battle gear. Bellamy doesn't have the time to give it the amount of interest it deserves.

“Look, I'm just saying we should think about renting a car and heading the rest of the way by ourselves,” he tries but Octavia is already shaking her head.

“Bell, no. Come on, Clarke hasn't done anything wrong besides offend your delicate sensibilities by being rich,” she counters. There's no hostility in the comment and she's still drifting between displays with him on her tail but he glares at her nonetheless.

“That isn't why-”

“Isn't it?” She asks, turning so suddenly he nearly runs right into her. “Maybe instead of pigeonholing Clarke for something outside of her control, you should be considering why exactly you'd want to do that in the first place.”

“I know people like her, Octavia,” he counters.

“But you don't know Clarke. Maybe we should try to get to know her before we decide she's a lost cause, huh?” Bellamy sighs and is trying to pinpoint the exact moment when his little sister got so much smarter than him when she continues, “Besides, I know we need Clarke's car right now but I think maybe Clarke needs us, too.” Bellamy lets that thought sit for a moment.

“And how would you know that?” He asks tiredly and Octavia shrugs lightly, turning back to the display case they've stopped in front of.

“Just do.”

Just as Octavia starts to drift off to the next case, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He fishes it out finding a text from an unknown number with an area code he doesn't recognize.

This is Clarke. In case you need anything.

All right, fine, he'll give her a chance.

-

He wakes the next morning to find his sister still asleep and Clarke's bed empty. His initial moment of panic is tamped out at the memory of their squabble at the botanical gardens the day before and he decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. He tosses the comforter and pillow he'd used onto the vacant bed and heads towards the window, pushing the thick curtain aside. The sun is about halfway over the horizon and he spots Clarke sitting on the hood of her SUV with her sketchbook in her lap. Her hair glows orange in the dawning sunlight and he stares at her for a moment before remembering himself and letting the curtain fall back in front of the window.

He rips open a packet of the cheap hotel coffee and starts brewing it in the provided coffee maker. He grabs two styrofoam cups at first, then rolls his eyes at himself putting one back. He grabs it again when the coffee stops dripping from the machine and fills them both. He heads outside, balancing the two cups in one hand as he tugs the door shut behind him gently enough as to not wake Octavia.

“Afraid I'd left you?” He hears her call across the parking lot, the bite in her tone piercing through the quiet morning air. And, fine, he maybe deserved that. He bites back any response and crosses to her, handing her one of the coffees. She seems instantly regretful and mutters a thanks while she cradles the cup between her hands.

He leans against the front bumper and watches the sun continue it's ascent, the colors around it changing shades slowly as it rises. He can feel Clarke's eyes on him and sips at his hot coffee, trying to ignore her stare until he can't anymore and turns to meet her gaze. He'd thought it'd make her stop staring but she continues, unashamed, with an odd look. He thinks she might be tracing the lines off his face in her mind.

The thought reminds him of the sketchpad in her lap.

“Can I?” She seems hesitant at first but holds it out for him nonetheless. He takes it gently, afraid to crinkle the page or smear the colors before he realizes it's pencil rather than ink or paint. The lifelike flower from the day before is colored in with shades of pinks and oranges and backed by the blues and greens of the ponds behind it. It's breathtaking.

“It's really good, Clarke,” he says finally and doesn't miss the grin that lights up her face. He thinks it's about the compliment until she responds.

“Ah, so you do know my name!” He can't help but laugh at the genuinely excited look on her face as he hands the book back to her and plucks his coffee up off the hood.

“Yeah, well, don't get used to it, Princess,” he corrects and, damn, he doesn't mean for it to sound so affectionate but it does somehow and Clarke is still grinning at him. She insists she'll find something to call him and suddenly she's leaning forward and waiting for him to reply to her questioning about princess being original but all he can think about it is the sudden urge to kiss her. And, really, where the fuck did that come from? His eyes land on her lips and she's too fucking close to him so he stumbles back a step, looking back towards where the sky has turned almost completely yellow.

“Yeah, well, public school,” he responds dryly, trying to forget the warmth of her smile and how she'd smelled like him up close, the scent of his soap lingering on her skin and mixing with her own. He takes a moment before telling her he'd come out to ask about showers and heading back inside.

He finds his body wash in the zipped front pocket of his bag and heads into the bathroom for his shower.

-

Clarke takes the driver's seat on the way back to the highway, stopping at a drugstore to pick up a few things. Bellamy and Octavia opt to stay in the car and she's been gone less than a minute when Octavia says what Bellamy imagines she's been thinking about all morning.

“So, what do you think her story is anyway?” She asks and Bellamy sighs because, honestly, he's been trying not to wonder about it himself and he definitely doesn't want Octavia to start prying information out of Clarke.

“I don't know, Octavia, maybe she's just on vacation,” he offers, slumping back in his seat and trying to seem uninterested in the conversation. Octavia is shaking her head in the passenger seat and Bellamy can tell she's heading exactly where he didn't want her to.

“Nah, I don't think so,” she says, like she's still mulling it over in her head and speaking more to herself than to him. He groans and runs a hand through his hair.

“Leave it, O, all right? If she wanted us to know she'd tell us.” Octavia spins in her seat suddenly to look at him.

“Doesn't she seem like she's hurting?” She demands.

“I don't know,” Bellamy groans. “I haven't really been paying attention.” Octavia scrutinizes him for a moment and it takes every ounce of Bellamy's strength not to squirm under her look. Eventually, her face softens and she turns back to the front of the car.

“Yes you have,” she disagrees softly and damn his brilliant sister for reading him like a book.

He hears the back hatch open the sound of a plastic bag landing on the mat in the back. Clarke slides into the front seat and if she notices the tension in the air she doesn't comment.

Octavia, miraculously, makes it a whole fifteen minutes.

“So, can I ask you something?”

Bellamy groans and sinks down in the backseat.

-

Albuquerque, NM 4:56 PM

“My dad died.” Bellamy's eyebrows raise in surprise at the sound of Clarke's voice but he realizes it doesn't matter because she's not looking at him anyway. He doesn't know exactly what it means that it was her mom's fault but he doesn't ask her to elaborate either. He just watches her stare at the front of the gas station for a moment before thrusting his coffee out at her. It takes her a moment but she wraps her hands around it and takes large drink, flinching slightly.

He tries not to watch her but his eyes keep trailing over to her regardless. He decides it doesn't really matter if she notices because she'd been staring at him that morning. He thinks about telling her about his mom but it feels wrong trying to swap tragic back stories in this shitty gas station parking lot while Octavia finds something probably sugary and terrible for them to eat inside.

Bellamy doesn't want to think about the fact that he just wants to tell Clarke.

Octavia comes out just as he opens him mouth, saving him from himself. She bounds towards them, showing off a box of donuts, and Clarke hands him back his coffee. She turns to face forward on the backseat and slides further into the car. He steps forward and closes the door for her.

Octavia is already in the driver's seat by the time he gets into the car and she drops the donuts in his lap before he can protest. She's already pulling out of the parking lot when she finally asks Clarke where exactly they're going. Clarke had evaded his questions earlier and he'd been too near to sleep to press enough to get a real answer. When she explains that her dad had always promised her some long camping trip at the Grand Canyon his throat closes up at the thought. He can practically see the gears turning in Octavia's mind, putting together things Clarke shared with him moments ago.

“Arizona it is, then,” he comments gently, smiling at his sister's excited whoop.

-

Welcome to Arizona.

As soon as Bellamy notices the sign, he points it out to Clarke. He'd turned the radio off when he'd taken over as driver, tired of the upbeat pop sound punctuated by sudden static that they'd have to either ride out or fumble with the stations. The quiet of the car makes Octavia's occasional snores and the sound of Clarke's pencils against her sketchbook page louder.

Clarke looks up when he nudges her, spotting the sign.

“Not far now,” he tells her quietly. She nods but it seems more reflexive than anything and Bellamy recognizes the look on her face well enough, the sudden reminder of pain warring with the happiness of feeling close to her dad. He's seen it on Octavia's face, felt it in his own chest, enough times.

He doesn't really think about placing his hand over hers, it's just there suddenly and she's flipped her hand over and is squeezing his lightly. They stay like that, him driving with one hand on the wheel, for a while until he needs to merge because the car in front of him is driving him crazy.

He misses the warmth of her hand the minute he slips his away.

-

Clarke had curled up in her seat and it hadn't taken long for her to drift off. He was beginning to realize that Clarke was a very heavy sleeper. Even his temper loss at the guy in the car next to them who wouldn't let him get over couldn't wake her. Octavia had shifted in the back and bit out a shut the fuck up, Bell but hadn't woken fully.

He glanced up at the review mirror, watching Octavia sleep, stretched across the bench seat, for a few seconds and flexed his hands nervously against the steering wheel.

He'd spent the past eighteen years trying to do everything right for his little sister. He'd been so sure a few months ago – hell, a few days ago – that this move was what was best for both of them. Octavia could get a fresh start away from the foster system reminders, he could get to live in the same state as Miller again – arguably the best influence of all his teenage friends.

It was just that the closer he got to California the more he worried he was going to fuck Octavia up. A year of school could be bad for her, she might not decide to go back at all. She'd also have to spend that year working because he had a decent enough savings but it wasn't going to support them or even afford them an apartment for a few months.

She'd been right two days ago, California isn't cheap.

He bites down on his tongue and merges into the exit lane. All this driving in silence was definitely giving him too much time to think.

-

Grand Canyon Village, AZ 10:16 AM

Bellamy wakes up because of the heat. He doesn't know how long the sun has been up but it's turned the black SUV into an oven. He sits up and has to remember why exactly he's sleeping on the uncomfortable plastic mat in the truck's tailgate. Then he remembers Clarke crying in his arms and lying awake while she was curled up against him, breath evening out enough to tell him she was asleep.

He shakes his head and checks on Octavia in the backseat. He doesn't know how she could possibly still be sleeping but he leaves her be anyway, leaving the back hatch open to get some airflow in the car and maybe cool it down some.

Clarke is sitting on the hood with her sketchpad again and he leans against the front bumper, the sun soaked metal heating his skin through the layers of his clothes. He waits for her to speak first, content to take in the landscape before him. He'd never been a nature guy, really, was more about buildings and architecture – the feats and falls of man and all that. But he couldn't deny being a little in awe of the sight before him. He looks over when Clarke greets him softly, responds.

“How are you?” He asks after a beat. Clarke doesn't need to be told what he's asking, she nods slowly twice.

“Better.” He nods once as well, quickly.

“Good.” She smiles and he has to remind himself not to stare at her, so he glances down, remembering the book in her lap. He doesn't ask for permission this time, just leans forward for a better look. He takes it as a good sign when she leans back to give him access. It's the same sight he'd been looking at a moment ago but the colors are different, he wonders just how long she's been awake, and there's a figure – shaded and lacking any real defining features – silhouetted against the light, standing at the edge of the canyon. He looks up with a smile and realizes she looks a little nervous.

He's never met an artist who was completely comfortable sharing their uncompleted work.

“You're talented, Princess,” he tells her, though he doubts his words would make her believe it if she doesn't already.

“High praise coming from you,” she smirks and Christ he's thinking about kissing her again. He's thinking how easy it would be to lean forward and close the short distance between them. He jerks back away from her.

“Were you going to kiss me?” The question surprises him but her voice is a little breathless and he smirks at her, surprised at her bluntness.

“Did you want me to?” He responds, drifting towards her again without any real conscious thought. Suddenly he's in her space again and she's shrugging like she doesn't really care but it's with more teasing than any real apathy to the situation.

“Only one way to find out.” And he probably shouldn't, really. Because Octavia likes her and he shouldn't fuck that up and she lives on the east coast where he doesn't live anymore. And he probably already likes her much more than he should.

But he's going to.

Or, well, he was, at least. Until her very loud and inappropriate friend shows up and Octavia is waking up and it's probably for the best anyway.

“Reality,” Clarke had said. Yeah, he'd almost forgotten about that son of bitch.

-

Needles, CA 7:47 PM

“Forgot,” Clarke scoffs as he digs through his bag for clean shirt – he had to stop tossing all of his dirty clothes on top – in his towel. “You're just a show off.” He smirks but doesn't bother responding. He really hadn't meant to forget clothes but after waking up in the hot car and then walking around in the God forsaken Arizona heat, he had jumped at the chance for a shower.

He hears the blankets shift as Clarke moves on the bed and can feel her when she comes to a stop behind him. He doesn't know exactly where this is going and he can't decide if he wants to let it or not.

“Where are Octavia and Raven?” He asks instead of acknowledging her closeness.

“They went off in search of food,” she answers and he can't ignore her when he can feel her breath against his damp skin as she talks. He turns to face her, t-shirt mostly forgotten but still gripped in his hands. He starts to ask what she's doing but before he can even try her lips are on his.

And it's definitely better than he'd been imagining. Even if he was steadfastly refusing to admit to having imagined it. That was nothing compared to the real feeling of Clarke. One minute it's soft and gentle and he could stand for staying just like this – a feeling he really doesn't want to analyze. Suddenly she's shoving him backwards, spurring him towards the bed, and he doesn't need to be told twice. He lets her guide him backwards, the cheap hotel towel holding between them with an astounding grip. She realizes the same thing and rolls her hips into his.

“You're loving this, aren't you, Princess?” He grinds out, tacking the nickname on without meaning to. He really has to stop saying it with that amount of affection. She grins at him and he jerks his hips up into her, earning himself a hissed Jesus.

“I prefer Bellamy,” he quips, already reaching to pull her back to him for another kiss, “but whatever you want.”

He's practically panting as she grinds her hips against his in between kissing her. And suddenly he's imagining her, shaky breathing and dark eyes, thinking about someone else and it shouldn't matter but it suddenly does. He grips her hips tightly enough to stall her movement.

“What?” She frowns, looking confused and annoyed by the sudden halt.

“Is this about your ex?” He hates that his voice shakes, chalks it up to the fact that despite the lack of movement there's still plenty of blood rushing in directions other than his brain.

“No,” she says and it sounds like the truth but it also sounds like there's something missing there. He doesn't question it because it really shouldn't matter.

-

Leave it to Octavia to snap him out of his I-just-had-amazing-sex-with-a-hot-as-fuck-girl bliss with a heavy dose of reality. All while making him run out and buy her ice cream.

He and Clarke split up inside the convenience store and he heads towards the freezer on the back wall and scans the options in front of him. He isolates two and picks them out of the freezer, turning at the sound of footsteps and finding Clarke behind him. He holds them up for her to see.

“Cookies and crème or mint chocolate chip?” She shakes her head at him.

“Whatever happened to just classic chocolate or vanilla?” He smirks and leans into her slightly.

“Come on, Clarke, live a little.” When she kisses him, he isn't expecting it but doesn't hesitate to respond. He's not really sure what's going on between them but isn't in a hurry to end it either. Reality be damned. The spoons in her hand are digging into his arm and he steps forward to wrap one of his arms around her back but she squeals and jumps away from him.

He laughs when he realizes what's happened, the frozen carton of ice cream in his hand pressing against her back, and jerks his hand up. He holds it away from her and grins.

“Sorry,” he offers insincerely. Clarke huffs, tells him to get the mint chip ice cream, and stalks away from him towards the front of the store. He sighs and puts one of the cartons back in the freezer before jogging after her. He wraps his free arm around her waist to stop her movement.

“Hey, don't be mad. It was an accident. You distracted me.” She freezes and he knows this is bad.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“What, distracting me?” He asks, smirking and attempting to lure the playful side he's seen a handful of times back out. “Don't be. In fact...” He trails off as he leans forward, nearly capturing her lips again until she steps back suddenly. He watches her in confusion.

“We really shouldn't,” she says quiet but firm and he doesn't know which one of them she's trying to tell. He frowns.

“Why?”

“It was a one time thing, okay? Tomorrow I have to go back to reality and so do you.” He glares at her, wondering how many times they'll use the excuse of reality before they admit whatever this is between them. He doesn't really mean to be a dick but, well, old habits.

“Right, sorry, Princess,” he growls, his defenses up. There's no affection in the nickname this time. “I forgot I'm not worthy, right? Just good for a quick fuck?” And, yeah, okay that's not exactly what she'd said but he's an asshole with issues. And if he wants her to maybe feel a little ashamed, then, well this would probably do it.

She flinches but doesn't back down.

“Right,” she nods once, quick and jerky, her voice holding strong even as she avoids his eyes. “Earlier, that was just physical.” He narrows his eyes, watches her meet his eyes and try to look firm on the subject. The fight almost completely leaves him. He straightens, sighing to himself, and takes the items in her hands from her.

“You're a terrible fucking liar,” he informs her before stepping past her to head for the checkout.

-

He wakes up to the sharp pain of an already forming bruise on his side and the sound of activity around him. He's still wrapped around Clarke, though he knows they hadn't fallen asleep this way, and assumes she's still asleep. He feigns it as he listens to Octavia and Raven move quietly around him.

“Should we wake them?” Raven asks.

“Nah, let 'em sleep. They haven't slept in once this whole trip.”

He hears the motel door open and close as the pair heads out and returns his attention to Clarke. He should probably get up but he's warm and content and their sex the day before had had such a time constraint that it wasn't like they'd had time to just be like this. He nearly groans aloud at the realization that he wants to cuddle with Clarke.

The thought reminds him of their argument the night before and he at least has the morals to be ashamed of his reaction. It was obvious Clarke was trying to distance herself from him to save them any pain. He should be doing the same, for fucks sake! Yet, here he is, curled around her in bed and pining like a pathetic teenager.

He is so screwed.

She flinches suddenly and he realizes she's awake. There's a slight hitch in her breath that he lets himself believe has to do with his arm around her. He flexes his fingers where they're tangled with hers.

“Stop thinking so loud,” he breathes, his breath ruffling the hair that has fallen out of her braid in the night. He can't stop himself from moving forward the tiny amount between them and nuzzling his nose against her.

“Can't help it,” she responds and he takes the lightness in her sleep roughened voice as a sign that she's not about to kick him out of bed and tell him not to touch her. Which, of course, she has every right to do after how he'd acted.

“M'sorry,” he tells her quietly as her hair tickles his nose.

“Are you apologizing for my thinking too hard?” She laughs and he shakes he his head, his nose brushing through her hair and his cheek scraping the pillow at the movement.

“Nah, for being a dick yesterday,” he elaborates and Clarke tenses against him.

“Bellamy,” she starts quietly and he really doesn't want to find out where that sentence is going so he cuts her off.

“Come on, Clarke, I know you like me.” He tries to sound cocky and not like he's terrified she'll laugh at him and tell him to get a grip. When she does laugh, his heart sinks.

“Like you?” He can hear the grin in her voice but the question isn't malicious. “Bellamy, that's so high school.” Okay, well, she didn't deny it. That's probably a good sign. She tugs her hand from his suddenly, rolling over to look past him to the other bed.

“Where are Raven and Octavia?” She asks, settling back into the bed. Bellamy shifts to accommodate the change, moving his now empty hand to rest on her hip over the comforter.

“I woke up as they were leaving,” he tells her, “they were probably going for breakfast.” Clarke nods slowly and then seems to remember the mess her hair has become from sleeping on it. She reaches a hand up to try and smooth it some and Bellamy smirks at her, remembering the conversation he'd been trying to have before she'd been distracted.

“Fine, whatever,” she pouts and it takes every ounce of strength Bellamy has not to kiss her right then, “but you like me, too.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, I do,” he assures her, warmly. No use denying the obvious.

“This sucks,” she bites and the pout is back and Bellamy never had great self control in the first place.

“That it does, Princess,” he sighs, leaning forward to kiss her softly.

-

Octavia corners him while he's putting the bags in the car. Clarke and Raven are still inside getting the rest of their stuff together and he doesn't think he's imagining the way Clarke's been dragging her feet. He closes the bottom half of the tailgate and turns, nearly running right into Octavia. He steps back in surprise and raises an eyebrow at her.

“Jesus, O, what-”

“What's going on with you and Clarke?” She asks, never one for beating around the bush. Bellamy stares at her in shock for a minute. One of these days he'd stop underestimating his little sister.

“Nothing,” he responds, trying for nonchalant but even he can tell his voice is too gruff, too defensive. Octavia rolls her eyes.

“Oh, please,” she scoffs, sidestepping and leaning against the back of the SUV, “I'm not an idiot.”

“I really don't know what you're talking about, Octavia,” he tells her sternly, hoping she'll have enough sense to drop this.

“Bellamy,” she starts, taking on a gentler tone and he knows he's going to spill everything to her, “I know you like her, okay? And clearly something happened. I just want to know what's going on, that you're okay.” He sighs and leans back against the truck as well.

“It's complicated,” he mutters, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the pavement.

“Isn't it always?”

“She lives on the other side of the country, O. I'm never even going to see her again.” Octavia frowns and drops her head to look at her own shoes and he knows he's said the wrong thing. It's one thing to have feelings for Clarke and know it's not going to work but Octavia has clearly grown attached to Clarke as well. He isn't the only one who isn't coping well with her leaving.

“Hey,” he says gently, getting Octavia to look up at him again, “it's a lot easier to keep up a friendship from opposite sides of the country than it is a relationship, okay?” Octavia nods and steps forward towards him, hugging his side. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes tightly.

Bellamy is constantly being reminded how lucky he is to have Octavia.

-

Lenwood, CA 1:18 PM

“Clarke likes the sour worms,” Raven says from behind him making him jump. He spins around and raises an eyebrow at her. He's got a bag of the chips Octavia likes already in his hand and he'd been looking over the candy selection trying to decide on something that Clarke would like while she and Octavia fill up the gas tank.

He thinks about asking Raven what she's talking about, playing dumb, but she's got this knowing look in her eye and he remembers his conversation with Clarke back at the department store.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, turning back to grab the bag. Raven steps around him and grabs something for herself before heading towards the cash register. He follows behind her, snagging a protein bar for himself. He hasn't spent much time around just Raven without Clarke or Octavia around as a buffer. He doesn't know anything about her and she doesn't strike him as the warm and fuzzy type.

But, of course, the line for the register is longer than he'd expected and the silence is extremely uncomfortable.

“So,” he begins slowly, scrambling for literally any topic of conversation besides the only one he can think of. Raven beat him to it.

“I know about you and Clarke, okay? So, you don't have to be all evasive about it or whatever you were just about to do to make this even more uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “Clarke mentioned that she'd told you.” Raven snorts.

“Not that she needed to. A blind squirrel with a nut allergy could have picked that up.” Bellamy frowns at the analogy but decides not to question it. The line shuffles forward barely.

“How?” He asks instead.

“Well, the first time I saw you two at the Canyon you were practically dry humping on the front of her car,” she explains and, well, he thinks that's quite a bit of an overstatement but he's also a little afraid of Raven so he isn't going to correct her. “And then you two leave together and she comes back acting like a kicked puppy.” He looks down at his shoes, the guilt for his reaction to her pulling away coming back.

“I apologized for that,” he murmurs.

“I'm sure you did.” She turns suddenly, facing him for the first time since they'd reached the line. “Clarke's in a delicate place right now, okay? She has a lot going on and I don't want you adding any more complications to that than you already have. You seem to really like her but we're going to head back to Boston and whatever you guys are doing is going to end. Just try not to let it end badly, all right?”

The line moves forward and she heads towards the now open register without waiting for him to respond.

-

Mothers Beach, Long Beach, CA 3:36 PM

Bellamy heaves a great sigh and leans back against the driver's side door, waiting for Miller's laughter to die down. He'd called to tell him they'd arrived in Long Beach and explained why it had taken a bit longer than originally planned. To which Nathan had broken out laughing.

“Are you done?” Bellamy barks into the phone and Miller is still chuckling but is finally calming down.

“Yeah, yeah, man, I'm done,” he says but Bellamy doubts this is the last he'll be hearing of it. “So, where are you?”

“Some beach Octavia found,” Bellamy tells him. “Mothers Beach.” Miller hums in recognition.

“Okay, so, these people you're with, are they cool?” Bellamy shrugs even though Miller can't see him. He tries to sound casual as he glances down the beach for a particular head of blonde hair he doesn't see.

“Yeah, they're not too bad.”

“Cool, then new plan. I'll come meet you guys in a little while and treat you all to dinner.” Bellamy opens his mouth to argue but Nathan beats him to it. “Don't argue, Blake. Anyway, dinner then they can crash at my place for the night and get an early start instead of driving through the night.” Bellamy thinks about arguing, saying that it's not necessary and they can get a hotel. He doesn't think he should be delaying the inevitable with Clarke anymore than he already has.

“I'll ask them if they want to do that,” he says instead because he's a selfish bastard anyway.

-

Knowing that Octavia knows about him and Clarke it doesn't surprise him when she all but forces them to share Miller's guestroom for the night, even as she tells him not to get used to it and that she fully plans on making him sleep on the couch after Clarke and Raven leave.

Clarke changes in the guestroom and he waits outside for her to tell him he can come in. It's ridiculous because they've seen each other naked and he kind of hopes to have her naked again before they fall asleep but he does it anyway. When he climbs into the bed she's already under the covers, laying on her back. He mirrors her position for a few moments before reaching over and taking her hand. He tugs her towards him gently and gives her the opportunity to initiate any further contact. If she doesn't he won't push.

When she does, he wastes no time relieving her of the clothes she'd just changed into and she follows his lead, tugging his own t-shirt over his head. She smells like salt water and some kind of perfume but her skin tastes the same as it had the last time and he can't imagine himself ever getting tired of it.

He grunts as he slides into her and she slaps her hand over his mouth, though she looks downright gleeful at how she's affecting him.

“Shh, you're sister-”

“God, Clarke, please don't mention my sister right now,” he pleads, closing his eyes as she rotates her hips and pulls him towards her. She laughs at him.

“Okay but just be quiet,” she commands in a low teasing voice. He growls and retaliates by rolling them over so she's straddling him now, bucking his hips up into her. Her sharp intake of breath at the sensation makes him forget all about anyone else in the apartment.

When she comes back from the bathroom in nothing but his t-shirt and hands him the book she'd bought for him, he knows he's a goner.

“Are you ready to go home tomorrow?” Bellamy asks once they're settled back in bed and Clarke's back is pressed up against his chest.

“No,” she responds and she sounds like she's pouting again. Bellamy can't help the sad smile that crosses his face.

“You can always come back,” he offers, trying not to let his hope seep too much into his voice. He isn't going to ask her to stay or to come back to him or whatever. Contrary to what Octavia may believe, he's not that much of a romantic sap.

“For a vacation or whatever,” he adds. “I'm sure O would like that.” When she turns around to face him, adjusting in his arms, she's frowning.

“Would you?”

“You know I would.”

She tucks her head under his chin and Bellamy tries his best to resist the exhaustion pulling at him, afraid of what he'll find when he wakes up.

-

The shrill sound of his cell phone ringing wakes him up. He scrambles for it as Clarke groans and rolls away from him in her sleep. He talks to the guy at the moving company in a hushed voice for a few minutes and when he hangs up he sets the phone back down on nightstand next to the book about Augustus. Spotting it, he looks over at Clarke and smiles before heading out of the room.

He finds Raven staring tiredly at the blank tv screen in the living room and Octavia curled up on a dining chair in the kitchen. He starts a pot of coffee and sits down across from her. At the look on her face, all thoughts of the moving crew go out of his head.

“O,” he sighs, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. She looks up, startled to find him there and he's a little worried to find out what thoughts are whirring around in her head.

“How'd you sleep?” He asks instead. Octavia shrugs but clings to his hand with both of hers and for about the hundredth time in the past five days he's terrified he's going to completely fuck up his little sister's life. He doesn't need to ask if she's had one of her panic attacks, the circles under her eyes tell him enough.

“Octavia, if you want to go back to Maine,” he starts slowly but Octavia is shaking her head vigorously.

“No! Bellamy, no, of course not!” She takes a deep breath and he sees the same strength and fire in her eyes that he'd seen in his mother's a million times. “I can't let fear keep me from things.” She says it with such conviction that his breath stutters in his throat.

“I shouldn't have left you alone on our first night,” he tries but she's cutting him off again.

“Please,” she scoffs, giving him that knowing look from the motel parking lot. He shakes his head and tries not to think about Clarke and his activities from the night before. But, well, it's there and there's no going back. He shakes himself back to the present.

“You know I love you, right?” He asks, squeezing Octavia's hand again. She squeezes back with both of hers.

“I love you, too.”

They're sitting like that when something strikes him. He pulls his hand back to stand up from the table and rummage through Miller's cabinets. When he finds what he was hoping to he snickers and makes a mental note to tease his friend for it later. He turns and holds the box out for Octavia to see.

“You want some hot chocolate?”

-

Later, when he finds the note from Clarke almost right after she and Raven have pulled away and he and Octavia have returned to the apartment, he texts her.

Hasten slowly – Augustus

-

She texts both him and Octavia three days later to let them know that she and Raven have made it back to Boston without incident. She says she didn't see any more nice (and not so nice) hitchhikers.

He doesn't know where Clarke might be hastening to but he can't deny hoping he hasn't seen the last of her.

-

As it turns out, he hasn't.

Before leaving Maine, he'd lined up a job in California as an archivist at the Long Beach Public Library. It was full time but he'd known it wouldn't pay enough for him to not have to look for a part time job. He'd gotten off work around five and spent at least two hours filling out applications and submitting resumes anywhere in walking distance of the library or the apartment.

He knows Octavia has been spending her days looking for something as well but he's trying not to be too pushy or overbearing about it. He's really trying.

When he comes through the apartment door there's the smell of something cooking and Octavia is laughing, presumably at something on the television. It isn't until he's collapsed on the couch next to her that he realizes the TV isn't on.

“How was the job hunt?” Octavia asks before he can question it. He sighs and leans his head back against the couch.

“Exhausting,” he answers. “You?”

“I'm waiting to hear back from a couple places. That boutique down the street seemed interested and the bakery a block over.” Bellamy nods, his tired eyes drifting shut.

“Oh, never work somewhere you can eat the merchandise.” Bellamy's head snaps up at the voice and he hones in on the laptop as the source.

“Clarke?” She grins and waves at him from the other side of the screen. Octavia leans forward and places the laptop on the coffee table so they're both now in view of the web cam.

“Clarke was giving me interview tips,” Octavia explains and Bellamy nods, pushing himself up of the couch.

“I'll leave you to it, then,” he tells them, heading towards the kitchen to make sure whatever Octavia is cooking isn't burning. He tries not to wonder how much more Clarke talks to Octavia than to him, he'd known they'd stay friends and Clarke and him were far more physical, anyway. Yeah, he tells himself, it's not like you were really friends anyway.

“He's just tired,” he hears Octavia reassure Clarke.

He's putting away the washed dishes while Octavia puts leftovers in a container for Miller when he gets a text from Clarke.

Are you busy?

He sets the stack of dishes back on the counter to reply.

No why

She doesn't respond right away so he goes back to his task. He's got almost everything put away when his phone starts ringing. He's surprised to see Clarke's name pop up.

“I'm gonna take this real fast,” he tells Octavia who nods with an unsettling knowing look and takes over placing the utensils into their proper drawers. Bellamy waits until he's out on the fire escape to accept the call.

“Clarke?”

“Don't you have caller ID?” She quips and he's halfway between annoyed and relieved. He opts for the former.

“Did you need something?” He asks gruffly, leaning against the metal railing of the fire escape. Clarke is quiet for a minute and he kind of regrets it but also it's been over a week since she'd text him that she'd gotten home and the only reason she was calling now was because he'd accidentally caught her video chatting with Octavia.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she admits quietly after a minute and he sighs. “You sounded mad when I was talking to Octavia.” He moves across the fire escape to sit on the steps going up to the next landing.

“I was just tired.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, “that's what Octavia said. I just wasn't- I don't know I wasn't sure if it was okay to call you.”

“Why wouldn't it be?” She goes quiet again and he know she's trying to find the words. He can imagine the frown on her face as she thinks. The image makes him smile.

“I didn't know of you wanted me to,” she says finally.

“You think too much, Princess,” he grins and she lets out a little frustrated huff on the other end.

“Whatever,” she pouts, “you could have called me too, you know.”

“Yeah, well,” he admits, shrugging to himself, “I didn't know if you wanted me to.” Clarke laughs and Bellamy feels the worry ease out of his chest.

“We're quite a pair,” Clarke remarks and he chuckles.

“How was your trip back?”

“Uneventful, mostly. Raven almost got into a fight with some douchebag at a rest stop,” she tells him. Bellamy shakes his head.

“You and rest stops, huh, Princess?” Clarke chuckles and he can hear her shifting against something. A car alarm blares in the background and she groans.

“Where are you?” He asks, frowning at the sound.

“Are you gonna ask me what I'm wearing next?” She teases.

“Only if the answer is nothing.”

“Oh, please, Bellamy,” she laughs. “I'm on my roof.”

“Why?” He asks as he glances through the window back into the apartment. Octavia is going around turning off all the lights except for a table lamp in the living room. She grabs her laptop, turns to wave to him, and heads towards the bedroom.

“Boredom, atmosphere, farthest I can get from my mom without actually leaving the house,” Clarke answers and he lets the line go quiet for a minute, trying to decide if he's allowed to broach that subject.

“How did she take it?” He asks and knows he doesn't have to elaborate when Clarke sighs on the other end of the line.

“I am surprisingly not grounded. Whether that has to do with the fact that I am eighteen or not, I don't know.” She sighs again and Bellamy wishes he could do something to reassure her but he doesn't know what to say.

“Have you talked to her about, you know, any of it?”

“Ah, see, you don't know Abby Griffin,” she says, the sound of shuffling louder this time, like she's moving against the phone. “We don't really talk about what troubles us. We suffer in silence, only seeing each other at meals while I avoid the house and she works eighteen hour shifts at the hospital.”

“That's your plan?” He asks. “Avoid the house?”

“Until I move into the dorm, yep,” she responds, trying to sound lighthearted about it but it's a little too forced to be real.

“Clarke,” he starts slowly, nervous about pissing her off the first time they've talked since she left, “I know it's probably not my place but have you considered that maybe you don't have to lose both parents here.” She's quiet for such a long time he begins to think she may have hung up. He's so surprised when her voice comes across the line, quiet and a little shaky, that he nearly jumps.

“You're right.” His eyebrows go up in surprise. “It's not your place.” Bellamy sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He still hasn't learned what lines not to cross with Clarke but he's never been one to stop himself from speaking his mind. Especially when she still has a chance at a relationship with her mom that he'd give anything to have with his.

“I should go to bed,” she sighs, shifting again on the other line. “I have to be up early to meet Wells.”

“Clarke, don't-”

“Bellamy, really, I should go.” His heart sinks. “But, maybe we can talk again tomorrow, if you have time.” He doesn't think he'll ever be able to read Clarke Griffin.

“Yeah,” he nods, “I'll call you when I get off work.”

“Goodnight, Bellamy.”

“Goodnight, Princess.”

-

“I'm sorry, are you actually complaining about a bunch of drunk bridesmaids?” Clarke is laughing and Bellamy doesn't really see the humor of the situation in the same way she does. But her amusement is infectious even from thousands of miles away and he feels his frown fraying at the edges.

“There's a difference between a bunch of hot, drunk bridesmaids and a bunch of hot, drunk bridesmaids treating you like the server at a male strip club, Clarke,” he bites, trying not to let her know that just talking to her is ebbing his anger.

“Nice addition of hot there, Bellamy.”

“You jealous?” He teases.

“You wish.” She's still chuckling but seems to be sobering and the line goes quiet. Bellamy realizes he's just smiling into the dark of the room just at having Clarke on the phone and clears his throat.

“So, the bar job sucks,” Clarke comments, “but how is the library job? Spending your days surrounded by books and archiving history. That sounds like a wet dream for you.”

“I'll have you know my wet dreams are much more creative than that.” Clarke snorts. “The archivist job isn't so bad.”

“So bad?”

“One word for you, Princess; microfiche.”

And just like that she's off laughing again and Bellamy decides it's his favorite sound to hear before he falls asleep.

-

He holds out a beer for Miller as he passes him before dropping down on the couch. The other man is flipping through the stations, trying to find something to entertain them both.

“I'm just saying I think it's probably a bad idea,” he points out, not looking away from the TV as he drops the remote to open the beer before resuming his previous task.

“Yeah, well, I never said it wasn't,” Bellamy bites, slouching back into the couch. Miller had known him long enough that none of Bellamy's usual I-don't-wanna-talk-about-it intimidation tactics worked on him anymore. He was usually pretty good at picking up when he should let something drop out of courtesy, though.

Apparently, he'd lost that trait since moving to California.

“We're not doing anything other than talking,” he continues, opening his own beer and taking a swig.

“Sure, sure,” Miller nods, finally landing on some ridiculous crime show. Bellamy almost groans at the choice, sure he'll spend the better part of the next hour listening to his friend complain about the blatant disregard for the real police method. He holds it in, though, deciding he'll steal the remote at the first chance.

“Because talking isn't how anything starts.” Bellamy glares at him and Miller meets his gaze unflinchingly, raising an eyebrow at him. Bellamy huffs in annoyance and Miller smirks, turning back to the television.

“We're friends, Miller, friends talk.”

“Friends don't spend their last night together fucking like rabbits in my guestroom.” Bellamy tries to burn the side of Miller's head with his glare, imagines his friends head exploding. When Miller shows no sign of even noticing, he's sighs and pushes himself further back into the couch.

“It's complicated,” he growls and Miller snorts but doesn't comment.

Octavia comes through the front door a few minutes later with a large bakery box in her hands. She perpetually smells like pastries ever since she'd started her new job and Bellamy spends most of his time around her craving a danish. She heads for the kitchen, finishing up a phone call, and Bellamy pushes himself out of his slumped position on the couch, sets his beer on the coffee table, and follows her.

He ignores Miller's shout of coaster, man, come on and takes a seat at the kitchen table as Octavia hangs up her phone.

“Raven says, and I quote, hey dipshit,” she tells him, turning to grin widely at him. He rolls his eyes and waves vaguely in response as Octavia drops down across from him at the table. She pushes the pastry box towards him.

“How was work?” He asks, plucking a glazed donut from the box.

“The usual,” she shrugs, standing up to grab herself a beer from the fridge. Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her and she meets his stare, holding it in challenge as she opens the beer. He shakes his head, taking a bite from the donut.

“Maya made too many donuts this morning, so she let me bring these home,” she explains and Bellamy nods. He's gotten used to her bringing home the leftovers that the girl she works for won't sell if they aren't fresh. Bellamy's met Maya a handful of times and is repeatedly struck by how young she is – certainly no more than a year older than his sister, if that. He'd learned she'd inherited the bakery from her parents and she and Octavia had clicked almost immediately.

“Well, tell her they're great as always.”

“You work tonight?” She asks after a swig of the beer in her hands.

“Nah,” he shakes his head, putting half of the donut back in the box and closing it up. “Miller and I were talking about going out to dinner, though.” Octavia nods.

“Good. I'm tired of cooking for you bums.” Bellamy smirks and reaches across the table, snatching the beer away from her and taking a long drink. She rolls her eyes and stands from the table.

“You guys better be taking me somewhere nice,” she comments as she leaves the room, heading for the bedroom to change.

-

“We gotta get our own place,” Bellamy grumbles to himself, digging through the two dresser drawers Octavia has allowed him. They’ve been at Miller’s for months now and, while Bellamy is incredibly grateful for his friend’s hospitality, he’s still basically living out of his duffel bag and it’s driving him crazy.

“Octavia,” he calls, giving up and shoving the drawer closed and turning to dig through the laundry basket again. “Have you seen my red plaid shirt?”

“Your what?” She shouts back from the living room and Bellamy sighs, straightening up and heading out of the bedroom and down the hall towards her.

“My red plaid shirt,” he repeats, “I have to be at work in like fifteen minutes and I can't find it.” Octavia turns as he enters the room, twisting around on the couch to look at him. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at her.

“Why do you think I took it?”

“I don't think you took it, I just asked if you saw it.”

“Well, I haven't.”

“You could have just said that!” He hears someone snickering that is definitely not Miller and frowns at Octavia as she turns back to the computer sitting on the coffee table.

“Shut up, Raven,” she growls and Bellamy can see Raven on the computer screen, smirking and shaking her head.

“Clarke, hurry up, you're missing the show!” She calls, turning away from the computer. Bellamy glares at her but doubts she can see him. He's still glaring at the screen when Clarke comes into view from the side.

“Okay, okay. How's this?” She asks, turning for effect in a casual, thin dress. It swishes around her legs and Bellamy can see the movement of it even through the low definition of the camera. Raven and Octavia seem to be taking their time inspecting the outfit as Clarke shifts under their gazes.

“It looks great,” Octavia speaks first, Raven nodding along.

“Nice enough for a casual date, at least,” Raven comments and Bellamy's chest tightens. He wishes he'd walked away but he can't stop watching her on the computer screen. They've talked almost every night for weeks but they haven't video chatted like she and Octavia do. He hasn't actually seen her since the last time he'd walked in while she was talking to Octavia.

Miller pops his head out of the kitchen and raises an eyebrow at Bellamy, pulling him out of his stare.

“Dude, are you still here?” He asks. “Just wear a different shirt, you're gonna be late.” Bellamy shakes his head, remembering that he still doesn't have more than an undershirt on and he has to be at the bar in ten minutes.

“Shit,” he hisses, jogging back to the bedroom and grabbing the first shirt he finds.

He's just walking through the door after work, turning to push it closed quietly and lock it, when he gets a text from Clarke. He hurriedly silences his phone not wanting to wake up Octavia or Miller who he knows both have early mornings.

Are you busy?

He types out a reply as he walks to the couch, flopping down on it and toeing his shoes off.

No

He's not surprised when his phone starts vibrating in his hand a few minutes later. This is how all their calls start, though he's usually the one who calls after he gets off work, one of them will text and ask if the other is busy before calling.

“Hey, Princess,” he greets tiredly, laying back against the arm of the couch. There's an extra blanket and a couple pillows in the linen closet in the hall that he usually uses to sleep but he's not sure his legs can make it there and back tonight.

“Hey, did I wake you?” She asks quietly.

“Nah,” he throws his forearm over his eyes, blocking out the light from the streetlamps outside. “I just got home from the bar.”

“Oh, okay,” she responds. “I was wondering why I hadn't heard from you tonight.” He shrugs one shoulder, ducking his head to rub his chin against it. The material catches on the growing stubble on his face. He hadn't had the time to shave for a few days and it was driving him crazy.

“I thought you'd be busy. Octavia mentioned you had a date,” he lies, not mentioning that he'd really just overheard the conversation. If she knows he's lying, she doesn't comment.

“Yeah, that ended hours ago, though,” she explains. He debates asking his next question, it's probably not any of his business really. It's not like they're a thing or whatever. In the end, he's really too tired to stop himself.

“How did that go anyway?”

“Eh, it was all right,” she tells him, “she was kind of distant, hard to read.”

“She?” He questions in surprise. Clarke chuckles.

“Uh, yeah, she.”

“I just didn't know you were..,” he hesitates, not wanting to label her for her.

“Bi,” she finishes for him, sounding less jovial. “I'm bi. I only didn't mention it because it's not like there was a moment for it. I didn't think you'd have an issue with it, because if you do-” He cuts her off, the fight in her voice making him smile. Her confrontation used to grate on his nerves but she's clearly ready to defend herself if she thinks he's being a dick. He likes that about her more than he'd expected to.

“Clarke, come on. I'm an asshole but I'm not a homophobic asshole, okay? I was just surprised is all.” She's quiet for a long moment.

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“Besides, Miller's gay,” he offers, shrugging to himself again. His friend had come out to him back when they were teenagers still living in Maine and rebelling against his cop dad.

“He is?” Clarke practically shouts across the line, earning a chuckle from Bellamy. “That's awesome!”

“Why exactly is that awesome?” He asks, grinning at the excitement in her voice.

“Because it means I totally won my bet with Raven. She was sure he was checking her out while we were there,” she explains and Bellamy snickers.

“Yeah, you can tell her it's unlikely.” The line goes silent for a bit and Bellamy can just hear the soft sound of Clarke breathing. He's starting to drift off when she speaks again, much more sober than before.

“I didn't want you to find out that way,” she says, rushing on before he can ask her to elaborate, “about the date, I mean. I planned to tell you about it.”

“You don't owe me anything, Clarke,” he assures her.

“I know that, obviously, I just,” she huffs and Bellamy imagines her rolling her eyes at herself, “I felt like I should tell you.” He sighs, lifts his arm from his eyes to run his hand through his hair. His fingers catch in a tangle and he decides he needs a haircut soon.

“It's okay for you to move on, you know,” he says eventually, his chest tightening even at his own words, “we both should.”

“Yeah,” she agrees so quiet he almost misses it, “you're probably right.”

When he murmurs goodnight, Princess and hangs up, he doesn't feel any better than he had before talking to her. It takes him longer than he'd expect to fall asleep.

-

He just had to go and say they should both move on. He couldn't have left it at her moving on and him just going about his life. No, now every time he talked to her he wondered if she was moving on better than he was. She'd already gone on one date which is more than he'd even attempted since leaving Maine. He knew it wasn't a competition or anything.

But it sure as hell felt like one.

So, he'd done something dumb. He'd asked his sister's boss to dinner.

Bellamy Blake: Certified Moron.

“I swear to God, if you get me fired, I will murder you,” Octavia warns him as he buttons up his shirt. He glares at her but she's not even looking at him anymore, instead she's got three ties laid out on her bed. He takes a step away from her.

“I am not wearing a tie, O,” he tells her. She gives him a withering look but he crosses his arms and holds firm. She sighs and throws her hands up in the air.

“Fine, whatever.” She turns and heads out of the room, stomping down the hallway. He follows after her.

“Octavia, it's just dinner, okay? I don't need a tie and, honestly, how bad do you think I can fuck this up over dinner?” She gives him a dry look. “Okay, don't answer that,” he grumbles. Octavia is quiet but he can feel her watching him as he settles into the couch next to her.

“Is this about Clarke?” She asks eventually and the sigh escapes him before he can stop it. He thinks about lying but Octavia's always been pretty good at seeing right through him. So, instead, he decides not to answer at all. That's enough of an answer for Octavia who groans and drops her head against the back of the couch.

“Just be careful, Bell.”

“I'm always careful,” he quips.

-

“So,” Maya starts slowly, swirling her spoon around her cup of strawberry ice cream, “dinner was...”

“Terrible is the word you're looking for, I believe,” Bellamy smirks, scooping out some of his own chocolate ice cream as Maya giggles.

“I've never had bad Italian before, honestly,” she agrees and Bellamy nods, frowning down at the paper bowl in his hand as they walk down the sidewalk.

“The ice cream was a good call, though,” he compliments, popping a spoonful in his mouth to prove his point. Maya grins and nods.

“It's my favorite place,” she tells him. “I don't have much time to go lately, though. I'm swamped at the bakery now but you should have seen me before your sister came along. She's been a lifesaver.” Bellamy nods and smiles into his ice cream.

“She really likes working for you.”

“I'm glad! But I'm sure I don't need to sing her praises to you of all people,” she chuckles.

“Yeah,” Bellamy grins, “it's not like she'd let me forget how awesome she is.” Maya laughs again and Bellamy's noticed it seems to come easy to her. He's not a particularly funny guy, he knows, his humor ranges from dry to sarcastic, but she's been smiling and laughing at him the whole night. He's taking it as a good sign.

They lapse into silence as they continue walking. He's coming to realize he really likes California in the fall. For all the jokes about California being summer all year round he could at the very least feel the change in temperature. It was definitely different from the falls in Maine but the sun was setting and it was still a nice comfortable warm.

“So, who is she?” Maya asks suddenly after a minute or two and Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her.

“Who? Octavia?” He asks. “I was under the impression you two knew each other.” She's smiling at him again but there's an odd knowing to it that makes Bellamy squirm under her look.

“No, the girl.”

“What girl?”

“The girl.” He stares at her. “Bellamy, I'm not an idiot. I can tell that there's someone else you'd maybe rather be on this date with.”

“I want to be here with you,” he insists, trying to reassure her, but she stares him down. “It's complicated.”

“Why do I get the feeling you say that a lot?” She smirks and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“She's five years younger than me and lives on the other side of the country,” he explains.

“I'm four years younger than you so age is clearly not the issue,” she counters.

“She lives in Boston,” he argues.

“Plenty of people are in long distance relationships, especially at our age,” she points out and Bellamy sighs.

“I can see why you and Octavia get along so well,” he gripes but Maya is openly grinning again and, despite the fact it's not really how he expected it to go, it's probably one of the best first dates he's ever had.

Octavia is waiting for him in the living room when he gets home.

“Am I fired? Am I getting a raise? I mean, you clearly didn't spend the night but-”

“Octavia, breathe,” Bellamy teases, sitting next to her on the couch. “It's fine, okay? Nothing is going to change, I promise.”

“Good,” Octavia huffs. Bellamy figures she'll want a more detailed explanation in the morning and he'll probably give it to her, leaving out his and Maya's conversation about Clarke. Octavia pushes up from the couch and ruffles his hair.

“I'm going to bed,” she announces. “Goodnight, Bell.”

“Night, O.”

-

Of all the things Bellamy might expect to find in the living room upon coming home from work on a Friday, Clarke Griffin sitting on the couch making small talk with Miller was not on the list. He's so surprised that he freezes at the door and just stares.

“Uhh” is, of course, the very intelligent thought that comes out of his mouth.

Clarke spots him and her smile is blinding if only for the fact that it's been so long since he's seen it in person. And, Jesus Christ, next he'll be waxing poetic about her being the ocean in a drought. He's so fucking pathetic he'd punch himself if he could.

“Bellamy, hey,” Miller greets, jumping up from the couch. “Look who showed up.”

“Hey, Princess,” Bellamy grins, trying to get back some semblance of his dignity. Clarke follows Miller up from the couch but he's already heading towards Bellamy and the apartment door.

“I'm on second again tonight,” he explains as he grabs his messenger bag by the door, “please, convince her there is no way she's staying in a hotel.” Bellamy raises an eyebrow at Clarke who's rolling her eyes at Miller. The door closes behind Miller and the apartment goes quiet. Bellamy's just staring at Clarke but he doesn't feel too much remorse for it since she's staring right back.

“Did I know you were coming?” He asks eventually.

“Not unless you're a psychic,” she responds, smirking at him. “Are you a psychic, Bellamy?”

“Cute, Princess.”

“I had a long weekend off school. I thought I'd fly out and surprise you guys,” she hesitates, twisting her hands together in front of her. “Is that okay?” He chuckles, finally stepping away from the door to come up right in front of her.

“That is definitely okay,” he assures her and she grins, stepping the last bit of distance between them to wrap her arms around him in a hug. It takes him a minute to respond, his arms coming around her tightly. After a minute, she pulls back and he loosens his grip, giving her ample room to move away from him. She doesn't.

“Octavia's still at work, though, she won't be home for a little while.” Clarke nods but Bellamy is too distracted by her fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt sleeve right over his pulse point to really notice the movement.

“Do you mind entertaining me until then?” She asks and everything in Bellamy's brain is screaming that that sounds dangerous.

“If I must,” he says instead.

He jumps off the couch when he hears Octavia's key in the door, putting a good amount of distance between himself and Clarke who seems, at first confused, and then amused by his antics. He's an adult for Christ's sake, he shouldn't be afraid of getting caught making out on the couch!

“Hey, Bell, it's just you and me for dinner tonight, right?” Octavia is asking as she comes through the door, toeing her shoes off at the mat before turning around. “Clarke!” And suddenly Bellamy is incredibly glad he put as much distance between him and Clarke as he did or he may have gotten trampled by his sister who is squeezing Clarke and talking a mile a minute.

“Oh, my God! What are you doing here? I can't believe you're here! How long are you staying?” Clarke is shaking her head and squeezing Octavia back just as fiercely.

“I thought I'd surprise you. I fly back Sunday evening,” she explains and Octavia pulls back.

“This is awesome! Bell, isn't this awesome?” She turns to him and he's nodding enthusiastically but Octavia doesn't miss anything. She takes in his ruffled hair and the fact he probably has lip gloss somewhere and frowns in disgust.

“Ugh, you guys, gross,” she whines. Bellamy rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his curls in an attempt to fix them. He's sure it doesn't work because Clarke is smirking at him and Octavia still looks annoyed.

“I'm gonna go change and then the three of us should go out for dinner.” He's heading down the hall before he can hear any more complaints from Octavia.

So much for moving on.

“No Raven?” He hears Octavia pout followed by Clarke's deep laugh.

“I knew I wasn't good enough for you.”

-

As it turned out, Bellamy didn’t actually need to convince Clarke she wasn’t staying at a hotel. All it took was one stern look from Octavia over dinner and Clarke was giving in, agreeing to just share Octavia’s room with her. This, of course, still left Bellamy on the dreaded couch.

There was something unsettling about knowing he was in the same apartment as Clarke – hell, the same state – for the first time in months. Not necessarily bad just weird. His nerves were buzzing which was really becoming a pain in the ass. He hadn’t had to work at the bar so he’d picked up an early shift at the library the next day and it was going to be a long day if he couldn’t get to sleep just because someone he has feelings for is under the same roof.

“Pathetic, Blake,” he mutters to himself, dragging his pillow out from under his head and pressing it against his face.

“You talking to yourself?” He nearly falls off the couch in surprise. He tries to calm his rapidly beating heart as he sits up and glares at Clarke.

“Why are you stalking around the apartment?” He grumbles, flattening the pillow out against his lip. She smirks and heads past him towards the kitchen. He’s a little too caught up in watching her walk away from him when he notices it.

“That’s my shirt!” She turns suddenly, looking both amused and a little ashamed. He climbs off the couch to get a better look at the red plaid shirt hanging loosely off of her shoulders. Clarke is examining the buttons on the front, too, and he wonders if she’d forgotten she’d put it on.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” she says quietly, “it is.”

“How did you even get it?” He tries to think of the last time he’d seen it and realizes he isn’t actually sure if he’d worn it since leaving Maine. He narrows her eyes at her but she’s looking less like she’s been caught and more mischievous.

“I have my ways,” she smirks before turning and continuing into the kitchen. Bellamy follows her, entering the room as she opens the fridge and pulls out the pitcher of water. He sighs and crosses around her to grab a glass from the cupboard, placing it next to the pitcher on the table. She smiles up at him in thanks and fills the glass about halfway.

“Why are you up?” She asks, turning and pushing herself up to sit on the counter. His shirt hikes up slightly and he can see that she is actually wearing a pair of tiny loose shorts underneath.

“Just can’t sleep,” he answers in short, shrugging his shoulders. He’s definitely not going to tell her it’s for some stupid reason like just having her in the apartment throwing him off. Her whole visit is throwing him off, if he’s honest. He appreciates the sentiment of wanting to surprise him and Octavia but he could have used some heads up. If only so he could have tried to avoid her a bit by picking up some extra shifts.

He knows both Octavia and Clarke would have seen right through that though.

“What are you doing here, Clarke?” He asks, not unkindly, after a bit of silence. She looks at him like he’s grown a second head and swishes her glass of water around at him before setting it down on the counter.

“I was getting a glass of water, duh.” He gives her an unamused look.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do you not want me here?” She asks, twisting her fingers together. It’s either a new nervous habit she’s picked up or he just never noticed it before.

“You know I do,” he sighs, stepping in front of her so he can let her see that he’s being sincere. “It’s just-“

“Complicated,” she nods and he drops his head at the word. He’s so tired of it being complicated. She touches his cheek gently, urging him to look up. Her fingers are cold from holding the chilled glass and he feels goosebumps break out down his arms at the feeling. When he tilts his head upwards towards her she presses her lips against his.

As it’s always been between them, it starts out slow and soft, something like reassurance that they’re both still firmly planted in the same boat, but it heats up quickly. He pushes between her legs, tugging her forward towards him on the edge of the counter. She sighs against his mouth and drags her fingers through his hair. It’s obviously not the first time they’ve kissed since she showed up but it feels different somehow. Clarke feels different.

The sound of Miller coming home, closing the door gently behind him, breaks them apart. They’re breathing shallowly and it's Clarke that breaks out of the moment first, sliding off of the counter and forcing Bellamy to step back from her to allow her room.

“I know that it wouldn’t be easy for us to try doing this,” she says quietly and he doesn’t need her to explain what this is, “but what we’re doing now isn’t easy either. I’m willing to work at it if you are.” Of all the things he may have expected out of Clarke’s visit, he’d let himself imagine her offering to try being with him. But he didn’t know how to be in a normal relationship, let alone a long distance one. Just being friends with Clarke from so far away was eating at him.

Clarke nods in understanding at his silence, sidesteps him and heads for the entryway to the kitchen.

“Sleep on it,” she tells him because he’s still staring at her dumbfounded as she heads back into the living room and down the hall to bed. He spots her glass on the counter and pours the rest down the drain before turning and heading back towards the couch.

Miller is, of course, waiting for him with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t, man,” Bellamy grunts, dropping down on the couch. He doesn’t hear Miller leave but when he looks back around he’s alone in the living room again.

He’s definitely not sleeping tonight.

-

Work, as he expected, is hell. Early on in the morning he snaps at Harper for asking him to find something for her and she's spent the rest of the morning in stony silence. He'd barely coaxed a goodbye out of her as he headed out the door and resolved to bring her a box of her favorite muffins from Maya's bakery the next time they worked together.

“You look like crap,” Octavia comments as he walks through the door. He kicks his shoes off with a little more force than necessary and grunts in response. She and Clarke are draped on the couches, one of them on each couch, and there's some older looking show with a laugh track on the television. He stalks past them, heading for the bathroom to take a shower and then maybe sleep for the rest of the day.

When he gets out of the shower, Clarke is waiting for him on Octavia's bed. He stares at her, sitting cross legged on the blue comforter, for a minute before pulling the door halfway shut behind him.

“I'm having déjà vu,” he comments, rubbing the towel over his hair before tossing it in the laundry basket in the corner.

“At least you're wearing more clothes this time,” Clarke quips and he smirks.

“I was planning on taking a nap,” he explains, motioning to his sweatpants. Clarke's eyes follow the movement and he doesn't think he imagines where they linger at the waistband of the bottoms.

“A nap, grandpa?” She asks, meeting his eyes again with a smirk.

“Why aren't you bothering Octavia instead of me right now?” He asks, rolling his eyes and crossing to the other side of the room where the rest of his clothes are. He's trying to decide if he should bother putting a shirt on when he hears Clarke sigh and flop backwards on the bed.

“She had to go to work.” Bellamy nods, remembering that Octavia had started working Saturday evenings at the bakery this month. “So, naturally, it's your turn to bask in the glow of my presence.” He snorts, deciding against the shirt, and turns to face her. She's laid out on the bed, her ankles crossed and hands resting on her stomach. He sits down on the bed next to her, laying back against the pillows.

“So, you really like me, huh?” He asks, smirking up at the ceiling.

“Oh my God,” she groans. He hears her shifting next to him and suddenly a pillow hits him in the face. She lets go of it as it connects, leaving it lying on his face, and he has to bat it off.

“Watch it, Princess,” he growls. She rolls over, flipping so she's half on top of him.

“You really like me, too, asshole,” she says, cradling her chin on her arms where they rest on his chest. The words lack any heat and he can't help but smile at her.

“It's nice having you here, Clarke,” he admits and she smiles, leaning up to kiss him softly. He wraps his arm around her, flattening his palm against the small of her back. She hums as she pulls away.

“It's nice being here.”

“You know,” he starts, looking back up at the ceiling instead of at her. She turns her head and settles her cheek against his chest, “I've never been in a real relationship before. I just don't have any experience with it.”

“Hmm, well, lucky for you I'm very good at them,” she brags as she shifts against him, her hair tickling his skin.

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah,” she nods, “I'm basically a master at the long term relationship.”

“Long term, huh?” He teases and she whacks his stomach lightly. “I just don't want to fuck things up. Between you and me or you and Octavia.”

“Bellamy,” she groans, “you are not going to fuck anything up between me and Octavia, okay? You have to stop letting that be your reason.” She sits up suddenly, looking down at him and making him meet her eyes. She holds his gaze for a minute before continuing,

“Look, Octavia's told me enough, okay? I know you've spent most of your life doing everything you could to make sure she was happy and you think being with me might compromise that but, trust me, it won't. Nothing is going to change with me and Octavia because of you and me, do you understand?” He stares at her for a minute before nodding.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I understand.”

“Good,” she says, settling back down against him. “Now, I believe I was promised a nap.” Bellamy chuckles and nods.

“Whatever you want, Princess.”

-

It turns out the nap was a good idea for both of them. When Bellamy wakes up an undistinguished amount of time later it’s to Octavia tugging him violently off the bed. She almost succeeds too, but at the last moment he shoots his arm out, shoving her away and rolling himself further onto the bed and away from the edge.

“Get up, oh my God!” Octavia whines as Bellamy shoves his face into a pillow. “We’re going out, come on!”

“Why are you home?” Bellamy groans, the words muffled by the pillow.

“Because I told Maya I had a friend in town and the bakery was having a slow day so she let me leave early,” she explains and Bellamy hears her pull a drawer open, digging through the clothes inside. “Wear this, Clarke.” He hears the sound of something soft hitting the bed and rolls his head sideways to open one eye. Clarke is sitting up on the bed, staring blearily at the fabric in her hands.

“Where are we going?” He asks, voice gruff with both sleep and annoyance at his sister’s antics.

“We’re meeting Miller and spending the last night before Clarke leaves out, okay? Don’t you worry about the details.” Bellamy’s head registers that that sounds like a terrible idea but before the thought can make it to his mouth, Octavia is buzzing back out of the room and heading down the hall. Clarke raises an eyebrow at him but she looks much more amused than he feels.

“And you better not have had sex on my new sheets!” Octavia calls back to them and Bellamy groans, pressing his face back into the pillow.

-

“Where are we going?” Bellamy asks for about the eighth time since he’d finally gotten up and gotten dressed. Octavia had rushed them along, sporting a short red dress that Bellamy was determined not to comment on. He’d learned early on in Octavia’s teenage years that any comment on her clothes from him just made her more determined to go shorter and tighter. Now, he was pretty much used to letting her do whatever she wanted. He was glad when she tugged on her light black jacket over top though or he’d be worried about her freezing in the cool night air.

The dress she’d shoved at Clarke was pretty much the same but looser and longer and blue. It clashed terribly with the olive green military jacket Clarke had brought with her and Octavia had ended up stopping her at the door, handing her own lighter cream colored jacket to Clarke instead who smiled gratefully.

“Bellamy, I know this is a foreign concept to you but can you just trust me this once?” Bellamy frowns, feeling reprimanded, and nods. They meet Miller at his precinct and Octavia bullies Bellamy into the front seat with Miller, accusing him of hogging Clarke. He rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother fighting her but glares at Miller when he catches him smirking.

“Wait,” he realizes suddenly, about ten minutes away from the precinct, “why does Miller know where we’re going?”

“Because it’s his car, duh!” Clarke snickers in the backseat and Bellamy sends them both a glare before slumping down in his seat. He tries to tune the girls out in the backseat as they talk quietly, flipping through something on Clarke’s phone. Bellamy can tell they’re drawing closer to their destination when Octavia starts practically vibrating in her seat in excitement. Once he starts to recognize the scenery and realizes where they’re going, he thinks about teasing her for all the secrecy but she seems so excited he can’t bring himself to spoil her good mood.

As they near the small outdoor concert venue, Bellamy notices the amount of cars parked in the field and people aged from teenagers to late twenties buzzing around. He glances back and sees Clarke taking in the amount of activity as well and probably putting two and two together as the stage comes into view. It’s not an actual concert hall so there’s no gate or entry point. It’s mainly just where a bunch of local bands come to play a free concert and get some exposure while people come to drink and enjoy the atmosphere.

Miller parks as close to the main group of activity as he can get and Octavia is unbuckling and opening her door before the car is even in park. Miller tries to reprimand her but it falls on deaf ears and Clarke rounds the car to slip her hand into Bellamy’s.

“Come on, come on,” Octavia is practically shouting, tugging on his other arm to pull him forward. He chuckles and follows her as she drops his arm and heads through the flattened grass towards the concert.

“What’s the hurry, O?” He asks. “Afraid you’re gonna miss a band you don’t know play a song you’ve never heard?” She turns, walking backwards as she faces him, and glares.

“Hey, that could end up being my new favorite band and if I miss it, I’ll never know, will I?” Bellamy rolls his eyes but lets it go as Clarke wraps her free hand around the hand she’s already holding, locking it between both of hers. Miller is bringing up the rear of the group but when Bellamy glances back he looks relaxed and amused by Octavia.

When they reach the crowd, Octavia tugs Clarke away to see how close they can get to the stage where a band is already playing. Miller catches his eye and cocks his head towards the bar adjacent to the crowd. Bellamy nods and follows him. The squeeze in at the bar and order beers for themselves and waters for Octavia and Clarke. The bartender checks their IDs and turns to get their drinks.

“So,” Miller starts leaning towards Bellamy so he doesn't have to shout, “do you, like, have a girlfriend now or what?” Bellamy can see the amusement in Nathan's eyes, knows what he expects the answer to be. Bellamy's tired of that answer anyway.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I guess so.” Miller's eyebrow shoot up in surprise but he recovers quickly, nodding in response as the guy behind the bar sets two beer bottles and two water bottles in front of them. The company that supports the little concert ground schedules the bands and contracts a bartender. There's an understanding with the people who come regularly that outside alcohol isn't allowed and most people adhere to it. The beauty of the cheap concerts is that most people really do come for the music and atmosphere.

“Good for you, man,” Miller says before taking a swig of his beer. Bellamy smirks at him, tipping his own back.

“Careful there, Miller, we're getting dangerously close to seeming sentimental or something,” he teases and Miller rolls his eyes at him.

“Whatever, Blake.”

When the band finishes their set, Clarke and Octavia spot them at one of the set up high tables and make their way towards them. Clarke bounds up, snatching Bellamy's beer out of his hand and taking a swig before he can stop her. When she spots Miller's look, she lowers it slowly back into Bellamy's hand and smiles innocently.

“Right,” she grins, “cop.” Bellamy holds one the bottles of water out to her while Octavia snickers behind her and Clarke smiles gratefully.

“I'm not on duty,” Miller shrugs, “but that doesn't mean it's okay.” Octavia rolls her eyes in jest but Bellamy shoots her a look. He might not be able to stop her from drinking on occasion but he isn't about to make Miller privy to the fact she's been doing it under his own roof. She raises her eyebrows at him and shrugs lightly letting him know she understands and chugs half of her water in one go.

“Octavia?” A deep voice asks from behind him and he turns in surprise. There's a large man with tattoos towering over him but grinning at his sister, a severe looking woman with close cropped hair standing behind him looking entirely unaffected.

“Lincoln, Indra, hey!” Octavia sets her water down and walks around the table to hug Lincoln. Bellamy shoots a confused look at Clarke because did she know about whatever this is? But she's looking just as lost as he is so he has to assume she doesn't.

“I'm glad you could make it!” Lincoln says, glancing back at Indra who gives a short nod but shows no real change in expression otherwise. Neither Octavia nor Lincoln seem the least bit affected by it.

“Of course, I wouldn't have missed it! When are you guys on?” Octavia asks.

“After the band that's setting up.” Octavia nods at Lincoln's answer and Bellamy clears his throat to remind her of their presence. She turns in surprise.

“Oh, shit! Lincoln, Indra, this is my brother Bellamy, his girlfriend Clarke, and our friend Miller,” she introduces and Lincoln takes a moment shaking each of their hands in turn while Indra stares them down silently. The woman is seriously starting to unnerve Bellamy and he considers himself to be a pretty stoic guy himself. It takes a moment for him to register that Octavia called Clarke his girlfriend.

“Lincoln and Indra come into the bakery sometimes and they told me they were performing here this weekend and Clarke showing up was just too perfect an opportunity to pass up,” Octavia explains excitedly. They chat for a bit, Lincoln, Octavia, and Clarke making most of the conversation, before Lincoln and Indra excuse themselves to go get ready. Clarke turns to Octavia with wide eyes, shoving her arm.

“What was that?” Clarke nearly shouts and Octavia glares at her, rubbing her arm.

“What?”

“Tall, dark, and sensitive, duh!” Octavia plays dumb and Clarke gives her an unimpressed look. Bellamy bites his tongue to keep himself from jumping into the conversation. Clarke groans and throws her hands up.

“Fine, don't tell me,” she pouts and Octavia gives a heavy, dramatic sigh.

“I don't know, Clarke, I've only known him for a few weeks but he's really nice. Don't be weird!” She commands and Clarke laughs, putting her hands up in defense and promising not be weird. Octavia turns to Miller and drags him off to dance with her as the next band starts up. Clarke bumps her shoulder against Bellamy and leans into him. He smiles down at her and drapes his arm over her shoulder.

She grins mischievously at him and snags his beer from him again, taking a long drink.

“Careful, Princess,” he murmurs against her ear. She hums in response and sets the bottle back on the table.

“Octavia called me your girlfriend,” she comments.

“She did,” he nods.

“Am I?”

“Well, I did tell Miller you were and it'd be kind of embarrassing to recant that,” he shrugs.

“Okay,” Clarke nods and he smirks, turning his attention to the stage.

“Okay.”

-

Bellamy offers to take Clarke to the art museum on Sunday morning before she leaves and, after multiple attempts at waking Octavia up, decides it's at least an opportunity for them to spend some time just the two of them before her flight leaves. It's not exactly the kind of alone time he was hoping to get but Clarke's eyes light up every time she sees a painting that she likes and he decides it's a pretty good compromise. Plus, when he murmurs the history of a painting he recognizes in her ear, she drags him into a corner to make out for a while.

When they get back, Miller is in the kitchen making a sandwich and Octavia is still sleeping in her room. Clarke heads down the hall to wake her up while Bellamy pulls out a skillet, heating it up on the stove top to make grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch.

Clarke comes back down the hall, Octavia trailing somberly behind her and Bellamy can tell the comfort food was a good choice. He knows Clarke had reminded her of the fact that she was leaving and Octavia was handling it about as well as she had last time. The conversation is light but sober during lunch and afterwards Clarke heads into the bedroom to pack.

Miller offers Bellamy his car to take Clarke to the airport instead of making her call for a cab and Octavia decides to say goodbye at the apartment and let Bellamy take her by himself.

They're sitting in the airport drop off lane, Clarke having insisted Bellamy didn't need to walk her inside and that it would just be a huge waste of time for him. He doesn't see how it could be a waste of time to spend some more time with her but he doesn't argue anyway. He's feeling a little too emotional for public anyway.

“Is this gonna work?” Clarke asks from the passenger seat, staring forward through the windshield as the people in the car in front of them buzz around their car, pulling bags from the trunk.

“I don't know,” Bellamy admits before looking over at her suddenly, “but I really want it to.”

“Me too,” Clarke nods, turning to him as well. She leans over the center console, kissing him once firmly. He can't resist tangling his hand in her hair and prolonging the kiss. Clarke hums against his mouth and he pulls away, resting his forehead against hers.

“Come on, Princess,” he murmurs, “let's get you home.”

She nods and they climb out of the car. Bellamy unlocks the trunk and pulls her suitcase out, recognizing it as one of the same ones from the set she'd used during the summer. He can't help but smile at the memory of her slamming the suitcase on the bed in that first motel after he'd acted like an asshole.

When he hands her the bag, she immediately sets it back down, pushing up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek before hugging him fiercely. He wraps his arms around her in response and feels her tuck her her face against his shoulder, her loose waves brushing against the side of his neck.

“Call me when you land?” He asks when she pulls away and Clarke nods.

“Definitely.”

-

“So, I've been looking into UCLA,” Clarke says nearly two months later. They've been surprisingly good at the whole long distance thing and, well, if they have a surprising amount of phone sex Bellamy will just say it's certainly not hurting anything. It's definitely been hard but, considering they'd been talking on the phone nearly every night before they decided to actually call it something official, not a whole lot has actually changed.

This is new information, though.

“You have?” He asks, not managing to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Yeah, I mean, I've been looking at a couple colleges but UCLA seems the most promising,” she explains and Bellamy nods to himself, digesting it.

“I didn't know you were planning on transferring,” he comments. They'd talked about her plans to move from Boston but he's always assumed she'd meant after college.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “I never really planned on staying in Boston after everything but the longer I'm here the more, I don't know, stuck I feel.”

“I understand. It's just...,” he trails off, unsure of his next question.

“What?” Clarke prompts.

“Choosing UCLA, that doesn't have anything to do with me right? I just don't want you to make a rash decision because I'm here, or whatever, and then end up regretting it and hating me in the long run,” he rushes to explain. Clarke is quiet for a long moment and Bellamy holds his breath.

“That's kind of presumptuous of you, Bellamy,” she says finally but the humor coloring her tone makes him release his breath in a chuckle.

“Yeah, well, I'm a cocky guy,” he smirks, “but you knew that going in.”

“Mhmm,” she hums before getting serious again, “I'd be lying if I said the proximity wasn't a factor but UCLA is great and Octavia waxes poetic about how great the west coast is now that she's lived there for a whole, like, six months.” Bellamy chuckles and switches the phone between ears, shifting around on the couch.

“Well, then, I think it's great,” he grins. “Have you applied yet?”

“No,” she admits, “I want to talk to my mom about it first. I'm gonna tell her over break.”

“So, things are better between you two now?” He asks, flipping the channel on the muted television from a commercial for some restaurant that was making his stomach growl.

“They're as good as they're probably going to be for a while,” she explains and he nods to himself. They discuss the details of applying to UCLA for a while before saying goodnight.

Bellamy goes to bed feeling surprisingly hopeful.

-

“I've found it!” Octavia shouts as she enters the apartment. “I've found it and it's perfect and it's totally thanks to me because I am amazing!” Bellamy comes out of the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at her and waiting for an explanation. When it's clear she isn't going to give one without prompting, he sighs and crosses his arms, leaning against the entryway.

“Found what, O?” He asks finally and Octavia turns from where she'd been taking great care hanging her coat up to grin at him, holding out a page from the newspaper in front of her.

“The absolute perfect apartment for us,” she announces. His interest peaked, Bellamy straightens and moves towards her to take the newspaper from her. There's an ad for an apartment circled in a deep purple marker and he scans the information.

“It's right in our price range, not far from either of our jobs, and I went by to look at it after work and, Bell, it's perfect!” She's grinning and bounces on her toes in front of him while he reads the ad. It does seem to be just right, which is surprising considering they'd only been financially stable enough to start looking about three months ago.

“It sounds a little too good to be true,” he says hesitantly, lowering the newspaper to look at Octavia who's giving him an annoyed glare.

“Don't ruin this, Bellamy,” she complains, “just have a little faith!”

“I'm not good at faith,” he reminds her and she rolls her eyes, placing her hand on his shoulder and giving him a serious look.

“Sometimes good things do happen, big brother,” she tells him sincerely, “I'd have thought this past summer would have showed you that.” She holds his gaze for a minute before turning and leaving him with the newspaper and her words.

He kind of hates to admit she might be right.

-

“We're going to have to change our food budget because we'll have one less mouth but we also won't have Miller's income,” Bellamy reminds Octavia who nods absently.

“I know,” she says, running her hands over the granite counter top. “Have you seen these counters?”

“We're gonna be tight on money for a little while until we establish a new rhythm,” he points out.

“And the appliances are actually included!”

Bellamy glances over at the landlord who'd agreed to show them the apartment. She's watching them have their two separate conversations in silent bewilderment and Bellamy gives her an apologetic smile as Octavia changes directions and heads down the hall to the bedrooms.

“The place is great,” he comments and the landlord, Roma as she'd introduced herself, nods. “How can you afford to rent it so cheap?” He's trying to sound casual and not like he's fishing for problems but she sees right through it and lets out a genuine laugh.

“Honestly, I promise there are no glaring problems with the unit or the building,” she assures him, “but most people don't love the area or the size so I've had to compromise.” Bellamy nods, allows himself to relax slightly. Roma seems sincere and at ease. He considers himself to have a pretty good bullshit radar so he thinks he can trust her on this at least.

Octavia reappears less than a minute later, grinning at Bellamy.

“Hey, come here!” He obeys and follows her down the short hallway into one of the empty bedrooms. “Check this out.” She climbs through the window onto the fire escape and points upwards. “Roof access,” she explains. The fire escape leads right up to the one connecting to the roof, bypassing the apartment above them.

“Yeah,” Roma comments from the door. “They built the unit weird and there's no window where the fire escape connects to all the other windows on this side of the building so they had to build this one its own and connected it to the roof and the ground.” Bellamy nods, poking his head out the window to look to the side. He spots the fire escape that continues past their floor with a landing where there isn't a window.

“Don't you think Clarke would love that?” Octavia asks, still gazing upwards towards the roof of the building. Bellamy freezes.

“Clarke?”

“Yeah, I mean, if she's moving here she's gonna be here all the time,” she elaborates, climbing back through the window. “She'd love it up there.”

“Octavia, she's gonna be at school,” he reminds her, “she probably won't have time to see us that often.” Bellamy had considered the possibilities of getting to see Clarke whenever he wanted when she'd told him about UCLA but he was trying not to get his hopes up. He didn't want to be disappointed when she was understandably too busy with school. The campus was only about an hour away but he also didn't want her to feel pressured to spend time with him and Octavia when she had other things to worry about.

“Oh please, Bell.” Octavia rolls her eyes. “Knowing you two, she'll practically live here.”

Roma tells them they can move in at the start of the month.

-

“So, I'm planning on leaving at the end of July. That'll give me time to move home from the dorm and relax before I have to pack right back up and leave again and I can spend some time with my mom,” Clarke tells him over Skype but her eyes are trained on her desk rather than the screen. There's a documentary playing quietly on his TV that he picks up bits and pieces of between their conversations. He watches her scribble something on her desk.

“What are you doing?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as she looks up at him. He thinks she may have forgotten he was there.

“I just told you,” she answers, rolling her eyes at him and he sighs.

“No, I meant right now,” he makes a vague pantomime of writing something in the air. Her mouth widens in a silent oh and he smirks at her.

“My to-do list,” she explains, “I don't know if you know this, but moving across the country involves a lot of planning.” He grins at her and nod sagely.

“I've been told that.” She pulls a face at him but ducks her head to write down something she suddenly remembers. “Hey, how are you getting here?” He realizes for all her planning and sharing she hasn't actually mentioned if she's flying or how her things are getting to California.

“Oh, well,” she sets her pencil down and focuses on him and he frowns. “My mom said she thinks I should take my dad's car because it's not like she drives it and I've kind of adopted it as my own, you know?”

“You're gonna drive cross-country by yourself?” He asks, lowering his voice halfway through, remembering that Miller is working third tonight and is currently sleeping in his room.

“Actually,” Clarke starts, drawing the word out and picking at something on her desk, “I was gonna ask- and I know you have your own stuff going on so you can totally say no but I was wondering if you'd want to fly out here and drive back with me.” He's quiet for a minute, thinking about getting a week or so off work and having to budget for a plane ticket. July is still two months away so he figures he has time to set something aside but he'll have to start looking for cheap tickets soon.

Clarke misinterprets his silence and tries to backtrack, “it's too much. I shouldn't have asked. I'm sure Raven will-”

“Clarke, come on,” he cuts her off, tilting his head to the side and watching her bite her lip out of nerves, “of course I will. I was just thinking about how much time I'd be able to get off work, okay?” She grins suddenly.

“Here I was thinking you were hesitating when you were just strategizing,” she chuckles, “I should have known.”

She gives him an exact date she was planning on before her roommate comes back and reminds Clarke they're supposed to meet their study group and they have to sign off.

“Study hard, Princess,” he smirks and she winks at him.

“I always do.”

-

Boston, MA 9:37 AM July 26 ^th

It's overcast and drizzling when he touches down in Boston and he wastes no time in complaining about it.

God this place is fucking dreary.

He's gotten his bags and found a cab before Clarke texts back.

Okay Mr. California. What's your ETA?

He slides into the cab, not bothering to put his bag in the trunk, and tells the driver her address, sighing as the guy immediately almost pulls out into the side of another car. He almost gets out right then but the driver smiles back at him in apology and Bellamy decides to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Assuming this taxi driver isn't completely incompetent in rain about ten minutes.

They make it out of the airport and onto the highway without incident at least.

Good.

He smirks.

Miss me that much?

She doesn't respond and the ten minutes it takes before he pulls into what he thinks is her driveway feels more like twenty. He gets out of the cab, paying the driver and tugging his bag onto his shoulder, before calling her. The house in front of him is more than a little intimidating, huge and white with gray trim, but the SUV in the driveway gives it away. He doesn't think he could forget that car.

“I think I'm here?” He says, when the ringing stops and he hears the click of her answering her phone. “But it depends, do you live in a fucking mansion?” She laughs but it sounds off and he thinks she might be crying. His chest tightens at the thought.

“I do not live in a mansion,” she tells him but he hears Raven comment it's kind of a mansion somewhere on the other end of the line.

“Okay, then I'm definitely here,” he nods, heading up the driveway towards the porch. “At least, the SUV in the driveway looks familiar.” Clarke laughs again and it sounds stronger this time which makes the tightness in his chest loosen.

“Okay, we're still finishing up packing. I'll come get you.” She hangs up before he can respond and he shifts uncomfortably on the porch while he waits for her. No use ringing the bell if she knows he's here. He's watching the street, there are some younger kids playing basketball in a driveway a few doors down and a dog tracking the movement across the street, when the door opens behind him and he turns, unable to stop the grin at the sight of Clarke.

“Hi,” he breathes and suddenly Clarke is on him, her arms around his neck and her lips on his. He steadies her with a hand on her back and the other tangled up in her hair. He tries to murmur something cheeky against her lips but the effect is lost when he's so wrapped up in her. She bites down on his lip and the words turn into a growl without his permission.

“Dammit, Princess,” he comments a little breathless as she pulls away, “I missed you.”