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This was the fourth girl that Finn brought to the bar that week.
Not that it really bothered Bellamy. Much.
(Okay, it really did bug him, but he wasn’t going to admit that to anyone but himself, damn it.)
The other three nights, Bellamy had just ignored Finn for the sake of not wasting any energy on him, but tonight Bellamy was finding it hard to control his temper. And he really did not know why.
That was a lie, though. He knew exactly why it bothered him.
She was sitting across the bar from him, absentmindedly twirling her straw in her drink as her face was tilted up to watch the football game on tv.
Bellamy was still scowling at Finn when Clarke looked back at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Bellamy grunted, averting his gaze from the utterly unnecessary PDA that was taking place between Finn and the new girl.
“Then what’s with the scowl?” Clarke laughed and took a sip from her drink, turning to look over her shoulder to see what Bellamy had been scowling at.
“Oh.” When she turned back around the grin was gone from her lips and her eyes were a shade darker. The look on her face was enough to put a knot in his stomach and made him want to punch Finn in the face. Hard. And repeatedly. “Clarke…”
“I’m fine,” she said, jutting her chin in that ice princess way of hers and averted her gaze back towards the game. “None of my business.”
Bellamy nodded. Their relationship was one that didn’t push boundaries. You say you’re okay? Fine, let’s leave it alone. That’s what worked best.
They’d built an alliance and a truce on not pushing each other – on the ability to respect each other’s wishes – you could acknowledge something wasn’t okay, but then move on. No need to dwell on what made them miserable.
And normally Bellamy was good with this. Hell, he didn’t want Clarke to push him anymore than she didn’t want him to push her. But his anger was slowly boiling over.
Who did Finn think he was, bringing all of these girls here? The bastard knew, he knew, that this was a hang out for their group. The bar was their safe haven, no matter what type of explosive shit was going on in their lives, all they had to do was gather around the bar, have a few beers and throw a few darts and all would be right in the world.
It was practically sacred.
But Finn had ruined it once, when the whole Clarke and Finn and Raven thing had gone down. That was rough. But they got over it. Slowly, but they got over it.
And this fucking son of a bitch was here, with the fourth girl of the week, pulling the same shit that he had pulled three months ago. He was practically begging for it.
Bellamy tried to distract himself – he served customers, wiped down the bar, took a five minute smoke break – but it wasn’t working.
All he could think of was the time when Octavia had called him at three in the morning, barely able to get her words out through her tears, because she’d woken up to a crash and found Clarke passed out in the shower and she’d had no idea what to do. Up to that point she’d done everything a best friend could do, but it just wasn’t working.
So Bellamy jumped out of bed, threw on jeans and a sweater, before speeding over to the apartment that the girls shared. He had his own key so he let himself in before hurrying to the bathroom. He found Octavia in full on panic mode, and Clarke barely coherent with a towel wrapped around her. There was a cut on her forehead, which was bleeding steadily that Bellamy immediately pressed a damp washcloth to.
“What the hell happened?” Bellamy didn’t yell, but in the tight quarters of the small bathroom his voice was enough to make both girls flinch.
“There was a bang, and I ran in here to find her passed out with the water running,” Octavia sobbed. “She hasn’t been eating or sleeping, Bell.”
Bellamy looked closer at the girl in front of him. She looked pale and tired, utterly defeated. So beyond the normal Clarke that Bellamy suddenly felt the urge to throw up.
“Is this about Finn?”
Clarke grimaced while Octavia nodded.
“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Bellamy growled before scooping Clarke up in his arms. “I’m taking you to the hospital. O, you stay here.”
The drive to the hospital went quickly, mostly due to Bellamy’s lead foot. Bellamy wasn’t overly concerned about Clarke, he figured she had probably just passed out due to lack of food and being in a hot shower, but he wanted her head to get checked out. He was more concerned about her mental condition. It wasn’t like Clarke to be so meek, to give up on everything so easily. He was used to the fire in her eyes, and even though sometimes it irritated the hell out of him, the lack of that light scared him more than he’d like to admit.
When he pulled up to the emergency room and helped Clarke out of the car, she leaned heavily against him and said something practically under her breath.
“What was that?”
“I punched him, like you taught me and O how to before we went clubbing that first time,” Clarke laughed. Well, it was more an exaggerated exhalation of air, but it was better than nothing. “I saw him tonight and lost it. I think I broke his nose.”
Bellamy didn’t know if he’d ever felt more proud than he had in that moment, so as he lead Clarke to the nurse on duty and waited hours for her to be checked out and when she was finally deemed to have only a mild concussion he wasn’t able to wipe the small smile off of his face. He had a feeling Clarke was going to be just fine.
But he still wasn’t going to risk Clarke having a possible relapse, so he made himself at home in their apartment. He made it his mission to cook for the girls, to make sure that they ate real food (no, ramen noodles did not count), and enough of it. When Clarke would come home after a particularly rough day and tried to refuse food they would have one of their silent battles, staring contests with a more serious tone really, and Clarke would give in with a sigh. So Bellamy did what he did best and made her food and made sure she ate every last bite.
Slowly, things got better. Bellamy didn’t stay every night. But he did precook meals, leaving them in containers in the freezer with instructions on sticky notes so that Clarke would have no excuse. Octavia had laughed and called him domestic of all things when she found him mid-meal prep, and he had just insisted that he was just doing what any concerned friend would do.
And sure, it was nice to not have to sleep on the sofa that was considerably too small for a man his size every night. But he would have slept on that sofa for as long as it took as long as it meant his friend was slowly healing. And she was; she did.
But now he was questioning that, and he saw a glimpse of the girl who had been so defeated. And it scared him.
Throwing his cigarette to the ground, he stomped back into the bar. Clarke was still watching the game, her mouth set in a tight line that was the only sign of visible agitation.
“Yo, Miller?” Bellamy said, an idea forming.
“Yeah?”
“Cover me for another few minutes?” When Miller nodded, Bellamy grabbed Clarke by the arm and hauled her off of her stool.
“What are you doing, Bellamy?” Clarke asked as he pulled her out the back door towards the parking lot.
“That was the fourth fucking girl he brought here this week, Clarke,” Bellamy grumbled. “The fourth!”
“That makes me feel so much better,” she deadpanned.
A devious smirk began to turn the corners of Bellamy’s mouth up. “I think we should get some revenge,” he said as they stopped in front of Finn’s truck and he pulled a pocketknife out to hand to Clarke. “You do the honors.”
Realization dawned in Clarke’s eyes and she adjusted her grip on the knife, a grin as wicked as a fox playing on her lips. “Economic fuel consumption, my ass,” she said before slashing a tire.
Bellamy leaned against the bumper while Clarke went to town and admired her work. After slashing that first tire, there was nothing holding her back. Bellamy only piped in with ideas when he thought they would be helpful, like “only slash three of the tires, that way insurance won’t cover the damage” and “don’t you think that penis is a bit of a dramatic interpretation?”
All Clarke did was laugh, and Bellamy felt his anger residing as he watched Clarke have her fun. All of the fire was back, and then some, and Bellamy was never happier than he was now to see it.
By the time she was finished, the truck looked like it had been rode hard and put away wet. Which, really, was exactly what Finn deserved.
“Best idea ever,” Clarke said while she practically skipped back into the bar. “Who needs therapy when you can do that?”
Bellamy chuckled, placing a hand on the small of Clarke’s back as he passed behind her to get back to the bar. As he poured them each a shot, he grinned. “Let’s drink to that.”
The rest of the night was fairly uneventful, although there were a few times when Clarke and Bellamy would meet each other’s eyes and grin devilishly at each other, relishing in their secret.
Waiting for Finn to leave was almost excruciating. Bellamy couldn’t wait to see his reaction. Would he blame him or Clarke? Or any of the others? Miller or Monty or Jasper? Clarke hadn’t left anything obvious that would point to them, in fact with the amount of dicks that she’d scratched into the paint you would think a teenage boy had vandalized the truck like their life depended on it. Really, Freud would have a hay day.
The bar was nearly empty when Finn and his arm candy finally went to leave. Clarke glanced at Bellamy, her eyes wide. “What do you think he’ll do?”
“I have no idea,” Bellamy said with a shake of his head. “I’m sure it will be good though. Should we get Jasper to film it?”
Clarke was laughing as Finn stormed back into the bar, the door rattling as he slammed it open.
“Who the fuck did that to my truck?”
“What’s wrong, man?” Bellamy asked, the perfect face of innocence.
“Oh, don’t pull that shit with me,” Finn fumed then glanced between Clarke and Bellamy, his eyes narrowing. “I know it was you two.”
Clarke snorted then fluttered her eyelashes. “Please, Finn. We wouldn’t stoop that low.”
“Then what were you two doing when you were both gone for half an hour?”
Bellamy was about to spurt out an excuse, but Clarke got to it first. “We were having sex.”
Finn’s eyes nearly fell out of his head and Bellamy had to fight to maintain a straight face.
“You… You and Bellamy?” Finn stuttered out.
“Is it really a surprise?” Clarke raised an eyebrow, looking like she gave about zero fucks.
“It was bound to happen,” Bellamy shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the bar. “All of those heated arguments… Really, Finn, did you not see it coming?”
Finn stared, his mouth hanging open. Finally he shook his head and went to leave again. Before he stormed out of the door he turned to the two of them. “You know what? Fuck you guys, you’re perfect for each other.”
Clarke’s grin only spread, and she looked immensely satisfied. When she turned to Bellamy, he was smirking.
“So, fuck buddies, huh?”
“It was bound to happen,” Clarke mimicked Bellamy’s words from earlier, laughter bubbling out of her.
Bellamy admired Clarke as she laughed again. Her cheeks were flushed, and she hadn’t looked this happy in a long time. She was a little buzzed, but Bellamy knew that she was truly back to herself, this light and laughter was the real thing.
As Bellamy began drying glasses, he turned back to Clarke. “I still want to kill him, you know, for hurting you like that.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Clarke smiled into her glass before meeting Bellamy’s eyes. “But he’s not worth it.”
“No?”
Clarke stood up and grabbed her bag after taking the last gulp of her drink. “Nah,” she said. “I’d rather you didn’t end up in jail.”
She leaned in to him and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek before heading out the door. Her hand was on the handle, just about to pull the door open, when she paused. “Hey, Bell?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice full of sincerity. “You know, for everything.”
Bellamy felt one of those stupid smiles spread across his face, the type of smile he didn’t let a lot of people see. But he couldn’t help it, Clarke tended to bring it out of him – when they weren’t arguing over something stupid. “You did it all yourself, Clarke. I was just there for you to lean on.”
“Still, I appreciate it,” Clarke paused. “We make a good team.”
“Don’t you get all sappy on me now.”
Clarke laughed as she gave him the finger. She opened the door and walked out, calling over her shoulder, “Way to ruin the moment, Blake.”
“My pleasure, Griffin,” Bellamy called back with a shake of his head.
They may not be the best at sharing feelings, or agreeing on things, or trusting other people. But somehow, in some twisted way, they’d come to trust each other. And now, they held each other up. And although Bellamy hated to admit it, Clarke was right. They made a damn good team.