Archive of Our Own

March

Bellamy stared down at the four place settings on the table in his sister’s apartment.

“You expecting company?” He called out to Octavia, who was in the living room fiddling with her music player. She had been oddly anxious the whole day, putting a strange amount of effort into buying and preparing the food for their bi-weekly sibling dinners.

“Clarke promised she would make it tonight, finally,” his sister replied, fond exasperation in her voice.

Bellamy chuckled, because Octavia had been living with Clarke for almost a year now, but he had yet to meet the mysterious roommate. He had seen pictures—insisted, really, to make sure his sister wasn’t living alone—and had eventually heard her melodic, loud voice in the background on a phone call or two. It was a joke between him and his sister; he insisted that Clarke, for whatever reason, was avoiding him, while Octavia valiantly defended her roommate’s honor, saying she was just very busy.

“Who’s the fourth plate for, then? She bringing a date?” Bellamy asked as some indie rock song started playing through the old but cozy apartment.

When Octavia answered with a quiet ‘no’, Bellamy sighed, finally putting the pieces together. “What’s his name?” He asked shortly.

“Lincoln,” she bit back, eyes narrowed determinedly. “We’ve been dating for a few months, and you will be on your very best behavior tonight. Especially with Clarke around.”

“You better hope your buffer doesn’t break plans yet again,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he fixed his expression into something halfway between disapproving and teasing. “Otherwise, who knows what embarrassing stories will come out of my mouth.”

Octavia considered him for a minute, before breaking out into a huge grin. “Thanks, Bell,” she replied, moving to finish her dinner preparations.

Lincoln arrived right on time, and though Bellamy felt his protective streak flare when he saw how enamored the guy was with his sister, he smiled and shook his hand and did all the other polite things. Octavia couldn’t manage to hide how strongly she returned her boyfriend’s affections, and Bellamy swallowed his need to keep her as the little sister who chased butterflies and not boys. They made it through dinner pretty well, with Octavia only threatening him bodily harm once, after he told the bathtub story from when she was four, which Lincoln had found very amusing. The only low note to the night was the way Octavia kept looking disappointedly at Clarke’s empty chair.

“I guess she really does go out of her way to avoid me,” Bellamy joked as his sister made him a bed on their couch, given that he was a bit too buzzed to drive back to his place.

“I told you, she is just super busy. Being a medical student means her time isn’t her own,” Octavia said, fiddling with the blankets anxiously.

“You’re worried,” Bellamy remarked, noting the tense lines on his sister’s face. “You think something happened?”

“I don’t know,” Octavia sighed as she straightened up. “She hasn’t texted all night, and she is usually so good about letting me know if she is canceling plans. It’s probably nothing.”

“If she isn’t back by morning, then we’ll worry.”

With a thankful smile, Octavia kissed him on the cheek goodnight and padded into her bedroom. After settling down into the nest of pillows and sheets, Bellamy quickly fell into a fitful sleep, because his sister and her roommate were broke twentysomethings who had chosen a cheap couch over a comfortable one. So, it wasn’t a huge surprise that the stumbling of someone entering the apartment in the early hours between night and morning woke him up.

As Bellamy blinked the sleep from his eyes, he registered the wavering figure who was unsuccessfully trying to tug off her boots and walk at the same time, swearing up a storm as she did so. Her voice was raw and her words punctuated by unsteady sniffles. Feeling intrusive, because clearly his sister’s roommate was having a rough night, he tried to sink back down without detection. The couch creaked, however, causing her to jerk up, then lose her balance with the motion and fall over.

Kicking off the covers, Bellamy stood to help her, but she scrambled up before he could even get to her.

“You okay?” He asked quietly, eyes darting to his sister’s door, hoping she would wake. Tonight he wasn’t quite up to comforting someone he hadn’t yet met.

“Fine,” Clarke said, her voice cracking. She swiped at her eyes, clearly trying to compose herself. His sight finally adjusting in the dim light of the living room, Bellamy began to make out her very red cheeks and puffy eyes, as well as her rain-drenched hair that spilled out of a half-undone ponytail. The smell of gin wafted towards him as she swayed on her feet, and his feeling of helplessness increased.

When her blue eyes caught his gaze, he sucked in a breath at the pain they held. Before he could open his mouth, because he really needed to say something at this point, Clarke shook her head and almost ran down the hall to her room, slamming the door behind her. It took a few minutes to wrap his head around what had just happened, but Bellamy eventually settled back down into his makeshift bed. He was just about ready to drift off when her muffled sobs whispered across the dark apartment, and his stomach dropped, because there was nothing he could do to stop his own heart from aching for her and whatever she was going through.

May

“Put the phone away,” Bellamy hissed, sliding his sister an annoyed glance in the dark theater. She had begged him to go with her to this movie, because no one else would, and now she was texting through the entire thing.

Octavia just jabbed him with her elbow, ignoring his request while typing away.

Sighing, Bellamy plucked the phone from her hands, shushing her when she whined in protest. “I swear, if you are texting Lincoln—”

He cut off when he looked at the phone and saw that she had been texting Clarke. There were many lengthy messages from his sister, all expressing various degrees of concern, with her roommate’s texts consisting of just one-word responses.

“She still AWOL most of the time?” He whispered, glancing at Octavia again.

His sister shifted uncomfortably and then nodded. Bellamy pursed his mouth, not liking how much Clarke’s odd behavior was weighing on Octavia. Since that night two months ago, Clarke apparently had been even less present, spending a lot of nights out of the apartment, drinking heavily, and closing herself off. Bellamy was convinced she was just going through one of those messy relationship phases, but Octavia had endlessly argued that something else was happening, something more serious. Bellamy didn’t quite care what it was, just that it was affecting his sister.

“You need to talk to her,” he continued, passing back the phone.

“I’ve tried,” Octavia shot back. “And don’t tell me to try harder. Clearly she needs her space right now.”

“O, if it’s starting to affect how you live in your own apartment—”

“It’s not!” Octavia insisted, and several people turned back to look at them in annoyance at their disruptive conversation.

“Alright, alright,” Bellamy relented, shooting his sister a calming look. Though he turned his eyes back to the movie, his mind was elsewhere. He was remembering the devastated look on Clarke’s face that first night, trying to push down the guilt he felt at pretending something very wrong wasn’t going on with his sister’s roommate.

June

If Clarke checked her watch one more time, Bellamy was going to snap. This weekend away at the beach was supposed to be a fun mini-vacation for Octavia and her friends, something he had arranged for her birthday. He had promised to cook and chauffeur them around, even vowing to join in when Jasper drunkenly insisted on playing charades or mafia or whatever other slightly ridiculous game he wanted the group to do.

Something Bellamy hadn’t promised to do was restrain himself from calling out Clarke on her rude sighs or passive-aggressive hurry-up comments. Sure, they were a bit behind in packing up to leave, but if she had to be somewhere, she should’ve gotten her own ride. The whole weekend she had been tense and distracted, barely seeming like she had wanted to be there. He hadn’t seen her laugh once, just smile briefly at Octavia or Monty when they tried to engage her in conversation. Strangely, she hadn’t touched a drop of liquor, a complete reversal from her behavior in the city. At least he could rule out alcoholism as her problem now.

When she flicked her gaze to her wrist again, huffing loudly, Bellamy lost it.

“You know, you didn’t have to come this weekend,” he ground out as he packed up the leftover food into a cooler.

With wide eyes, Clarke looked at him, clearly startled by his abruptness.

“You just look like you want to be anywhere but here. It’s stressing O out,” he added to clarify.

Her gaze narrowed, and with pursed lips she said, “I did try to get out of it, you know. But O wouldn’t let me. And neither would my mother.”

“Your mother made you come? That’s what you’re going with?” Bellamy snorted in disbelief.

“It was important to her that I went this weekend. She insisted I spend more time with friends,” Clarke bit back, arms folding over her chest defensively. “What’s it to you?”

“Never mind,” he muttered, knowing O was going to kill him for going off on her roommate.

“Jackass,” Clarke huffed as she grabbed some of the remaining bags and headed out the door to load them into the car.

Pausing from his packing, Bellamy watched her leave, not liking the tired, defeated slump that appeared in her shoulders when she thought no one was looking.

July

Bellamy and his partner Miller were cruising along, fifteen minutes away from the end of their patrol, when dispatch called about a car crash in their area. Groaning, Miller replied that they would take care of it, clearly annoyed that they were going to be working overtime today. Bellamy was just as frustrated, because now he was going to miss the start of the ballgame.  

They got to the site right at the end of their shift, and Miller sighed as he took in the scene.

“Shit,” he muttered. “The whole front of the car is toast. This is going to take a while.”

Bellamy started to nod when he stopped in his tracks, finally noticing whom the paramedics were surrounding in the back of their open vehicle.

“Clarke?” He called out, striding over as his heart raced with worry.

“Bellamy?” She asked in a faint voice, clutching the blanket around her just a little tighter. “What are you doing here? I didn’t even get a chance to call Octavia yet.”

“I’m on duty. We got a call about an accident. What happened?”

“She fell asleep at the wheel,” one of the paramedics interjected, and Clarke shot him a dark look. “Got a sprained wrist and banged her head up pretty badly, definitely needs to be tested for a concussion.”

“I wasn’t going to lie to him, Jackson,” she muttered, and the guy laughed softly in response.

“You forget I know you too well. Your mother would have my head if I didn’t make sure you were being looked after.”

Clarke flinched at the mention of her mother, eyes shuttering even as she sent a small smile at the paramedic. “I know you mean well, so you’re off the hook this time. Now, let me plead my case to the nice officer so he won’t charge me with reckless driving.”

Jackson and his partner backed off, and Bellamy shifted closer to Clarke. Taking in her bruised face, he absently reached up and brushed a bandaged cut on her cheek with his finger.

“We can do this later, after you’ve been checked out at the hospital,” he offered softly, not liking the way her injured face caused his stomach to roll uneasily.  

“I’m not going to the hospital,” she said defiantly. “I just want to go home.”

Shaking his head, Bellamy protested, “Concussions are serious business—”

“I know, I’m the one in med school here,” she snapped, straightening up to stare at him angrily.

Bellamy sighed. “You know you don’t have a choice right? I’m legally required to make sure you’re okay.”

Clarke stared him down for another minute before sagging in defeat. “Fine. But can we talk on the way there? I want to get this all over with as soon as possible.”

With an understanding nod, Bellamy jogged over to Miller, asking him to cover the cleanup of the site while he escorted Clarke to the hospital. His partner stopped complaining once he realized she was Octavia’s roommate but managed to extract a round of drinks from Bellamy for the favor anyways. Even knowing Miller was going to milk that offer for all it was worth by ordering an outrageously expensive whiskey, Bellamy didn’t care, his current thoughts revolving solely around Clarke and her wellbeing.

The ambulance ride was more than enough time for Bellamy to get her statement, but he didn’t leave her side as they entered the hospital and checked her in for testing. Ignoring her many shooing glances, he stayed to make sure she was all set to go home safely, calling a taxi for her when it was time to go. He knew she was surprised when he climbed into the cab beside her, but at some point on the way home, Clarke leaned her head against his shoulder and murmured a quiet ‘thanks’. In response, he squeezed her hand, trying very hard to ignore how much he liked the look of his fingers intertwined with hers.

She didn’t say another word as he helped her from the cab and into her building, and surprisingly let him take the keys from her shaking hands when she couldn’t manage to unlock the apartment door.

“You’re in shock,” he said gently as he guided her towards her bedroom. “You need to take it easy for the rest of the day. And don’t tell me you know that because you’re in med school. I know that you’re a baby doctor, but I also know that you don’t know the meaning of taking it easy.”

“I can take it easy,” she muttered half-heartedly.

“Sure you can. And that’s why you were so sleep-deprived that you crashed you car.”

With a dry laugh, Clarke dropped onto the bed, staring at her clothes- and book-covered bedroom floor. “Life’s been a bit busy, and sleep hasn’t been a priority.”

“What’s so important that you’re sacrificing sleep? Classes aren’t worth that much of yourself,” Bellamy insisted, shaking his head at her stubbornness.

Clarke just kept staring at the floor, biting her lip. Then she collapsed in on herself, hunching over as a sob escaped.

“Woah,” Bellamy exclaimed, dropping down to kneel in front of her. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

She just shook her bent head, causing her loose blonde hair to tumble down around her face and shield it further. Resting his hands gently on her knees, Bellamy squeezed, trying to draw her attention back to him.

“Let it out,” he murmured, listening to her try and choke back her tears. “You’ve been through a lot today. You need to let it out.”

“I can’t. If I start, I won’t be able to stop, I just—I can’t. I have too much going on, and with my mom, I—”

“Hey,” Bellamy said sharply, keeping his voice low so as not to sound too harsh. “Listen to me. Whatever is going on with you—and O and I know it is something big because your poker face isn’t that good—let yourself have today to deal with it. Don’t bottle it up. It won’t end well. Trust me, I know from experience.”

Clarke sucked in a few more shuddering breaths before she nodded, finally raising her head to meet his stare. His chest clenched at the overwhelming fear in her watery eyes. Before she could change her mind, Bellamy shifted up and sat down on the bed, leaning back against her headboard and pulling her to him.

“C’mon,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “I had planned on spending my afternoon napping anyways, so let’s both get some sleep.”

Although Clarke didn’t move away from his embrace, it took a while for the noticeable tension in her muscles to slip away. Bellamy wasn’t too comfortable either, because this was far too intimate a position for them to be in, given their previously awkward interactions. He wasn’t about to leave her in this state, however, so he just listened to her breathe, feeling how his own rhythm slowed when she finally relaxed beside him. When she slipped into a deep sleep, Bellamy waited a while before sliding out from under her. After looking at her for another long moment, realizing he had never seen her look quite so at peace, he threw a blanket over her before reluctantly leaving the apartment, pretty certain that she would not want him there when she woke up.

August

“Have you ever fought a bad guy?”

Bellamy chuckled as the eager little boy wiggled in his wheelchair. No matter how many times he and the guys from the force came down to the hospital to volunteer in the pediatrics wing, he always was surprised by how fascinated the kids were with the idea of police officers as sort-of superheroes. Little did they know it was a lot of paperwork and crank calls.

“A few times, yeah,” he answered, grinning when the kid’s face lit up in awe.

“Cool,” he whispered, and Bellamy laughed again before calling on a little girl in the front row.

After a few more questions, Miller tapped his shoulder, signaling that it was time to go. At the disappointed groans that came with their departure, Bellamy grinned, reassuring the kids that they would be back soon. His heart sank as he realized that the next time they came, some of the kids might not be here. The sad thought bore down on him as he followed the guys back through the hospital, not really paying much attention to his surroundings until a familiar flash of blonde caught his eye. Backtracking, Bellamy peered through the rippled window to look at Clarke. She was seated beside a woman who was hooked up to an IV drip. Staring, Bellamy tried to figure out why she looked so familiar when it finally hit him. It must be her mom.

Suddenly Clarke looked up and caught his eye, shock and then apprehension clouding her stare. She shook her head slightly and then whipped her attention back to her mom, who also was looking at him curiously. After what seemed to be a slightly tense discussion, Clarke grudgingly motioned for him to join them.

“You’re a friend of Clarke’s?” Her mom asked warmly when he approached.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, because there wasn’t really a better word for what they were. After the accident, he had seen her around the apartment more, and their interactions were softer now, but friends was probably pushing it. “I’m Bellamy, her roommate’s brother.”

“And food mooch,” Clarke said dryly. Bellamy rolled his eyes in response, because one time he stole her last yogurt, thinking it had been O’s.

“Nice to meet you, Bellamy. I’m Clarke’s mom. Call me Abby.”

“Likewise,” he replied, then stuck his hands in his pockets, wondering what they were here for but knowing it was inappropriate to ask.

“Clarke’s good enough to come and sit with me for my treatments. I keep telling her she should use her free time more wisely. There isn’t much of that in med school, if I remember correctly.”

“You’re a doctor?” He asked, surprised. Clarke had never mentioned that, but then again, it isn’t like they talked much, really. Strange, he thought, how falling asleep together could create intimacy without any real foundation.

With a soft laugh, Abby replied, “Yes, I am. I used to head up the cardiac division here.”

Clarke’s expression fell at the used to, and Bellamy heard the unspoken explanation of before I got sick.

“Well, it seems Clarke has big shoes to fill, but I have no doubt she is up to the task,” Bellamy said, trying to diffuse the melancholy mood settling in around them.

Abby smiled up at him and Clarke just stared, surprise and something else unreadable written on her face.

Clearing his throat, Bellamy continued, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, and my ride is waiting for me downstairs, so I should get going. It was nice to meet you.”

“Clarke, why don’t you walk him down so he doesn’t get lost?”

With a sigh, Clarke stood, squeezing her mom’s hand once before heading for the door. Bellamy followed, quickening his steps to keep up with her rapid pace.

“Go ahead, ask,” she said tiredly as she slammed her finger into the down button of the elevator.

“Ask what?”

“Ask about what’s wrong with my mom.”

Bellamy wanted to ask, he really did, because it was killing him to not know what was going on with her. The way she stubbornly avoided his gaze made him hold back, though.

“I won’t ask unless you want me to,” he said slowly as they walked into the elevator.

Flicking a suspicious glance his way, Clarke folded her arms over her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you want to keep whatever is going on private, I’ll respect that. It’s not my place to know, unless you want someone to talk to. And I am here for that, if you need it,” he finished softly, not taking his eyes off of her.

She held herself tightly for another second before letting her arms fall to her sides with a shuddering sigh. “She was diagnosed with breast cancer back in March. She’s been doing alright with chemo, though it’s been touch-and-go for the past month.”

“Clarke,” he breathed, reaching out a hand to comfort her. The doors dinged open, and she shied away, striding out hastily. Bellamy followed, not sure what to say, because he wanted to help but was afraid of scaring her off again.

When they reached the glass doors leading outside, she stopped abruptly and looked up at him with exhausted eyes. “Don’t tell O, okay? She’ll worry, and fuss, and I can’t do pity or concern right now.”

Bellamy wanted to argue that O was already worried, and had been for a while, but he knew all too well how Clarke was feeling, so he let it go. “Alright,” he agreed quietly. “I won’t say a word.”

The relief on her face made him ache, because here she was, dealing with her sick mother and med school, and now concerning herself about how it all would affect his sister.  

“Clarke, it doesn’t need to be me, but please, for your sake, talk to someone about this, yeah? You shouldn’t have to do it on your own.”

“I think I’ve been doing just fine.”

With a skeptical glance, Bellamy held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Clarke pulled it out hesitantly, and he immediately grabbed it from her so she wouldn’t take it back. “There,” he said, typing in his contact information. “You have my number now, in case you do ever feel like talking. And I hope you do.”

“No promises,” Clarke replied as she slid the phone back into her pocket, a small smile on her face.

“I’ll take what I can get,” he told her kindly, giving her arm one last squeeze before he walked out the door, warmth crawling up his spine as he felt her watch him leave.

October

Bellamy hung up the phone, smiling as he sauntered back into Miller’s living room. Murphy made a sound imitating the cracking of a whip as he sat back down in his chair.

“Whoever this girl is, she’s got you all tied up,” his friend jeered, grinning wider when Bellamy flipped him off.

“Says the guy whose been checking his own phone all night hoping that tattooed chick will text him,” John jibed.

“Shut up,” Murphy growled, rearranging his poker chips distractedly.

“Can we just get back to the game, guys?” Miller complained. “At this point, we’ll never finish.”

“That’d be a blessing for you, wouldn’t it though, given how far in the hole you are? Why give yourself more games to lose?” Bellamy shot back, picking his cards up from the table.

With a roll of his eye, Miller just tossed another chip into the pile, and they got back to playing. Bellamy smiled through the whole round, even though he lost quite a chunk of change. When he had given his number to Clarke, he had only intended it to be for emergencies. After the first call, however, which had just been her complaining about how stupid hospital insurance policies were, they began to talk regularly, and not just about her mom. It had only been two months, but somehow she had become one of his closest friends. The way his stomach flipped when she laughed or how he would make time anywhere (even at the guys’ sacred poker night) to take her calls told him maybe she was something more to him too, but he knew it wasn’t the right time. She had so much on her plate, and given that he was the only one who knew about her mom, he wasn’t about to complicate their relationship by asking for anything else from her. Not for a while, maybe not even ever. She was still O’s roommate after all, and insanely busy becoming a kickass doctor, and—

“Dude,” Murphy drawled. “Why don’t you just hand us your wallet? It’d be less painful than sitting here through another shitty round of play while you moon over your girlfriend.”

Bellamy threw a spare chip at Murphy’s forehead, grumbling out protests while the rest of the guys laughed.

“She’s just a friend,” he said, and the knots in his chest tightened as the word fell bitterly from his tongue.

December

Bellamy had been planning on a low-key Friday night in, but the current buzzing of his doorbell suggested otherwise. He ignored it at first, because it was probably Miller looking for a drinking buddy, and he was not in the mood. When the bell rang frantically a couple of more times, and not in the pattern he and Miller used to identify themselves, though, Bellamy sighed and buzzed the visitor in. Just as he reached the entryway, a rapid knock sounded. Slowly, he opened the door, startling at seeing Clarke. Tears streamed down her face, and snowflakes were melting into the loose, tangled strands of her hair. Her cheeks were blotchy red and her fingers white from the cold and gripping a bottle of gin and another of tonic.

“Hey,” she croaked. “Can I come in?”

“What happened?” Bellamy asked, the question nearly sticking in his throat because the pounding of his heart whispered that it was nothing good.

“My mom—”

Oh god. Without missing a beat, Bellamy pulled her into his arms, clutching her tightly. She sobbed into his chest, her hot tears soaking into his shirt and burning like acid against his skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking because he would have done anything to keep her from having to go through this.

She was mumbling something against his chest, but he couldn’t make it out. Reluctantly, he moved back, just enough to let her tip her head up towards him. He froze at the smile on her face, and the way she shook her head at him in bemusement.

“You didn’t let me finish,” she murmured. “My mom, she’s officially in remission. We just got the news tonight.”

A sad laugh bubbled off her lips, then her face crumpled and she started crying again. Closing his eyes, Bellamy pulled her to him again, his embrace looser but no less comforting this time.

“That’s a good thing,” he said quietly.

“I know,” she said, laughing again, a hiccup cutting her off at the end.

“Shouldn’t you be with your mom?”

“She banned me from the house,” Clarke admitted with fond annoyance. “Said I had hung around with her more than enough lately and that I should go out and have a good time tonight. She locked the door behind me!”

“And I’m your choice?” Bellamy teased, shifting to look down at her with a raised eyebrow. His breath hitched when she bit her lip guiltily.

“Well, you are the only one who knows about her,” she said slowly. “But, yeah. You’re the one I want to celebrate with.”

There was something hopeful in her words, and Bellamy had to resist clutching her even closer. As it was, she wouldn’t take her eyes off of him, and her hands at his waist were sending funny shocks up his sides. Letting out a steadying breath, Bellamy shot her a warm smile, then wrangled the gin from her grip.

“Alright, then let’s celebrate.”

They made themselves at home in his living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch talking about her mom and what came next. After suffering through three rounds of drinks, Bellamy slipped up and revealed that he actually hated gin, which made Clarke apologize profusely for barging into his apartment and forcing him to drink something he hated. Although he cut her off, telling her that he welcomed the interruption, he still laughed at her, because the way her forehead creased in regret was damn adorable. She chucked an ice cube at him in retaliation, but he caught it, and she rolled her eyes at his smug grin. Insisting that they switch their liquor, she rummaged around in his stash until she pulled out an old bottle of cheap whiskey he had forgotten about. In brief protest, he claimed it was too crappy to drink, but, with a mischievous smile, Clarke pulled out two shot glasses from behind her back.

“It’ll go down so fast you won’t even notice,” she teased, plunking the glasses on the table before filling them to the brim.

“You’re trouble,” he grumbled, feeling his stomach twist as her high, clear laughter resounded in the living room.

“Just take the shot,” she commanded, before knocking back her own.

He was the one laughing when suddenly her face clenched, tongue sticking out as she gagged. “God, where did you find that crap? It tastes like lighter fluid.”

“Octavia bought it when she hosted a party here once. I keep the good stuff locked away in my room, so my friends won’t drink my wallet dry. Miller has very expensive taste in liquor when he’s not the one paying for it.”

“Well, go get it,” Clarke urged with a insistent wave of her hand.

When Bellamy stood up from the couch, his head spun a bit too much for his liking. Apparently he was getting old, if his low tolerance was any indication. With a sigh, he dug in his closet for the bottle, gripping the neck with sweaty hands when he found it. As he walked down the hall, he marveled at how well Clarke was holding it together, because she had matched him drink for drink yet seemed perfectly fine.

Spoke too soon, he thought fondly when he arrived back in the living room. Clarke had slumped down on the couch, her head supported by the armrest and her legs taking up the rest of the seating. Her eyes were closed, but she mumbled something, indicating she wasn’t quite all the way asleep. Shaking his head amusedly, Bellamy set the whiskey on the coffee table. After a minute of consideration, he carefully lifted her legs, sat down, and then placed them across his lap. Though he had been gentle in his movements, it was enough to startle her. She shot up, eyes flying open in surprise. Bellamy clutched her legs to steady her, leaning forward to make sure she was okay.

“I’m awake,” she claimed in a sleepy voice. “I’m awake!”

As he watched her try and blink away the sleepiness, which was looking like a fruitless effort, Bellamy registered just how close she was. His quickening breaths caused the loose curls framing her face to sway slightly, and her hand rested on his shoulder as she steadied herself.

“It’s okay,” he murmured back, squeezing her thigh reassuringly. “It’s been a long day. You probably should be sleeping.”

Though she nodded, Bellamy swallowed thickly as he watched her gaze flick unconsciously down to his lips and then back up to his face. An uncertain wanting lingered in her eyes as she stared at him, and just as he was about to lean forward, his doorbell rang: three short buzzes followed by one long one.

Miller.

Clarke moved back, her expression neutral now, and Bellamy’s head felt light in that fuzzy, drunk way, and the doorbell was still buzzing.

“You should get that,” Clarke said mildly, a small smile on her face.

Okay. As Bellamy rose from the couch, he blinked, trying to focus. His mind itched, confused at the abrupt change in Clarke’s mood. Wanting to keep his time with her private, he walked downstairs instead of buzzing the visitor up, still in a daze until he saw the two idiots waving at him from behind the front door. It was Miller and Murphy, who somehow—between their insistent appeals to come out with them and teasing insults when he refused—managed to keep him outside for a whole fifteen minutes. After he finally sent them off, Bellamy took the stairs two at a time back up to his apartment and Clarke. He needed to know if what he had seen in her eyes was real, or if that was the gin and bad whiskey talking.

When he swung into the living room, however, he smiled wryly as he saw her curled into a tight ball fast asleep on the couch. She shivered, and he sighed, moving over to scoop her up and walk her to his bedroom. After the night she had, he thought she deserved to sleep in a real bed. He tucked her in, smiling when she unconsciously relaxed and rolled on her side, pulling the comforter over her head greedily.

Bellamy grabbed a blanket and pillow from his closet, closing the door behind him as he moved back out into the living room. Settling in on the couch, he blew out a tired breath, mind racing as he recalled the tumultuous night. As crowded as his thoughts were, he never thought he would be able to sleep, but before he knew it, suddenly early morning light was blinding him through closed eyes, signaling that he needed to get up and moving for his work shift.  

The last thing he did before running out the door was to scribble out a note for Clarke, telling her where he was, and to help herself to the coffee and limited breakfast food he had, and to call him if she wanted to talk.

Hours later, when Bellamy had returned to the apartment, there was a coffee mug drying on his dish rack and one less apple in his fridge, but no messages on his phone.

“Okay,” he whispered to his empty apartment, stomach dropping as he finally admitted that even with all the private, emotional, hidden things he and Clarke had talked about in the last few months, apparently what had happened last night wasn’t going to be one of them.

Okay, he thought as he poured himself a large glass of whiskey, downing it in one resigned gulp, repeating the sequence as the cold light of the winter sun dimmed to black.

January

It wasn’t okay. For a while, the holidays had been distracting, what with Lincoln joining him and his sister at his apartment for Christmas, and going out with the guys on New Years Eve, but as Bellamy rang in the new year, he was thinking of Clarke. Octavia hadn’t mentioned her much lately; all he knew was that Clarke and her mother were taking an extended vacation to somewhere warm, if his sister’s jealous whines were any indication.

By the time his mundane schedule resumed, however, an uneasy feeling settled in Bellamy’s chest every time her name was mentioned, or when he absently wondered what she was doing. For so long she had been a constant in his life, that now he found himself needing her in an unexpected way. Apparently she was done needing him, though, and he reluctantly supposed that was how it always was going to end. He didn’t know when he had convinced himself otherwise.

It was almost a relief when he got shot on the job—so yeah, maybe sometimes it wasn’t just paperwork and crank calls—and was taken to the hospital, because his pain-addled brain had somehow convinced him that means he would finally see Clarke. It wasn’t until after his surgery, when the anesthesia wore off, that he realized how ridiculous the thought was. It was a big hospital, and the chance of running into her was slim. Still, his heart leapt with every approaching footfall outside of his room.

When Octavia swept in, furious that he had made Miller hold off on notifying her of the incident until he was ready to check out, he momentarily forgot about Clarke. After bickering with his sister all the way to the car, then pulling her in for a tight hug when she started crying frustrated but relieved tears, his thoughts gradually drift back to his sister’s roommate.

“Hey, O?” He said, trying to keep his tone casual. “Don’t mention my injury to anyone, okay?”

“Like who?” She prodded, sending him an odd look.

“I don’t know, just don’t mention it.”

“Okay, weirdo. Can I at least talk to Lincoln about it? I need someone to vent to about your stupid let’s-keep-important-things-from-Octavia idea.”

With a roll of his eyes, Bellamy scoffed. “Lincoln’s fine. That’s it, though.”

“So not Clarke, then?” Octavia asked, her voice too calm.

Bellamy closed his eyes, regretting bringing up the subject, because he forgot how perceptive his sister was. Blowing out a resigned breath, he admitted, “Yeah, not Clarke.”

“Okay,” his sister relented in an even tone.  

He smiled softly, letting his head roll to the left to look at Octavia. “Thanks,” he murmured, grateful she wasn’t going to ask him to explain.

“No problem, big brother. Just let me know if I need to kick her ass for you or anything.”

With a laugh, Bellamy shook his head, reaching out to squeeze her hand resting on the stick shift. “Thanks, little sister. Not needed, but good to know you’ve got my back.”

“Always,” Octavia said cheerfully, shooting him a wide smile that made the ache in his chest ease just a bit.

February

For the third time, Bellamy eyed the warning on his prescription bottle that advised against drinking while taking the pain meds. Between the relentless stiffness in his arm that physical therapy didn’t seem to be solving and the nagging boredom from being on required leave from work because of the injury, he was going stir crazy. Nothing on TV interested him, and he had gone through his favorite history books last week. All that was left was drinking, and that seemed like a bad idea, at least according to the strongly worded notice on the medication label.

Loud, furious pounding at his apartment door stopped him reaching for the whiskey bottle. Shuffling over, he pulled it open, flabbergasted to see Clarke glaring at him, fist raised menacingly, as he had seemingly interrupted her mid-knock.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She accused, pushing past him into the apartment, angrily tearing off her coat and removing her shoes.

“Well, come on in,” Bellamy muttered, watching her in confusion as she headed for the living room. How did she even get in the building? He didn’t even get a chance to ask before she turned on him in the middle of the living room.

“You get shot, and you don’t even tell me!” Clarke yelled, hands gesturing wildly. “No, wait, not only do you not tell me, but you ask Octavia to actually keep it a secret from me? You’re such a hypocrite, you know that, right?”

Groaning internally, Bellamy yet again regretted asking Octavia to keep his injury a secret. It was bad enough that she awkwardly gave him pitying looks every time she let her roommate’s name slip into conversation, now clearly she hadn’t even kept her promise of secrecy.

“Why would you need to know?” He asked, trying to keep his tone from sliding towards bitter. It wasn’t fair that she practically dropped off the face of the earth and now came back, demanding a place in his life again.

With a frustrated sigh, Clarke shot back, “Weren’t you the one to tell me not to deal with shit on my own? How about you take your own advice, yeah?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Seriously? Like I didn’t bother you for months while my mother was sick. I’d like to return the favor, you know!”

“I didn’t do it as a favor, Clarke,” Bellamy retorted, feeling his voice dip towards a growl in frustration. “I did it because you needed it. End of story.”

Hurt flared in her eyes, which made him more confused as well as angry.

“What do you want, Clarke?” He asked tiredly, not wanting to wait for her to throw more veiled accusations.

“I want to be there for you, like you were for me,” she offered softly, folding her arms across her chest. “Why won’t you let me do that?”

The vulnerability and stubbornness in her expression floored him, and it took him a minute before he answered roughly, “I didn’t think you wanted to, after that night.”

“What night?” She fired back, brow furrowing in obvious puzzlement.

He just stared at her, because he hadn’t meant to bring it up. He was entirely convinced he had imagined that moment, that almost kiss, but here she was, in his apartment and pissed off, indicating just maybe she had been missing him too.

“What night, Bellamy?” She pressed, taking a few cautious steps toward him.

As she approached, Bellamy watched her eyes flick back and forth, a thousand questions in them as she tried to figure him out. With a deep breath, Bellamy decided that it didn’t matter if she was playing with him or not; he was done with this game, and just wanted to go all in with her.

“The night I almost kissed you,” he answered quietly.

His words halted her progress, and she looked up at him in surprise and slight disbelief.

“I remember,” she said slowly. “I fell asleep, and the next morning you were had left.”

“I didn’t leave, Clarke. I had work. I left you a note, and you never called.”

“Neither did you!”

“Are you serious?”

“You’re the one who almost kissed me! You should have called!”

As she stared at him, face scrunched in exaggerated annoyance, hip cocked and arms now folded tightly over her chest, he started to smile, because weren’t they the two most stubborn, self-conscious idiots in the city. “Really?” He asked, raising his eyebrows in expectant amusement, starting to laugh when she scowled at him.

“It’s not funny,” she grumbled, biting her lip as she resolutely tried to hide a grin of her own.

“No, it’s not funny,” he admitted, still chuckling as he moved towards her, pulling her into his arms even as she half-heartedly pushed him away in mock annoyance. “There is nothing amusing about us fighting over a nonexistent kiss.”

“I blame you,” she mumbled against his chest, frowning when he laughed again. “Terrible follow through.”

“Let’s fix that then,” Bellamy teased quietly before dipping his head and capturing her lips in what he hoped would be a kiss worth the wait. From the way she melted against him, he had good reason to think it would be. His hands slid around her waist and hers into his hair; the way her fingers tugged on his curls made him arch her backwards, impatient to feel as much of her pressed against him as he could. She let out a little hum of surprise at the movement, and he smiled, breaking out into a quiet laugh when she bit his lower lip in retaliation.

“Shush,” she said, scowling teasingly as she smacked him on the shoulder. As it happened to be his bad arm, Bellamy sucked in a pained breath in response.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” She blurted out, trying to pull away. “What are we doing, you should be resting—”

He cut her off with another kiss, hoping to distract her, but it was Clarke.

As she broke away, looking up at him with stern concern, he sighed. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“We should at least be sitting down,” she commented.

Without warning, he began hurriedly backing her towards his couch. “I’m on board for that,” he murmured lowly, liking the way it made her cheeks flush pink.

“Hey,” she said, holding back as he went to lower her to the couch. “Other way around.”

This time, she surprised him with quick movements, turning him in place before pushing him down onto the cushions.

“So you don’t have any weight on that arm,” she clarified, a heated gleam in her eye as she delicately straddled his lap. “Better, yeah?”

Bellamy’s throat went dry as he looked up at her perched over him, blonde hair framing her blushing face that was graced with a sly smile. Reaching up, he gripped her hips tightly in a way that made her breath hitch.  

“Mm, you might have to convince me,” he replied, loving the way her stare narrowed in acceptance of his challenge.

“Not a problem,” she whispered right before kissing him in a way that made him forget everything else except wondering if the rest of her tasted as good as her lips did.

April

Bellamy had his answer eventually (and better, the answer was mostly definitely better), but not as soon as he would have liked. In deference to his recovery, Clarke had stubbornly refused to go any further than they had that first night, which hadn’t been very far at all. Even before the thought had entered his head to get his physical therapist to lie for him, Clarke had apparently pulled some strings at the hospital and wheedled a recovery timeline from Anya herself, so there was no way around waiting.

Only after three very long weeks did Anya declare him ninety percent recovered, which, if one rounded up, and Bellamy certainly did, meant that he was good to go. Though Clarke frowned at his reasoning at first, he proved to be very convincing, finally wearing her down, and then stripping her down, right to her bare skin even before they made it into his bedroom.

“Aren’t you at least a little glad that we waited for this?” Clarke asked between ragged pants from her place next to him on the bed after round three, still breathless from crying out his name in that imploring, throaty tone that had driven him right up the fucking wall.

Bellamy laughed, choking a bit at the end as she flopped over onto him again, looking up at him with curious eyes through her strands of mussed hair. The feel of her sticky, heated skin pressed against him had him contemplating a fourth go, but when she looked at him expectantly, he forced himself to focus on answering.

“Well, I’m not complaining, and after that last bout, I’m inclined to become a proponent of delayed gratification,” he answered with a cheeky grin which had Clarke rolling her eyes. “But that was a damn long wait.”

“It was only a few weeks!” Clarke protested with a laugh, pressing an amused kiss to his chest.

“It was just a few weeks for you,” he whispered, not quite realizing what he had said until she propped herself up and stared at him intensely.

“What do you mean?” She asked, her stare growing more serious as his hands brushed nervously against her back.

Bellamy shrugged one shoulder, reluctant to reveal just how long he had been infatuated with her. It was too soon, every part of him screamed, too soon to feel the weight of something more than affection and attraction resting in his heart, and way too soon to let her know that.

“Bellamy,” she prodded in gentle tone, running her thumb along his cheekbone. “Tell me.”

The words stuck in his throat, so he just pulled Clarke down against him again, tucking her into his side as his arms clutched her tightly.

“Stay?” He finally asked, somehow feeling too exposed even uttering just that one word.

As Clarke pressed another kiss against his shoulder, she reached around to grab his hand, bringing it up to rest on his chest before intertwining her small fingers with his thick ones.

“Yeah,” she replied contentedly. “I’ll stay.”

He heard the promise in her words, and he squeezed her hand in response. Yawning, she mumbled a quiet ‘goodnight’ as she nestled her head into him, and with her comforting heat at his side, Bellamy drifted off, relieved that maybe he wasn’t alone in carrying the unspeakable weight of whatever they were growing into.  

June

“I’m here!” Clarke called out frantically, her voice echoing through the airy rooms of her mother’s house. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m late!”

Bellamy chuckled from his seat in the armchair as he looked across the living room at Abby, who was rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“I’m sorry!” Clarke repeated as she stuck her head into the room with a sheepish smile. “Just let me change, and I’ll be right down with you guys.”

From her place next to him, Octavia snorted and called after her, “None of us are surprised, Clarke. You wouldn’t be you if you were actually on time.”

An indignant but amused ‘hey!’ echoed down from upstairs, faint sounds of hurried motion fading as Clarke presumably went into the bathroom to change out of her scrubs.

“I tried,” Abby joked with a shrug of her shoulders before turning to Bellamy. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

With another laugh, Bellamy shook his head. “I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

“Don’t expect any help from Octavia,” Lincoln interjected, clearly struggling to hide a smile. “She’s just as bad.”

“Not compared to Clarke,” Octavia teased, patting Lincoln’s knee teasingly.

“Hey, I heard that!” Clarke protested as she strode into the room, shooting a look at Octavia. “And it wasn’t my fault. Gardner held us late today, and traffic was terrible.”

“Isn’t it always when you have to be somewhere?” Abby said with raised eyebrows and a smile as she stood to hug her daughter. “Let’s head in to dinner before your friends’ stomachs start eating themselves.”

Clarke grumbled out a half-hearted protest, and in response, Abby squeezed her shoulder playfully before leading Octavia and Lincoln into the dining room.

“Leaving me alone with the mother, nice,” Bellamy teased, dropping a quick kiss onto Clarke’s mouth before she could object.

“Octavia and Lincoln were here,” Clarke argued even as she slipped her hand into his.

“I’m kidding. Your mother is wonderful,” he relented, drumming his fingers against her knuckles as they moved to join the others.

“Six months,” Clarke whispered as she paused in the doorway, watching her mother converse and laugh with the other couple. “Six months she’s been in remission.”

At the emotion in her voice, Bellamy pressed a reassuring kiss to her temple. “The first of many, many more,” he replied quietly, smiling when Clarke let out a heavy, accepting breath.

Suddenly, she turned, rising up on her feet to kiss him deeply, catching him off guard enough that he had to clutch her waist with his free hand to keep them both balanced.

“Same for us, you know,” Clarke murmured against his mouth, her lips curving into a soft smile.

“I do,” he replied, squeezing their interlocked fingers in response. I love you.

She squeezed back. I love you, too.