Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bellamy swore he was never leaving Miller and Octavia alone together ever again. Not if it meant the possibility of experiencing the crippling anxiety that was currently strangling his heart, not if it left him breathless with self-deprecation and an anger that shook his hands.

His eyes darted from one room number to the next, searching for the one that would bring him to 314, to Octavia, but nothing about the hospital seemed to make sense. Every white, long hallway just seemed to lead to another one, none of them taking him where he actually wanted to go. He just needed to see her, to hold her hand in his own. He knew she was fine, it had been what the nurses and Miller had assured him with slow, concise words over the phone, but it didn’t feel certain until he could confirm it with his own eyes.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

The voice brought him to a halt, because even though there was no way to strictly know she had been talking to him, there had been something about the resonance of her voice that had struck him. Bellamy realized his eyes must have been wide and his face frightened, but the sight of her was like aloe vera on the worst of your sunburns, calming and cooling, the simple answer to a problem.

“How would you even know where I’m trying to go?”

“I don’t,” she replied. Her speech was a little breathy, but she didn’t show any sign of weakness as she stared him down, “but I know it isn’t Long Term Pediatrics Ward.”

“Long term?”

“The unlucky ones of us who practically live here.” The blonde rolled her eyes, but Bellamy wasn’t quite sure who it was at because it didn’t feel directed at him. She nodded for him to follow, and for the first time he noticed the tubes coming from her nose and the tank she was rolling behind herself. “I’ll show you.”

“Thank you, I-”

“No explanation needed. I know the look of someone desperate,” she spoke. “It’s practically as commonplace as breathing around here, I mean, unless you can’t really breath that well, but that probably didn’t need saying, did it?”

Bellamy felt the corner of his mouth reach up, trying his best to hide his side-eyeing of her. It wasn’t because of her breathing tubes that he kept glancing over (what were they called again? Cannulas?), he couldn't really have cared less about her need for a little help, but instead he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her wild sort of beauty, her fierce determination.

“Cystic fibrosis since I’m sure you were wondering. Don’t worry, I’m not offended, everyone does. Long story short my lungs are fucked up and that’s all there really is to say about that.”

“I was going to tell you my name,” Bellamy responded.

Clarke, for the first time, looked away from the path in front of her, raised an eyebrow, and met his gaze.

“What?”

“Before you cut me off, I was going to tell you my name.”

“Oh.” A soft pink fluttered across her cheeks, the hand that wasn’t pulling the tank tapping rhythms into her thigh. “Sorry, most people just want to know.”

“Wow, you’re a bit conceited aren’t you.”

Clarke gasped, narrowing her eyes at him. Bellamy’s smirk widened and he released a gruff laugh as her shock morphed into laughter. Bellamy wondered how many people she had in her life just treating her like a patient, a sick person. It made him undeniably sad to think about.

“Fine, so what is your name?”

“Bellamy Blake,” he replied. She smiled like the sound of his name was something of a surprise, a gift she hadn’t been expecting but was now placed gently in front of her. “And you, princess?”

Her mouth pursed at the nickname, but she didn’t object. “Clarke Griffin. Your sibling, significant other, friend should be somewhere in this hallway.”

Bellamy nodded, the anxiety rushing back through his veins like it had never lessened even the slightest. “Sister.”

“Well, I’ll send good thoughts her way.”

“No prayers?” Clarke paused at the words, her lips curling up sadly at the edges. A stone fell in Bellamy’s chest at the way her head tilted to the side, the way her eyes seemed to glisten with a memory he couldn’t himself see.

“Prayers would require someone to be listening. See you around, Bellamy.”

He only watched her for a few golden moments before turning back to search for Octavia, finding her right in the room he’d been told she would be in, just as fine as Miller had assured him she was.

Clarke didn’t cross his thoughts again until later that night, when he had plopped down onto his couch after arriving back at the apartment all alone. Octavia had been forced to stay an extra night to ensure her leg was fine after the totally insignificant miniscule car collision, Bell, stop worrying would you, but it was eerie to be in his own apartment without the sound of her tinkling laugh floating through the space.

His hand reached out to his laptop, sliding it over the couch cushion and onto his lap. His hands hovered over the keys for a minute or so, not quite sure what he had been thinking of typing when suddenly it was her name his fingers were spelling out. He wasn’t really surprised when barely nothing popped up, but he clicked on the first link anyway.

Abby Griffin, top neurosurgeon. Clarke hadn’t showed up, but her mom sure had.

For the next hour Bellamy researched all about Abby, about Ark Hospital and the reputation she and her husband had practically dragged from the dirt and painted with a shiny new coat of paint. Fifteen minutes in he found the obituary for Jake Griffin dated roughly a year ago; Bellamy wondered if that’s what made Clarke so sure there wasn’t a God. He probably should have felt creepier about all the digging, but honestly he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

He woke up on the couch four hours later, his back aching and the laptop blinking red. A smarter man would have plugged in the laptop and went to his bedroom to sleep off the strange feelings rising in his stomach.

Bellamy Blake was not a smarter man.

The early morning nurse was evidently not used to seeing too many people trying to sneak their way into the hospital at five in the morning despite visiting hours. Well, he assumed she wasn’t used to it, but it was hard to tell if she was even capable of human emotion at all. Her mouth had began to widen, the steeliness in her eyes making it abundantly clear how she was going to favor with his presence, but he slid an extra coffee across the counter. Her hands reached out greedily and she waved him away.

If there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a bad brother. Bellamy checked Octavia’s room first, finding her dead to the world the same way she was every morning (the description felt a hell of a lot more insensitive when he thought it in a hospital), before leaving down the hallway in search for the princess from the previous day.

He had known he had wanted to find her, but now that he was doing it he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. What was he going to do when he did find her? He couldn’t even seem to understand the storm that was raging on just underneath his skin, threatening to burst through. There was a cold, heavy weight to the feeling that seemed to eat at him, but it wasn’t necessarily bad, just different.

A cough echoed through the hallway and Bellamy searched for the inception of the sound. He couldn’t confirm it, but there was something about the sound that pulled at him in a familiar way. His eyes scanned the area around him, finally finding the familiar puff of blonde hair behind the reception desk.

“Clark-”

“SH!” she hushed obnoxiously, her eyes wide as her head snapped up. She waved him over, a finger placed over her lips for an almost insulting amount of time. “Keep quiet and don’t draw attention to us.”

“What’s going on?” His voice was barely above a whisper but the look she shot him made him feel like he had screamed it from the rooftops.

“I need to know when they’re discharging me,” she answered. A tendril of blonde hair flew into her face and she puffed it away aggravatedly. Bellamy felt a chuckle fighting up his throat, but he covered it with a cough, hoping to stay on her good side. “Jesus, I wish Monty was here, I can’t sort through anything.”

“What are you doing?”

Bellamy and Clarke’s heads snapped up at the same time, eyes wide and their bodies still filled with a nervous sort of energy. Bellamy prepared to speak his way out of this, but as his mouth perched open to argue, he noticed the large figure across from them and released a laugh.

“Lincoln, what are you doing here? Stupid question -- Octavia.”

“Octavia,” he agreed. Lincoln’s gaze turned to Clarke, eyeing her as she looked curiously between the two of them. Clarke raised her hand in a half-hearted wave, a small smile coming to her lips. “I’m still going to need an explanation on what you’re doing, though.”

“This is Clarke.”

“I’m Clarke,” she confirmed. The edge of Lincoln’s lip quirked up at the greeting. “Your friend happened to walk by me and, as the good samaritan he is, he wanted to make sure the dying girl wasn’t doing something dangerous.”

“You’re dying?” Bellamy couldn’t help the spurt of words. He should have known that the cannula and breathing tube were bad signs, but she had looked lively enough that it seemed weird for her to be dying in front of him. He supposed everyone was dying really, but there was a look in her eyes that made him think she was incapable of it.

“I told you I pretty much live in a hospital and I have to have help breathing… what did you think?”

Bellamy could feel Lincoln’s eyes planted on him, but he didn’t like the frigid weight they brought.

“You need to go back to your room before you get caught,” Bellamy spoke, ignoring both Clarke’s question and Lincoln’s unspoken one. “And I’ll show you where Octavia is.”

“You don’t control me,” she responded, but she reached forward and shut the browser she had brought up. “I’m going back to my room.”

“You can walk with her, I’ll be fine,” Lincoln spoke. “See you later, Bellamy.”

Bellamy nodded to him, his hands reaching into his pockets as he turned away.

“Believe it or not, I do know this hospital fairly well. I’d be fine if you went to see your sister.”

“I already saw her.”

“So you were looking for me,” she replied, a slow smile creeping up her lips. “I knew the instant you saw me you weren’t going to be able to stay away. How did you get past Anya?”

Bellamy shrugged a little, but her insistent eyes pulled his mouth open. “A cup of coffee.”

“I should have known. Anya may hate people, but she loves coffee.” Clarke’s tank snagged on some invisible force on the ground and she halted for a minute, her breathing becoming a little labored as she readjusted it. Bellamy reached out, grabbing the handle from her and soundlessly taking it. She looked like she wanted to argue, like it hurt her not to, but he shot her a quick look that snapped her mouth shut.

“If you live in the hospital why were you looking for a discharge date?”

“I said I practically live in the hospital, partially because I’ve grown up here and the other is because I’m sick. I know this hospital probably better than anyone who works here; my dad showed me all the secret little places when I was younger.” Clarke’s eyes flitted over the room numbers as she spoke. If she really knew the hospital as well as she said, Bellamy doubted she needed to read them, but he assumed the topic made her uncomfortable. “I don’t always stay here, I just did something stupid which caused me to need my airways cleaned. I’ve been here too long, though, and I’m trying to figure out if it’s because my mom’s manipulated something.”

“Your mom works here?” Bellamy already knew she did.

“Head of neuroscience,” she answered. Her finger tapped on a room number, a satisfied grin falling naturally to her lips. Clarke reached out for his arm, tugging him in behind her as she remembered he was rolling her cart.

A thin girl laid on the bed, roughly around the same age as Clarke. Her hair was blonde but nowhere near as blonde as Clarke’s, all of it braided down to fall to one side of her.

Every movement she made was tired, exhausted, but unlike looking like someone on their deathbed it still felt weirdly powered by life. Bellamy knew someone else might say she looked more like a corpse than a human because of her too skinny frame and slightly sunken eyes, but her smile was too bright and the wave she gave too personable for the thought to ever cross his mind.

“Harper! Are you excited to see me?”

“Never,” she joked. Her eyes moved between Bellamy and Clarke, clearly waiting for an explanation. “Who is this?”

“You said you never see cool people anymore, which is highly offensive to me and Monty by the way but it’s fine, so here he is!”

“I didn’t say cool, I said new. But you think he’s cool?” she questioned. Bellamy suddenly felt self-conscious of his ragged appearance, the flannel he had haphazardly thrown on and the thick-rimmed glasses he had been forced into when he couldn’t find his contacts.

“I never said I think he’s cool, but you? Yea, you might think he’s cool.”

“I’m feeling both used and insulted right now, princess.” Bellamy felt a little more sure of himself as he finally found his voice.

“Harper, Bellamy. Bellamy, Harper.”

Harper motioned for him to come closer, pointing to the chair next to her bed. He obediently sat down, waiting for her to say what she was clearly planning in her head. As Harper opened her mouth, Bellamy noticed Clarke in his peripherals taking a seat more toward the door, pulling her feet up and folding into the plastic chair.

“Tell me your story.”

Bellamy didn’t know quite what to say to that. His story? His life had been a series of missteps and struggles but mostly it was just Octavia and him, fighting against the world with everything they had. As far as he was concerned there wasn’t much worth telling, not about him specifically anyway. He could find it in himself to talk about Octavia for hours, but him? His life? He’d rather do just about anything else.

“I’m in graduate school for History, I-”

“You have to start from the beginning,” Harper spoke, shutting off his words. Bellamy took a breath, nodding slowly. The beginning, he just had to find the beginning. He chugged the last of his coffee so it wouldn’t get any colder (he couldn’t stand coffee once it wasn’t piping hot anymore), and tossed the cup into the garbage. His eyebrows scrunched together, the air in the room vibrating as it waited to be filled with words. A thought struck him -- the perfect beginning.

“Most of everything is pretty insignificant in my life until October 23, 1997. My mom put my baby sister in my arms and told me she was my responsibility, and I’d never felt so devoted in my entire life to something or someone as I was to my sister…”

“Do you understand how much physical therapy I am going to have to go through on this stupid leg so I can dance again? Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous,” Octavia spoke. Her spoon splattered down into her cereal bowl, splattering milk over the edges and onto the counter. Bellamy’s eyes narrowed at her, never ceasing until she rolled her eyes and grabbed the nearest rag.

“Next time try not to get in a car accident,” Bellamy replied. “And don’t say it was Miller’s fault.”

“I wasn’t going to! I was the one driving, it was all me… I just wish he hadn’t turned up the Walk the Moon song so much.”

“Hey! No side-blaming either.”

“Fine.” Octavia pulled her hair down from the lopsided bun, the long locks sprawling out around her. Her fingers moved smoothly over her tendrils, braiding them smoothly back like she had done a million times before. How she could do it without a mirror Bellamy would never understand, the only sign of true concentration the small line that formed between her eyebrows.

The doorbell struck the silent space roughly, shocking both Blakes out of their peaceful cohabitation. “Is Lincoln driving you to school?”  

“Yea, he was going to stop by before work and drop me off, but he’s fifteen minutes early. Could you go get the door?”

Bellamy nodded, leaving the mail he had been leafing through spilled across the counter at wayward angles.

Out of all of the things he had been expecting behind the door, Clarke Griffin heaving and carrying a pile of books twice as high as she should be able to hold with only a single arm was most certainly not it.

“Clarke?”

“The books, take the fucking books.” Bellamy jerked forward, grabbing them from her. Clarke leaned against his doorframe, a relieved sigh fluttering from her lips. “Did you know your elevator is out? And that there are a lot of stairs, especially when you’re holding so many goddamn books?”

“I did. If you had just called me I could have-”

“I don’t have your number, idiot. Now, are you going to invite me in or not?” Despite the question, Clarke didn’t wait to be answered. She chugged past him, her breaths still irregular but already exponentially better than they had been before, heading straight into the kitchen without a second thought.

“Who are you?”

“Clarke Griffin, nice to meet you. Octavia, I presume?” Clarke held out her hand in a way that it was clear she had been taught how to properly introduce oneself, the perfect angle and openness in her invitation to shake.

“You presumed correctly.” Octavia took her hand, though clearly dubious. “Bell?”

“I met her when you had gotten in a car accident; remember when you did that?”

“Stop with the tone. I know it’s my fault, I take full responsibility, but Miller just needs to take full responsibility for his job as music controller and-”

“If you try to blame Miller one more time for your shitty driving I will purposefully break the water heater. Which one of us do you think can go without hot water for longer?” Bellamy smirked as he heard Clarke stifle laughter next to him, feeling even more triumphant in his declaration.

The doorbell rang again and Octavia pushed herself slowly off the stool, grabbing her crutches and meandering toward the door. “I’ll see you later!”

“Have a good day at school, O.” Bellamy grabbed Octavia’s dirty dish by habit, throwing it into the dishwasher. He turned toward Clarke, remembering her presence, and noticed how the week had made her look stronger, more colorful. The fresh air had clearly done her some good. “You don’t have school?”

“I graduated two years ago. Who knew frequent hospitalizations could help you expedite education so much.” Clarke sat down on the stool, stealing raspberries from the container Octavia had left out. “The books are for you.”

“And why did you get me books? Wait, no, first how did you find me?”

“Hospital records and a lot of coffee,” Clarke explained. “You always play a dangerous game giving Anya coffee because she loves it, but she also hates you more for knowing her weakness. She wasn’t even nearly as hesitant to sell you out as I had prepared for.”

“And you tracked me down to give me a stack of books?”

“No, I tracked you down to give you a stack of books from Harper. She’s in love with you now, well that’s not true, she’s actually in love with this orderly named Murphy who works the graveyard shift and leaves her little doodles on post it notes based on the books she’s reading, but she thinks you’re pretty cool too. After you told us your story she did some research and came up with these.”

“What are they?”

“History books, biographies, I think there might be one crime novel slipped somewhere between them. They’re all books Harper thinks will change your life. I recommend you find the time to read them; Harper doesn’t make a recommendation without being positive it will be amazing. You’ll finish reading those books and be a completely different person.”

“I’ll try to find the time to read them, then.” Bellamy nodded with the words, watching as Clarke’s smile turned from something small to something wide, nearly wicked. “What?”

“I need your help.”

“Ahhh, so you do need me for something,” Bellamy spoke. He took his time continuing the conversation, putting the berries back into the fridge and clearing the counter before turning back toward her, his smirk fully on display. “What can I help you with, princess?”

“Don’t sound so smug about it, ok, I’m as excited to have to be here as you are to have me here,” Clarke reasoned. Bellamy kept his smirk fully in display, but the truth was lying quietly underneath the surface. He was happy to have her here, he was beyond curious about the blonde in front of him. She had so much he wanted to discover, to delve into, yet there was this whole other creature out fully on display. There was a spark within her, something he’d never seen from someone else before, and he couldn’t help but be incredibly drawn to it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been drawn to someone else so much while knowing them so little.

“You know you’re ecstatic to be here.”

“Fine, I’m not completely unwilling to be here, but I’m going to need you to drop that smirk because it makes me want to slap it off of your face.”

“I’ll try but I can’t promise anything. Now go before I change my mind about helping you.”

Clarke’s smile morphed to victory as though he had already said yes, and he guessed it was a fair assumption since there wasn’t much she could say he wouldn’t agree to. “It’s Harper’s birthday in a week and she loves the beach.”

“I’m not hearing a question in there.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, releasing a groan. “I don’t have a car and Wells’ is in the shop so…”

“You figured I had a car? And you’re trying to mooch off of me?”

“Oh, most definitely. I’ve spent a huge chunk of my life in a hospital, it’s not like I have that many friends I can go to about this. It also requires someone fully-abled to be there since she isn’t very strong right now and I don’t want to be at fault for her premature death.”

Bellamy leaned against the counter adjacent to her, feeling her gaze fiercely on the side of his face. He had no obligation to help this girl, he barely knew her, but something twisted in his gut at the thought of saying no. She didn’t seem like a person who asked for much from people, probably because she just didn’t expect that much back in return, and it felt wrong to deny her something so easy of him.

“So we’re friends now? Because the way I’ve seen it we barely know each other,” Bellamy replied. His smile stretched at the repetition of her eye roll.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Clarke argued. Her eyes locked firmly with his and he felt the power of what she was saying. “I think you and I know each other fairly well. What do small facts mean when you see the look in someone’s eye when they’re absolutely terrified? When they think someone they love is hurt? You get all you need to know from that look.”

“You’re saying you already know everything about me you need to know?” Bellamy asked. Clarke gave a nod in return. “And that’s worked out for you?”

“I can tell you there’s definitely people I should have listened to the look in their eyes when I got the chance. Would have saved me a lot of hurt.”

“You know I shared a lot of my life when you prostituted my story out to Harper, maybe it’s time for you to share something.”

Clarke sighed, resting her head forward on her hand. Bellamy suddenly wondered how she had gotten here if she didn’t have a car and how she had just gotten away from her mother. Did anyone know where she was? Here she was, at a complete stranger's house, with no one even aware of her location. If Bellamy had been a murderer it would have been an easy crime.

“A year and a half ago I was staying in the hospital practically full time. My health was doing really poorly and my mom was working a ton after my dad died; I guess it was just easier for her to have me in the hospital overall: it was far more practical.” Clarke broke off into a few coughs, signaling with a wave that she was fine and just needed a second. Bellamy grabbed her a glass of water and she readily drank.

“Sorry about that. There was a girl who came in, her name was Lexa. I remembered seeing her a few months earlier after a freak boating accident she'd been in with her girlfriend. Her girlfriend died, but they'd thought Lexa was unscathed, fine, but when they tested her blood after the accident in some routine test they discovered she had leukemia. Leukemia, can you imagine? Her girlfriend had just died and then, oh wait, you’re dying too. Sorry.

“She was permanently hospitalized and I was so excited to have someone new to be with, finally something interesting, so we ended up hanging out a lot. She was serious all of the time, had this real concentrated sort of brow, but she had such a capability to love, it was ridiculous. I loved her, really I did, but I should have known that…” Clarke stopped, not meeting his gaze. Her eyes closed for a second, her face contracting and then smoothing back out.

“When she died a few months later I couldn’t stop thinking about that look I had seen when she was in the hospital the first time. After everything that had happened her look was so - defeated? hopeless? - incapable of being described really. It wasn’t until later that I finally pinpointed it was someone who didn’t have the will to live. She was so broken and I had ignored that look because, truthfully, I guess I just didn’t want it to be true. It came to me later that she still loved her. I know she loved me too, but I don’t think it was enough. I wasn’t enough.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bellamy reasoned.

“I know that now, but it doesn’t stop the stupid thoughts,” Clarke replied. She finally looked back toward him, pushing a smile on her lips. “Do you want to know what I saw in your look?”

“Not sure I do, princess,” he replied. Clarke scoffed, leaning forward on the counter.

“She’s your life. You just want someone to love you the way you love your family.”

“And you got all of that from a look?” Bellamy raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” she answered. “Well, that and the fact that I know most of your life, but I felt it from the minute I met you.”

“Yes.”

Clarke’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What?”

“Yes, I’ll help with Harper’s birthday. But I get a favor in return.”

“And what’s the favor?”

“Oh, you don’t get to know it. I’m going to cash it in later,” Bellamy replied with a shit-eating grin. Clarke’s eyes narrowed, but after a held second she gave a brisk nod in return. “Now, do you need a ride home? Also do you like frozen yogurt?”

“Yes and yes, but please don’t speak unless whatever you’re about to say involves us getting frozen yogurt.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” he stated, grabbing his keys from the dish. Her eyebrows raised, her body staying firmly in place, and Bellamy rolled his eyes dramatically. “We’re getting frozen yogurt too, now come on.”

Clarke followed, and Bellamy couldn’t seem to put his finger on what exactly it was, but something inside of him felt inarguably better.

“You guys should come feel the water! It’s bea- AH! Monty, I’m so going to get you for that.”

Bellamy’s laugh was gruff as he leaned back onto his arms, noticing Clarke spread her legs out further in front of her. The two of them were sitting a ways away from the water, the sand filing softly against their skin. Monty and Harper were in the water, splashing at each other. Another guy Bellamy had only met today, Wells, was near but not as childish in his actions as the two fought. He laughed full-heartedly at every action, smiling so widely it was nearly impossible to believe, and Bellamy could tell why when Clarke spoke about him she did so with such fervor. He was someone who cared so deeply it was impossible not to care right back.

“If she doesn’t get a liver transplant she won’t live until her next birthday.” Bellamy snapped his gaze toward her, his chest spazzing at the sudden shift in conversation. Clarke seemed unaffected by the words, her eyes still trained forward, but as she finally relented and turned toward him, Bellamy could see the shine in her eyes that dripped despair.

“What are the chances? Of her getting a transplant?”

“Not very high,” Clarke replied. “She isn’t a very good candidate, and they might not even risk it on her. Isn’t that sad? That someone gets to decide who is a risk worth taking and who isn’t?”

Bellamy didn’t quite know what to say, so he chose to stay silent instead. It was so upsetting that a person could be simplified down to a sheet of paper of physical attributes, that the most important thing about them had been deemed unstable or dying or sick. Harper was so much more, at least from what he’d seen, and Clarke? The last week and a half he’d seen her a handful of times, far more expectedly after he’d given her his number and she’d began to text him, and so far she’d given him the impression of someone brimming with talent, with personality, with life.

Clarke’s texts, Bellamy soon discovered, were far more frequently random or sporadic than actually informative. He kinda loved it. Waking up to find four texts from three in the morning about some research she had done on Cleopatra or feeling his phone buzz during class just to discover she’d sent him a snippet of overheard conversation from the grocery store were always the best parts of his day, something to look forward to. They brought him up, like little bursts of energy; it made him smile a little just thinking about it.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I mean you told me you were dying and after doing some research, can’t you get a double lung transplant? Won’t that save you?” Bellamy didn’t mean to be insensitive, but his curiosity had been bubbling up for nearly two weeks, practically since the day they’d met.

“I won’t get a lung transplant.”

“What does that mean?” Bellamy asked, pushing off of his arms so he was now leaning his elbows on his knees.

“It’s like a vain hope people have to get a transplant, the hope is something to keep them alive but it isn’t realistic.”

“But what if you did-”

“Then I’m just as screwed. Do you know how likely it is that I’ll reject them? And let’s just say for a short hypothetical second that something doesn’t go wrong in surgery and I don’t reject them right away, well then all my life is going to be is waiting for the other ball to drop. My own body could start failing at any time, like a constant threat… I don’t want to live like that.”

“And so you’d rather not live at all?” he tested, his voice sharper than he’d meant for it to be. Clarke seized back, like her body had suddenly been plunged in freezing water. She looked away from him and he eyed her profile, the strong line and fluttering blonde hair in the breeze and someone who could do so much with a life if they were just given a chance.

“I’ve accepted that I’m going to die a long time ago, Bellamy,” she explained. The words were methodical, straight, and he could tell she had said the words before and frequently enough that they came out with a perfect fluency. “Sometimes we just have to accept what we’re given, even if what we’re given is complete shit.”

“No hope at all? That’s it, you’ve just given up.” Bellamy was fairly sure he was tiptoeing a fine line, that he may have actually stepped over it, but if Clarke thought so she didn’t let on. If anyone would appreciate that in a person he figured it would be Clarke, she was all about pushing the boundaries and speaking her mind.

“It’s not giving up. Sometimes it’s stronger to acknowledge the things you can’t change. This isn’t a movie or some John Green book, and as much as I’d like to get to fall in love before I kick the bucket or lose my virginity or show someone how to truly live or something stupid like that, I don’t get to. So, in this case, hoping is just something that’s going to end up breaking my heart.”

Bellamy felt his own heart break at the words, his throat constrict, his hands shake with rage. It wasn’t fair. He knew how childish that sounded and how it didn’t mean anything, but there were people in this world who did nothing and got to live long lives and here was Clarke, such a fountain of potential that never got a chance to even turn the water on.

“You’re a hypocrite, you know.”

“How in the world am I a hypocrite?”

“Here you are talking to me about hope and you don’t hope for a goddamn thing. Have you ever even been in love, Bellamy? Have you ever hoped to be? It’s like you’re scared to even want something so beautiful because you think you don’t deserve it.”

Clarke turned back toward the other three after her words had finished, clearly not seeking an answer. As her eyes followed her friends, a small smile returning to her lips, Bellamy couldn’t help but steal glances of her. Was she right? He hadn’t been in love before, but he’d always just figured it was because he hadn’t met the right person. There was no way he could deny that he didn’t like to open himself up to people if he really didn’t have to. Giving someone else the ability to hurt him certainly wasn’t something he enjoyed, honestly he was just afraid.

He hadn’t ever been around someone who seemed like a big enough investment, someone worth the risk. It was probably why any semblance of a past relationship had fallen at his feet far too quickly and in far too many pieces, but he wasn’t just going to give himself away for anyone.

Clarke laughed, light and full, and all of a sudden Bellamy wasn’t all that sure that holding himself back was such a good idea. Her smile melted itself straight into him, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure anymore he’d never met anyone who felt right.

“You going to pay for my coffee?” Bellamy joked, throwing his bag over the chair and joining her at the table. Her body jolted slightly in shock, her pen falling down to the page.

“You shouldn’t scare me, it’s rude.”

“So no to the coffee then?”

“Definitely no to the coffee.” Clarke picked her pen back up, circling something quickly on her page like she might forget it otherwise. “Stop staring at me, don’t you have to study or something?”

“Yes I do, but you don’t. What are you reading?” Bellamy reached forward, laughing as Clarke slapped his hand away. She snapped the book shut, shoving it away into her bag before he could see it.

“None of your business. You want to go for a walk?” Bellamy rolled his eyes as Clarke wasted no time, already walking out of the shop before he even gave a response. So much for getting a coffee.

“I should be studying! And I’m not even properly caffeinated,” Bellamy called out to her. Clarke stopped in her tracks, probably just so she could roll her eyes fully in his view (she was such a drama queen, he thought). She waited for him to reach her side before continuing on, Bellamy’s pace slowing to match with Clarke’s steady but tired gait.

“You can survive without caffeine, you’re far too addicted to it anyway, and you didn’t really want to study; if you had really wanted to study, you wouldn’t have invited me.”

“That is so…” Bellamy trailed off, turning to Clarke to see her looking pointedly at him, brow raised, “true. It’s true, but don’t be so smug about it, ok?”

“What can I say? I like to be right.”

“Trust me, I know.” Bellamy’s smile grew into something dangerous, sending it straight at Clarke. “You and Octavia both, you two are going to be the death of me.”

Clarke’s eyes whipped toward him, greedily searching his face as her eyebrows pushed together. Her bottom lip was claimed by her teeth, and she bit nervously as she looked for something from Bellamy that he couldn’t begin to imagine. He hadn’t said anything offensive, nothing remarkable, but she was suddenly looking at him like he had admitted something deep and entirely surprising.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Clarke snapped her eyes away, her face forced back forward. Bellamy’s eyes stayed trained on her, watching Clarke attempt to compose her face into something smooth. She nearly managed it, her face resolving to something calm, but then her eyebrows scrunched together again.

“Come on, what?”

Clarke breathed, a small smile coming to her lips. He felt like it was forced, something meant to lighten the situation and erase the awkward from moments earlier, but he tried not to let on to his suspicions. “Me and Octavia?”

“What?” Bellamy was kinda starting to feel like a broken record, but he was honestly too filled with confusion to understand what she was trying to say.

“You just lumped me with your sister, your sister who you basically talk about like she’s Jesus himself,” Clarke finally answered, speaking slowly as if almost to a child. “Bellamy, I’m starting to think that you might care too much about me.”

“What does that mean?” he exclaimed, halting entirely in his path. He was glad the bridge they were halfway over was empty because he was sure his voice had gotten a little too loud to be socially acceptable and he really wasn’t one for scenes.

“It means that I’m dying, Bellamy! This story ends the same way it has always ended -- I’m the rule, not the exception -- and I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”

Bellamy could feel his hand clenching at his side, could sense the wayward energy that was rumbling right beneath the surface, and he waited a beat so he wouldn’t yell straight back. “What’s this really about?”

“I just explained it to you, this-”

“You weren’t concerned a week and a half ago that I was getting too close when we went to the movies or a few days ago when you helped me repaint the apartment. You’re not telling me something, Clarke.”

Clarke’s eyes suddenly pooled with water and she turned abruptly away from him, leaning her elbows against the railing and looking out at the water. Bellamy joined her, allowing her time for her mind to recollect before she finally spoke.

“Harper isn’t doing well. I mean, she’s always not doing well but it’s really bad and I guess… it’s just making me think about some things. It’s making me a little mad is all, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine, but you should really work on not being such a bitch and taking all of your boring shit out on me,” Bellamy replied, smiling even wider as she gasped and slapped his arm. Clarke laughed, her head thrown back from the force of it, and Bellamy’s whole body felt easier as he joined in, their laughs mingling in the air in front of them. Something dark fluttered from the back of his brain like a dirty reminder, but he pushed it away. “I’m ready to cash in my favor.”

“Ooo, and what does the great Bellamy Blake want in return?”

“Octavia’s boyfriend has an exhibition -- it’s a bunch of different artists all based on tribal influences, and Octavia always asks me to come but then ditches me because she’s the perfect artist’s girlfriend so I need a partner in crime. Would you be up for something like that?”

“You can’t use your favor on that,” Clarke replied, staring at him wide-eyed.

“So you won’t go?”
“No, I’ll definitely go, but it’s unfair for you to use your favor because that’s actually amazing. You do realize favors are supposed to be things people don’t want to do, right?”

“So you’ll come?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, giving a hearty nod after her sass subsided. “Of course.” Her phone buzzed obnoxiously in her pocket and she pulled it out, gazing at it before releasing a soft sigh and pushing it back into her pocket.

“Who was that?”

“My mom, she wants me to come home,” she replied.

“Let’s go back to my car, I’ll drive you.” Bellamy was already moving back as Clarke grabbed his upper arm, turning him back around and shaking her head.

“Let’s just wait a few more minutes.” Bellamy nodded at her, joining back at her side, the two of them faced toward the river, the silence flowing between them just like the water below.

“I need to talk to your sister, is she here?”

“Good to see you, too, princess.” Bellamy opened the door a little wider and she slipped in. For someone rolling a tank behind her she was surprisingly good at speed and stealth, Bellamy noted.

“Oh, Bellamy, I’ve missed you so much in the two days we haven’t talked,” she joked, sticking her tongue out at him after the last word had been spat. “Now can I please speak with Octavia?”

“Fine, she’s in her room.” Clarke stayed unmoving, raising an eyebrow. “Sorry, you don’t know where her room is. Follow me.”

Bellamy could tell Clarke was following closely behind by the sounds of her cart rolling over the wooden floor, rattling behind them. As they stopped in front of the door, Bellamy reached forward and knocked.

“Coming!” The door swung back seconds later, Octavia looking oddly frazzled for someone who had most likely only walked from her desk chair to the door. “Oh, Clarke, hello.”

Over the last few weeks, Clarke had come in contact with Octavia a few times, but it had only been for short periods of time. It wasn’t that Clarke didn’t like Octavia, but usually one of them was going in and the other out, their plans never coinciding.

“I need your help.”

“With…?” Octavia trailed, one hand still on the door.

“You can go, Bellamy.” Clarke waved him off and he tried his hardest not to be offended, chuckling a little underneath his breath. “I have no idea what to wear to an art exhibition, I’m having a bit of a fashion emer-”

“Say no more. Mama Octavia is going to sort all of this out for you, come in. Bellamy! She said go, so go.”

Bellamy flipped her off as she shut the door on him, flipping him off in return before the door slammed shut with a resounding slam. As bad as he knew it was, he couldn’t help how happy it made him to see Clarke and Octavia get along. Something felt wrong about the thought, but she was just a friend, right? It was natural to want your best friend and your sister to get along.

Best friend. It had never occurred to him before just that moment that Clarke was just that, his best friend. Obviously, Miller was still his best friend too, but Clarke was a best friend in a different way, in a way he never thought he would have with someone. She always got him, practically knew what he was thinking half the time before he even said it, and the two of them, no matter what they were doing, always had fun together. Even grocery shopping together had been fun, Clarke nearly leaving him in stitches in the middle of the cereal aisle.

Clarke was his best friend. One of the best ones he’d ever had.

So why did it make him feel so sad?

Octavia was whistling, scratch that, had been whistling for practically the last three hours straight and it was starting to drive Bellamy insane. No matter how many times he told her to shut the hell up she didn’t seem to be responding, or listening, or giving a rat’s ass what he had to say. Like he said, annoying.

“You’re not always this damn chipper before every one of Lincoln's art exhibitions. You’re worrying me.”

“She’s going to look so good,” Octavia replied, setting the last of the wet bowls onto the drying tray. The drying towel was thrown over her shoulder, landing just barely on the counter and managing to somehow stay balanced.

“I’m sorry, what does that mean?”

“Clarke you idiot, she’s going to look amazing and you are going to be blown away. I’m honestly so excited to see the stupid look on your face when you see her that it’s making me giddy.”

“Obviously,” he replied. “Go make yourself useful and change, would you? We won’t want to be late.”

“Fine, but you also have to go get dressed, you hypocrite.”

Bellamy was going to roll his eyes, but Octavia had already turned away and stormed to her room to get ready. It was actually rather impressive how fast she could change her entire appearance, go from sweats to a dress and look like a million bucks. Bellamy was glad he didn’t have to go through so much effort to look nice, slipping into his well-tailored suit (thank God he hadn’t grown over the last few years because there was no way he would be able to afford a new one) and combing his fingers through his wild hair.

The doorbell rang and a coil of anxiety rippled low in his stomach. Bellamy stepped out of his room and toward the door, pop music blaring from Octavia’s room that most likely covered the sound of the doorbell, and took one last breath. Swinging the door open, he wasn’t all that surprised to find out that Octavia had been entirely right.

“You look…” he trailed off, feeling his stupid mouth hang open but stay silent. She beamed back at him, wide and excited, and he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. He didn’t know when he had started to become so sappy, but he had a feeling it was sometime around when Clarke bumped into him in the hallway. “Amazing. You look amazing.”

She did, too. Her blonde hair was curled and hanging long, the short bangs in the front held back with a delicate clip. Her eyes looked more dangerous framed with makeup, her skin more vibrant in comparison to the dark red material that was hanging delicately from her. Clarke bounced on her feet for a second before pulsing forward, giving him a solid hug.

Bellamy wrapped his arms around her slowly, shocked that she’d reached forward for a hug, and he could feel her melt into him a little bit. She dug her head into his shoulder, sighing into the fabric, and when she pulled back they stayed a little too close. Her breath ghosted over his face, and in that moment he could have sworn no one else existed in the whole world.

“Are you kidding me? I missed the reveal! Goddamnit,” Octavia exclaimed, breaking the two out of their moment. Bellamy took a step back, clearing his throat and ignoring the pretty blush that rushed over Clarke’s cheeks.

“You look very nice,” Clarke stated. Bellamy looked over a little surprised, smiling warmly at her.

“Come on, you two, we’ve got an exhibition to attend. Lincoln’s already there and I hate to leave him alone for too long,” Octavia explained. She was already flouncing past the two of them with all too much grace to be entirely fair as she finished the words. Bellamy turned, holding out an arm for Clarke to take as they walked through the door, only stopping for a brief second so he could lock up behind them.

“What a gentleman,” she stated. “The two of them, they’re really in love, right?”

Bellamy thought over the words, all the ways they could be interpreted but he knew exactly what she meant. It was real. The kind of love that was so hard to find and so worth fighting for once you had it. Lincoln and Octavia were sickeningly in love, so much that sometimes Bellamy couldn’t help but feel jealous of it himself.

“Extremely so.”

“How’d they meet?”

“High School. He was a senior when she was a sophomore, you can imagine how mad I was about that, but I didn’t mess with it. My sister never stuck with guys long enough for me to have to worry, but to my surprise he stayed around and never left. When the two of them talk it’s just like they make sense to each other, like no one else could get them quite the way the other does. He’s a good guy, Lincoln, my sister is lucky to have him.”

“I think it’s cool how much you love your sister,” Clarke stated. “Can I have a minute?” They stopped at the landing, Clarke holding a steady hand on to the railing as she tried to regain her breaths. Bellamy moved a comforting hand to her lower back, breathing a little louder as if she could match his breaths.

“You ok? Stupid question, sorry,” Bellamy responded.

“I’m fine going one way but I just finished walking up and now…”

“We’re already going down. It’s a lot. The landlord promised it was getting fixed earlier this week but now he said it’s going to be the end of this week. Hopefully next time you come over it will be fine, not that it helps you all that much right now. You want a piggy back?” Bellamy said it more of a joke than anything, not that he didn’t really mean it. He’d been finding the things he was willing to do for Clarke were almost a little scary.

“I couldn’t in this dress,” she replied. Bellamy looked over, assessing the situation.

“This is going to be quicker if you ride on my back down. Hoist your skirt up, ok? I’m a perfect gentleman, I won’t look, and when we get down we’ll stop and you can readjust yourself and Octavia won’t even have to know. Deal?”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, clearly more frustrated at the limitations her body provided than with Bellamy himself. She stuck her hand out, motioning for him to turn around, and he could hear her shuffled with the ends of her dress as he crouched down. Finally she jumped up, Bellamy looping an arm through the oxygen tank and then grabbing on to her thighs.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“What kind of ideas? What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re totally in love with me and I don’t want you copping a feel.”

“Don’t you mean you’re in love with me? You just willingly hoisted your dress up and jumped on my back.”

Clarke paused, resting her head onto his shoulder for a second. Her breaths heated his shoulder, and he kept his footsteps steady as they nearly reached the final floor. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Clarke paused again, this time the silence filled with an easy sigh. “Being my friend. There aren’t many people who’d be willing to give me a piggyback down flights of stairs or I’d be willing to let do that, people who can do this and make it something that doesn’t make me feel weak or pitied. I’ve never had a friend who did such amazing things for me, who invited me to art exhibitions or helped me with something as big as Harper’s birthday when they didn’t have to.”

“Careful, Griffin, you might just let me know you have a heart.” Bellamy released her slowly, making sure her feet landed soundly on the ground. As his back was still to her, the sounds of her fabric rustling through the air, he let his face show just how much those words meant to him.

Besides Miller and Octavia, he didn’t have anyone he cared about deeply, and he hadn’t thought he needed to let anyone else into his folds. But then Clarke Griffin had strolled right into his life and his heart and he was starting to think it was dangerous the place she owned there, how the walls of it could so easily cave in and then he was going to be left with a crumbled frame and a lot of rebuilding to do. He was extremely tired of rebuilding, but he was fairly sure she would make it worth the pain.

“Thank you, too,” Bellamy continued after a bit. He turned toward her, her smile shy but grateful for the words. “Just… thank you.”

A beep rattled them from outside, loud and brass, and Bellamy was sure it was Octavia laying her body across the horn. “The moment is broken,” Clarke replied, sending him a wink with the words. “We’ve got to go, open that door there gentleman, sir.”

“I always oblige a lady.”

Despite being incredibly nervous to meet Lincoln officially, Clarke and him hit it off and were talking over the Blakes heads nearly instantly. Within minutes they were talking art, line and perspective, history and favorite artists, and Octavia and Bellamy continued to look past the two of them, sharing surprised and confused looks.

“Ok, I should probably start shmoozing. It was nice to finally meet you, Clarke. Ready, Octavia?” Lincoln spoke.

“Ready,” she declared, throwing her hair over one shoulder and plastering a friendly smile on her face. She grabbed on to Lincoln’s arm, sending them a small wave before the two of them wandered off.

“She’s really good at that,” Clarke stated.

“Scarily so,” Bellamy replied. “You want to dance?”

Clarke smiled, nodding slightly. Her eyes flashed quickly to her oxygen tank, but by the time she turned her gaze back to Bellamy the anxiety he had felt roll off her was nowhere in sight. He grabbed it for her, his other hand guiding her on the low of her back.

They swayed slowly despite the music being a little faster than it was probably normal to do so, staying close enough to the tank that there wasn’t a problem as they moved. Clarke’s hands were clasped delicately behind Bellamy’s neck, his hands held securely on her waist. She looked up at him and Bellamy felt himself swallow thickly; no one had ever looked at him like that. Like he was worth something, like he was something extraordinarily beautiful.

Her head came to rest on his chest and she hummed into him, matching the dulcet tones of the music. He wrapped his arms around her tighter, more secure, and rested his head on top of hers. There were moments, he realized, that were so delicate they felt like the thinnest glass vase -- delicate, fragile -- but not in a horrendous way because when the light struck it just so it shimmered all around them, like magic in the moonlight.

“I’m happy,” she whispered. Bellamy lifted his head up, waiting for Clarke to do the same, their eyes meeting in a soft gaze.

“Me too.” His hand reached up, cupping her cheek, his thumb grazing over her smooth, pale skin. He couldn’t help but let his eyes fall to her lips, noticing her lick them unconsciously, the two of them drawing closer without meaning to at all. A phone rang loudly and the two of them snapped backwards, Clarke reaching into a pocket on her dress that Bellamy hadn’t even known existed at all.

“Hello? What’s wrong? Wait, talk to me, you aren’t making-” Clarke’s voice stopped, her eyes widening as someone spoke on the other end. Bellamy felt worry rip through him, violent and harsh, as he watched emotions flicker over her features. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Clarke took a breath, her eyes fluttering over a million things as she tried to regain her composure, to process what she had just heard.

“We have to go to the hospital, something happened with Harper. I don’t know what I just know… something happened. We need to go,” Clarke declared.

Bellamy nodded, already leading them out of the room. He didn’t bother to say goodbye to Octavia or Lincoln, merely pushing Clarke quickly out of the door and resigning to call Octavia in the car or shoot them a quick text. He didn’t know what was going on with Harper, but he knew how fickle a bitch time could be. How mere seconds could mean the difference between last words or last regrets.

The air in the car was tense. No words were spoken, the only sound in the car from Clarke’s fingers nervously tapping over things. First it was her leg, then the car door, then the dash, and then she had grabbed Bellamy’s right hand, holding it close to her chest and seeming to squeeze messages he couldn’t understand into it.

“We can’t wait any longer, Harper. It’s time; we have to go.” The voice was rich, clearly a doctor by the confidence and sureness. Bellamy and Clarke surged forward faster, twisting down the hall and entering the room the voice had floated from.

“We wait unti- until they get here,” Harper stated, smiling widely over at them.

“Harper, what’s happening? Are you ok?” Clarke exclaimed, rushing forward. She grabbed onto Harper’s hand, bringing it up to her lips and whispering something into her frail fingers that no one else could hear. “I was so worried, we got here as fast as we could manage.”

“It’s not a bad thing, I promise. Your mom didn’t have all the details when she called you; I didn’t mean to scare you. You look gorgeous, by the way.”

“Get to the point, Harper,” she ordered. Bellamy could see her fingers grasp grow tighter around Harper’s hand. He remembered the doctor in the room and looked over at him; he was tall with dark hair, his face passive but the slightest bit impatient. Feeling uncomfortable, Bellamy looked back toward the girls.

“I got a liver!” she exclaimed.

“You’re getting a transplant?” Clarke asked, slowly, tentatively.

“She is,” the doctor cut in, “and we need to go right now for it.”

Harper’s smile stretched fully across her face, her eyes nearly slits because it was so large. She squeezed Clarke’s hand once more, Clarke reaching up and kissing her on the cheek before she took a step back. The nurses were suddenly there, pushing the bed out of the room and, in what felt like seconds, the room was empty.

“Clarke-”

Clarke didn’t say anything, clearing her throat and grabbing the oxygen tank, walking past Bellamy without a glance in his direction and walking away down the hallway. Bellamy had seen something on her face as she walked past him and he knew that whatever it was, it wasn’t good. He rushed forward, jogging to catch up to her side.

“Clarke!” he called, grabbing out for her arm. She pulled it out of his grasp, a ragged breath coming out loud and clear, coughing before turning back toward him. Her face was composed into something neutral when she turned, and by the time he was about to speak again a smile was in place. “Are you ok?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” she questioned. A breathiness fell within her words and it nearly made her sound alien, not at all like herself. “She deserves it.”

“She does,” Bellamy agreed, “but it’s ok if you feel upset about something.”

“I don’t feel upset I just- just need to breathe for a second,” she replied, moving to the bench and taking a seat.

Bellamy sat down next to her. “What’s going on, princess?”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “And nothing is wrong.”

“Princess-”

“I said don’t call me that!” Her voice was pitchy and forceful, slapping him straight in the face. Clarke turned toward him on the words, her face stormy but clearly marked with fallen tears. As he stared at her, his eyes searching for something in her face that might help him understand, the anger slipped away and left only sadness in its place.

“I’m sorry.”

Clarke closed her eyes, tears still spilling down her cheeks despite the barrier. She took a deep breath, her voice shaky. “Please don’t be sorry, it makes me feel worse than I already do.” Bellamy waited with bated breath, deciding to leave the space for her to speak this time. “I’m so happy for Harper, she deserves to get a chance at really living, but… there’s this bad part of me, this really horrible part of me that just…”

“Why not you?” he offered, Clarke nodding slowly in return. She reached up to wipe away tears, but they were still falling silently from her eyes, the only other sign of her sadness being the slowly increasing speed of her breaths.

“I was ok being the rule, but it got a lot harder when I finally saw the exception.” There was something so odd about seeing someone fall apart in front of you, specifically someone you were so used to seeing put together. The dark makeup he had noticed earlier had pooled around her eyes, running down her cheeks with the tears. Her chest heaved, breathing ragged, and Clarke’s cries suddenly became much more vocal than he would have ever anticipated them to be.

“It’ll be ok, Clarke,” Bellamy replied. It felt sickeningly untrue, sticking to his throat as he pushed the words out.

“It won’t,” she sobbed. “It really, really won’t. It’s not fair, Bellamy, it’s not fair.” Her hands grabbed at his suit jacket, trying pathetically to hold on to something, to anything. 

Bellamy wrapped his arms tightly around her in an attempt to give her some sort of reassurance, but the cries continued and her body shook and Bellamy felt his own insides rip at seeing her so torn up. “I never cared, Bellamy. I never cared.” The used to wasn’t said, but it was silently slipped between the ‘never’ and ‘cared’ like a grenade waiting to explode at any second.

At some point they ended up sideways on the bench, Clarke slipped seamlessly between his legs with her head burrowed straight into his chest and his arms wrapped securely around her. Her body wracked with cries, with pleas for the impossible, and all Bellamy could try to do was whisper sweet things into her hair, to rub her arm and pet her hair and hope that in the morning she would feel better.

Clarke Griffin was dying. The reality was bleak, black, corrupting. It drove Bellamy insane, because he would do anything to deny that harsh truth. The amount he thought about saving her life, about how far he might go just to give her a shot at what she should deserve, was terrifying. He wanted to give her the world and he couldn’t even give her a life. He wanted to give her happiness and love and something to wake up for in the morning, but she couldn’t even breathe.

Eventually, the tears stopped, but Clarke remained mostly unresponsive. It was clear the tears and the night had exhausted her, leaving her empty and drained. Bellamy picked her up, took her to his car, and drove her back to his house. Placing her in his bed and kissing her softly on the forehead, he wished with all of his might that he could save Clarke just for the chance for her to be lying there again, as beautiful as always, but without a tube or tears or undeniable truth that everything they did had a deadline.

Bellamy almost wished he hadn’t fallen in love with Clarke Griffin, because then maybe neither one of them would hurt so damn much. Almost.

“I want to be a bird.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t want to be a human?” Bellamy replied. Clarke looked away from the sky to narrow her eyes at him, sticking her tongue out.

“I’m talking hypothetical. If I couldn’t be a human I’d want to be a bird. You could see so many things, never have to be tied down to something, be and go exactly who and where you wanted. It’s pretty appealing, don’t you think?”

Bellamy watched the clouds meander across the sky, too wispy to really form any images at all. The sky was still a beautiful blue, though, and the kisses the sun left over his skin left him feeling warm and content. “I’ve never liked flying.”

“Really? Why not?”

“I’m not the hugest fan of being stuck in a small, contained metal cylinder miles and miles above Earth’s crust with a pilot you’re entirely dependent upon. Road trips, though, road trips I like.”

“Of course you would like a road trip, you can drive the whole time, total control. You have a control problem, Bellamy,” Clarke replied through a laugh. Bellamy couldn’t help but agree, but mostly because he realized he’d fallen for her and it had been entirely out of his control and he was scared shitless.

“How’s Harper?”

“Really good. She’s going to need to be in the hospital for about a week more just to make sure she’s ok. Because she was so frail when they started they really want to make sure she’s recovered.” A tiny smile found Clarke’s lips, the back of her hand accidentally grazing the back of Bellamy’s.

“And how are you?”

“Not going to cry if that’s what you’re asking,” she teased, bumping their shoulders together. “It was a stupid moment of emotions and I’m entirely over it.”

“Is that why you’ve been ignoring me for two days?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you!” Clarke exclaimed, turning her face toward his. He met her gaze, raising a questioning eyebrow. Clarke sighed. “Fine, I was ignoring you a little bit, but I was embarrassed.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“So you don’t remember the blubbering mess I was? Because as far as I’m concerned that was pretty damn embarrassing.”

“Do you care?” Bellamy asked. Clarke’s eyebrows scrunched together and she bit her bottom lip.

“About it being embarrassing? I kinda like the fact that you respect me as a person so yea, I don’t want to ruin that.”

“You couldn’t make me lose my respect for you, it’s impossible,” Bellamy replied. his voice had grown softer, both in tone and volume. “You want to know a secret?”

“What?” her voice cracked out, but Bellamy knew it wasn’t from a problem with her breathing and nothing to do with her illness.

“I think you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” Bellamy spoke. He prepared to say more, his mouth already hanging open, but Clarke made him silent with a hand through his hair. Seconds later she was crawling forward, her lips moving straight for his. Bellamy met her in the middle, pulling her into him, and when their lips finally did meet, Bellamy decided it was definitely worth the wait.

Their lips moved perfectly in rhythm, their breaths too, and Bellamy had never felt so connected to another person before. It was like even their hearts were beating in sync. Clarke’s hands were pushing wildly through his hair and Bellamy kept trying to pull Clarke closer, the space already gone, just to feel her next to him.

Clarke finally pulled back, needing to breathe, and took a solid breath in as their foreheads rested on one another.

“We just made this so much harder,” Clarke whispered.

“It was already hard; at least we get to admit that while kissing now.” Clarke laughed and Bellamy smiled, the moment incapable of being popped.

The moment felt all sorts of perfect, and for once Bellamy felt entirely free of any sort of pain, of any of the dangers of the future, and was indescribably and impossibly happy.

“If you could do anything in the whole world, what would you do?” Bellamy questioned suddenly, drawing her out of her book.

Clarke looked at him, sad but unquestionably honest.

“Love you forever.”

Bellamy leaned over Clarke, grabbing for the TV controller on the coffee table. She grumbled a little as he disrupted their positions, Clarke cuddled into every part of him, but she gave her complaints up as he kissed her on the cheek and then the lips. Pushing him back, she released a solid cough, the first one turning into a stream of hacks that wouldn’t stop.

“Are you ok? What’s wrong?” Bellamy asked, eyes darting over her in hopes of trying to help.

“I’m good, promise,” she replied between coughs. Clarke grabbed on to his wrists, calming his actions. “Straddle me.”

“I don’t necessarily think it’s the time, just tell-”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Shut up. It’s a medical thing.”

Her hacks calmed down as he moved over her, careful not to propel the two of them off the couch and onto the ground. “Cup your hands like this. I have a lot of extra shit in my chest, and you need to bang it all off the walls of my lungs. Hit my chest like this, ok?” Bellamy watched her show him the action, a nervous sort of energy filling him with dread, but he swallowed and nodded, doing as she told him.

“Like this?”

“Harder. You won’t hurt me, promise.” Clarke’s eyes were on him, steady and sure, and the belief she had in him made him feel capable of being good enough for her. Made him feel like maybe she was right.

Clarke cleared her throat harshly and uncontrollably, turning to the side hastily, and Bellamy watched as she coughed phlegm up. “Well that’s attractive. I’m sorry, I can clean it up.”

“Don’t worry about that, Jesus, don’t worry about it,” Bellamy replied, reaching forward and petting hair away from her face. He leaned toward her and planted a kiss on her forehead, leaning his forehead into her shoulder. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” she replied breathily. “Are you?”

Was he ok? Bellamy wasn’t all that sure. Physically, mentally, he was fine, but his emotions were all over the place. He hadn’t ever had to see so much struggle with her illness besides some coughing or fatigue, and suddenly it seemed that much more real. Besides some looming deadline he hadn’t ever been told and a few barely visible physical restraints, he’d never really noticed how sick she was, but now it was blaring loud and clear and it was making his heart constrict, knotting itself so tightly woven he wasn’t sure he could untangle it.

“Of course,” Bellamy answered. He’d be ok for her, he’d do anything for her. “I love you.”

Clarke smiled and it was blinding, brilliant, like a thousand suns. “I love you, too.”

Clarke was rehospitalized on a Wednesday. Bellamy left his afternoon class to find twenty missed calls, some from Harper, some from Octavia, and a few from Abby Griffin herself. He hit redial as quickly as possible, throwing his books in his bag and running to his car. He drove on instinct to the hospital, sprinting as fast as he could to the room number he now had engrained in his head after countless stories and nightmares Clarke had shared with him.

“Hey, big brother.”

Bellamy stopped in his tracks, whipping around to see Octavia seated on a plastic chair he knew from experience was not at all comfortable.

“She isn’t in there right now. They’re testing her, trying to see how far along she is.” Octavia held a coffee cup out to him. She must have known he was coming, he realized. Taking the cup of coffee, he couldn’t help but wonder why that was all they drank in hospitals, why everyone kept consuming the shitty liquid in hopes of staying awake for just a little bit longer. He guessed the answer was right there, really; he knew he would do anything to make sure he was awake for as many last seconds as he could be with Clarke.

“I love her.”

“I know, Bell, I know.”

“I really, really don’t want her to die,” he whispered, the words cracking at the end. “This isn’t fair, I just… it isn’t fair.”

Tears pooled in his eyes, threatening to topple over, but as soon as the first one rolled down his cheek there was no turning back. A waterfall poured from his eyes, his body heaving with the sobs that were now overtaking his body, and he was grateful for Octavia pulling him into her, trying to cover him with her body no matter how much smaller she was.

“I’m so sorry, big brother, so sorry.”

Even she knew that there was no ‘everything is going to be ok’ or ‘it’ll get better’ because there was no better, no future where everything would turn out just right. Clarke was dying and Bellamy loved her. He loved her so much he couldn’t help giving her his heart even though he knew it would end in destruction, so much he would watch her last breath, and it broke him to know that this story did not have a happy ending.

He loved her so much he didn’t even care that his life was turning to shit, but goddamnit he sure as hell wished hers didn’t have to.

The Blakes discovered a few hours later that Clarke had been admitted because she woke up coughing blood and couldn’t stop. They also discovered that the hospital had done all they could, that what had happened was merely the beginning of the end of the road, and she was discharged the next day. Bellamy could still remember the way Abby had cursed in the hallway, and Bellamy knew that Clarke claimed her mother was absent, cold, but he had never seen someone fight so strongly for the sake of someone they loved.

He was starting to think some of his judgements about her were wrong. Anyone who could love Clarke as much as he did deserved his respect.

“I want to go home,” she stated. Clarke looked incredibly pale, every move she made seemed like pushing through drying cement. Bellamy wished it was acceptable for him to pick her up because then she wouldn’t have to work so hard, but he knew she would hate any public display of her loss of power.

Bellamy took her home, the two of them practically silent in the car. He walked her to the door, pulling the oxygen tank for her and guiding her the whole way. Mostly, he was terrified her body might start failing her at any moment, that she might collapse and he wanted to be right there when she fell. He would always be there to catch her when she fell.

The stairs proved too much, so she let him give her a piggyback ride. It was sadder than the night of the art exhibition, more depressing, and he suddenly, for the first time, wished he could rewind time just for her. She laid down in her bed as soon as they got to her room, and as he moved down to kiss her on the forehead, Clarke delicately laid her hand on his chest to stop him in his tracks.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t,” Clarke stated, her voice tired and light. Her eyes were trained past him and there was a shine to them, a desperation sitting alongside the threat of tears. “You need to leave.”

“Clarke-”

“I don’t love you.” The words hit straight into Bellamy, burning a hot trail all the way to his heart. His eyes searched her face, and even though he knew she was trying to lie for his benefit, that she clearly wanted to try to save him, she should have known that there was no saving him. He was already lost in everything she was.

“I don’t believe you. Your lie is too big.”

“Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it,” Clarke replied.

“You aren’t Hitler, Clarke,” Bellamy responded, a light chuckle in his voice despite feeling like anything but laughter. Clarke finally met his gaze, the littlest bit taken back, but mostly just exhausted. “I am a history major, you do remember that? Stop acting so surprised every time I catch your references. You aren’t the only smart one in this relationship, you know.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she admitted. “You don’t deserve all of this.”

“And you don’t deserve all of this, either,” he replied. Bellamy slipped into the bed next to her, leaning his back against the headboard. Clarke moved over to him instantly, resting her head on his chest. His fingers found her hair and played with it, twirling around his fingers. “Sometimes we don’t get what we deserve. Sometimes we’re just dealt shitty hands.”

“This is one hell of a shitty hand.” Clarke moved herself closer to Bellamy as he released a chuckle, finding a sort of solace in the reverberations of his chest. “Do you ever wish you could go back and stop yourself from meeting me? From going through this?”

“Honestly?” Bellamy questioned. Clarke nodded. “Not even for a second. You?”

“Never.”

“I love water,” she breathed, falling on to the bench. Bellamy sat down beside her and tried his hardest not to feel too worried at how labored her breathing was. Truthfully, they shouldn’t have come, Clarke could barely manage the energy to get herself dressed those days, but it was hard to deny her the very little she wanted.

“You’ve never explained this to me. Why?”

“Water is constant, forever. It beats everything back in its path, even if it takes centuries to eat away at it. It’s strong and beautiful and integral to life…I guess I rather like the idea of something so formidable that’s also so gentle. Something that’s incapable of ever ending.”

Bellamy understood the point she was making, the silent plea with a God he sure as hell knew she didn’t believe in she was making. “You won’t end.”

“Bullshit. I’m going to disappear and everyone will move on but that’s fine, that’s life.”

“As long as I’m alive I’ll remember you.”

“I wish you wouldn't. I want you to be happy.”

Bellamy nodded, smiling over at her, but he didn’t know how to explain to her that he couldn’t be happy without her. She was his happy and he was just trying to enjoy every single last drop of it before life turned back into a monotonous drudge he had no desire to live in without Clarke.

“Can I go in the water?”

“Hell no,” he replied. “It’s far too cold.”

“I miss being able to do whatever I wanted.” Clarke sighed. “Can I at least put my feet in?”

“For a minute,” he relented. Bellamy practically carried her over, her body barely finding enough energy to push her legs forward. She let her feet sink into the sand, the water pulsing forward and back, the waves floating in and then away. The water disappeared off into the sea, never to be seen again but living, living, living still.

Clarke was hospitalized for the last time a couple days after going to the water. Bellamy found a permanent place by her side. There was a rotating cast in the chair across from him, sometimes Harper, sometimes Wells, sometimes Octavia or Lincoln or Monty, most frequently her mom, but Bellamy did not move.

Shifting to the left, Clarke groaned at the effort. She patted the spot next to her, waiting for him to join her. Bellamy didn’t like her going through any pain for him, she already had more than enough, but he needed her closeness. He slipped into the bed and held her close, interlocking their fingers and reveling in the feel of their fingers slipping easily together.

“I’m so tired.”

“I know, princess,” he replied. “You can sleep.”

“I don’t like sleeping. I’m not sure I’m ever going to wake up and I miss out on being with you.”

“You’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. I can’t believe you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

“I could never get sick of you.”

Bellamy snorted. “Bullshit. You’re just trying to butter me up.”

“Guilty as charged,” she joked. “You’re insufferable.”

“Glad we could finally iron that kink out in our relationship, it’s nice to finally have it behind us.”

Clarke laughed, the laughter melting into a few coughs before she released a sigh and plopped her head straight on to Bellamy’s chest. “I’m scared,” she whispered into his chest.

“Of what?”

“Death. I’m scared of whatever's after this or if there’s nothing after this, I’m scared of leaving all of you behind, I’m scared of  how helpless I feel and- and…” Clarke cleared her throat and Bellamy could feel a restless energy in the air. He squeezed her hand in return, allowing her the space to continue. “I never used to care that I was dying, Bell, not until I met you.”

“Would you take it back? Has the answer changed?”

“No, nonono. Not for one second, not for one line, not for any look or kiss or moment would I change a goddamn thing.” Clarke tilted her head up, and Bellamy reached down and kissed her softly. His hand twirled itself into her hair and for a brief second they both could forget where they were, what was happening, but then she pulled back to clear her throat and reality came crashing down.

“Clarke?”

“Yea?”

“I think I’m ready to cash that favor in now.”

“Smart idea, the bank is closing soon,” she answered. Clarke raised his hand to her lips and kissed it before wrapping her other hand around his and holding it close to her body.

“If you could just…” he trailed off, trying to keep his composure, but he could feel his throat tighten and a moisture begin to sting at the back of his eyes, “stay with me, just stay with me, that’s all I ask. I’m not all that sure I like who I am without you anymore.”

“Oh, Bell,” she whispered, pulling him to her chest.

Stay with me, he wanted to yell, but he knew it was a useless plea.

Stay with me.

She stayed for three days more before she fell asleep and didn’t wake up. Bellamy and Abby were both there, each holding a hand, and when the monitor started beeping they both squeezed like they could will life back into her. Abby screamed for help, moved to do something herself, but Bellamy simply whispered things in her ears, things he needed her to hear.

I love you.

I have always loved you.

I will always love you.

Everything will be ok.

For the first time he was fairly sure everything would be ok, for her that was. For him he didn’t think there was an ok, that there ever would be, but he squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead and prayed to something he was now positive didn’t even exist. He would do anything for her, but some things were simply impossible.

Bellamy couldn’t keep her alive, but he could hold her while she died. He figured it would have to be enough.

Dear Clarke,

Your funeral is tomorrow and I’m trying to decide what exactly it is I want to say to you. How can I possibly quantify us? Bellamy and Clarke? How can I possibly quantify you? Clarke Griffin.  I don’t think I can and so I’m not going to try to. Some things, I think, are simply better left unsaid.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that day on the beach for Harper’s birthday, how you told me I’d never hoped to love because I didn’t deserve something so beautiful. You were right. Loving someone absolutely terrified me, and before you I had never met someone I thought was worth the risk. You were worth it a hundred times over, Clarke, you’re the best risk and mistake I’ve ever made. I can’t stop loving you, I don’t think I could even if I tried. You are a part of me, intertwined in my soul and my actions and the way I am, and as long as I am alive you are alive too. You’re forever like that sea we watched on the beach, well until I die I guess, but even then it’s the two of us passing away together, and that doesn’t sound all that awfully bad to me.

I used to think love crippled us. It made us vulnerable, weak, but I don’t think so anymore. Loving you made me strong and made me remember who I used to be before hate ripped me into a person that wasn’t me. Once, when I came home from being with you, it was after seeing that movie I think, Octavia told me that she hadn’t seen me look so happy in years. You did that, Clarke, you made me happy, so very very happy. I wouldn’t do a single thing in the whole world to change that.

I’m sorry I asked you to stay with me when I knew you couldn't, it was a selfish wish. I’m sorry life turned this way, that you got dealt such a shitty hand, that we got dealt such a shitty hand, but I think it’s more about how we dealt with it then the hand itself. We loved so strongly, so purely, so beautifully despite everything the world threw our way and you know what? I kinda think we loved and lived more in that short amount of time than a million people before us have.

I miss you all the time already, and I know I will continue to miss you. It’s going to be a long time before I think of something when I wake up besides you and your face and the way you made me feel, and that is a hard thought. I’m not sure if the memories make it better or worse, but I know you were worth it, and therefore I can’t forget them. Some day I will wake up, Clarke, and everything will be ok.

I think about how I whispered that to you in the hospital, and though I know it was for you, I’m starting to think maybe I was whispering it to myself too. I need to believe it will be.

I will love you always and forever, like those waves that crashed against our ankles when we stood on the beach and will continue to crash against the ankles of lovers until the end of time. You are my always.

Thank you for loving me,

Bellamy Blake.

Bellamy had never liked cemeteries, but he learned how to for Clarke. It had been a year and the flowers were always fresh, though not always at his own hands. Clarke was well loved and the continual parade of colorful flowers proved it, the pain in the hearts of those she loved a reminder. A year and every day Bellamy felt a jolt of ice in his heart, a shutter in his hands and a flashing memory that was both beautiful and horrendous.

The memories began to be more beautiful than horrendous, though, and it wasn’t much but it felt like something worth mentioning. Every day he hurt a little less and he knew, despite missing all that Clarke was, that everything was going to be ok.