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As all important encounters go, Clarke had not been prepared. Her hair was a mess, tears were running down her face, and she was on her tenth cup of whiskey. She knew that the bartenders were starting to give her nervous glances, but she honestly didn’t give a damn anymore. She had watched her father die.
Ten drinks would never be enough to drown out the pain. She let out a sad hiccup, burying her face into her hands, trying hard not to sob again. At least I'm tipping well, Clarke thought. Someone’s gotta profit off of my pain. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that her dad wouldn’t have wanted her to mourn over him. Jake Griffin was a charismatic man who charmed smiles onto everyone he had met. Jake Griffin had been one of the constants in her life, the parental figure who understood her need for space and quiet. He held the family together, kept them grounded. But the house now felt broken and empty whenever Clarke came to visit. As much as her mother, Abby, and Clarke tried to come together in grief, they knew that they both needed to deal with it in solace.
Clarke remembered the night they both cried together, Abby being upstairs in the bedroom she had shared with Jake, Clarke in the bathroom talking to her boyfriend. They both heard sobs echoing off the walls as the darkness enveloped their hearts, and they both understood: they would not be the ones to comfort each other, but the ones to be there when both were ready to talk.
And now Clarke had no boyfriend to talk to, either. Finn had stormed out telling her that this was too much for him. Her friends were home somewhere for the summer, and Clarke wasn’t one to call up someone to vent. She imagined how the conversation would go: “Hi, my dad just died. Please feel free to listen to this soundtrack of me sobbing for hours on end.” All she could imagine were coos of pity she would receive. Clarke swallowed down a sob that was creeping up her throat, her body frozen and empty.
Eventually, the world came to a stop. All of the thoughts whirling through her mind ebbed down, and the numbness inside her grew. Clarke fell asleep on the countertop in the middle of an empty bar, whispering pleas to her dad.
It was then that a young man in a leather jacket walked in through the doors on the phone. “Okay, I’ll work on it. I’ll present the diagnostics on Friday, and you won’t have to worry about a thing, Monty. Now shut up, I’m going to get a drink; I have a headache from talking to you, man.” He let out a laugh that rang across the room before putting away his phone, and sat down near Clarke.
He didn’t notice that her hair was as golden as the wheat in the fields, that her mouth was forever turned downwards as if she was holding more burdens than the world could bear, that she had been his and he had been hers. He ordered a drink, and sat back to relax.
And just as he was about to leave, Clarke woke up. Her mind was suddenly lucid and clear, unusually free from the grogginess and pain that followed ten drinks. Before her eyes even opened, Clarke knew that she would have to call a taxi home, that she was going to take her grief day by day and that her life would go on forever without her father. It hurt, but something about it felt so liberating, different from the months she had spent listless.
But when she opened her eyes, she was staring directly at her ex-boyfriend of four years. It hit her like a bullet, the way her breath caught, the thumping of her heart when she realized it was him.
Bellamy Blake was sitting next to her, sipping his drink and smiling into space. His smile dropped when he turned over to look into Clarke’s eyes.
“Fuck,” He breathed. Clarke sat up quickly, fiddling with her hair and clothes. She would not let him see the grief that she wore around herself. She would not let him in again.
“Hi,” Clarke replied. It was shaky, enough to tell him that something was wrong. Clarke's eyes darted around the room before she realized she needed to leave. “Umm-nice seeing you.” She grabbed her bag hastily, ready to leave until Bellamy put his hand over hers. She froze, her body confused as to whether she should wrench his hand away from hers or let herself give in.
“I missed you,” His brown eyes tried to make eye contact with hers, but she wouldn’t look at him. Her mouth was set in a line. “Are you okay?”
This was not the fateful encounter either of them had imagined. After four years of regret and silence, they had come together in a dingy bar, different yet the same. Clarke was still the girl who was confused about who she was meant to be, and Bellamy was hellbent on trying to protect the ones he loved. When they had been dating, Bellamy’s childhood friend Echo had been the ex that always seemed to loom over them. They had broken up, but they had still been close. Even when Clarke and Bellamy were alone, she was there. So Clarke had let him go.
In fact, she had done more than that: she had tried her best to make him hate her, and here they were now. They stared at each other for what seemed like hours, trying to find answers and hidden conversations in the tiny sliver of contact between them. Neither could tear their eyes of the fact that their hands were both still touching.
“No,” Clarke whispered, “I’m not.” She was teetering off the edge of what she could call rational, and despite his head telling him to leave her in that bar to deal with her decisions, Bellamy hugged her close to him. It was meant to be a greeting, but to Clarke, it was everything.
***
Somehow, they ended up in his apartment, sitting together on the couch like it was meant to be. Bellamy didn’t push her to tell him anything, and Clarke was faintly surprised that he didn’t try to pressure her about why she had pushed him to leave like she did. She should have been relieved, but she was hurt. He doesn't care enough, she thought, or maybe he regrets this decision.
“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispered, and Bellamy looked over at her. He had been trying to read the text on a cereal box on the kitchen counter, trying to prove to himself that his eyesight was perfect.
“For what?” He asked. But they both knew what she was apologizing for.
“--for never making you go to the eye doctor for some glasses.” Clarke blurted. The silence that followed was deafening, and after it came laughter. They both sat there, grinning into each others’ eyes, and it was like a warmth had come over Clarke. She scooted closer to Bellamy, and he waited for her to speak.
“I was really horrible our last few days together.” Clarke realized that she needed to right this wrong, and in that moment, she could feel her father closer than ever. “You were in love with Echo the whole time we were dating, and I needed to make you see that. So I pushed you away.” She didn’t tell him that he had been her only love, that she still had nights where she imagined the constellation of freckles that were scattered over him, the conversations they had that she would never have again. Losing him didn’t mean losing the memories they had together. It wasn't a fair trade, not after she had to let him go.
Bellamy looked down at the floor, trying to piece together his thoughts. So much had happened over the years, but he wasn’t sure how he could tell her exactly what he needed to say. “I--Clarke, I wasn’t in love with Echo. I mean, I was, but after you broke up with me, I realized that the idea of her was so much better than reality. If she had put up with the fact that I was so goddamn broke, if I had cherished her more. If Octavia hadn’t brought over her friend Atom that night. If Atom and Echo never fell in love. But you weren’t an if. You were my girlfriend, and I’m sorry, too. You were right there in front of me, and I was somewhere else.” It was more than they had ever said to each other in years. And it felt like something new was taking place that night.
“My dad died two months ago,” Clarke admitted. She gave him a moment to process it. “And I’m so lost without him, and I know that I should try to be strong, but I want to see him again. I want to hear his voice, telling me it’s okay. And I don’t know why, but I haven’t been able to tell my friends anything, either. I should be able to, but the fact that they knew him, that they knew the girl I was before he died--it makes me scared.”
She let out a deep sigh, and he did too. He pulled her into his embrace, and they sat there in silence, a shaky understanding between them. This wasn't the Bellamy and Clarke of four years ago. This was different.
Somehow, it was more.