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You have 16 missed calls from Clarke Griffin.
Bellamy swears colorfully and pulls his phone off his charger. Blearily, he taps in his passcode—it takes him a few tries—and calls her back. There are a hundred and one scenarios in which she would call him so late on Christmas Eve, none of them good. As the phone rings, he hopes and prays she’s not collapsed over a toilet, or in some stranger’s house, or—
“Bell.”
He sits straight up in bed. “Clarke. What’s going on?”
He can hear from her breathing that she’s crying. It takes her a few tries to get enough air to get the words out, but eventually, she manages: “He’s dead, Bell.”
Bellamy’s heart stops. “Who? Who’s dead?” The only boys Clarke could plausibly be around this time of night are Miller and Monty, and he highly doubts they’re dead. Well, also Finn—yuck—but Clarke probably would’ve called Raven for that (to help her hide the body).
Clarke sobs messily and Bellamy aches. “Max. He’s dead.”
Bellamy squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh, Clarke. I’m so sorry.”
Clarke just cries harder.
Bellamy tucks the phone between his shoulder and his cheek, stumbling out of bed to find some pants. “Are Miller and Monty home? Can you get one of them to stay with you?”
“I don’t want to leave him.”
“Oh, Clarke,” Bellamy says again. He hops around awkwardly, trying to get both his legs into a pair of sweatpants. “Okay. Hold on, all right? I’m heading over now.”
“Okay,” Clarke sniffles. “But stay on the phone, okay?”
Bellamy cracks half a smile even though she can’t see it. Swinging his jacket on, he unlocks his front door and says, “Okay.”
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He knocks on apartment #223’s door and waits, tapping his foot impatiently. He hears confused voices behind the door and finally it cracks open, Monty’s eyes peeking out at him. “Whazzup?”
Bellamy gestures over his shoulder at apartment #222 and says, “I’m gonna need some help with this,” to which Monty nods and disappears back into his apartment to wake Miller. Bellamy crosses the hall and uses his copy of Clarke’s key to let himself in.
Clarke is curled up on her living room floor in front of the fireplace. Max is sleeping peacefully in his dog bed, his body stretched out in front of the warmth of the fire.
Except he’s not asleep.
“Hey,” Bellamy says softly, touching Clarke’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to look at Max, who, just the other day, he’d played tug-o-war with on Clarke’s bedroom floor.
Clarke immediately reaches her arms out for him and he kneels down, pulling her against him. She starts blubbering about Max and how much she loves him and Bellamy can’t understand a word of it so he just strokes her hair and rocks her gently back and forth. He can’t imagine the pain she must be going through right now.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, her voice thick with tears. “I didn’t know what to do. Oh, god, Bellamy, he’s—he’s really gone—“
He holds her tighter and she cries against his shoulder. Monty and Miller come in then, and he motions them over. “Call Lincoln. Tell him we need him to come over ASAP.”
Miller nods. “Got it.”
As he steps out, Monty crouches down and drapes himself over Clarke. Clarke is finicky about physical affection, but she and Monty have it in boatloads. Sure enough, as soon as Clarke processes that it’s Monty hugging her, she seems to deflate, her breathing slowly starting to regulate.
“It’s okay,” Monty says quietly, pressing his cheek against her back. “He died very peacefully. It didn’t even hurt him. And now he’s in doggie heaven, right? With a little halo and wings.”
Clarke chokes out what could be a laugh but also could be a sob, and Bellamy presses his cheek to the top of her hair. “He had a very good life.”
“And a very good owner,” Monty adds.
“Who loved him very, very much.”
Clarke nods against Bellamy’s chest. “I loved him more than anything,” she says. She shifts slightly, and Bellamy can see that she has Max’s favorite chew toy clutched to her chest.
His heart breaks for about the thousandth time that night.
The sound of Miller’s footsteps make him look up. “Lincoln’s on his way,” he says. “I explained to him what happened and he said he would take Max back to the vet clinic to have him cremated, if you want.”
Clarke nods once, her face wet with tears. “Yes, please. That would be nice.”
“Okay.” Miller drops a hand to her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Clarke.”
She offers him a tight smile and turns her face back into Bellamy’s chest. It’s her clear way of saying Thank You But That’s Enough And I Want To Be Alone* (*With Bellamy), so Miller helps Monty up and they quietly head back to their apartment. Bellamy runs a hand through her hair, humming quietly. He still doesn’t want to look at Max.
“Do you want tea?” He asks. “Or milk? Or soup? Or—“
“Will you stay?” She cuts in quietly, her knees pulled up to her chin. He’s honestly amazed she can compact herself so easily.
“Of course,” he says. “But my foot’s falling asleep, so we should probably get you into bed, okay?”
She huffs out a laugh. “All this time I knew you just wanted to get me into bed.”
Bellamy rolls his eyes as he stands, blushing faintly, and takes her hand in his. “Ha ha, very funny. You make that joke every time we sleep together.”
He means sleeping together in the literal sense only—unfortunately, if he’s being honest—and she knows. She grips his hand, winding her free arm around his, and says, “That’s because it’s funny every time.”
She’s trying to distract herself, he knows, and he also knows that it’ll only work until it doesn’t, and that he’ll still be here when that happens.
Clarke climbs into her bed, pulling the sheets up to cover herself completely, and Bellamy toes off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket before joining her. He has to pull the covers up a bit higher to cover his head, and the space beneath the sheets feels intimate. She smiles sadly at him.
“My dad brought home Max for Christmas when I was fifteen,” she says, even though he already knows the story. “And now they’re both gone.”
Bellamy wraps her up in his arms, getting them tangled in the sheets in the process, but he doesn’t care. Their noses bump when he says, “They both loved you very much, and they’re still with you.”
“I know,” she breathes. She’s so close that he’s dizzy on the proximity. “But it still hurts.”
He presses a kiss to her forehead and she begins to cry—silently, this time, her legs tangled up in his. He holds her and rubs her back until she drifts into sleep.
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You have 1 missed call from Clarke Griffin.
Bellamy sends her a quick message to say he’ll be home in about an hour and then shoves his phone into his pocket and opens the door to the veterinary clinic.
It’s ridiculously early on Christmas Day, so Lincoln shouldn’t even be here, but Bellamy had called him not even an hour earlier with a plan. And Lincoln, being Lincoln, had agreed emphatically.
“So,” Bellamy says, rubbing his hands together. “What’ve you got?”
“We rescued this little guy from a junkyard,” Lincoln says, motioning for Bellamy to follow him into the back room. “No one’s claimed him, and he didn’t seem to have any family. It’s actually really lucky you’re here, because we can’t keep him for longer than a month, and Octavia will kill me if I bring home one more dog.”
Bellamy laughs. “Well, this way you’ll still get to see him all the time.”
“See, my motives aren’t entirely selfless.” Lincoln walks down the row of crates that house all the recuperating animals and crouches down at the end of the row. “Here he is.”
Bellamy trails over, watching as Lincoln scoops out the puppy and cradles him in his huge arms. And Bellamy positively melts.
“Oh my god,” Bellamy says, lowering himself onto his knees so he can get a closer look at the puppy. “Oh my god, Lincoln. This is—this is the cutest dog I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t let Clarke hear you say that,” Lincoln warns, but he’s smiling, rubbing the puppy behind the ear. As he watches, the puppy yawns sleepily, its little eyes going all squinty.
Bellamy makes a ridiculous sound and Lincoln bursts out laughing, startling the puppy awake. “Who knew all it took to turn you into a big sap is a puppy?” Lincoln says. “Well, and Clarke.”
Bellamy ignores the last part and gently takes the puppy from Lincoln. He squirms a bit and Bellamy makes reassuring cooing sounds, holding him the way he’d seen Lincoln do. The puppy’s paws are big, so Bellamy knows it’ll grow into a big dog. He smiles. Clarke likes big dogs.
“He’s a German Shepherd,” Lincoln says, going into vet mode. “Obviously not purebred. He’s up to date on all his shots and has no rabies or heartworms. He’s a little malnourished, but give it a week with Clarke and he’ll be quite healthy.” He pauses, raising an eyebrow at Bellamy. “Should I get the adoption forms?”
Bellamy smiles back at Lincoln, but he can’t take his eyes off the dog. “Yes.”
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Bellamy calls Clarke from the passenger seat of Lincoln’s truck, keeping his phone tucked between his shoulder and cheek so he can hold the puppy. She answers on the second ring. “Where did you go this morning? I woke up and you weren’t there.”
She sounds hurt, but like she’s trying to hide it, and Bellamy immediately feels bad. “I’m sorry. I just had to… pick up a gift.” Lincoln parks in Clarke’s parking spot. “From my place. We’re all meeting at yours, right?”
“Yeah. Monty and Miller are already here and we’ve started making lunch. Will you be back soon?”
Bellamy struggles to get the passenger door open, trying to wiggle himself out. Lincoln takes the squirming puppy for him and Bellamy shoots him a grateful look. “Uh, I’ll be there soon, yeah. Is Raven coming?”
“Yeah, she and Wells are heading over together.” She sounds like she’s snickering.
“Oh, yeah?” He’s genuinely interested, but he’s trying to hold his phone and open doors and keep his grip on the box of puppy supplies. “How long has that been going on?”
“I don’t know, but if she’s kept it from me for very long I’ll be pissed. I mean, obviously I won’t be, but you know.”
“Yeah, totally,” Bellamy says faintly. He struggles to jab the right button in the elevator with his elbow, accidentally lighting up two others near it.
Clarke pauses. “Are you busy? If you need to go, it’s okay, you’ll be here soon—“
“No, no, I’m good,” he promises. He makes eye contact with the puppy and it yips excitedly. Bellamy swears and drops his phone.
“Bellamy?” He can hear Clarke’s voice from the floor. He swears again, picking it up and cupping his hand around the microphone. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine!” It sounds fake even to his own ears. “I’m just—I just dropped my phone. It’s fine, though.”
“Okay,” she says, sounding skeptical. “Are you sure you don’t need to go? I don’t want to be, like, clingy, I don’t know—“
“Honestly, please be as clingy as you want,” he blurts, immediately slapping his hand to his forehead. Lincoln chuckles. “I mean—“ The elevator stops and he and Lincoln step out onto Clarke’s floor.
“You’re so weird,” Clarke says. She sounds so fond and Bellamy feels all tingly.
He glances over his shoulder. Lincoln’s fiddling with the puppy’s bow, making sure he doesn’t chew on it, and they quickly trade items so it’s Lincoln holding the box and Bellamy holding the puppy. They stop at Clarke’s door.
“I’m weird, yeah. Hey, can you let me in?”
Clarke makes a surprised noise. “You’re here already? Don’t you have a key?”
“Yeah, but my hands are full.”
“I’m coming,” she says, and Bellamy uses his hand to put away his phone. In the last seconds they have before Clarke answers, he adjusts the puppy’s bow one last time and fixes his hair.
He catches the look Lincoln’s giving him and glares. “Shut up.”
Before Lincoln can respond, the door opens, and Clarke’s smiling face appears. She looks at him for all of a nanosecond before her mind registers PUPPY and her eyes drop down to the dog, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.
Bellamy can’t hide the huge grin that appears on his face. “Merry Christmas!”
Her other hand comes up to cover her mouth as well, and Bellamy can see her eyes are starting to get shiny. For a moment, he’s worried it’s too soon, that she thinks he’s trying to replace Max, or something else equally sad—
--but then she takes his face in her hands and kisses him right on the mouth.
He responds immediately, letting his eyes flutter shut, tilting his head slightly to get a better angle. She tastes so wonderful, like hot chocolate and candy canes, and this is everything he’s dreamed of since the moment he met her, but it’s better. She moves a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and he can’t help but smile against her mouth, goddamn him—
The puppy yips and they break apart, Bellamy making a face as the puppy starts licking at his face. “Wow,” Clarke says. “Everyone wants a piece of you today.”
He’s bright red, he knows, and in the corner of his vision he sees Lincoln’s ridiculously smug face, and over Clarke’s shoulder he can see Miller giving him two thumbs up, but he doesn’t care. He gently puts the puppy in Clarke’s arms, watching her face positively light up, and wraps his arm around her shoulder, kissing the top of her head. “Merry Christmas, Clarke.”
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(She ends up naming the puppy Nutmeg, and within two weeks he’s already as tall as her knees.)
(Also within two weeks Bellamy has practically moved in with her.)