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“What the hell took you so long?” Bellamy asks his sister once she’s finally walking toward him. They were supposed to meet at 7, it is now 7:15.
“I went to Ark,” she sighs, flagging down the bartender. “We always go to Ark on Tuesdays.”
“We can’t go to Ark tonight,” he tells her simply and she rolls her eyes. When the bartender comes over to take her order she leans across the bar to tell him exactly what she wants exactly how she wants it.
“I saw her,” she says when she sits back and he sighs, taking a long sip from his beer. “I didn’t know she was back. Or that she was even coming back. You did, though.”
“Miller told me she would be there tonight,” he admits and she nods. She gets it—why they’re not at Ark like they usually are. “I told you to meet me here. That’s your fault.”
“I know, but I forgot. I had to scroll back like 75 text messages to see where I was supposed to be.”
“Did you talk to her?” He asks and he’s only a little ashamed at how nervous he is for the answer.
“No, as your loyal sister, I don’t think I can ever talk to her again,” she says and he smiles a little. “I mean, she just dumped you and moved across the country one month after our mother died. Who the fuck does that?”
“I’m over it,” he lies. Octavia knows he’s lying about that, but she doesn’t know he’s been lying to her for two years. Though, is it lying if she just made an assumption and he never corrected her? He’s not so sure, but it feels like lying.
“Sure,” she says sarcastically and she ignores her tone, waiting for her to continue. “That’s why we’re here and not playing trivia across the street.”
“Exactly.”
They sit in silence for a bit, just drinking and eating popcorn. Octavia’s phone rings at some point and she makes an apology before answering it to tell whoever it is—Lincoln, probably—that they’re not at Ark, but Grounder’s. When she hangs up, she twists on her stool and glares at him.
“What?” He asks with a sigh. Whatever it is she has to say is definitely about something he doesn’t want to talk about.
“Did Clarke know that one of her best friends is dating your only friend?” She asks and he rolls his eyes down at the bar, avoiding her eyes. That was a question Bellamy had himself, but never had the balls to ask Miller. He wasn’t sure how much Clarke knew about the people she left in Boston when she moved to California for med school.
“Miller’s not my only friend,” he tells her as a way to change the subject. “There’s also Murphy and-“
“You don’t want to go around bragging about Murphy, Bellamy,” she says and he smiles. She’s not wrong.
“And there’s Lincoln. I mean, if I had a choice Lincoln wouldn’t exist and you’d stay single forever, but since that’s clearly not happening, I think I can consider him a friend.”
“Yes, Lincoln is your friend,” she agrees and he thinks he might be off the hook. “But you’re changing the subject. Did Clarke know before tonight that Miller and Monty are dating? Was it her who told Miller to tell you she’d be there tonight so you wouldn’t be?”
“Come on, O,” he says, turning to look at her. “You know Clarke and you know she isn’t that petty. This on me. I don’t want to see her.”
“I know you, too,” she reminds him softly and he squeezes his eyes shut for just a second. “And I know you’re not one to hide from some girl you dated two years ago, especially not one that hurt you. You’re the guy who shows up just to show off how well you’re doing. Blakes don’t hide.”
“Tonight, this one does,” he says simply. He’s so happy to see Lincoln walking in, too, so the conversation can end and they can focus on him instead of Bellamy. Octavia loves focusing on Lincoln.
“What are we doing here? There’s no trivia here on Tuesdays,” Lincoln says as soon as he’s done kissing Octavia hello. She turns to look at her brother, like she’s so proud of her boyfriend for keeping the conversation on Bellamy.
“Bellamy’s ex-girlfriend moved back and she’s there with her friends,” she says, still looking at Bellamy. “And, actually, some of our friends. She dumped him right after my mom died.”
“That’s cold,” Lincoln hisses and Octavia nods with a tight smile.
“She didn’t,” Bellamy admits. Finally. “Clarke didn’t dump me, okay?”
“What are you talking about, Bellamy?” Octavia’s practically yelling. If they weren’t in a loud bar, they’d be getting some pretty dirty looks. As it is, though, no one notices but Bellamy, Lincoln, and the bartender who’s dropping off their next round.
“She didn’t break up with me,” he says levelly, eyeing his beer so he doesn’t have to see the shock in his little sister’s eyes. “I broke up with her. I had a lot of shit to deal with and to worry about. I couldn’t worry about her, too.”
“Bellamy,” Octavia seethes and he looks up at her from under his eyelashes—like he’s still hiding from her a little bit. “Clarke Griffin is the last person you ever needed to worry about. Did she ever make you feel like you had to?”
“I didn’t want her worrying about me either,” he says and she rolls her eyes, taking down half of her drink. “About us. I didn’t need that. I needed to handle things on my own.”
“Drink up, asshole,” Octavia says and he sits back, shocked. “We’re going to play trivia. You know? I was fine with missing it when I thought she broke your heart, but you don’t get to hide from your mistakes. You’ve never let me do it; I’m not going to let you.”
“I’m not hiding. I just don’t want to deal with it right now. I’m sure I’ll have to eventually, but let me live in this bubble a little while longer.” He’s pleading with her, he knows, but he really doesn’t want to see her. When he found out she was changing her plans and going to school in California instead of Boston, he’d been pretty heartbroken. He liked having the possibility of begging for her forgiveness and getting back together. When she left, that possibility no longer existed. Eventually, though, he realized it was a good thing she was gone. He wasn’t strong enough to be with her and deal with the loss of his mother.
“That sounds like hiding,’” Lincoln mutters into his beer and Bellamy glares at him, betrayed. “I’m just saying…”
“And you’re right,” Octavia smiles, rubbing his shoulders. Bellamy gags and drinks his beer. “Finish it,” she says to him now, eyeing the drink in his hand. “We’re going to be late.”
He sighs, but drinks more. She’s right and also… she’s terrifying when she wants to be. Bellamy doesn’t like to admit that he’s afraid of his little sister, but he has a hard time denying it. When he’s only got the shitty bottom of his beer left, he throws down enough money for the entire tab and pulls on his jacket. Octavia hops to her toes and drags Lincoln with her out the door. Bellamy follows—slowly—and looks down at the pavement to shield his face from the cold wind. It’s also an excuse to not be looking up when he walks into the bar—less chance of making eye contact.
When he’s inside, he turns sharply toward the table hidden in the corner, but Octavia tugs on his elbow to stop him. He looks at her and sees blonde hair just over his sister’s shoulder. He looks down again, but Octavia tugs harder. “The bar,” she tells him and he nods.
He walks past her quickly, keeping his back to the table where Clarke is with her friends. And his best friend. He feels like a dick ignoring him, but Miller understands. He’s the only one Bellamy told about being the one to end things.
Trivia starts almost immediately after they sit down and order drinks. And he doesn’t realize how closely he sat them next to the place where teams are supposed to drop off their answers. She’s bound to see him sitting there, but he can’t move without sitting somewhere he’d be guaranteed to stare at her from.
She used to tease him about staring at her. He’d get so lost in the way her lips moved when she talked or the way her eyes seemed to laugh before any sound even came out of her. He could be transfixed for hours if she never called him out on it. The only time he was free to do so was in bed when she slept, her hair a mess around her head, her limbs tangled in sheets with his, her chest moving steadily with every breath. She was all he’d wanted to look at for the rest of his life… Until his mother died and he pushed her and everyone else away. He pushed her hardest, though, all the way to California.
Octavia fills out their answer sheets with their team name and he can see she’s excited. Octavia loves trivia. And she’s good at it. So are Bellamy and Lincoln. They win at least three out of every five times they play. He knows Clarke is good, too, though. He knows her friends are, especially Jasper and Monty. It could be a tight race between the two teams, which is just going to make the already awkward encounter even more so.
The game starts off easy, like it does every week. They get all five questions right. And it’s nice, sitting so close to the trivia master; they don’t even need to get up to deliver their answers. And then the next round starts and Miller’s no longer the one bringing up his team’s—Clarke’s team—answers. He hears her throaty voice before he sees her. She’s talking to Harper, the one asking questions, accepting answers, and tallying points. She doesn’t notice him until she’s leaning right next to him.
“Oh,” she says and then looks past him at his sister. They nod at each other and Bellamy can’t stop staring at the tattoo on the inside of Clarke’s wrist, where her arm is resting on the bar. Just something new for him to stare at. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says, quickly looking at her face. It strikes him how beautiful she still is. “You’re back.”
“I was going to tell you,” she says and he narrows his eyes at her. She smiles. “But you don’t exist on the internet. And, plus, I figured Miller would tell you. I just didn’t want you to be bombarded.”
He laughs a little and her smile widens. “Well, you are a lot to handle,” he says easily. It surprises him how easily it comes out, actually. “Miller told me. Don’t worry.”
“Good,” she says, smile falling. After a brief silence, she breathes, nods once, and turns back toward her table. He looks over his shoulder and watches her slide into the booth, right into Jasper’s embrace. Miller catches his eye and nods at him, like he’s proud of him for being a grownup and not hiding from his ex-girlfriend. Bellamy nods in return and looks at his sister. She’s wearing the same, proud look as his best friend and he just rolls his eyes.
Round two goes just as well as the first. Clarke keeps bringing up the answers, but they don’t talk anymore. They exchange tight smiles or meaningful looks, but they don’t talk. He wants to talk, though, which comes as a surprise. He wants to know why she’s back after only two years. Is she transferring schools? Is she living with her mother? Did she miss him when she was gone?
Round three starts and it turns out to be a special, themed round. It revolves around Bill Murray movies and he’s pretty pumped about it, actually. He spent two whole weekends watching nearly his entire filmography and reading useless facts about his life. Octavia knows it and is excited. But then he remembers.
“Clarke and I did that together,” he reminds her and her face falls. “It was her idea, actually.”
“So she’s seen all the same movies and read all the same trivia?” Lincoln clarifies and Bellamy nods sadly. It’s only trivia at some bar. It doesn’t actually matter.
“And they’re the two most competitive people ever,” Octavia says and Bellamy sees the small smile on Lincoln’s face when he looks over at Clarke. She doesn’t look like much, but she’s a fighter. “The only reason they ever fought was when they didn’t agree on something. They sucked at trivia together. It always ended in a screaming match.”
“Not always,” he says and Octavia shakes her head. “It didn’t end in screaming matches. It ended in hot makeup sex. It was our version of foreplay.”
Lincoln laughs but Octavia makes a gagging sound and nearly shoves him off the stool, making him laugh, too. When he settles back on ass, he takes a long drink and looks over his shoulder. Clarke is looking at him and she’s got that look on her face. She’s ready for a fight. He smiles into his glass and she shakes her head slowly, narrowing her eyes.
He does pretty well for the first four questions. He’s sure of his answers and Octavia trusts him with the pencil enough to let him write the answers down without even discussing them.
“What movie did Bill Murray win an Oscar for?” Is the final question and he’s actually stumped. It could be Rushmore or Lost in Translation. Hell, it could even be that movie with Melissa McCarthy that he never saw. Because he would never watch a Bill Murray without Clarke again. So, he’d never watch a Bill Murray movie in his life. It just felt wrong.
Clarke rushes up with the answer, checking him with her hip before going back to her table. It throws him off, that one brief touch from her, and Octavia wrenches the pencil from his hand. “It’s got to be Lost in Translation,” she decides. She’s looking at him, imploring him for a confirmation or a denial. It’s the most logical answer, so he nods. She leans over him to drop the answer in the basket and he doesn’t miss the disappointed shake of her head when she sits back down.
They wait for the final calling of the answers in silence. He strains to listen to the conversations around them, trying to zero in on her voice to no avail. He glances over his shoulder again, but she’s not at the table with her friends. Instead, Monty and Jasper are staring at him, like they’re trying to be tough. Miller is laughing into his glass looking at Bellamy because they both know he could take them both in a fight. At the same time. But he wouldn’t. They have a right to be looking at him like that. He deserves it.
Harper clears her throat into the microphone and the rest of the place goes silent. She starts reading off the answers. They got the first four right—just like he knew they would—and then, “And, I’m sorry,” she says, looking at Bellamy like she’s not sorry at all, “But Bill Murray has never won an Oscar.”
“Fucking trick question,” he groans and he hears a familiar laugh behind him. “You got that right?” He asks, turning on his stool to look at Clarke. She looks far too smug for his liking.
“I did,” she confirms, reaching past him for her team’s prize—a $50 gift card to that very bar. “And every other answer tonight.”
“Well, welcome home,” he says sarcastically and her smile fades when she looks at him. “Really, though. Welcome back.”
She considers him for a few seconds and takes a deep breath. “Can we get a drink?” She asks and he looks behind him like she would be talking to his sister or Lincoln. They’re gone, though, and he sighs before looking back at her. “Like right now?”
“Uh, yeah,” he nods and she smiles again before turning to drop the prize off at her table and grab her drink. She comes back and sits in the stool Octavia left open and he sees her on the other side of the bar, watching them. He flips her off behind his glass so Clarke doesn’t see it, but when she laughs he knows she did. “Isn’t medical school typically a four year gig?” He asks, deciding to just jump right in. She wanted a drink, he wants the conversation that usually goes with one.
“It does for the people who decided to stay in medical school,” she confirms shyly and he turns sharply, hitting her knee with his. “For me, it lasted… about a semester.”
“Wow,” he breathes and she nods, looking up at him.
“Well, you know I didn’t really want that life anyway. It was all for my mom,” she reminds him and he nods. She has never admitted that to him and whenever he used to bring it up, she got defensive. But he always knew. “But I wanted to talk about something else, honestly.”
“Okay,” he shrugs. He can’t help but notice their knees are still touching and so are their forearms on top of the bar. He should move away, but he can’t.
“I get it now,” she tells him, looking at the wood under her fingers instead of at him. “Why you broke up with me.”
“I heard about your dad,” he says and she smiles, still looking anywhere but at him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” she nods. “It sucks, but it brought me home. You know? I always thought I’d never do what you did. I’d never push away my mom or my friends. But I did for about six months. I only just started talking to my mom again right before I moved back. I wanted to be near her and I missed my friends. I missed…” She looks at him finally and his breath catches in his throat. He feels like he’s drowning, waiting for her to finish that sentence. “Everything.”
“Yeah, that’s about what happened after my mom,” he tells her and she sighs, nodding. “Except, when I finally came to my senses and realized who I needed, they weren’t all there.” He says it gently. He’s not blaming her for leaving. He would have done the same thing. And it’s not like she didn’t put up a fight. She gave him space, but she made it clear she wasn’t ready to give up on him. After a month, though, she had to make a choice—stay or leave. She had opportunities all over the country, he remembers. She got into five different schools and Boston University was her first choice all along. It was only after he broke up with her that she changed her mind. She lost her deposit at BU and had to pay another at UCLA and she left because, why would she stay?
“Can you blame them? I mean… When they thought they lost you forever, how could they stay?” She asks, her voice a little tough—defensive. He didn’t like how they were talking about it like the person who left was some random person off the street, but even though they both knew exactly who they were talking about, he wasn’t ready to admit it. “But they get it now. I get it.”
“I never wanted that to be something you understood firsthand,” he says gently and she nods, running her hand through her hair. “I always liked your dad. I was really bummed there were no services.”
“My mom couldn’t deal with it and she didn’t want me to fly home just to cry in my bedroom,” she tells him. He knows that’s part of the reason she pushed her mom away. Her father deserved a service. Clarke deserved to say goodbye. “And I was fucking three thousand miles away and didn’t even know about the accident until the next day.”
“I’m sorry, Clarke,” he tells her, reaching for her hand. She tenses under his touch, but he doesn’t let go. Eventually, she loosens up again, looks into his eyes, and flips her hand over so she can link her fingers with his.
“I’m sorry, too,” she admits and he lets out a deep breath. “For leaving you and my dad, everyone. I was being childish.”
“I broke up with you and there was no reason for you to think your dad was going to get t-boned by some asshole,” he says and she actually smiles a little. “You went to school. You were living your life.”
“But why didn’t I come back after I dropped out? Why did I just stay in LA working at some art museum? I mean, I could have come home and worked here. I could have seen my dad every day.”
“Stop,” he chastises and she bristles a little. “You did nothing wrong. And you’re home now. Your dad may not be here, but I’m sure he’d be glad to know you came back.”
She looks at him, down at their hands still holding tight to each other, and then lets out a deep breath. “Thank you,” she tells him and he shrugs. “I knew I wanted to talk to you about it. I knew you were the only one who could actually say the right thing. Wells tried when I was still living with him. Raven tried over the months I was going back and forth about coming back. But, I needed you.”
“I am sorry for the way things ended,” he says after a brief silence and she shrugs, looking away from him again. He feels her fingers start to untangle from his and he lets go so she can cross her arms on the bar. “I was fucked up, but you didn’t deserve it. I let go and I should have held on tighter.”
“Well, thank you,” she smiles and he returns it, leaning his head a little closer to hers. “I wanted to come home every single day and I couldn’t knowing you’d be here, hating me.”
“I don’t hate you,” he promises. “I never have.”
“I don’t hate you either,” she says and he smiles again. “Miller told me to leave you alone and let you come to me. I’m glad I didn’t listen,” she laughs and he shrugs.
“We probably never would have spoken to each other again, otherwise,” he admits. She knows it’s true. He doesn’t go around trusting people, giving his heart away like it’s nothing. But he trusted her. He loves her.
They watch each other for a few seconds, just taking in the sight. She looks the same, except for the tattoo. She even smells the same. She’s Clarke. And she’s home.
“We’re going home,” Octavia announces, popping up out of nowhere. It’s only then Bellamy realizes how close he and Clarke are. They’re touching from knee to shoulder and he scoots away to look at his sister, already missing her warmth.
“I’ll see you for lunch on Thursday?” He confirms and she nods before glancing at Clarke.
“Welcome home,” she says. Clarke smiles, a little nervously. “I hope we see each other again when we can actually talk.”
“Definitely,” Clarke promises, her smile much more natural. “I’ll give you my number.”
“Has it changed?” Octavia asks and Clarke shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink. He watches the way she licks her lips and his sister pulls his attention back. “Then, don’t worry. It’s still on Bellamy’s fridge.”
With that, she’s gone. In and out, just like always, leaving Bellamy behind to flush under Clarke’s amused smile. “On your fridge?” She asks and he nods. “I put that there after our first date—three years ago.”
“Safe keeping,” he says, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal. “Just in case you ever came home.”
“And what were you going to do if I came home?” She asks breathlessly. He presses closer to her so they’re touching again.
“Probably nothing,” he laughs quietly. He can hear her swallow. “But if I was more of a man, I’d find out you were coming. I’d call you. I’d beg you to talk to me. And I’d apologize for fucking things up.”
“How would that go?” She asks just as quietly as he was talking.
“I’m sorry I fucked everything up. I’m sorry I didn’t realize until after you left and I that I still didn’t do anything about it. I’m sorry I broke my own heart but even more that I broke yours. I’m sorry I’ve been pining for you like an asshole even though it’s my fault you left anyway. I’m sorry your dad’s dead and I wasn’t there for you the way you wanted to be there for me.”
He’s not sure who moves first, but suddenly they’re kissing. It’s not long and it doesn’t set off any fireworks, but it’s real. She rests her forehead against his and he cups her cheek to kiss her again, still soft, but a little longer.
“I’m sorry we ever stopped doing that,” she says and he laughs. “Fuck. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”