Chapter Text
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t remember the exact moment Clarke became more than just his sister’s friend. The irony wasn’t lost on him either, how he woke that morning ill-humored and of half a mind to simply crawl back in bed and forget he ever promised to lend a hand.
But how was he to know that day wouldn’t be just like any other day? How can anyone know with certainty when their life is about to be uprooted by someone so extraordinary?
August 2005
“Road trip, bitches!”
Bellamy released a low grumble as he hefted the last of Clarke’s belongings into the trunk of his 2000 Ford Ranger. “Keep that up, sis, and the dollar jar’s gonna be so full you’ll be buying us dinner by the time we get to Boston.”
Octavia gave a non-committal shrug in reply, waiting for Bellamy to realize that her current state of unemployment meant that any dues on her part were coming out of his pocket.
The jar was left behind.
Giving her mom a half-hearted goodbye, Clarke released a sigh of relief as the trio piled in the truck and pulled out of the expansive driveway.
Bellamy took out a giant, fold-up map of the Eastern states (“Seriously, Bellamy? You’re 24, not 60”) and estimated that their journey should take about 8 hours, prompting Clarke to roll her eyes and pull out her copy of the MapQuest directions. “7 hours and 35 minutes without traffic, although it looks like we might hit some once we’re near the New Jersey Pike.” Octavia was in the back, rifling through Clarke’s enormous CD storage case to borrow the albums she meant to burn onto her computer months ago but somehow never got around to doing.
Having Clarke navigate wasn’t as bad as Bellamy thought it would be. Actually, one of the few things he knew about Octavia’s blood sister (her words, not his), was that she was responsible to a fault. In the last three years of their acquaintance, Clarke Griffin (student council member) and Bellamy Blake (Costco club member?) never found cause to talk apart from customary pleasantries, but keen observation assured him that Clarke was good for Octavia. She was the voice of reason in a crowd of reckless, hormone-driven teenagers.
He still owed her his endless gratitude for talking O out of getting that butterfly tattoo after graduation.
On the freeway, Bellamy attempted small talk with the petite blonde sitting shotgun, assuming it would at least be better than listening to whatever squirrely-voiced popstar Octavia was making them listen to. “So…Boston University. Are you declared?”
Clarke's gaze was transfixed on the passing trees to her right. “If I wasn’t, do you honestly think my mom would allow me to move out there?” A rhetorical question, of course, but also a bit on the hostile side and was that really necessary? He was only trying to be nice, after all. “I was actually accepted into their Liberal Arts/Medical program,” she finally added. “It puts me on the fast track to getting my doctorate.”
He was impressed but not in the least surprised by this trajectory. Her mother was one of the most respected surgeons in Virginia and her father was the MRI technician at Mary Washington Hospital. His story, of course, was one everyone in town knew, yet seldom talked about. Octavia wasn't in Clarke's life then, but he could imagine how trying that was for a young girl. No child should ever have to go through that.
“Well, I hope it all works out for you,” he said in earnest. “Just remember to have fun though. There’s a lot of interesting places to check out, like the Boston Common, Fenway Park…”
“Is that so? And did you get all that from your fancy historical document?”
“You girls are grasping at straws with these old man jokes,” he huffed before self-consciously folding up his map and shoving it in the center console. “And for your information, those tourist spots are general knowledge. Fenway’s just Fenway and I’m pretty sure the Boston Common is the oldest city park in the U.S. There’s a shit ton of history there.”
Octavia leaned forward between their seats. “Ugh. You’re boring, Old Timer. Can we please talk about something other than ‘history’ and the fact that my boo is gonna live a million miles away from me for the next seven years.”
Clarke smiled fondly. “It doesn’t have to be seven years, O. If you would just get a part-time job while you’re going to GCC, like I suggested, you can get your AA in 2 years and then transfer to a 4-year school in Boston so we can go halfsies on an apartment. Plus, it’s not like I’m leaving for good. You’ll still get to see me during all major holidays.”
The latter was said with a tinge of malice, and Bellamy could only assume the blonde prodigy was forced to make some sort of arrangement with her mother involving visitation rights. He knew there was some bad blood in that family—he assumed it stemmed from her father’s tragic death—but he wasn’t in any position to pry and O was usually mum about it.
He had to respect how well she knew Octavia, though. Offering to split the rent on an apartment, when he knew full well that the daughter of Dr. Abigail Griffin could afford to rent out an entire complex, was a thoughtful gesture. Octavia didn’t take handouts—kind of a ‘Blake’ family mantra, so to speak.
“Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s say I magically found a way to afford big city rent,” Octavia said with a self-deprecating eye roll, “but how the hell am I gonna pay off the student loans that will eventually pile up, from a school that I will almost certainly give up on halfway through?”
“Scholarships,” Clarke replied matter-of-factly while simultaneously directing Bellamy to merge onto the nearest interstate. “I’m told they practically hand them out on silver platters to students who opt to major in Accounting.”
Bellamy nodded in agreement. “That’s true. And O’s freakishly good with numbers. In fact, now that I think about it, why haven’t I taken you to Vegas yet?”
“Because you’re too much of a mother hen to tarnish her innocence and let her get a fake I.D.?” Clarke flashed a cheeky grin, making him wonder why he was suddenly the object of her taunting. What did he ever do to her that would warrant such ridicule? “But don’t worry,” she continued coolly, “I’ve already got it all planned out for her 21st birthday. We’ll have her counting cards, smoking stogies, and hitting the high roller tables in no time.”
With a slight shake of his head, Bellamy guffawed. “Says the princess.”
He ate his words shortly after saying them. “Excuse me?” The intensity of Clarke's heated glare was like an aura that surrounded her, surging toward him. “I am not a princess.”
Bellamy shrugged. “Well, you could’ve fooled me. I’m sorry, but I just don’t see Blackjack or Craps as your kind of scene…you know, unless it’s for some sponsored charity event.” He didn’t know what came over him. He chocked it up to a severe lack of caffeine because poking fun at an innocent 18 year-old girl was low, even for him.
“Clarke,” came Octavia’s calm, yet commanding voice, preventing the blonde from countering, “don’t even think about punching my brother while he’s driving. He has the power to kill us.” She turned to Bellamy. “And you? Not cool. Also, not remotely accurate. Clarke’s one of the ballsiest people I know. If anyone’s a bratty princess here, it’s you.”
Considering his recent bout of foot-in-mouth disease, he wasn’t about to deny that he deserved that. “It was just a joke. There’s no reason for you guys to go all postal on me.”
“Well, it wasn’t a very good one,” Octavia replied before glancing at her friend, concern etched on her face.
Bellamy was at a loss as to why both girls took offense at such a silly, inconsequential nickname. Clarke was practically Virginia royalty, after all. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she didn’t want the responsibility and recognition that came with her name. Maybe she wanted to be something else entirely.
Her irritation forgotten, Octavia stretched out in the backseat and told them to wake her once they stopped for lunch. Clarke, however, still refused to speak, allowing the dulcet tones of The Flaming Lips to lull her into a state of complacency while Bellamy busied himself counting mile markers and reading road signs. It was dull, to be sure, but at least it prevented him from stealing too many glances at Clarke and wondering what was going through that ingenious brain of hers.
The princess remark was never meant to be an insult. How was he supposed to know she’d take it so personally? More importantly, why did he suddenly care?
“If it’s any consolation,” he finally voiced, eyes trained on the black pavement in front of him, “I don’t actually think you’re a princess.”
Another stretch of silence, and then a terse “good” was the only sound that escaped from her lips.
Bellamy clenched his fist. So much for her accepting his apology. Then again, he hadn’t really apologized yet, so maybe that was something they both needed to work on. “And I never meant to hurt your feelings. I’m sorry, okay? You just surprised me, is all.”
Clarke’s words softened after that. “Is it really that strange that something about me would surprise you? We hardly know each other, Bellamy.”
It was true. For three years, Clarke had shown up to the apartment he shared with Octavia as if she belonged there, grabbing a soda from the fridge before running to Octavia’s room to gossip about whatever celebrity was relevant to teens at the time. Three years of this and what did he really know about the young girl beside him? “Fair point. Let’s see if the next 7 hours can remedy us of that affliction.”
A slow smile crept up on her lips, changing her appearance completely, and, okay, maybe this impromptu road trip that he got roped into wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
---
Three hours later found them at a rest stop just outside of Philly. The diner food was hearty and the iced tea was refreshing, as it always was in the brutal heat of August. They were animatedly chatting about how the next season of Lost was going to be so good when Octavia’s phone rang and she all but leapt from the booth to answer it.
“Oops! Sorry, guys. I’ve been expecting…I mean, I just have to go take this real quick. Be right back!”
Octavia was up and out of the diner in a flash, Bellamy's initial curiosity quickly turning into antipathy. “Let me guess: new beau?”
Clarke almost choked on her tea before donning her best Scarlett O'Hara. “Why yes, I do believe she has a new gentleman friend.” His refusal to smile or laugh told Clarke that he wasn't a fan of Gone With the Wind. “Alright, fine. His name is Atom…I think. She met him last week at Monty’s annual ‘end of summer’ bash.”
Bellamy’s eyes bulged. “A week? She’s known this guy a whole week and she hasn’t gotten sick of him yet?” He let out a low whistle. “This is starting to sound serious. Am I gonna have to sit this young man down and ask what his intentions are?”
“Be nice” was Clarke’s only response before the smile she had been suppressing widened to form a luminescent grin. Bellamy never really paid attention to Clarke’s smile before, the way her high cheekbones highlighted the angles of her face or the way her blue eyes turned a shade brighter. Looking closely now, they weren’t actually blue but indigo.
“So, did anyone catch your fancy at this highly anticipated ‘end of summer’ bash?” Catch your fancy? Shit, he really was an old man.
“I’m not really into impulse buys like O is,” Clarke replied smoothly, the abstract smarminess becoming another facet of her personality that Bellamy would store away for future reference. “It takes a lot more than a heady glance to tempt me.” Her cheeks seemed to tinge pink, but surely that was just wishful thinking on his part—which only made matters worse, because why was that wishful thinking in the first place? She was 18 and he was…well, he was in desperate need of a new topic.
“So, what do you think you’ll miss most about Virginia?”
“Honestly?” she asked, scrunching up her features in a decidedly ‘Clarke way’. This was really turning into a huge mistake. Bellamy regretted not eating his burger in silence from the get-go. “This probably sounds dumb, but I’m really gonna miss soft pretzels with mustard.”
Bellamy blinked. “Pretzels? Are you talking about the ones from The Bavarian Chef?” She chewed on her lip and looked down at her plate, which was an answer in itself. “That place has like $30 gourmet entrees, and you’re nuts about their soft pretzels?”
“It’s the mustard that makes them good, okay? They make it from scratch!”
Bellamy choked back a laugh as she tried to justify her answer. In all fairness, he wasn’t one to judge. If asked the same question, he’d most likely say something like Government Island or the Kenmore Plantation—to which she would probably taunt him mercilessly for being an old man or a nerd…again.
“My dad used to take me there.”
And there it was. Her comment came out of left field, the mood between them instantly shifting. The Clarke that most people knew—calm, collected, a bit on the smarmy side—now just looked like a girl. A girl with insecurities and idiosyncrasies like everyone else. A girl he could relate to on a whole new level.
Clarke never talked about her dad. Octavia knew more than most about Clarke’s relationship with her father, but she also knew how sensitive Clarke became at the mere mention of his name. If someone brought him up, Octavia was usually quick to redirect the conversation. All Bellamy could decipher thus far, was that she was very close with her father and his untimely death four years ago was something she still hadn’t fully recovered from.
“I wish I could’ve known him better.” It was the truth and all he could think to say in that moment. He wanted to know more about her father, but, more importantly, he wanted to know more about her. On some subconscious level, their six-year age difference had prevented them from getting to know each other before, and now that she was leaving for college, a distance of 500 miles would prevent him from exploring that opportunity yet again. In short: timing sucked.
Amidst the thinly veiled agony in her eyes, Clarke managed to flash Bellamy a small, yet genuine, smile. “He was pretty awesome. You know, it’s funny, even if you really are the giant pain in the ass Octavia paints you to be…I think my dad would’ve liked you.”
Bellamy knew a compliment when he heard one, taking the ones he was handed with a cocky grin instead of a grain of salt. He wondered though, considering how highly Clarke regarded her father, if he deserved such praise. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
Clarke shrugged, the careful arch of her brow changing to match the cunning of her words. “Because you’re both a couple of dorks.”
It was Bellamy’s turn to smile, because how did he not see that coming? Clarke Griffin was an enigmatic firecracker, to be sure. She was witty, she was real, and she was cute as hell. In all honesty, he didn't know whether he should be elated or terrified by this development.
Before he could even attempt to counter her jab, Octavia returned and plopped down next to Clarke. There was a dreamy look in her eyes as she reached over to snag one of Clarke’s fries—even though her own, practically untouched, plate was directly in front of her. “Man. Musicians are just so deep, you know? They can take something ordinary and turn it into a beautiful masterpiece. I wish I could see things the way they do.”
Bellamy’s dumbfounded gaze searched out Clarke’s. “He’s a musician?” he asked, referring, of course, to Octavia’s ‘new beau’, Atom.
“He goes to some fancy art school in Charlottesville.”
Octavia beamed knowingly. “Atom’s studying music theory because he wants to revolutionize the industry.”
“How diplomatic of him,” Bellamy stated, not even trying to remove the sarcasm dripping from his voice. “And on that note, we should probably head out. Still got a lot of ground to cover before we get to Boston.”
“Fine by me,” Octavia mused as she vacated her spot, eyes glued to her phone once more. “C-Dawg, you’re buying, right?”
The blonde pursed her lips. “Let me guess: as recompense for abandoning you in your time of need?”
“And I hope you know that I intend to hold this over you at least until Christmas.”
She reached for the bill, but Bellamy snatched it out from under her. He took a quick glance at the bill before pulling out a couple of twenties to throw down on the table. “You know,” he said evenly, ignoring Clarke’s look of protest, “Octavia can bat her ‘lovestruck’ eyes all she wants, but I still think this self-proclaimed ‘music revolutionist’ won’t last another week.”
Having Clarke pay for lunch was a cop out. Bellamy knew she had the means to buy meals for everyone in that Podunk diner if it came to it, and she must’ve known the hardships his family had to overcome since he was a child, but this wasn’t about money. It was about new beginnings. Paying the bill was his little way of admitting this road trip was no longer just a ‘brotherly chore’ for him and, in spite of everything, Clarke Griffin mattered to him now.
She smiled as she slid out of the booth. “Two weeks, tops.”
---
They arrived in Boston at a quarter to seven, just as the sun began its descent and the sky blushed violet. The city lights were sparkling, people were conversing animatedly on sidewalks, and Clarke, while navigating Bellamy through the busy, unfamiliar streets, was already smitten with the place. It was new and exciting, but most importantly, it was far away from Virginia.
The fact that it took almost half a day to get here escaped Clarke’s notice thanks, in large part, to her two travel companions. She was sorely going to miss them.
Especially, Bellamy.
It was strange, Clarke thought, that saying goodbye to Bellamy seemed like such a difficult task all of a sudden. That difficulty should be reserved for her best friend, not her best friend’s brother. In the span of three years, maybe ten sentences passed between them. Now, having precious little else to do on a 500-mile long road trip except talk to each other, Clarke found herself questioning why they never got to do this sooner.
She even became obsessed with the little things Bellamy slowly revealed about himself, like his love of ancient Roman history or the way he vocalized his concern for Octavia once he was certain she was fast asleep in the back seat. He didn’t present himself as the overbearing authority figure then. He was simply a brother worried about his sister. Vulnerability was a nice look on him--as were those expressive, dark brown eyes.
Once they located Greycliff Hall, the Blake siblings were hardly subtle at expressing their shock when Clarke opened the door to a substantially mediocre dorm room fitted with two twin beds. She, of course, reasoned that having a roommate was all part of the college experience, especially when said college was so far away from everyone she’s ever known.
Lugging boxes from his truck to her room was no easy task, made worse with each trip as the sun dipped lower and lower, until it finally vanished completely, buzzing lampposts now their only guide. It wasn’t until they were unloading the last of her belongings that the mood shifted dramatically. The heartbreaking farewell was nearing and the reality of that inevitability felt like an anchor slowly sinking into the depths of the ocean.
Bellamy, bless his heart, tried to fill the awkward void by asking Clarke about her course load and Octavia what stores she was going to apply to for part-time work, but the distraction was short-lived and an emptiness clouded their thoughts at the prospect of parting ways to their respective and distant homes.
Home.
Was it too soon to call Boston her home? There was an innate cruelty in cutting ties with Fredericksburg so swiftly, but seven years away at college was an awfully long time and who knew what was in store for Clarke once she was forced to venture out into the world of adulthood?
Focusing instead on the present, she turned to face her best friend of three years as they stood outside Bellamy’s beat up truck. Tears welled in Octavia’s charcoal-lined eyes though she was trying her damndest to keep them at bay.
“Don’t you dare cry, O,” Clarke commanded, maintaining her own composure. “There’s no reason to make this some dramatic farewell because it’s not like I’m never gonna see you again, right? You’re still my blood sister, so when Thanksgiving rolls around, I better hear you knocking on the door, eagerly awaiting to eat your weight in stuffing.”
Octavia laughed at that. “I do love bread…and bread-related dishes.”
“And let’s not forget your favorite pastime: infuriating my mother with your ‘unrefined’ table manners.” It was a win-win for both of them. Every time Octavia talked with her mouth full or used the wrong fork at the dinner table, Abby Griffin’s eyebrows would make their way north, in danger of receding into her hairline. They liked to keep tally.
As an afterthought, Clarke nodded in Bellamy’s direction. “And if you want to drag him along, I suppose that’d be okay.” He looked shocked and mildly intrigued and, well, that was okay, too.
Octavia glanced between them, confusion marring her features. “So, what? Are you two like friends now?”
The answer to that question seemed simple enough—at least, in her mind—but Clarke wasn’t about to own up to something when she wasn’t even sure where Bellamy stood on the matter. He seemed just as tightlipped as she was, so Clarke opted to switch gears instead. “I can’t believe you guys have to drive all the way back to Virginia now. It’s gonna be like three in the morning by the time you get back. Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night? I don’t think my roommate’s showing up just yet so there’s an extra bed available and I’ve got lots of blankets.”
“Two beds and three people sounds like an awful sitcom that I do not want to be a part of,” Octavia replied. “Besides, I’ve made a nice little nest for myself in Bell’s backseat already.”
It was a long shot, Clarke knew, but one she felt compelled to offer considering how helpful they were in her moving process. Maybe this was for the best, anyway. Better to rip of the Band-aid and say goodbye now, versus prolonging the moment and enduring more pain down the road.
As sentiment seized them, the two friends wrapped themselves in a tender embrace. “I love you, boo,” Octavia voiced in earnest, just before the loud buzzing of Octavia’s phone chose to interrupt their affectionate goodbye. “Ooh, it’s Atom! I gotta take this. Later, Homeslice. IM me, okay?”
And that was that.
“You know,” Bellamy started, as they watched Octavia climb into the backseat of Bellamy’s truck with her phone all but glued to her ear, “it’s sort of remarkable how quickly she can bounce from moment to moment like that. There are virtually no transitions between her thoughts.”
Clarke nodded, watching as her flighty best friend became completely absorbed in her conversation with her boyfriend. “Yeah, I learned early on in our friendship not to get offended by her whimsical nature.”
It got quiet after that, as they both realized that they were alone now and their own goodbye would follow suit. How would it end? Was it an ending? Or was there also the possibility of a new beginning?
“By the way, thanks for, um, paying for the gas on this piece of scrap metal,” Bellamy finally articulated, angling a thumb toward his truck. “I probably should’ve said that earlier but, yeah, thanks.”
Clarke shrugged. Money was never an issue, but that was the last thing Bellamy wanted to hear. “It was the least I could do considering you guys pretty much wasted an entire day helping me move out here.”
“I don’t know,” he responded, his eyes searching hers, “it didn’t feel wasted. This trip was very…educational.” A look of mortification instantly swept over his face and Clarke was torn between saving him and laughing outright.
“Well, I hope I was an adequate teacher.” She knew her cheeks were flushed by now and silently prayed that the dim light of the lamppost made it too hard for him to notice.
Though Bellamy had felt he expressed himself poorly, the simple truth was that he wasn’t at all wrong. She, too, had learned a lot from this road trip, even if it was a moment too late. It was downright harrowing, actually. Spending the day with her best friend’s brother—and discovering that she actually enjoyed his company—was like spending every recess of your adolescence on the swings, only to find out on the last day of school that the monkey bars were a lot more fun.
Clarke really wanted to spend more time on the monkey bars.
“So, listen,” she blurted without warning, needing to get this off her chest before she lost her nerve, “I know becoming friends seems like a stretch given our history, and I know I’m just a ‘punk, know-it-all kid’ and you’re…well, not, but I guess what I’m extraordinarily and inarticulately trying to say is that with a little time and effort I think we could be.”
The quirked brow and smug grin was proof enough that Bellamy was amused by Clarke’s incessant rambling. “Be what?”
Another question that Clarke honestly assumed had a simple answer. “Friends, of course.” Unless it wasn’t as simple as all that because why would a 24 year-old construction manager want to spend his idle hours chatting away with some college freshman several states away? “That is, if you want to be friends. I mean, it’s not a big deal or anything. It’s not like you—”
“What’s your number?”
Clarke blinked several times over. “What?”
“What’s your number,” he repeated at the same time that Octavia rolled down the back window and yelled for Bellamy to hurry up. “I want to send you something.”
Not in any position (or need) to argue, Clarke swiped his phone and quickly entered her 10-digit number. He smiled then. It wasn’t a grin either, it was just an authentic smile and her stomach may or may not have done a tiny backflip. She stretched out her hand—because a hug was probably out of the question—which he took gladly. “Don’t be a stranger, Blake Sr.”
“May we meet again.”
And like that, he was gone.
It wasn’t until Clarke returned to her new home in Greycliff Hall—as she idly began folding her clothes and putting fresh sheets on her new bed—that her phone chimed, notifying her of a text. There were two to be exact. One was from Octavia: Miss you already! And no ur not getting these CDs back till Nov ; )
The other, surprisingly, was from Bellamy. He didn’t write her any lasting quip or final farewell. Instead, there was a link that took her to a website for some German restaurant located in the heart of Boston. It seemed completely random until she scrolled through the menu and saw that their signature appetizer was
Fresh pretzels with mustard.
“Huh. He remembered.”
Clarke never told anyone, but one of the very first things she did the next morning was set up a countdown for her trip home for Thanksgiving.