Chapter Text
Bellamy knows that the kids at the Blake Orphan Home don’t need him, but they need someone and he’s as good as they’ve got.
The home is situated right on the border between the upper end of Ark, and the lower side, and Bellamy’s become quite comfortable in the centre. He was born in the deepest pits of the working class community, and whilst he’ll never make it to the mansions, Bellamy has found himself a happy middle.
The dinner bell rings, and immediately Bellamy can hear the thundering of footsteps. He manages to luck out with the kids he gets – most get adopted within a few years of arriving, and only two in the past five years have ever reached being a teenager before they’re chosen. At the oldest, Octavia is fifteen and a whirlwind. She’s his little sister and she’s staying, whether a prospective parent likes the look of her or not – Octavia is his. Up until he met the kids of the orphanage that he started, she was his one allotted good thing. Whilst he gets lots of good things now, Bellamy plans to keep her for as long as he can before she goes out into the world.
She, like always, is first at the table. Octavia can’t get enough of her food. He sends her a smirk and she grins.
“I’m a growing girl, Bell,” she says, and the tables are soon bustling with little bodies. He has twenty two kids in total, and they are – for all intents and purposes – his kids. He loves each one of them and every prospective parent is looked into rigorously before he agrees to let them move. Bellamy wants what’s best for his kids – and what’s best is the world.
Each one deserves the entire world and Bellamy won’t settle for any less.
Miller slips out of the kitchen and opens the hatch; the aroma of the Bolognese immediately floating into the dining room. Near his side, Zoe Monroe – fiery hair in three even braids (made by his own hands) – tugs on his sleeve.
“Will you sit next to me, today?” she asks. Zoe is eight, and has been here since the very beginning. The first day he opened the orphanage – the only other one in Ark shutting down – she was delivered to the doorstep by a social worker. Of course, there were actually nine of them on that day, but the other eight have all been adopted.
Bellamy smiles down at her, nodding.
“Course, Zo,” he replies. She pouts.
“Monroe,” Zoe corrects. “I want to be called by my last name.”
“And why’s that?” Bellamy crouches down to her height.
“Miller does it,” she says, nodding to his best friend by the kitchen. “I want to be like him when I grow up.” Bellamy smiles, nodding.
“He’s a good person to be like,” Bellamy agrees. “Alright, Monroe-“ she smiles a little brighter. “Go sit down and I’ll be there in a minute.” Monroe skips off over to her seat, purposefully spreading out to save him a space. The thing about Monroe is that she doesn’t seem to want to be adopted – she doesn’t want to live somewhere new, with a different family. Over the five years Blake Orphan Home has been around, she’s had almost forty parents meet with her, all of which have found her to be too much to handle, or just liked the next kid along a little better.
Bellamy knows better than anyone that it’s a cruel world for orphaned kids, and he stands up straighter, looking across the ones that he cares for. They’re his kids, and he only wants what’s best.
“Alright, is everyone here?” The room quietens down, and Monty pokes his head through the hatch to listen in. “Speak if you’re not here.” It’s an old joke but it still gets a few giggles out of the younger ones.
Bellamy shoots a look at Octavia, who’s counting the heads. She gives him a thumbs up when she reaches twenty one – twenty two including herself.
“Alright, we’re going to say thanks before we eat,” Bellamy says, like he does every day. It’s never been a religious thing, just a being grateful one. “So, if we can all be silent, and be thankful that we’re all alive, we’re all healthy, we have some fantastic food on the table and a roof above our heads. We may not have everything, but we have enough, and what we have is good.”
They’re quiet for a moment before he claps his hands. “Alright, let’s eat.”
The food’s passed out and Monty, Miller and Bellamy seat themselves at the tables. Bellamy has Monroe on his left, as promised, and he helps her with her spaghetti – because she’s always been terrible at twirling it around her fork. Opposite him, Sterling takes three attempts to tell a why did the chicken cross the road joke, but he makes it through and Bellamy laughs, telling him that it was great.
It’s dark outside by the time they finish dinner, and the light from the street lamps shines through the windows. The kids help passing plates into the kitchen, and Bellamy calls up the two Johns – Murphy and Mbege – to help clean up, because it’s their turn. The boys grumble all the way into the kitchen, but when he walks in after clearing up the rest of the table, he finds them laughing as they flick water at each other.
“Remember,” Miller says as he packs his bag for the night. Next to him, Monty pulls on his coat. “The new social worker is coming in at nine tomorrow. The files are all on your desk-“
“I will offer them a drink and be nice,” Bellamy responds. “Don’t worry, anyone is better than Cage.” Monty smiles.
“When they called to confirm the time, I asked if we had anyone like him,” he says. Bellamy quirks an eyebrow. “They said that the woman they’re sending is practically the opposite – apparently we lucked out.”
“We better hope so,” Bellamy agrees. “Cage tried to shut this place down.”
“But he didn’t,” Miller says mildly. He pulls on his jacket as he talks . “We’re still standing and the kids have a home. We’ll see you at breakfast.” They say their goodbyes and Bellamy watches as they walk out, swinging their joined hands between them. After a moment, he moves through the house, checking on and talking to the different kids, asking about their day at school and trying to get in some one-on-one time with each of them.
At seven, Bellamy does the first round, getting the littlest of the bunch and sending them to bed. He does the same at eight and eight thirty, too.
“Bell,” Harper whispers into the dark, twelve and the only one awake in her room. Bellamy stops by the door, the room almost black save for the dim lamp in the corner, glowing pink, and looks back.
“Yeah?” Harper’s silent for a moment and Bellamy makes his way over. Each room has two bunk beds and Harper’s on the lower one on the left hand side. He sits on the edge of her bed, and she wriggles her hand into his grasp.
“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?” She asks, her voice tiny. Bellamy smiles sympathetically.
“You do, I’m afraid.” Harper frowns. “I didn’t like school either, Harp, but we all have to go.”
“Will you walk me tomorrow, then?” Bellamy pauses, studying the girl’s face in the dark. He can make out the whites of her eyes and her mousy brown hair, splayed across the pillow. He has the meeting with the social worker at nine, and Bellamy usually sends the younger ones with the older ones to school. The kids are spread out across four different schools in total, and he or Octavia walks to at least the youngest infant school, before he has to go back and start on the paper work and clean the house. Right now, only Octavia and Harper are in secondary school, and they go to two separate schools. Even so, they tend to walk the primary school-age kids to their school without him.
Even though he has a meeting, and he knows Harper can go on her own, Bellamy nods. In the dark, he can see her relax.
“Of course, Harp,” he whispers. “But I can’t if you don’t get some sleep first.” Harper nods and Bellamy tucks her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead which she promptly wipes off with the back of her hand.
“Night, Bell.”
“Night, Harper.”
Downstairs, Octavia lounges across the sofa, and Bellamy flops down next to her.
“Everything alright?” she asks. He nods even though he’s exhausted. Sometimes, it feels like he hasn’t slept in five years.
“Yeah, yeah it’s all good,” he replies. Octavia smiles like she knows he’s tired even in his bones. She shifts so she’s leaning on him, her arm curling around his torso.
“You’re the best big brother there ever was,” she tells him. It feels like a victory.
-
Mornings are always a rush. They have twenty five people under a single roof, rushing around to make sure everyone is fed, in the correct uniform, and clean by eight o’clock, and it is probably one of the most difficult parts about running the orphanage.
Like every day, at least seven of them want a shower, and the others are banging down the doors, wanting to brush their teeth. Murphy’s probably thrown some food on the floor, which Monty will either clean up or place a chair over with a ‘do not move’ sign, so no one slips on it. Miller and Monty will have lined up the cereal and the bowls – toast is for the weekend, and no one wants to spare three loaves of bread each morning.
Octavia isn’t much help, either, because she’s still in school and is probably rushing homework due in first lesson, at the breakfast table, spooning cereal into her mouth and scribbling across her worksheet. Bellamy has been up since six AM, because there are a lot of early risers – mainly the girls – and he’s already braided so much hair that, like every morning, he never wants to see another strand of it again.
But, like nine out of ten mornings, everyone is ready to go at the right time. They check each one for homework, school books and their water bottles. Every child without fail has free school meals, and it’s one less thing for them to worry about in the morning.
“Is anyone ready to go yet?” Bellamy calls out. The sound of the thunder is heard as children run down the stairs, bags on their backs and shoes on their feet. Octavia is standing with her hair loose about her shoulders, waiting for a group. He sends her a glance and she straightens, pushing herself away from the wall.
“Where’s my group of warriors?” Octavia asks. Various children raise their hands and Octavia nods. She counts them up, and calls out “I’m missing a warrior?”
“Coming!” Roma runs out from the bathroom and Octavia grins, feral but sweet – which Bellamy didn’t know was possible.
“We’re ready to go then.” She leads them out the door, after pressing a kiss to Bellamy’s cheek. A little hoard of children follow her in their wake, all going to the primary school a few roads away. Monroe, in particular, quickly hugs his leg before rushing out the door. She’ll drop them off there before meeting her own friends and heading up to her school. Bellamy counts up the rest.
“All good?” he asks. He sees a few nods, and ushers them out the door. Miller dries his hands on a tea towel, seeing them off.
“Make sure you’re back in time for the meeting,” he says as a goodbye. Bellamy smiles, saluting his friend.
“Of course, Sargent Miller.” His best friend scrunches up his nose unappreciatively.
“That’s my Dad,” is all he says.
Bellamy drops off the majority of his group at the infant school, and they all insist on giving him a hug before running off in the playground. He says a quick hello to the teacher in charge – who’ll be watching his kids because he can’t stay to do so.
“Let’s get you to school,” he says to Harper, the only one he has left, nodding her back to the road.
They walk to school in silence for the first few minutes, before he starts up a conversation. Bellamy’s pretty sure that Harper won’t tell him what’s wrong if he asks, so he ducks around the topic and asks about individual subjects, about her friends, about her workload. Harper’s in her first year of secondary school, at twelve, and she talks quite openly about how she doesn’t like the amount of homework, or certain teachers.
When they reach the school gates, they slow to a halt. “Have a good day,” he tells her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leans into the hug and they stay there for a moment, before she pulls back, looking at the ground. “Whatever it is, Harp, you’re strong, and you’ll make it through, I promise.” Harper nods and he smiles at her. “If you need to talk about it, I’m always listening, okay?”
“Thanks, Bell,” she says. “I’ll see you when I get home.” Harper turns and walks past the gates, mounting the steps up to the school. Bellamy watches until she’s out of sight, in the building, before turning and walking home. He tries to walk quickly but – he has twenty minutes until the new social worker will arrive, and he’s a good forty minute walk away. Bellamy hopes they’re late, too.
-
Clarke Griffin is not late. Clarke Griffin turns up twenty minutes early and has spent forty minutes being entertained by Monty, because Monty Green is a people person and Nathan Miller is not.
Bellamy rushes into the house, letting the door swing shut behind him. To his right is the dining room; two large tables with the benches tucked underneath, and a woman nursing a mug of a dark drink. Her hair is up in a neat bun, and her clothes look expensive and well-kept. At the sound of the door, she turns and Bellamy is met with shining blue eyes. He smiles apologetically at the two of them.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, moving over to the table and sitting opposite the woman. “Ark Academy is further than I’d accounted for.”
“Isn’t that the secondary school?” The woman asks and Bellamy nods. “Can’t your kids walk themselves to school if they’re that age?” Bellamy heats up a little inside, but he lets the comment pass because she’s right, and she doesn’t know that he would do literally anything for his kids, including walk them to a school they’re perfectly capable of getting to themselves.
“Yeah, but Harper insisted,” he replies. Bellamy shoots a look to Monty. “If she talks to you about anything, can you let me know?” Monty nods.
“Is she having trouble?”
“I think so. She won’t say anything but – but I think so.”
“I’ll let Miller know,” Monty replies. “It was nice talking to you, Clarke,” he says to the woman.
“You too, Monty.” The woman – Clarke – turns her eyes to Bellamy when the kitchen door swings shut. “I haven’t introduced myself,” she says, very formal. “I’m Clarke Griffin; I’ll be your new social worker for the Blake Orphan Home.” She shakes his hand across the table, and Bellamy notices how soft her skin is. It’s not like he purposely notices, but, well, he does.
“Bellamy Blake,” he says in response.
“Right, let’s cover the formalities first, Mr. Blake.”
“Call me Bellamy, Ms Griffin.”
“Clarke,” she corrects, smiling politely. Clarke spreads out her folders in front of her – each of them colour coded along the sides, and when she opens them, highlighted neatly. “So your last worker was Cage Wallace, and I see you made various complaints about him.” Bellamy nods. “If you don’t mind my asking, what were those about?” Bellamy rubs the back of his neck.
“He didn’t care about the kids, really,” he replies. “He was a royal jerk-off, too, but he literally couldn’t care less about whether the kids were happy or not, and well, that’s a priority for me.” Clarke nods, scribbling something in the margin of the page, which is surprising for two reasons:
- Because everything looks exceptionally tidy, as if she would have a heart attack if there were writing in the margins. And,
- Because her hand writing is downright appalling.
“And how many kids do you have in your care?” Clarke flips the page over, to another form. She’s very precise in her movements.
“Officially, twenty two,” Bellamy answers. “But twenty one regarding orphans without families.” It almost pains him to say ‘without families’, because Bellamy spends so much time making the home into a family for his kids. Clarke probably doesn’t notice as she notes this down.
“What about the twenty second?” She questions, and Bellamy notes actual curiosity alight in her eyes.
“She’s my sister,” he says. “I’m her legal guardian.”
“And she’s under eighteen?” Bellamy nods.
“Is that important though?” Clarke pauses.
“Just for the records,” she replies. “Though I’m sure you have some of those?” Bellamy nods, moving to get up.
“They’re in the office, I’ll bring them out.”
-
Bellamy isn’t really sure what he thinks about Clarke Griffin. She’s neat, put together, like she doesn’t get her hands dirty or even know what it’s like to take care of a child. Occasionally, throughout the two hours they spend together, he tries to pry some information about her out, because he’s nosy and she’s also pretty attractive to look at. But she notices each time and switches the subject. All he gets out of her is that her mother is a doctor, when she’s able to tell him the definition of complex allergy that Sterling has before he can say it.
At the end of the meeting, she smiles, closing her folders. “I think that’s about it,” she says. “Of course, I’d like to come back, have meetings with each child – I’ll need to get to know them, too, during this process. But I’m confident we can find them all good homes.”
He likes her confidence, but he doesn’t like the way it sounds just like a job to her – not like it’s something she’s going to put her heart and soul into.
He’s probably being too picky about it, but Bellamy can’t help but want the best possible social worker for his kids. He can’t help but be overly protective.
Clarke Griffin leaves and promises to be back on Saturday, to meet each of the kids and form her own files on them, even though she has copies of the ones Bellamy’s been keeping.
He tidies the things away and finds Miller and Monty in the kitchen. Miller is lining up cans and vegetables for tonight’s dinner and Monty is cleaning the hob of the cooker.
“So?” Miller asks. Bellamy places Clarke’s mug in the sink and leans against the counter.
“I’m not sure about her,” he replies.
“She’s lovely,” Monty tells him.
“I’m sure she is, but she’s really stiff and formal about it all.” Monty rolls his eyes and Miller smiles to himself.
“It’s her first day,” his best friend replies. “Give her some time. I know she’s not going to match up to your sheer amount of love for the kids – no one can do that, but you’ve got to let her try.” Bellamy nods slowly, letting out a sigh.
“What now?” Monty asks, spraying the metal and scrubbing harder at a stubborn piece of burnt food.
“She’s really cute, though,” Bellamy says. Miller laughs and Bellamy excuses himself to go tidy the living room.