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Prom Princess
"Light, insubstantial, and fluffy, Prom Princess is the standard cookie-cutter Disney fair, pulled slightly above average by the valiant efforts of the leads, newcomers Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin. Both fresh faces show promise, but are unable to distract from the tedious script."
* *
Bellamy makes a mental note never again to accept a role for money if the script is shitty. He knows he's still waiting for his big break and all, but taking the crappy DCOM lead means that he is being forced, at 23 years old, to relive prom, except without his hip flask to make things more fun. Also, this fake rain is really fucking annoying.
"I'm sorry, Sam," he says, shooting the camera with the brooding boyband look the Disney bosses love, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Sam, or, as the actress is really named, Clarke, balls her hands into fists, impeccable waterproof mascara unsmudged by the fake rain. "Sorry isn't good enough, Damon."
Bellamy winces inwardly. Why the hell did they pick such stupid character names? "I know," he says, "but maybe this is." He pulls a corsage from his back pocket. "I should have given this to you a long time ago."
Sam/Clarke stares at the corsage in disbelief. "You kept it?"
"I couldn't let my princess go without her flowers."
Sam/Clarke does one of those oh-so-Disney heroine poses where she tosses her head to the side, looking soulful.
"So," he says, all-too aware of the fake rain plastering his hair to his forehead, "am I forgiven?"
Sam/Clarke spins around and pecks him on the lips. It really is that anticlimactic. Clarke's lips are soft and warm and whatever, but it's a fucking DCOM, so beyond holding their lips together and twining hands at their sides, there's not much they can do.
"Cut!," calls Dante Wallace from the director's chair. Bellamy and Clarke spring apart instantly, both making a show of wiping their lips off and sputtering. Dante sighs. "Could you two act like professionals for one day?" he begs, "one?"
"I don't know, Dante, I'm not sure Princess understands what a profession is."
Clarke rolls her eyes. "You know, for someone who claims to be so superior to the quality of Disney Channel scripts, you sure love using a nickname stolen from one."
Bellamy snorts. "Please. Your daddy's the studio executive, the King of Disney, and you're his daughter. Princess seems pretty appropriate."
Only the arrival of Jasper and Monty, each PA bearing coffee, shuts them up. Jasper has been a perk of this Disney job, Bellamy has to admit, though it's ironic that his and Clarke's assistants seem to be as thick as thieves when he and Clarke can't spend two seconds out of character without trying to wring each other's necks. Bellamy looks forward to this whole thing being over. He'll probably fade back into obscurity, Clarke will land the lead in a Disney sitcom and eventually go off the rails when she develops a crack habit, this film will piss off parents when it keeps showing up in reruns, Octavia will mercilessly tease him about it. In a few years, he and Clarke might show up in one of those "Where Are they Now?" Buzzfeed articles. At least he gets a pay check out of this.
Of course, the film becomes a sleeper hit, and gains a dedicated cult following. He and Clarke have to go on a post-release press tour, and it even gets a concert event at Disneyland. Bellamy can't think why- it was a bit shitty to be honest.
Chance Encounters
"This sweet, sensibly handled, and honestly funny indie flick is a promising debut from director Wells Jaha, if a little dependent on expository dialogue and contrived plot devices. Former Disney channel co-stars Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin reunite to bring a refreshingly natural chemistry to the screen."
* * * and 1/2
Wells is a fan of practical effects, which means they literally have to wait for the clouds to burst before shooting begins. It's a chilly rain too, the kind that seeps through to your bones.
"So," Clarke says, trying not to let the cold break her character, "are we really doing this?"
Bellamy rakes a hand through his damp hair- it's the chosen physical trait he's decided to attribute to this character. "I guess," he says, "I don't kiss a lot of strangers."
They play up the comedy of the scene, deliberately bumping into each other or shuffling awkwardly before their lips meet and their mouths open. Clarke has to fight not to snuggle into his arms- he may be the biggest prick on the planet, but hey, at least he's warm. They pull away.
"Was that..."
"It was nice," she says, "should we...." They go again, for longer this time.
"And CUT!" Wells really likes his megaphone. Gratefully, Clarke pulls away and grabs a towel from Monty. She doesn't want to rely on Bellamy Blake of all people for warmth. Bellamy shakes his head vigorously, droplets of water spattering her.
"Jesus, Blake, are you a dog?"
"Only in bed, Princess."
She groans. "You're repulsive. And stop splattering me!"
He laughs. "What, is the water bothering you? Because in case you hadn't noticed, the stuff is falling from the sky."
Clarke doesn't dignify that with a response. She curses Wells inwardly- she took the role partly because she hasn't had a good part for months, and partly to help Wells make his directorial ambitions come true. Clarke noted grimly that she had not been expecting her friendship to cover working with Bellamy again, but he had shown up at the chemistry read, as surprised to see her as she was to see him, and here they all were.
The good news was, the shooting time was short- with Wells's tight budget constraints, it had to be. The bad news was, the promotional tour was long. Wells was taking the film to a bunch of film festivals, hoping to establish himself on the indie critic scene. Of course, this meant Bellamy and Clarke were forced to give several interviews and speak on a bunch of panels together.
"I'm not asking for the next Kate and Leo," begged Wells, "but if you could at least pretend to tolerate each other, that would be great- take a leaf out of Jasper and Monty's book!" The PAs had waved cheerfully from the distance.
So that's how Clarke winds up sitting next to Bellamy on a couch, trying simultaneously to lean as far away from his as possible and look as though they were amicable.
"So guys," says the interviewer, a young guy with blue hair and a Wes Anderson t-shirt, "what was it like working together after Disney?"
Clarke and Bellamy made a big show of looking at each other and laughing. It was all very Hunger Games-esque.
"Oh it was awful," Clarke said, "we can't stand each other!" She and Bellamy both laughed, but didn't make eye-contact.
"Obviously this was a lot different than the Disney work," added Bellamy, "a bit less fairytale." He grinned slyly. "Though of course Clarke is still our princess off screen."
God, she was going to kill Wells.
Wuthering Heights
"In what is perhaps the most faithful adaptation ever made of Emily Brontë's celebrated Gothic novel, Bellamy Blake plays the most compelling Heathcliff yet seen, powerfully emotive, subtle and nuanced. No less impressive is the performance of Clarke Griffin as Catherine Earnshaw, equal parts seductive, reckless, dangerous, and vulnerable. Their scenes together are nothing short of electric- fear not, those who expressed concerns about American actors in such English roles- Blake and Griffin make the sexiest, most dangerous, and most compelling Heathcliff and Cathy couple yet."
* * * * *
"My God, you've been with him!" Bellamy's eyes flash, and mentally he applauds himself. His Yorkshire accent is on point.
"I'm sorry, Heathcliff, he's my husband!"
"And who's fault is that?" Bellamy is dimly aware of the fact that his white linen shirt is becoming transparent in the rain.
Clarke looks desperate, grabbing his face. "You left me!" she cries, "you left me alone with these people!"
"Would you have had me, if I'd stayed?" he spits, "would you have chosen me? I thought I wasn't good enough for you!" His face is very close to Clarke's their breaths are mingling.
"Good enough? You are me, Heathcliff, you are me! We are the same!"
They crash together at the same time, like waves breaking. Heathcliff and Cathy are destructive, and Bellamy knows it, so he turns this into a battle with Clarke's mouth. A battle, he might add, that she fights as fiercely as he does. He may not like her, but she's good at this, he has to admit. They pull apart- not far apart- and they're still holding each other's faces. "I will possess you," he says, as low and husky and Heathcliff-like as he can manage in the Yorkshire accent.
"And I you," she replies.
"Cut!" Kane jumps up from his chair. "Excellent, you two!" He is clapping, delighted. "Excellent!"
They both nod their thanks. Kane turns to re-examine the footage, muttering with his AD, Sinclair
"Ouch," mutters Clarke, indignantly. Bellamy smirks- her lips are swollen.
"Sorry, Princess, I should have gone eathy on you."
She scoffs. "Eathy? You've got a lisp after that, Blake!"
She's right. Crap.
---
The wrap party for Wuthering Heights is the biggest one Bellamy's ever been to. There's a photo-booth into which Kane unceremoniously bundles him and Clarke, insisting somewhat tipsily that they make some memories because they surely can't still loathe each other after three films. There are champagne flutes and a professional DJ. Monty is talking to Miller the cameraman; Jasper is dancing with Maya, one of the make-up artists; and everyone seems to be having a generally great time.
"Hey big brother!"
Bellamy turns around, smiling as he sees Octavia make her way towards him. "O! When did you get here?"
She hugs him tightly. "Just now- Lincoln's around somewhere." She pauses to take a glass of wine from one of the waiters, takes a long sip, and then turns back to Bellamy. "So," she says, "when am I going to meet this awful co-star of yours?"
"Oh, Clarke? I don't know, she's here, I guess."
Octavia sighs. "What's so bad about her anyway?"
"She's an entitled princess that got into show business because her parents have half of Hollywood around their fingers."
"Talking about me, I assume?" Sure enough, Clarke materialises next to Octavia, eyebrow raised. She doesn't look offended, but Bellamy feels a pang of guilt for talking behind her back anyways.
What he says is: "Of course, Princess."
He wants to let the conversation end there, but, well, Octavia happens.
"So you're Clarke," she says, beaming, "I'm Octavia- the better Blake."
Clarke shakes her hand, laughing. "That's not hard to believe."
"I've heard a lot about you," Octavia says."
Clarke winces. "Ah. Well, I promise I'm much better than he-" she cocks her head at Bellamy- makes me sound."
Octavia throws her head back and laughs. "Trust me- the fact that you can put up with him attests to that already."
"Okay, I'm leaving now," mutters Bellamy, somewhat sulkily.
---
Octavia catches up with him again later.
"You done fraternising with enemy?" he asks jokingly. Mostly jokingly.
She grins at him. "Tell me again how much you hate her?"
He stares at her. "She's the worst! We've already established that she's a complete Princess and-"
Octavia just slings an arm around him. "Okay, big brother."
"What? What?"
Tristan & Isolde
"Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin again prove that they are one of the most formidable pairings on screen today, their chemistry- as electric as ever- drives this tale of passion, betrayal, and star-crossed lovers. Despite some issues with pacing and oddly choreographed fight scenes, sterling performances from the supporting cast, and the scenes between the two leads, make this mythological epic hugely entertaining."
* * * *
The only thing that makes the discomfort caused by her stupid bodice bearable is the fact that Clarke knows Bellamy loathes his tight leather trousers as much as she hates her outfit. They're very tight leather trousers. Which are probably getting stickier with all this rain and sea spray. Stop thinking about the leather trousers, Clarke.
"Why did you leave the banquet hall, Tristan? Mark is worried about you."
"Mark," he chokes bitterly, "has nothing to fear. I'm making sure of that."
Clarke steps closer to him, close enough to see the raindrops escaping his curls and running in rivulets down his neck, though she still hangs on to the balcony railing as though she's chaining herself to it. "Have I angered you, Tristan? Is that what this is?"
Bellamy stands rigid, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched. He looks down at her. "I'm not angry," he says through gritted teeth, "just go back to the hall.." He pauses a moment before finishing bitterly, "go back to Mark."
Her eyes glitter. "Are you jealous? Are you, Tristan? Because you said we must do this, you said I must marry him!"
"Of course I did!" he explodes, bursting with it, "of course I said you must! I had to do what was right."
"And is this it, Tristan, is this what is right?" she spits, "both of us living a lie?"
"It is my duty, Isolde," he sounds anguished, "and I have always, always performed my duty! My duty is to Mark, to my king! It's always been so simple, it has never been a choice for me, doing what I must, until..."
"Until what, Tristan?" she stares at him, lips parted, brow furrowed.
They look at each other for a long moment, the roar of the moonlit ocean in the background, the inexorable pounding of the rain all around them, and then they lunge at each other. Clarke almost falls over, but Bellamy steadies her, catching her shoulders and pulling her to him the same time as she leans up. Their mouths move in a dance, and with a dull flicker of horror- and something else besides- Clarke realizes how familiar he is to her. She knows where his hands will move, how he will tilt his head, how he'll grasp the back of her neck...
"Hold it.... good, hold it... and.... cut!" Anya claps her hands together once sharply as Clarke and Bellamy break apart. "Okay, why don't we take ten everyone! "
"Very impressive, sweetheart," says Finn coming up and throwing an arm around her shoulders. He glances at Bellamy. "She's good, isn't she?"
Bellamy grunts something noncommittal in response and wanders off to find Jasper and coffee. Clarke watches him go.
"So is he always that friendly or was he making a special effort just for me?"
Clarke rolls her eyes at her boyfriend. "Believe it or not, not everyone on Earth adores you."
Finn grins. "But you do. So if that's how you make out someone you hate, can we see how it goes with me?"
"You already know how it goes, we've done it before."
"I might need my memory refreshed."
---
Having Finn visit the set is fun. They've only been together a couple of months, but Clarke likes him, and she doesn't get to see him a lot otherwise, so she's pleased when he decides to come to set. He watches her shoot scenes, teases her between takes, hangs out during her breaks. Right now, she's sitting on his lap, outside her trailer. She runs her fingers through his hair, he presses his mouth to her cheek, her neck, her-
"Finn?"
They break apart to see who spoke. A girl who Clarke recognizes as one of the sound crew is staring at them, shellshocked.
"Raven?" Finn scramble stop his feet from under Clarke, "I- I didn't know you were working on this set..."
"And if you had, you wouldn't have cheated on me? Gee, Finn, that's really sweet, let me go write you a thank you card."
Realisation dawns on Clarke, a gut-wrenching, stomach-churning realisation. "Cheated on you?" she rounds on Finn, "what the hell is going on, Collins?"
"Look, I can explain Clarke, I just..."
Raven spins on her heel and storms off.
"Raven!" Finn moves to go after her, but then stops, remembering Clarke.
She shakes her head, half-disbelieving. "Just go, Finn."
---
She doesn't realise where she's going until she's knocking on door, rocking on the balls of her feet.
Bellamy appears in the trailer doorway. He raises an eyebrow when he sees her, but something in her expression stops hims from making a snide remark.
"Are you busy?" Clarke asks him.
He glances down at his hand- he's holding a beat-up copy of The Aeneid- but he shakes his head. "Can I help you?"
She hadn't originally planned on providing an explanation, but she suddenly feels the need to, so in a single shaky breath, she pours out the tale of the messy end of her relationship to Bellamy Blake, of all people.
"So basically the asshole's looking for me all over set, and I can't get rid of him; I know you probably have no interest in helping me, but I know this is the last place he'd think to look for me, so I just wondered if I could-"
He cuts her off with a roll of his eyes. "Jesus, just come inside, Princess!"
She may be imagining it, but perhaps she detects some genuine concern in his voice.
Heroes of Olympus III: The Mark of Athena
"The third installment of the adaptations of Rick Riordan's hugely popular fantasy book series is notable mainly for finally reuniting demigod power couple Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase- brought to life by a power couple of a different kind, actors Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin, who are quickly becoming a modern day duo of the Burton & Taylor, or Astaire & Rogers variety. Although the film suffers from many of the same clichés and contrivances as its predecessors, better plot, better action sequences, more compelling characterisation, and, of course, the scenes shared by Blake and Griffin make for the most entertaining Heroes of Olympus film yet."
* * *
He didn't really know what to expect, working with Clarke again. It's been a while- they signed on for this series at the same time, but he hadn't been in the first film, and she hadn't been in the sequel. He's sure it's just the excitement of the fans for the big "Percabeth" reunion that's made him- not excited- but...anticipatory about working with her again. Look, he'd just kind of gotten used to her, okay? It wasn't like there hadn't been other co-stars since Tristan and Isolde, there had been several. And contrary to popular belief, he didn't only work with Clarke Griffin. It's not like he would choose to anyway! He'd worked with Echo Grey, Gina Martin, Zoë Monroe, heck, even a buddy cop movie (featuring intense homoerotic subtext, if he was being honest) with John Murphy. There had been plenty of other co-stars. The thing, Bellamy had realised, was that his working with Clarke was an event. Not for him, obviously not, no way. No, for the audiences. People anticipated their films, they compared them to other frequent co-stars, they... they shipped them.
Yeah, the shipping had been an new development that Octavia had made him aware of. It started as fairly benign stuff- gifsets of him an Clarke in all their different roles, sporadic speculations that there might be an off-screen reason for their on-screen chemistry and whatnot, but a little after they'd done Wuthering Heights, it had all snowballed. First, they got a ship name ("I can't believe I'm sister to one half of Bellarke," Octavia had informed him delightedly). Then, people started tweeting them daily, asking if they were dating, or else telling them they should be. Random publicity photos or clips from interviews and press junkets would circulate on tumblr with long, almost disturbingly detailed analyses of body language and microscopic gestures, explaining how Bellamy brushing a stray curl from his forehead proved that Clarke was pregnant with his child and suchlike. It's all a bit mad, and it certainly means Bellamy's more aware of just how inseparable he and Clarke have become in the eyes of the public.
"It's annoying," he'd complained to Octavia once, "it's like we're a single entity! I mean, am I only worth anything as half of a duo? Is the Princess responsible for my career? Is that it?"
His sister had given him one of those looks that said, you're ridiculous and need to stop. "Of course you're talented, big brother, you wouldn't get cast if you weren't. Same goes for Clarke. But being frequent collaborators isn't a bad thing. It just means you're better together."
He hadn't really had an answer for that.
So here Bellamy stands, on set, ready to film the big "Percabeth" (what was it with the internet and these ship names?) reunion scene. He's standing one one side of a field with a bunch of extras and a couple of supporting actors playing the Romans of Camp Jupiter; Clarke's on the other side with the other main actors. The rain machine is going. It wasn't raining in this scene in the book- Bellamy should know, he's read it like 5 times. It's Greek mythology in the modern day, of course he has- but apparently part of this whole "Bellarke" thing is a rain fetish.
"Greetings, visitors," says Lexa Woods, the actress playing the Roman commander Reyna, "welcome to Camp Jupiter."
"Thank you," answers Clarke, "we are grateful for your hospitality."
"I trust you won't mind leaving your weapons by your ship," says Lexa.
Clarke hesitates before saying, "of course." She glances at him, her eyes widen and he sees her swallow.
And that's when Bellamy makes the biggest mistake of his acting career, something he's never ever ever done before. He breaks character. It's stupid, really, really stupid, because he knows she's acting, that's what they do. But when he sees her look at him like that, like she's a blind person seeing colour for the first time, he can't help it- he smiles at her. Not just smiles, he beams, beams like the fucking sun, like she's every wish he's ever made come true in front of him. And, okay, it's not the biggest disaster in the world, it's not like anyone notices, because that's what he'd have had to do anyway, smile at her as part of the moment their characters have. To everyone else, it probably just looks like really good acting. Bellamy knows it's not, he knows it's not Percy smiling at Annabeth; it's him smiling at Clarke. Fucking. Griffin. He doesn't know why he's doing it- they don't even like each other!- but he does know it's dumb.
Somehow, he manages to keep his composure and continue the scene. He and Clarke surge forward at the same time, she's hurtling towards him like a comet, and they collide in the middle of the field (which, by the way, is really bloody dangerous in the rain, this fetish is a damn health hazard).
He pulls back, holding her face in his hands and studying her like she's a miracle. "Gods," he says, "I never thought-"
Oh crap, he forgot about this next bit. Clarke grabs his wrist and flips him over her shoulder (it's a bit of choreography they've practiced a million times, but he still doesn't enjoy it. Plus, the damn rain's still making everything more perilous.)
The extras all move forward, some of them clutching swords. "Hold!" says Lexa, sounding appropriately commander-esque, "stand down!"
Clarke puts her knee on his chest and presses her arm to his throat. Okay, she's definitely having too much fun with this.
She leans over slightly so that the ends of her blonde curtain of hair tickle his cheeks. "If you ever leave me again" she says hoarsely, "I swear to all the Gods-"
Bellamy laughs. "Consider me warned," he says, "I missed you too."
He's definitely back in character now, right? Definitely.
---
The promotional tour for Mark of Athena is the longest one yet. He has to fly around the world, visiting malls and cinemas and conventions, giving interviews and talking on panels every day. It might have been fun in moderation. Maybe. But after about a week of it, Bellamy feels somewhat dead inside. There's so much smiling, and forced laughing, and socializing. Clarke is with him the whole way through, and they are repeatedly forced to play a series of increasingly annoying "how well do you know your co-star?" type games.
"What is Clarke's favourite Disney movie?" asks the too-perky host.
Bellamy pretends to think about it but it doesn't take him more than a second to scrawl Mulan on his whiteboard.
"Reveal your answers!" says the host. Of course, they both have the same thing written. "Wow, guys, three-for-three! Clarke, what was Bellamy's first pet's name?"
Both of them have "Cerberus" written on their boards.
"Oh my gosh, you guys are so good at this!"
"Yes, we're very in sync," says Clarke, giving what Clarke calls her "work laugh." They exchange what looks to the cameras like a companionable smile, but Bellamy recognizes it as the strained look that roughly translates to I wish I was anywhere else and I acknowledge that you, too, wish you were anywhere else, so let's just get through this even though people are awful and I hate them, god, why does everyone suck? It's a sympathetic expression they've been throwing at each other a lot this trip.
"Jesus," Clarke exhales as they pile into their taxi, closing her eyes and massaging her temples, "is it just me or was she more annoying than the hosts usually are?"
Bellamy shakes his head. "Nope, definitely more annoying. Plus, there was something disturbing about the amount of times she described Percy Jackson as hot given that he's seventeen and she was about thirty-five."
Clarke snorts. "I think she was talking about you buddy."
He feels a flush down the back of his neck, he has no idea why. "I'm still younger than her."
"And I'm younger than you, yet here we all are."
"Yeah, Princess, but I'm not that much older than you. Besides, when we make-out it's acting." Obviously, Bellamy, no need to point it out. "That interview would just have been straight-up cougaring."
"Occupational hazard, Blake."
---
They still have to do press circuits after the film releases. Well, they have to do one. They win the MTV Movie Award for Best Kiss, which is all kinds of mortifying, and horrifying, and he and Clarke spend the whole evening avoiding eye-contact because they'll either flush tomato red, or burst into peals of hysterical laughter, and Bellamy feels absolutely no pride in it whatsoever, okay, whatever outlandish claims Octavia makes.
The Dawn Chorus
"Hollywood's favourite couple, Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin, reunite in this stunning World War II drama as Matthew Bainbridge, a brooding newcomer to London, and Elizabeth Farrow, the sunny girl-next-door with whom he falls in love. The film follows the young couple's struggled to find their way back to each other as Matthew is drafted, and the world is torn apart by war. Nuanced direction, sensitive script, and, of course, sterling performances, make this film sumptuous and devastating in equal measure."
* * * * and 1/2
Clarke really needs not to be here right now. Well, not being here would actually be a lot worse, because then she'd have to think, and thinking would make everything worse. But she wishes that they were shooting something that didn't involve an infirmary, or a bunch of dead bodies.
"Is it...is it really you?" Bellamy's reaches hesitantly towards her with his right hand- his left is in a sling across his chest, because Matthew got shot in his left shoulder.
"M-Matthew?" her voice is a whisper as she stands up, turning away from the extra whose wound she was pretending to mend. The fake rain is soaking her nurse costume, making it heavy and unwieldy.
"It's you," he says, moving closer to her as though he can't believe she's real, "my God, Lizzie, it's really you!"
"You've come back to me," Clarke hears her voice crack, and not because she's acting.
"I told you I would," he says, "I promised."
She can't stop a ragged sob from escaping her lips then. She hadn't cried when they'd practiced this scene, but she hadn't known....anyway, Bellamy takes it in his stride, tilting his head down to press his forehead to hers, catching her tear with the corner of his mouth, before she tilts her mouth up to meet his. She lets herself take comfort in the contact, though she knows it's not real, to feel the warmth of his chest and the steadiness of his arms, anything to stop her from dissolving there and then.
"Okay... hold it... cut! That's a wrap for today, great job, nice touch with the crying, Clarke!" Raven looks proud as she leaves, and Clarke feels a burst of gladness that she found a friend in her, and it turned out, a stellar director. The gladness vanishes as quickly as it came, and suddenly, Clarke feels the sobs being ripped from her throat. She's shaking with them, and feels herself folding, the world tilting around her.
"Woah!" Bellamy steadies her, yanking his arm free of the sling so he can support her with both hands, managing to get her to the director's chair before she collapses.
He kneels in front of her, his eyes wide with worry. "Hey, uh... are you okay? Well, obviously you're not... I mean, is there-"
"S-s-sorry," she stammers, trying to compose herself.
"Hey, don't apologize," he says gently, and places his hand over her own.
She inhales judderingly. "It's just, my, uh- my dad died this morning."
His whole face changes. "Clarke... I'm so sorry."
She shuts her eyes tightly. "I wasn't even there, you know? He died and I wasn't even there."
"Can I- uh, if you're okay to talk about it... what happened?"
Clarke sets her jaw. "My mom was driving. She wasn't looking, it was late..." she starts sobbing again, her vision blurred with tears. Bellamy pulls her into a hug, and she buries her face in his chest and cries, cries into him."
"You know, my uh, my mom died when I was younger," she can feel his chest reverberate as he speaks, "so if you ever need someone to talk to about it..." he tails off.
She pulls away from him, managing to smile through her tears. "Thank you, Bellamy," she says.
He just pulls her back into a hug.
Break Point
"The feel-good film of the summer, released just in time for Wimbledon, Break Point ticks all the boxes of a good sports film, complete with fierce competition, formidable rivalries, exhilarating athleticism, and the power of teamwork. Aspiration, inspiration, and perspiration abound; so big-hearted is the film that in spite of the formulaic plot and predictable ending, you can't help but cheer for Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin as they star as a pair of determined young tennis players forced to put aside their rivalry and become reluctant mixed doubles partners."
* * * *
Bellamy knows it's stupid to actually tense up watching Clarke serve the ball- the actual footage in the movie will be the one filmed of their doubles- but it feels real. He crouches, spinning the racket in his hand. How stressful would this be for actual tennis players?
You got this, Clarke he thinks. Which, of course she does, it's in the script, but still.
She tosses the ball in the air, leans back, smacks it with her racket, and oh my god she actually hits an ace?!
They run at each other an hug, laughing breathlessly, he picks her up and spins her around in the air, the extras are cheering wildly; the fake rain starts pouring right on cue, and he leans up to press his mouth to hers in celebration.
"Cut!" cries Raven from her chair, where the umpire's would be in an actual match.
And Bellamy doesn't break away. He stays that way- holding her off the ground, feeling as elated and buzzed and happy as though he'd actually won Wimbledon and snogged his pretty blonde doubles partner- for a full five seconds after Raven yells cut. And so does Clarke.
They do break away eventually, and he puts her down hurriedly, ruffling his hair with his hand, feeling himself flush.
"It was, uh, nice working with you?" he offers.
She laughs, and he's stupidly pleased to see she looks as dazed and confused and, dare he say it, happy, as he does. "Yeah," she says, grinning at him, pulling loose her ponytail and raking through the tangled hair with her fingers, "you too."
Clarke doesn't really know how she ended up here. Okay, well, she kind of knows, it's just it doesn't make very much sense.
---
She was having a fairly normal day. She was between shoots, so everything was pretty relaxed. She had woken up late, lazing in bed and stretching out. It was going to be one of her favourite kinds of days, she could see- it was overcast and chilly; the El Niño rains were here, and Los Angeles always looked different, when they came, more dramatic and imposing. It was raining heavily, water coming in sheets, and it was cold enough to wear a dressing gown and slippers, and curl up with her sketchbook and a cup of cappuccino. She'd FaceTimed Raven and Wells for a while- she was still smug that her two "favourite directorial nerds" had decided to get married- to discuss what kind of cake to have ("He wants fruit cake," said Raven, exasperated. Clarke had told him, very firmly, not to be an idiot). Jasper and Monty came over to hang out for a while too- she'd more-or-less adopted them as her younger brothers by now; then she watched an entire season of Friends. The episode after Chandler and Monica got married, Bellamy had texted. This wasn't totally unusual, though they didn't text a lot outside of shooting. Though given the amount of shooting the did together, that wasn't saying a lot.
Hey, he'd written, are you going to the #Wellven wedding?
She'd grinned at that- once they'd grown accustomed to the whole "Bellarke" thing, they'd insisted on assigning portmanteaus to all of the couples they knew.
Obvs, she'd texted back, there wouldn't be one w/out yours truly.
I repeat, the fact that you're a mutual acquaintance of theirs does NOT make you their match-maker.
Shut up, she'd replied, I'm still the best man AND the maid of honour.
Yeah, remind me how that works? came his response.
I carry the rings and the train.
Okay then- anyway, I just wanted to ask, are we supposed to bring a date?
Her stomach had done a funny flip-flopping thing at that. Idk she wrote back quickly, I guess you could ask Raven. And then she added ok, g2g, ttyl. She didn't normally use so many abbreviations, but she didn't feel like talking anymore.
She was not jealous of Bellamy Blake's hypothetical wedding date. That would be silly. She had no interest in being Bellamy's wedding date, or any other kind of date. She had zero desire to have anything beyond a professional relationship with him. Anything more than that would unfathomably, unutterably, unspeakably stupid. Dating co-stars was a horrible idea. Dating a co-star whom she worked with practically on an annual basis? That was possibly the worst idea since Hitler decided to invade Russia in winter. Even now, the public was obsessed with her and Bellamy Blake- they couldn't breathe without speculation that they were engaged in some secret relationship. Clarke did not want to date him, because if they were to date, they'd never get rid of the paparazzi, they'd be barraged with messages and harassment and disturbingly explicit fanart online, they'd be quizzed about their relationship wherever they went, they'd be under constant scrutiny, there would be so much pressure on them they'd grow to hate each other (again), they'd break up, they'd never work together again- there were a million such reasons Clarke did not want do date Bellamy Blake and nothing could-
You could kiss him off-camera said the voice in Clarke's head.
Shut up, said the other voice.
You could see him off-set, away from the press. You could see him here.
So what?
You know what. You could cuddle him.
Stop that.
You could see that stupid grin of his. You could hear that laugh. And his voice. You know you love the voice.
That's a low blow, evil Clarke.
His hair- think of his hair.
Shut up, shut up, shut up-
The internal conflict had continued until Clarke had snapped, rammed on her trainers, sprinted to the car still in her hoodie, and started driving at borderline dangerous speeds in the pouring rain.
---
And that's how she ended up here. And by "here" she means waiting on Bellamy's doorstep, screwing up the courage to ring the bell, looking, she's sure, like a bedraggled ferret as the rain makes her hair look something like a used mop. She really should have though this through- at least brought an umbrella- right now, her hoodie is exerting all its powers of water retention and now feels like a dead, wet sheep on her shoulders.
Carpe the fucking diem, Griffin, she thinks as she grits her teeth and more-or-less punches the bell. She's chattering, shivering, and, she's almost certain, turning blue.
"Wha- Clarke?" Bellamy opens the door looking...rumpled. That really is the best word for it- his brown curls are mussed up, his ratty Smithsonian t-shirt and flannel pajamas are creased, his stupid glasses are off-kilter on his stupid freckled nose, their stupid lenses fucking fogging up in the rain. He's still got a book in his hand, a dog-eared copy of Pompeii by Robert Harris. He looks like a big, soft, nerd, and Clarke wants to kill him for it. She didn't actually have a plan about what to do once she got here, but she can guarantee she'd probably have made a more objective decision had he not been blinking at her like a big adorable puppy caught in headlights.
"Damn it," she huffs.
He looks even more confused. "Are you okay, Clarke,"
"No," she rages, "no, I'm not okay. I'm just trying to live a sensible, objectively managed life, and you and your... your... your stupid freckles are ruining everything!"
Bellamy tugs his glasses off, wipes the lenses clean, and replaces them. He seems to have regained some of his composure, because he starts to speak more measuredly saying "look, Princess, I don't know wha-"
And then Clarke actually frikking loses it because it's raining and he's adorable and she's ever-so-slightly stupidly in love with him, and she cuts him off with a kiss. It's a soft, chaste thing, a peck on the lips, a question, but a kiss nonetheless.
She pulls back to look at him, and he looks dazed again, as though he's about to say something, and for a moment, Clarke worries she's made a mistake of gigantic proportions, but then he leans down again and kisses her, really kisses her this time, soft and demanding all at once. She feels his glasses bump her cheek, and his hands press against her back.
"I am so, so confused," he says when they break apart.
Clarke grins as she reaches up to pull off his glasses and winds her arms around his neck. "Allow me to clarify."
After a while, he pulls away again, a stupidly big grin on his face that makes her heart hurt. "So what is it with us and rain?" he asks, "does this-" he gestures with his hand, "still work when it's, y'know, dry?"
She pecks his lips again, and when she answers, she's smiling against his mouth. "I guess we'll just have to find out."
---
They FaceTime Raven and Wells again, from Bellamy's couch. She's wearing one of his t-shirts ("Jesus," she'd said when she was choosing one, "do you have one for every single Greek God?" Bellamy had pouted slightly. "No. Only for the twelve Olympians"), he was holding her as close to his side as he could manage.
"Surprise!" she said, waggling her fingers when "Wellven" picked up.
"We're in love!" announced Bellamy, sending a flurry of tingles down Clarke's spine.
Raven and Wells didn't respond for a minute, and then--
"Dammit guys," groaned Raven.
"Seriously," added Wells, "you couldn't have gotten there three months later?"
"Huh?"
"We owe Octavia fifty bucks now," Raven explained, "she bet you'd wake up and smell the roses now. We bet you'd realize after our wedding."
Bellamy scowls. "My sister was betting on this? Who am I kidding, of course she was."
"Hey, at least we did better than Jasper and Monty," continued Raven, "they gave you a year."
"Was anyone not betting on us getting together?" asks Clarke perplexed.
"Only you two," says Wells.
"We're going now," Raven smirks when she sees their faces, "be safe, lovebirds. And I am absolutely going to make hashtag Bellarke trend worldwide." The screen cuts to black.
Clarke leans back. "She's kidding right?"
Bellamy sighs, his breath stirring her head. "I doubt it. But you know something, Princess?"
"What?"
"Just right now, I don't really care."
"God, you're a dork."
She's still laughing when he kisses her.