Chapter Text
The first sign she has that Clarke’s woken up is the long chorus of swearwords, followed by the sound of someone falling out of bed. In retrospect, perhaps her company’s a bit too loud for a Monday morning.
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
Octavia winces and hides her behind her coffee mug. There’s another crash from the corridor that leads to Clarke’s room, the same corridor that also passes by the front door. Perhaps it’s also a bit too late to tell her brother and their friends that one of her flatmates works nights sometimes.
“What?” Clarke all but yells as she trips over, “What’s with all the fucking shoes?”
Bellamy looks at her, his own coffee forgotten on the table. Monty and Jasper have stopped talking for a bare second to listen to Clarke storming towards them.
“Octavia,” Clarke hisses as she finally rounds the corner. There’s a fresh scuff on her knee, which Octavia can see because Clarke is in her pyjamas – for Clarke that’s just a really big t-shirt. Her hair is down around her face, and she’s practically vibrating with anger.
“Why the fuck are you having a party at nine in the morning?”
“Clarke, this is my-” Octavia begins, trying to explain before Clarke could explode and kick her out of the apartment. Which is technically Clarke’s and Octavia’s only renting a room really. Not that it feels like it most of the time, but she really doesn’t want to piss Clarke off overmuch.
Clarke holds up a hand and scowls. That look could level mountains and make hardened criminals wet themselves. As it is Octavia cringes and moves further back on her chair. She can hear the boys moving behind her.
“I literally – literally - do not give a shit. I don’t care who you have over, O, but make them shut up or take it elsewhere.”
“Hey,” Bellamy stands up, arms crossed over his broad chest, “this is Octavia’s place, too. She pays rent. Does she have to sign guests in or something?”
“No, Bellamy, it’s fine – I shouldn’t,” Octavia glances at Clarke, who looks like she’s about to collapse if not for the anger running through her. There’s bags under her eyes and her hair is an absolute mess. “I’m sorry, Clarke, go back to bed, okay?”
“Hell no, why should you have to apologise, O? It’s not like we’re here at midnight.” Bellamy says firmly, his own scowl levelled at Clarke. His isn’t quite as impressive as Octavia’s flatmate’s, but it can almost give it a run for its money. Clarke looks at Bellamy as if he’s something she might find on the bottom of her shoe.
“Listen, dickhead, I really don’t care when you’re over, just shut up.”
“Why, did we interrupt your beauty sleep, princess?” Bellamy sneers. Octavia reaches out to hold his arm, trying to convey shut up right now you big idiot without opening her mouth.
“Yes, actually. You did. And perhaps when you’ve just finished an eighteen hour shift and sewn a man’s fucking leg fucking back on, we can talk all about it.”
That shut her brother up completely. Bellamy was a policeman, he knows all about gruesome shifts.
“Hell, Clarke,” Octavia uses the brief silence to jump up out of her seat, using her whole body to herd Clarke back towards her room. The tiny blonde goes without much of a fight, but she does shoot venomous looks over her shoulder towards Bellamy. Octavia makes sure that she’s tucked up in bed and shuts the door firmly.
Bellamy looks sheepish when she gets back to the kitchen. Octavia sighs.
“I did tell you she’s a doctor.”
“Yeah, but you have two,” He says petulantly, meaning that she has two flatmates. “I thought she was the other one.”
“The other one who’s down in London at a mechanical expo?” Octavia asks archly. Bellamy looks even more sheepish.
They settle for a while, Monty and Jasper managing to contain their ever present excitement and talking at a normal volume. Third cups of coffee have been poured and doled out, and they all make themselves comfy for a day in. Octavia had meant to show them around the city, but the torrential rain quickly scuppered those plans. Bellamy had just turned on the TV when there’s a loud shout from Clarke’s room and the sound of her door hitting the wall.
Bellamy looks up in alarm. “It’s not even on loud!”
Before Octavia can reply Clarke flies into the room, babbling about something or other. Her pager is one hand and with the other she’s struggling to pull on her scrubs. She has her pants on, but the top is halfway around her neck.
“Clarke!” Octavia’s used to seeing Clarke rushing around at all times of the day, and is also used to seeing her wander round in various states of undress, but it’s barely been an hour since she went back to bed.
“No time! Have you seen my bag? Or my keys! Where do I leave my keys, O?”
She pauses for a bare second to talk, pulling her top on at the same time. Jasper seems mesmerised by the view of Clarke’s bra. By now, after two months of living with her, Octavia knows where everything is kept, including Clarke’s keys. She jogs back into the kitchen and fishes them out of the key bowl.
“Calm down for a second, Clarke. Are you going back into work? What are you doing?”
Clarke shakes her head, blonde hair flying. She’s still moving, but she apparently has time to snort. “Back to work. It’s were I fucking live. Where the hell – why the fuck is that over there?” She scrambles up on the couch, next to Bellamy, and reaches over him to grab her bag down from a shelf. Bellamy’s back curves at an almost unnatural angle to avoid touching her, which is highly comical to watch. His eyes are wide and close to panicked. Octavia doesn’t have time to laugh, she’s too busy watching Clarke, who’s off again, jumping off of the couch and running to the kitchen.
Octavia shoots out a hand, latching onto Clarke’s hand. It’s like trying to hold down a tornado. She shoves her coffee at the woman none to gently.
“One of my patients relapsed, O, I really can’t – oh, thanks.”
Clarke knocks back the drink in one, not even wincing at the heat or lack of sugar. While she’s gulping Octavia hands Clarke her keys, and then when she lashes the mug into the sink Octavia already has her shoes in hand. Clarke lifts herself up onto the counter and shoves her feet in, then kisses Octavia soundly on the cheek.
“I’m sorry, I love you, I’ll be back later!”
Then Clarke snags her coat off of the stand and she’s gone. Octavia didn’t even have time to tell her to take an umbrella.
Bellamy tries to ask questions about her flatmate, but honestly Octavia doesn’t even know what to tell him. Clarke’s a doctor, and well-off, and there’s other things that Octavia could probably say about her. But she’s only lived with Clarke and Raven for two months, their friendship is at girls’ nights in or out, not deep, emotional conversations. (Okay, that’s a lie: there’s been quite a few, but none that she’s willing to share with her brother).
At around one ‘o’ clock the door to the apartment opens after the scrabbling sound of someone trying – and failing – to get the key into the lock.
Clarke walks in, utterly bedraggled. She’s soaking wet, and her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. The ever present noise of her boys has stopped as they stare at Clarke. Jasper is mouthing something to Monty, but Bellamy reaches over and smacks him before he can finish whatever it is that he was not-saying. Octavia springs up from the couch, already ready to fuss. She’s only ever seen Clarke like this once, only a few days after she moved in. Raven had jumped into action, already oozing soft words and comfort. She’d pulled Clarke onto the sofa and drawn out of her what was wrong.
Octavia doesn’t think she can handle Clarke like this alone.
Clarke shakes her head, sidestepping neatly and heading straight for the fridge. She pulls out a fairly expensive bottle of wine, then turns on her heel.
“Night, O,” Octavia’s mouth drops open, and she stutters out her words when she speaks.
“Clarke, no, you can’t-”
“I promise I’ll shout if I drown.” Clarke’s voice is an uninflected monotone. That worries Octavia more than the wine.
“Hey!” Octavia chases her down the corridor, and she can feel her friends’ and Bellamy’s eyes on her back. Clarke turns slowly, her face a picture of absolute heartbreak. Octavia reaches out and takes Clarke’s hand, and that’s all it takes for her to burst into tears. Taking the wine bottle, Octavia sets it aside on the floor and gathers Clarke into her arms. She manoeuvres them through the door to Clarke’s bedroom and pushes Clarke as gently as she can until she’s sat on her bed.
Octavia dashes away for the barest second to start running a bath in Clarke’s en-suite, and when she gets back into the room Clarke has her face buried in her hands, the tears still coming. She crouches in front of her, far enough away to not be crowding, but close enough that Clarke can reach for her if she wants.
“Hey now.” She all but whispers, “Hey, Clarke, come on. Look at me.”
Clarke does, eventually, heaving in great gulps of air. She smiles, but it’s a pale imitation of the real thing, all wobbly and watery. It holds for a fleeting second before it crumbles away and is replaced by more tears. Octavia tries to make soothing noises.
“They tell us, all the time, don’t get attached. But, O, he was getting better!”
Octavia knows who she’s talking about. Clarke had been gushing all week about a ‘miracle case’. A young boy with some sort of condition, but who was on the mend against the odds. Octavia knows what relapsing means, though, and she can very well guess what’s happened.
“It’s okay, Clarke. It’s okay. This is isn’t your fault, it could never be your fault. You’re good at your job and you try your hardest, everyone knows that. No one questions it.” Octavia knows she’s babbling. She’s never been good with emotions, not when she has a brother like Bellamy who gathered all of her problems up for her and stuffed them away so they couldn’t bother her.
“But I do!” Clarke wails, her hands on Octavia’s shoulders and stopping her from pulling Clarke in for a hug. Octavia is honestly at a loss. Last time this is when she disappeared to make hot chocolate and let Raven work on her own. She doesn’t know any words for the situation.
“You gonna beat yourself up because one of your patients died?”
Bellamy’s voice sounds from the doorway. Both she and Clarke turn to look at him quickly. He’s leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his chin tilted an angle. His eyes don’t leave Clarke’s. Octavia is about to tell him to firmly fuck off when Clarke beats her to it.
“Why don’t you go ahead and fuck yourself? Leave.” Clarke snaps. Tears still run down her face, but the anguish in her face is being slowly replaced by fury. Bellamy’s eyes narrow.
“So you can drown in your bathtub? Yeah, I don’t think so, princess.”
Clarke jerks to her feet, her hands clenched at her sides. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? You’re certainly acting the part. A kid died. You’re a doctor. You deal with it.” Bellamy pushes away from the doorframe, stepping closer to Clarke. He towers over her. Octavia is still in a half crouch by Clarke’s bed, but she can’t bring herself to do anything but watch, her eyes wide.
“It’s not that-” Clarke breaks off, her eyes leaving Bellamy’s to bore holes in her shoes instead.
“Simple.” Bellamy finishes softly. “It has to be.”
“How?” Clarke asks, her voice so small and pitiful that Octavia can feel a physical ache in her chest.
“Start small. Get in your bath, think of all the patients who didn’t die today, and who won’t die at all because you are their doctor.” His hands move to cover Clarke’s shoulders, and it’s only when she sees the contrast between Bellamy’s steadiness and Clarke that Octavia realises that her flatmate is shaking like a leaf. That, at least, makes Octavia’s brain kick into action.
“Clarke, c’mon. Let’s get you warmed up.”
Clarke looks up at Bellamy one last time before she pulls away, stumbling in her exhaustion. She heads for the bathroom and Octavia has a moment to stop and thank her brother.
“I have no…this is usually Raven’s job.” She holds her hands up, trying to convey how helpless she feels.
“She cares too much.” Bellamy notes, his eyes on the closed bathroom door. Octavia manages a smile, because of course that would be the thing that Bellamy takes away from the conversation.
“Probably. But that’s Clarke, if she cares she cares.” Octavia has to stand on her tip-toes to hug her brother. “Thank you, Bell.”
His lips curl into what could almost be considered a smile, then he ducks out of Clarke’s bedroom like he’d never been there at all.
Clarke sleeps through dinner, which is hardly a surprise. Octavia saves her some and keeps it away from the boys’ greedy hands. Jasper picks a film for them to watch and they pile onto the various pieces of furniture, beers and popcorn on the coffee table. Between them, Monty and Jasper keep up a quiet stream of chatter. In fact everything is quiet. The boys seem terrified of waking Clarke, though right now Octavia isn’t sure whether it’s because of Clarke or what Bellamy has probably threatened them with.
It isn’t a surprise when, after a solid ten hours of uninterrupted sleep, Clarke emerges from her room and heads straight for the fridge. She shoots Octavia a grateful look and shoves her dinner straight into the microwave. She’s dressed this time, in baggy sweatpants a jumper that clearly isn’t hers. When her food heated she pads over to the living room, a strange smile on her face. There’s a space next to Bellamy on the loveseat, and he throws his arm over the back in invitation. Clarke sits next to him, even though there’s also a space next to Octavia on the couch and an arm chair too.
Octavia tries not to listen in too much when they begin to speak quietly, but because everything is so quiet their conversation is to. She catches whispers of assurance and thanks between them and not much else, so Octavia settles in to watch the film, content that her brother hadn’t upset her flatmate and that she had until lunchtime tomorrow to clear out. She doesn’t keep much of a close eye on them, her attention on the film instead, which is how she misses them cuddle closer and Bellamy’s arm slip from the back of the loveseat to around Clarke’s shoulders. She also misses how Clarke curls her legs up under herself and how her head settles on Bellamy’s chest.
But Octavia definitely catches when Clarke smiles at him warmly on the way out, and how Bellamy presses a kiss to her cheek and murmurs see you next week, princess.