Work Text:
January 2012
It's 11:37 on Friday night and Bellamy has his mouth on Roma's neck and his hand up her shirt, under her bra, when his phone starts playing, "Sympathy for the Devil."
The ringtone is actually the first thing he notices, because it's his default, and he usually only hears it when someone he doesn't know calls, which is pretty rare to begin with. And he has no idea who the hell that he doesn't know would be calling this late on a Friday.
"Ugh, silence it," says Roma, rubbing up against his thigh deliberately.
"Sorry," he says, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. "It might be my sister."
He and Roma aren't really dating; they're hooking up on a semi-regular basis, and they're kind of friends. It's enough that she knows who Octavia is and knows he needs to make sure it's not her, so she flops back with a huff, and he flashes her a smile.
"Hello?"
"Oh thank fuck," says the voice on the other end, and he's instantly on full alert. "Bellamy?"
He rubs his face, disentangles himself from Roma and gets out of bed. "Clarke?"
"Hi," she says. Her voice is shakier than he's ever heard, like she might cry. "Are you busy?"
"What is it?" he asks.
"I need a ride home."
"Where are you? What happened?"
She lets out a ragged breath. "I don't know the address. It's just--the first pay phone I could find."
"Pay phone?"
"I promise you can yell at me when you get here. Will you just--"
He's already pulling on his jeans. "What can you give me? Street name? Stores?"
She knows the street name, the closest cross street, and three store names, and he lets out a relieved breath. Of course she's got that. This is Clarke.
"I'll get it up on google maps and call you back at this number when I'm on my way. Stay by the phone."
"Thanks, Bellamy."
He's actually surprised to see Roma on the bed, watching him as he gets google maps going. He'd almost forgotten about her. "Your sister?"
"No, uh--" He rubs the back of his neck. "Professor Griffin's daughter."
It feels like an inadequate explanation for Clarke, but he doesn't know what else to say. She is Professor Griffin's daughter, and not really his friend, but--
"She wouldn't have called if it wasn't an emergency," he continues. "She needs a ride." He wets his lips. "She's at a pay phone in the middle of nowhere, so I need to get there ASAP, but I can drop you off on the way home."
Her mouth flattens into a hard line, and Bellamy thinks he's going to have to put a lot of effort in if he has any hope of repairing this. And even if he does, he doesn't have a lot of hope.
But he has to get Clarke.
He gets the map up and then calls Clarke back.
"Still there?"
"No, I left," she says. Her voice is stronger, but not back to normal. "I decided to walk home."
"I'm like twenty minutes away," he says. "Stay on the line, keep talking." He pauses and then adds, "You're on speaker phone. My friend Roma is here."
He mostly says it so Clarke won't say anything she wants to keep private, but it makes Roma give him a look like he's losing his mind.
"Oh, hi, Roma," Clarke says, awkward. She recovers and says, "Bellamy, tell me about that history class you hate. I know you've got something."
"Fuck, did I tell you what Professor Wallace said last week?" he asks, and she laughs, soft, listens to him rant until he gets to her, looking tiny and lost in the inadequate street light.
"Hi," she says, smiling as he drapes his jacket over her shoulders. She has a coat, but it's clearly designed for fashion over function.
"Jesus, what happened?"
"Shitty party. Thanks for coming. I'll tell you more once--" She glances at the car, Roma still in shotgun, on her phone.
"Yeah, of course. Come on, get in. It's freezing."
He makes brief introductions, but everyone's basically awkward and quiet as he drives back to Roma's apartment; he cranks up the radio and tries to figure out something to say. In the end, he can't manage to do more than watch Clarke in the rear view mirror, her head resting against the window as she watches the road pass.
I would have done it for anybody, he thinks, as he walks Roma to her door, and it's true but still feels like a lie. Other people would have to work for it more. He wouldn't have gone so quickly for everyone.
And no one else is Clarke.
"I'm sorry," he says, squeezing her hand. "I couldn't just leave her there."
She kisses the corner of her mouth, but it feels more like farewell than forgiveness. "No, of course not. Goodnight, Bellamy."
"Night," he says, and goes back to the car.
Clarke is still in the back seat, so he gets in next to her. "I'm going to make you get in shotgun, but I thought you might need a hug," he says, and she instantly throws herself against his side, even though it's cramped and awkward.
He buries his nose in her hair, holding her close, wishing he could do more.
He's known Clarke for as long as he's known her father, and, if he's honest, she's most of the reason he spends as much time at the Griffin house as he does. He loves helping Professor Griffin with his cases, getting experience and making connections, but he loves it even more when he's sent off to work on his own, and he inevitably finds Clarke and sits with her while she watches TV or does her homework or whatever, and they bicker and hang out and--don't flirt. Definitely don't flirt. She's a junior in high school, in his sister's class, which means she's both way too young for him and also probably sees him as an older brother. So he doesn't flirt with her, and if it feels like she's flirting back sometimes, he's definitely just reading into things.
She's not exactly a friend, but he'd do anything for her, and he hates seeing her upset.
And at some point in the future, she might not be too young. He definitely remembers that too.
"You want to talk about it?" he asks.
"I got mildly sexually assaulted and held up at gunpoint."
His arms tighten around her and he swears under his breath. "Clarke--"
"It sounds worse than it was," she says quickly.
"You don't have to downplay it. I just want to help. I'm not going to hunt anyone down. Not unless you ask me to."
She laughs and presses her face against his neck. "I'm not asking you to. I can destroy him other ways." There's a pause. "He thought I'd been flirting with him, tried to make a move, and when I said no, he thought I was playing hard to get and tried harder. I told him to let me out of the car, and he did. And then I was in the middle of nowhere and got mugged trying to call a cab. Not my best night, but--"
"No buts," he says. "That fucking sucks. You don't have to act like it doesn't. Did you have a lot of cash on you? Tons of credit cards? Is it going to be a pain?"
Her laugh is soft and a total surprise. "Thanks, Bellamy."
"For what?"
"You came. And I'm pretty sure I just cockblocked you, so--"
"Clarke. I don't care."
"Still. She was cute. I can write you a note, like--I don't know. Something good. About why--"
"I don't care," he says again, firm. "Did you call your parents?"
"No. They're at a gala, I didn't want to--"
"They would have come."
"I wasn't ready to talk to them."
"Yeah, okay." He squeezes her. "Am I taking you home?"
"Can I come to your place? Watch a movie or something?"
"Yeah, of course." He pauses. "You have to tell your parents, though. You don't have your phone, they can't call you."
He hears her laugh, soft, and then she nudges her nose against his jaw. "You are the biggest big brother of all time."
"I don't want your mom to think you got kidnapped and call the cops. I'd get arrested, Clarke. I'm too brown to feel safe in police custody."
"I'll call them."
"Okay, cool. Get in the front, I feel like a chauffeur if you're in the backseat."
She finds Professor Griffin in his phone, comments, "You know he doesn't mind if you call him Jake, right?" just like always, and calls while he gets the car going. He listens to scraps of her side of the conversation--got held up, no, really, I'm fine and no my ride didn't work out so I was and I'm with Bellamy--and doesn't really zone in until he hears her say, "Mom, no, I don't want to impose on him." He raises his eyebrows, and she covers the speaker to say, "My mom wants you to come to our place."
"That's not an imposition," he says, glancing over his shoulder so he can change lanes, rerouting to her house. "I can raid your fridge. I'm a starving college student, I'll take any excuse to go to your house and steal your food."
She looks at him for a minute, and then shakes her head, goes back to the phone. "Okay, yeah, Mom. He's taking me home. You don't have to rush home or anything, I'm fine. We can report the cards stolen tomorrow, and the phone. I just want to curl up on the couch and veg out." There's a pause, and he can see her smile. "Yeah, he is. I told him."
"Told me what?" he asks, when she hangs up.
"That you're very nice to stay with me."
"I don't think you did, actually."
She reaches over and squeezes his hand on the clutch, making his heart race.
"You're the best, Bellamy. Thank you."
He wets his lips. "Yeah. No problem."
It's his first time being at her house specifically to hang out with her, instead of having to make excuses, and it's weird doing it deliberately, getting snacks in the kitchen while she scrolls through Netflix, looking for an appropriate movie.
He settles onto the couch first, and she sits a respectful distance away, fidgets through about ten minutes of the movie before she huffs and says, "Can I?"
"Can you what?"
"I want to snuggle," she says, cheeks going red, and he opens his arms for her. She curls into him, head on his shoulder, one hand sliding just under his shirt.
He didn't fall in love with her at first sight, but she was thirteen when he met her, and Professor Griffin's daughter. She was a kid, and his sister's friend, once they started high school. He saw her every few weeks, and she kept just being--Clarke. He realized he liked her, had fun teasing her, joking around, picking fights, and then--it was between breaths, when it happened. She was sixteen and he was nineteen, and she was laughing as he told her about Miller nearly knocking himself out trying to impress some guy at a party and suddenly he knew.
And now he can't stop knowing.
He puts his arm around her and presses his lips to her hair. "Let me know if this stops being comforting," he says. "Or if I--I don't want to do anything you don't want. Especially tonight."
"You're good." He sees her eyes flutter closed. "You're always good."
She falls asleep in minutes, still tangled around him, and he must fall asleep too, because the next thing he knows, Professor Griffin is shaking him awake. Dr. Griffin is behind him, hovering, not even glaring at him.
"Just letting you two know we're home," says Professor Griffin, soft. "Is she okay?"
"I think so, yeah."
"Thanks for looking after her."
He shakes his head. "It's no problem, sir," he says. He shakes her gently. "Clarke. Clarke. I need my arm back."
Her smile is warm and sleepy and fond, and he didn't really need to know what she looked like waking up in his arms. "You're leaving?"
"Your parents are here, so--"
"You're welcome to stay, Bellamy," Dr. Griffin offers. She sounds friendly about it, even. "We have a guest room. It's late, you shouldn't be on the road."
"No, I'm good to drive, thanks. My dorm isn't far." He squeezes Clarke's shoulder and disentangles himself from her. He gives Professor Griffin a sheepish smile. "I'll see you on Monday?"
"Drive safe," he says, and Bellamy gets out of the family scene. They must be worried about Clarke; it's not his place to be there. They can take care of her now.
She catches him as he's pulling on his shoes. "Don't forget your jacket," she says, pushing it at him. She looks nervous, a little guilty, and he offers her a smile.
"Thanks."
"Don't you thank me." She throws her arms around him, sudden, and the hug shouldn't be such a surprise, given how close they've been all night, but it still is. "Seriously, I owe you."
"You don't," he promises. "I'm glad you called."
She pulls back and pecks him on the cheek. "Get some sleep, Bell. I'll see you on Monday."
April 2013
The problem with going to college the same place your little sister is going to high school is that sometimes she'll hear about parties you're going to, and she'll show up with a fake ID while you're trying to flirt with the cute bartender, and you have to decide if you want to bust her and send her home, and if you do, she's definitely going to cockblock you, but you also don't trust her at this party, and she might cockblock you anyway, just for fun.
He's still trying to decide what to do when Clarke props her elbows on the bar next to him. "We're being responsible."
He snorts and rolls his eyes. "I'm so reassured." He glances at the bartender, but she's helping someone else, so at least it's not like he could be hitting on her. But he's probably ruined for the evening, because fuck his life. "What are you guys doing here?"
"You really have to ask?"
"Please tell me you guys aren't trying to hook up with college guys. As a college guy, I can say we're dicks and you're too good for us." He looks over at O. "Did she get a new fake ID?"
"If your girlfriend's good, it won't fool her," Clarke says.
"Not my girlfriend," he says. "And now I have to make sure my little sister doesn't get wasted, so--"
"Don't blame Octavia for your inability to pick up chicks, Bellamy. It's not her fault. Own your weaknesses."
The bartender drifts back over, gives the two of them a smile that's a lot less friendly than the one she had for him a minute ago. "Another round?" she asks.
He glances at Clarke, and Clarke gives the bartender a big smile. "I'm getting one for me and one for my girlfriend," she says. "Just saying hi to my buddy here while I'm at it. Two of the pale ale?"
"Coming right up."
"Are you making up fake girlfriends to wingman me?" he asks. "Seriously, I'm not that inept."
"Real girlfriend," says Clarke. She claps him on the shoulder. "Don't be a weird overprotective dick, okay?"
"Doesn't sound like me."
"Your funeral. If you're not a dumbass, I bet you can get her number," she adds, jerking her head toward the bartender. "So try not to screw it up."
Clarke accepts her drinks, and Bellamy doesn't watch her to see her new girlfriend, nor does he tell the bartender that she should have carded Clarke, because she is obviously a high-school senior who should not be here and should not be drinking.
Instead, he leans back against the bar, gives the bartender a flirty smile, and asks if she's working the whole party, or her shift is going to end at some point.
She's working the whole party, but he finds out her name is Gina, she's a sophomore, and she's majoring in French, so they end up talking about Les Miserables for about an hour. It's going really well, until Octavia appears and says, "We need a getaway driver."
"What?"
"Clarke got in a massive fight with her girlfriend about--I don't know. Her girlfriend is an asshole, so I'm not really surprised. But we need to get out of here."
"And you didn't come up with an escape plan on your own?" he asks. He shouldn't go. He knows he shouldn't go. Gina is cute and smart and awesome, and if he sticks around until the end of the party, he will definitely be able to take her home.
"Lexa was our ride, Bell," says O. "I know it was stupid, you can lecture me on how stupid it was for a month, but--please?"
"Where's Clarke?" he asks.
"Hiding. She didn't want Lexa to come find her, or she was afraid she'd punch her. Not sure which. Probably both. I might punch her. I want to punch her."
"Jesus. Okay." He runs his hand through his hair, turns back to Gina with an apologetic smile. "I, uh--apparently I need to give my sister and her friend a ride home?" he says. "I'm really sorry, I wanted to get you a drink when you finished."
She returns the smile. "It's fine. I get it. Relationship drama, emergencies, siblings being a pain in the ass, the apocalypse--"
He laughs. "Basically, yeah. But, uh--could I maybe get your number?" She puts it in his phone, and he leans across the bar to give her a quick kiss. "I'll call you tomorrow," he promises, because--it would be kind of nice. To have a girlfriend. Someone his own age to actually date.
What a concept.
"Good luck with--" She waves her hand. "That whole thing."
"Thanks. Talk to you soon."
"That was pretty smooth," Octavia remarks on their way out. "Like, I didn't know you had that much game."
"It's almost like I don't hit on people in front of you," he says. "Where's Clarke?"
"Outside." There's a pause, and she adds, "Thanks, Bell. I really appreciate it. I knew Lexa was bad news, but Clarke liked her, so--"
"Yeah, it's fine. I don't mind."
Clarke is outside, on her phone, looking more pissed off than upset. She looks up at the sound of the door and glares at them.
"It wouldn't even take that long on the train, you didn't have to--"
"I know exactly how far your house is from the nearest train station, don't even start," says Bellamy.
"There are buses."
"Will you just let me give you a ride?"
She huffs. "Did you get her number?"
"Yeah."
"At least I'm not the worst friend ever." She pushes off the wall and offers him a smile. "Thanks."
"No problem. I got to make a heroic exit. Rescuing distressed damsels. Probably makes me look really cool."
"Keep telling yourself."
Clarke takes shotgun and Octavia sits behind her, one hand on her shoulder, quiet comfort. Clarke doesn't exactly look like she needs it, but she doesn't look like she doesn't.
They don't talk, so he doesn't either. He drops Octavia off first, smiles when she hugs Clarke through the seat, snorts when she pecks him on the cheek and says he's a good brother.
"You're drunk," he says, and she laughs and leaves them.
They're halfway to her house when Clarke swears under her breath.
"What?"
"I told my parents I was sleeping over at Octavia's."
"We can go back."
She looks away. "I wasn't really. I was going to crash at Lexa's dorm."
He scrubs his face. "She was in college?" he asks, and Clarke winces.
"She's a sophomore. That's like two years older than I am. It's not weird."
"I'm not saying it's weird because--" He sighs. "You guys are just in different places. In life."
"Please don't give me a don't date college kids lecture. I'm not dating her anymore. We broke up. But--can I stay at your place?"
"Clarke."
"I know I'm a dick for asking, but I'm not supposed to be home and if I go I have to explain why and I can come up with something but I--"
"You fucking owe me," he says. "I hate lying to your dad."
"I'll get you a pony."
"Two ponies," he says, and she grins.
"Thanks, Bellamy."
He clears his throat. "Did you want to talk about it?"
"Not much to talk about."
"I didn't even know you had a girlfriend."
"We'd been going out for a month. I was going to tell you, but--I don't know. It was new. And you've been busy, I haven't seen you much." She smiles. "Not a criticism. I realize you don't live on my couch with a pile of depositions this close to finals."
"I'll be there over the summer. Tell me about the ex."
"We met at Starbucks." She clears her throat. "She did think I was in college. I never lied!" she adds quickly, before he can say anything. "She assumed. I told her on our first date and we kept going out." She wets her lips. "Apparently she's doing study-abroad next year, that's why we started arguing. She's known for weeks, she'll be in Spain for the whole year. She didn't tell me because she didn't want me to--" She waves her hand. "She thought it would affect our relationship. And if she'd just told me, who cares, right? We could date until she left. But she didn't, and then it turned into one of those throw everything in your face breakups, and--"
"Yeah," he says. "That sucks, I'm sorry."
"I didn't think I was going to marry her or anything, but--I'm still going to be here next year, I thought we might keep dating."
"You are?" he asks, surprised.
"I didn't tell you? Yeah, I'm going to Tufts. Finally made up my mind."
He wets his lips, tries not to feel weird. She's going away for college, but--she's not going far. Octavia will be in Virginia, but Clarke's just going to be in Medford.
"Congrats," he says. "So you're a jumbo, right?"
She snorts. "You're a dog, so--"
"Go huskies," he says, deadpan, and she shakes her head. They lapse into silence, and then he adds, impulsive, "I'm glad you'll still be around."
"Yeah. Me too."
She sleeps on his couch and is gone before he wakes up, but she leaves a note on the fridge so he won't worry. Her dad never finds out and he and Gina get dinner that night; it's still three weeks before he stops feeling like he got away with something.
September 2013
Bellamy jerks awake to the sound of his phone blaring "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better." Gina makes an annoyed noise next to him, and he can't blame her, but it's a call in the middle of the night, so it's an emergency, which means it's a bigger deal than her irritation.
"Clarke?" he asks, frantic. His phone says it's 2:12, and, yeah. Fuck.
"Hey, um, don't freak out."
"Too late," he says, rolling out of bed and finding a shirt. "What is it?"
"I need a ride to the ER."
"What the fuck."
"It's not a big deal!"
"You're calling in the middle of the night to go to the ER, it's a big fucking deal. What's wrong?"
"I tripped on the stairs and I'm afraid I broke something. I, um. I can't really walk. I'd call an ambulance, but I don't want to use the resources, because it's not really, like--I can take a cab. Fuck, I woke you up, didn't I?"
"If you need to go to the hospital, I want you to always call me," he says. "Are you at your dorm?"
"Yeah. My RA is out, so--"
"I'm on my way, just--I'll be there soon."
"Thanks."
Gina is sitting up in his bed, watching him with a calculating expression.
In most ways, they haven't actually been going out for very long. They went out a couple times at the end of last year, but then summer hit and she went home, and then to language school in Paris. They talked, but it wasn't like dating. It was like being on pause.
One month into his senior year, he likes her well enough, but he's pretty sure this is the end. Not that taking someone to the ER in the middle of the night is necessarily a dealbreaker, but--it should be. And Gina definitely knows that.
"I gotta--" he says. "You can stay if you want, but I need to go. I'm sorry."
"Is she okay?" Gina asks.
"She thinks she broke her foot, so--"
"Ouch."
"I'm really sorry."
"I know." She wets her lips. "I'm--I know you'd do it for anyone. I know you'd do it for me. But--"
He can think of a lot of ways she could end the sentence, and they'd all be valid. But you're obviously more into her than you are into me. But I don't want a boyfriend who leaves me in the middle of the night without even trying to get out of it.
Really, he thinks, the most important thing is that he would do it for anyone, but he only ever actually does it for Clarke. And that means something, that she'll always call him and he'll always come.
"But I'm not going to be here when you get back," she finally says, and he nods, once.
"Yeah, I get it. I, uh--I gotta go, but if you want me to buy you a coffee sometime and you can throw it in my face and tell me I'm an asshole for closure, that's cool. Just let me know. I'd deserve it."
A smile tugs at her mouth. "I'll keep you posted. I hope Clarke is okay."
He thinks there's a better way to handle this, possibly calling Clarke back and telling her he can't come, but--he didn't think he was going to spend the rest of his life with Gina or anything. He likes her, but it's not like--
He is a total dick.
"Bye," he says, and leaves her.
Clarke is sitting on the steps of her building with her roommate. Her foot is elevated and she's got what looks like frozen margarita mix on it.
"Hey," he says, kneeling down next to her, examining her foot like he has any idea what would indicate a problem. "Hi, Raven. You coming with us?"
"Nah, I figure you've got her."
"Yeah," he says. He smiles at Clarke. "How drunk are you?"
"Not at all, it's so fucking embarrassing. Tripping on the stairs and hurting yourself when you're drunk is fine, I'm just incompetent."
"Sucks to be you," he says. "Gonna try to walk, or you want me to carry you?"
"You can carry me?"
"I'm really manly," he says, sliding one hand under her. Her arm comes around his shoulders, automatic, natural, and just like that, she's in his arms, her head against his chest. "Okay, back later," he tells Raven, and she salutes.
"Thanks," Clarke says again, in the car. "I honestly would have called my parents, but--"
"They're out of town."
"My timing is awesome."
"I meant it," he says. "If you have a problem, you should always call me."
"It's the middle of the night. I thought I might be interrupting something." He's not sure exactly what his face does, but it must give him away. "Shit, I was interrupting."
"It's fine."
"Bellamy."
She's going to find out eventually, and she'll put it together and be pissed he didn't just tell her, so he lets out a breath and says, "Gina was over, but we were asleep. She, uh--she broke up with me."
"Fuck."
"I said it's fine," he says. "We weren't that serious."
"Yeah, but--she was cool. I liked her. I'm really sorry."
"Like I said, I want you to call me if you need me. Don't worry about it."
She crosses her arms over her chest. "She seriously broke up with you for driving me to the hospital? I think selflessly leaving your warm bed to take injured friends to the hospital is a good thing. You're a good guy." He just looks at her, and she deflates. "Yeah, okay. Sorry."
He shrugs. "I can probably try to call her to patch it up. I could grovel. Seriously, it's fine."
"Well--thanks," she says. "For getting me."
"Any time," he says, and lets himself squeeze her hand, for good measure.
Her foot is badly sprained, but not broken, and she gets a bunch of really powerful painkillers, which means she buries her face in his neck as he carries her up to her room and pets his hair and tells him that he's her favorite.
Two days later, he runs into Gina at the coffee shop. He buys her a latte and she pretends to throw it at him, and they get a table and he apologizes again.
"Did she break her foot?"
"Just a bad sprain."
"Good." She pauses. "Does she know?"
"No idea. I've never told her." Gina nods, and he finds himself adding, "She's eighteen. And my boss's daughter. And--I don't want to be a dick."
She nods again. "Then don't date anyone else until you've figured it out," she says, with just a hint of an edge, and he flushes.
"Yeah, uh. Thanks for the tip." He wets his lips, gives her a sheepish smile. "I won't. Not again."
"Good."
October 2014
"Mayday, mayday," says Clarke, crashing into Bellamy's right arm and wrapping around it. It's Halloween and they ended up at the same Harvard party, which he's trying to tell himself is a bad thing. He hasn't been dating, because Gina was right, he was being a dick, dating her and being in love with Clarke, but he does hook up sometimes, and he'd been planning to do it tonight.
The girl he was trying to pick up is dressed as Palutena from Smash Brothers, which hits a lot of his buttons, including video games, vaguely mythological shit, high boots, and weird hair colors, but now there's a cute blonde clinging to his arm, and he knows how he's looking at her, so this flirtation is not going to end well for him.
But he gets to hang out with Clarke instead.
"Oh, hi," Clarke is saying to the girl. "I'll give him back in like ten minutes."
"That does not sound likely," says Bellamy, giving her a smile of his own. "Sorry, duty calls." He hooks his arm around Clarke, navigates her away from the bar, not really private, but at least somewhat separate. "What's up?"
"Lexa is here."
It takes him a second to place the name, but then he scowls. "Your ex?"
"Yeah."
"I thought you guys--" He pauses, tries to figure it out. "Okay, I know it wasn't a good breakup, but I didn't think it was an emergency situation." He squeezes her shoulders. "What's wrong?"
Clarke looks like she's really thinking about it. "She told me I was stupid to be staying in Boston," she says. "When we broke up. She said I was staying where I felt safe because I was afraid of being on my own."
"That's bullshit," he says, without thinking. Not that he wouldn't say that if he thought about it, but he's surprised by how automatic it is, how vehement. "You know it's bullshit. You're still at college. You're making new friends. You barely see your parents; your mom asks me how you're doing because I'm at your house more than you are. And it's not like you see me all the time either, so--fuck her."
Clarke laughs, presses her face against his shoulder. "I assume you mean my ex, not my mom."
"I'm not picky. Fuck everyone."
Her laugh is a little watery. "I know it's stupid, being upset. I barely even dated her. I was just having a shitty time tonight already, and I wasn't expecting to see her again, like, ever, and I started thinking about talking to her and her telling me about how much personal growth she went through in Europe and how important it is to have new experiences, and I'm kind of drunk, so--"
Bellamy laughs and squeezes her shoulders. "So you want to get out of here?"
She slumps against him. "Do you mind?"
"No, I don't mind," he says. "I already knew you were lying to that girl about giving me back. Is Raven here? Do we need to tell her you're leaving?"
"Yeah, she's dancing with Wells," says Clarke, her tone slightly off, and Bellamy figures that's part of it. Friends hooking up with each other is--weird. Wells is Clarke's best friend, has been since basically birth, and he knows they aren't romantic, but he's not surprised she feels a little left out if he's got a thing with her roommate.
"Okay, I'll get our coats, you say bye," he says. "Unless you don't want to be alone." She stares at him, eyes surprisingly clear, and he feels himself reddening under her scrutiny. "What?" he mutters.
"You're--I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'd be fine," he says, smiling. "But you won't have to find out."
He meets her outside with their coats, and she shrugs hers on over her costume--Hermione, hitting slightly fewer of his buttons, like it matters--and trails him to the train station.
"I was gonna follow you home," she says, easy.
"I figured. My apartment is a mess and I think Miller's home."
She rolls her eyes. "Oh no, I hate Miller."
"Brat." He waits until they're on a train and moving to say, "Do you regret staying here? Instead of going to--wherever else you got in. Princeton? Yale?"
"I didn't get into Yale, I totally would have gone to Yale." Her fingers twitch in her lap, and he resists the urge to hold her hand. He's gotten pretty good at resisting that, by this point. "No, I don't regret it. I did a ton of research, I visited so many colleges I thought I was going to murder my mother, and I really thought about it. I think Tufts was the right choice, and I'm happy here. But--"
"But?"
"But you're here."
He blinks. "What do you mean?"
"I don't see my parents that much, but I do see you. And you're kind of the ultimate safety net."
It's a statement that's both awesome and completely terrible, because he's glad he can help Clarke, and he knows it's true, but of all the ways the girl he's in love with could think of him, safety net might be his least favorite.
"If I'm ever in trouble, I call you."
"That's not true, I hear about all sorts of shit you don't call me for. Like Monty's party last year."
Clarke laughs. "Okay, yeah, but that's because I could handle that."
"See? You only call me when you really need me. And if you weren't here, you'd call someone else for that." He'd say the thought makes him surprisingly upset, except that it's not a surprise. He hates the idea of Clarke needing someone and his number not being the first one she calls. "Having friends isn't a bad thing, Clarke."
"No," she agrees. "Having friends isn't."
It's only one stop on the train; Bellamy isn't living in Harvard itself, because Harvard is expensive as fuck, but he and Miller have a decent place in Central, and he likes it.
He likes his whole life, honestly. Clarke Griffin is nineteen years old, a sophomore in college, and one of his best friends. He hasn't figured out what to do with that yet, but he figures he might, someday. And he's happy. His classes are going well, Miller stuck around after graduation, Octavia likes Virginia. He probably won't stay here for the rest of his life, but it sounds so fucking stupid, to leave a place you know you like just because you know you like it, and you're supposed to prove you could like somewhere else too. He could like California or Virginia or Spain or Timbuktu, probably.
He's at Harvard because it's the most prestigious law school in the country and they let him in, but all the schools he applied to were in the Boston area, and he refuses to think it's a bad thing. He's unlocking his apartment and Clarke is behind him; there's nowhere else in the world he wants to be.
"You're home early," Miller says. He was going to come to the party, but then he realized he'd have to get dressed and stop playing Skyrim, so he claimed to be sick.
"Clarke's ex-girlfriend showed up."
"Hi, Miller!" she calls, toeing off her shoes.
"Hey Griffin," says Miller. He raises his eyebrows at Bellamy when he flops down on the couch, and Bellamy shrugs one shoulder. He's never told Miller he's in love with Clarke, but he's never actually had to tell anyone. It just becomes increasingly obvious the longer anyone knows him. "How's school?"
"Boring," says Clarke, sitting down next to Bellamy. "How's being a real adult?"
"Fucking terrifying."
"Awesome, looking forward to it. Monty asked why you weren't at the party."
"No he didn't, he said he wasn't going," Miller says, not looking away from the game. "We're texting now, you can't trick me. Also if there's any dude in the world who's gonna be happy I skipped a party to play video games, it's Monty, so fuck you."
Clarke grins, and Miller grins back. "Awesome, you passed the first test. Can't wait for you guys to finally work it out."
Miller gives Bellamy a significant look, but doesn't say anything, and Bellamy will love him forever for that. Instead he says, "You guys gonna make me switch to a multiplayer game?"
"Nah, I like watching you fight dragons," says Clarke, settling into Bellamy's side. She doesn't always do it, but she does it more and more, and Bellamy's starting to wonder if she's old enough that he can make a move.
It's probably getting close, and he's going to have to come up with a new excuse, because he has no idea what he's going to say regardless.
They hang out, heckling Miller, laughing, having a good time, and he makes her sleep on the couch because the train is shut down and he doesn't want to give her a ride. In the morning, she pretends to help him make breakfast even though she's the worst cook in the world, and when she leaves, she says, "I know I was right."
"What?"
"Tufts. It was the right call. I know I was right and Lexa was wrong, I just didn't feel like dealing with it last night. But, uh--sorry you didn't get to go home with that girl. She was hot."
"Not as hot as you," he says. "And I did take you home."
She surprises him by actually blushing. Clarke doesn't blush much. "You always take me home," she says, and kisses him on the cheek. She hasn't done that since the first time he got her, back when she was in high school. "See you later."
"Later," he echoes, and leans his forehead against the door after he's closed it, just breathing for a long minute.
It's going to be soon.
July 2015
Bellamy wants to die.
Okay, he doesn't want to die, but he wants to be literally anywhere else in the entire universe. If someone offered to instantly teleport him into the air above an active volcano right now, he'd probably take them up on it. He might be able to throw himself onto a ledge or something, or get out of it somehow. Which still sounds like an improvement.
It's not that Dr. Tsing is unattractive. She's a perfectly good-looking woman, but she's too old for him, and she's his mentor/boss's wife's coworker, and she seems like a genuinely terrible human being. But he's at a Griffin family party, networking, because Professor Griffin says networking is important, so he has to be, on some level, diplomatic.
It's not his strongest suit; everyone here is rich, and aside from Clarke and her father, he's never done well with rich people. And tactfully telling a rich doctor to stop hitting on him is not a skill he ever developed or expected to need. The best he's managing is nodding, smiling, not drinking too much, and not agreeing with anything that sounds like it's verging on support of actual eugenics.
He feels a pressure on his arm, a hand, and he looks down and feels the most profound relief he has ever felt when he sees it's Clarke, wearing a gorgeous silver dress, with her hair up in a complicated braided crown. She said she was coming, but might be late, and he'd almost given up hope.
"Hey, sorry," she says. "Meeting ran over and there was a disabled train, the usual." She turns her smile on Dr. Tsing. "Hello, Dr. Tsing. Sorry, I need to steal my boyfriend."
Bellamy doesn't choke; his polite smile doesn't falter. He maintains his smooth, easy expression, and there's no way Dr. Tsing is aware his heart is beating out of his chest. Maybe he's a better diplomat than he thought.
"Oh, Clarke," says Dr. Tsing. "Your mother mentioned, but I didn't realize this was the boyfriend."
"Yeah," says Clarke. "This is him. I promised to introduce him to people and freak all Mom's friends out with the fact that I'm old enough to have a serious boyfriend, so--"
"Of course, don't let me stop you. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Blake."
"Same, Dr. Tsing," he manages, and lets Clarke tug him away.
She brings him directly to a waiter with alcohol, which is appreciated. "That felt pretty good," she says, sounding smug. "I'm so used to cockblocking you accidentally, it was nice to do it on purpose, for a good cause."
"I don't think it counts as cockblocking if I don't want to get laid," he says. He downs about half a flute of champagne in one gulp. "Why has Dr. Tsing heard your mom talking about your boyfriend? Since when do you have a boyfriend?"
"She meant you," Clarke says, like this is a well-known and unremarkable fact, and not both terrifying and confusing. "Mom's thought we were dating for like three years." He stares at her, horrified, and she shrugs. But her cheeks are a little flushed. "She never asked, she just kind of--decided."
"Fuck, is that why she hates me?"
"She doesn't hate you," Clarke says, fast and surprisingly sharp. He must not look convinced, because she laughs and adds, "She doesn't! She thinks you're a very intelligent young man with a lot of promise."
"Does she practice reading that off cue cards?"
"Probably. But she does like you, Bellamy."
"And she thinks I'm your boyfriend."
"She's never actually said it, but--I never tell her about my life because why would I, so she never knows who I'm dating, and she knows how I--" She looks away, and Bellamy's heart lodges somewhere in his throat, because it's clear Clarke has no good way to finish this sentence, and that's awesome. "She knows I like you," she finally says. "Anyway, I heard her telling someone my boyfriend was a Northeastern pre-law major who worked with Dad a few years ago, and if that wasn't you, I have no idea who she was talking about."
He can't help glancing around, feeling self-conscious. "Jesus."
"I should have told you," Clarke says, still not looking at him. "It just--I didn't."
"You didn't correct her either," he says. "And you told Dr. Tsing I'm your boyfriend."
He's not really thinking about that, though. He's thinking that this is it, that this has to be it, this needs to be when he tells her he wishes it was true, because if she doesn't say it now, he won't be able to explain why he didn't. She's twenty, she's a junior in college, she knows who she is, and he does too, and he loves her.
"I can go back and tell her you're not if you want," she's teasing, when he zones back in. She's looking at him now, eyes bright, and she's spent three years not correcting her mother on their relationship status. That's a lot. "I'm sure she'd be thrilled. Bad people can probably still be decent in bed."
"No, don't," he says. Her arm is still in his, and he puts down his champagne so he can place his free hand on hers. "I want to be."
He hears her breath catch, feels her heart speed up. "Yeah?" she asks.
"Clarke," he says, and she laughs, relieved, and rests her head against his shoulder. He leans back into it. "Yeah, of course."
"I thought so."
It feels a little anticlimactic; it feels like maybe he should have had to chase her through the rain and get consumption or something, given all the years he hasn't said it.
But she's leaning into him, and she's smiling.
"Well, okay. I hoped so," she corrects, and he presses his lips to her hair.
"I love you," he tells her, soft, private, and he sees her smile, the biggest and brightest he can ever remember it being, before she hides it in his shoulder. It's kind of disappointing, but--he did see it.
"Good," she says. "I don't know what I would have done if you didn't."
He'd worry they were being obvious about it after that, but for one thing, it's true now, and for another, they were obvious before. Besides, if he's not allowed to hold his girlfriend's--his girlfriend's--hand at a party, that's just wrong.
He does let go of her long enough to grab them both some food while she's chatting with one of the non-asshole doctors, and that's when her father finds him.
It's maybe weird, that he hadn't worried about Professor Griffin's reaction if he ever did start going out with Clarke. Dr. Griffin, of course, he'd thought about. He knew she wouldn't approve--except maybe she does? She's never sent him away, at least, and she already thought they were dating. But Professor Griffin likes him. He still doesn't understand what the man saw when he looked at Bellamy seven years ago, a nervous kid who hadn't even been sure he'd be able to get into college, still has no idea how he decided to take Bellamy under his wing. He's grateful, and he never wants to screw that up or make Professor Griffin regret it.
And, if he's honest, he didn't think he would, not if he waited. Not if he was sure he could treat Clarke right. And he is.
"I'm glad Clarke showed up," Professor Griffin remarks. "She gets her ability to deal with social situations from Abby, thank goodness. I'd just feel guilty if she felt as awkward at these things as I do."
"Yeah, the ability to network is definitely a blessing," Bellamy says, and immediately winces, because what the fuck. It's not untrue, but he tries not to be actively inane at Professor Griffin. "I'm glad she came too. I didn't promise to illegally buy her alcohol as a bribe at all."
"You would never," Professor Griffin agrees, straight-faced.
"Never."
"You know, if you're going to be dating my daughter, you should call me Jake," he says, casual.
He's doing so well not choking to death at this party. It's awesome. "I'm going to be dating your daughter," he says. "Or, I mean, I am. Dating your daughter. I'm pretty sure. I guess this might be our first date."
"Glad to hear it," he says, and claps Bellamy on the shoulder. "Call me Jake, then."
Clarke is alone again when he gets back to her, so he drops his forehead onto her shoulder. "Your dad likes me."
"Wow, I had no idea. He's so subtle about it." She presses her lips to his temple. "Breathe, Bellamy."
"I've never wanted something this much and had it actually happen. It's weird."
"I know," she says. "Good news, I think if we stay for another hour, we'll seem like totally legit adults, which isn't so bad. Free food, free booze, and then--" She cuts herself off, and he realizes there's a next step, and he's not sure what it is.
"You usually follow me home," he offers.
"Yeah, well, I was trying to get in your pants."
"You totally can," he says, and straightens. "I'll text Miller."
He's thinking about offering a bribe or something for Miller to clear out, but all he has to say is, I'm dating Clarke now, and Miller replies, Shit, I'm leaving, and I'm not coming back for a week in under ten seconds. Clarke laughs when she shows him, but there's a glint in her eye that makes his heart speed up.
Maybe two, he tells Miller.
He manages to have a civil conversation with Clarke's mother--who does not tell him to call her Abby--and meet some of Jake's associates he hasn't before, and while he doesn't feel like he's expanded his network in any kind of meaningful way, he did at least talk to a lot of people, laugh at a lot of bad jokes, and successfully confess to the woman he's been in love with for the last four years of his life. Which makes it far and away the best fancy party his has ever attended, and probably the best fancy party he will ever attend.
Still, it's a relief to get outside, even if it's way too humid and gross at ten o'clock.
"No offense," he tells Clarke, loosening his tie, "but rich people suck."
"None taken," she says. "I seriously can't wait to get home and suck your dick." Bellamy trips on nothing, and Clarke flashes him a smug grin. "Come on," she says. "I definitely owe you. How many times have you not gotten laid because of me?"
"I'm not answering that."
"I don't get laid because of you all the time, if it helps," she says, and he smiles, because of course she doesn't, and of course it helps.
"Yeah, but I'd rather you get laid all the time because of me," he says, and it's her turn to to stumble.
They don't touch in the car, not even holding hands, and they don't touch walking back to his apartment. They don't touch until he yells, "Miller, you here?" and gets no response for ten seconds, and then he shoves her up against the door and kisses her.
Her hands are tangling in his hair before his mouth has even reached hers, pulling him closer, just tight enough to sting a little, to make everything feel sharp and real. She's hot and eager under him, kissing him back desperately, and he knew she'd wanted him, knew she'd been waiting too, but he didn't know. Not like this.
He's breathing hard when he finally pulls back, just far enough he can stare at her, take in her flushed cheeks and her red mouth and her darkened eyes.
"I, uh," he starts. "I don't want to rip your dress or anything," he says. "And I really might."
She laughs, breathless and delighted. "Hot."
"It looks--expensive."
"It is," she agrees, and guides his hand to her back. "Think you can handle a zipper?"
Ordinarily, he'd make a joke, but he's supposed to be getting Clarke undressed and he's not really convinced he can work a zipper right now. But then she kisses him, softer, gentle, all warmth and affection, and he pulls himself together. The last thing he wants to do is screw this up, and if he can't even unzip a dress, he definitely will.
Once the zipper is down the dress basically falls off, and Clarke steps out of it and closer to him, her fingers going for the buttons of his slacks as he slides his hands over the bare skin of her back.
"I have a room," he says, against her mouth. "Big bed, clean sheets--"
"I want to blow you right here," she says, and he groans and bites down on her lip.
"You seem really into blowing me."
"Don't tell me you're upset." Her hand slides into his boxers, and he moans at the first contact, her delicate fingers wrapping around him as he fully hardens. She worries her lip, like she's doing calculations, and he'd be offended, but she's exploring his dick, tentative and curious, as if she's going to have to draw it from memory for a test or something.
"I'm going to be," he says, groaning. "Fuck, Clarke, you're--"
"Awesome?" she supplies, and drops down to her knees, tugging his slacks and boxers down around his ankles. He can see now that she's wearing a strapless bra, nude, her breasts nearly spilling out of it, and a pair of plain panties, and they're better than any lingerie he's ever seen in his life. Her hair is escaping from her braids a little, and she's licking her lips, looking at his dick.
"Fuck, I'm going to come in like two seconds," he says. "Do you know what you look like?"
"You're one to talk." And then, before he can respond to that, she swirls her tongue around the head of his dick, and he loses basically all ability to think.
Clarke sucks his dick like it's her favorite thing in the world, greedy and eager, taking in more than she can quite handle and not caring in the least, making all these fucking noises, moaning and whimpering, like having his dick in her mouth is just as good for her as it is for him. Which is definitely not possible.
He's not entirely sure what he's saying either. He knows his mouth is moving and words are coming out, here's pretty sure it's mostly Clarke and fuck, with some babes mixed in, and he's just--it would be embarrassing, if he didn't think she was into it.
"Fuck, I'm gonna--" he manages, when she makes a very valiant effort at deep-throating him.
She pulls back and smirks. "I swallow," she says, dives back in, and does, because she's actually the perfect woman and he's going to marry her.
He slumps against the wall and then onto the floor, groaning and kicking off his pants and underwear. Clarke crawls into his side, and he kisses her, deep and long, slides his hand into her underwear and fingers her right there in the entryway as she gasps and moans into his mouth.
"I still have a bed," he manages, finally, once he's gotten her off twice with his hands. "We really don't have to hook up on the floor." She leans her cheek against his shoulder, smiling just as bright as before and not bothering to hide it anymore. He tugs her closer and props his chin on her head. "Seriously, Clarke, we're not even naked. Do you know how long I've been waiting to see your breasts?"
"Just long enough," she says, kissing his jaw, and, yeah.
That sounds right.