Chapter Text
Clarke really wishes she could get a fucking drink. Not that she's generally one of those people who drinks her problems away--she's purely a recreational/social drinker--but if any occasion has ever called for some liquid therapy, it's this one.
"So, can I sit at the bar if I order food and juice?" she asks the bartender. "I just want to be near the alcohol."
The bartender gives her an understanding smile. She's lovely, long, dark hair and clear eyes, a few freckles scattered on her cheeks like paint splatter. Clarke likes her without any good reason, just on instinct. It's a nice feeling, after the day she's had. "Sure. What food and what juice?"
"Chicken quesadillas and cranberry juice?"
"Coming right up." She puts the order in at the back and pours the drink, sliding it across the bar. "How long have you been sober?"
Clarke sighs and takes a long drink, pretending there's vodka in it. "Since I found out I'm pregnant."
The bartender winces in sympathy. "Oh."
She laughs. "Is it that obvious I'm not excited?"
"You did come in here and say you wanted to be close to the booze."
"I did." She runs her hand through her hair. "Can I still tell you my sob story if I'm not drinking, or is it awkward if I don't have being drunk as an excuse for oversharing?"
"You are welcome to talk about whatever you want as long as you leave a good tip," she says, flashing Clarke an impish grin. Under other circumstances, she might be trying to hit on her, but--not now. "It's Tuesday, it's not like anything is happening."
"So, I'm at med school," she says, running her finger through the condensation on her glass. "I just finished my second year. It's been my mom's plan for me forever. She's one of those parents who had my entire life figured out before I could walk. Best private schools, Yale, med school, and then, once I was a successful doctor, an appropriate spouse and two-point-five kids. And I was--I mean, that sounds pretty okay, right?"
"Sure, I guess."
Clarke lets out a soft snort of laughter. "I mean, it wasn't--I didn't hate it or anything. But I was kind of having my doubts. I was still doing it, though. I didn't have many other ideas. It was just--that's who I am, right?"
"Apparently. I don't really know you."
"Okay, yeah, well. It's who I've always been." She pokes at the ice in her drink with her straw. "So last year I started dating this guy, even though it was way too early in my life plan for a serious relationship. I liked him. He was fun and he--he made me feel like there was more than just school and work and hookups. I'd had a rough couple years, and I hadn't felt like that in a while. And then I found out I was pregnant and I told him."
"And he bolted?" the bartender asks, making a face like she's smelling something rotten. Then she ducks back and grabs Clarke's quesadillas, which is appreciated. They're gooey and warm and smell amazing, and she eats half the plate before she responds.
"No, he told me I was the other woman." The bartender's eyebrows shoot up and Clarke sighs. "Yeah. Apparently he has a long-distance girlfriend and they're not exclusive, so he was sleeping with me. And he said all these--not the right things, but things that sounded good. Like he had been falling for me and already wanted to be with me instead of her even before he found out about the baby, and it would be tough but he was going to do the right thing and be a father. But I just wasn't interested, you know? Maybe I'm being--harsh, I don't know. I shouldn't have assumed we were exclusive, maybe, but he should have told me up-front that there was someone else."
"I think you're right, for the record."
"Thanks." She rubs her face. "It keeps going. Want me to stop?"
"Nah, I'm invested now. Keep going."
"So I told him it was over, blocked his number, and finished the school year, and then I drove home for the summer. That was this morning. When I got back I told my mom about the baby, and she said, okay, I'll set up an appointment, we'll deal with it. And I'd never even--I'm pro-choice, I'm all for anyone who wants an abortion getting one any time, but it never even occurred to me. I think I was maybe kind of relieved about it, honestly. It was such a good reason to leave med school and do something I actually wanted to do. But when I told my mom I wanted to keep it, she--" Her voice chokes, and she tries to get through it. It's not like she has to tell this girl. They don't even know each other. But she wants to tell someone.
"It didn't go well," the bartender supplies. She refills Clarke's juice without being asked, and that's apparently what Clarke needed. Unprompted kindness.
"You know how you sometimes have those arguments that are just--you've been putting off having a lot of other arguments, so when one finally starts it's about everything, all the stuff you've never said? It's not just one thing, it's everything."
She grins. "My brother and I used to have those, yeah."
Clarke nods. "This was about twenty years of that."
"Ouch."
"Yeah. Imagine every cliche line from every movie about kids who are breaking away from their parents' expectations for them. They were all there. I think I threw something and yelled this is your dream, Mom, not mine! at some point."
The bartender is smiling a little, but not laughing. "And she said, if you leave, don't think you're coming back?"
"Basically."
"And you left."
She drains her juice; it's not nearly as satisfying as draining a beer. "And I left. She said she wouldn't support me if I was going to throw my life away, and any time I wanted to be reasonable, she'd be happy to talk with me about my options. So I just--started driving. And I realized I had no idea where I was going, so I came here."
That makes her frown. "Did you just point to a random place on a map and be like, yeah, this is it?"
"No," says Clarke, smiling. "I actually used to live here, when I was a kid. Not for long, we moved when I was three or four, but--after my parents got divorced, my dad moved back here. I didn't get to come out much, he usually came to us, but it was the first place I thought of. He died two years ago, but it still reminds me of him."
The bartender leans in to examine her more closely. "Holy shit, are you Jake's daughter?"
Clarke blinks, alarmed. She hadn't expected anyone to know her, let alone recognize her. "Um, yeah. Jake Griffin was my dad."
"Holy shit!" she says again. She leans her head into the back window. "Hey, Bell! Jake Griffin's daughter is here and she's having a crisis!"
"Um," Clarke starts, confused.
"Did you ever meet my brother Bellamy? He was friends with your dad."
Clarke doesn't get a chance to respond before the door opens, and a guy comes in from the back. He's a few inches taller than his sister, and more than a few shades darker, with a tangle of messy black curls. He's wearing an apron, so Clarke assumes he's the one doing the cooking. And he does look a little familiar.
"We weren't friends, O, I worked for him." He looks at Clarke, offers her a somewhat tight smile. "Clarke, right?"
"Yeah."
He nods. "Good to see you. Sorry about your dad. He was a good guy."
"Thanks."
He nods again and makes to leave, obligatory social niceties observed, but his sister catches his arm. "God, Bell, wait a second, okay?" She glances back at Clarke. "What's your plan?"
"For what?"
"Tonight, for a start. Have you been driving all day?"
"Basically. There's a motel around, right?"
"This is what I'm saying," the bartender says, to Bellamy. "We need to let her stay with us. Her life exploded."
Bellamy raises his eyebrows at Clarke, and Clarke raises one shoulder. "It kind of did. But I can get a motel, seriously--"
"We have a spare room," says the bartender firmly. Clarke needs to get her name, at some point. "And the motel is shit, Bell, you know that. You're not going to let your dead boss's poor, pregnant daughter sleep in a shitty motel, are you?"
That gives him pause, and Clarke tries not to squirm or blush. "It's not--" she starts.
"Did you order the quesadillas?" he asks, which is about the last thing she expected.
"Yeah."
"You should get something else too. Those are an app, they're not dinner."
He goes back to the kitchen and the bartender grins. "That means you can stay with us," she says.
"It's unbelievably nice of you to offer, but you really don't have to--"
"Our mom died six years ago," she says. "I was sixteen, Bell was twenty-one. It was so bad, we had so much shit to figure out. Bell had to drop out of school to take over the bar, and he didn't have a clue. He was already working part-time for your dad, and your dad gave him a raise, let him pick up extra hours when he wasn't working at the bar, helped us figure out all the legal shit. I know Bell said they weren't friends, but he's just stubborn. Your dad did so much for us." She smiles. "Besides, you're alone and pregnant and can't even drink to make yourself feel better. Someone should have your back."
Clarke opens her mouth to object, but it's been a long day, and she's exhausted, and going to a motel sounds awful. So what comes out is, "If I'm going to be staying with you, I should probably know your name."
"Octavia," she says, grinning.
"Well, thanks, Octavia. I really appreciate it."
"No problem. Now look at the menu and figure out something else to order before Bell just makes you one of everything."
She hides her smile in the menu; it's been the shittiest day, but at least it's finally looking up. "Yes, ma'am."
*
The kitchen closes at eleven, so Bellamy offers to take Clarke home instead of making her wait another hour for Octavia to close up.
"Not that I don't enjoy your company, but you look like you're about to fall asleep on the bar," Octavia teases.
So far today, Clarke has driven home from school (an hour and a half), had a long, horrific argument with her mouth (probably forty-five minutes, at the very most, but felt like an eternity), driven out to Maryland (seven hours), and hung out at the first bar she found (three hours).
She is exhausted.
"Are you even good to drive?" Bellamy asks. He's leaning against the bar next to her, out of his apron, with his very solid arms crossed over his chest. He has a lot more freckles than his sister, and Clarke is kind of distracted trying to find all of them, even though she's supposed to be having a conversation. It's understandable. Any sufficiently advanced weariness is indistinguishable from drunkenness. Clarke's law.
The thought makes her giggle, and Bellamy's frown deepens. "Yeah, you're not. Give me your keys."
Clarke fishes them out and hands them over. "Sorry. It's been a really fucking long day."
"It's fine," he says. "I walked anyway, I don't mind getting a ride back." He looks back at his sister. "I'll come back for you at 12:30."
Octavia rolls her eyes. "It's only a couple blocks. I can go home alone."
"It's dark."
"I have mace."
Bellamy's jaw moves, and Clarke offers, "I can just wait until you close."
He looks back down at her and snorts softly. "We'd be carrying you back. Just call me when you leave?" he tells Octavia.
"Sure. Get some sleep, Clarke."
Clarke winces when she spots the car--the backseat is piled full of boxes and shit from her apartment. She'd been planning to spend the summer with her mom, but she'd decided to have the pregnancy conversation first. She'd told herself it was because she was excited, but deep-down, she thinks some part of her knew it would go wrong.
Bellamy doesn't comment until they're both in the car. When he does, he starts with a throat-clear, such a deliberate we're going to talk now signal Clarke can't help smiling. "So, things went wrong with the dad?"
"Things went wrong with the dad last month," Clarke says. "This was things going wrong with my mom."
"Ah." He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "I assume Octavia already covered the talking part, but--if you need to say anything else, you can."
"Thanks for letting me stay?"
"Sure. How long are you planning to be in town?"
"Until I figure out what else to do. But I'll find somewhere else to crash tomorrow, I promise. This is just for the night."
He shrugs. "Don't worry about it. As long as you don't mind chipping in for food and utilities, you can stay." She opens her mouth to protest, and he goes on, "Your life clearly exploded. Your dad was cool. It's fine. You've got a lot of shit to figure out, don't worry about housing yet. It's a guest room and we never have guests."
"I remember you," she admits, soft. "You were at my dad's funeral."
He shrugs. "Like I said, he was a good guy."
"Octavia said he helped you guys out."
"He did." He pauses. "He talked about you a lot. He said you were at Yale."
"I was, yeah. And then I was at Tufts for med school."
"But you're not anymore."
She leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. "I assume if I don't get the abortion, my mom won't pay for me to go back, as part of her whole I will not support you ruining your life initiative. And, honestly, if I don't get the abortion, I don't want to be in med school. Even if I did get it, I'm not really sure I want to be there. But I'm not, and my mom's pissed at me for throwing my future away and said she's cutting me off until I come to my senses." She gives him a wry smile. "I guess it's cool she's not one of those parents who just wants grandchildren?"
The look he gives her is completely unimpressed, but he softens when she wilts. "Sorry," he says. "Just--I'm sorry. It sucks that your mom is treating you like that." He pauses. "What went wrong with the father, if you don't mind me asking?"
"He had another girlfriend."
He winces. "Ouch."
"He offered to leave her, said he was willing to take responsibility for the kid, but--that's not really the kind of guy I want in my life, you know? I'd rather do it alone."
"Yeah." He turns into the house. It's not too large, but the front yard is well kept, and she can see some flowers and bushes, even in the dark. It's nice. "What stuff do you actually need for tonight? Do you have a suitcase or anything? We can bring the rest of it in tomorrow so it's not just out here in the open, but I'm not really up for it right now."
"Yeah, I've got--" She opens the truck and finds the bag with her toiletries and the suitcase with most of her clothes in it. Bellamy takes the suitcase without comment and leads her inside. "You aren't worried I'm going to murder you?" she asks, as he unlocks the door.
He glances back, amused. "Honestly, if this is all part of a long-con to murder us, you've probably earned it, you put in a lot of legwork. I remember you from the funeral too. And all the pictures your dad had. You worked really hard on this murder scheme."
Clarke laughs softly. "Okay, yeah, but still."
"O likes you," he says, like his sister's approval is all that he requires to welcome someone into his house, like he hadn't been arguing against it until he found out about the baby. "Also, your mom's a dick, your boyfriend's a dick, and your dad is dead. You could probably use something going right for you for a change."
She can't help a surprised laugh. "Yeah, okay. I probably could."
"Plus, it's not like you're getting such a great deal," he adds, looking around the house with a somewhat critical eye. It's small and a little cluttered, but not bad at all, untidy rather than dirty. It feels like a real house, which Clarke knows is a weird thing to think, but her mother's place never has. Every room was bought directly out of a catalog, and every detail perfect. Bellamy and Octavia's looks like somewhere people actually live, instead of a display room at a furniture store.
"I really appreciate it, though."
"You're welcome," he says. "Come on, I'll show you the guest room."
He leads her up the creaky stairs and points out his room and the bathroom, explaining that Octavia has the master bedroom downstairs.
"Why did you give her the master?"
"She had the guest room before, it's the smallest," he says. "If I'd moved into the master, she would have wanted to move into my room and it would have been a pain in my ass. So I just kept my room and saved us all some work."
"This was after your mom died?"
"Yeah."
"And you took over the bar too?"
"I was already helping in the kitchen some weekends, so the staff knew me. And my mom had just died, so they cut me some slack with being the new boss. Even though I had no fucking clue what I was doing."
"Can I ask how she died?" Clarke asks. It's an awkward question, but--she doesn't get these two. She doesn't understand why they're doing this for her. And he probably knows more about her father's death than she does. Fair's fair.
"Car accident," he says. He offers a wry smile. "Now, why don't you go pass out instead of asking for my life story? I'll be here in the morning for interrogating."
"Thanks again."
He waves it off. "Seriously, stop thanking us. It's going to get really old."
"Fine, leave me alone so I can get some fucking sleep."
His laugh is bright and surprised, and his smile is warm. "That's more like it. Good night, Clarke."
*
She wakes up slowly. The bed is a little stiffer than she's used to, but in a nice way. Her last apartment came furnished, and she hated most of the stuff in it, from the too-mushy mattress to the weirdly slippery sofa.
In retrospect, she should have realized how unhappy she really was with medical school. She didn't even care enough to furnish her own place. She ran away every summer as soon as her last class was over.
She gets a good look at the guest room now that it's light and she isn't falling asleep on her feet. Like Bellamy said, it's not very large, most of the floor space taken up by the bed, but there's a small dresser and some shelves with books and knickknacks on them. It looks, in fact, like the kind of guest room two kids would put together based on what they thought guest rooms were supposed to be like, and the thought makes her smile.
She was pretty lucky to wander into that bar.
When she sticks her head into the hallway it's quiet and Bellamy's door is open, so she establishes he's not in there and then goes to shower. If he was around, she'd make sure he didn't mind, but--honestly, she cannot imagine Octavia and Bellamy are fine with her crashing, but draw the line at her using their shower.
Once she's clean and dry and wearing fresh clothes, she feels more human. She checks her phone and ignores the lurch she feels when there are no missed calls. For all her mother knows, she's dead in a ditch somewhere, and she doesn't even care enough to check.
She lets out a long breath, leaves the phone deliberately on the dresser, and heads downstairs. She has better things to do than worry about her mother.
There's no sign of Octavia, but Bellamy is on the sofa with a bowl of cereal, dressed in a ratty t-shirt and pajama pants, wearing a pair of glasses. Honestly, he looks like a teenager getting caught out doing something he shouldn't, which is hilarious, considering all he seems to be doing is watching a rerun of Criminal Minds.
"Morning," she says, sitting down next to him.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Morning. I was expecting you to sleep later."
"It's nine-thirty."
"Octavia is practically nocturnal." He rubs the back of his neck. "I was planning to have all your stuff unloaded in the garage by the time you got up so you'd know you were welcome."
"That honestly would have been kind of weird."
He snorts. "Good to know. You want cereal or something? Toast? I assume you're too early in the pregnancy to be having cravings."
Clarke has to laugh. "God, that's so weird."
"What, pregnancy?"
"That too. But it's more--you're so casual about it. Not like, oh my god, this is the biggest deal ever, it must only be discussed in hushed tones."
He shrugs. "I figure it's a pretty big deal for you. But I'm used to it."
"Have a lot of kids?" she teases, and he grins back.
"I kind of remember when O was born. One of our other bartenders had a kid last year. And my best friend has a new baby. It's a huge deal to be pregnant, not a huge deal to know a pregnant person. How far along are you?"
"Twelve weeks."
He nods. "So, toast?"
She follows him into the kitchen. "Aren't you a cook or something?"
He grins over his shoulder. "Yeah, for work. Who wants to work during their time off?"
They're both on the couch watching Criminal Minds when Octavia staggers out of her room a little after eleven. She blinks at them, bleary, and then says, "Oh right, we adopted a Griffin," and stumbles into the bathroom.
"It's not an adoption," Clarke mutters, and Bellamy pats her on the shoulder.
"Sure it's not."
*
Clarke isn't good at being idle, but for once in her life, she has absolutely no idea what she's supposed to do. She has a pretty good amount of money in her own savings account, but she knows how quickly money dries up if more money isn't coming in. Especially with a baby on the way.
If she's really serious about her future, she knows she should probably leave, go somewhere else, get a new job and a real life, but she has no more idea of where to go or what to do than she did when she decided to drive to Mount Weather in the first place.
Clarke's best friend since she taught him how to ride a bike was a boy named Wells. He died a year before her father did, and it gutted her. When her father passed away too, she withdrew from pretty much everyone. Her girlfriend tried to help, but Clarke hadn't known how to be helped. Maybe she didn't even want to be helped, it was hard to be sure. Those two years are a blur. She threw herself into college and then into med school, and when she surfaced again, she almost felt like she didn't know where she was. Finn had been her first real attempt at a social life after all that, and he'd gone remarkably poorly.
Being here in Mount Weather feels like having both feet on the ground, for the first time in who knows how long. It feels irrational to stay, but even more so to leave, just because she thinks she should.
It's been three days. Her mother hasn't called. Bellamy put all her stuff in the garage, and Octavia made her unpack her clothes into the guest-room dresser. Their unconditional welcome almost feels like a trap, except it's so natural. The Blake siblings accept her as a part of their lives without fanfare or ceremony; she just is.
"I think I need a job," she tells Bellamy. He's cooking lunch, and she's sitting at the kitchen counter, swinging her legs.
"And a doctor," he says, without missing a beat.
"What?"
"If you're going to stay, you should get a doctor. Sooner rather than later. Get on state health insurance so you don't spend all your money on hospital visits, but you don't want to have an emergency and not know where to go."
She ducks her head, laughing. "Okay, fine. You're super practical, I get it." She pauses. "I should also get my own place."
"If you want," he says. "Seems like a waste of money, but your call."
"Where do you get jobs around here?"
"I dunno. We're not hiring," he adds. "You're too prickly for the service industry anyway."
"Hey!"
He grins and slides a plate across the counter to her. "I am too. Why do you think I work in the back?" He sits down next to her with his own meal and clucks his tongue. "Craigslist is probably your best bet, honestly. I dunno exactly what your skill set is, but if you could find somewhere that gave you insurance and maternity leave--"
"Is it irresponsible of me to keep this baby?" she asks, even though it's awkward. She doesn't have anyone else to talk to about it, and Bellamy's the honest type. He doesn't tend to sugar-coat. "I'm unemployed, living with two strangers, and I'm cut off from my family."
Bellamy considers. "You want to know why we'll never kick you out?"
"Sure."
"Our mom had the same thing with me. The guy who--" He rubs the back of his neck. "She never said it in so many words, but I don't think the guy who got her pregnant really--I don't think she agreed to it. But her parents were still so pissed when she told them, they threw her out. They were fucking assholes. She hitchhiked for a while, ended up here. And the guy who owned the bar before her took her in." He smiles a little. "And then when she died, your dad saved my ass. So we're paying it forward. As long as you want to be here, you're not going to be alone, Clarke."
She swallows past a lump in her throat, overwhelmed. "Okay," she breathes.
"Okay," he agrees, businesslike again. "Seriously, find a doctor. There's a pretty good hospital an hour away, they can help you with insurance stuff too."
Clarke laughs softly. "So, do you think if you sound really bossy when you're worrying about people, they won't notice you're being nice to them?"
"Shut up," he says, without heat.
*
Since Bellamy and Octavia both work the nights most people are doing exciting things with friends, Sunday is their usual social evening. Octavia spends the day cleaning and making sure she looks cute, because she is involved in some long-term flirtation with the guy who owns the local flower shop, while Bellamy alternates between cooking and teasing his sister.
"Oh, by the way, you're not a dick, right?" he tosses out, casual, while Clarke is helping slice vegetables.
"I don't think so?" She frowns. "What?"
"My best friend, Miller. He's gay. He and his husband are bringing their kid. Is that a problem?"
"I don't think anyone's just asked if I'm homophobic before," she says, laughing.
"I said dick, not homophobic."
"I could still be a dick in other ways. But I'm not homophobic. I'm bi, actually, so I'd really reduce my dating pool if I was homophobic."
"Cool. It would have sucked to have to kick you out after I did that big speech about how you were always welcome."
"Awkward," Clarke agrees. "Who else is coming?"
"So, Miller, his husband, Monty, and their kid, Anita. I'm her godfather," he adds, proud. "So you have to say she's the best kid ever, at least until yours is born. Then you can downgrade her to a close second."
She laughs. "Got it."
"Octavia's flower-shop boyfriend, Lincoln--"
"Shut up!" Octavia yells from the other room.
"Monty's best friend Jasper and his girlfriend, Maya."
Clarke reviews the list in her head and smirks at Bellamy. "So are you usually the seventh wheel at these?"
"No way," he says. "I just hang out with the baby."
This turns out to be true. Miller and Monty are the first to arrive, and Bellamy claims his goddaughter almost instantly. She's tiny and cheerful and adores Bellamy, by all appearances, giggling with delight when he swoops her in the air and cooing when he cradles her against his chest.
Clarke tries not to watch them, because it's kind of a lot. She figured she'd inevitably develop feelings for one of her hosts, just because they're being so nice and taking care of her, and she's emotionally vulnerable and really hormonal. But her burgeoning crush on Bellamy really hadn't needed the help it gets from seeing him cuddling a baby.
She distracts herself meeting their other friends instead. Miller and Bellamy went to high school together and have been best friends ever since one of Bellamy's friends said something vaguely racist to Miller and Bellamy was the one who slugged him for it. Monty is a software engineer who moved to town to help his mother out and ended up settling in. Miller is quiet but not unfriendly and Monty is shy but easy once he and Clarke have talked a little. Lincoln, Octavia's crush, shows up at the same time as Jasper and Maya, and spends most of his time talking with Octavia in quiet tones. Jasper is a whirlwind, talking a mile a minute, all enthusiasm with no filter, dominating the group without even seeming to realize he's doing it.
She likes them.
None of them seem to think it's strange that she's there, nor do they ask where she came from. She wonders about it for about an hour of chatting before she gives up on avoiding Bellamy and goes to sit next to him on the sofa. He's bouncing Anita on his knee and she kind of wants to punch him, just on principle.
"Did you tell them about me?" she asks.
"Not in a ton of detail," he says. "Just that you were a friend and needed to stay here for a while."
"And no one thought this was weird?"
"If they did, they didn't mention it." He shrugs. "We've had people crashing with us before."
She snorts. "Of course you have."
"We're charitable people." He picks up the baby. "You want to hold her? Get some practice?"
"Um, sure," she says, trying not to wince and not doing very well.
"It's fine, I'll just take her back if she starts crying." He shifts closer and transfers the baby into her arms. "Support her head, babies don't have strong necks. And then your other hand--yeah." He grins at her, boyish and bright, and she swallows. This is awful for her stupid crush. "See? You're gonna be fine."
"This is definitely everything I have to do to be a good mother."
Bellamy reaches over to tickle Anita's stomach with one finger, making her giggle. "Everything else is gravy," he says. "This is the big thing."
Once most everyone but Clarke has had a few drinks, Jasper is the one who finally asks her, "So, what happened to you?"
"My life exploded," she says, and he raises his glass.
"Sucks."
"Yeah."
"How long are you planning to be here?" Lincoln asks, sounding curious rather than harsh, as if moving in with total strangers after a crisis is what anyone would do.
"Until I put it back together, I guess."
*
On Monday, she goes to the hospital and finds a PCP and an OB-GYN and gets some help with insurance shit. While she's there, she asks if they're hiring, and leaves her resume with HR, in case something comes up.
"Is it weird that I'm applying for jobs at a hospital?" she asks Bellamy. Their regular bartender called out sick, so he's manning the bar and Clarke is keeping him company. Octavia has something that might be a date with her florist, and both Clarke and Bellamy are looking forward to interrogating her later. "I could just stay in med school."
"Are they going to pay you?" Bellamy asks.
"That's the idea."
"Then, no, it's not weird. Besides, you must have some experience in hospitals, right?"
"Yeah."
He shrugs. "So it makes sense to try to get a job there. But don't just assume you're going to get it," he adds, firm. "Job-hunting can take a while, you should--"
"Oh my god, stop being such a mother hen!" Clarke says, laughing. "I'm applying for jobs, I'm getting enough sleep, I have a doctor, I ate three meals today, I--"
"Fine, ruin your life," he grumbles, but there's a twinkle in his eye. "See if I care."
Her mother calls on Tuesday.
She's doing more job applications when the phone buzzes, and she stares at it, frozen, for a long minute before she finally makes up her mind and picks up. It's tempting to ignore her, for spite, but it's not worth it. If her mother wants to apologize, she wants to hear it, and if she doesn't, she wants to know that too. She'd always rather have an answer than delay one.
"Where the hell are you?" Abby asks, as soon as Clarke picks up. "It's been a week, I've been worried sick--"
Anger flares in Clarke, bright and hot. "I could tell, you didn't even bother trying to find me--"
"I assumed you were upset and needed time to yourself," Abby says. "But this is getting out of hand, Clarke. Come home and we'll talk about this."
"We can talk about it on the phone." She worries her lip and then says, "I'm keeping the baby."
"Why?" The question is so unexpected, Clarke doesn't know how to respond, so her mother goes on. "I understand you're feeling at loose ends. But you could take a year off and think about your options without having a child. It's not fair to the baby," she adds, soft and firm, and Clarke's stomach knots up. "A baby won't fix your life, it will only make it more complicated."
"Because I want the baby," she says, firm. "I'm going to fix my life before the baby shows up. Otherwise it's not fair."
"Where are you?" her mother asks again. "None of your friends have heard from you either."
Academically speaking, it's an interesting statement. "Which friends did you ask, exactly?" Clarke certainly can't think of any.
"Fox," says Abby, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And Sterling, you always liked Sterling."
Fox was Clarke's roommate freshman year of college; Sterling's father works with Clarke's mother, and while she doesn't dislike him or anything, they've always been acquaintances, at best. She hasn't talked to Fox in months and Sterling in years.
"Yeah, I can see how that wouldn't help."
"I'm worried about you, Clarke. I wish you'd told me sooner how you were feeling."
Clarke rubs the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off a headache. "I wish I could have," she says.
"Where are you?" Abby asks again.
"I'm good."
"That's not an answer, Clarke."
"What are you going to do if I tell you? What does it matter?"
"Do I need a reason to want to know where my daughter is?"
"I'm safe, I'm happy, and I'm staying with some friends. You don't need to worry." She's not sure why she's so against telling her mother she's in Mount Weather, except that her mother is the type who might come out here for another fight, and Clarke doesn't want that. "Once I'm settled in, I'll invite you to see my new place."
There's a long pause, and finally her mother says, "I can see there's still no point in trying to reason with you. I was hoping a week was long enough for you to come to your senses, but apparently not yet. You can call when you're feeling better."
And then she hangs up.
Clarke stares at the phone, eyes blurry, for a minute. She could have been more flexible, tried to compromise, but--her mother hadn't even called for a week, after Clarke stormed out in a rage, and she doesn't even know that Clarke's been a virtual hermit for years. Does she think Sterling is the baby's father? The thought gets a choked laugh out of her, but it feels more like a sob.
She takes a few deep breaths and tries to refocus on her cover letter, but the words look like Klingon, so she pulls on her shoes and walks over to the bar instead. Both the Blakes are on shift, and she doesn't know anyone else to talk to.
She could call her close friend Sterling, of course, and she holds back a semi-hysterical giggle at the thought.
Octavia's talking to an older guy at the end of the bar when Clarke comes in, but she takes one look at her and makes excuses to the man, sliding down to talk to Clarke instead. "I'm getting the weirdest sense of deja vu. What's up?"
"My mom called."
Octavia winces, and then sticks her head in the back to tell Bellamy something. Clarke's expecting him to show up, but he doesn't, and she feels a little let down. "What did she say?"
"She yelled at me for not calling and told me she'd been worried sick, which--she could have called too, it's been a week. If I was worried, I'd call. She told me I was being unfair using the baby to escape from my life, which is kind of fair, and said I could call her if I wanted to be reasonable." She rubs her face. "It doesn't sound so bad when I talk about it."
"It sounds plenty bad," Octavia says, frowning. She pours Clarke a big glass of milk, and Clarke has to smile.
"I'm not five, you know."
"It's traditional," says Bellamy, coming up next to his sister and putting a piece of chocolate cake in front of her. "We're trying out desserts," he says, at Clarke's raised eyebrows. "Octavia thought you needed some. I didn't just bake a cake in the last five minutes for your benefit."
"That would be pretty cool, though. As superpowers go."
He bumps his shoulder against hers. "You're still getting real dinner. Something with vegetables. Tell me if it's good, I want to know if we should add it to the menu."
He takes off without another word, and Clarke shakes her head. "Is he always like that, or is it just me?"
"He's convinced if he's all--you know," Octavia waves her hand. "Stern and serious and shit, you won't realize he's a fluffy ball of fluff."
"It's not working."
"Nope. How's the job search?"
"Okay, until it got derailed. I'm gonna give it two weeks and then I think I'll try this temp agency I found? It's not like I'm spending much money since you guys won't take rent--"
"The mortgage is paid, all we pay is utilities, and we're charging you for those and food," Octavia says firmly.
"And you keep giving me free bar food."
"We charge you for some of the bar food."
"Anyway, I want to start making money in as soon as I can, because--a baby is going to be expensive. And I'm going to need my own place before it's born."
"Probably," Octavia grants, inclining her head. "Three people in our place is fine, but I'm not sure where we'd put the baby." She pauses. "Don't tell Bell that, or he'll make a nursery on principle."
"I know. I'll let him know once I've already found a place I can afford so he doesn't have the chance to try to talk me out of it."
"I'm glad you already figured it out." She pauses. "But if you don't find a place, we'll make it work. I like babies, and Bell loves babies."
"You know it really freaks me out when you say stuff like that, right?"
"I do," says Octavia, with a bright smile, and goes to serve a couple girls who just came in.
Bellamy comes to sit with her on his dinner break, bringing a burger and salad, her usual order.
"I do know how to feed myself."
"Yeah, but when you're here, it's my job to feed you," he says, biting into his own burger.
"When I order stuff."
"So are you saying you didn't want a cheeseburger and a side salad?"
She scowls, but grabs the ketchup for her burger. "Okay, fine."
He steals the pickle off her plate and bites into it with a smug grin. "That's what I thought."
*
"It'll be good practice," Bellamy tells her.
Clarke gives him a dirty look, which only makes him grin wider. It's Monday, his day off, and her first day working as a temp, which mostly involved a lot of filing and data entry. It could have been worse, but she's kind of tired and had been looking forward to an evening of watching Bellamy play video games while Octavia was on a date. She's got a Monday routine she really likes going, after a month of living with the Blakes.
Unfortunately, Bellamy agreed to babysit his goddaughter, which means she instead gets to look forward to an entire evening of him being cute with a baby.
"Maybe I want to put off dealing with children for as long as possible before I have my own," she shoots back.
"Yeah, that is not a good way to do it," he says, grinning. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'll teach you how to change a diaper. That's definitely going to come in handy."
Clarke sighs like she is incredibly put-upon. "You better still play video games."
"Yeah, but just on the Wii. Xbox is inappropriate for kids."
He's in the bathroom when Monty shows up with the baby, so Clarke accepts Anita and the giant bag of stuff that she travels with, and assures Monty that they'll take good care of her. At seven months, she's still mostly in the "gurgles and cries" stage of life, but she's adorable and seems fascinated by Clarke's hair whenever they meet, which is nice. She still doesn't feel good with babies, but she's at least getting comfortable with them.
They're sitting on the couch with Anita gnawing on her braid when Bellamy comes back out. He flops down next to them and offers the baby his finger, grinning when she takes it without releasing Clarke's braid from her mouth.
"See, this is fun," he says. "We're having fun."
"You're making me dinner."
"I'll make you dinner." He shifts closer against her side; something about her holding a baby always seems to make him want to be close--probably just his natural inclination toward fretting over everyone, and her and babies specifically. It's another reason she's going to have to move out, because she doesn't think she'll be able to handle him leaning against her side to coo at her kid all the time. "I make you dinner whenever I'm home. I don't know why you want to leave," he adds, like he can tell she's thinking about it. "We give you room and board and company and--"
"You know that normal people don't just try to adopt pregnant girls, right? This is weird and you're the only one who does it."
"Octavia's doing it too."
"It's genetic."
He takes Clarke's hair gently out of Anita's mouth and takes her into his arms instead, giving her a bounce. Clarke has to smile.
"You know it's not good practice for me if you're always stealing the baby."
"Yes it is. This is exactly what I'm going to do when you have your kid."
A lump catches in her throat, and she's supremely glad he seems too distracted by the baby to notice. Clarke just doesn't get how to deal with the Blakes' casual belief that they're going to be a part of her life from now on. She doesn't know how she's supposed to believe it will really happen. It can't be this easy.
Bellamy's working on dinner and Clarke's watching the baby when her phone rings. It's the call she's been expecting since she officially dropped out of med school last week: her mother has decided they need to talk again.
"I'm gonna put her in her bouncy seat thing," she tells Bellamy. "And take this outside."
"Sure," he says, frowning a little. "Or you could ignore her."
"I could, but what if she's calling to tell me she's had a total change of heart and wants to give me a billion dollars to raise this kid in luxury?"
"You're right, that's really likely. Don't want to risk missing it." He squeezes her shoulder. "Just come back in if it gets too grim."
It's muggy outside, for all it's almost eight, and Clarke feels herself getting sticky almost instantly. It fits the general atmosphere of shit she doesn't want to deal with.
"Hey, Mom."
"You're serious about this."
She briefly considers asking what Abby means by this, but it ultimately doesn't matter much. "Yeah, I am."
"You can just defer for a year. I was surprised you never took a year off, with everything that happened. But I think once you've had a chance to think about this--"
"I have thought about it. The baby's due in November, do you really think I'm going to want to go back to med school with an infant?"
There's a long pause, and then her mother asks, "Are you staying with the father?"
"No. I told you, he's not in the picture."
"If you don't want to terminate the pregnancy there are other options. Adoption, or I could take it. While you get back on your feet."
Clarke wouldn't ever want her mother raising another child, but it feels needlessly combative to say that. Instead she says, "It's not that I don't want to terminate the pregnancy. I want the baby, Mom. And I don't want to go back to school." She swallows hard. "I'd like you to be in my life. And the baby's. But I need you to stop trying to talk me out of this. I need you to get that I've made up my mind."
When her mother's silent again, she goes back inside, watches Bellamy putter around the kitchen. She likes watching him work, his easy grace in the kitchen, comfort with the space that must have come from growing up helping his mother.
More and more, it feels like her home, not some strange vacation she's taking from the real world.
"I think you're making a mistake," says her mother at last. "I don't know how to just let you do it."
"I'm twenty-four," says Clarke. "I get to make my own mistakes now."
"Where are you, Clarke?"
It's good faith, to tell her. And what's she going to do, come down here and drag Clarke home? Bellamy and Octavia wouldn't let her. Clarke wouldn't let her.
"Mount Weather."
Her mother splutters. "You're in Maryland?"
"Don't worry, I have a job and a doctor and everything. Bellamy was really insistent about the doctor."
"Who's Bellamy?" Her mother sounds so lost and distressed it's almost funny.
When she raises her eyes, Bellamy is already looking at her, and Clarke feels a strange tug. Not just the familiar attraction, but an ache, not quite painful. "He's a friend," she says. "He knew Dad." Anita starts fussing, and she and Bellamy break eye contact. "I gotta go check on the baby."
"What baby?" Abby demands, and Clarke hangs up.
Bellamy teaches her how to change a diaper and gets through half of dinner before he says, "So, that sounded like it could have been worse."
"I told her I made up my mind and she needs to deal. If she respects that, I'll be happy."
He nods. "And you told her where you are?"
"I'm trying to be reasonable so she looks worse."
"Fake maturity. I like it."
"These are the kinds of values I plan to teach my child."
He snorts. "You're going to be a great mother."
She bounces Anita on her leg, not looking at him. "At least a decent one, right?"
She's expecting a little more teasing or sarcasm, but instead he says, "You're going to be fine, Clarke. Your kid's lucky."
He's close, like he always is when the baby's around, and it's easy to shift, lean her head against his shoulder. "Thanks."
*
Clarke is showing, but she's been able to dress so it's not that noticeable. The temp agency knows and she's pretty sure she's not getting long-term assignments because of it, but no one at the offices she's gone to has commented on it. It'll be unavoidable in a few months, and she's treasuring this time, before strangers on the street ask her when she's due.
Then Octavia comes in on a Saturday and says, "Do you have a swimsuit?"
"Probably. Why?"
"Because it's hot as balls, so Monty and Miller are having a pool party tomorrow. If you don't have a suit, you should get one."
"But--I'm pregnant," she says, and tries not to wince.
Octavia rolls her eyes. "And?"
"I don't know. I just have a bikini."
"So? That just means it'll probably still fit."
"I don't--" She sighs. "It's weird being obviously pregnant."
"Clarke," says Octavia, voice going gentle. "It's Monty and Miller's pool. Everyone there already knows you're pregnant." She perks up. "And I bet your boobs are bigger, so the bikini probably looks great. Try it on!"
Clarke laughs. "Right now?"
"Yeah! I'm going shopping for something that will convince Lincoln we've been dating long enough that we should have sex, so if yours doesn't fit you can come with me."
Clarke goes down to the garage and digs her suit out of one of her boxes; she gets changed in the bathroom and finds it fits well enough. The swell of her stomach is right there, obvious, and it makes her feel squirmy.
There's a baby in there.
"Come show me!" Octavia shouts, and Clarke opens the bathroom door and steps into the hall just as Bellamy does the same thing, coming out if his office to yell, "What?"
He turns and looks at her, and she stands her ground with effort. This was exactly what she was nervous about, Bellamy seeing her like this, but the sweep of his eyes up her body is appreciative.
"Octavia wanted me to check if my bathing suit still fit," she says, by way of explanation for why she's standing in his hallway mostly naked. He's still looking at her, and she tries not to let it make her pulse pick up. He's a straight guy, and she's a mostly naked girl. Of course he's looking at her. If she was him and Octavia was her, she'd be checking Octavia out.
"Right," says Bellamy. He licks his lips, and Clarke feels a rush of stupid arousal. She knew that her hormones were out of whack and that one of the side effects was going to be that she was kind of really fucking horny sometimes, but Bellamy staring at her is a lot to deal with. "Uh, yeah. I think you're good," he says, and disappears back into the office.
Octavia sticks her head out of Clarke's room. "Yeah, that does amazing things for your boobs, definitely wear it. Right, Bell?" she calls at her brother.
"Shut up!" Bellamy yells back.
*
Of course, the next day, Bellamy is also wearing a bathing suit, and--it's not like Clarke hasn't seen him in basically the same thing before. He mowed the lawn last week in nothing but a pair of old gym shorts and Clarke definitely saw Mrs. Thompson, who lives across the street and is like seventy, sitting on the hood of her car with a glass of lemonade just blatantly watching him do it. Which, Clarke has to admit, is pretty much exactly the kind of old lady she wants to be. Give no fucks.
Anyway, the point is, shirtless Bellamy is nothing new, but he's wearing his glasses because he says that chlorine always fucks up his contacts, and he's holding the baby and helping her play in the water, so it's not even just shirtless Bellamy Blake, it's wet, shirtless Bellamy Blake holding a baby and wearing his stupid glasses.
Clarke is probably going to die of sexual frustration.
It doesn't help that the first thing Jasper said when he saw her was man, you really are pregnant, which was not the reaction she was hoping for. And Bellamy's recovered from his inability to stop checking her out, which is good, in the broadest sense, because it's obviously natural but there's no way he's actually interested. She's the pregnant girl he adopted because he felt sorry for her and he thinks he owes her dad. And she has a crush on him because he's friendly and attractive and really fucking good with kids, and her hormones are going haywire. So, yeah. It's good he stopped checking her out because when he's staring at her it's so much harder to not think about how it could have been if she met him when her life was normal, if he'd just been a cute guy in a bar.
But it also kind of sucks.
"He's going to be a really good dad," Octavia remarks, making Clarke jump. She wasn't staring at Bellamy. She was just zoning out. In Bellamy's general direction.
"What?" she asks.
Octavia sits down next to her and dangles her feet in the water. She's wearing this red bikini that should probably be illegal, and Clarke spent a few minutes staring at her this morning, but she's mostly used to it by now. Well, except for how she's at a perfect angle to check out her breasts, but she's mostly avoiding the temptation. Mostly.
All her friends are really hot. It's a problem.
"Bellamy's going to be a really good dad," Octavia says again. "You know. For anyone who thinks they might need a dad in their life."
Clarke rolls her eyes. "Subtle."
"Yeah, because subtlety was really my goal there." She cocks her head at her brother. "He hasn't had a girlfriend in like a year. He's always been kind of weird with dating. Like--he should be one of those people who settled down instantly and found true love because he's, like--" She huffs. "When he falls, he really falls. But he doesn't want to be that guy so he's like--he doesn't look for serious stuff."
"Are you going somewhere with this?" Clarke asks.
"It's cute that you're staring at him," she says, patting Clarke on the shoulder. "You should tell him you want to make out."
Clarke splutters, looking back at Bellamy because--fuck, it can't be that easy, right? Admittedly, everything's been weirdly easy so far, or--well, everything with Bellamy and Octavia has been. Her mother's a disaster and she still has no idea what she's going to do when the baby comes because she cannot just keep living with them, but the Blakes are the uncomplicated part of her life. If she screws it up with Bellamy, then she doesn't have anything she can depend on anymore. She'll have to drive out of Mount Weather like she drove out of Providence after she fought with her mother, and it would be so much worse, because she didn't actually want to be in Providence, and she doesn't have another idea of where to go.
"I'll keep that in mind," she says, and slides into the water before Octavia can respond.
And of course she does keep it in mind the rest of the day, because it was already in her mind, the whole into Bellamy thing, but having Octavia bring it up makes it feel more real. Not possible, still, not really, but now it's something that exists outside her own head. It's something that Octavia knows about, and Bellamy could know about it too. Maybe she's been really obvious.
If he knows, he's at least nice about it. Once the baby goes in to go to sleep, he starts hanging out with her instead, teasing her about how pink her skin is getting and laughing when she makes fun of him for wearing his glasses in the fucking pool.
"If I'm blind how am I going to properly appreciate how cute my goddaughter is?" he asks.
"I'm not sure I've ever met another guy who loves babies as much as you do. How are you still single?"
"It's actually creepy if you put that into online dating stuff," he muses, all fake-despairing. "Like, I love babies just sounds really weird and wrong. It's hard to work into casual conversations without coming off as trying too hard or, just--"
"Creepy." She grins. "I'm really glad this is something you tried and failed at."
"Yeah, I'm working on a show, don't tell approach now."
"Well, you're certainly showing it. Do you take her to the park and loudly talk about how she's your goddaughter and you're very single?"
"Not yet. But if I ever want to pick up random girls in the park, I'll think about it."
Octavia goes home with Lincoln, because no straight, sexual guy could resist Octavia in that bikini, so it's just her and Bellamy in the car back, and--she knows he doesn't feel the awkwardness, he's the same as ever, but she can't help it, the itchy awareness of him next to her, the way her eye catches on his jaw, his mouth, every line of his face.
It might not be a crush. It might be worse than a crush.
So when they get back to the house she does the only thing she can think of: she goes on craigslist and starts looking for apartments.
*
The temp job doesn't pay that well, so Clarke spends a while looking into her savings account, figuring out how long it will last, and comparing apartment rentals versus condo purchases vs houses, for rent and sale. She has a lot of money her dad left her when he died--she was the sole beneficiary of his estate, and it wasn't a bad one, as these things go. She could probably buy a place, somewhere small in a pretty decent neighborhood, and be set for a year or two, even if she didn't get a better paying job right away. It's probably the responsible thing to do.
But part of her feels, irrationally, horribly, impossibly like she has a house, and that's what trips her up. After two months, she's gotten used to being here, and no matter how awkward she feels about Bellamy or how much she knows she should leave, she doesn't know how to.
The Blakes aren't helping, either, despite Octavia's claims that she thought Clarke needed to leave. She comes into the bar the Tuesday after the party--Tuesdays are her night to always come to the bar, because she has traditions now--to find the two of them having one of those quiet, urgent conversations that mean they don't want to argue in public.
They stop when Clarke slides onto the stool across from them, and Octavia offers her a bright smile. "How are you with numbers?"
"Um, I can count pretty high without using my fingers. What about numbers?"
"Bell needs to hire a bookkeeper."
"I don't," he protests, and then runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. "I might."
"Isn't touching your hair when you cook really unsanitary?" Clarke asks.
"I'm not cooking right now. I wear gloves when I'm cooking." He gives her a rueful smile. "I don't want to make you feel weird."
That ship sailed around when he invited her to move in and she developed some sort of horrific thing for him, but that's not actually his fault. "I'm five months pregnant, I always feel weird. Weird is my life now."
"I've been meaning to get someone to handle the money ever since your dad died, but--I was putting it off. He helped us figure it out when he was alive, got me set up with a cheap insurance plan, all that stuff. O and I have been doing it since then, but she's worried someday the IRS is going to catch up, and, honestly, I don't really have time to do it right. It's, uh--we probably couldn't pay you market rates for it, but we've got insurance and you hang out here all the time anyway, and--" He wets his lips. "O's right, if you wanted to do it, that would be great."
"You're actually trying to hire me," she says. "Based on--my extensive bookkeeping experience?"
"I saw your spreadsheet of your finances," Octavia says. "You're good at this stuff. You know how to budget and balance checkbooks and stuff. And there's all kinds of information on the internet. You'll do just as good a job at it as Bell does."
"I know it's weird," Bellamy says, looking as uncomfortable as Clarke's ever seen him. "We're not trying to--take over your whole life or anything. I can always advertise for the position. But it seems kind of stupid not to offer it to you. You need a job, you need health insurance, I'm not--" He gives her a somewhat sheepish smile. "Please say something so I'll shut up."
Clarke has to laugh. "You should show me the books tomorrow, I don't have a temp assignment yet and I have no idea if I'll be any good at it. You don't want to hire me just because we're friends."
"Also because you're cute," Octavia says, and Bellamy elbows her.
"That sounds good. We can go over what I'm actually looking for tomorrow, see if it's something you're interested in." He offers a shy smile. "It would honestly really help me out, I hate doing all the money stuff."
He goes back into the kitchen before she can respond, and Clarke gives Octavia a look. "What exactly made you decide to start meddling?"
"You guys weren't doing anything," Octavia says, sighing. "Also, this isn't meddling. I've been telling Bell for months we really need to hire someone to do this and he's been dragging his feet. I just took advantage of the fact that we have a poor, mostly unemployed pregnant friend who needs a job and who can probably do money stuff as well as he can. He wants to take care of you, I want someone more competent than him to handle my paychecks."
Clarke and Bellamy spend the morning in his home office, Bellamy showing her the ropes, and it all seems doable. Clarke isn't an expert or anything, but she's a natural organizer and she likes having neat, tidy budgets. She's been handling her own money since she got to college, even has some investments, and Bellamy's books are disorganized but not complicated.
"I could probably do this," she admits.
"You'd really be helping me out." When she slants a dubious look at him, he holds up his hands, laughing. "Seriously, this is not charity. I need someone to do this, and you're smart and competent and I trust you not to screw me over. I don't know how the fuck I'd figure out if I was hiring the right person aside from gut instinct, so I'd rather hire you."
"And you're getting me health insurance." She worries her lip. "If things ever go wrong with us, I'm going to have nothing, you know that, right?"
"You'd have to find a new place to live," he says. "But I'm not going to fire a good employee over a personal dispute. Have you even met Murphy? He's a fucking dick and his entire life is garbage, but he's a great sous chef and he's never been drunk on shift. We got in a fight once and I broke his jaw and he's still working for me."
Clarke laughs. "Why did you break his jaw?"
"First and only time I've gotten drunk with him. I don't remember exactly what happened, but Octavia was somehow involved and--we were drunk. I had a black eye, he had a broken jaw, we agreed to never hang out outside of work again, and he's still employed." He rubs the back of his neck. "I know this is weird, but--that bar is my whole life. I'd never do anything I thought would screw it up." He offers her a grin. "You're cute, but not that cute."
Clarke flushes and shoves him. "If this goes wrong, I'm going to sue you."
"Sure, that seems fair. So, you'll do it?"
It would maybe be nice if she had some other friends to bounce these decisions off of, but--she likes Bellamy. She trusts Bellamy. She might be a little bit in love with Bellamy, but that's something she can deal with later. Once she's had the baby, it'll probably get better.
Really.
Plus, she hates temping, the hospital never got back to her, and there aren't that many job opportunities out here. And Bellamy clearly does hate the bookkeeping stuff, so it's a chance to pay him and Octavia back for everything they've done for her. And get paid for it. It's a really good plan, except for the part where her life is so fucking tangled up in Bellamy and Octavia Blake she might never get out.
But she has a list of apartments she's never going to look at and a room in their house, so it's not like she's been having any luck untangling herself anyway.
"I'll do it," she says, and they shake on it.
*
Clarke is halfway to her doctor's appointment on Monday when the clinic calls and tells her one of her doctor's other patients has suddenly gone into labor and asks if they can reschedule. Given she works for Bellamy now and he's the single person in the universe who cares most about her getting proper medical attention, she switches to Tuesday and drives home. She's expecting to find Bellamy on the couch or cooking, but there's no sign of him anywhere downstairs.
When she goes upstairs, she finds him in the office; the desk is gone and the shelves are all covered in old sheets, and the walls are half painted a bright, cheerful pastel green.
A lump forms in her throat. He moved the desk and most of the files to the back room of the bar, so Clarke could work there and be available for employee questions about payroll or whatever. It had made sense, there was no reason to buy a new desk, and all he ever did in here was bookkeeping shit anyway. She didn't realize it was step one of a master plan.
"Bellamy," she starts, voice a little shaky.
"You shouldn't be in here, there are fumes," he says, aggressively casual. "Don't huff shit when you're pregnant."
She can't help a smile. "Don't huff shit when you're not pregnant, huffing shit is such a bad idea, medically speaking. Pot's way safer."
"Thanks, Dr. Substance Abuse."
"Why are you painting your office pastel green?"
"It's cheerful. Probably good for my productivity. The white was oppressive. This will make me think of, uh. Spring. New growth. Potential."
"For all the work you do in here."
"I'm thinking of writing a novel. I think I've got a unique voice. And I'm going to have a lot of spare time, now that I don't have to do the fucking payroll shit any more." He glances at her stomach. "At what point should I stop swearing in front of the baby?"
"When it's an actual baby."
"Okay, cool, fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Bellamy."
"What?"
She worries her lip. "I'm looking at apartments." It's still true, even if she hasn't made much progress on it. She's still planning to leave. She's got two-and-a-half months before her due date, and she can't just stay here forever. It's better to leave before the baby is born, when her roots are less permanent.
She just needs to figure out how.
His hand stills, and the paint clots on the wall, an uneven splotch of too-dark color. Clarke goes in and takes the roller from his limp fingers, evening out the coat.
"Why?" he asks.
"Because it's one thing for me to stay here, it's another thing for me and a baby to live here."
He crosses his arms, jaw set. "It's not. When I told you that you could stay, I meant it." He worries his lip, and then says, soft, "I want you to stay, Clarke."
She lets out a long breath. "I can't. I can't just--take over your life, Bellamy. And I would, when the baby came. Babies take over. It'd be waking you up and driving you and Octavia crazy and Lincoln when he's over and if you ever got a girlfriend--" He lets out a snort, and she glares at him. "Trust me, Bellamy, a girlfriend would look at this situation and run."
"I'm not going to get a girlfriend."
"A boyfriend, then," she says, and takes the roller out of her hand, puts it away so he can take her hand instead.
"Clarke."
"You can't," she croaks out. It's really obvious where this conversation is going, but--he can't. Bellamy likes taking care of people, and she's a mess, so of course he think he's--attached to her. He probably is. But he can't really want this. "I know you're, like--I know you want to look out for me, but--"
He's laughing. "You seem weirdly convinced that I'm like this," he says. He's smiling at her, so close, and he's painting a nursery. It's hard to really want to argue with him. "I'm not. I'll let people crash for a few weeks, but--there's a limit to what I'll do for most people." He squeezes her hand, rubbing his thumb against the back of it. His hand is warm and rough and she wants, so much, for this to work. But it seems impossible. She can't be so lucky. "There, uh. Apparently there isn't a limit to what I'll do for you."
She drops her forehead onto his shoulder, trying very hard not to cry. "This is hormones," she says, voice choked. "I'm pregnant and I have a lot of issues dealing with emotions."
He presses his lips against her temple. "You should go out with me," he says.
"Go out with you?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yeah, you'll feel better. We'll date for a while and if it turns out we're not a good couple, you can still move out." He pauses. "I'm still making a nursery. Just to be safe."
"You can't seriously be saying we should date."
"Why not?"
She has to laugh. "We live together, I'm pregnant, this isn't, just--this is not a normal relationship."
"It can be. For, you know. Almost three months. The baby will make it weird, but that's probably long enough to figure out if we can give this a shot." She's close enough she can hear him swallow, and some part of her wants to pull away so she can see him, but--it's nice, being this close. She wraps her arms around him instead, and he laughs softly and tugs her in. "I think we can make it work."
"This doesn't happen," she chokes out. "This isn't--real life isn't like this, okay?"
"Like what?"
"I don't just get to--run away from everything to a random place and wander into a bar and find two people who are willing to take me in and they just let me stay and give me a job and you're exactly what I want and you're making a nursery--"
He laughs. "You know, the whole thing makes a lot more sense if you just accept I'm kind of in love with you. It's not some random coincidence. I would have helped you find a place after a month, except--fuck. I just wanted you to never leave."
Clarke swallows hard, pulls back enough to look at him. He's faintly red, embarrassed, and she bites her lip. "You should finish painting," she says, smiling. "But, um. I'll be downstairs. When you're done."
When he comes down, he's fresh from the shower, wearing his pajamas and his glasses. It reminds her of that first morning, the way she felt comfortable with him so quickly, how easy it was to just sit with him.
"So, if I make you dinner, is that a date?" he asks.
"You make me dinner all the time."
"And I've been trying to date you the whole time, so--"
Clarke leans across the couch and presses her mouth against his. The angle is a little off, but he catches her cheek, turns her face up, and kisses her slow and deep, like this is the next part of their conversation, like he still wants to convince her that this is a good idea.
Like he thinks, somehow, that she'll be able to resist this, when he's offering.
She's the one who loses it first, climbs into his lap and pushes close. It's not the same as it has been before, the swell of her stomach unfamiliar, and--she's never felt like this before, not about anyone. She didn't know it was possible. She didn't even know it was like this, being in love, didn't realize how much she was holding herself back.
"Clarke," he breathes, sliding his hands up her back. "Fuck, Clarke."
"We're barely doing anything," she says, pressing desperate kisses against his jaw and neck. He smells like the shower and a little of paint, and he's solid and perfect and she's so fucking into him.
"And we shouldn't, I have no idea when Octavia's coming home." He looks up at her. "Seriously, we should probably go slow."
Clarke groans. "You're just saying that because you're not pregnant and horny and worried about using your vibrator because you don't know how sound carries in this house."
Bellamy stares at her for a second and then groans and shoves her off him. "Jesus, that was really fucking unfair." He tugs her up the stairs after him, into his room. "You were seriously afraid to use your vibrator?"
"My room is above Octavia's! It's weird!"
"Okay, we're having sex now, just because you've obviously been suffering," he says, as if it's a great burden. "But we can still take it slow. Really make sure we--"
She tugs his t-shirt off and he laughs and kisses her again, pushing her down onto his bed. She hasn't really been in here much before, but his bed is larger than hers, really comfortable, and she's not sure she's going to be able to go slow.
"So, uh, are there pregnancy rules for sex?" he asks, grinning. "Should I just go down on you?"
Clarke lets her head fall back onto his pillow, trying not to whimper. "I don't remember, but--fuck, please, please--"
He brushes his lips against hers and tugs her dress up and off. She feels a little weird, being so exposed, when she's--well, she's exhausted all the time and achy and there's a person growing inside her, but Bellamy mostly seems to think she's gorgeous, from the way his eyes sweep over her.
"So, that was one vote for me going down on you," he says, sliding her underwear down and off. "Sounds like a good place to start. But we need to google the sex thing later."
"I went to med school, you know."
"I know," he says, nuzzling her thigh. Clarke's already wet, of course, has been a little ever since he took her hand in the stupid office/nursery, because she's so fucking wired, and her body hates her. "I should have told you how I felt sooner, I didn't know you were suffering."
"Less talking, more oral," Clarke says, tangling her hand in his hair. It's soft and thick, just like she imagined, and part of her is still expecting to wake up and find out she's dreaming.
Then Bellamy drags his tongue up over her entrance, wet and hot and perfect, and she's never had a dream that feels this good, and she's had some fucking hot dreams.
"Fuck," she gasps, and she feels Bellamy's soft snort of laughter against her. "I'm going to be really fucking easy right now. Don't get a big head. It'll be harder when I'm not pregnant and desperate."
"Mm," he agrees, sliding his mouth up to suck gently on her clit. Her hips jerk and he puts his arm right below her stomach to keep her down. "Easy," he says. "First one is just to get the edge off." He uses his other hand to rub against her, sliding two fingers inside, and Clarke bites the pillow because she's fucking embarrassed at how loud she's being. But he feels so good, and he wants her.
He pushes another finger into her, tongue working her clit relentlessly, and she comes with a moan she can't drown out, orgasm rocking through her and leaving her shaking.
Bellamy pulls back up with a grin. "Been a while, huh?"
"Like you've gotten laid since I moved in."
"Yeah, but I've been jerking off, unlike some people." He wets his lip. "What's your opinion on making out after oral?"
"Get up here, Bellamy."
The trade long, lazy kisses, and he gets her off again with his fingers. She returns the favor, jerking him off with sure, steady strokes as he murmurs against her neck, saying filthy, awestruck things about how perfect she feels and how amazing she is.
They get dressed and get distracted making out against the door before they finally make it downstairs. Bellamy makes dinner while Clarke watches him, heart in her throat. It's so perfect she's sure it can't be happening.
Then her mother calls, the starkest reminder of reality she has.
"It's my mom," she tells Bellamy. They've talked a few times since she dropped out of med school, and it's been--fine. She told her about the job at the bar and random stories about Bellamy and Octavia, and she's pretty sure her mother already thinks she and Bellamy are together, so--at least it won't be a surprise. "It might be important."
"Sure."
She goes over to lean against his side as she cooks, and her mother tells her about charity things that she's gone to and wishes Clarke would be at, about how the hospital is, about things she could be doing with her life. They all sound awful.
"How's Mount Weather?" her mom asks.
"It's good. Really good." She closes her eyes. "I've got a boyfriend."
Bellamy kisses her hair, and she smiles.
"Oh. That's--good. That reminds me, you should probably get in touch with the baby's father, he called the other day. He was worried about his paternal rights."
Clarke makes a face. The anger she felt at Finn for the whole situation passed long ago, settling into a kind of dull irritation. She didn't love him, he just made her feel a little better, but she doesn't think he'd really fit into a life where she's happy.
Still, he is her kid's father. He probably deserves a call.
"You're right, we should talk about that stuff. I'll get in touch with him."
"Is the baby doing well?"
"Yeah, I think so. The doctor had to cancel our appointment today, but I'm going in tomorrow, and everything was fine last time we talked. She keeps nearly slipping up and telling me the sex, but she's managed to resist so far."
"You don't want to know?"
"Not really. We'll find out when it comes out."
There's a pause, and Clarke doesn't even figure out why until she says, "The boyfriend is serious, then?"
She glances at him, smiles. "We're taking it slow. But I really like him, yeah."
He grins. "Hang up so we can eat," he mouths, and she swats him.
"I think it's dinner time, so--"
"I was thinking I should come down. Around the due date, or after the baby's born. In case--well, I'd like to be there."
Clarke freezes, whole body going cold. It's not something she was ready for, and she's not sure how she feels about it. It would be--nice, probably. Certainly better than her mother never being involved in her life ever again. "That--sure. That would be nice."
"Great. I'll figure out travel plans once you have a more definite due date, I just thought I should mention it now. In case you needed time to think about it."
"No, that's fine. I'll--keep you posted."
"Good. I love you," she adds, and Clarke's aware it's the first time she's said it since everything happened. Part of her is resentful, but--she already knew her mother wasn't perfect. Trying is an improvement.
"I love you too," she says.
She and Bellamy curl up together on the couch after dinner, watch some mindless sitcom while his hand traces patterns over her stomach.
"You totally just want to be with me for baby access," she teases, and he laughs.
"God, when you told me I should use liking babies to pick up girls, I nearly cried," he says. "I was like, I've been fucking trying, god."
Clarke laughs and kisses his jaw. "It totally worked."
"At least there's that."
She takes his hand, plays with it absently, tracing his knuckles with her fingers. The ability to touch him is almost overwhelming; she doesn't know how to stop. "Finn, the, uh--the guy who knocked me up. He talked to my mom. I should probably call him. He's a dick, but--if he wants to have contact with his kid, I maybe shouldn't say he can't."
"Up to you," says Bellamy. "But, yeah, talking to him probably isn't the worst idea." His arms tighten around her. "But if you just want me to drive up to Boston and kick his ass, I can do that too."
She snorts. "Very manly."
"You're too pregnant to do it yourself. I've got your back."
"You do," she agrees, and closes her eyes.
She dozes until Octavia gets back; the sound of the door wakes her and Bellamy, and then Octavia's over them on the couch, smirking.
"So, what did it?"
"I'm turning the office into a nursery."
"Romantic."
"That wasn't really the plan, but, yeah, it worked out." He yawns and untangles himself from Clarke and ruffles his sister's hair. "Your efforts were totally appreciated, though. I know you tried to help."
"What did she do to help you?" Clarke asks, cracking her back. Sleeping on the couch is really not a good idea during pregnancy, but--totally worth it.
"Made fun of me a lot," he says, grinning. "Told me I was pathetic and should just tell you I wanted to be the father of your child. Standard little-sister stuff."
Octavia pecks him on the cheek. "I'm very happy for you guys."
Clarke goes up to her room and lies in her bed for ten minutes, staring at the ceiling, before she gives up and pads across the hall, nudging Bellamy's door open. He's still awake, reading something, and he squints at her, like he can't quite believe it's her. Or he just took his contacts out and he's mostly blind.
"Do you need to go slow?" she asks, leaning against the closed door.
He wets his lips, closes the book and puts it on his bedside table. "Why?"
"I couldn't sleep, because--I could be sleeping with you, and it feels kind of dumb to not do that. Not, like, sex, just--I fucking like you, okay? I know I like you. And I'm sick of thinking you don't like me."
He pats the mattress next to him. "Come to bed, Clarke."
*
A month before the baby is due, Octavia announces she's moving out.
"What?" Clarke asks, and the same time Bellamy says, "Awesome."
"What?" Clarke says again, to Bellamy this time. He grins, kisses her cheek, and goes back into the kitchen, like this isn't a conversation he cares about, somehow.
"I'm moving in with Lincoln," she says, shrugging. "Bellamy tried to tell me it was too soon, but I pointed out he moved in with his pregnant girlfriend literally the day he met her, so I won that argument."
Clarke snorts. "So, he already knew?"
"He knew I was thinking about it. It's not because of you, don't worry. I'm still gonna be over here all the time, and I'll babysit whenever I can. That kid is basically gonna be my niece or nephew."
Clarke ducks her head, smiling. "So it's not just that me and your brother are too loud."
Octavia laughs. "Not just that," she teases. "Seriously, it's kind of time anyway? I love Bell, but--I've been living at home for a long time, I'm looking forward to a new place."
"With Lincoln."
"With Lincoln. I would have done it earlier, honestly, I had friends who were looking for roommates, but I was worried if I left Bell alone he'd be mopey and just sit around in his boxers playing video games all the time. He needs someone around."
"So the real reason you were telling me to make out with your brother was that you wanted to move out and thought I'd be willing to live with him."
"Basically. Also, I figured you'd make him happy. And he's never had a girlfriend he really likes, so--thanks."
"I've never had a boyfriend I really like either," she admits. "Not--well, not how I like your brother."
"He totally thought about asking you to marry him to get on your health insurance," Octavia says brightly. "Because he's seen too many dumb movies. He thought this was actually a viable plan."
"If it was anyone else, I would assume you were exaggerating, but he was really worried about my health insurance."
"The more he worries about you, the more he likes you," says Octavia. "That's how I knew he was into you. Like the second day you were living with us he was all, like, she really didn't eat that many vegetables last night, do you think she brought multi-vitamins? She needs an in-state doctor. And that was it. He's totally going to marry you."
Clarke's having a baby in a month. Finn, as it turns out, has no interest in being a dad, but was kind of worried about being on the hook for child support, which--Clarke is happy to leave him completely uninvolved. Honestly, she'll be happy to forget about him entirely. He was what she needed, when they went out, and he's not anymore.
Her mother is planning to come down for a week, sometime after the baby is born. She honestly can't remember the last time her mother took a week off work; she maybe never has. Some part of Clarke is still afraid she wants to steal the baby away in the hopes that Clarke will forget about it, but she and Bellamy are already planning to not leave Abby alone with the kid.
Honestly, she's not sure Bellamy will let the baby out of his sight anyway, and the thought makes her smile. He might not love everyone this much, but he loves her, and he's going to love her kid. If she's lucky, if everything goes right, she's never going to know what it's like, not being loved by Bellamy Blake.
"We'll see," she tells Octavia, but what she means is, yeah, he is.
And yeah, he does.