Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Belatedly, Clarke realized she had wasted a perfectly good cocktail dress on this wretched evening.

As her conversation partner droned on about the virtues of holding both a business and a law degree, Clarke downed the last of her wine and silently cursed her mother for having guilted her into attending this event in the first place. Hospital charity balls had always been tedious, but now they were an extra level of torture. If she had to endure one more conversation with colleagues of her mother's and see the barely masked looks of disdain and horror on their faces when they learned she was no longer in medical school, she was going to drown herself in the elaborate decorative fountain.

She supposed she should have been better prepared for this. She should have steeled herself for the feigned concern as people inquired what kind of future career she could expect as an artist, or the undisguised glee in people's eyes when they learned that Abigail Griffin's daughter was no longer golden. Instead she felt drained and defensive.

Still, she thought as she pasted a bland smile onto her face. Her mother couldn’t say that she wasn’t at least trying .

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd.

"Miller!"

She didn't quite manage to hide the palpable relief in her voice, evident by the offended sniff of the man behind her. Ignoring him completely, she moved quickly towards her friend, who looked out of place and uncomfortable in his suit. He seemed more than a little relieved to see her as well.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a grin. It occurred to her a second later and she answered for him, "Wait, you're here with Jackson, right?"

"Yeah, but he got pulled away by some board members. I haven't seen him in twenty minutes at least." Miller gave her a long-suffering look and asked, "How do you get through these things?"

"Hospital charity events? Alcohol," she told him, grabbing two champagne flutes off a nearby waiter and thrusting one into his hands. "Lots of alcohol."

The two fell into an easy conversation, Clarke welcoming the chance to talk to someone who didn’t view the charity ball as an opportunity to gossip, show off wealth, or a chance to scope out a future ex-spouse. Miller was as down to earth as they come, as were most of her friends now. If anything, Clarke figured she was probably the outlier of her friend group. She'd enjoyed a life of privilege up until her dad had died and her mom had cut her off financially. Her mother had been horrified when Clarke had abandoned the elder Griffin's carefully cultivated vision of her future. In fact, she hadn’t been speaking to her mother until recently, when Abby had reached out in an attempt to begin mending their relationship.

Miller was halfway through a story about the firehouse where he worked when they caught sight of Jackson eagerly waving him over from where he stood with a gaggle of well-dressed hospital patrons. 

"Guess that's my cue," he sighed. He paused, giving Clarke a sidelong look. "It's not too late to put me out of my misery."

"Hush," she grinned, adjusting his jacket. "They can smell fear."

She watched him go, smiling a little at the way Jackson lit up as Miller approached.

“Tell me that smile is for me, gorgeous.”

Clarke’s smile dimmed as a familiar man appeared at her side. “Cage.”

Cage Wallace gave her what she was sure he considered to be a charming smile. Many might be inclined to agree with him, if the appreciative glances several women sent his way were any indication. “I seem to recall giving you my number at our last meeting. I never got a call though. Why is that?”

He had, in fact, given her his number at her mother’s award dinner last month. She hadn’t requested it, but he’d written it down on a cocktail napkin and pressed it into her palm with the confidence of someone who was rarely turned down. But that was Cage Wallace; his father was a wealthy businessman on the hospital’s board of directors who had a propensity for paying Cage’s way. Clarke had heard the whispers that the prestigious university where Cage had gotten his law degree had received a generous donation from the elder Wallace prior to Cage’s acceptance. She’d also heard that more money had exchanged hands when Cage had begun his recent campaign for the district attorney position. All those things combined, she was sure it was probably a shock to hear that someone wasn’t falling at his feet.

Cage had initially approached her to talk about a potential job within his political campaign, saying he’d heard wonderful things about her from her mother. When Clarke had firmly told him that she already had a job, Cage had laughed her off, insisting that she’d be much better suited to the ‘real’ job he was offering her. His leering expression, however, had suggested he was interested in much more than employing her.

“Like I told you before, I already have a job I enjoy. I’m not interested in anything else.”

Cage levelled a dismissive look her way. “Right, working with future criminals I’m going to have to prosecute someday.”

Clarke grit her teeth. Currently, she was working at a local youth center running an afterschool art program. Many of the kids she worked with were deemed ‘at risk’ and came from difficult home lives. She was used to people dismissing them as juvenile delinquents, but it never failed to set her on edge. “They aren’t criminals . They’re kids.”

“They’re a few years away from their first stint in the prison upstate. That center is just a hub for delinquency and drugs. There’s a lot of voters who’d like to see it closed down. Make the neighborhood safer,” he shrugged, as if the closing of a safe haven for kids was a minor thing.

“And I suppose you’d be leading that charge if you’re elected.”

Cage took a thoughtful sip of his drink. “Certainly wouldn’t hurt my popularity in the polls. But okay, you’re not interested in a job. What about a date?”

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” she said flatly, intending to brush him off. It was true - she really wasn’t. She was already too hung up on someone to seriously consider dating anyone else, but even if she was looking for a relationship, it wouldn’t be with Cage Wallace of all people.

“Who said anything about a relationship? All I’m asking for is dinner,” he countered smoothly.

Yeah, no. “I don’t think so.”

“What’s wrong, Clarke? You don’t know how to have a good time? I can show you, if you’ll let me.”

He reached out, running his fingers down her arm. Clarke pulled away, her calm voice belying the anger she felt at being touched uninvited. “You don’t seem to be hearing me, so let me be clear. I’m not interested, Cage. Not in a job or anything else. I don’t want to go to dinner with you, and I didn’t want your number in the first place. I’m not interested.”

Cage’s face flickered for the briefest of moments before he shrugged, unconcerned. “That’s a shame. Who knows, maybe you’ll change your mind someday”

She was about to tell him that she sincerely doubted it when someone interrupted.

“Everything okay here?”

She turned her head to see her mother’s favourite medical intern, Cillian Parker, standing a few feet away, looking concerned. Inwardly, Clarke cringed. Cillian was a nice enough guy - certainly Abby’s favourite intern, as she often sang his praises to Clarke - but things felt a little awkward between them lately. Clarke had run into him at a bar a few months back and the two of them had shared a one night stand. He’d been completely understanding when she’d told him she wasn’t looking for anything romantic, but she could tell he’d been a little put out. She hadn’t seen him much since.

“It’s fine, thanks Cillian,” she said with a somewhat strained smile. His eyes flicked between them one last time before he gave her a nod. She got the feeling he wanted to say more, but she spotted Miller and Jackson making their way through the crowd with their coats in hand and jumped at the chance to extract herself from the situation. “Hey, Jackson! Could you guys give me a lift home? I need to get out of these heels.”

“Of course,” Jackson nodded. 

When she glanced back, Cage was still smiling. He raised his martini glass as if to toast her. “Until next time, Clarke.”

She didn’t respond. Smiling gratefully at Jackson and Miller, she followed them out, not bothering to glance back at Cage. He may be a jackass, but at the very least, he managed to give her a solid excuse to leave.

*

“Times up for today! You can put your pieces on the far wall, we’ll finish them up on Monday. Don’t forget your assignment - sketch something beautiful in an unexpected place,” Clarke called out as the kids began packing up. Several called out to her as they left, wishing her a happy weekend. She waited until the room had emptied out before she started cleaning, putting the supplies back in the cabinet and mopping paint drips off the floor. 

It wasn’t until she caught sight of the clock that she realized how long she’d been at it. Cursing, she quickly grabbed her duffle bag and ran to the bathroom to change into tight black pants and a sparkly top. She stumbled a little coming out of the bathroom, trying to jam her feet into a pair of silver heels.

"You know, I could have just let you go half an hour early to prevent a twisted ankle."

Clarke levelled a grin at her boss, Lincoln, who was watching her in amusement from the doorway. "I know you would have. That's why I didn't say anything. You know we work with oil paint on Fridays. You think I’d leave you to clean this mess?"

Lincoln waved her comment off, but they both knew it was true. Despite his outwardly intimidating look, Lincoln was unfailingly kind and would have let her go early regardless of how much work was left to do. Clarke liked Lincoln a lot. Having grown up in rough circumstances himself, he’d started the center as a place for kids to go after school and on weekends where they could channel their energy into physical activity and explore their interests in the arts. 

"What's the occasion?" he asked as she grabbed her coat.

"Part congratulations, part going away party. For Raven," she clarified. 

The brilliant mechanical engineer had recently been accepted to a six week workshop at MIT, the details of which mostly went over Clarke's head but Raven had been ecstatic as she described it. While Clarke was thrilled for her friend, it was going to be strange being without her roommate for so long. The two had lived together for more than two years at this point, brought together after bonding over the same cheating ex. Raven had assured her repeatedly that she would check in daily, but Clarke knew how the other woman worked; once she got into a project, she hardly remembered to eat and sleep, let alone keep frequent contact.

"You're welcome to join us," Clarke added. "It's just at a bar a few blocks over. O'Malley's."

"I appreciate the offer, but I have plans," he declined. "Go have some fun."

She promised she would as she hurried out the door, opting to walk the few blocks instead of hailing a cab. By the time she set foot in the bar, she could tell Raven was already a few shots in.

"Griffin!" the brunette yelled with a wide grin, throwing her arm around Clarke's shoulders. "You, me, and tequila! Let's go!"

Clarke tossed a helpless look at the nearest of her friends - Monty, who held up his hands in surrender. 

"Don't look at me," he laughed. "She's already made me do two."

"Weak," Raven snorted, casting her gaze around for another victim. "Harper, you too!"

Three drinks later, Clarke had to admit she was feeling pretty pleasantly buzzed, her limbs feeling loose enough that she let Harper drag her onto the dance floor for a while. She’d been so busy at work lately, and it felt good to let loose, laughing and cheering her friends on. After a few songs she signalled to the girls that she was heading to the bar for another drink. As she waited for the bartender to finish making her drink, Raven appeared at her elbow.

“Lame,” she snickered at her phone screen.

“What’s lame?” Clarke asked, smiling gratefully as her drink slid across the bar top into her waiting hands.

“Bellamy. He’s not coming tonight. He has to stay late at work. Miller too.”

“Oh.” Disappointment and relief rushed through her simultaneously. Her control over her facial expressions must have slackened over the last few shots, because Raven’s eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t think you’d be happy about Bellamy not showing up. Unless you’re just happy you won’t have to worry about trying not to jump him while you’re up to your eyeballs in cocktails.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “Raven, that’s not -”

Raven waved Clarke’s excuses away. “Please, like I don’t have eyes. You've been carrying that torch for a while now. I'm not sure why you don't just act on it."

“You know it’s complicated.”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t want to jeopardize your friendship, you don’t know if he feels the same, I know. But I think you’re making it more complicated than it actually has to be. You’re hot, he’s hot -”

“And we’re both too drunk to have this conversation right now,” Clarke cut across, eager to change the subject. “This night is about you anyway, remember?”

“Right.” Raven blinked. “I am pretty great, aren’t I?”

Clarke’s lips twitched. “The greatest.”

A grin stretched across the brunette’s face and she raised her fists in the air in victory. “I’m going to MIT!”

The answering cheer from their table of friends was enough to pull Raven back into party mode, and Clarke found herself grateful for the distraction. She felt her phone buzz and quickly swiped to open the message.

Bellamy Blake:

Told Raven I can’t make it tonight.

Clarke Griffin:

I heard. Busy night?

Bellamy Blake:

There was a fire out in the industrial park. Still working on cleanup. 

Clarke Griffin:

Sure there was. You just didn’t want me to kick your ass at pool.

Bellamy Blake:

Stop thinking about my ass, Griffin. Have a drink for me.

Clarke Griffin:

Okay, but you owe me one.

Bellamy Blake:

I can live with that :)

Clarke grinned, typing out a quick response and pretending not to notice Raven’s shrewd gaze from across the room.

*

It was the day after Raven’s departure that she finally reached out to let Clark know she was alive and well.

“This place is amazing, I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

Clarke smiled at Raven’s excitement, tucking her phone between her cheek and her shoulder as she pressed the elevator button for their floor. “I’m glad you made it safely, Rae. Make any friends yet?”

“Not here to make friends, Griffin, I’m here to be a badass genius. Although there were a couple of cute guys in my orientation.”

“Keep that in mind when you need to give that big brain of yours a break from time to time,” she teased. The elevator dinged as the doors slid open and she tightened her grip on her bag of Thai takeout as she exited.

“You just getting home now?”

“Yeah, we had our monthly staff meeting at the center. Took longer than we expected. I grabbed dinner from that place you like down on -”

She stopped abruptly.

“Clarke? Did you cut out?”

Clarke didn’t answer, frozen a few paces away from her apartment.

Her door was ajar, the wood splintered around the frame like it had been pried open with great force.

“Raven,” she said lowly into the phone, “I think someone may have broken into our apartment.”

“What?” Raven’s voice was sharp. “Why do you think that?”

“Because our front door looks like it’s been kicked in,” she whispered, approaching the door slowly.

“Call the police.”

“I’m going to,” she assured her, reaching out to press her fingers against the door and push lightly, “I just want to make sure…”

“Make sure of what? Don’t you dare go in that apartment, Griffin. I’m serious! Call the cops right now.”

Clarke ignored Raven as her door swung open, her breath catching at the sight of their apartment.

It had been completely upended. Raven’s bookcase was on its side, her books scattered across the floor. Some had pages torn out and littered around the room. There were picture frames shattered on the ground, the photos peeking out under broken shards of glass. Their TV screen had a large hole in the center surrounded by cracks, as though something had either been thrown or swung at it with great force. Clarke sucked in a breath at the sight of her easel in the corner of the room - her painting, the one she’d been working on for the past week, had been haphazardly covered in black paint that had pooled and dried on the wood floor underneath.

“ - Clarke? Are you listening to me? What’s happening?”

“I have to let you go,” she swallowed. “I’m calling the police.” 

The police arrived quickly, the two officers swarming the wreckage that was her apartment. Standing in the doorway, Clarke watched them look around with her arms wrapped around herself, chewing on her lip.

Someone had been in her apartment. Someone had been in her home without her knowledge. How long had they stayed there? How much time had she missed them by? Hours? Minutes? The thought turned her stomach.

“Clarke?”

She turned her head to see a familiar figure striding down her hallway and straightened. Bellamy’s face was a mix of concern and anger as he quickly closed the gap between them. He had clearly come straight from work - his inky curls were in disarray, and she could see a streak of soot on his cheek as though he’d come straight from a call without stopping back at the firehouse to clean up. There was still a light sheen of sweat on his face. Her breath hitched a little at the picture he made as he came to stand beside her, his jaw clenching as he took in the scene through her open doorway.

Clarke had met Bellamy several years ago when she had briefly been roommates with his sister Octavia her freshman year in university. Bellamy, though not a student himself, had often turned up on weekends to attend parties there with friends. At the time, Octavia had complained that she suspected Bellamy was really there to keep an eye on her. Clarke hadn’t thought it would have been possible for him to keep an eye on his sister, considering Bellamy seemed solely focused on partying and sleeping his way through the sorority houses on campus. 

She’d detested him in the beginning, and the feeling had been mutual. She’d pegged him as a shallow jackass, while Bellamy had written her off as a spoiled princess, who hadn’t had to work hard a day in her life. She’d find out later that Bellamy had been working full time during that period to cover the tuition costs that Octavia’s student aid didn’t meet.

When Octavia had dropped out abruptly halfway through the year to go traveling with friends, Bellamy had been the one to come collect her stuff, and it had been the first time she’d caught a glimpse of someone other than the confident asshole he projected to the world. 

After she let him into the cramped space she had shared with Octavia, Bellamy had stalked around the room, shoving his sister’s items into a plastic garbage bag. He said nothing to her at first, though she could hear the occasional unintelligible mutter under his breath.

“Did you know about this?” he asked tightly, not bothering to turn around and look at her.

“I had no idea she was thinking about leaving,” she said sharply, feeling defensive at his tone. “I don’t even know where she went.”

Bellamy’s shoulders slumped at that, the anger giving way. “Me neither.”

The exhaustion in his voice was palpable, and it softened her towards him a little. He sat heavily on Octavia’s bed, rubbing a rough hand over his face. “She called me yesterday. All she said was that she’s safe and she needed to do this. She hasn’t answered her phone since. Will you tell me? If you hear anything, or she contacts you?”

He looked at her, and for the first time she felt like she could see the concerned older brother that Octavia was always complaining about. She nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

He nodded in return, satisfied, before picking up a book off Octavia’s shelf. She glanced at the uncracked spin and pristine cover. It was a collection of Ancient Greek poems.

“I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think Octavia ever even opened that,” Clarke told him lightly.

“Probably not,” he chuckled. “I read her most of these growing up anyway.”

Clarke raised a brow at that, but he didn’t notice, casting a glance out the window at the quad. He sighed. “I’m really going to miss this place.”

Thinking about the walk of shame - though with Bellamy, it was less shame, more swagger - she’d seen him do the previous weekend, she said dryly, “Yeah I’ll bet. No more campus parties, no more sorority girls throwing themselves at your feet -”

“No more library access,” he lamented, running his hand through his hair.

“Library access?”

He nodded. “The library in this place is incredible. I used to get Octavia to check out books for me with her student account.”

“That explains the history books.” Octavia had been a political science major. Clarke had always kind of wondered why she’d seen the occasional stack of Greek classics or biographies of Roman emperors stacked on Octavia’s desk. 

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into a momentary silence before she said slowly, “You know, Octavia told me why you didn’t go to university.”

He looked at her, face blank. “She did, did she?”

“Yeah. She said you were accepted with a scholarship when you graduated but turned it down to take care of her after your mom passed away.” He didn’t contradict her, but he also didn’t offer anything more, so she asked, “How come you haven’t gone since?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You expressing actual interest in my life story, Griffin?”

She gave a small smile. “A momentary lapse in judgement.”

He chuckled at that, shrugging. “Honestly, I was just focused on getting Octavia through high school and on to something better. There wasn’t any time for anything else." He cast a look around at the boxes of Octavia's stuff and muttered, "And look how well that’s turned out.”

“So what’s stopping you now?”

He seemed to mull that over before giving her a small grin. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were desperate to get me to stick around.”

“What can I say, I’m just thinking of the poor sorority girls who will mourn your absence. Plus those kegs aren’t going to drink themselves.”

He shook his head, grinning wider now, and pushed to his feet. “Well, who knows? Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

She felt the corners of her own mouth twitch upwards. “I should be so unlucky, Blake.” 

In the end, Octavia never returned to the university, but Bellamy had applied and gotten accepted the following fall on a full scholarship. He’d majored in history, and though her pre-med courses meant that their degrees couldn’t be more different, they had ended up sharing an art history class that year. Abby had insisted on calling it a throwaway class to round out her schedule, but it had been Clarke’s favorite. A part of that had been due to the fact that she and Bellamy had developed a friendly rivalry within the course, competing to outperform each other at every turn. They’d started discovering mutual friends, and eventually that rivalry evolved into a genuine friendship. She’d been there for him when Octavia eventually returned to try and mend their strained relationship, and he’d been there for her when her dad died suddenly junior year, and again when she’d turned down a place in med school only a couple of months ago.   

Bellamy had become one of her best friends, which was a turn of events she'd never have predicted several years ago. 

Bellamy finally turned his gaze on her and she realized for the first time that his presence was strange, since she hadn’t talked to him all day.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in confusion.

“Raven called me. She said you guys had a break in,” he frowned. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, but our place…” she trailed off, gesturing at the open doorway.

Bellamy followed her gaze, taking in the destruction again. “Yeah. Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Miss Griffin?”

She straightened as the detective who had introduced himself as Hadley approached, stepping over some of the glass littering the floor. “Yes?”

“I just have a few more questions for you, if you’re up for it,” he said, fishing a pen out of his pocket. “You said you didn’t think anything was stolen?”

“No,” she confirmed. “Nothing as far as I can tell.”

“None of your valuables? Electronics? Jewellery? Cash you had laying around?” he prompted, his pen hovering over his notepad.

“I don’t think so. My laptop was still in my room, so was my jewellery box. We don’t leave cash laying around.”

“Nothing was stolen?” Bellamy interjected, his frown deepening.

Hadley’s gaze fell on Bellamy. “And you are...?"

“He’s a friend of mine,” Clarke interrupted. “And my roommate’s. Like I said before, she’s away for a few weeks but I called her and let her know what’s going on. She says it doesn’t sound like she’s missing anything either, but she can’t be sure without being here to check herself.”

An unreadable expression crossed the detective’s face and he lowered his pad. “Miss Griffin...I know this may seem like an odd question, but is there anyone you have had issues with recently? Perhaps someone at work? An ex with whom things ended badly?”

“No, nothing like that," she answered, feeling a bit bewildered. The implication was clear - the detective didn't think this was a random break in. Bellamy was the one to voice the idea.

“You think this was personal," he said, grim. 

"In situations like this where a break in occurs and nothing is taken," the detective said slowly, "sometimes it's just a case of teenagers looking for a place to party in or destroy. But this is a fairly nice building, decent security, good neighborhood...I'm inclined to think that there may have been a more personal motive at play."

Clarke's eyes wandered to the ruined painting across the room, contemplating his words.

"Do you have somewhere you can stay?" Hadley asked her seriously. "For a couple of days at least? Your building has security cameras, so we can request the footage from the building's manager. Until then, with your roommate away and your door busted, I'd recommend staying with a friend."

"She can stay with me," Bellamy said firmly.

His answer was so swift, she turned in surprise to look at him. Immediately, Clarke could hear the ghost of Octavia’s voice in her mind, complaining about Bellamy’s overprotective nature. Clarke herself had only had hints of it directed at her over the years. Bellamy generally treated her like she could handle herself, which she appreciated. She knew Bellamy had a protective side, but the offer surprised her nonetheless. Bellamy liked his space, and last time she checked, Miller was already occupying the other room in his apartment. Still, he met her gaze, unwavering. “You can. You shouldn’t be alone until they figure out who did this.”

“Shouldn’t you run that by Miller first? You don’t have the biggest apartment, I don’t want to feel like I’m crowding you guys.”

“Miller has been staying with Jackson. He’s basically moved out without officially moving out at this point, so I have an empty room and everything.” When she hesitated, he added, “You wouldn’t be crowding anyone, Clarke. I’d rather you be safe. Plus, it's only for a week or two anyway."

She looked up at him, lightly biting her lip. She could tell he thought she was hesitating out of courtesy, but really it was for her own comfort. She couldn’t explain that to him though, not without admitting why staying with him might make her uncomfortable, and there was no way in hell she was about to do that. And what other option did she have? Harper and Monty didn’t have the space, and staying with her mother and Marcus was the last thing she wanted to do. “Okay. Thanks Bellamy.”

She could handle a week or two as his roommate.

Really, she could.

Chapter Text

Clarke waited until the police gave her the okay to re-enter her apartment and set about packing a bag. Bellamy was waiting in the living room when she finished, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he stared at her ruined painting.

She drew up beside him, shouldering her bag. She sighed at the wrecked canvas. “I really liked the way that that one was turning out, too.”

He glanced to the side, curious. “What was it?”

She lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t know yet. Sometimes I don’t know what it’s going to be until I’ve already started. Guess now I’ll never know.”

Bellamy frowned and turned to face her fully. “Clarke, you really can’t think of anyone who would be upset with you? Because I have to say, I think the police are right. This does look personal.”

“Someone upset enough to break into my home? No. I heard what the police said, but I’m not convinced this wasn’t random. Just because I haven’t noticed anything missing yet, doesn’t mean there isn’t. This place is a wreck, it’s hard to tell what’s still here and what’s not.” She looked at him, trying for a reassuring smile that she didn’t quite feel. “They said they’ll check the security cameras. I’m sure they’ll ID whoever it was quickly and I’ll be out of your hair soon. In the meantime, you’ve got Netflix, right?”

The journey to Bellamy’s apartment was mostly quiet. Clarke leaned her head against the truck window, lost in thought about her ruined apartment and the detective’s concerns about it being a personal attack. Bellamy only lived a few blocks away, so she didn't have much time to ruminate. Where she and Raven lived in a fairly modern building, Bellamy’s apartment was in an old industrial factory that had been refurbished into apartments. The artist in her loved the exposed brick and the character details, and it was a perfect spot for a history nerd like Bellamy.

She quickly discovered that Bellamy hadn’t been exaggerating about Miller barely living at the apartment. Miller’s old room had been nearly cleared out, only his bed and dresser remaining. While Bellamy replaced the sheets with fresh ones, Clarke placed her suitcase next to the dresser. It seemed silly to put her clothes in the empty drawers when she would only be staying for a week or two, so she left them stacked neatly in her suitcase. She turned to see him hovering awkwardly in the doorway.

“I know it’s not much, but -”

“It’s perfect,” she interrupted with a soft smile. “Seriously Bellamy, I can’t thank you enough.”

That pulled a small smile out of him. “Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t going to let you sleep on the street.”

“Or worse,” she snorted, “my mom’s house.”

“Or Harper and Monty’s tiny couch.”

“Or Murphy’s spare room that still smells like patchouli and gym socks.”

"Fuck," he laughed. "You win. That's the worst option. What was his old roommate's name again?"

"Roan."

“Yeah. I didn't like that guy."

"No kidding," she said dryly. Bellamy hadn't exactly hidden his annoyance with Murphy’s long-haired, perpetually laid-back roommate. She couldn’t recall ever having a conversation with Roan without catching Bellamy scowling at the guy. “Well, I think I’m going to call Raven and give her the update. I’ll see you in the morning?”

He gave a nod. “Yeah, I don’t work until the afternoon. Sleep well. Tell Raven I said hi.”

He squeezed her shoulder as he left, and once she heard his bedroom door shut she sat heavily on the bed. She grabbed her phone, took a deep breath, and dialled Raven’s number.

“Took you long enough, Griffin. What the actual hell is going on?”

“Hey, Rae.” 

_________________

Asking Clarke to stay with him probably wasn’t the worst idea Bellamy had ever had, but it was a contender.

To be clear, he didn’t regret it. He was genuinely worried about her, and the thought of her being alone after someone had broken in to her home was not something he considered acceptable. The detective’s suggestion that she could have been the victim of a personal attack managed to both enrage him and scare the shit out of him at the same time. He’d been so worked up, he hadn’t even thought about it before the offer to stay with him was coming out of his mouth. And it made sense. She was his best friend, and he would do just about anything for her, after all.

It was just that having her live with him was…complicated. 

He’d always known that Clarke was attractive. She was gorgeous - he’d been able to recognize that even early on when all they’d shared was mutual animosity and a connection to Octavia. But lately it was more than that. More often than not he found his gaze lingering on her, studying the curve of her lips, or the way her graceful fingers would push her blonde waves out of her eyes impatiently when she was working on her art or trying to best him at Jenga during game night. He’d started finding excuses to touch her - an arm slung around her shoulder on the walks home from the bars, a hand on the small of her back as he passed by her in close quarters. He could pass it off as friendly affection, but deep down he knew it was more than that. 

It was something.

The thing was, he was pretty sure that whatever it was he was feeling, she didn’t feel the same. She had never given him any indication that she thought of him as anything more than her platonic friend, and frankly, he was terrified of doing anything to jeopardise the friendship they had. So he’d kept those confusing feelings on strict lockdown, and he was reasonably sure that he’d been doing a pretty good job. Only now, he had invited her into his personal space where it was a lot harder to pretend his own feelings were strictly platonic.

In short, he was probably an idiot, but at least Clarke was safe.

Those thoughts were still playing on his mind when he gave his roommate the heads up that his space was now occupied.

“You did what?”

Bellamy glanced sideways at Miller as he tucked his gear into his locker. “I offered her your room. I didn’t think you’d care, since you’re living with Jackson now.”

“First of all, I’m not living with Jackson -”

“Denial,” Bellamy snorted.

“- and second ,” Miller continued as if he hadn’t interrupted, “obviously I don’t care that Clarke took my room if she needs it. I’m more impressed that you actually offered to let the woman you’re in love with live with you.”

Bellamy choked on the water he was downing. “ What ?”

“Yeah man, I mean I didn’t think you were such a masochist -”

“I’m not a - what do you mean? Clarke’s my best friend, of course I love her -”

Miller gave him an unimpressed look. “I thought I was your best friend. Also, if you looked at me the way you look at Clarke, I’d be flattered but I think Jackson would have a problem with it.”

“I don’t look at her any different -”

“Denial.”

“Look, she needed a place to stay,” Bellamy cut across firmly. He was having a hard enough time deciphering his feelings towards Clarke on his own; he definitely wasn’t up for hashing it out with Miller.  “Honestly, she hasn’t let on but I can tell she’s pretty freaked out by what happened.”

Miller’s face became serious. “I don’t blame her. You said the cops think it wasn’t a random B&E?”

“No, which worries me.”

Miller nodded. “Well, at least she won’t be alone until they sort this out. You’re a brave man.”

Bellamy scoffed. “I’m not afraid of some asshole who might have a problem with Clarke.”

“Oh no, I meant for attempting to live with the woman you love without having a nervous breakdown.”  

Bellamy tossed a towel at his laughing friend’s retreating back. “Shut up, Miller.”

_________________

Nearly a week into living with Bellamy, Clarke had to admit things were going pretty well.

She’d managed not to have a breakdown over the fact that her apartment was essentially a crime scene, nor had she managed to embarrass herself anytime she caught a glimpse of her best friend wandering shirtless from his room to the bathroom in the mornings.

Living at Bellamy's had led to several interesting observations, however. It turned out, knowing someone well and living with them were two very different things. She knew how Bellamy took his coffee, for example - black, with only a dash of sugar - but watching him stumble into the kitchen with his hair in disarray and glasses slipping down his nose as he fought with his outdated coffee maker was a whole other experience. She already knew she was harboring a massive crush on him, she didn't need to add seeing him be simultaneously incredibly attractive and adorably endearing to the list of reasons why.

The other thing she learned was that Bellamy was kind of a great roommate. He had a fairly busy schedule between working on his masters degree and working part time at the firehouse with Miller, but when he did have free time he seemed content to just hang out with her on the couch arguing over what to watch. They spent the whole first week alternating between binging a documentary series about the Middle Ages and rewatching Brooklyn 99. The whole thing was fun and domestic in a way that she felt should have bothered her but instead felt way too comfortable for her to actually be comfortable.

She was prepping for her classes that day when she heard the shrill ring of the office phone cut through the sound of her playlist. Clarke hurried from the back into the main office, wiping her hands quickly on a towel before picking up the phone. “Trikru Rec, this is Clarke speaking. How can I help you?”

There was a rustling sound on the other line before a man’s voice said, “Clarke Griffin?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, adjusting the receiver so that it was cradled between her cheek and shoulder. “What can I do for you?”

The line abruptly clicked, and the dial tone blared in her ear. She paused, realizing that the caller had either hung up or the connection dropped. Either way, she hung up, placing the phone on the counter with a frown. 

“Who was it?” Lincoln called, sticking his head into the office.

“I’m not sure.”

“Wrong number?”

She hummed. “I don’t think so. They knew my name.”

“Hm. Well, if it’s important I’m sure they’ll call back.”

She nodded, preoccupied as Lincoln slipped back into his office.

The bell above the door chimed, and she looked up to see Bellamy walk in, his eyes casting around the space until they landed on her. His face brightened, and she felt the now-familiar leap in her chest at the sight of him.

“Hi,” she greeted him, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on my way to the library and I figured you might want a pick-me-up.” He held up a take-out cup that she gratefully snatched from his hands. Sparse funding for the center meant that their coffee maker was nearly as old as she was, and the coffee it made was no match for the scent of chai she could smell wafting from the cup. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been to your work before.”

She took a long drink of her latte and beamed. “Well, this is it. This area here is just the office area, but I can give you a quick tour if you want?”

“Yeah, I’ve got time.”

She gave him the quick tour - taking him first through the lounge area set up for kids to work on their homework, read, or just hang out. Next she moved through the gym, explaining some of the activities they made available throughout the week.

“Lincoln does most of these classes, especially self-defence,” she said, “but he’s looking for someone to teach some additional classes. We're thinking maybe kick-boxing to help burn off some aggression, or something calmer like yoga.”

Bellamy’s eyes scanned the gym before sending a wide smile her way. “This is great, Clarke. Seriously. There are a lot of kids who could really use this kind of place.”

She ducked her head a little at the praise. “It’s mostly all Lincoln. I just help out where I can.”

Bellamy shook his head. “Don’t sell yourself short, Clarke. I can see bits of you all throughout this place.”

He jerked his chin towards a mural on the far wall and she huffed a laugh. Point taken. 

“Speaking of which, I can’t give you a tour of this place without showing you the art room.”

Fifteen minutes later - she may have gotten a little enthusiastic showing Bellamy some of the pieces her students were working on - she brought him back to the main office area. Clarke stopped short at the sight of Lincoln sitting in the main office, looking grave. Something about the tense set of his shoulders made her stomach clench. “Lincoln, is everything okay?”

Lincoln let out a heavy sigh, getting to his feet. “Actually, there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

His eyes landed on Bellamy, whose jaw tightened. Clarke shook her head. “If it’s not anything confidential about any of the kids, I’m fine if Bellamy hears it.”

Lincoln inclined his head. “Very well. When you were gone I received a phone call.”

“Okay…” she said slowly, unsure where he could be going with this.

“It was someone making a complaint about you, saying you weren’t fit to run the program. They requested you be removed.”

Clarke’s mouth popped open in shock. She could see Bellamy shoot her a concerned look out of the corner of her eye. “What? Who was it?”

“They claimed they wanted to remain anonymous,” Lincoln told her. “Then a few minutes later I received another call from a different number also demanding your removal from your position. I also received an email to the same effect, this one from one of our donors saying that they’re concerned you don’t have the clients’ best interests at heart.”

She heard Bellamy take a sharp inhale next to her. Clarke felt lightheaded. She’d been working at this job for nearly a year, and she’d never had a problem with any of the kids or their parents. She truly had no idea who would take issue with her. “Lincoln, I…I’m so sorry. I honestly have no idea why someone would complain. You know I take my job seriously and I do everything I can to do right by the kids -”

Lincoln held his hand up, cutting her rambling short. “I know that, Clarke. You’re an excellent employee and the kids love you. While I’m a little concerned about the timing of all this, I also can’t give a lot of weight to vague complaints when both parents and kids have had nothing but positive things to say. I’m going to try to reach out again to the donor to follow up, but for now I just wanted you to be aware of what’s going on.”

“Okay,” she swallowed. “Thanks Lincoln.”

With a nod at the two of them, Lincoln disappeared into the back. Bellamy turned on her. “Clarke, this is bullshit. You’ve had what? No complaints for nearly a year and then three separate people file complaints on the same morning? Someone is fucking with you.”

She didn’t disagree. It was really strange. She once again wracked her brain trying to think of anyone she interacted with at work who might have an issue with her but came up empty. Her panic quickly began to give way to anger. Someone was fucking with her. More specifically, they were fucking with her job - a job she loved. 

She took a deep breath, willing the hot anger swirling in her chest to subside. “There’s nothing I can do about it right now,” she said calmly. “Lincoln is going to look into it, and I’ve got a class to prepare for. I’ll see you back at the apartment tonight, okay?”

He looked like he wanted to say more but he pressed his lips into a straight line. “Okay. You sure you’re going to be okay here?”

“I am,” she said firmly.

She wasn’t sure she really had a choice.

_________________

By the time she returned to the apartment after work, Clarke was feeling marginally better. Her time with the teenagers in her afternoon art class had helped to lift her mood, and Lincoln had again reassured her before she had left that her performance and reputation were stellar, and that he placed little stock in the anonymous complaints. Still, the idea that not one person, but multiple people had taken it upon themselves to call her place of work and complain was unsettling. As she hung her coat next to the door she was greeted with the smell of spices and tomato sauce. She stuck her head into the kitchen to see Bellamy cutting vegetables near a simmering pot.

“What’s all this?” she asked in surprise. “I thought we were doing takeout.”

He looked up from his work with a small smile. “We were, but I figured after the shitty day you had, comfort food might be a better idea.”

She couldn’t help but grin in response. It was so quintessentially Bellamy - going out of his way to mother someone who was having a rough time. She perched herself on the island, taking stock of the ingredients he had spread out on the counter. “Lasagna?”

“Yep.” He raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t a free meal, Griffin. You gonna help or what?”

Rolling her eyes good naturedly at him, she hopped down and grabbed a knife and green pepper. Bellamy hit play on a Spotify playlist and indie music permeated the kitchen as they worked side by side.

“So you already know how my day went,” she said, nudging his shoulder with hers. She dutifully ignored how the close proximity meant that she could smell the comforting scent of his aftershave. “How was yours?”

“You really want to hear about my research on early Roman expansion?”

She shrugged, popping a slice of pepper into her mouth. “What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment.”

Bellamy chuckled. “I’ll save you the gory details. It went well. I got some writing done but I’m kind of at a standstill until the university in Polis sends me over their raw findings. It’s just as well anyway, I’m on shift at the firehouse for the next couple of days.”

“That sucks.” Perhaps selfishly, she’d been hoping to spend the next few evenings hanging out with him around the apartment. “Are you still going to be free for Harper’s birthday party this weekend?”

“Harper threatened me with loss of limb if I don’t, so I’ll be there.”

“It’s always the sweet ones you have to watch out for,” she said. “Hey - where do you keep your measuring cups?”

“Up here.” Bellamy reached up over her head to swing open his cupboard. The motion brought him close enough that she could feel the heat of his body through his t-shirt. When he brought the cup down, he paused, looking caught off guard at the sudden lack of space between them.

“Here,” he said, and she wondered if it was her own imagination that his voice sounded rougher than normal. 

“Thanks,” she murmured. From this close, she could see the freckles on his cheeks with startling clarity. She felt the urge to trace them with her finger tips. “You should keep those somewhere easier to reach.”

“I don’t always have a hobbit cooking in my kitchen, so it’s not usually an issue,” he mocked, but it was softened by the wide, genuine smile spreading across his face. God, that smile was a gut punch.

The sound of her phone buzzing forced her to take a step back. She glanced at the screen, jolting when she saw the ID listed as Arkadia PD. She rushed to grab the phone, bringing it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Miss Griffin? This is Detective Hadley.”

“Detective Hadley, hi,” she said in surprise. Bellamy looked up sharply, setting aside the knife he was using and moving closer to her. Clarke quickly set the phone to speaker, figuring she would just end up telling him what was said right after the call anyway. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling to give you an update about the security footage we had requested from your building manager. I wish I had better news for you, Miss Griffin, but the footage was unusable.”

“What does that mean, ‘unusable’?” she frowned. “Like the cameras didn’t catch anything?”

“More like there was simply no footage. The cameras recorded footage up until about an hour before you returned home, and then the tape cut out and didn't come back until we were already on scene following your call.”

Clarke rolled his words over in her mind, her heart sinking. “Someone shut off the cameras?”

Her eyes met Bellamy’s, and she could see the same uneasiness she could feel growing in the pit of her stomach reflected in his dark eyes.

“It’s possible that there was a technical malfunction, but the timing is suspect. So yes, that is a possibility.”

“So what does that mean?” Bellamy demanded. “There’s only so many people that would have access to the security cameras. There must be a way for you to figure out who it was.”

There was a pause on the detective’s end. “There’s a few people I’d like to interview, yes. Until then, given the circumstances and that you’d still be living there on your own for the time being, I highly suggest you continue staying elsewhere if you can until we can sort this out.”

Bellamy recovered quicker than she did. “That’s not a problem.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “Thank you again, Detective Hadley. Please keep me updated.”

When she ended the call, she took a deep breath and tried for a smile that looked more like a wince. “Guess you’re stuck with me for a while longer.”

Bellamy's face was tight with concern. "Clarke -"

"It's fine," she said, shaking her head. "I'm...fine. Let's just finish cooking."

To her relief, he did so without arguing, but the light atmosphere from before was completely gone. 

Chapter Text

“I think you should tell Harper.”

Clarke paused in applying her mascara at Bellamy’s shout from the living room. 

It was Friday night, and the two of them were hurrying to get ready for a night out at the bar to celebrate Harper’s birthday. 

“Tell Harper what?” she called back. A shuffling noise came from the direction of the living room, and she could hear him approaching down the hallway.

“About the break in and the harassment. Harper’s a cop, she might be able to…”

Clarke’s brows furrowed at his sudden stop. “Able to what?”

When she turned she saw Bellamy in the doorway, eyes wide. Self-consciously, she looked down at herself, wondering if her black bodycon dress and strappy gold heels were too much. 

“Sorry,” he finally managed, clearing his throat. “Uh, you look great. Really great.”

“Oh.” She hoped the dim lighting in her room hid the flush of her cheeks. “Thank you. You don’t think it’s too much?”

“No! No, you…it’s perfect. Yeah, it’s great.” When they lapsed into silence, Bellamy roughly rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, so as I was saying - Harper. She might be able to help. Even if she doesn’t have access to your case, she might be able to give you some advice.”

“That’s a good point,” she conceded, turning away to swipe on her lipstick. She fluffed her loose curls and gave herself one last once-over. “I don’t know if I want to bring it up on her birthday though.”

“You could wait, but I think sooner would be better,” he said seriously. “It’s better to be overly-cautious than underprepared.”

“Typical Bellamy Blake,” she teased. When that didn’t earn her a smile she took a step towards him, catching his eye. “Hey. I appreciate your concern. You know I’m taking this seriously. But I think we could both use a fun night out, and I really don’t want to bring down Harper’s party by talking about my problems. Let’s just…forget about it for a night and enjoy ourselves, okay?”

He looked hesitant. “Clarke -”

“Please? We’ll be at a crowded bar surrounded by our friends. What’s the worst that could happen?”

She wasn’t sure if it was her pleading or if he also wanted a night off from worrying, but either way she saw the tension leave his shoulders. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she smiled. She looped her arm through his, leading him to the door. “Now let’s go get the birthday girl suitably drunk.”

_________________

As it turned out, Clarke didn’t need to mention anything to Harper at all, because after their second round of shots the other woman grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty booth.

“So,” Harper said, a solemn look overtaking her kind features. “Raven told me about what’s been happening with your apartment and the phone calls.”

Clarke lowered her shot glass to the table top, suddenly feeling much more sober. “She did, huh?”

Harper nodded. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was going to,” she sighed. “But I figured I’d wait until after your birthday. I didn’t want what’s been going on with me to put a damper on things.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Harper waved her off. “Did you report the calls to the detective investigating your case?”

“I did.” Detective Hadley had taken her report and agreed that it could be related to her break-in, but said that they were still interviewing people from her building and he would get back to her with more information.

“That’s good!” Harper nodded. “There’s not a whole lot I can do on my end because it’s not my case, and technically you being my friend makes it a conflict of interest, but I can see if there’s anything I can find out about your case off the record. In the meantime, you need to be cautious and document everything that you think could be suspicious. Phone calls, weird notes, seeing people you don’t know in more than one place. And try not to be alone if you can help it.”

Clarke nodded. “Okay, yeah. I can do all that.”

“Good.” Harper squeezed her shoulder encouragingly. She grinned suddenly and asked, “Speaking of not being alone, how’s living with Bellamy?”

“You know about that too, huh?”

“Raven couldn’t stop laughing about it.”

“Of course she couldn’t,” Clarke snorted. “It’s been…good. Bellamy’s a really good roommate. Yeah, it’s really good.”

Harper’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve said ‘good’ an alarming number of times. Have you walked in on any compromising situations yet?”

“No.”

“Catch a glimpse of each other naked?”

“Harper!”

“Just asking questions,” Harper blinked with feigned innocence. She caught sight of something just past Clarke and laughed. “My fiance is currently beckoning me to the dance floor. That's classic Four Drink Monty. I’ll catch up with you in a bit?”

“Sure.”

Sliding out of the booth, she started making her way through the crowd and she began to look for the remainder of her friends. Miller and Jackson were still by the bar, Murphy and Emori were missing, though she suspected they’d probably made their way to a secluded corner to hookup and would turn up in the next half hour looking rumpled and smug.

Then Clarke’s gaze landed on Bellamy, leaning against a pillar chatting with a tall brunette. She felt her stomach sink.  They were too far away to hear what he was saying, but whatever it was the woman seemed to think it was deeply funny, because she kept tipping her head back in laughter and placing her hand on his chest.

Clarke turned away sharply, promptly deciding that what she needed was another drink. She turned to make her way back to the bar, only to walk straight into someone standing directly behind her.

"Oh, god I'm sorry," she apologized, stepping back to give the guy some space. He was cute in a frat guy kind of way, his smile a little drunk as he blinked down at her. 

"That's okay, Clarke," he said with a wide grin.

She paused, studying his face. Even in her buzzed state, she was sure he didn't look familiar. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

The guy's grin didn't fade, he just shook his head. "Nope, but you know a friend of mine."

He didn’t offer anything else, just continued smiling at her in a way that was starting to unnerve her. "Oh. Okay then. Uh, nice meeting you, I guess."

She made to move past him and went rigid when he grabbed her arm. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough to stop her in her tracks. He leaned in a little so that his lowered voice could be heard above the pulsating music. "You should have given him a chance, you know."

" What?"

"He's a good guy. Lots of women would jump at the chance to go out with him."

Clarke gaped, the realization of who he was talking about cutting through the haze of alcohol. "Are you kidding me?"

"Not at all. You should give him a call. Maybe if you apologize for being so rude and reconsider his offer, he'll give you another chance."

"Let go of me," she hissed.

"Not until you -" 

Clarke's foot slammed down hard on his instep and the man let her go with a sharp yelp of pain. Several people around them stopped to stare in interest.

" Bitch ," the guy snarled, but before he could move, Bellamy appeared at her side.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he demanded. His face was a mask of fury, his fists clenched as he stared down the guy in front of her.

"Nothing," the man spat, straightening up. "It was a misunderstanding, that's all."

"A misunderstanding?" Bellamy snapped. "Is that what you call grabbing a woman?"

"It was nothing man. A mistake. I'm leaving, I swear," he muttered. He backed away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

Bellamy turned on Clarke, his eyes narrowed. "That didn't look like a misunderstanding."

"It wasn't," she said shortly, rubbing absentmindedly at her arm.

"Hey." His voice was gentler now, the anger at the man giving way to concern. He placed a hand on her arm, fingers trailing over the spot the drunk guy had grabbed. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she exhaled. "I think I know who broke into my place now."

Bellamy's eyebrows shot up. He opened his mouth, no doubt to ask for more information, but she shook her head. "Not here. I'll tell you about it when we get home."

He nodded, quickly grabbing her hand and leading her through the crowd and toward the exit. Clarke caught sight of the woman Bellamy had been talking to earlier glaring daggers at her as they left.

To his credit he didn't ask any questions on the cab ride home, waiting instead until they walked through the front door of his apartment. The second the lock was flipped he turned, arms crossed. "Tell me."

"I think it's Cage Wallace."

That seemed to catch him off guard. “Why is that name familiar to me?”

“You’ve probably seen his ads lately. He’s a lawyer running for district attorney. His father Dante Wallace owns a ton of properties in this city and is on the board of directors at my mom’s hospital.”

“You think a lawyer broke into your apartment?”

He didn't sound doubtful, just confused. Clarke frowned, contemplative. "Probably not personally , but I think he could have hired someone to do it. He certainly has the money and connections."

"Why would he do that?"

A small part of her that had been tense since the club relaxed a little. It sounded crazy out loud, but he wasn’t treating it that way. He looked completely serious. “I met him a few months ago at an award ceremony for my mom. He tried hitting on me under the guise of offering me a job. Gave me his number even though I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t call, of course. I kind of forgot all about him until I saw him at the charity event a couple of weeks ago. He asked me out again and I said no. He seemed a little annoyed but I didn’t really think anything of it.”

Bellamy’s jaw tightened. “You think he’s fucking with you because you rejected him?”

Clarke shrugged, rubbing her temples to soothe her growing headache. “I don’t know...maybe? I don’t know why it would matter to him...he’s not exactly desperate for dates. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without one at any event.”

Bellamy ran a rough hand over his jaw. “Guys like that are all about their own ego. Maybe he just doesn’t like that you told him no.”

“It’s possible. He also doesn’t like that I work at the rec center. He’s mentioned wanting to shut it down so he can look better to voters.”

He mulled that over. ”That might explain why you’ve been getting calls at work. You’re an important part of running that place. If Lincoln was pressured into firing you, it could destabilize the program.”

“I don’t have any proof,” she said helplessly. “I’m not even completely sure it is him.”

Bellamy exhaled slowly. “I know.”

“But you believe me,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question. She wondered if he could tell how much it meant to her, to have him there to talk it out. To have his support when everything else in her life felt so uncertain.

He looked at her, his eyes two dark pools in the dim light. “I do.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

He smiled. “Don’t mention it, Princess.”

_________________

Clarke called APD the next day to report her suspicions, but if she’d been hoping for anything helpful to come of it she was bitterly disappointed. The officer who took her statement told her rather bluntly that with no evidence to back up her claims, there wasn’t anything they could do. He had at least agreed to pass on her message to the detective, and she’d ended the call feeling more than a little frustrated.

Mostly because the officer was right. She had no proof, just a strong suspicion. Her irritation was compounded when her mother called to remind her that she had promised to attend a dinner party Abby was throwing the next day for the hospital’s board of directors and some other hospital higher ups. If the first call had soured her mood, the second had her even more on edge, and she had ended up dragging out her art supplies and thrown on a pair of shorts and a paint-stained sweatshirt with hopes of channeling her frustrations into something creative. 

That was how Bellamy found her hours later, covered in paint as she blasted angry punk rock through her wireless speakers.

“Should I be worried?” 

Clarke jumped, whirling around. Bellamy was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, grinning in bemusement. 

“About the angry music or the disaster zone?” she replied wryly.

“Both. Take your pick.” He crossed the room to her slowly, taking in the canvas behind her before his gaze drifted back to her face. “You’ve got paint on your nose.”

He reached up, gently swiping his thumb across one side of her nose and along her cheekbone, stopping near her temple.

“Occupational hazard,” she breathed. She felt heat rise to trace the path of his touch. She was sure her face had gone pink. She waited for him to step back but he didn’t, his eyes studying hers. She felt his thumb gently rub against her skin, his fingers flexing near her jaw. She realized dimly that if one of them didn’t move she was going to do something stupid like kiss him senseless, so she found herself blurting, “I called APD today.”

Bellamy blinked, his hand falling away from her face. “Yeah? Did they say anything helpful?”

She shook her head, giving him a quick rundown of the call. He looked equally frustrated, letting out a long sigh as she finished. He gently gripped her shoulders.

“We’re going to figure this out,” he promised, his deep voice resolute. “If he is the guy who’s been harassing you, there’s going to be something tying him to it. We just have to find it. And until then, I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

God, did he realize what it did to her when he said stuff like that? It was enough to make a girl weak in the knees. Instead she squeezed his hand and said warmly, “I know.”

The other reason for her irritation came to mind and she suddenly grinned up at him. “Actually, there is something I can think of that you could help with.”

_________________

Bellamy looked up at the Griffin estate house through the windshield, his brow furrowed. Clarke glanced at him sideways from the passenger seat. She wondered if he was comparing the sight of her grand childhood home to the way he used to hurl the word ‘princess’ at her as an insult. She can only imagine how that would have fueled his initial dislike of her if he’d seen the oversized house and immaculately kept lawn back then. Her gaze fell on the way his fingers were fussing with his tie.

“Here,” she offered, nudging his hands out of the way with her own. As she straightened his tie, she murmured, “You don’t have to be nervous.”

“Have you met your mother?” he chuckled. “And it’s not nerves, so much as…”

“So much as you’d rather not be stuck at a dinner with a bunch of out-of-touch, rich old men?” she finished with a small grin.

Bellamy let out a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You’ll be great,” she assured him. As much as Bellamy made his dislike for the wealthy clear, he could also be incredibly charming when he wanted to be. “Plus, if you really want to fight an entitled white dude tonight, I’ll let it slide.”

“Only one?” he deadpanned.

“We can’t go too crazy,” she winked. Her attempt at humor seemed to have done the trick, because some of the tension seemed to leave his body and he reached over to squeeze her hand. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he sighed.

Most of the guests seemed to already be there as they made their way inside. Clarke could pick out a few familiar faces among the crowd, sipping champagne and making polite conversation. It didn’t take long for her to find her mother among them, looking regal in a tasteful green dress.

“Clarke, you made it!” Abby said with a smile. Her new husband Marcus was close behind her, greeting Clarke with a hug. Abby’s eyes fell on Bellamy beside her and Clarke didn’t miss the brief look of surprise that crossed her face. “And Bellamy! Good to see you, it’s been quite a while.”

“Mrs. Griffin,” he nodded politely. 

Abby fixed her gaze on Clarke. “You know, quite a few people have been asking about you. Simone Lightbourne was saying that if you ever choose to go back to medical school she’d be happy to mentor you.”

Right. Clarke sighed, “Mom -”

“I know, I know, but I want you to keep your options open honey,” Abby said with feigned brightness. “The world is so uncertain these days, especially financially -”

“Abby, maybe we should let the kids get a drink first before we start talking about the state of the world,” Marcus chuckled.

Clarke was about to agree that she very much needed a drink when Cillian suddenly appeared through the crowd, looking harried. “I’m sorry to interrupt Abby, but Dr. Tsing is looking for you.”

“Oh yes, thank you. I had asked her to brief me on the outcome of a patient we share. You’ve met Cillian, of course,” Abby said distractedly, gesturing to the man at her side. She smoothed her dress and excused herself to go find her colleague, Marcus trailing behind her.

“Clarke,” Cillian nodded with a smile. He paused at the sight of Bellamy at her side. “And…?”

“Oh, this is Bellamy Blake,” she supplied. Cillian shook his hand immediately, giving him a friendly smile. “Bellamy, this is Dr. Cillian Parker, one of my mother’s interns at the hospital.”

“Your mom never mentioned you were dating someone,” Cillian said curiously, tilting his head.

“Oh, well Belllamy’s a good friend. He was kind enough to accompany me tonight,” Clarke supplied, giving Bellamy a warm smile.

“Ah, well it’s always good to have backup at events like this,” Cillian laughed. He looked to Bellamy and said conspiratorially, “The conversations can be pretty dry.”

“I bet,” Bellamy replied easily, but there was a strange look on his face that she couldn’t place. She tried not to jump when she felt his hand settle on her waist, surprised at the sudden contact.

“Well, Abby promised to introduce me to some of the hospital board members,” Cillian said. He looked at Clarke. “Maybe I’ll see you later?”

Clarke nodded politely and Cillian disappeared into the crowd. When she looked back at Bellamy he was watching her with a slight frown. His hand slipped away to fall back at his side. “What?”

“That guy is into you,” he said quietly.

That caught her off guard. “What? How could you tell?”

He shrugged, but the motion was a little too jerky to come off as casual. “The way he kept looking at you.”

“Ah.” Clarke cringed. “That’s kind of my fault. I hooked up with him a few months back when I was going through my rough patch. I told him it was a one time thing.”

“He looks like he’s hoping you’ll change your mind,” Bellamy muttered.

Clarke frowned, taking in the tight set of his jaw and the way he was suddenly avoiding looking at her. He couldn’t be…he wasn’t jealous , was he?

No, she thought. She was probably just seeing what she wanted to see. 

“Well,” she said lightly, “he’ll be waiting a long time if that’s the case. I’m not interested.”

Bellamy did look at her then, the sour look giving way to a small smile. “Poor guy.”

“Besides,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his. “I’ve got enough to worry about.”

“Speaking of, have the police given you any more updates about the break in? I feel like they should know something about the missing footage by now.”

“No. I wish they would. It’s got to be someone who works at the building, right? How else would only the time period that someone broke into my apartment be missing?”

“All the more reason it’s a good thing you aren’t staying there,” he said seriously, his deep brown eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch. A sudden clearing of a throat cut off any reply she would have made.

Her back went rigid as she caught sight of her mother standing a few feet away, her lips pressed into a thin line. Immediately Clarke felt like a teenager again, about to be chastised for sneaking in after curfew.

“Bellamy,” Abby said tightly, “could I have a moment alone with my daughter?”

Bellamy turned to look at her, and she could see the question in his eyes. She knew he’d stay if she asked, but she’d rather not have an audience for what she could sense was a potential diatribe from Abby Griffin.

“I’ll be fine,” she murmured reassuringly, giving him a nod. 

Abby turned on her heel, walking towards a door that led out to the hallway. It was clear that whatever her mother had to say, she didn’t want to say it in front of any of her guests. Clarke took a deep breath and followed, steeling herself for the upcoming conversation. 

Once they were both in the quiet hall, the party shut away behind a hastily closed door, Abby turned on her.

“Clarke,” her mother said sharply. “How could you not have told me that someone broke into your apartment?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. The police are investigating and keeping me updated -”

“Clarke, I told you that neighborhood was dangerous. Please tell me you haven’t been staying there on your own. I know that Raven is away for several weeks -”

“I’m not staying there,” she hastened to assure her and then flinched, realizing belatedly that she had left herself open for an obvious follow up question.

“Well where are you staying?” Abby demanded.

“I’ve been staying with Bellamy,” she sighed. “Just until Raven gets back from MIT.”

“Bellamy?” Abby blinked. She recovered quickly. “Well, that’s very kind of him but I really think you should stay here. I’m sure Bellamy’s place is fine, but I’m sure he doesn’t have anywhere near the kind of security we have here.”

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mom, I’m not coming to stay here. It’d be too big of a commute to work, and I’m not going to let myself be chased out of the city. I’m perfectly safe at Bellamy’s apartment.”

She could see her mother getting ready to argue and cut her to the pass. “Really, Mom. I’ll be fine. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not necessary.”

Before Abby could push the matter further, Clarke quickly darted back into the party.

Bellamy’s eyes drifted once again to the door Clarke and her mother had exited through a few minutes prior, wondering if he should go and intervene. Clarke had said she was fine to handle it on her own, but he also knew that Abby had a talent for riling up her normally unflappable daughter. 

“So you don’t work in the medical field?”

Bellamy turned his attention back to the man standing to his left, blinking owlishly at him. “Um, no. I’m working on my masters in ancient history. I’m also a first responder - a firefighter.”

“That’s a shame,” the man tutted. “I’ve always thought that the noblest thing a young man could do is pursue medicine - “

“Excuse me, Dr. Matthews,” Clarke said smoothly, appearing at his side. She looped her arm through Bellamy’s, smiling winningly at the doctor. “I need to steal my date for a moment.”

The older man brightened at the sight of her, and Bellamy couldn’t say he blamed him. “No worries at all! You must be very proud of your mother. I know we all are on the board.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “If you’ll excuse us.”

She tugged gently at his arm, and Bellamy gratefully allowed himself to be pulled away.

“Here I thought I was going to have to come rescue you ,” he murmured.

“It wasn’t so bad. She’s just worried, I think. She wanted me to come stay with her.”

He paused. "You thinking of taking her up on that?"

"And hear unsubtle hints about how I should go back to med school every day? I don't think so."

“Clarke!”

Clarke froze at his side, her fingers digging tightly into his forearm. His brow furrowed in concern, on the verge of asking what was wrong when a dark haired man approached. He wasn’t someone he recognized, but judging by her tight expression it was clear that Clarke did.

“I was wondering if I’d see you here,” the man said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. When Clarke said nothing, the man’s eyes wandered and he seemed to finally realize Bellamy was there. His eyebrows raised. “Who’s your date?”

“Bellamy Blake,” he supplied, but as the other man didn’t make any move to shake his hand Bellamy kept his arms firmly by his side.

“Cage,” Clarke said eventually. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Cage . He felt a jolt. It had to be Cage Wallace. Cage wasn’t exactly a common name. Bellamy’s eyes shot to Clarke and back at the man across from them, who was watching them both with interest. Bellamy’s jaw clenched painfully. So this was the guy Clarke suspected was behind all the shit she’d been through recently. 

Something hot and acidic unfurled in his chest, and he was glad for Clarke’s arm keeping him in place. 

“My father brought me as his plus one,” Cage said loftily. “Excellent chance for networking, you know. I’m never really off the clock. Speaking of which, how is your juvenile delinquent holding center doing?”

“I’m sure you already know,” Clarke replied tightly.

Cage tilted his head, his expression blank and yet still somehow swarmy. Bellamy wanted to punch him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Really? So you haven’t had people calling my work demanding my resignation?”

She threw the accusation like a lance. Bellamy couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride; it was one of the many things he loved about Clarke. She didn’t intimidate easily and she always cut straight to the point.

Cage laughed. “Clarke, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No? What about my apartment? Someone broke in and trashed the place. You don’t know anything about that either?” she shot back.

If Clarke’s suspicions were right and he was the guy, he was a good actor. He gave nothing away aside from an air of annoyance. Cage rolled his eyes, taking a long sip of his drink. “This conversation is getting tedious, Clarke. I’m sorry you’re having such bad luck lately but I can assure you it has nothing to do with me.”

“I think you’re lying,” she said bluntly. “I think you’re pissed off and lashing out like a child. Wouldn't be unusual for you.”

That seemed to strike something in Cage. His face soured, and he stood straighter, sneering, “Careful, little girl.”

Bellamy bristled but Clarke stood firm. “You didn’t seem to think I was so little when you were begging me for a date. Is that why you’re doing this? Because I rejected you?”

Cage took a step forward, stopping short as Bellamy moved forward to meet him, cutting him off from Clarke. 

“Careful,” Bellamy parroted, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. 

“Gentlemen, is there a problem here?” Marcus stood a few feet away, looking between the two with concern. Bellamy didn’t take his eyes off the man in front of him, who seemed to be sizing him up.

“No problem,” Cage said eventually. He took a step back, reaching for a new drink. “I have to be going anyway. Nice seeing you as always, Clarke. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

He winked, disappearing back into the crowd, and Bellamy wondered if the asshole knew how lucky he was that he cared more about checking in with Clarke than following through on the overwhelming urge to deck him.

"Even if he's not the guy, he's doing a good job of acting like a complete asshole." He took in her shrewd expression, forcing himself to relax for her sake. "Did you want to leave?"

"No," she said firmly. "If it is him, he chased me out of my home. He's not about to scare me away from here too." She squared her shoulders grabbed his hand. "Come on. As my date, I think I'm at least owed a dance."

Chapter Text

Clarke liked Wednesdays.

On Wednesdays, her last class of the day ended at noon, which meant that if she got her paperwork done quickly she could leave work early and have at least two unplanned, unclaimed hours to play with. Sometimes she’d go to her favourite coffee shop and lose a few hours sipping a latte and sketching. Other times she liked to take a jog through the local park, dodging cyclists and parents chasing their young children. 

Today she had opted for the latter, feeling a need for fresh air after the rain had trapped everyone inside for a few days. She was sweaty and flushed by the time she reached Bellamy’s front door, already envisioning a steamy shower with her favorite vanilla body scrub as she kicked off her sneakers. They landed haphazardly near the mat, but she stepped over them unconcerned. Bellamy’s eye would twitch if he saw the disarray, but he wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours. She’d take a shower, relax, and then tidy up before he got home. Maybe she’d even try to cook dinner tonight. She was in a good mood, and Bellamy tended to handle the cooking more often than she did. She wanted to show that she could pull her own weight around the apartment.

She made her way down the hall, still bobbing along to the frenetic pop song blasting through her headphones. She pulled her sweater over her head, leaving her in just her pink sports bra and navy leggings. She kicked the leggings off too, tossing both them and the sweater into her room as she passed by, before swinging around towards the bathroom.

The breath left her lungs in a whoosh as she walked into a very solid body.

A very solid, very warm, very wet body.

A large hand grabbed her forearm to keep her from toppling backwards. “Shit, Clarke, are you okay?”

She blinked up at Bellamy’s concerned face, but her eyes didn’t stay there. Water was dripping from the ends of his dark curls, running in rivulets down his jaw and over his solid chest, disappearing into the material of the towel he had clutched to his waist.

Shit indeed.

She gaped at him, feeling as though her brain was short-circuiting. It was the only explanation for the way she was suddenly unable to find any words. 

She knew Bellamy was attractive. Unfairly, insufferably hot, she’d once put it when she and Raven had had too much wine on the couch one night. His face alone was enough to turn a girl's head with his sharp jawline, dark eyes, the constellation of freckles, and the inky curls that fell across his forehead. Even when said face had always been plastered with a condescending smirk, there had always been a part of her that had been hyper aware that that face she sometimes wanted to slap was also unfairly gorgeous.

One would think that being blessed with a face like that would preclude someone from being ridiculously firm and well built, but no, apparently. She'd seen him shirtless before - mostly only at the beach or coming back from one of his morning runs - and she could confirm that some people really were that blessed. She just usually tried not to notice where he was concerned.

(And if Bellamy's station had once done one of those shirtless firemen calendars for charity and she'd not only bought one but never managed to flip past July, well, that was no one's business but her own.)

But she'd never been pressed up against said body like this, not when it was bare and wet and -

"Why are you home?" she finally managed to say. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Schedule mix up. We were over-staffed, so I got to come home." He released her arm. "What are you doing here?"

"It's Wednesday," she answered, as though that explained everything. 

As though that explained why she was parading around his apartment in just her panties and a sports bra. A fact it seemed that he had just become aware of, because his eyes dipped and widened, before he dragged his gaze back to her face.

"I was going to take a shower," she finished lamely.

"Right," he husked. "Well, it's free."

"Right."

A beat passed, and neither of them moved. She felt rooted to the spot, wondering if he could feel the way the air had gotten thicker or if it was only her imagination.

She watched his throat bob. "Clarke -"

A loud ring tone cut through the air. Bellamy flinched.

"That's Miller's ringtone. I have to get that, I'm - I'm on call."

"Yeah of course," she said brightly. "Don't let me keep you."

She darted around him into the bathroom, quickly shutting the door behind her.

___________________

When Thursday rolled around, Clarke settled into the nest of blankets she had set up for herself in preparation for a video chat with Raven. She knew it was her friend's way of checking up on her - Raven's communication was usually limited to brief and sporadic texts when she was working on a project - but she was hardly going to complain. She missed her, and Raven's no bullshit attitude was always welcome when Clarke found herself feeling out of her depth.

An incoming video call lit up her screen and she quickly accepted it.

Raven’s face appeared on screen, the brunette grinning widely. “Hey, Griffin.”

“Hey Rae,” she smiled. “How are things on your end?”

“You probably don’t want to hear about my day to day…it’s probably pretty mundane compared to what you’ve been dealing with,” Raven snorted.

“Trust me, that’s exactly why I want to hear it,” she said with a wry smile. “I could use some normalcy.”

The other woman nodded, launching into a lengthy description of what she had been working on and some of the people she’d met since she’d been at MIT. Clarke relaxed into her pillow, letting Raven’s words provide a welcome distraction. She smiled at her friend’s stories, nodding at the right places, agreeing when Raven voiced her annoyance with one of her colleagues. Raven spent a solid twenty minutes going on about her rivalry with some guy named Shaw that she was partnered with in a way that made Clarke suspect that her annoyance towards the guy was masking something else entirely

“Enough about me,” the brunette said eventually. Her face sobered. “How are you holding up?”

Clarke sighed. “I’m fine. This entire thing sucks, but I’m coping. Not having to stay alone helps, but it’s strange not to be in my own room. It’ll be nice when you’re home again.”

“Still no leads on what asshole is doing all this?”

She hesitated. “The police don’t have any leads, no. But I might.”

Raven’s brow raised. “Well don’t keep me in suspense.”

Clarke launched into an explanation about Cage Wallace, how he’d tried pressuring her into seeing him, her subsequent rejection, and the reasons she suspected him of possibly being behind what had been happening. Raven’s outrage grew the longer Clarke spoke.

“I’m gonna kill him,” she said once Clarke was done.

“You’ll have to get in line,” Clarke huffed a laugh. “Bellamy’s already made the same threat at least a dozen times.”

She snorted. “Yeah I bet he has. I’m sure Blake has been going crazy these past few weeks. Speaking of, how have things been with you two?”

Clarke opened her mouth, ‘fine’ on the tip of her tongue. But that wasn’t really true, and she didn’t see the point in lying to Raven about it when she had always been particularly good at seeing through Clarke’s bullshit. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

Raven looked surprised. “You don’t know?”

“Yeah,” Clarke exhaled. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Bell’s been great. He’s been so supportive, and he’s actually a really great roommate. There’s just been something…I don’t know. Bothering me. I don’t know how to describe it.”

There was silence for a moment before Raven asked, “Do you think maybe it’s the domesticity of it all that’s starting to get to you?”

Well. Maybe. It would definitely make sense. “Maybe? I mean we spend all our free time together, we talk about our days while we cook dinner, whoever’s up first makes the other one coffee… All of that I could just chalk up to platonic roommate stuff if it weren’t for -”

“The blistering sexual tension?” Raven said pointedly. When Clarke flushed, she rolled her eyes. “Well? Am I wrong?”

“Raven…”

“Come on, Clarke. I’ve known you both for years and there’s been numerous times where I honestly couldn’t tell if you two were about to murder each other or start ripping each other’s clothes off. Do you really think other people haven’t noticed? Do you think he hasn’t noticed?”

Honestly, no, she’d always kind of assumed that she was reading into things. It wasn’t that she thought she was unattractive by any means, but she’d never been what she thought of as Bellamy’s type. As much as it hurt, she’d grown comfortable in the knowledge that he wasn’t into her that way and that she’d eventually just have to get over it. 

But now that they were with each other all the time outside of work, she felt like she was noticing little things that she might have missed before. She thought about the way he’d seemed uncomfortable with Cillian, the way his eyes had lingered on her half-clothed body in the hall yesterday. Maybe he was more aware of her than she’d thought.

Still…

“Just because there’s attraction, that doesn’t mean that there’s anything deeper than that,” she said, her voice smaller than she’d like it to be. She’d been in relationships like that before - blinding attraction and chemistry that eventually fizzled until she was left with the realisation that once it burned out there wasn’t really anything left to build anything lasting on. She knew that what she felt for Bellamy was more than that, but she had no idea if the same was true for him. “I don’t want to risk what we have if all there is for him is some unresolved sexual tension. He means too much for me to do that.”

Raven made a strangled noise that might have been a groan. “Okay, for the record, I think you’re both idiots. The fact that you guys can't see how gone you are for each other is genuinely baffling. But - " she said, holding up a hand to him off Clarke's protests, "you're dealing with a lot of shit right now and I don't want to push you. Just, think about what I said okay? He feels something for you, I'm sure of it."

When Clarke said nothing, Raven exhaled. "Okay, so now that the heavy stuff is out of the way, subject change. Whaddya got?"

Clarke pursed her lips. "Is Shaw hot?"

"Griffin!" Raven sputtered before slumping a little. "So, so hot."

"I knew it."

___________________

Bellamy placed the clipboard on the nurse's station, moving aside to lean up against the hallway wall until he could flag someone down to ask about his crew member.

His unit had been called to the scene of a suspected arson. The fire had been extinguished mostly without incident, but Riley, their newest rookie, had been caught on the shoulder by some falling debris. Captain Diyoza had tasked Bellamy with accompanying him to the hospital to get checked out.

Bellamy yawned. He was coming to the end of a 24 hour shift, and he was looking forward to going home and getting cleaned up. He wondered if he could talk Clarke into some Thai takeout. The thought of sitting on the couch with her and digging into some comfort food sounded incredible. He felt himself perk up a little.

"Hi. Uh, Bellamy, right?"

He turned to see a doctor standing on the other side of the nurse’s station, looking at him curiously. In his tired haze, it took a moment to place the familiar face. Abby’s intern. The guy Clarke had hooked up with. The guy must have just started his shift, because he looked alert and well-kempt. Bellamy could only imagine what he looked like next to the doctor - dark circles under his eyes, his hair matted with sweat.

The lightness that had come with thinking about his after shift plans soured a little.

“Um, yeah," he nodded. "Sorry, it’s been a long shift. What was your name again?”

The other man smiled a little. "That's okay, I've been there. It's Cillian."

"Right," Bellamy nodded. There was a brief, awkward pause. He wasn't really sure what he and an old hookup of Clarke's would have to talk about, really.

"How's Clarke?"

Except the woman herself, of course.

"Uh, she's good."

"Good. Abby told me someone broke into her apartment recently." Cillian's brows furrowed in concern. "Do they have any idea who did it?"

Bellamy shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. They're still investigating."

"That's too bad." Cillian rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable. "Look, I hope this isn't too weird, but I wanted to ask…is what Clarke said at the party true? You guys aren't like a thing, right? Because Abby mentioned that Clarke was staying with you, and you guys seemed pretty close. I'd been thinking of maybe seeing if she wanted to grab dinner sometime, but if there's something going on there I don't want to, you know…"

He trailed off, looking at Bellamy expectantly. 

"No," he grunted, wondering if the word sounded as forced to Cillian as it did to his own ears. "Nothing like that. She's just my friend."

His friend, who he couldn't wait to get home to. The woman he was worried sick over half the time. Just his friend, whose body he couldn't stop picturing since he had seen her half naked in his hallway like one of his fantasies come to life. 

"Great!" Cillian brightened. "Thanks, man. Tell her I said hi, will you?"

He was pretty sure he muttered some sort of response but he couldn't be sure. All he knew was that his bad mood followed him all the way home, where he decided to forgo Thai food and TV and head straight to bed, leaving a confused Clarke in his wake.

___________________

She wasn’t sure what woke her, but a glance at her phone told her it was 3:30 in the morning. She ran a hand over her tired eyes, sinking back into her pillow. She was exhausted, and more than a little desperate to get a few more hours of sleep before she had to get up for work.

It seemed like only moments after she shut her eyes that she heard a distant thump. She frowned, sitting up in her bed to listen closer. She strained her ears to listen, her fingers grasping her sheets tightly. It was probably Bellamy going to the bathroom, but there was a nervous buzz in her stomach that made her want to wait until she heard him go back to his room to be sure.

Another thud. With a sinking feeling, she realized it was coming from down the hall, nowhere near the bathroom. She grabbed her phone in a shaking fist, her bare feet hitting the hardwood floor as quietly as possible. Kneeling briefly, she grabbed for the wooden object under her bed and nudged her bedroom door open. There was a faint noise coming from the direction of the front door that she couldn’t quite place, almost like a blast of air or a hissing noise. She took a few cautious steps down the hall when an arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and a large hand descended over her mouth, muffling her yelp of surprise.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bellamy hissed in her ear. She could feel the rumble of his voice through his chest that he had pressed to her back, and she wondered if he could feel her heart hammering away. She reached up, pulling his hand away from her mouth. His arm dropped away from her middle and she turned, finding them almost nose to nose in the dark.

“I heard some noises. I think someone’s here,” she whispered.

“No shit,” he rolled his eyes, “I mean what the hell are you doing going to look on your own?” His eyes fell on the object in her hand and his brows shot up. “Is that a baseball bat?”

“I wasn’t going to check unprepared,” she huffed, giving the bat a little wave. “I’m not an idiot.”

Bellamy scoffed, his annoyance morphing into concern as the hissing noise grew louder. “Stay behind me,” he muttered, slowly making his way down the hall and through the living room. Clarke followed, ignoring his instructions and keeping pace at his side. If someone was inside the apartment, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him face them alone. 

A quick survey of the living room and kitchen made it clear that whoever was making the noise was not inside the apartment but actually outside the front door. The noise stopped suddenly, and Bellamy went to the door to look through the peephole. 

“There’s no one there now,” he said, pulling away with a frown. His fingers went to the doorknob and she felt her anxiety spike.

“Wait!” she blurted, her hand covering his to halt his movement. He met her wide eyes and she whispered, “Someone could still be out there.”

She didn’t want to risk him getting hurt if whoever had been at the door was still lurking around. Bellamy nodded, reaching down to gently pull the baseball bat from her hands, gripping it in his own. 

“I’m just going to poke my head out and look.” He raised the bat, giving her a reassuring smile. “Prepared, right?”

She swallowed before giving him a resolute nod. He slowly opened the door just enough to fit his torso through, leaning out to look both ways up and down the hall.

“There’s no one out here now,” he said quietly. He pulled back, stopping abruptly to stare at the front door. “Fuck.”

She took in the dark look on his face, alarmed. “What is it?”

He wordlessly pulled the door wider so that she could see. Her eyes landed on the bright red paint marring the wood, the spray scrawling out a word in all capital letters.

Bitch.

Clarke felt the air leave her lungs. He knew where she was, where she was staying. It hadn’t mattered that she’d left her apartment, he had found her anyway. Worse, she had brought him to Bellamy’s front door. Guilt settled heavy in her stomach but she shoved it down, needing to be practical in order to curb the overwhelming emotions welling within her.

“We need to call the police,” she decided. 

The police arrived fairly quickly, which surprised her considering this wasn’t exactly an emergency. She could only assume that her frequent contact with them lately had her on some sort of alert list. The officers dispatched took photographs of the door and took their statements. It was brief, considering neither of them had actually seen anything. She couldn’t help but keep glancing at Bellamy as she gave her statement; his agitation was palpable. He was pacing back and forth in the living room, hands on his hips as he observed the police milling around his front door. When she had finished, the officers left with a parting recommendation to ensure all the doors and windows were locked. As if they were going to do anything less. When the door closed behind them and the lock clicked into place, silence fell in the apartment. Bellamy was still pacing, his brows furrowed, not so much as glancing her way.

Clarke steeled herself, straightening her spine. “I’m sorry.”

That stopped him in his tracks, his expression incredulous. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry,” she said clearly. “I feel like I put you in danger, coming here. You offered to let me stay because my apartment was torn apart, but you didn’t ask for…this.” She gestured to the front door despairingly. “I’m going to book a hotel room in the morning, I’ve got savings -”

“No,” he said vehemently, shaking his head. “Not going to happen. You’re staying here.”

“Bellamy,” she said in exasperation. “I can’t. I know you always want to take care of everyone but I won’t put you at risk.”

“This isn’t about everyone,” he snapped. “This is about you. You like to talk about my need to take care of everyone but you’re the one who’s willing to put yourself at risk because you think you’re protecting me. There’s no way you’re going to a hotel, where hundreds of strangers come and go all the time, to stay by yourself. It’s insane, Clarke. For once in your life, can you worry about yourself and let me help you?”

She pressed her lips together, feeling the hot sting of tears gathering in her eyes.

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me,” she admitted in a whisper.

The fight seemed to drain out of him at the sight of her tears and he moved forward, gently grasping her upper arms. He gently took her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Clarke, what happened tonight wasn’t your fault. And nothing is going to happen to me, but even if it did, it wouldn’t be your fault either. An asshole is disrupting your life for his own twisted reasons. That’s on him, not you. You’re not alone in this.”

She swallowed harshly, nodding at his words.

“Stay,” he implored softly. She searched his dark eyes, blown away by the earnesty and depth of emotion she found there. She knew he meant it, that he wanted her there despite the crazy she’d brought with her.

“Okay,” she murmured, giving him a watery smile. “I’ll stay.”

Chapter Text

Two major things happened after Clarke decided to stay.

The first was that she rapidly started to feel less like she was occupying Miller’s empty room and more like the space she had carved out in Bellamy’s apartment was her own. Maybe it was that she felt less on edge about the fact that she might have to pack up and go at any minute if things got rough. Bellamy had effectively told her she could stay as long as she needed to come hell or highwater, and that seemed to have settled the guilt she’d been carrying around since she had arrived.

The second was that Bellamy seemed to have decided to let his overprotective nature run completely unfettered. They had already been spending quite a bit of time together before his apartment had been vandalized, but now it seemed that the only times they were apart were when one of them was at work or sleeping. He had begun to walk her to work in the mornings if he wasn’t on shift, sticking close to her side and scanning the crowds when he thought she wasn’t looking. She’d tried exactly once to point out how unnecessary it was as it was unlikely anything would happen on a street full of commuters, but the borderline pleading look he’d given her (“Clarke, for my sanity just let me do this.”) had forced her to relent.

Honestly, Clarke knew she should be annoyed at the fact that he had essentially become her shadow, but she found herself enjoying the time they spent walking the few blocks from his apartment to the rec center, usually stopping in at a little cafe she was growing to love on the way to grab coffees and talk before they parted ways.

Lincoln had grown very amused by Clarke’s escort, doing a poor job of hiding his small smiles when Bellamy would bid her goodbye at the door. His amusement didn’t last when Clarke finally confided in him why she was being walked to and from work in the first place, and Lincoln solemnly promised to keep an eye out for her at work as well.

Pretty much everything about the situation sucked and weighed heavily on her, but the outpouring of support from the people in her life warmed her and made it just the tiniest bit bearable.

When another week passed without incident. Detective Hadley called her one day to inform her that they had determined that one of her building’s security guards, a Carl Emerson, was the most likely culprit to have shut off the security cameras, but that the man had quit and essentially disappeared before they could reinterview him. 

“Did you receive my message? About Cage Wallace?” Clarke asked urgently.

There was a shuffling noise on the other end, and the background noise of the police station grew significantly quieter. “I did. Miss Griffin, officially speaking I should tell you that there has been no evidence to implicate Mr. Wallace in this in any way.”

She heard the pause and pushed, “And…unofficially?”

“Unofficially, Cage Wallace has a lot of money to throw around, and that can be a good motivator for someone to risk their job and then up and disappear. And Wallace has a bit of a reputation in the department. It’s all rumors at this point, but I certainly don’t think your suspicions are far-fetched.”

She bit her lip. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Until there’s concrete evidence tying him to any of this, there’s not much we can do. But I promise I’m not giving up on this. I’ll keep looking for Emerson. At the very least, if we can find him and get him to confess to tampering with the security footage, we might be able to get him to flip on anyone else involved. If your suspicions are correct and that person is Wallace, well go from there.”

It wasn't much, but at the very least it was nice to know that the person investigating her case was in her corner. "Thank you," she said with sincerity. 

"I wish I had better news for you."

"Me too, but I appreciate you not giving up."

______________

With two weeks left of Raven’s internship, Miller stopped by the apartment to announce that he was officially moving out.

Bellamy wasn’t really surprised at the news; he’d honestly been waiting for Miller to finally admit defeat and acknowledge that he had already moved in with his boyfriend. He was happy for his friend, which lessened some of the bittersweet feelings he had about his friend completely moving out. 

“That’s good, Nate,” he said sincerely from his spot on the floor. “I’m really happy for you.”

“I can cover rent for the next two months, to help until you find a new roommate,” Miller offered, leaning up against the kitchen island. He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you want to keep the one you’ve already got now.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, choosing to focus back on the task at hand. “Raven will be back in two weeks and Clarke will be heading back to her apartment. I’ll put out an ad then.”

“Mhmm,” Miller said, his skepticism clear. His brow furrowed as he watched Bellamy sort through the wood pieces scattered around him on the floor. “What are you doing, anyway? It looks like an Ikea threw up on your living room floor.”

“It’s an easel,” Bellamy answered distractedly. He moved some of the debris aside, searching for an elusive bag of screws.

“An easel.” Miller’s voice was flat. “For Clarke?”

“Her last one got ruined, I thought this might cheer her up with everything going on.” Bellamy knew he sounded defensive but he couldn’t help it. He knew how it would look to Miller, but he only had intentions of lifting Clarke’s mood. And if it happened to make her feel more at home here, then that was an unintended bonus.

Miller sighed and sat on the floor, reaching for a screwdriver. “I’m just gonna let this one slide. But speaking of Clarke, Jackson and I want to throw a party this weekend. Sort of like a house warming, or something. Will you let her know?”

“Of course.” Bellamy passed him a couple of screws and smirked. “A house warming party, huh? I didn’t know you were so domestic. Should I bring wine?”

“You’re one smartass comment from building this by yourself, Blake.”

______________

Clarke was happy for Miller and Jackson. 

Really, she was. She was always glad whenever any of her friends found happiness in their relationships or careers. Still, the two of them hitting the living together stage of their relationship was another reminder that she was one of the only ones in her friend group who was still very much single. Monty and Harper were engaged. Jasper had recently started seeing a sweet girl named Maya that he’d proudly brought along to the housewarming party. Murphy and Emori, well, no one was ever exactly sure what the deal was with them, but they seemed happy at least. Even Raven had confided in her that she had started hooking up with that hot guy from her program. 

It seemed that she and Bellamy were the only ones not paired up. 

The man in question seemed a little quiet on the way to the party. She wasn't sure if it had  to do with Miller moving out or if it was something else entirely, but she didn't get a chance to ask before they were drawn in separate directions by their friends.

As it did whenever alcohol was involved, the party quickly devolved into drinking games. Clarke and Harper kicked Monty and Jasper’s asses at beer pong three times before Jasper loudly complained that they needed to pick a new game. Maya surprised everyone by dominating at flip cup, which led to Jasper dramatically slapping a hand over his chest and asking the blushing girl where she’d been all his life. Miller eventually dragged out a black box of cards, insisting that they’d have enough games of physical skill and he wanted to see which of his friends was the most psychologically twisted.

Emori glanced around with a slight frown. “Where’s John? He’d never miss a game of Cards Against Humanity.”

Clarke downed the last of her drink, following her gaze. Bellamy was nowhere to be seen either. “I’m going to go get a refill, I’ll see where he is on the way.”

She unfolded her legs and stood, grabbing her empty cup and trailing down the hall. She was passing by the doors that led out to the balcony when she clearly heard Murphy say her name through the crack of the door. She paused, seeing Bellamy and Murphy leaning against the railing as they looked out over the city skyline.

She reached out to push the door open and join them when she heard Bellamy's tired, "Don't start, Murphy."

She paused, unsure of whether or not this was a situation that required a rescue or if the two of them were actually having an important conversation.

Murphy took a long drink, giving Bellamy the briefest of glances out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Bellamy paused. “And what is that?”

“Come on, man. Inviting Clarke to come live with you?”

Bellamy bristled a little. “She needed a place to stay. She’s being stalked -”

“I know that. And I know you’d make the same offer to any of us if we were in that position. That’s just who you are,” Murphy shrugged. “But I also know how you feel about Clarke. This isn’t just you helping a friend, not when you're crazy about her.”

Clarke felt her stomach clench. What the hell did that mean? 

He said nothing for a moment, and Murphy took the opportunity to say, “Are you ever going to tell her?”

Bellamy’s voice was so quiet, Clarke could barely hear as he said lowly, “It’s not the right time. Clarke’s handling everything the best she can but she’s got a lot of shit going on right now. She doesn’t need me adding anything else to that.”

“I get that,” Murphy acknowledged with a shrug, “but did you ever think that maybe telling her would be a good thing? That maybe she'd be happy to hear that you've got feelings -”

At that particular moment her phone chimed. Shit. The two men turned and she felt her pulse leap at being caught. 

“Hi!” she said with feigned brightness. She worried the brittle nature of her voice would give her away. “I was just coming to get you guys. Miller wants to play Cards Against Humanity.”

Murphy was looking at her with raised eyebrows, like he suspected she’d been standing there for longer than she was letting on, while Bellamy looked pale and somewhat panicked. Clarke wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was he panicked that she may have overheard them because Murphy was right? That he did have some sort of feelings for her like she did for him? 

Murphy glanced at the other man, and seemingly sensing he wasn’t going to speak, finally answered, “Sure, but I’m not sure what the point is. You might as well crown me now - none of you have any hopes of being as twisted as me. Come on, Griffin.”

He moved back into the apartment, throwing an arm around her shoulder as he led the way to the living room. Clarke glanced back over her shoulder, catching sight of Bellamy standing stiffly on the balcony. When he caught her gaze his expression shuttered, and he followed them inside without a word.

______________

Bellamy didn’t say much for the rest of the night. 

Sure, he gathered with their friends to play the game, but she could tell his smiles were forced. He also managed to avoid looking at her or being alone with her for the rest of the time they spent at Miller and Jackson’s apartment.

She hated it. She felt awful that she had so obviously made him uncomfortable, even if she hadn’t really meant to overhear what he’d said. She felt so badly, in fact, that she didn’t have time to dwell on the actual content of the conversation she’d heard.

The cab ride back to his place was just as quiet, and he sat with his body angled towards the window, staring out at the passing city. He seemed so eager to put space between them that she was half surprised he hadn’t volunteered to sit in the front seat. By the time they pulled up in front of his apartment building, she’d resolved to try and clear the air. As uncomfortable as he was, she couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of her stay in awkward silence. When he let them into the apartment and walked inside, she shut and locked the door, gathering her courage. She turned to see him removing his coat and set her shoulders in determination.

“I heard your conversation with Murphy,” she started, noticing how his shoulders tensed at her words. He turned to look at her, his face carefully blank.

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” she rushed to explain. “I should have said something right away, but I was just….caught off guard. If-if you want me to pretend that I didn’t hear anything, I will.”

There was a long pause before he said carefully, “Do you want to pretend you didn’t hear anything?”

She took a sharp breath. He was giving her an opening, if she wanted to take it. 

And she wanted. 

“No,” she said softly. For the first time, some of the tightness seemed to leave his face, replaced by something almost hopeful. “What Murphy said…about you having feelings for me. Is that true?”

He swallowed, and she got the feeling he was gathering his courage as well. “Yes.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “What - how long?”

How long had they both been pining for each other, the other completely oblivious? How much time had they wasted by not having the courage to say anything?

Bellamy let out a breathless chuckle, dragging a hand through his messy curls. “Fuck, I don’t know Clarke…at least a year, but probably longer than that before I realized.”

A year. 

She felt like she needed to sit down.

She sat heavily on the couch. A whole year. Probably longer, he’d said. Raven had been right. Maybe she was blind. 

Bellamy seemed to misinterpret her dazed state and quickly sat next to her, leaving a healthy amount of space between them. “Clarke, listen, I don’t have any expectations. I don’t expect you to feel the same way, and the last thing I ever wanted to do was to make you uncomfortable because of the way I feel. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything, especially with you staying here -”

He looked so distressed, and he was reading the situation so utterly wrong that she couldn’t help but start laughing at the ridiculousness of it. Bellamy’s distress turned to confusion.

“You’re laughing?” he said incredulously.

“Bellamy,” she said fondly, a wide smile lighting her features. “Bellamy, we’re so stupid.”

He looked dumbfounded. “Stupid?” he repeated.

She nodded, sure she was practically beaming now. “Raven said we were both blind, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. But I guess you’d have to be blind not to notice that I’m crazy about you.”

She could see the moment her words sank in for him. The smile that spread across his face was breathtaking, and he reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

“Crazy about me, huh?” he teased, his eyes warm with affection and joy and something else that made her heart swell. “How long?”

“Too long,” she murmured, closing her eyes and pressing into his palm as his thumb stroked gently over her cheek.

“Clarke.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

She hummed in agreement.

The kiss was relatively chaste at first, the gentle slide of his lips against hers. Even so, she couldn't recall a time when a kiss made her feel quite like this - like she was coming home and taking some sort of leap at the same time. It was soft and sweet, and more than she'd imagined in the moments when she'd allowed herself to hope that he might feel the same. But then he was parting her lips with his and she gasped into his mouth at the first tentative swipe of his tongue.

It was too much and not enough at once. After a few minutes the awkward angle of her by his side prompted her to break the kiss momentarily in order to swing one leg up and over his hip, settling in his lap. She wasted no time curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt and dragging his mouth back to hers, kissing him deeply. She shivered at the feeling of his large hands on either side of her ribs, his fingers slowly trailing down her sides. When his tongue swept into her mouth she abandoned his collar in favor of burying her hands into his curls like she’d fantasized about doing so many times before. She nipped at his bottom lip and delighted in the soft sound he made, his hands flexing on her hips and rucking up her dress. The motion pressed her forward just enough that her center brushed up against the rapidly growing bulge in his jeans. His low groan was enough to encourage her to shift forward again, chasing that sound. Bellamy’s hands pulled her hips forward, helping her create a steady rhythm in her grind against him, the motion sending sparks of pleasure through her core. 

After a moment he abandoned her hips in favor of brushing the strap of her dress aside, his teeth nipping at her collar bone. She gasped at the sensation and scraped her nails against the base of his neck. He mouthed his way down further to the edge of her bra and paused there. She could sense his hesitation and reached back around to unhook her bra before she could talk herself out of it, allowing it to slip down her arms and leaving her bare from the waist up. She would laugh at his awestruck expression if she didn’t feel so overwhelmed herself. 

“You can touch me,” she murmured breathlessly.

It seemed Bellamy didn’t need to be told twice, because he surged forward and wrapped his lips around a nipple, tugging lightly. She gasped as she felt his teeth scrape lightly over her, his tongue swirling to soothe the sting before he switched sides. She scraped her nails through the hair at the back of his neck and continued grinding herself against his length, her hand coming down to palm him over his jeans. Bellamy’s hips jerked at that and her breast fell from his mouth with a wet pop.

“Clarke,” he moaned. “Clarke--wait. Wait.”

She pulled back, blinking at him in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to rush you,” he said lowly, his eyes searching hers. “We don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for. Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve waited a long time for you,” she said slowly, tracing his kiss-swollen lips with her thumb. “I want this, if you want this too.”

Bellamy’s eyes darkened at that and she let out a shriek when he stood suddenly, wrapping her legs around his hips and carrying her the small distance from his living room to his bedroom. He dropped her onto the mattress and she let out a short laugh that turned into a gasp when he slid her dress down her legs, leaving her in just her lacy pink underwear. She expected him to climb onto the bed with her but he didn't, sinking down onto his knees in front of the bed and grasping the back of her thighs to pull her to the edge. Her cheeks heated in anticipation when she realized what he was doing.

“You don’t have to-” The rest of the sentiment cut off with a strangled moan as he buried his face between her legs, mouthing at her lightly through the material of her soaked underwear.

“I know,” he responded with a wide grin, his voice rougher than usual as he eased her panties down her legs. “I want to. Unless you don't want -?”

"I do," she responded so quickly that he let barked a laugh.

"As you wish," he said, his eyes sparking with mirth. 

Any response she might have had to that was lost when he got his mouth on her again, tongue circling her clit. She didn't bother to suppress the sharp cry that escaped her when he slid a finger inside her, gently thrusting until he could work a second into her.

“Still okay?” he asked, his voice vibrating against her in a way that has her legs shaking.

“Y-yes,” she managed to gasp out, which he took as an encouragement to start pumping his fingers into her a bit harder, his lips finding her clit once more. “Oh fuck--Bellamy!”

She was already so wound up that when he twisted his fingers and brushed against a sweet spot inside her, her hips came off the bed of her own accord. He threw his free arm over her hips to keep her still and repeated the motion to give her the friction she needed.

“Right there,” she gasped. “Fuck, faster please I can’t -”

She didn’t get to finish the thought before she felt her orgasm crest over her, a moan that might have been his name escaping her lips as her fingers tightened into the sheets under her. Bellamy continued thrusting his fingers gently, working her through her orgasm. When she came down he was pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her thighs and murmuring praise like how good she was and how hot it was to watch her come. He withdrew his fingers just as she sat up and grabbed his face, kissing him deep and dirty. She could taste herself on his lips and whimpered at the taste. When she pulled away, he looked a little smug, clearly pleased with himself.

“Too many clothes,” she decided, tugging at his belt. “I want you inside me now.”

His smug smile disappeared almost instantly and she was pleased to see that he looked absolutely wrecked at her words. He tugged his t-shirt over his head and Clarke had time to admire the hard lines and muscle that made up his torso as she slid back up the bed to settle against the pillows. Bellamy made quick work of his pants and boxers and then he joined her on the bed. He was thick and long and hard, and when she grasped him he groaned, his head coming to rest on her shoulder. He reached over to his nightstand blindly, and when he grabbed a condom she took it from his hands and tore it open, sliding it over him in one smooth motion. He bucked his hips into her hand before gently removing it and moving down so that he could slide the blunt head through her wet folds. She let out a cry and dug her fingers into his shoulders when he bumped her clit on one pass, and he seemed to realize her impatience, lining himself up at her entrance.

“You’re sure?” he panted, holding himself steady. His pupils were blown wide but his gaze was soft as he waited for her answer.

She knew he was just trying to make sure she was still okay with what was happening but she couldn't help the frustrated laugh that escaped as she told him, “Bellamy, I swear to god if you don’t hurry up and get inside me -”

He sank into her then and her words broke off into a sharp keen. By the time he bottomed out inside her she felt incredibly full, her legs trembling at the sensation. Bellamy gave her a moment to adjust, holding himself up on his forearms in a way that she was sure wouldn't be comfortable. 

“Fuck, Clarke,” he cursed lowly, and she was glad she wasn’t the only one this affected. He rocked into her gently, testing the waters. The moan she rewarded him with was enough to encourage him to keep going, and he began moving at a steady pace. Clarke lifted her hips to meet his, a litany of gasps and moans escaping her throat. She would be embarrassed about how loud she was being if it didn’t feel so damn good. 

But as much as she was enjoying herself, she wanted him to see that she could make him feel good too. She swiftly wrapped her legs around his hips, tugging so that he rolled to the side and she was on top. Bellamy grinned at her initiative and sat up as she began to roll her hips over him, setting her own pace. She grabbed his shoulders, her head falling back as she lost herself in the slow grind.

“Shit that’s hot, Clarke,” he breathed. He took advantage of the position to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it and gripping her hips to help her move. Her hips stuttered when he switched sides to suck a mark into the side of her right breast and she quickened her pace, her hips moving faster as she fucked herself on him.

Bellamy was watching her with a hint of awe, his hands helping her in her motions. “Fuck, you look so good. Think you can come like this?”

“Yes. Please I want to come like this,” she sighed. He began bucking his hips up into her and matching her rhythm, hitting her clit with every thrust. When fucked her just a little harder she felt herself let go, muscles fluttering around him and a long moan leaving her lips as she came for the second time. She was still experiencing aftershocks when he flipped them suddenly, lifting her left knee flush with her side and fucking her hard and quick. It was too much, too overwhelming, and she found herself clenching one hand in his dark curls while the other grasped at his ass, pulling him closer as she murmured in his ear for him to come Bellamy please so good I need you to come and then he was shaking apart in her arms, coming with a low moan as he thrust twice more and stilled.

Clarke swept her hands soothingly over his back as he came back to himself. He lifted off her suddenly and she acutely felt his absence for a moment, afterglow giving way to sliver of fear that he was pulling away. Instead he disposed of the condom and returned to the bed with a towel to help clean her up. Once finished, he laid back down beside her and pulled her into his arms. She relaxed at that, letting her eyes slide closed, her cheek pressed against his chest.

“Bell?” she whispered, too tired to open her eyes.

“Yeah?” he answered, his voice making his chest rumble underneath her cheek.

“We should probably talk about this.”

“I know,” he said.

“Not tonight though,” she yawned, humming as he pulled the blankets up around them.

“Not tonight,” he agreed, stroking her hair. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

She was asleep before she could tell him the same.

Chapter Text

Clarke was warm when she woke.

It was strange - Bellamy kept his apartment just slightly above what she deemed ‘sweater weather’, and she usually woke up feeling a chill in the air despite the mountain of blankets she would pile over top of her comforter in order to sleep at night. 

But this morning she woke up feeling warm and lazy, her muscles loose and body relaxed. The inviting cocoon of her bed was preventing her from even trying to open her eyes, and she was only too happy to let it have its way.

That was until a soft, sleepy grunt behind her gave her the abrupt reminder that she was not in her own bed at all. 

Clarke’s eyes flew open and she barely managed to repress a gasp as the memories of the night before hit her at once.

She had slept with Bellamy.

She’d had hot, toe-curling sex with her best friend in his bed last night.

More than that, they’d both admitted to having feelings for each other. She flushed at the memory. She hadn’t expected that, hadn’t ever let herself hope that she would hear those words from him. Sure, maybe in a fantasy or two, but the reality had far outshone any of those.

Despite his words, she couldn’t help but feel a small tug of uncertainty. Yes, he’d admitted to having feelings for her - for more than a year , a small voice reminded her gleefully - and they’d slept together, but they still needed to talk about what happened next. Just because they had feelings for each other beyond friendship, that didn’t mean that they were necessarily going to jump to a relationship. She knew what she wanted, but what if he decided he didn’t want to risk their friendship after all? Was this even the right time? What if - ?

“I can hear you thinking.”

She jumped and then shivered, whether it was from his strong arm curling around her bare waist or his sleep roughened voice, she wasn’t sure. 

“Can not,” she argued, but it came out as a sigh as he gently turned her to face him. She felt the leaping sensation in her chest that she had come to associate with him as she caught sight of his soft smile and sleep-mussed hair. Some of the tension in her body dissipated at the way he was looking at her, soft and affectionate and so utterly Bellamy . Still her best friend, though admittedly a more joyful looking version than she was used to. Seeing him this way settled the anxious thoughts. 

He smoothed her brow with his thumb. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said honestly. Feeling a surge of bravery, she turned to press a soft kiss to his wrist. It seemed that that was the right thing to do, because his small smile transformed into a wide grin. “What about you?”

“I’m in bed with my gorgeous best friend and we’re both naked, what do you think?” he teased with a boyish smirk. He gave a small yelp when she pinched his side.

“Smoothtalker,” she snorted.

“Not smooth, just honest,” he countered. His expression grew more serious, uncertainty clouding his eyes. “So…any regrets? I could feel how tense you were when I woke up.”

“No regrets,” she reassured him. “I was just thinking.”

“Tell me,” he urged, his fingers trailing soothingly along the curve of her spine. She took a deep breath, readying herself to lay it all out.

“I know last night was sudden,” she began. “Or not sudden, I guess, if you think about how long this took. But I don’t regret it. And I definitely don’t regret telling you how I feel.”

His expression cleared, a sigh of relief escaping him. “I don’t regret any of it either,” he told her. 

“That said,” she continued carefully, her eyes downcast, “things are kind of crazy right now. I know you’ve said you want to be there for me, but starting anything right now while I’m dealing with being harassed…”

“Hey, look at me,” he said firmly, running his fingers through her hair. She met his gaze, entranced by the intensity she found there. “I’m not going anywhere. I want this. I want us . But I understand if you can’t do that right now. I’m here, and I’m okay with whatever you can give me. Whether you want to put this aside until things calm down or take it slow and see how things go. Whatever you want.” He hesitated before adding, “If you want this too, that is.”

“I want this - us, too. I want to be with you,” she said immediately. “Maybe we can - take things slow? I don’t really want to put this aside or pretend it didn’t happen, even if it’s just for a little while.”

She could tell he was trying not to smile as he nodded with mock seriousness and said, “Can’t get enough of me, eh?”

That earned him another pinch to his side and he threw his head back with a laugh that had her giggling in response. “Something like that.”

His large hand cupped the back of her neck. “In that case…” he murmured, pulling her to him and swallowing her laughter with a kiss.

They stayed like that for a few moments, trading lazy kisses amidst wandering hands before Bellamy pulled back, leaning his forehead against hers. 

“Okay, so slow ,” he said, “probably doesn’t include morning makeouts, right?”

“Probably not,” she responded, wondering if he could read the regret on her face. “Or hooking up after parties. At least not while we’re living together.” 

He nodded. “Fair enough. When this is all over and you’re ready, I’d really like to take you out on a date.”

She pulled back just enough to be able to look him in the eye, feeling a flutter in her chest. “Yeah?” 

Running a hand down her arm, his smile was almost shy. It was a look she’d never seen on him before. “Yeah. I’ll take you to dinner at that Italian restaurant on the corner with the patio that overlooks the park. Then maybe we could go take a walk through the new art exhibit at the museum where we can argue about the historical influences on the artist’s perspective.”

She huffed a laugh. “That doesn’t sound like an off-the-cuff suggestion.”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “This isn’t the first time I’ve imagined taking you on a date.”

She beamed at him for a moment - she couldn’t help it - before turning and rolling out of bed to quickly get to her feet.

Bellamy sat up in surprise, looking borderline alarmed. “Where are you going?”

“You can’t say stuff like that, looking like that - “ she gestured to his sex mussed hair and bare chest and general Bellamy -ness, “if we’re going to take things slow. Now get up, I need to get ready for work and so do you.”

He processed that for a moment before grinning widely. 

“I don’t take orders from you,” he chuckled, “but in this case I’ll make an exception.”

The walk to work was the lightest she’s felt in a long time. They walked shoulder to shoulder, trading stupid grins when they caught each other’s glances out of the corner of their eyes. They stopped at the cafe on the corner as per usual, where Bellamy tried to buy her coffee but she beat him to it, smugly telling the barista to throw it on her bill. He rolled his eyes at her before looping his arm around her shoulders, whispering a ‘thank-you’ against the shell of her ear that had her shivering. When they parted ways he took her hand in his, squeezing it gently and promising to see her after she was done for the day.

She couldn't seem to shake the smile on her face even once she got to her office. She sat down at her chair, her eyes falling on the manila envelope sitting on her desk. It was addressed to her, but there was no return address, so it hadn’t come with the mail like the small stack she’d picked up at the front desk. She thought absently that it was likely something Lincoln dropped on her desk - he often left her notes about the kids at the centre, proposed ideas for changes to the program sketched on loose paper, applications for funding he wanted to get her opinion on. She carefully tore the envelope open and was surprised when several pictures fell onto her desk.

Her breath caught in her chest.

It was Bellamy.

Large, black and white glossy photos of Bellamy. Outside of his apartment building. Walking to work. At the library. Clarke herself was in a couple of the photos, smiling at him over a cup of coffee at her work, whispering in his ear at the bar. But Bellamy was the obvious focus of the photos, and the message of the photos was painfully clear. 

It was a threat. A warning that he was being watched.

Because of his association with her.

She was shaking, but not with fear. It was anger, building in her chest and making her heart pound. She should go to the police, she knew that, but what good would it do? She still couldn't prove it was Cage. She had no real evidence, and that’s exactly what they’d tell her. 

Clarke pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. She needed to think. No, she needed to nail Cage’s ass to a wall. She needed evidence . 

A plan, half formed, began to take shape in her mind. Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed her phone and walked out the front door.

___________________

The law office was a five minute cab ride from her work, which was just enough time to get herself in order and yet not enough for her to talk herself out of it. She briefly considered calling Bellamy to let him know where she was going, but her finger hovered over her phone in hesitation. He would hate this plan, insist it was too dangerous. She didn't want to give him the opportunity to convince her this was a bad idea.

The office was fairly quiet when she got there, only a few people milling around. Clarke took in the cold sleek metal and dark wood that made up the waiting room, thinking of how starkly different it was from the public defenders offices where she had accompanied some of the kids from the centre before. The pretty receptionist looked up and gave her a once over. "Hello, can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Cage Wallace."

"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Wallace today?" 

Her tone indicated that she already knew Clarke didn't, but Clarke still shook her head. "No, but I believe he's expecting me.

The receptionist gave her a patronizing smile. "Miss, I'm afraid if you don't have an appointment I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Mr. Wallace is a very busy man, and -"

Not waiting for her to finish, Clarke quickly moved past her and headed straight for the office door embossed with his name, not bothering to knock.

Cage looked up from the computer as his door banged open, looking only mildly surprised to see her. Bastard. He probably thought she would have been too intimidated to show. He quickly pasted a sleazy smile on his face, “Clarke, what a nice surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The rapid clicking of heels preceded the breathless voice of the receptionist. "Sir, I'm sorry, she just ran by me -"

"That's alright, Macy," he said with a wave of his hand, his eyes not leaving Clarke's. "I always have time for Miss Griffin. Please, shut the door on your way out."

The receptionist gave an almost inaudible huff, throwing Clarke one last irritated look before closing the door with a soft click.

Once they were alone, she tossed the manilla envelope onto his desk, the contents spilling out across the surface. “What the fuck is this?”

Cage glanced down at the photos but made no move to touch any of them. “They appear to be photos of a man -”

“Don’t bullshit me. You had someone take pictures of my - my friend ,” she spat. “Are you having him followed now too? It’s not enough to harass me, you need to involve my friends?”

Cage let out a long sigh, shaking his head with a weak pantomime of a disappointed and hurt expression. “Clarke, I don’t understand why you keep accusing me of such a thing. I have done nothing but-”

“Nothing but have someone break into my apartment, have your friends approach me at nightclubs on your behalf, and take photos of me and the people I care about without permission. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that’s breaking and entering, stalking, and harassment, which you know very well, considering you’re an attorney. What’s your endgame here, Cage? What are you getting out of this?”

Cage rolled his eyes. "Clarke I know you want so badly to cast me as the bad guy in everything that goes wrong with your sad life, but the fact is I have no idea what you're talking about. I tried making you a deal to come work for me and you turned it down. Hell, I even offered you a chance to spend the night with me but you weren't interested. No hard feelings, not everyone can handle me. I'll admit to being interested in mixing a little business and pleasure with you but that's all."

"You're a pig," she clipped. "And when I find a way to prove you did this, your political career is done."

Cage’s eyes gleamed, his face darkening. “Are you threatening me, Clarke? I warn you, that won’t end well.”

“Not at all,” she said with false sweetness. “If you’ve done nothing wrong you have nothing to worry about. But go on, how would that end for me?”

Cage stared at her for a long moment, his eyes roving over her and pausing on her bag. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his chest, giving her a cold smirk. 

“Okay, Clarke. Let's say that, hypothetically speaking of course, I were to do something like orchestrate a break-in at a person’s home, encourage others to participate in, as you say, that person’s harassment, and unlawfully surveille another. Do you really think, still speaking hypothetically of course,” he said slowly, his eyes lowering back to her bag, “that I would be stupid enough to admit it to someone who is clearly trying to record the conversation?”

She tensed, feeling a flush creep up her neck. Her fingers reflexively tightened around the straps of her bag and Cage grinned triumphantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a case to prepare for.” He turned his attention back to his computer in a clear dismissal. When she didn’t move, he raised an eyebrow. “Unless, you’d like the continued pleasure of my company?” 

Snatching the photos back, she turned on her heel and yanked open his office door.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Clarke," Cage called after her, his voice laden with sarcasm.

Ignoring both him and the angry huff of his receptionist, she stormed out the door.

___________________

"You did what? "

Clarke exhaled slowly. She'd expected this reaction ever since she had resolved to tell him on her way home. She'd been too worked up to go back to the youth center so she had called Lincoln, who had graciously agreed to let her take the rest of the day off. To her chagrin, Bellamy had hurried home when she had texted him close to the time she typically got off work to let him know there was no need to pick her. "Look, I know you're upset -"

Bellamy scoffed, his mouth set in an angry slash. "Upset? No, the word you're looking for is pissed . Clarke, you confronted a man who is threatening and harassing you alone and without anyone else knowing. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that he'd threatened you and there was no way I was going to let that slide!" she snapped.

Confusion passed over Bellamy's face at that. "Threatened me?"

Clarke dug into her bag, passing him the folder with the photos. "I found this on my desk at work this morning."

She watched him flip through the photos, his expression unreadable. “They were just in an envelope, no return address or anything.” She paused. “Some of those photos are from a few weeks ago, meaning -”

“Meaning someone has been following me for a while,” he finished, fury causing a slight tremor in his voice. The pictures curled at the edges under his harsh grip. “Not Cage himself I’m guessing. Probably someone he hired.”

She dragged a trembling hand through her hair, unable to tell if the shaking was from her own anger or fear for him. Probably both, if she was being honest. It had been hours since her confrontation with Cage and she still didn’t know if she wanted to break something or cry. “I never meant to bring this kind of attention to you.” 

Bellamy’s dark eyes flew to her. “Clarke, it’s not me I’m worried about. Think about it. These pictures weren’t sent to me - they were given to you. I doubt he’s actually intending to hurt me. I’m probably just the tool he’s using to scare you .”

“You don’t know that!” she argued. “We don’t know that he won’t hurt you. I still don't know what he wants, if this is petty revenge or a way to fuck with the center or something else. That's partly why I went there. I thought maybe he might slip up and tell me something. I was hoping he'd say something I could turn over to the police."

She set her phone on the table, pressing play on the recording she'd made.

"You recorded him?" he said in surprise as Cage’s voice filled the kitchen. There was an almost grudging respect in his voice. He was clearly still irritated with her. "That was smart."

"Not smart enough," she sighed. "He didn't say anything useful and he figured out what I was doing."

“Still, it was a good plan. Self-endangerment aside,” he added, shooting her a sharp look. He listened to the recording for a minute, brows furrowed. “He’s very careful to stress that he’s speaking in hypotheticals.”

“Like a true lawyer.” She scrubbed a hand over her forehead. “I’m just so sick of this. Waiting for something else to happen. Waiting for him to slip up. I thought maybe if I did something he wouldn’t expect, it might throw him off enough to say something. Right now as far as the police are concerned, he’s squeaky fucking clean.”

“Not completely.”

Her eyes shot to his. “What?”

Now it was his turn to look contrite. “I spent the day researching the Wallaces.”

“I thought you were at the library working on your thesis,” she said accusingly.

Bellamy shifted on his feet, his expression somewhat sheepish. “Well I was at the library.”

“Bellamy.”

“Look, I didn’t find much. Most public information is all PR stuff - write ups about how Dante Wallace made his money, his role with charities and the hospital. There’s much less out there about Cage Wallace. Most of what I could find were about his intentions to run for local DA. He’s never been in any legal trouble, but -” he reached into his bag, pulling out a small stack of papers and handing them to her, “- there was a complaint made to his university’s disciplinary board back when he was a sophomore.”

Her eyes scanned the paper. “A female student filed a formal complaint that Cage was harassing her. But it says here she withdrew her complaint before the disciplinary hearing could be held.”

Bellamy nodded. “That’s not all though. There were two more complaints made about Cage by female students during his time there, but like the first one, those women withdrew their complaints before it ever went in front of the disciplinary committee. If I had to guess, either Dante Wallace stepped in and money exchanged hands or Cage intimidated them out of testifying.”

“How did you even find this?” she asked, awed.

“I figured this probably wasn’t the first time he’s done this, so there had to be a record of it somewhere,” he shrugged. “I know this doesn’t help much. It’s not evidence that he’s harassing you .”

“But it shows that he does have a history of doing this,” she argued with a small smile. She found herself filled with affection for him. He’d spent his entire day trying to help her in the most nerdy, Bellamy way she could think of - hunkering down in the library and doing meticulous research. It made her chest swell with an emotion she wasn’t quite ready to name. “And it shows that he does leave a trail sometimes, which gives me hope that there’s got to be something linking him to what’s happening to me. We just have to find it.”

He smiled, and she couldn’t help but lean up and press a soft, fleeting kiss to his mouth. 

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“Any time,” he said softly. “I know it’s been a long day. Do you want to just sit on the couch, order some takeout, and forget about this asshole for a while?”

“I really, really do,” she agreed.

Bellamy placed the call while she went down the hall to change into some comfortable sweats and a warm sweatshirt. She noticed his eyes lingering on her sweatshirt when she returned, no doubt noticing that it was one she’d stolen from him months ago, but he said nothing. Once the takeout had arrived, she found herself curled up on the couch with him, her head resting on his shoulder as she watched the flickering lights on the TV.

"You scared me, you know," he said eventually. He ran his fingers over her shoulder absently, staring ahead. "When you texted me that you had left work. I thought maybe something had happened."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have run off like that. I was just so angry. And scared for you.”

He turned his head and she shifted her head on his shoulder just enough to look up at him. “Promise me something,” he said, his eyes imploring. “From now on, if you want to storm the castle, you’ll take me with you. And if I’m following a hunch, I’ll let you know up front.”

She took his hand in her smaller one. “Okay. From now on, we handle this together.”

He smiled, giving her hand a squeeze before settling back into the couch.

“Together,” he agreed.

Chapter Text

“Holy shit, what?!”

Clarke pulled the phone away from her ear with a wince at the other woman’s shout. 

“Raven, volume." Raven’s answering snort indicated that she was not much concerned about breaking any eardrums.

“You just told me that you and Blake finally got your heads out of your asses and hooked up. You expect me not to yell about that? Hell, I feel like I should set off fireworks at this point.”

Clarke laughed at that. She couldn’t help it. Underneath all of Raven’s brusque teasing, she could tell her friend was happy for her.

“So what does this mean? Are you guys officially together or what?”

“I mean, we haven’t put any labels on it, but yeah. We agreed to take things slow. With everything going on, I just feel like I can’t give a new relationship the attention it deserves," she admitted. "We’re figuring it out together.”

“It figures that you two would sleep together and then decide to take things slow. That sounds exactly like the dumb kind of thing you guys would do.” Her voice became sincere as she said, “I’m happy for you, Griffin. Both of you.”

“Thanks Raven.” Clarke’s smile widened.

“Okay, now that the touchy-feely stuff is out of the way…how was it? I don’t need details, you can just rate it on a scale of 1-10 or something.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing that,” she scoffed.

“That bad?”

“Raven!”

“Ah, so that good.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love me though.”

“Yeah, I do,” she replied. “I’m happy you’re coming home.”

“Me too." There was a brief pause on Raven's end. "Speaking of that, part of the reason I was calling is because the airline sent me an email this morning…my flight for tonight got cancelled. Some mechanical issues or something. They rescheduled me for tomorrow morning, so I’ll only be back a little later than expected.”

Clarke paused in the process of placing one of her folded shirts in her suitcase. She'd been slowly picking away and packing up her things all week in preparation for Raven's return that night. “Don’t you have to check out of the dorm at MIT this morning? Where are you going to stay?”

“Yeah,” Raven said, in an odd, noncommittal way. Clarke had known her long enough to be able to tell that it was a tone she only used when she was trying to come across as more casual than she felt. “Shaw and I are going to grab a hotel and spend the day exploring parts of the city we never got around to before. Then I’ll catch my flight in the morning.”

Clarke’s brows raised. “You and Shaw, huh? I thought you said you guys were just casually hooking up.”

“We were. But I don’t know.” Raven paused. “It’s not like it can go anywhere. I live in Arkadia. He lives in NYC.”

“You never know what could happen,” Clarke said gently. It wasn’t that long ago that she thought that anything happening between her and Bellamy was an impossibility. Just because something seemed unlikely, it didn’t mean it was hopeless.

“Maybe,” Raven sighed. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’ll text you before I board my flight.”

“Okay, talk to you later Rae.”

Shortly after she hung up, Bellamy appeared in the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee maker. He glanced over at her empty mug and grabbed it to refill it for her. She grinned gratefully.

“How’s Raven?” he asked.

“She’s good." She toyed with the hem of her sleeve, adding, "Her flight got cancelled. The airline put her on a flight for tomorrow morning. She’ll be coming home a day later than she planned.”

She looked up quickly to gauge his reaction. Bellamy’s eyes lit up, the corner of his mouth lifting. “So you’re here another night?”

The relief on his face warmed her. They hadn’t talked much about her approaching move out date, though they had both been keenly aware it was coming. Instead they'd buried themselves in researching Cage Wallace, trying to come up with anything helpful they could add to what Bellamy had already found. So far they had turned up nothing new, much to Clarke’s growing frustration. She had hoped that they would be able find something useful before she went back to the apartment. 

The building manager had conference-called both Raven and herself the other day and told them that their apartment had been thoroughly cleaned, repaired, and their door and locks replaced. Raven had suggested privately that they look at finding a new place altogether, but the reality was that they wouldn't be able to find something on such short notice and would have to resign themselves to returning at least for a little while.

Clarke found herself with mixed feelings about it - though she’d be happy to see Raven again and be back among her own things, the thought of leaving Bellamy’s apartment, a place she’d managed to feel safe among all the chaos, was making it all feel bittersweet. That wasn’t even counting the thought of leaving Bellamy after she’d grown so accustomed to having him around all the time. Still, they had one more night as roommates, and she was determined to make the most of it. She smiled in return. “Looks like it.”

“Okay,” he nodded decisively. “We should do something for your last night. Any suggestions?”

She tilted her head, considering his question. “Honestly? I’d really like to just grab some food, bring it home, and watch a movie together. Spend the night together, just the two of us.”

If he noticed her slip up, calling his apartment home, he chose not to mention it. Instead he nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great. Can’t let my favourite roommate leave without a proper send-off,” he said warmly, passing her the refreshed coffee. She took the opportunity to reach up and grab the collar of his shirt, pulling gently to give him plenty of time to pull away. He didn’t, instead leaning down to press his mouth to hers in a soft, lingering kiss. This had quickly become her favourite part of her morning routine. Bellamy had teased her the first time she’d kissed him casually after finding him cooking her breakfast.

“Is kissing allowed with the whole ‘taking it slow’ thing?” he had murmured against her lips, unable to hide his smile.

“I said slow,” she’d replied with a small laugh, “not glacial. Unless you have a problem with it.”

He had only scoffed in response, spending the next few minutes showing her that he very much did not have a problem with it. Since then it had become a bit of a habit.

Not that she was complaining.

“Favourite roommate, huh?” she said when she pulled away.

"Yeah, Miller’s not nearly as good of a kisser."

She smacked his chest lightly, earning a deep laugh. "I'll show you good kissing."

"By all means," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief, "please do."

_______________

Bellamy had the worst fucking luck. 

All he’d wanted was to spend a quiet evening at home Clarke. Apparently it was too much to ask that the universe allow him a chance to hold her on the couch and argue about what to watch while pretending that everything was normal for a change.

It figured that Riley would call in sick.

Diyoza had been apologetic but blunt when she had called and said that there was no one else to cover unless she called someone in from requested time off. Reluctantly he’d agreed, not wanting someone else’s vacation to get ruined just because he wanted to spend the night cuddling with the woman he was crazy about.

Clarke had been disappointed, he could tell, but she’d understood. Of course she had; Clarke knew what it was to put others before herself. She could hardly fault him for doing the same.

Still, he had been looking forward to one last night with Clarke. Sure, he was going to be seeing her even after she moved out. Plenty, if he had anything to say about it. He was still determined to take her on a date, to do things right. As much as he didn’t regret the night they’d spent together - and was very much looking forward to a repeat in the near future - he wanted to show Clarke that he wanted more than just sex. He wanted to show her that she deserved to be taken to romantic restaurants, to have her hand held, to be showered in affection.

Just not tonight, it seemed. 

“Blake, it’s your go.”

Bellamy startled, looking down at his cards. He and a few of the others were passing time playing poker while the rest of the crew crowded onto the recliners to watch a game. So far it had been a quiet shift, not that any of them would dare to utter the ‘q’ word out loud for fear of testing their luck. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I was just thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Monroe grinned.

“Very funny.”

“Don’t mind him, he’s probably just thinking about his girlfriend,” Miller said, tossing a chip in the center. "I'm in."

"Blake's got a girlfriend?" Diyoza asked as she walked into the firehouse’s kitchen. Her eyes fell on the chips. “Are you guys gambling on the job?”

“We’re not betting money,” Monroe offered, “just cleaning duties.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s still gambling,” she said dryly. "I suppose I can't judge, I've probably done worse on duty." She fixed her gaze on Bellamy. “So who’s the girl?”

“His best friend since college that he’s had a will they, won’t they thing with for years,” Miller filled in offhandedly, eyeing his hand with a slight frown. 

“That sounds interesting,” Diyoza said with raised brows. “Well congratulations on finally sealing the deal. Best friend to girlfriend is a tricky leap to make.”

“I’m not sure we can call her my girlfriend,” he muttered, the back of his neck heating. Sure, he would very much like to call Clarke his girlfriend, but he didn’t want to pressure her to define anything when she had already asked to take things slow. “We agreed to date, but we never discussed labels. Not yet, at least.”

“You guys agreed to date exclusively and talked about your feelings for each other. How is that not a girlfriend?” Miller pointed out.

Bellamy was saved from having to stammer out a response. The sudden blare of the alarm had them all rising to their feet reflexively, already moving towards their gear. 

“Assistance needed at a fire located at 621 Factory street. Units onsite requesting backup.”

For a moment, Bellamy was sure he must have misheard. But then Miller froze mid step nearly at the same time as Bellamy did, looking alarmed, and he knew then that Miller must have heard the same thing he had. Bellamy felt his stomach drop with a speed that made him feel nauseous.

That was his address. It was his apartment building.

Clarke.

_______________

Clarke finds herself in her childhood home, in the middle of one of her mother’s large dinner parties. 

Around her conversations drone, loud enough to set her on edge but not enough for her to pick any words out of the din. She smooths her dress, hoping the action doesn’t come across as fidgeting. She doesn’t want to look anxious and uncomfortable, not in a room of social sharks.

The clink of a glass draws her attention and she turns to see her mother standing at the head of the table, her glass raised. She opens her mouth and begins to speak, but whatever she says sounds strangely muffled, like she’s speaking through water. Clarke strains to hear her, trying her best to pay attention until something catches her attention out of the corner of her eye.

She turns to see a figure with a familiar mop of curly hair slipping through the side door towards the foyer. 

“Bellamy?” she asks. She stands, moving to follow.

When she crosses into the foyer she finds him leaning against the railing of the curved staircase, smiling widely at her. He looks as handsome as ever in a navy button down shirt, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his muscular forearms. He holds out his hand to her. She smiles in return, stepping forward with her own hand outstretched. 

His eyes shift away from her to look over her shoulder and his smile fades, overtaken by a mask of anxiety.

She turns.

A dark figure stands at the end of the hallway, looking their way. She can’t see the person’s face, but she feels fear creep up her spine nonetheless. She inhales sharply and finds in that moment that she suddenly can’t seem to catch her breath. The air feels sharp as it drags down her throat, her chest burning. She claws at her throat, desperate to take a deep breath -

The shrill scream of the alarm woke her. 

Her eyes flew open, her heart beating out of her chest at the sudden awakening. Her brain struggled to make sense of the sound in the midst of the fog of the sudden transition from sleep to awake. She coughed suddenly, registering how dry and sore her throat was, her eyes finally taking in the odd haze in the room. Her tired mind suddenly realized what she was seeing. 

Smoke. The earsplitting noise was the smoke alarm.

She gasped, which quickly devolved into more coughing. There was already an alarming amount of smoke in the living room, and she could now hear the echo of other smoke alarms coming from the neighbouring apartments. 

Fuck. She jumped to her feet, telling herself to keep calm and assess the situation. The obvious move would be to evacuate, if she had a safe way out. She began making her way to the entry way, pressing her sleeve over her mouth in an attempt to block some of the smoke. Once she got to the door way she would need to test the doorknob to see if it was hot -

She froze as she caught sight of the doorway. There was no need to test anything - flames were already licking their way up the door from the outside. She backed away quickly, adrenaline making her hands shake. She could already feel the heat in the room rising, the smoke growing thicker. With a sickening feeling, it occurred to her that there was no other exit. Bellamy's apartment didn’t have a balcony, or a fire escape. She'd heard him complain about that very thing many times before.

Get out, get out, get out. 

She wracked her brain for every bit of advice she had ever heard of what to do in the event of a fire, every story Bellamy had ever told her about a person he’d met on the job that had managed to keep themselves alive long enough for him to get them out of a burning building.

Get low, get far away.

Coughs rattled her chest painfully, and she dropped to her hands and knees, away from the worst of the smoke. She needed to get as far from the flames as she could, and so she crawled towards her bedroom at the very end of the hall, elbowing the door shut behind her. It wouldn’t do much to keep out the smoke, but it would buy her more time as the flames spread.

Her bedroom provided temporary relief, the smoke having not managed to become as thick there yet. She took a minute to breathe, wanting to take deep, calming breaths, but finding herself only capable of short shallow ones. This wasn't good - her breathing was becoming too laboured. 

She strained to hear over the sound of the smoke alarm, hoping to hear the sounds of first responders arriving. Between the alarms and the smoke, surely someone had called 911. Her own phone was probably still on the couch from her nap, she realized with a jolt. There was no way for her to call anyone, and so she would have to hope that someone else did. After a tense moment she was relieved to hear the distant wail of sirens. 

Someone was coming, she just had to stay alive long enough for them to get to her.

That might be more difficult than she’d hoped. Her mind began to feel sluggish, the room moving in and out of focus. She realized dimly that she wasn’t getting enough oxygen at this point. Crawling over to the window, she pushed it open, straining with the effort. She pushed to her feet, gasping, and stuck her head through the window frame. Air flowed in, but smoke also billowed out around her, stinging her eyes and making it difficult to see. She heard shouts from down below, and could only hope that that meant that someone had seen her. She wondered if Bellamy was down there, if he even knew what was happening.

Her body was beginning to panic, aware that she could hardly breathe as she fought against the darkness threatening to overwhelm her. She wondered if she would ever get the chance to go on that date they’d talked about. To be together without a cloud of uncertainty hanging over them. She wondered if she’d have the opportunity to tell him what she’d been quickly coming to realize - that she had undersold it when she had told him she was crazy about him. 

She loved him. God, she loved him so much. He deserved to hear that. He deserved to know that he was loved.

She didn't remember leaning away from the window, but she found herself laying on the floor in front of it, blinking sluggishly up at the smoke obscuring the night sky. She was tired, so tired.

Don’t close your eyes, a part of her begged. If you close your eyes, it’ll be all over.

She knew that. But she couldn’t fight the blackness rising up to welcome her. Her eyes slid shut, the sound of the fire and sirens becoming dull.

She suddenly had the feeling of weightlessness.

Clarke.

She floated, neither here nor there, feeling distantly as though it was important to open her eyes but not experiencing any urgency to actually do so.

Clarke!

Suddenly cold hit her face, and it was so startling that she sucked in a gasp. The air was cold, and she lapsed into deep, body-wracking coughs, her lungs struggling to cope with the sudden transition from heavy smoke to clean oxygen.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

The choked voice was as familiar to her as her own, and with great effort she forced herself to open her eyes.

Bellamy was hovering over her in full gear, his eyes wide and wet. He flinched when her mouth shaped his name but only more coughs came out. His gloved hand pushed her hair away from her face. “We need to get you looked at.”

She nodded, beginning to push to her feet but finding her legs too weak to bear her weight. Bellamy tightened his hold on her, drawing her into him so that he could support her weight.

"Just give yourself a minute," he murmured.

She nodded against his shoulder, taking a minute to breathe in the fresh air and his familiar scent. When she felt ready, she pulled back from him just a little. The worst of the fog had cleared from her head now that she was out in the fresh air, but it felt as though a large weight had settled over her chest. She wavered a little on her feet and Bellamy quickly wrapped an arm around her to steady her.

“Maybe you should sit back down,” he suggested.

She shook her head, her eyes turning up towards the smouldering apartment building. It looked as though most of the flames had been put out, but the damage to their section of the building was undeniable. She was struck with the sudden horrible thought that someone might have gotten hurt.

“Everyone was able to get out safely,” Bellamy told her, evidently able to read the concern on her face. “We only needed to help you and the couple in the apartment next door get out of the building.”

Good. She relaxed a little, leaning into the solid line of his body for support. 

“Come on.” He led her over to where one of the ambulances was parked. One of the paramedics caught sight of them and made her way over immediately, wasting no time beginning her exam. Bellamy made no moves to let go of her. Clarke opened her mouth to tell him he needed to let go of her so the paramedic could do her job but a harsh cough came out instead, making him tighten his grip.

“Blake!”

Bellamy’s head whipped up at his captain’s urgent call. He looked down at her, clearly conflicted.

“Go, I’m fine,” she rasped, wincing at the gravel in her voice.

He gave her a skeptical look, looking like he was about to argue.

“I’ll take good care of her,” the woman promised with a reassuring smile. He hesitated for a moment before giving a curt nod.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he told her, pressing a fleeting kiss to her forehead.

Once he was gone, the paramedic smiled at her. “Your boyfriend is really worried about you.”

Clarke didn’t bother to correct her, smiling a little in return.

The EMT draped a blanket over her shoulders, giving her an oxygen mask and encouraging her to take slow, measured breaths. When she was satisfied she was breathing alright she moved on to help with another resident who was also suffering from smoke inhalation. Clarke clutched the mask to her face, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment to relax just a little.

The reality of what had happened was starting to sink in as the adrenaline wore off. She could have died tonight, suffocated or worse alone in the home of the man she loved. The thought turned her stomach and she shuddered.

Exhaustion was settling into her bones now. When she finally reopened her eyes, Bellamy was standing a few feet away, looking at her like he was afraid she might disappear. He’d taken his helmet off, sweat matting down his hair and smudging the soot and smoke that was streaked across his face. Even in this state, he was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.

The haunted look on his face was starting to worry her, so she pulled the mask away from her face and held out her hand. He moved forward to take it in his own, sitting down heavily beside her on the floor of the ambulance. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. 

She tried for a joke, saying wryly, “Could be worse.”

That earned her a weak smile that quickly faded as he took in a shaky breath. “Clarke,” he said, his voice cracking on her name. “You could have been killed tonight. I…you could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” she said firmly. She knew his propensity to spiral in his own head, to get lost in fear and anxiety, and she wanted to cut that off before it took hold. “I’m fine. Some smoke inhalation and a good scare, but I’m okay.”

He nodded, closing his eyes briefly and tightening his hold on her hand. Someone cleared their throat and they looked up to see Miller and a woman standing nearby. Miller looked distressed, while the woman's face was the type of no-nonsense expression she would expect to see on a drill sergeant. A quick glance at the name sewn onto the woman's jacket told her that this was Bellamy’s captain, Diyoza.

"You doing okay, Clarke?" Miller asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

Miller looked relieved, but his expression quickly sobered. "Look, there's something we need to talk to you about.”

Bellamy straightened, matching Miller’s serious tone. “What is it?”

“Normally we would notify police about this first,” Diyoza said briskly, “but since you’re one of ours, Blake, we thought you should know up front. This wasn’t an accidental fire. We found evidence of an accelerant being used to start the blaze. This was arson.”

Bellamy went quite still beside her, and Clarke felt her mouth fall open.

“The other aspect you need to know,” Diyoza continued, and Clarke could see a hint of concern in her stoic expression now, “is the origin. Obviously the scene will have to be investigated more thoroughly once it's been secured for us to say anything definite, but from what we can see it looks like the fire was started directly in front of your apartment.”

Bellamy was still silent, and Miller was shooting him looks of concern. Clarke was reeling inside. This was more than rummaging through her apartment, breaking her things, or trying to get her fired. She could have been killed tonight. This went far beyond anything else Cage Wallace had done so far.

This was attempted murder.

The flash of blue and red lights caught Diyoza's attention. "I have to go give a statement. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Miller, you’re with me.”

Miller shot them an apologetic look and followed his captain to the spot where three squad cars had just parked.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Clarke almost didn’t recognize his voice, it was so harsh, trembling with the force of his rage. When she looked at his face it was a tight mask, his lips curled in disgust, eyes blazing.

“Bellamy,” she begins with forced calm. She’s angry too, but one of them has to keep their head.

“Don't!” he snapped. “Don’t tell me to calm down. He tried to kill you, Clarke. He almost fucking succeeded!”

“I know,” she said sharply. “I was there.”

That seemed to knock some of the edge out of his anger because he slumped a little, and now when he looked at her she could see the deep well of fear in his eyes. He was angry, yes, but he was also scared. She could imagine he was feeling much the same as she had the day she’d received those photos and thought he was being threatened - that swirling, near paralyzing fear threatening to overwhelm him.

“I know,” he said emphatically, sounding like he was struggling not to choke on the words. “Clarke, I could have lost you.”

There’s so much pain in his voice, so much despair, that for the first time she realized that the depth of Bellamy’s feelings for her might match her own.

A fourth police cruiser screeched to a halt not far from the ambulance, and a blonde figure bounded out and sprinted towards them.

“Clarke! Bellamy!”

“Harper!” Clarke gasped as the other woman threw her arms around her, partly out of surprise but mostly because the tight embrace knocked the air out of her still struggling lungs.

Harper pulled back, giving her a quick once over. “I heard the call go out over the radios and recognized the address.” Seemingly satisfied that Clarke was in one piece, she quickly hugged Bellamy as well. “Are you guys okay?”

Clarke gave her a weak smile and a nod. Okay was a relative term. They were okay physically, but beyond that nothing was okay.

“Do they know what happened? Was it electrical? Did some idiot start a grease fire?” Harper demanded.

“It looks like arson,” Bellamy answered gravely. “Harper, someone set fire to my front door with Clarke inside. It’s got to be Cage Wallace.”

Shock followed by an odd, uncomfortable expression crossed Harper’s face. Bellamy and Clarke exchanged a confused look at the way she’d gone suddenly silent.

“Harper, what is it?” he asked slowly.

“It’s - the call came on the radio right before we were notified about the fire here,” Harper said, looking unsettled. “They wanted a few units and a forensics team sent to Wallace’s law offices.”

Hope leapt to life in her chest. The police had gone to his offices - that had to be a good sign. It had to mean they had found something that warranted a search of his office. Maybe all of this was close to being over, an unpleasant memory that she could put behind her and get her life back to normal.

“Did they find something?” she asked eagerly.

Harper opened her mouth and seemed to hesitate. She took Clarke’s hands, looking her in the eye. Her next words were gentle but they still managed to shake her to her core.

“Clarke, Cage Wallace is dead.”

Chapter Text

Cage Wallace was dead.

The thought was bizarre, unreal after feeling for so long that he was a pall hanging over their lives. It didn’t really sink in, not when Harper had repeated it and promised she’d reach out once she knew more. Harper didn’t know how he’d died, only that he had been discovered at his law office. He got the feeling it wasn’t quite settling with Clarke either. She looked dazed, remaining uncharacteristically silent. She’d been quiet when Harper had bid them goodbye, and did little more than nod when Bellamy put his arm around her and gently suggested they get a hotel room so she could rest. 

He was worried about her, but first and foremost he needed to get her the hell out of here and somewhere safe where he could fret over her the way he wanted to. His nerves were shot after her close call, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her in a warm bed where they both could rest. He had a quick conversation with Diyoza, who easily agreed to let him take the rest of his shift off. He ushered Clarke into his truck, gripping the steering wheel harder than was strictly necessary as he drove them to a nearby hotel.

Was it really over, just like that? It couldn’t be that simple. 

Once they arrived, Bellamy checked them in and led her up to their room. As he locked the door, she wandered away to sit heavily on the edge of the mattress. She looked exhausted, dark circles smudging under her eyes. 

Bellamy sat down next to her, fidgeting with his hands as he asked, “Are you okay?”

He flinched, knowing it was an inane question. Of course she wasn’t. She’d nearly been killed by a psycho stalker who had just showed up dead. Rather than point out the obvious, she gave him a weak smile.

“I think so,” she said eventually. “It’s just…strange, you know?”

He nodded. He did. “I know I shouldn’t say it, I shouldn’t wish anyone dead, but I can’t say I’m upset to hear he’s gone.”

She exhaled slowly. "Me too," she whispered. “I know it’s terrible, but I just feel kind of…. relieved. Does that make me a bad person?”

He shook his head emphatically, unwilling to let her think for even a moment that she was in any way terrible . “Not at all. He was terrorizing you, Clarke. He was an asshole who thought he could get away with harassing women when they didn’t give him what he wanted.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

She pulled at her clothes, wincing at the soot and scent of smoke. “I should go take a shower.” Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. “Bellamy, our stuff is gone.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her. He refrained from pointing out that he didn’t really care about his things at the moment. Maybe tomorrow he’d mourn the loss of some of the more sentimental items he’d kept in his apartment, but today he was just grateful that she was okay. “I have an overnight bag with some spare clothes that I take with me when I go to the firehouse. You can borrow something from there for tonight. The rest, we’ll figure out tomorrow.”

He dug through his bag and gave her one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts with a drawstring that he thought would work okay as pyjamas. Clarke accepted them gratefully and disappeared into the bathroom. When she reemerged ten minutes later with his clothes swimming on her smaller frame, he averted his gaze, not wanting to give away that the sight was doing funny things to his heart. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile before going off to shower himself.

When he returned to the room, he found her already curled up under the blankets with her eyes closed. He moved quietly, not wanting to wake her when she so clearly needed the rest. 

But when he slipped into the bed beside her, she peered at him through heavy eyelids and shifted over so that she was tucked into his chest. He looped his arm around her back, holding her to him.

“Is this okay?” she asked sleepily, her breath tickling his collarbone.

“Yeah,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “More than okay.”

____________________

When she woke in the morning feeling marginally rested, she found Bellamy already awake beside her. He was staring at the ceiling with a slight frown, shadows under his eyes. He looked like he'd hardly gotten any sleep, if at all.

"Hey," she said quietly. He looked at her with a start. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, not particularly convincing. When he noticed her skeptical look, he relented. "Just thinking about last night, how lucky we were. Clarke, I’m just really glad you’re okay."

She kissed him, eager to chase away the strain on his face. He responded immediately, his hand coming up to frame the side of her face as he opened her mouth with his, his tongue sweeping in to taste her. She moaned softly against his lips, enjoying the slow, luxuriating pace. The last time they had done this had been borderline frantic, so eager to get their hands on each other for the first time that they hadn’t taken the time to savor it.

Now, she was determined to do just that.

Except Bellamy pulled away, resting his forehead against hers and smiling at her huff of annoyance. “I thought you wanted to take it slow.”

She nuzzled her nose against his. “I did,” she acknowledged. “But after last night, I realized I don’t want to wait. We were so lucky that no one was hurt last night. It could have gone so differently. It made me realize…”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Made you realize what?”

She took a breath, willing herself to be brave. "Made me realize that I love you."

Bellamy felt like the air had left his lungs all of the sudden.

She loved him?

"You…love me?" he said hoarsely. "Really?"

"Really." The corners of her mouth tilted up in a small smile. "I think I already knew, really. But last night when I thought I might not make it out, all I could think about is that I might not get to tell you."

When he continued to gape at her, still reeling at her admission, her smile began to falter. 

"I don't expect you to say it back or anything," she rushed to say. "I don't want you to feel pressured, or -"

"I love you too," he said firmly, not wanting her to second guess herself for another moment. He wasn’t willing to let any miscommunication come between them at this point. “I’m in love with you, to be clear.”

Her smile returned, dazzling in its intensity. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, a broad smile overtaking his own face. She pulled him in for a messy kiss, complicated by the fact that neither of them were able to wipe the smiles off of their faces. Clarke pulled back first, reaching up to trace a thumb over his bottom lip.

“Show me,” she demanded softly.

Well, he wasn’t going to argue with that .

He pulled her down to him, capturing her mouth in a slow kiss. He nearly grinned again when she sighed against his mouth, her fingers coming up to tangle in his hair. His hand slid up under her baggy t-shirt, caressing the bare skin of her back. Apparently eager to give him better access, she quickly slid out of the shirt and tossed it to the side, humming in appreciation as he used his mouth to explore the newly exposed skin of her collarbone. He could probably spend the next hour like this if she’d allow it, just trading kisses and exploring her soft skin. His idea of a perfect morning, truly. But Clarke seemed less patient, her fingers tugging unsuccessfully at the hem of his t-shirt with an audible grunt of frustration.

He broke away with a laugh, raising a teasing brow. “Impatient?”

“The man I love just told me he loves me and he’s wearing way too many clothes,” she huffed. “What do you think?”

He pressed an apologetic kiss to her cheek before reaching down to help her remove the offending garment. “Better?”

Running her hands over his bare chest appreciatively, she grinned. “Much.”

He wholeheartedly agreed, even more so when she kissed her way down his chest, coming to kneel between his legs. He nearly choked at the sight, sure that the incredible image of Clarke Griffin kneeling before him would be burned in his retinas for the rest of his days. “Are you sure you -”

“Very sure,” she said firmly, pressing a sweet kiss to his hip bone before leaning down to take him into her mouth. His head fell back onto the pillow, a moan that might have been her name falling from his mouth with a sigh. He tried his best to keep his eyes open, to commit this moment to memory the best he could, but the sensation of her mouth on him made it difficult to focus. After a few minutes Clarke pulled away, looking regretful. 

“Sorry,” she said, her voice strained. “I’d go longer, but my throat is still a bit sore from yesterday.”

Shit, he should have thought of that. “Don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “That was incredible.”

She flushed at the praise and he pulled her back up into his arms, laying down with her at his side. 

“I can return the favour, if you’d like,” he offered, trailing his lips along the line of her jaw.

“Normally I wouldn’t turn that down, but right now I just really need you inside me.”

He huffed a laugh into the curve of her neck. “You’re gonna kill me, talking like that.”

Together they made quick work of her shorts, and he pulled away just long enough to shuck his own boxers and fumble in his overnight bag for the condoms he kept tucked in there just in case. When he returned to the bed and slipped on the condom he paused, looking down at her laying on the bed with her blonde hair fanned around her and a joyful look in her eyes. The sight of her made his breath catch. This gorgeous, incredible woman loved him, and he was determined never to take that for granted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, wondering if she had any idea how awed he was by her.

“Flatterer,” she retorted with a smile, pulling him down to her. He wanted to argue, to tell her he was just being truthful, but the words died in his throat as she guided him inside her.

He knew this wasn’t going to last long, not with her holding him tightly to her like she couldn’t get him close enough. Not with her breathy moans in his ear, or the beautiful way she sighed his name when he gave a particularly deep thrust. When he felt himself draw close to the edge he reached between them and pressed his fingers to her in tight circles, determined to bring her with him. She beat him to the finish by mere seconds, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she came with a long moan. He followed her over the edge, shaking apart in her arms.

When he came to his senses, he rolled off her, face planting into the pillow.

“I’m still going to take you on that date,” he said eventually.

She giggled, and he lifted his head from the pillow, delighted at the sound. In all the years he’d known her, he couldn’t recall ever hearing that girlish sound before. It warmed him to think that she felt carefree with him enough to giggle in earnest.

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

____________________

Clarke found herself sitting in front of Detective Hadley later that morning, Bellamy sitting by her side. She listened attentively as the detective explained the events of the past few days.

Two days ago he had managed to track down Carl Emerson, and after a few hours of interrogation the man had admitted to accepting a large sum of money from Cage Wallace to allow two men to enter her building. Emerson had also admitted to turning off the cameras during the time they were there. The detective had intended on bringing Cage in for questioning the next day.

"Obviously, that’s no longer an option,” the detective said heavily.

“What happened to him?” Bellamy asked. “No one has told us.”

Detective Hadley nodded. “The investigation is still ongoing, so nothing can be said for certain. But I can tell you what I know is going to be released to the press shortly, and that’s that we received a frantic 911 call yesterday from Mr. Wallace’s receptionist who had found him unresponsive in his office. Paramedics arrived on scene and confirmed that Mr. Wallace was deceased but noted no obvious causes of death.”

Well that was interesting, to say the least. No outward cause of death did not suggest a violent end, which narrowed down the possibilities. She furrowed her brows. “Do you know if he had any medical issues? Any family history of heart problems, or -”

“We already went over this with Dante Wallace,” the detective cut across gently, giving her a tired smile. “He denied that his son had any health problems or family history of major health issues. The medical examiner will be running toxicology testing, which will hopefully tell us more.” He drew back in his seat, his jaw setting. “I will tell you, that since Cage Wallace was by all accounts a healthy young man and we don’t know what killed him, his death is being treated as suspicious until we have more information. As such, we have been reviewing his life over the past few weeks, including communications and bank statements. It’s become clear that Mr. Wallace was in fact harassing you. Beyond what Emerson told us, we found emails and money transfers that indicate he was paying off people involved with your work to make false complaints. There is also some evidence that you were being surveilled by a private investigator for a time.”

She nodded. None of this came as a shock; rather, she felt a strange kind of relief at the confirmation that she had been right. Cage had been harassing her, stalking her all the while thinking he was untouchable. And now, it was finally being acknowledged by the authorities. 

“That being said,” he continued, “I hope you can understand that should his death be ruled a homicide, that would give you motive.”

She froze, genuinely surprised. Beside her, Bellamy went tense as a bow.

“Are you accusing her of something?” he ground out. “ She’s the one he victimized.”

“I’m not making any accusations, and this isn’t any type of formal interview,” the detective shook his head. “I’m just warning Miss Griffin that should it come to that kind of an investigation, we would need to rule her out.”

Bellamy seemed to accept this, because he didn’t argue despite looking very unhappy. As much as she didn’t like the idea of being a suspect in a possible murder investigation, she could understand why they would want to look at her. And since she hadn’t done anything wrong, she theoretically shouldn’t have too much to worry about. She appreciated that the detective was doing the courtesy of giving her a heads up. Still, there was something he hadn’t mentioned yet that was pressing on her mind.

“Detective Hadley,” Clarke interrupted. “You said that you uncovered evidence he was harassing me and orchestrated the break-in at my home. I’m sure you’ve heard about the fire at Bellamy’s apartment building by now. His captain thinks it was arson. Have you found anything to suggest that Cage may have been involved?”

“I did hear about that. So far we haven’t seen anything that links him to the fire, but we’re still combing through all of his texts, emails, bank statements, and any other interactions he had. If we find anything related to the arson, we will investigate it and get back to you. Likewise, if the officers investigating the potential arson find anything that relates to Wallace, they’ll reach out and let me know.”

She nodded, knowing she would need to be satisfied with that for now. “Thank you, Detective.”

He inclined his head, gathering his files before reaching to shake their hands in turn. “Miss Griffin. Mr. Blake.”

After he showed them out, Bellamy took her hand in his as they made their way to the parking lot. “I’m going to be going to Miller’s today to drop off some stuff. He and Jackson said I could crash at their place until I find a new apartment. I figured I’d go take care of that while you go home and catch up with Raven.”

“Sure,” she agreed. She was looking forward to seeing her roommate and maybe grabbing a nap in her own bed for the first time in weeks.

“After we do all that,” he continued, “would you want to do something together tonight? I get it if you’d rather just enjoy being back at your place, but I thought maybe I could take you out like I promised.”

“I’d like that,” she was quick to agree. Bellamy looked quite happy with that response, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze.

When he dropped her off at her apartment shortly after, Raven was already home, much to Clarke’s delight. The other woman caught her in a tight embrace, observing her with shrewd eyes as though she was suspicious Clarke hadn’t been returned in one piece. The two of them settled on their couch and spent the remainder of the day catching up. Raven cursed a blue streak when she heard about the fire.

“That fucker,” she said sharply. “If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him.”

“Well he is,” Clarke said thoughtfully. “They may not know what did it, but they’re sure he’s dead.”

Raven frowned. “Could he have done it to himself? Like could it have been a suicide? Maybe he took something.”

“I guess it’s a possibility. Maybe he realized police were getting closer to figuring out what he was doing and he knew his reputation would be destroyed.” Clarke shrugged. “I really don’t know. Dante Wallace released a statement about Cage’s death today, so I’m guessing the media will be following the case closely once a cause of death is figured out. Harper said she’d keep an ear out too.”

“And you’re okay? You’ve had one hell of a time while I was gone.”

“I’m okay,” she confirmed. “I think I’m still taking things in, and I won’t pretend that I’m not going to feel like I need to look over my shoulder for a while, but I’ll handle it.”

She checked the time, smiling at Raven apologetically. “I’ve got to go start getting ready to meet Bellamy. We won’t be out late, so maybe I’ll see you when I get back?”

“Sure,” Raven chuckled. “Just hang a sock on your door if I shouldn’t come check on you.”

____________________

Clarke was almost finished getting ready for her date when she saw her phone light up with an incoming text from her mother.

Clarke, I need to speak with you. Can you stop by the hospital? It’s important.

She frowned at the screen. She had no idea what her mother would need to speak to her about that couldn’t be discussed over the phone, but she happened to be going by the hospital anyway on her way to meet Bellamy. If she left now, it wouldn’t delay her too long.

Sure. I can stop in for a little while. I’ll be there in twenty.

She gave her hair and outfit one last once-over, feeling a little silly. Bellamy had seen her at her absolute worst before, he was hardly going to judge her if she had frizzy hair or smudged makeup. Still, she wanted to look nice for him. When she was satisfied, she sent him a quick text.

Making a stop at the hospital to see my mom. Might be a few minutes late meeting you, but I’ll try to be quick!

She tucked the phone into the pocket of her grey peacoat and decided to make the walk rather than calling a cab. Now that she didn't have to worry about Cage, a brisk evening walk sounded like an appealing way to celebrate regaining her freedom.

She was in a good mood by the time she made it to the hospital and up to her mother’s floor. Abby's office was empty, meaning she'd likely been called away to consult for a moment. That was fine, she could afford to wait a few minutes. She sank into the buttery soft leather chair, reaching for her phone in her coat pocket. She should text Bellamy, let him know that she would be a little longer than she expected. She'd just grabbed her phone when she heard the click of the office door behind her.

"Mom, hey, is everything -"

The question died in her throat when she turned her head to see the person in the doorway. 

It was Cillian, but not like she'd ever seen him before. He looked disheveled, eyes wild and ringed with dark shadows. His normally handsome face looked pinched and sickly .

"Dr. Parker?"

Cillian's mouth twisted. "Dr. Parker? Come on, Clarke. I think you and I are on more intimate terms than that."

She drew back, surprised by both his bluntness and the bitterness in his voice. Something wasn't right. She stood slowly, her eyes flicking to the closed office door. Her stomach sank as she watched him move to block it, toying with something behind his back. When he moved his arm back to his side she felt her blood run cold.

In a shaky hand, he held a gun. 

"Cillian, what's going on?" she said slowly, her eyes cataloguing his every move. 

His movements jerky, he ran a rough hand over his face. "What's going on is that I tried to be the good guy, Clarke. I did everything I could for you, for us , and it still wasn't enough for you."

Shit . Mouth dry, she whispered, "What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Cage Wallace. What a piece of work. Thought his daddy could buy his way in and out of anything he wanted. I saw the way he looked at you too, Clarke. Did you know that he’s done this to other women before? He told me when I went to confront him. Laughed about it too. Said you deserved it for being uppity. But that asshole won't be doing that to you anymore, will he?"

Her stomach felt as though it was sinking through her knees to the floor. "You killed him, didn't you?" 

Cillian looked at her flatly. "You can't tell me the world isn't better off without someone like Cage Wallace in it. It was quick, just an injection. I didn’t make him suffer. You know, I really thought you'd thank me."

Clarke let out a humorless laugh. "You thought I'd thank you for killing someone?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You should. I've been so good to you. When you said you weren't looking for a relationship, I knew you just weren't ready for us. You were confused about your path in life, and I was happy to let you figure that out for a while, leaving medical school and working at that place for troubled kids. I could deal with that, because I knew you'd eventually come back to me. But then Wallace had to fuck everything up by wrecking your apartment. If he hadn't done that, you never would have gone to stay with your friend and you never would have fucked him!"

The last statement came as a strangled yell, and Clarke sucked in a deep breath, praying that someone would have heard it and come to check what was going on. She needed to keep him talking, needed to buy time until someone came. "Cage didn't send me those photos of Bellamy, you did."

" Don't say his name! " Cillian hissed, his face clouded with rage. "It's bad enough I had to see you like that with him. I was watching you Clarke, keeping an eye on you to make sure you were safe. Imagine how heartbroken I was to see you with another man. I tried to warn you away from him, and you didn't listen."

"So you tried to kill me. You set the apartment on fire to punish me."

Cillian's eyes widened. "Of course not. No, you were supposed to go back to your place. I didn't know he wouldn't be home. He was preventing us from being together, Clarke."

Anger, hot and viscous, bubbled up in her chest and corroded the fear she had felt since he first walked into the room. She forgot all about buying time as she snapped, "You really thought I'd want to be with you after you murdered someone I care about?"

"You would have been upset at first," he conceded. "But eventually you would have come to understand that I did it for us ."

"Newsflash, asshole," she snarled.  "There is no us . There has never been and will never be an us. And if you'd succeeded in hurting Bellamy, nothing in the world could have stopped me from tearing you apart."

Cillian's earnest face hardened. "That's uncalled for Clarke. Now, you and I are going to take a walk to my car. And before you try to run or get anyone's attention, know that if you do, I won't shoot you - I'll shoot whoever's closest. You'll have to live with those deaths on your conscience. Give me your phone, too."

Fuck. Clarke hesitated, and Cillian exhaled impatiently, snatching her phone from her hands and shoving it into his own pocket. Draping his coat over the arm holding the gun, he pulled her to him, pressing the hard snout of the weapon into her side. "Let's go."

Stiffly, Clarke allowed herself to be marched from the office down the quiet halls. Visiting hours had ended, and most of the nurses were now assisting patients with their bedtime routines. They received little attention as they made their way to the elevator, only one nurse giving them a bright smile and a wave as they passed. Cillian pressed tighter to her side, and Clarke wondered if the nurse could see the tight strain in her smile.

When the elevator door closed behind them, Clarke asked, “What’s your plan, Cillian? Where are we going?”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t know yet.”

That was a bad sign. He didn’t have a plan, he was just acting erratically.

That made him much more dangerous.

“Listen,” she said urgently as the elevator doors opened and he ushered her out, “why don’t we just slow down, go somewhere nearby to talk. There’s a park just down the street -”

“Nowhere public,” he cut her off. “I’m not stupid, Clarke. We’re going to my car.”

They were at the entrance doors now. She fought the urge to call out to someone nearby in the hospital lobby. She knew she couldn’t let him get her in his car, but she didn’t want to risk anyone else getting hurt. She bit her lip so hard she was sure she would draw blood as they walked outside. Desperation clawed at her throat.

Then she saw something that made her heart leap and made her feel sick to her stomach simultaneously.

Bellamy was walking up the sidewalk towards them, his hands in his pockets as he looked up at the hospital. In that moment, she truly didn’t know which she wanted more - for him to see her or for him to pass by without notice so that he’d be safe from Cillian.

His eyes landed on her, and she knew then that there was no hope of hiding him from Cillian. She felt the other man go rigid beside her, the gun pressing tighter into her side under the coat.

“Please,” she whispered under her breath, knowing Bellamy was not yet close enough to hear. “ Please , don’t hurt him.”

“Don’t give me a reason to,” he retorted. “Follow my lead.”

She could see the confusion clouding Bellamy’s face as he approached them. “Clarke?”

“Bellamy, hi!” she said with forced brightness.

Leave, turn around and leave. Please Bellamy, just get out of here.  

When she didn’t say anything else, Bellamy’s eyes slid to the man at her side. “Cillian. What are you two doing out here?”

“Clarke and I were just heading out for the night,” Cillian said genially. Clarke had to hand it to him; he was a good actor. He leaned forward a little, as if sharing a secret. “I finally followed through with asking Clarke to dinner, and she’s doing me the honor of keeping me company this evening.”

He dug his fingers into her side, and she blurted, “Yes. I thought now that everything has calmed down, this might be the right time to give mine and Cillian's relationship a second chance, you know? You understand, right?”

Clarke’s eyes searched Bellamy, who was looking at her with a blank expression. “Right,” he said eventually, giving Cillian a small smile and a nod. “Of course, I understand. Well, I hope you two have a good evening.”

He turned, walking back the way he came. Cillian watched him go for a minute before turning her back in the opposite direction down the quiet side street that led to the parking lot.

“That was good,” he said tightly. “Keep doing as I say and we’ll -”

He broke off with an abrupt grunt and Clarke gasped as they both tumbled to the sidewalk, the concrete scraping her palms as she broke her landing. She heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh and looked over to see Bellamy holding Cillian by the collar, the latter’s nose bloody as Bellamy landed blow after blow to his face.

Cillian seemed to recover from his initial shock, aiming a hit to Bellamy’s kidney that had him hissing in pain.

The gun. Where’s the gun? she thought desperately. She spotted it on the ground a few feet away from where the two men were grappling and scrambled to her feet. She was nearly there when she felt a hand wrap around her ankle and wrench her foot out from under her. She hit the ground hard, her mouth filling with the sharp metallic taste of blood. She twisted just in time to see Cillian manage to get to his feet and grab the gun, turning to take aim.

“Bellamy!” she screamed. 

Two things happened at once. One was that she threw her entire weight into tackling Cillian.

The other was that she heard the sound of a gunshot, followed by a grunt of pain from Bellamy.

Cillian hit the ground with such force that she heard an audible crack as his head hit the sidewalk. The gun slid under a nearby parked car, and the man underneath her went limp. She barely paid him any attention beyond making sure he wasn’t about to get back up again, looking around wildly for Bellamy. He was leaning heavily against a car, his bloody hand pressed to his side. She rushed over to him, tugging gently at his hand.

“Let me see,” she urged, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. He’d gotten shot trying to help her. If anything happened to him…

“It’s okay, I’m okay, Clarke,” he said, his face a mask of pain.

“Let me decide that,” she choked out, moving his shirt aside. The gunshot wound looked like a clean exit, and by her estimation from her limited time in med school, it didn’t look like it would have hit any major organs. But she wasn’t an expert, and all she knew for certain was that he needed medical attention immediately. “We need to get a doctor.”

“Good thing we’re right next to a hospital,” he joked weakly. He looked to where Cillian lay unmoving. “Is he…?”

“Unconscious,” she confirmed. She saw a pair of nurses heading towards them with keys in hand, looking shocked at the scene. “We need help, he’s been shot! Call the police.”

The younger nurse nodded and rushed back towards the hospital. The other hurried to their side to assess the scene. 

“We need to get him inside,” she informed Clarke. “Let’s help him up.”

Together they got Bellamy to his feet. Clarke watched him with worry as he grimaced, his face pale.

“I’m okay,” he tried to assure her.

“You have a very loose definition of ‘okay’,” the nurse observed wryly. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Cillian laying a few feet away. “Is that Dr. Parker?”

“Unfortunately,” Clarke answered darkly. “He attacked us.”

The nurse blinked in shock, but recovered quickly, helping Clarke support Bellamy until they could make it back into the hospital where they were quickly met with a stretcher. His hand quickly wrapped around her wrist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, covering his fingers with her own.

He gave her a small smile, his head falling back on the cot. “I know. Who else is going to tell me if they’re doing something wrong?”

“I only made it a quarter of the way through med school, Bellamy,” she pointed out with a tired laugh.

“I know, but you’re brilliant,” he said. Despite his attempts at humor, it was clear he was exhausted.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You saved me. Thank you.”

“You were a badass, Clarke. You barely needed my help.”

“I always need you.” The nurse signalled that they were ready to take him and Clarke squeezed his hand. “I’ll be here when you get out.”

“Lucky me.”

It was clear he meant every word.

Chapter Text

Three Months Later

Clarke slipped her feet into her high heels, taking one last look around her office to ensure that she had everything she needed. This night was months in the making, and she wanted to be sure everything would go off without a hitch.

Satisfied, she grabbed her purse and began making her way through the darkened hall toward the party, humming to herself as she went.

It was amazing, she couldn't help but think, how different the simple act of walking alone could feel compared to a few months ago.

She'd been doing her best to put that night behind her and move forward with her life. Cillian had been taken into police custody that very night and held without bail. He was being charged with the murder of Cage Wallace, as well as a slew of other charges for arson, attempting to abduct her, and stalking. While the prosecutor was confident they had a strong case, the justice system was slow, and it would be months before the trial could begin. Both Clarke and Bellamy would eventually have to face him in court, but she wasn’t worried. They would face that day together.

Bellamy himself had recovered quickly, much to her relief. He'd steadfastly refused to allow her to wallow in guilt over his injury, insisting that he wouldn't have done anything differently. She believed him, of course, but that didn't stop her from running her fingers over the scar when they lay in bed at night, thanking the universe that it hadn't been worse.

An unexpected upside to the whole mess was that her mother seemed newly committed to repairing the cracks in their relationship. Abby had been understandably horrified to learn of Cillian’s actions, and had turned up once Bellamy had gotten out of surgery and been settled into a room.

Clarke had been nearly asleep in the cot a nurse had kindly set up by his bed when she had caught sight of her mother hovering anxiously in the doorway. She’d extracted herself from Bellamy's side. His eyes opened just enough to catch her reassuring smile and follow her gaze to her mother. Clarke suspected it would be a while before he didn't tense up when she left his sight.

The feeling was mutual.

Bellamy relaxed back into the bed, closing his eyes again as she wandered over to Abby.

"I came as soon as I could. I would have come sooner, but I was dealing with the police," she said immediately, her tone hushed.

Clarke nodded. Yes, she imagined the police had had lots of questions for her mother, considering how well she knew Cillian.

Or thought she had, anyway.

"How is he?" Abby asked anxiously, casting a glance in at Bellamy.

"You could go in and ask him yourself," she suggested gently. When Abby hesitated, she sighed. It was clear she was feeling incredibly guilty. "He's going to be okay, Mom. It was a clean shot - it didn't perforate any organs or major arteries."

"Good, that's good," Abby nodded, wringing her hands. She seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before blurting out, "Clarke, sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

"Mom -"

"He asked about you often, and I suspected that maybe he had a romantic interest in you, but I never thought -" Abby's voice trembled. "I should have discouraged him, Clarke, I'm so sorry."

"This isn't your fault," she said firmly. "There's no way you could have known. I had no idea either. Some people are just better at hiding their darkness than others."

Abby nodded, though she still looked unconvinced. “If there’s anything I can do -”

“Just being here is enough,” she insisted, giving her mother’s hand a squeeze.

Her mother had taken that to heart, making a point to call and reach out to her daughter much more consistently. She and Bellamy had even been over to visit Abby and Marcus for family dinners a number of times over the past few months. The relationship between her and her mother still wasn't perfect, but it was getting better, and that's what mattered.

It wasn’t the only improvement in her life either. She had sought out therapy to help her cope with the aftermath of being stalked and harassed by two separate men. In her hunt she’d found Luna, a calm but shrewd therapist that hit the perfect balance of being empathetic and able to push her when she needed it.

With Luna's encouragement, Clarke had channeled her emotions about what had happened to her into her art. She’d spent hours painting in between her therapy sessions and time spent with Bellamy and the rest of her friends. She’d found it was cathartic, pouring her anger and frustration and lingering fear into something productive. The process was so helpful to her that it had given her an idea.

Lincoln had loved the concept when she’d first proposed it. An exhibition of the student’s work at the center based around the themes of ‘overcoming’ and 'hope'. Clarke wanted it to be both an opportunity for her students to be celebrated and to raise awareness and support for the center.

She’d spent hours ironing out all the details, coordinating with various businesses in the city that had offered their services and support. The work had been non-stop right up until the night before, when she and Lincoln had spent the evening setting up with a small group of volunteers. Bellamy had offered to help her multiple times, only pouting a little when she’d turned him down. Maybe it was silly, but she wanted him to get the full experience when it was done, just like everyone else.

Clarke threw a quick glance at the clock. It was time. She smoothed the front of her black dress, signalling to one of her students that it was time to open the doors. He threw her a wide grin and a thumbs up before disappearing to let in the public. She took a deep breath, sending out a quick plea to the universe that tonight would go well. 

It turned out, she didn’t need to worry. There was a sizable crowd almost immediately, and many of the donors and community partners she reached out to had happily turned out to see the show. She and Lincoln stood near the entrance, greeting a slew of familiar faces and directing people to the displays. Once the initial flood of people slowed, she took a minute to look around.

Her students were scattered about the room, some milling about with their families, most standing eagerly next to their work and chatting with anyone who stopped by to view their art. Clarke smiled fondly as one of her students, a young girl named Madi, spotted her and began waving enthusiastically from where she stood with her foster parents.

"Looks like someone is popular."

Clarke turned to see her boyfriend standing behind her, looking sharply dressed in a suit and clutching a bouquet of flowers.

Clarke grinned. Her boyfriend. The best thing to come out of one of the most harrowing experiences of her life.

“Are those for me?” she asked, reaching over to run a finger along the petal of a lily. 

“Of course. Have to show some love to the teacher,” he said with a smile. He leaned down to press a sweet, lingering kiss to her lips.

“Easy Blake, there are children present.”

Bellamy huffed and turned to see Murphy and Emori approaching.

“You’re one to talk,” Emori said, nudging Murphy with her elbow. She smiled at Clarke. “He’s been corrupting your students.”

“What?” Murphy exclaimed indignantly. “I was just saying that that kid can say what he wants, there’s no way he doesn’t know that his pottery looks like a giant bong.”

Clarke rolled her eyes with a good-natured laugh. “Thanks for coming, you guys.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Harper crowed, hurrying over to hug her with Monty in tow. Raven and her date weren’t far behind. “This is fabulous, Clarke!”

“Of course it is,” Raven said proudly. “Clarke doesn’t know how to do anything half-assed.”

“I believe we just established there are children present,” Bellamy said mildly.

“You really think these teenagers haven’t heard the word ass before, Blake?”

“Well if they hadn’t before, they have now,” her date laughed. “This is really great, what you’re doing here, Clarke.”

“Thanks, Shaw,” she said warmly. Raven practically beamed at the man on her arm and Clarke hid her grin by briefly pressing her face against Bellamy's shoulder. Despite Raven's insistence that the two would lose touch after their program had ended, Clarke hadn't been surprised when, after two weeks of Raven being home and pretending she wasn't miserable, the man in question had showed up in town asking to take Raven out on a proper date.

They'd been travelling to see each other on weekends off and on since.

Clarke looked up at Bellamy. "Where's Octavia?"

Octavia had blown back into town immediately after hearing that Bellamy had been shot. Once the younger Blake had calmed down enough to be convinced that her brother was expected to recover without issue, she'd announced that she intended to take a break from her travels and stay in one place for a while. She'd stayed with Bellamy for about three weeks before finding a place of her own, and despite all his grumbling about having his little sister stay with him, Clarke could tell that he was grateful for the chance to reconnect. 

"I think she's over by the door still," he responded with a slight frown. "I introduced her to Lincoln on the way in. Looks like they're still talking."

Clarke followed his gaze, taking note of the wide smile on her boss's usually serious face as Octavia appeared to be telling him an animated story. "Huh."

Bellamy threw her a sharp glance. "Huh? Huh what?"

"Nothing," she said lightly. "I just don't think I've seen Lincoln smile like that before."

Bellamy looked like he had swallowed something particularly foul.

“Well, while the elder Blake has a coronary, we’re going to go check out the displays,” Raven said dryly. “We’ll catch up with you in a bit.” 

When their friends wandered off to view the exhibit, Bellamy placed his hand on the small of her back to draw her attention.

“This is incredible, Clarke,” he told her. 

Her face lit up even more, if that was possible. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Look at these kids. They’re loving this. You gave them an opportunity to show off their achievements and be proud of themselves. That’s huge.”

She flushed at the praise, looking out across the room to take in her students. She waved when she caught sight of her mother and Marcus standing in conversation with Jackson and Miller. Her mother waved back, smiling proudly. When she looked back at him, she bit her lip thoughtfully. "Hey, can I show you something?"

"Of course," he nodded.

She took his hand and began leading him away from the main crowd to a quieter corner where a handful of paintings were displayed. Unlike the others, there was no placard here or eager teenager waiting. He looked at her curiously.

"These are yours," he said. It wasn't really a question, because he was sure he was right. He'd never seen these particular works before, but he had seen enough of her paintings and sketches to recognize the indelible imprint of herself that she left in her art.

"Lincoln insisted that since this whole thing was my idea, I should display something too. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, because this night is really about the kids and raising money for the center, but…” she trailed off with a shrug, gesturing to the paintings in the quiet corner as if in afterthought. 

“Lincoln was right, you should be celebrated too,” he told her, stepping closer to view them. From what she’d shown him over the years, she usually leaned towards portraits or landscapes, but these were less defined. The first one was dark, chaotic slashes of reds, greens, and blacks. “Are these the ones you did in therapy?”

She nodded. “They are. The first one represents how I felt when I first started therapy, and when everything was happening. Angry, scared, vulnerable. But that’s actually not the one I wanted to show you.”

She took his hand again and gently pulled him over to the last painting, positioning him in front of it. Looking over at him she asked curiously, "How does it make you feel?"

Bellamy looked hard at the painting, feeling a little out of depth. He was hardly an art critic, and he worried he might get it wrong, say the wrong thing. But Clarke was looking at him expectantly, a hint of apprehension in her eyes, so he took a stab at it. His eyes moved over the lines of earthy greens and browns to the swirls of soft yellows and blues. 

"Calm," he said eventually. "Happy. Warm. It kind of reminds me of nature, I think. A little chaotic but there’s something soothing about it too. Like sitting in the woods on a sunny day."

Clarke's smile was pleased. “Good, that’s what I was going for.”

"What is it?" he asked curiously. 

"You," she said simply.

“Me?” He looked at her in surprise before stammering out a joke. “Uh, you really captured my wavy lines."

She smacked his shoulder good naturedly. "It's not a portrait, obviously. It's abstract. You inspired it. It’s how you make me feel. Warm, safe…like everything is going to be okay. Like I’m home."

He couldn’t think of a proper response to that that would encompass the love he felt for her in that moment except to blink his suddenly watery eyes and press a firm kiss to her head.

"You know I don't have any artistic ability," he murmured, pitching his voice low so that only she could hear, “so I can’t paint you anything that would come close to representing how you make me feel. But I can tell you that you are incredible, Clarke Griffin. You’re smart, and kind, and strong. You’re so beautiful it takes my breath away sometimes. My life got better the day you walked into it, even if it took me a while to realize it. I love you. So much.”

Suddenly he wasn’t the only one blinking back tears. She reached up, threading her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I love you too, Bellamy.”

And for the next few minutes, he was grateful for this secluded corner away from the crowd so that he could hold the woman he loved and get lost in trading a few stolen kisses. Eventually a pressing thought occurred to him and he pulled away to rest his forehead against hers. “I almost forgot, there was something I wanted to run by you.”

“Mm?” she hummed, quirking a brow.

“Well, you know Octavia just got her own place, and my current apartment is a month-to-month situation,” he said slowly. “And you and I have been going back and forth between each other’s places for a while now. It got me thinking -”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I mean, yes, but if you don’t want to - I know you and Raven have lived together for a while now, so I understand if you don’t want to or you’re not ready -” 

“Bellamy,” she laughed, cutting his nervous rambling short. “I was just surprised. I’d love to move in with you.”

He grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yes. If you think you can handle being my roommate again,” she challenged. 

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. It’ll be quieter this time, I’m sure.”

Clarke’s grin turned salacious. “I don’t know about that.”

“Did you just make a sex joke?” he said with mock affront. “There are children present.”

“I’m sure Murphy’s already done enough damage,” she said with a wave of her hand. 

“In that case, don’t you have a quiet, private office somewhere around here?”

Her theatrical gasp and stern look had him suppressing laughter. “Mr. Blake, I brought you here to be my arm candy not an elicit backroom hookup.” She looped her arm in his to begin leading him back to the party and then paused abruptly, leaning up so that her lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “But, after the party's over, I can think of a few places I never got around to showing you on that tour that I think you’ll really like.”

He let out a slow exhale and let her lead him back to their friends. Clarke gave his hand a final squeeze, moving off to say hello to her mother and stepfather. She smiled at him over her mother’s shoulder as she was pulled in for a hug.

Murphy sidled up beside him, observing him with his eyebrows raised.

"Well don't you look happy," he drawled. "Big art fan, are we?"

"Yeah," Bellamy said, his eyes still locked on the woman he loved and her beaming face. He grinned. "Something like that."

End.