Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE

Melancholy has a distinct color.

It’s blue, but not a rich blue of that of the deep sea. It’s the color of ice blowing off a glacier at dusk, pale and haunting. It morphs into deep blacks when it touches your fingertips and it swarms around a person like a thick fog, threatening to suffocate whomever its wrapped itself around.

Clarke is familiar. She’s familiar because its become a part of her morning routine: take a shower, apply light mascara, get dressed, and watch as the color of melancholy snakes around her hair, tinting the sharp blonde locks of her hair.

Melancholy has a distinct color, but even more so, it hugs you like a friend and betrays you like an enemy.

Splashing her face with water, she uses her forearms to try and scrub the grimy motel mirror clean, but all she manages to do is create streaks across the glass, making her reflection have a fun funhouse mirror effect. With a sigh, she gives up, throwing her toiletries into a bag on the floor.

Clarke needs a moment.

Collapsing onto the toilet seat, Clarke has to right herself because it sways to the left, one of the screws loose on the lid. She covers her face with her hands, trying to keep the tears from falling, but failing miserably. She doesn’t know why she’s bothering since it’s only her in this crappy motel, but she wants to keep it together before she steps outside.

“One more minute,” she tells herself, her fingers digging in her hair, tugging at the blonde locks. “I’ll check out in one minute.”

Several minutes later, there’s a sharp rapping on the door. “Housekeeping!” Someone calls from the other side and Clarke leaps from where she’s perched on the toilet seat and scrubs under her eyes.

“I’ll be right out!” She shouts, throwing the rest of her belongings into her duffle and scrambling to the door. She opens it to a portly woman waiting impatiently at her cart, tapping her feet even after Clarke opened the door. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly, squeezing her way out.

The woman has a beautiful purple hue about her – the color of lilacs in a field. It gives Clarke a bit of comfort even with her hurried sighs. Checkout takes less time than she anticipated and she finds herself in her car Rover, a beat up Jeep she managed to haggle down to $2000 when she first started this trip. Despite the engine smoking when she started up, the emergency break not functioning, and the seat breaking mid-drive so that she occasionally slammed against the steering wheel, it was a reliable piece of junk that she couldn’t help but grow fond of. She found a few knick knacks at gas stations along her trip and hung them from the rear-view mirror, smiling whenever the sun caught the glass.

Except her road trip was coming to a close and the closer she came to her final destination, the more her stomach twisted into knots. Seattle was only a few hours away, New York nothing more than a distant memory, and even though she had a place to stay and a job waiting for her, she couldn’t help but fight the urge to turn right back around.

“What did you do, Clarke?” she asks herself, placing her forehead on the steering wheel. “What did you do, what did you do?”

Unsurprisingly, Rover doesn’t answer. Instead it merely shudders and emits a whining sound, causing Clarke to put it into gear and finish the last leg of her trip. The drive into Seattle is a beautiful and stressful one, surrounded by mountains and water, but also aggressive drivers that nearly run Clarke off the road. Some manage even to balance a coffee and their phone at the same time, swerving in and out of lanes in what Clarke can only assume is a caffeine frenzy. By the time she reaches her destination, Clarke’s been gripping the wheel so tightly her fingers ache. Hopping out of Rover, she shakes her legs a few times before facing the building.

The Ark is nothing like its photos.

It’s almost laughable. Online, there were pictures of lush gardens, crisply painted windows, and a gorgeous brick façade. In person? Two trees and pieces of garbage littering the lawn. One of the windows had a hole in it and a shutter is broken on the ground. Clarke is even more contemplating getting in her car and driving back to New York when someone steps up behind her and places a hand on shoulder.

Clarke startles enough to whip around, getting hit sharply in the face with a ponytail. The person laughs when she stumbles backwards. “You must be Clarke!” She says with a bright smile. Grease coats her bare arms and stains her jeans, except not even that can cloud her color.

She radiates a fierce red, almost overpowering Clarke’s senses. It ripples off her like the embers of a furnace, blazing and out of control. It takes Clarke a few moments to recover. “Yes!” She says a bit too loud, blinking. “Yes, I’m Clarke.”

The girl looks at her watch. “Wow, right on time. Good thing I didn’t stop for coffee on the way home, usually people are late. I’m Raven, by the way.” Clarke moves to shake her hand, but Raven puts hers up in the air, wincing apologetically at the stains across her fingers. “Sorry, I’ve been working so I’m going to spare you from getting this all over you. It’s a bitch to get out.”

“I appreciate the warning.” Clarke says and the knots in her stomach loosen a bit.

“Full disclosure, you do have a hand print on your back.”

Clarke shrugs. “Good thing I’m only moving today and don’t have a hot date then.”

Raven tilts her head back and laughs, gesturing Clarke to come with her. “Something tells me you’ll fit in just fine here. Why don’t I show you around and go over the rules, then once I clean up, I can help you with your stuff?”

Clarke tilts her head to Rover. “I don’t have a ton of stuff. Probably will be finished before you finish showering.”

Raven frowns. “You don’t have a moving van or anything?”

“No, just what’s in the car. I figure I can hit up IKEA or whatever.”

Clarke bites her lip, concerned about any follow up questions. She tries not to show it, resisting the urge to look anywhere but Raven’s face. Except Raven seems to accept it because she shrugs and continues toward the door. “Well, I should get my boyfriend Finn to help you – it’s his day off and there’s a good chance he’s not even awake yet. It’s always fun to scare him into helping.” She smiles wickedly.

Swinging the door to The Ark open, Raven says, “Welcome home.”

Clarke gapes.

Color is everywhere.

Exposed pipes run along the walls where they fall into wells on the ground floor. A rickety staircase runs along the right wall to the upper floor, where Raven points. “So all the bedrooms are upstairs. To the left is the kitchen – we each get a shelf and our own set of cupboards, I’ll show you which is yours. Oh, we also do family dinner on Fridays for those who want to join. All you have to do is put your name on the whiteboard next to the collection jar – and put $5 in. Rent is due the last day of the month and you give that to Bellamy because he deals with the landlord.”

Raven places a foot on the staircase and the entire thing groans under her, causing Clarke to observe it wearily. “Don’t worry, it’s just the Ark saying hello. All the noises are purely ceremonial. Trust me, if anything was about to malfunction, I would’ve fixed it ages ago.”

“It’ll be nice to know that even if everyone’s mad at me at some point, at least the house will talk to me.” Clarke jokes.

“Actually, I’ve seen the house give the cold shoulder to Murphy. He accidentally flipped into a wall, breaking it, and the stairs didn’t squeak for him for a week.”

Clarke can’t help but chuckle. “How do you accidentally flip into a wall?”

“By being named Murphy and being an idiot.”

“Hey!” They’ve reached the second floor balcony when a figure rushes out of the kitchen and looks up. He’s thin, but has sharp features that only come from the weather of harsh times. He’s shrouded in a deep orange, like a sun on a desert that is waiting for you to draw your last breath. “Screw you, Raven! You, of all people, know I was trying to prove that I could do one. Everyone was demanding it, including you!”

“You’re throwing off my tour, Murphy!” Raven calls down at him, giving him the finger for good measure.

Murphy catches Clarke’s eye and cocks his head. “Nice. Much more interesting to look at than the last one.”

“Don’t be gross, Murphy.”

Clarke isn’t fazed. “It’s fine, Raven. I’m sure looking is all he gets to do, so I bet it’s important to him.”

Raven bursts out laughing, causing Murphy to scowl. “Oh, whatever.”

Raven laughs, “You’re going to fit in just fine. Keep it in your pants, Murphy!”

“Like either of you could handle this!”

They make their way down the hall. “He’s not wrong, I’ve been living with him for over a year and I definitely can’t handle it.” Raven whispers.

Clarke can’t help but smile. Raven leads her to the end of the hall, the second door before last. “Here you are! Here are your keys,” Raven hands her the set. “This is for your room, the front door, and the back door. Other than that, you’re all set. I’m going to take a shower and see if I can wake up Finn to help you.”

Raven jogs down the hall, opening a door. “Hey Raven!” Clarke calls after her. Raven pauses. “Thanks, I appreciate the tour.”

Raven smiles. “Once you meet everyone, we’ll see how thankful you are.” She says with a wink.

Clarke opens her door and takes a breath.

It’s not terribly big and the walls are a bright white, but she loves it. She loves it. She sees its bones. It may be a far cry from her last place, but she loves the way one of the wall has splotches of exposed brick and another has pipes running down it. Clarke steps in the middle and takes it all in. She takes it in and breathes, really breathes for the first time in months. Tears come to her eyes as she does so, but unlike the motel bathroom, she does nothing to stop them. Instead she chokes a few breaths down and rushes to the window, using all her strength to open it.

She wedges it open, the paint cracking as she does so. Placing her head outside to the back yard, she sees rows and rows of vegetable plants towering before her. Clarke can’t help but smile and be wonderfully surprised.

“This is going to work,” She breathes. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

She tries to ignore her own hue of melancholy blue because whenever she thinks too much about it, it tends to weigh heavier. And if she thinks about the blue, she thinks about the hospital, and if she thinks about the hospital, she thinks about the cars, and if she thinks about the cars—

A loud rapping on her far wall breaks her out of her reverie. There’s a door tucked in the corner and Clarke frowns at the melodic slams against the wall. “Uh,” she starts, frowning at the door. “Hello?”

The loud banging against the wall continues.

With a tentative motion, Clarke opens the door to another room, clothes scattered on the floor and the walls plastered with old posters of books – she recognizes a few classics like the Iliad and Odyssey, but there are even a few so vague, she isn’t sure.

Except no one comes into view.

That is, until she turns her head at the source of the noise.

Well, multiple sources of the noise.

“Oh my god!” Clarke exclaims when she catches glimpse of two people on the bed in the center of the room, one with a hand clasped against the headboard. “I’m so sorry!”

Clarke rushes back into her room and slams the door behind her, leaning against it. She waits for the pounding noise to start up again on their shared wall, but it never does. Instead, there are faint murmurs in the room, a loud curse, and the next thing Clarke knows is she’s being pushed forward by a forceful shove of the door, accidentally getting caught between the wall. “Oh very nice,” a low and angry voice cries. “Interrupt and then hide?”

Clarke uses her shoulder to shove the door back so she can wiggle out, stumbling before someone who – thankfully – now at least has boxers on. “I wasn’t hiding, you shoved me into the wall!” She cries indignantly.

The man huffs an exasperated breath, shining with a thin layer of sweat. Clarke does her best to keep her eyes on his face, but it’s challenging when he’s just… there in nothing more than a tight pair of boxers. He has curly brown hair that wraps around his eyes and freckles that paint over his face and he is yellow. Clarke blinks in the intensity of it. From the anger radiating off of him in waves, she would’ve guessed he’d be another red or a deep blue, but he’s a bight yellow, like the color of dandelions when they first bloom or the sun not impeded by clouds. “Oh sure, blame me, Princess.” He growls

“Princess?” Clarke repeats, annoyed.

He gestures vaguely at all of her. “With the hair and the Bambi-eyes?”

“Because I have blonde hair and eyes, I’m a princess?” Clarke drawls, appreciative that he’s a dick because it makes the almost-naked aspect seem less daunting. “I may as well call you asshole then.”

He rolls his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who the hell are you?”

He shakes his head. “No, no. You don’t get to demand answers. I live here! I live here and you just interrupted me. So you’re going to tell me who the hell you are and what you’re doing here.”

“I live here too!” Clarke snaps. “I’m glad to see that all of this hasn’t damaged your mental capacity for common sense.”

“Okay, listen here, Princess,” the man seethes, taking a few strides close to her. Clarke doesn’t back up or even flinch like she’s assuming he expected her to, so they’re unnecessarily close. He looms over her and she can see the sweat rolling off of him, his bare chest far too close to her for comfort. “If you don’t start—”

“Bellamy!” Someone calls from the doorway. “I see you’ve met Clarke.” Raven bounds into view and her smile falters. “Uh, what is going on here?”

Clarke refuses to let him answer first. “He’s upset because I saw him naked.”

“You walked into me having sex!” Bellamy exclaims and Raven bursts out laughing.

“I told you a million times, Bell, change where your bed is. That’s why the last guy left – he couldn’t handle all the pounding against the wall.” Raven smirks. “And don’t act prudish now, we’ve all seen you naked.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Another figure steps into view. “I’ve personally seen your penis far too often for comfort.”

“Shut up, Finn.” Bellamy grumbles, moving away from Clarke a bit. She is grateful, trying to hide the fact that she’s settling. Unlike his playful snap at Raven, he glares at the one he called Finn in a vicious way, his jaw clenching when he places a kiss on Raven’s cheek.

Finn flips his hair out of his face. “Raven says you need some help with some stuff?”

Before Clarke can answer, Bellamy cuts her off, “Wait this is Clarke?” He gestures at her, focusing on Raven, which Clarke is sure is to annoy her.

Unfortunately, it works.

Clarke smacks his hand out of the air and he makes a wounded noise. “Um, Clarke is standing right in front of you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Bellamy bristles, but finally turns back toward her. “I thought you were supposed to be a guy.”

“Did my boobs give me away? Because that’s usually what does it.” Clarke drawls.

Raven and Finn laugh in the doorway and a soft blush creeps on Bellamy’s cheeks. Clarke takes it as a win, seeing as he’s not playing fair being bare-chested and sweaty.

“Clarke is a guy’s name.” He snaps.

“Also a girl’s name.” Clarke states, rolling her eyes. “Case and point? This dazzling creature standing before you. Finn?” She asks. “Thanks for helping me, I don’t have a ton of stuff.”

Finn shrugs, "I don't have much going on, I don't mind. It'll be quicker?"

Clarke opens her mouth to tell him she really didn't need his help, but then her pocket buzzes. Pulling her phone out, she frowns at the Boston area code flashing on her screen. With a scowl, she ignores the call and shoves her phone back into her pocket. "Everything alright?" Raven asks as the silence settles into something uncomfortable.

Clarke plasters on a smile. "Of course. Now that we've established I live here and am a girl, I think it's time to go get my things."

Bellamy snaps, "If I'd known you were a girl, I never would've approved your application!" He says, throwing his hands up in the air.

Raven crosses her arms. "And what, may I ask, is wrong with girls?"

Bellamy has the decency to look sheepish at that, his angry facade faltering. "Okay, none of that Reyes. I just don't want to be sharing a wall with a girl and have her judging me from the other side."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Sounds like your male roommate judged you just fine before. See - you're annoying to all people, not just to females. How progressive of you." 

"Oh, screw you Clarke."

"From the sounds of it, you already have someone covering that portion of your needs." Clarke says with a wry smile. Bellamy seems taken aback at that and suddenly very aware he’s nearly naked and probably has left a sexually frustrated companion in the next room.

Clarke tries not to let it faze her. She peers around the room and asks, "What's the policy about painting the walls?"

Bellamy scowls. "Touch the brick and die."

"Obviously," Clarke snorts. "I'm not a philistine." 

Raven puts her hands up. "Do whatever you want. Nobody but Bellamy cares. A sentence you'll be hearing a lot, by the way."

“Okay, I hate you all.” Bellamy mutters to himself.

Clarke lifts an eyebrow at him and he merely glares in return, crossing his arms. "Shall we?" She asks Finn, stalking out of the doorway, leaving Bellamy standing in the middle of her barren room to deal with Raven laughing at him. She would feel bad if it weren't for Raven's teasing, but she doesn't have time to deal with a person like Bellamy. She doesn’t have time to waste any energy on someone like that, when she feels like she’s being held together with scotch tape and it’s beginning to rain. "Is he always like that?" Clarke asks Finn as they make their way down the stairs.

Finn sighs. "Unfortunately. Raven insists that he's better once you get to know him, but I've lived here for two months and still can't stand the guy." He shrugs. "Who knows, maybe he's an asshole with a heart of gold."

Snorting, Clarke unlocks Rover once they're outside. "Yes, I got a lot of his golden heart from that interaction."

"How couldn't you?" Finn teases.

As Clarke expected, it didn't take long for them to unpack her car, Finn offering to join her in her IKEA trip. She declines as civilly as possible, explaining she wanted to wander around the area a bit. She didn't quite care for how close he stands next to her or how he lingers in her doorway, excusing herself to the restroom to have a moment by herself. Shutting the door behind her, she places her hand on it, allowing herself to be grounded by the shuffling of feet. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Clarke frowns at the voicemail notification. With a preparation breath, she puts the phone up to her ear.

"Hello, my name is Margery Tennen and I'm hoping to get a hold of Clarke Griffin. We've started--"

Clarke deletes the message without listening to the rest. Her chest seizes and she turns on the faucet, letting the water run a bit before splashing her face and letting it trickle down her neck. Peering at her reflection, she sees the deep circles under her eyes from the restless sleep on the road trip and her entire form shrouded in the melancholy blue. She presses her forehead against the cool tile counter, vaguely remembering when she was a soft green, like leaves of trees after a rain as the sun catches them. It seemed like such a long time ago, but the whisper of who she was still sticks to her clothes like a second skin.

Oh, how she misses that green.

"You got this," she whispers to herself. "The hardest part is over. You've got this."

***

By the time she has enough furniture to decorate her room, she's lost all motivation. The only thing she manages to put together is screwing a chain lock on her shared door with Bellamy, putting the mechanism in place. Sure, he may run the Ark, but she'll be damned if he barges into her space unwanted again. Once she's finished with that, she looks at all the boxes littering her feet and the last thing she'd like to do is play adult tetris and assemble all the pieces.

It sounds exhausting.

Instead, Clarke puts her painting clothes on and faces the bright white wall in front of her and taps a pencil against her lips. With wide stroke, Clarke pencils in a rough idea of what she wants, moving across the wall as ideas come to mind. She adds rough lines of where the sky may be, taking a few steps back to see her handiwork. Just like the room, the bones are there. All her anxiety from earlier has melted and she can't help but smile.

"What are you doing?"

Clarke whirls around to see Raven leaning against the wall. "I-I thought I could paint the wall." She stumbles over her words.

"You can," Raven says. "But you're drawing on it."

"I'm planning out what I want to do. Is that still alright?"

"Yeah, of course. I didn't know you were an artist."

"Uh, I'm not," Clarke says like a reflex, but thinks about it. "Well, it used to just be something that I did, but I've been doing it a lot more lately I guess. I figured painting a wall one color would be a waste."

Raven smiles. "Maybe you can do something for the foyer. Whenever we have parties at least one person projectile vomits on the back wall - it's like a tradition."

Clarke grimaces. "And... you want me to... touch that?"

"It always gets clean, don't worry about that. Whoever invited the offending party has to clean it – or, if you do, you have to clean it. Maybe if there's something nice on it, they'll treat the Ark kindly."

She thinks about this and shrugs. "Actually, that's not a bad idea."

Raven beams. "One thing you'll learn about me is that I never have any bad ideas. I'm awesome." Clarke laughs and Raven continues, "I was coming up to let you know we're going to order a few pizzas and have some beer in the kitchen if you want to join."

Clarke surveys her unopened boxes. "I've done enough work for the day, look how organized my room is.” She gestures at the mess of boxes before them. “Yup, I'll join."

“That’s the spirit.” Raven jokes.

When they make their way to the kitchen, the wafting smell of weed hits Clarke in the face. Raven freezes, a scowl twisting on her face. "Dammit, Jasper!" Raven shouts, rushing forward. "For the last time, I told you if you were going to smoke, you have to do it in your room or outside. If NASA gets any indication, I could lose my apprenticeship. For god’s sake, put it out!" 

Clarke enters the kitchen to see Raven wrestling a skinny figure to the ground, yanking something out of their hands as they cry out. "Seriously," Raven snaps, rushing over to the sink. “The most disrespectful thing – I ask for one thing in this house!”

“S-o not true,” Murphy says from the corner of the room.

Jasper jumps to his feet and brushes himself off, cheeks reddening when he sees Clarke enter the kitchen. He's surrounded with a gorgeous teal, like the bottom of crystal river. Clarke finds herself smiling at him, which he returns. "I, uh, didn't want to hurt her?" He offers when he realizes Raven’s tackled him and even Clarke knows after little experience with Raven, there's no way that's true.

Everyone else seems to agree because some people snort, Raven casting him a dark look. After she successfully destroys it down the garbage disposal while maintaining direct eye contact with Jasper, she says, "This is Clarke, everyone. Clarke, this is Jasper, Monty, Harper, and Murphy."

Everyone offers a wave and Clarke seats herself between Raven and Monty, who puts up a fist. Clarke fist bumps him, unable to think of the last time someone offered one, and he beams in response. Monty is shrouded in bubblegum pink, joy and happiness wrapped around him. Clarke can't help but feel drawn to him, hoping she doesn't spread her melancholy blue. The group chats around a rusted island in the middle of the kitchen, Raven tossing Clarke a beer. She finds she enjoys simply listening to everyone talk. It'd been such a long time since she'd been around people who genuinely seem happy and she watches as all their colors mix together, creating a vibrant mosaic she considers using as inspiration for her mural upstairs.

"Clarke, you don't even understand," Jasper says, gesticulating wildly in her direction, splashing her with droplets of beer, which she can't help but laugh at while wiping under her eye. "Monty and I have been perfecting our famous moonshine for years and we think we've finally cracked the recipe!"

Harper leans across the table with affection. "And exactly how old are you guys to be practicing this for years?"

Jasper's eyes widen. "Irrelevant. You're not supposed to focus on the criminal activity, you're supposed to focus on the excitement. Goddammit, focus on the excitement, Harper!"

"Oh, I have laser focus."

Monty nods. "It's true - she is very good at focusing."

Murphy groans from where he's perched on top of a counter top in the corner. "Dude, what did we say about bedroom talk? You guys owe five dollars in the jar."

Harper straightens with a scoff. "Who said anything about bedroom talk? It's not our fault your head lives perpetually in the gutter – I am not putting money in the jar."

Jasper leans in to Clarke and whispers, “When Harper and Monty first got together, they were insufferable. So we make them put money in a jar to reign it in sometimes though.”

Murphy places his hands behind his head. "It's a great place to live though." He leans forward, balancing on his toes so that he can get close to where Clarke is. "I bet you are always down for a gutter run, am I right?"

Clarke shrugs. "Maybe. Not that you'll ever find out."

"Please, you can't wait to have this all over you." He says, gesturing to his entire body.

Clarke fixes him with a flat look, speaking as monotonous as possible, "Oh how did you know."

Except this time, Murphy doesn't scowl. He laughs and picks up another beer, flicking the lid at her. She ducks and it bounces off Jasper's head, who waves his hands in the air. "Dude, I'm innocent!"

Murphy rolls his eyes. "Okay, we all know that's not true - including Clarke, and she's only been here for a few hours."

Once the pizza comes, Clarke waits for people to grab plates, but everyone simply continues to lean against the island and dig pieces out one at a time. She follows suit, taking a small bite, realizing it'd been a while since she'd eaten. On her road trip she didn't stop often, mainly for gas and even less for food. Her stomach grumbles once she takes a bite and she sighs contentedly, grateful to be surrounded by such a bright cacophony of colors.

Bellamy jogs down the stairs behind them, barging into the kitchen while managing to fit a t-shirt over his head. "You were supposed to text me when pizza was here." He says to Jasper.

Clarke gapes at him. "Do you ever have a shirt on?"

"No." Everyone answers in unison, not even looking up from their pizza. 

Bellamy grumbles and grabs a slice, leaning against a counter away from the group. "So, what's your deal?"

Clarke waits for someone to answer and then startles when she realizes he's fixing her with one of the most intense glares she's ever received. "Oh - me?" He doesn't respond, so she figures that it's a 'yes.' "You know, in some communities, they learn people's names and actually use them when talking to them."

He doesn't respond still.

Raven catches her eye and smirks, hiding it in Finn's shoulder. "Well, I moved to Seattle and needed a place to live." She answers. No one even tries to reply, making her a little anxious. "You know how it goes."

"Didn't you move here from New York?" Bellamy asks. His eyes narrow and she isn't sure why he's so suspicious, but her hands start to sweat. “That’s a long way from Seattle.”

"Creepy, but yes."

"Simmer down, I read your application." Bellamy says. "Upper East Side - I guess I was right to call you Princess."

Clarke takes a breath and focuses on her beer. "Yeah, well. Everyone's from somewhere."

"Why'd you move here?" Harper asks a little gentler and she doesn't have to look up to know someone's throwing Bellamy a nasty look. “Must’ve been nice.”

Clarke fixes a smile on her face, wishing she wasn't radiating waves of melancholy in the kitchen. "Change of scenery." She answers as short as possible. 

Thankfully, Monty nudges her shoulder. "I totally get that. I moved here from the Midwest where my folks are farmers and I still garden because I miss it."

"Gardening?" Jasper snorts. "Is that what we're calling it these days?"

Monty doesn't even bother to argue. "There's also vegetables out there. Things we all can enjoy. Feel free to help yourself."

Clarke gives him a soft smile, grateful for his saving in the conversation. Bellamy opens his mouth again, but Raven speaks over him, "So, I think we've officially got the smell out from the last blowout, so you all know what that means."

Everyone cheers in the kitchen, raising their beers and pizza slices. Jasper squeezes onto Clarke's other side and Monty leans in. "Just you wait," Jasper says. "We throw the best parties in the area. It'll be a night you never remember."

"Please, like she'd be able to hang with seasoned pros like us." Murphy says, stealing a slice from under Raven's fingertips and biting the end right in her face. She takes her palm and shoves him backwards.

"I dunno, it's always the ones you least expect who can rage with the best of them." Jasper offers. "I have a feeling after her inaugural rager, Clarke will go from Princess to Queen." He raises his beer. "Let's do this!"

Clarke can’t remember the last time she felt this warm. It almost makes the ache go away in her stomach, being surrounded by such bright colors and vibrant personalities. For a moment, she allows herself to forget about months ago. For a moment, she forgets about the grief gnawing at her stomach.

For a moment, she breathes.

***

Placing a few blankets on the floor and adding a couple pillows, Clarke pushes her evening glasses onto the bridge of her nose as she huddles over her sketchbook. It's a routine she started on the road, clearing her mind by scribbling lines. She's using colored pencils, trying to get the feeling of her roommates on paper, but unable to do so. She surrounded Raven with crimson, but it doesn't come across fiery enough, so she sighs, leaning against the wall. She can hear the faint giggling from down the hall and it makes her feel less alone. There's a rustling coming from the shared wall and she simply stares at it, perched as far away from it as possible.

As she tries to calm down with her sketchbook further, the knob of their shared door twists and swings open, catching on the chair lock. "You have got to be kidding me." Bellamy snaps from the other side, placing his hand through the crack of the door. "You did not lock me out."

Jumping to her feet, Clarke approaches the door and crosses her arms. "I absolutely locked you out."

"Why?"

"Because it's my own room! I don’t need a reason to lock out unwanted guests." She exclaims. "And we saw what happened when this door was open earlier."

"Yeah, I was there, I remember."

Bellamy glowers at her from the other side of the door and Clarke does nothing to move the chain. "I was coming in to say I think we got off on the wrong foot." He finally groans, his arms still wedged between the door and the wall. It looks a little painful, but Clarke makes no motion to let him in.

Clarke thinks about this for a moment. "That doesn't sound like you."

"You don't know me." He grumbles.

"I think what I've seen is a pretty good snapshot." Clarke responds. "Raven made you say this, didn't she?”

He doesn't respond for a second. When he does, he deflates a bit. "She's terrifying."

"I see why you didn't want another woman in the Ark. You clearly can't handle it."

An impish grin spreads across his face. "I think we can all agree I can handle women just fine."

"Oh god," Clarke exclaims, smacking arm so he retracts it back into his room with a laugh. 

"Seriously, can you open the door?" He asks, when he reaches through the crack once more. "I'm trying to be a nice person here and I refuse to have a conversation with a door."

"Interesting that someone has to demand you be a nice person for you to be a nice person," Clarke mutters, slapping his hand away enough so she can shut the door and unhook the chain. She opens it wide enough for her own body to fit in, block anything else with her hips. Clarke keeps her hand on the door so he can't open it wider. "Well?"

The mischievous grin stretches wider and he takes a step closer to her, so that their chests are almost touching. "What do you think is going to happen, Princess?"

"Theoretically you're going to apologize, but I genuinely can't see that happening."

He laughs, really laughs, crossing his arms and leaning in, so that his forearms are brushing against her chest. Clarke doesn't bristle, but tries to ignore the shiver that runs down her spine as he does so, pleased that his grin doesn't stretch, so he must've not noticed. "Brave Princess, are we?"

Clarke tells herself that he is not attractive and it may be the biggest lie she's ever told herself - and she just ran away from years of lies. Tilting her chin up at him defiantly, she says, "I'm waiting."

Then his grin widens. He leans down so that their faces are closer, so much so that she can feel his breath on her cheeks. She tries not to reveal any of this is affecting her, setting her jaw, except her breathing sounds too loud and she's instinctively leaning closer to him. His voice is thick when he replies, "Looks like I'll just have to keep you waiting."

He reaches above her hand where she's holding the door steady and pulls it toward himself so that it closes in her face. Clarke doesn't move for a second, frozen where she is. Waiting only a beat, she moves up and chains her door. "I can hear that." Bellamy growls from the other side of the door, but the heat isn't there anymore. If anything, he sounds amused and she can hear him flop onto his bed. 

"I'll keep it down if you will!" She calls back, leaning against the door, which groans.

Running her hands down her face, Clarke mouths, "Oh my god," to herself and groans.

"What did you do, Clarke?" She whispers to herself again. "What did you do, what did you do?"

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO

The first few days of Clarke’s job were as uneventful as one could hope for. She would never say out loud that she took a position at an art supply store solely for the discount on materials, but she absolutely did just that, and at the end of the week bought enough supplies to drain her first paycheck. It didn’t bother her that much – she didn’t have many to choose from because her family never saw art as anything more than a hobby, so she had nothing more than a few sketchbooks and a couple pencils she sneaked to purchase from time to time. Now? Now the front seat of Rover is filled with bags of paints, canvases, brushes, and sealants. She can’t help but feel a little giddy over the thought of what she could do with everything, ignoring any sort of gnawing apprehension that may curl in her chest.

When she’s in her painting clothes with a brush in hand, Clarke leans closer to the wall to make the first stroke at the exact moment someone raps on her door. She nearly swipes an entire line of vibrant blue across the wall. Before she can even answer, she hears the door open behind her. Murphy leans against the frame, his eyes twinkling with mischief but an underlying tone of curiosity. “Whatcha doing?”

Clarke looks down at her paint-covered overalls, the brush in her hand, and the opened bottles of paint at her side. “Rocket science.”

“Cute.” Murphy scowls, stepping into her room.

She considers telling him she never invited him in, but he’s always seemed harmless enough, so she merely turns back to face the wall. “So what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Everyone’s at work and I’m bored.” Murphy states, flopping onto her bed. “Entertain me.”

“You are not a Roman emperor, so I recommend not making demands like that.” Clarke says absently, brushing a few lines onto the wall. “It’s much creepier coming from you.”

“As opposed to a tyrant who demands people die for his entertainment? I think not.” Murphy stands and browses through some of her stuff. If she had more things for him to browse through, she might be worried. But as with her entire trip from New York, there was really nothing he could find that would be incriminating, so she continues to work. “Where’s your music? It’s like a hospital room in here.”

“I don’t have a ton of music.” Clarke answer, her hands gracefully curving to make the perfect stroke up the wall: thick at the bottom, gradually growing thinner until it makes a point. “I like listening to soundtrack music when I work though. You can put some of that on.”

“If I wanted to listen to Hans Zimmer, I would hit myself in the head.” Murphy groans. “Wait here, I’m going to get something.”

“Oh no, I would’ve gotten away.” Clarke states distantly, too focused on what she’s doing to really give what Murphy too much thought. She hears him reenter the room, shuffle around behind her, and mutter to himself.

She’s too focus with what she’s doing to say anything before it happens. Music bursts through the speakers he’s brought in, causing her to jump and splatter her face with a deep green, the brush clattering to the floor where she luckily laid a sheet down earlier. Heavy bass echoes in her room and she whirls around to face Murphy, who’s grinning broadly.

“Much better, right?” Murphy says, pointing to the set of iPod speakers he’s set up at her desk. “Now tell me that you don’t want to rage!”

“Do I look like a person who rages often?” Clarke cries, incredulously.

“No,” Murphy states quickly. “But you look like someone who wants to.” He walks over to where she is and taps against her collarbone. “Feel that? Bom, boom boom. That goes straight to the bones.”

“If you’re trying to grab my breast, I will break your fingers.”

Murphy releases his hand slowly with a look, and rolls his eyes. “Please. You need to stop pretending you’re not into this, it’s getting embarrassing for you.”

Clarke can’t figure out why, but a smile stretches across her face, which is soon mirrored on Murphy’s. She isn’t sure why, but she feels settled amongst his deep orange, pushing out colors of her blue as they stand close. While his eyes are mischievous, they hold something more behind them. Something deeper and painful, but soft. Something she sees when she stares in the mirror, unable to handle the world outside.

“Whatever,” Clarke says after a moment. “It’s fine.”

“‘Whatever?’” Murphy repeats. “‘Whatever?’ You are the worst, I’m calling it now.”

Despite his grumbling, Murphy stays in her room as she paints, flipping through some of her stuff. He occasionally makes fun or says something wildly inappropriate, but Clarke doesn’t mind. Murphy seems perfectly content carrying the weight of the conversation and indifferent to that fact that she’s barely responding.

“Are you excited for the party coming up?” Murphy asks, shuffling through one of her unopened boxes. “A lot more of this going on. You better not wear overalls.”

Clarke chuckles. “Is it a requirement to go if you live here?”

“Of course!” Murphy exclaims. “And we are well known for our parties. No one parties hard like the delinquents in the Ark.”

“Delinquents?”

“That’s what the local cops affectionately call us.”

“Oh god, I’m going to be thrown in jail, aren’t I?” Clarke sighs.

“Signs point to yes.” Murphy smirks, just to be an asshole.

Clarke’s phone buzzes on her nightstand and before she can even think about it, Murphy reaches over and picks it up. “Clarke Griffin’s phone, resident musical uncultured swine.”

Clarke turns, panicked, putting her hands up.

Murphy doesn’t see her, but his brow furrows. “Uh, yeah, she’s here. Let me—” He lifts his head and sees her wildly waving her hands. “Um, just kidding. She stepped out. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell her to call you back. Thanks.”

Clarke closes her eyes when he hangs up the phone. Even though her hands are covered in different colors, she runs them down her hair, grimacing, waiting for Murphy to say something. He places the phone back on the nightstand, gaping at her.

After a few beats, he shouts, “You’re supposed to be at Harvard Medical School?!”

Clarke lowers her hands, defeated. Three days. That’s all it took. Three days. “Yes.” She groans, moving away from the wet paint on the wall.

“You work in retail at an art supply store.” Murphy states, the surprise and complete incredulity not leaving his face. “When you could be going to the best medical school in the country. And you live in this piece of shit community house when you could be living in the upper east side. What the fuck is your deal?”

She can’t help it. The melancholy blue hits her all at once and she knows tears are welling in her eyes. Clarke does her best to stop them, but she can’t. Clenching her fists, Clarke trembles, but to no avail. A sob escapes her lips and she vaguely hears Murphy say, “Oh god. This was a mistake. Everything that just happened was a mistake. I want to go back in time and never answer your phone and avoid everything that’s happening.”

Sliding down the brick wall of her room, Clarke hangs her head. “I can’t go back there. Not anymore.”

Murphy frowns. “Your parents kick you out?”

Clarke shakes her head. “No,” she says, the word small. “But I can’t go back and face… no.” She snaps, her voice hard. “I can’t do it.”

Murphy frowns. “You know how many people would kill to have the opportunity – and privilege – that you have to even go to a school like Harvard Med? And you’re just throwing it away?”

“I’m not throwing it away!” Clarke shouts, surprised by her own volume.

Clarke laces and unlaces her fingers, rubbing the paint into her skin and up her arms. “Have you ever…” Clarke bites her lip. “Have you ever had something happen that fundamentally changes who you are? Like, you thought you were this person – this person who made their parents proud, who worked hard, who cared – and then something happens and everything changes. It feels like everything you were isn’t true and you’re just falling. Have you ever been changed by the people…” She winces.

“The people who were supposed to keep you safe.” Murphy finishes for her, joining her on the ground. “Yeah.”

Clarke bows her head and tries to stop crying, grateful Murphy allowing her this moment. She scrubs under her eyes with her wrist, but can feel speckles of wet paint streaking across her cheeks. “I couldn’t do it. After… what happened.”

Murphy’s quiet for a second. Then, he bounds to his feet. “I won’t make you talk about it because when I think about talking about my garbage, I get the urge to shove that paintbrush into my eye.”

“I didn’t even go to medical school and I can tell you that’s not a great idea.”

Murphy barks a laugh. “Dark sense of humor – I like it! I thought we’d get along.” He offers a hand. “Whenever I get angry and want to completely destroy someone—”

“Sounds like an anger management problem.”

“—there’s only one thing that always makes me feel better.” Murphy helps Clarke to her feet, then rushes over to where his iPod is. “Impromptu dance party.”

Clarke frowns. “You don’t look like the impromptu dance party type.”

“And you don’t look like someone who runs away from their problems.”

“Um, that’s exactly the type of person I am.” Clarke says, unable to stop herself.

Murphy gives her a pointed look. “And I like to jump around when I’m angry. Let’s do this.” He presses play and cranks the volume, the bass reverberating against her walls. Clarke can feel it in every part of herself, the vibrations radiating off her skin. “Jump around, you idiot!” Murphy shouts, jumping loud enough to compete with the bass.

“Stop calling me an idiot!” Clarke exclaims, half-heartedly moving.

“Then stop acting like one!” Murphy shouts, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her until she can barely see straight. “Jump up and down or I will tackle you!”

“Oh my god!” Clarke exclaims. She starts to jump, feeling exactly as ridiculous as she expected.

Except what she didn’t expect is how it starts to work. As Clarke joins Murphy moving around the room like a complete fool, she feels the tension in her stomach begin to unclench. She starts forgetting about the anxiety she associates with the phone calls from school, and she’s able to push out what happened briefly enough to laugh.

There’s a loud pounding against her shared wall with Bellamy, which Clarke barely registers because it isn’t loud enough to complete. Then, there’s a slam and the door swings open, hitting the chain. “What the fuck is going on in there?” Bellamy’s angry voice growls from the other side of the door.

“Dude, you installed a chain to keep him out of your room?” Murphy howls with laughter. “That is literally the best thing I have heard in months.”

Clarke continues to jump because it feels good and she’s grown to realize ignoring Bellamy is probably the best route. What she doesn’t expect is for Bellamy to leave his room and swing open the door to her unlocked bedroom and gape when he catches the sight of Clarke and Murphy jumping around.

“What the fuck am I looking at?”

“Friendship, you jackass!” Murphy shouts over the music, not even giving Bellamy the courtesy of not jumping. “I understand why you don’t recognize it!”

Bellamy growls, crossing his arms. “Either turn this off, or I will.”

“Good god, you are no fun ever since you were dumped.” Murphy grumbles, pressing play on the music.

The bass rings in Clarke’s ears and she blinks a few times, trying to recalibrate back to normal. Shaking her head, she starts to hear normally again.

“What do you have against the majesty of song?” Murphy exclaims.

“I don’t know what that was, but it definitively wasn’t music.” Bellamy snaps. “I’m trying to get some work done, so can you pretend you’re not an asshole?”

“Can’t stop who I really am.” Murphy says, widening his arms. Bellamy doesn’t look impressed. “Fine. I’ve gotta go anyways. Clarke, it’s been real.” He puts of a fist, which she can’t help but fist bump back, and he grins. His grin falters for a second and he says solemnly, “What happens to us doesn’t define who we are, Clarke. Remember that.”

Bellamy blinks, whether surprised by Murphy’s seriousness or his words, she’s unsure. Murphy pushes past him and flips him off, cackling down the hall. When Bellamy turns to face Clarke, she tries not to focus on how uncomfortable she is when he looks at her. “Well,” he coughs. “Keep it down.”

“Nice to see you’ve discovered what a shirt is.”

Bellamy’s mouth twitches and he says, “Nice to see you’re still unilaterally focused on my bare chest.”

Clarke opens her mouth to argue, but he retreats back into his room before she can say anything. Sighing, she returns to her own music, pushing play on the soundtrack playlist she’d been playing before Murphy interrupted her. She moves to close the shared door that Bellamy had left open, but right before she can close it, she hears him say, “Leave it open. I like this score.”

Smiling to herself, Clarke returns to the wall and picks up her paintbrush.

It’s several hours later when Clarke stops, her phone flashing 1:23am when she presses it. “Not again,” she groans to herself, her stomach rumbling when she realizes she hasn’t eaten since getting off shift at four.

Trudging down the stairs of the Ark, she’s greeted to silence. All the bedrooms along the hall are closed and there’s no lights under the doors. She goes into the kitchen, startled when the light is already on and there’s a figure stuck in the corner, surrounded by a multitude of books. “Uh,” she starts intelligently. “What are you doing up?”

Bellamy peers up from behind a pair of glasses, blinking as if he’s just as confused as she is. “I might ask you the same thing.”

Clarke put up her hands, which are completely covered in paint. “I lost track of time.”

Bellamy snorts. “I get that.” He gestures to the papers surrounding him. “I have to have these graded by tomorrow.”

Clarke walks over to the sink to wash her hands. “Are you a teacher?”

“T.A.” He responds. “I’m still in grad school, but I’m T.A.-ing for two classes. It’s making me question ever deciding this was something I wanted to do. People are the worst.”

“And here I thought you loved them with your dazzling personality.” Clarke smiles. “Listen, I forgot to eat dinner and am starving. Do you want any eggs?”

It’s almost rude how surprised Bellamy is when she asks. “You know how to cook?”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, let’s not get too carried away. I asked if you wanted some eggs, not if you wanted me to make you a three course meal.”

Bellamy shrugs. “I’m not used to anyone cooking anything for me, to be honest.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, it’s almost sad, but Clarke decides not to dwell. “Well, prepare yourself for the best eggs known to man. I perfected this recipe in undergrad.” Clarke says, opening the fridge. “And since it’s technically morning, we’ll have ourselves an extremely early breakfast.”

She starts to crack a few eggs, startled when Bellamy is suddenly beside her. “Can I help?”

She recoils slightly by how close he is, like he has no understanding of personal space. “Aren’t you supposed to be grading papers?”

“Yeah, but, it feels weird to have you do this and me not do anything?”

“Oh my god,” Clarke says with a laugh, grabbing his shoulders and turning him back to where all his papers are. “Just accept the fact that I’m being nice.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Then sit in the corner and pout.” She demands, shoving him forward.

“That I can do.”

He says it with a smirk when he does so. Clarke may not be looking at him, but she can feel his gaze on her back as she cooks. Adding a few spices and vegetables here and there, Clarke pretends not to notice. After a minute, Bellamy returns to his papers and Clarke is able to cook in peace. She sprinkles some cheese and slices some oranges on the side, carrying two plates over. Without think about how awkward it may be, Clarke sits across from where Bellamy is, careful to not have her food touch any of the papers, and scoots his plate closer to him.

He glances up. “Wow, thanks.”

Bellamy sounds so sincere, she doesn’t take it personally. Instead, she asks, “What are you teaching?”

“Introduction to Greek Mythology.”

“Let me guess, you’re a big fan of Narcissus.” Clarke says cheekily, taking a bite of egg.

Bellamy drops his fork and fixes her with an angry look. “Cute.”

She merely smiles to herself. Then a thought occurs to her. “Was this what you were doing when Murphy started blasting music?”

He nods absently as he scratches something onto the paper he’s focused on.

“Why didn’t you just say something?” Clarke asks. “I never would’ve let him if I’d known you were working.”

“Let him?” Bellamy snorts. “Proves how little you know our friend Murphy. And the fact that he did that is proof that he knew I was working next door.”

Clarke is taken aback. “What?”

“You’ll get to know his quirks. Murphy likes to stir up trouble. He finds it entertaining.”

Clarke isn’t sure whether to be annoyed or grateful by Murphy’s choice, but finds herself smiling. “Well, it’s good to know that there’s a god of chaos in our midst.”

Bellamy groans and sets down his pen. “Oh god, please don’t ever tell him that. Anything with the word ‘god.’ That’ll make him completely insufferable.”

“Why do I feel like you think everyone is insufferable?”

“Because everyone is.”

Then Clarke laughs. Really laughs. She can’t help it. Bellamy’s focus is torn from his work and he gapes at her, as if he is startled she even knew how to make that noise.

“What’s so funny?” He asks when she finally quiets down.

“Everything about you is so predictable!” Clarke exclaims, bursting into a fit of giggles again. She’s never been one for giggling – particularly in the past few months – but her emotions are scatters all over the place, she laughs colors of light pink and lavender, soft blues and yellows. It’s beautiful and overwhelming.

Bellamy clearly isn’t sure if he should be offended or not. “Predictable?”

She nods, unable to continue.

He chuckles to myself. “I’d like to think I can surprise you.”

Clarke settles. “Okay then. Surprise me.”

Bellamy ponders that for a moment. With a thoughtful look, he leans across the table so that their faces are close. Clarke tries to keep her expression neutral but her heart is betraying any calm that she once thought she may have. In a low whisper, he states, “I know how to sew.”

Shoving him roughly back in his seat, she exclaims, “Do you even have a general concept of personal space?” And he’s the one laughing at her this time.

“Eh, it never really bothered me.”

“Shocking.”

“Why, you getting flustered, Princess?”

Clarke takes a bite of eggs in response.

The two sit in a comfortable silence for a bit, Bellamy occasionally scribbling in the margins of whatever paper he’s working on. Then his pen pauses. “I am.” He says lowly so that Clarke almost thinks she makes it up.

“What?”

“Sorry. About when you moved in. You startled me, that’s all.”

Clarke chuckles. “Yeah, well,” she says, playing with the remainder of her eggs. “I’ve been startling me too lately.”

Bellamy gazes at her, his eyes intense in a way that makes her more uncomfortable than any physical closeness ever could. “Fresh starts are good.” He finally says, not tearing his gaze away.

Startled, Clarke opens her mouth to argue, then stops. “Yeah?” She asks hopefully.

Bellamy nods. “Take it from someone whose had his fair share of fresh starts. Sometimes it’s all you need.”

Clarke finishes her meal without responding. Standing to wash her dishes, she can’t help but hesitate before leaving the kitchen. She turns her head and says quickly, “Goodnight Bellamy.”

He peers up from where he’s focusing and gives her a small smile. “Goodnight Clarke.”

***

Clarke’s shift isn’t going great, to say the least.

Three people have already yelled at her for the store not having something in stock, a small child actually threw and entire set of expensive oil paints on the floor that broke and spilled everywhere, and somehow the till she received from a coworker that rushed off shift was fourteen dollars short that her supervisor threatened to take from her paycheck. Honestly, the only thing Clarke wanted to do was go home, possibly pour herself a glass of wine, and definitely cry.

Except when she starts to take off her work apron and sprint out the door, her supervisor stops her. “Clarke, I need a big favor.”

It’s odd since only twenty minutes ago she was berating her in front of customers, so Clarke hesitates even though every ounce of her self-preservation is telling her to run away. “Katie isn’t here and her painting class starts in five minutes.”

Clarke opens her mouth to protest, but her shift supervisor plows on. “I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t desperate.”

“But I wouldn’t even know how teach a class. I don’t know—”

“I’ve seen you buy all those painting supplies.”

“Yeah, for my own personal work.” Clarke insists. “I’ve never been formally trained. I wouldn’t know the first—”

“Clarke, listen. These are kids from the foster center. I assure you they don’t know the difference. What they do know is that once a week they get to come here and paint. Please don’t make me send them away.”

It’s dirty, threatening her with foster kids. With a sigh, Clarke puts her apron back on and marches over to where they are. They vary in age, all in front of their easels and joking around with each other. There are a few adults standing by the walls on their phones, clearly relieved to have a break. It’s intimidating, walking up to a bunch of kids with no preparation.

Clearing her throat, Clarke barely gets two kids’ attention. “Hey!” She exclaims and everyone looks up from their canvases. “Hi,” she coughs in a more normal tone. “My name’s Clarke and I’m filling in for Katie today. Now, since I’m a substitute and I’m not sure where you and Katie left off, we’re going to be doing something different today. We’re going to be talking about color.”

A few kids aren’t paying attention, but she tells herself not to be discouraged. “The color spectrum is a vast collection – there are even colors we can’t see. But we can use colors to create feelings and make those who are looking at our pieces feel. Do you all have favorite colors?” Some half-hearted nods and shouts emit from the group. “Okay. I want you to create a painting from that color, but add some complementary colors in order to pop a key item. You can paint whatever you want, but you have to focus on the color composition.”

A small boy raises his hand. “So we don’t have to paint flowers and boats today?”

Clarke blinks. “Um… no? You can paint whatever you want. But I want one color to be dominant.”

A few of the kids smile at that, high-fiving each other as they pick up their brushes. As the kids get to work, Clarke starts to move around the space and talk to them about complimentary colors, varying palettes, and how they can use color to evoke emotion. “Like blue?” A young girl asks. “Blue is when you’re sad.”

Clarke freezes. She tries not to think about it, but answers as carefully as possible. “Sometimes, yes.” Clarke says. “Sometimes blue can be sad. But other times, blue can be joyful. Think of the ocean. The Puget Sound, which is only a few miles away from here. You know the feeling when you’re looking at the blue water and then suddenly the sun reflects off of it, and it’s beautiful? All the sadness goes away and you’re left with something breathtaking.”

A girl raises her hand, who had been quietly painting in the corner. She’s thin and pale, her hair braided out of her face. “So you’re saying blue and yellow go together?”

Clarke’s face blushes and she can’t pinpoint the reason why, shaking her head at her own silliness. “In some cases, yes.”

The girl frowns. “Because it’s turning green over here.”

Clarke moves towards where the girl is, looking at the piece she’s painting. She can see distinct trees except they’re doused in blue. It drips down the canvas like tears. “I wanted something other than blue, to make it feel less sad. Less…”

“Melancholy.” Clarke says to herself.

“I thought yellow might be nice. But it’s all mixing.”

Clarke smiles at her. “What’s your name?”

“Madi.”

“Well, Madi, here’s how I can help you. You see how your paints are pooling, even in the trays? That’s because there’s too much water, so it’s running down. If you add a bit more paint and only use water if you want a more translucent look, you should be able to use both. Just put your strokes here,” Clarke points to an edge of the canvas. “And slide it down. If you add another color to your blue to make it darker, you’ll have deeper shadows. It’ll feel like they’re actually on the ground.”

Clarke helps Madi with pieces of her painting, occasionally going around to the rest of the students, but they don’t seem nearly as interested. She asks Clarke thoughtful questions and by the end of the class, the result is something haunting and beautiful. Madi peers up at Clarke as if to look for approval, Clarke beaming. “Madi, this is really amazing. You’re a natural.”

Madi bows her head to hide her pleased smile.

“Do you mind if I ask why you painted a forest?”

Madi smile falters and she bites her lip. Clarke instantly regrets asking the question, but before she can backtrack, Madi responds, “My parents loved camping. There was this place in the mountains they always took me. There was a valley next to a lake and we’d spend our summers hiking the area.”

“It sounds amazing.”

“It was.” Madi says, her eyes watering. “I wish I could go back.”

Clarke places her hand on Madi’s shoulder and leans down so they’re eye level. “You will.” She says confidently. “The people who leave us never really leave us.”

Madi’s eyes widen and there’s a moment of understanding. Madi reaches out and grips Clarke’s wrist and Clarke places her own hand on top of it with a hollow smile. She nods.

“Alright everyone, pack up!”

Clarke flinches at the sound and looks up to where all the kids are packing their backpacks. “May we meet again, Madi.” She says with a grin.

Madi laughs and pulls her backpack. “I hope you’re here next week too, Clarke. You’re way better than Katie. She just sits there and tells us to paint whatever picture she printed out.” She goes to grab her painting, then pauses. “Do you want this? It’ll just get ripped at the center.”

“Really?” Clarke asks. “Are you sure?”

“Yup!” Madi says cheerily, shouldering her backpack.

“Thank you. I know exactly where I’ll hang it too.”

That gets a wide smile from Madi. “Bye Clarke!”

The others say goodbye, holding their canvases and bolting out the door. The guardians even wave at her, one smiling at Madi as she casts one last look over her shoulder. Clarke waves slightly, the tire from her bones hours before slowly filtering out of her body. “She doesn’t talk much, that one.” One of the guardians says before she leaves. “She must’ve really enjoyed the class.”

“I hope so.”

With a wave to her supervisor and a bottle of wine calling her name, Clarke leaves the art store with Madi’s canvas in hand. As she’s about to go to the employee parking lot, she sees a figure passing across the street, the familiar shade of bright yellow nearly blinding. Clarke pointedly doesn’t look at the painting in her hand, considering ignoring the fact that Bellamy’s only yards away. Sighing, she crosses the street to where he is, shaking his curls in the Seattle mist.

“—no, I’m not be crazy, you’re being crazy!” Bellamy’s saying sharply. “Oh my god, I’m not arguing this with you, absolutely not! O, O listen to yourself! O—”

He takes the phone away from his face and gapes at it. “She just hung up on me.” He breathes. “She hung up on me?”

Clarke realizes once he catches sight of her that this was an awful mistake. “Clarke?” He asks.

“Uh, hey.” She responds, albeit a bit awkwardly. “I saw you across the street and now I’m realizing a made a mistake.”

“What?” Bellamy asks.

It’s bizarre seeing Bellamy without his cloud of bravado. Clarke feels very uncomfortable, pointing at the art store. “I work over there.” She tries to explain without making it worse. “I saw you and thought I would say hi, but now I realize that was a bad idea.”

Bellamy frowns. “Why would that be a bad idea?”

“Because you’re clearly in the middle of something and upset and I’m just going to go. See you are home?” Clarke rushes to finish and turn around, but Bellamy catches her arm.

“How badly do you need a drink?”

“Desperately.” Clarke admits.

“I figured. Did you know you have paint on your face?”

She shrugs. “I always figure I have paint on my face. It’s my natural state of being.”

“I’m beginning to realize.” Bellamy laughs. “There’s a bar that’s pretty good nearby. First round’s on me.”

They make their way through the misty weather, Clarke doing her best to shield Madi’s painting from the rain. “Something you made?” Bellamy asks, nodding at the painting.

Clarke shakes her head. “They asked me to teach a painting class for kids today. One of them gave me what they did.”

“That’s cool.” Bellamy says. “Sometimes I wish I would’ve chosen to be a junior high teacher instead of college. Early twenty somethings are the worst.”

“I’m an early twenty something.”

“I rest my case.”

“You’re an early twenty something.”

“And I’m pretty sure everyone we live with has said to you that I’m the worst.”

Clarke snorts. “So what was that call all about?”

“What, you have a monopoly on weird phone calls?” Bellamy jokes, showing the bartender his ID once their inside.

The bar is nothing special on the outside – the only indication that it’s a bar a lopsided sign out front that says ‘Drinks.’ Once they’re in, it’s inviting and warm, littered with pool tables and darts and tables strewn haphazardly around.

“Whiskey, neat.” Bellamy orders.

“I’ll do the same.” Clarke says. Bellamy lifts an eyebrow at her and she shrugs. “It’s been a really long day.”

After settling, Bellamy runs his hands around his glass. “That was my younger sister.” He starts with a sigh. “Never met a guy she didn’t like.”

Clarke snorts. “How old is she?”

“Probably around your age, actually. But maturity-wise? Around twelve.”

“Same with you. Maybe it’s a Blake thing.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks Griffin. Glad to have made such a good impression.” Now it’s Clarke’s turn to give him a look. “Yeah, alright. Anyways, she wants to move in with this guy she’s only known for three months. And they’ve only been dating for one.”

Clarke makes a face into her drink. “Yikes, that’s a bit fast. Well,” Clarke thinks for a second.

“Don’t you dare defend her.”

Clarke shrugs. “I’ve never been the fastest to act on my feelings. Some people are just fearless.”

“Some people are just stupid.” Bellamy grumbles, taking a sip of his drink.

“Everyone’s stupid, Bellamy.” Clarke chuckles. “Some people are just better at hiding it.”

“You don’t know O like I do, Clarke.”

“True, seeing as I’ve never met her and she’s your sister.”

“Okay, enough sass. She does this. She leaps into a relationship and everything’s great and wonderful, then the guy dumps her or bails, or even straight up moves to a different state and I have to help her find a new place and work through it. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister and will always help her, but how do you stop someone from making the same mistake over and over again.”

“You can’t.” Clarke says softly. He startles, clearly not expecting that answer. “The person has to decide that they want something different, you can’t make them.”

He taps his fingers against his chin. “Maybe I could convince her to come to the Ark.”

“Okay, drink your whiskey. You need to let go.”

Bellamy growls, but he brings his drink up to his mouth and puts the whole thing back. “Half my students also failed their quiz today. I can’t decide if they’re idiots, or if I suck at this.”

Clarke considers shooting off a sassy remark, but he’s so distraught that she can’t bring herself to do it. “I’m certain it’s them. It’ll be alright, Bellamy. Even if you’re rusty at it, you’ll figure it out. New things are always hard, but once you adjust, it’ll get better.”

He ducks his head when he smiles. “Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Clarke wonders when she got so transparent. “Yeah,” she admits.

“True yet?”

Clarke thinks about it. “Um, no. But I can see it getting better. So that has to count for something, right?”

“Right.”

He excuses himself to get another drink, Clarke carefully sipping hers.

In fact, she hadn’t thought much about New York the entire day. She no longer feels the tears close to her when she wakes. Sometimes at night, it wraps around her throat. Or when she’s in the middle of a shift, it steals her breath.

But it’s… less.

“This is something I never thought I’d see.”

Clarke flinches when Raven and Finn show up, Raven gaping at Bellamy returning to the table. “From screaming matches to drinks in under two weeks? Miracles do happen.”

“I was having such a good day until you showed up, Reyes.” Bellamy sighs, sitting back down.

“Except I can tell by the way your jaw is twitching that you’re lying and I’m clearly making your shitty day better. Finn, do you want to grabs some drinks?” Raven asks and barrels into the side of the booth with Bellamy. Bellamy grunts at the contact but Clarke can see the fondness there as she does so. “How’d you convince him to have drinks with you?”

“I awkwardly approached him in the rain.” Clarke says honestly. “It was something straight out of a John Hughes movie.”

Raven grins. “Complete with boombox?”

“Obviously, it was what finally convinced him.”

“I don’t think I’m going to enjoy your friendship.” Bellamy says from the corner where Raven’s crushing him.

Raven scoffs. “Female friendships aren’t for you to enjoy, they’re for us to enjoy. Read a book, nerd.”

“That doesn’t even make sense—”

“I have no patience for this.” Raven smiles when Finn returns. “As the only woman in the Nasa internship program, I have to defend myself all day. It’s exhausting.”

“I wasn’t saying—”

“You dug yourself a hole, Bellamy. Reap what you sew, Blake.”

Clarke isn’t even sure what’s going on at this point.

“Someone implied Raven didn’t know what she was doing today.” Finn offers.

“Like I could ever not know what I’m doing!”

“Don’t worry, Raven. Like Bellamy, I’m sure they’re simply intimidated at how awesome you are.” Clarke says with a grin, to which Bellamy sighs.

“I didn’t mean it like that and you both know it—”

“You’re right, Clarke.” Raven laughs. “I’m the actual best.”

Bellamy lays his head on the table. “I wonder how I should use my invisibility.”

“Oh come on, Bellamy, you know we kid.” Raven says, leaping onto him and wrapping her arms around her.

Finn scoots closer to her and Clarke moves towards the wall, thinking he’s falling off the booth, but he continues to move. Clarke throws Raven an odd look, but she’s currently harassing Bellamy. “You look nice today.” He says with a charming smile.

Clarke tries to return it, but there’s something not quite comfortable with the way he’s looking at her with his girlfriend across the table. She catches the way his gaze lingers at her chest and she snatches her whiskey in order to block him with her arm. “Thank you? I just got off work and am covered in paint.”

“You still look nice.”

“Okay, get off me, woman!” Bellamy exclaims and Raven finally lets him go, straightening herself.

“He loves me.” Raven takes a swig of her drink. “So Clarke, liking your new room? Do you think you’ll last longer than the last one?”

Clarke catches Bellamy’s eye and surprised to what she finds there.

He’s pretending not to be, but he’s clearly listening with earnest. His eyes are focused on her and he fiddles with the glass in his hands.

“Yeah,” Clarke answers with a smile. “I think I just might.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3

The day starts with an alarm that refuses to go off.

Clarke hits her phone, but realizes it’s not going off. She smacks it again, but the noise doesn’t stop. Finally, she opens her eyes so she can see the ungodly time of 5:36 flashing before her eyes and she groans. The alarm continues to buzz again and again and Clarke rolls over and forces herself out of bed.

It isn’t until she’s dazedly stumbling toward the wall that she realizes that it isn’t her alarm, it’s Bellamy’s. She fell asleep while painting, Bellamy insisting she keep their door cracked open so he can listen while he worked. But now she sees the issue with it: Bellamy’s alarm.

Stumbling into his room, Clarke hesitates. Bellamy’s strewn across his bed, his face shoved against his pillow. A gentle snore is barely heard over the shrieking alarm. Clarke contemplates letting him sleep and shutting off his alarm, but vaguely recalls him mentioning an early morning.

Clarke pokes his shoulder. “Bellamy,” she groans. She pushes his shoulder. She shoves him again and again, Bellamy groaning. “Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy,”

“What the fuck do you want?” He mumbles into his pillow, his curls covering his face and his nose squished.

“I want your fucking alarm to be off and you to be awake.” Clarke groans, continuing to poke him because there isn’t anything she can physically do. So she keep shoving his arm again and again, thinking about how cozy his bed looks.

“What are you talking about?” Bellamy drawls, his head lolling. “What – alarm!”

Bellamy shoots up from his bed and leaps to his feet.

"Yeah, that alarm." Clarke grumbles, flopping onto his newly vacated bed. She can't help it - her brain isn't working, it's now empty, and it takes a long time to walk back to her room. So she stays there, flopped on his bed while he hurries around her, trying to get ready as quickly as possible.

Muttering under his breath, Clarke listens as Bellamy panics, but it's more comforting than anything. She finds herself being lulled into a deep sleep by it, grateful for the constant noise in the background. The world had been so quiet since three months ago and it was like she wasn't sure how to allow noise back into her world. Now with the Ark, it's crashing on her at all times and, while overwhelming, it seems to even her out. Just a few weeks ago, she would never have been able to fall back into a slumber after waking up, but she does and it's a wonderfully dreamless sleep.

When she wakes back up, Clarke is incredibly disoriented. She can hear her own alarm blaring, but it's at a distance, which she doesn't understand. Lifting her head, she realizes she's in a room that she doesn't recognize. Except she does. She shakes her head and realizes she's clutching Bellamy's blanket. And pillow. And is sprawled across his bed. "What the hell," she breathes and turns her head to see a piece of paper on the pillow next to her. Flipping it open, she reads:

Clarke,

My alarm is a dick and apparently so am I. I owe you coffee. 

Not an apology.

- Bellamy

Of course no apology. Clarke rubs her eyes, untangles herself from his sheets and makes her way back into her own room to shut off her alarm. She doesn't think much of it; she leaves the door open between the two while she gets ready for the day, forgetting to close it when she leaves for work. She thinks of how easy she slept for the first time in weeks, as if there was a small space in her life that didn't solely need to be drenched in the melancholy she dressed in. In fact, she couldn't help smiling a bit more at work at the thought. She stocked shelves, helped customers, and all around felt comfortable, until she turned the corner to startle at a set of familiar eyes.

"Madi?" Clarke says, making her way over to the preteen who's rubbing her arms nervously. 

"You remember my name?" Madi asks, her face lighting up. 

"Of course I do!" Clarke exclaims, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you supposed to be here right now?"

"Yeah!" Madi says quickly. "Well, not here specifically. The center is down the street and I thought that if I could climb the fence I could come talk to your boss."

"You came to talk to my boss?" Clarke asks, blinking. "Everything okay?"

Madi shuffles her feet, making a face. For a brief moment, Clarke thinks she's going to say something that may cause her to lose her job, but Madi explodes with, "Katie shouldn't be teaching the class because she doesn't even care. She just stares at her phone and she only gives out compliments to people who know how to copy pictures. I don't want to learn how to draw a flower - there are flowers everywhere! It's a class, she's supposed to be teaching us what to do."

"Um, okay?" Clarke responds, even more confused.

"You should be teaching the class, not her." Madi insists. She looks to the floor. "I was afraid next week Katie would be teaching and I thought if I could speak to your boss, maybe she would let you do it instead."

Clarke knows she shouldn't, but warmth spreads inside her and she can't help but blush. "Listen Madi. I love the fact that you're here and I got to see you. But you should probably not leave the center."

"Kids do it all the time." Madi states matter-of-factly. "And I've never done it. And I figured it won't be so bad breaking the rules if it was for something good."

Placing her hand on Madi's back, Clarke sighs, "Come on, I'll take you back."

They pass her shift supervisor and Clarke says, "This is Madi. I'm going to walk her back to the center really quick."

"Clarke should teach the foster class, not Katie!" Madi shouts before Clarke can explain further. "Clarke is way better and I think we should have her from now on."

Clarke's shift supervisor's eyes widen and she mutters, "That was a lot of information in a really short amount of time."

Clarke chuckles. "I'll be right back."

"Sure."

Clarke leads Madi out of the art supply store, much to Madi's dismay. "You didn't let her respond! I was going to stay until she said yes!"

"Madi, I don't get a say in that kind of stuff, but, now that I know that you are going to be there once a week, even if I don't get scheduled, I'll come and say hello. I'll help you out where I can."

Madi's eyes narrow suspiciously, as if she doesn't believe her. The more Clarke thinks about it, the more it makes sense. There's no reason the girl who has no one else in the world should trust her. But for some reason, that makes Clarke connect with the child even more.

They're both alone.

"We'll see." Madi settles on, crossing her arm as they walk down the street.

"You know, I'm new here too." Clarke says absently, trying not to be too obvious that she's trying to encourage her trust. "I moved here without knowing anyone."

"Don't you have family?" Madi asks.

Clarke thinks about this.

She'd spent so much effort trying not to think of her family. It's the first time she's intentionally thought about them since her impromptu road trip, and finds her melancholy coming back. Madi seems to sense this, because she opens her mouth to take it back, but for some reason, Clarke feels like she would understand. "I don't know." She answers truthfully.

Madi frowns. "How can you not know?" 

Clarke sighs. "I... it's a long story."

Madi bites her lip. "Are your parents alive?"

Clarke's eyes water. She doesn't want to cry in front of a preteen, but she finds herself scrubbing under her eyes. "One." 

Madi looks at her with an understanding far beyond her years. But maybe that's what happens in the foster system. Childhood is stolen by circumstance. 

They reach the center where the wall looms over them, Madi turns to Clarke. "Please let me sneak back in, I'll be in so much trouble if they find out I snuck out."

"Madi," Clarke groans.

"Please? They may not let me come next time."

Clarke makes a face. She shouldn't be condoning this, but she can’t bring herself to say anything against the girl. “Fine, but please get permission next time.”

“Of course!” Madi says cheerily, and Clarke could not believe her less. With a quick wave, Madi darts to the side of the wall of the foster center and disappears among the trees. Sighing, Clarke can really do nothing else but return to work, a suspicion being that it’s not the last time Madi will sneak out.

However, when she returns to the supply store, her supervisor pulls her aside. “Clarke, I did want to talk to you about the classes.”

Clarke’s eyes widen. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea she was going to come here and ask me to replace Katie. I don’t want to—”

Her supervisor puts her hand up. “She’s not the only one who spoke to me about your lesson. The Center’s guardians called – they said that not only did a truly difficult kid thoroughly enjoy herself, who I assume was the one who snuck out to see you, but that all the kids had less anxious energy since you let them do what they want. That they were less restless and hyper. They requested you continue the lessons moving forward as well.”

“They did?” Clarke asks, genuinely surprised. She thought she’d been pulling teeth for them to pay attention.

“I suppose so. I’d like you to take over the class.”

Clarke winces. “I don’t want to—”

Her supervisor cuts her off. “I spoke to Katie about it and she was relieved. She didn’t care for that particular class and she is totally fine if you take it over.”

Smiling, Clarke asks, “Really?”

“Is that something you’re interested in?”

“Y-Yeah, of course.” Clarke says. “I’m just surprised.”

“You’re a bright kid, Clarke.” The woman rustles behind the register and hands her a flyer. “There’s a gallery down the road that’s looking for an intern and came in here, asking if I knew anyone would be able to help out. It’s a few hours a week, it’d mainly be supply runs and helping set up openings, but you’d get to learn how a gallery runs and how to interact with the art world. I think you should apply.”

Clarke gingerly takes the flyer. “What? I-I don’t think I’m qualified. I’m not formally trained—”

“Clarke, you don’t need to be formally trained to be an artist. You need passion and a unique eye. I think you have both. Now, I’m not going to tell you what to do, but if you put me down as a recommendation, I think it’ll go a long way. The gallery owner’s name is Roan, and if you call, just tell him Julie sent you.”

Focused on the flyer, Clarke barely is able to register any of that information. Julie smiles. “Think about it. If this is something you’re serious about, it’s a great opportunity.”

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes, unable to squash the excitement that curls in her stomach. “I think I might.”

“Might what?”

Startled by the noise behind her, Clarke whirls around to see Raven approaching her, her gait slightly off as she strides over to her. “Raven?”

“As you live and breathe.” Raven laughs, her arms outstretched. “You mentioned you got off at three today.”

Clarke looks at the clock, surprised when she sees it’s past the hour. Julie waves her hand, clearly done with this conversation, and Clarke pulls her apron off. “Is there a reason you’re blessing me with your presence?”

“Well, I’m just a very giving person and any time with me is a gift.” Raven states, flipping her hair. “But specifically, Bellamy asked if I would get you a coffee, because of something about a satanic alarm clock and two glasses of wine the night before?”

Clarke can’t help herself – she laughs, rolling her eyes. “He couldn’t come and apologize himself?”

“You know Bellamy. Never met an apology he would deign to say.” Raven sighs. “I also think he secretly is afraid that he’s scared you off and so he doesn’t want the fact that you have to wake him up with a pair of cymbals drive you away.”

Clarke folds her apron and puts it away. “Does he genuinely believe that I will stay after the sex incident, but I’ll be driven off with something as stupid as an alarm?”

“Don’t ask me how his brain works, modern medicine would never be able to explain it.” Raven says. “But, he did give me twenty dollars because he has to work late at the university and I say we go get some coffee, maybe even a pastry, and tell him we lost the change.”

“I love that plan.” Clarke grins. “And I can never turn down free pastry.”

“Girl after my own heart.”

Raven moves alongside her, but Clarke can't help but notice a slight limp as they make their way along the road. She's never noticed it before - Clarke tells herself that it's because the Ark's dark and that she hasn't gone on a walk with Raven, but chastises herself for genuinely not noticing. Raven catches her staring and before Clarke can utter out a sheepish apology, she says, "Yeah, it's a bitch. I shattered my hip in a car crash a few years ago." Raven sighs. "My relationship with my mom was always... bad. And one night, we got into a really bad fight and I was going to Finn's to stay. I packed up my car, I was leaving." Her head tilts down. "That's when someone ran a red light and t-boned my car. I was in the hospital for over a week."

"Oh my god," Clarke breathes.

She's trying not to show it, but her entire body is trembling. She thinks of lights and glass and crashing and ohmygodblood, and--

"My mom never came to visit." Raven finishes. "I ended up moving in with Finn. He's my family now."

Blinking away tears, Clarke takes the watch on her wrist and rolls it around again and again. The colors are out of control, her own melancholy blue is taking over even Raven's red and everyone else on the street. She wonders if there's a way she can run and freak out somewhere else, but there's no good way to excuse herself and--

"Clarke, are you okay?"

Raven's face swims into view and she realizes the tears are rolling down her cheeks. Scrubbing them away, she shakes her head. "Of course. I'm just so sorry."

"Yeah, that one hundred percent is a lie, so don't even try to fool me." Raven states. 

"It surprised me, that's all." Clarke says, twisting the watch around her wrist. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to overreact."

Raven makes a face, but she doesn't push past that. Instead, she continues and Clarke is grateful Raven is able to see that any further questions would cause her to unravel completely. So as Clarke turns the watch around her wrist, Raven says, "I've been living with Finn since then. We weren't originally from here either, but when I got the internship with NASA, he stayed behind for a while, but the distance was too hard. He offered to move here since there was no way I could move back home, so he's been here for about three months."

Clarke grounds herself in this, feeling the panic slowly subside. "Does he like Seattle?"

Raven's silence is answer enough, but then she says carefully, "It's been a bit of a transition. My internship is really demanding and I think it's hard for him to realize it's not like we're in college anymore and just mess around whenever we like. I have places to be at all times and he has to be alone a lot of the time. I think that it's hard for him to adjust. Plus, he really doesn't like Bellamy. They got into it the first week and Finn can't get over it."

Clarke snorts. "Bellamy? Getting into it with someone who just moved there? I can't even imagine it."

Raven bursts out laughing. "There's a difference though because you yelled right back. Finn is not a confrontational kind of person and Bellamy straight up yelled at him. It didn't end well."

"Did he walk in on him having sex? Bellamy's very sensitive about that."

Snorting, Raven lets out a groan. "Man, I wish. Bellamy overheard an argument we were having about how little free time I had to spend with him and Finn was angry, so he said something like he shouldn't have moved here at all." Clarke can't help but make a face. Raven nods. "Yeah, that's Bellamy's reaction too. Actually, no, that's a lie. His reaction was to yell at him about being supportive to people's goals. It would be sweet if it didn't make Finn hate him and the two nearly insufferable to live with."

Clarke purses her lips. She can't help it, she agrees with Bellamy. Not that she would ever admit it to him, but absolutely. She doesn't want to say anything to Raven because she has a feeling the two can be quite close and doesn't want to kill that before it starts. But the looks Finn has given her from time to time seems to hold more weight now than it ever has. 

"I know that look," Raven says with a sigh, pointing at her face. "He was just angry. He knows how much this internship means to me. It was a rough adjustment in a tough time, that's all. Finn's the only family I have. Family fights sometimes."

Clarke knows that family fights sometimes. She's on the other side of the country because of this. "Well," she says calmly. "It sounds like you have more family that just Finn. Bellamy seems to be on your side. And everyone else in the Ark?"

Raven smiles to herself. "I think you and I both know Bellamy yells at anyone he can, so that's not a particularly good indication that he's on my side. Any reason to start a fight with someone."

"It's not just that, I've seen the way he talks and looks at you. He cares about you a lot."

"That's because, despite his best efforts for the contrary, he's a giant marshmallow. And he's growing attached to the idea of you being a roommate, so make sure you don't leave."

Clarke shakes her head. "What is with this obsession of me leaving?"

Raven places an arm around her shoulder and draws her close. "Listen, one thing you'll learn about Bellamy is that he doesn't trust people easily. And he likes people even less. But if you manage to work your way into his circle, he is the most loyal person you could ever have on your team. He will never stop giving you a hard time - he will never not call you an idiot if he thinks you're being one, but he'll have your back for better or worse."

"Well, I have no intention of leaving anytime soon."

"Good." Raven states. "Because it's not just Bellamy whose grown attached to the thought of you in our lives."

Clarke tries to hide a smile. She thinks of everything that had happened the past few months and everything that brought her here. The watch on her wrist feels heavy, but the rest of her is light enough to float away.

***

By the time Clarke gets home from work the night of the party, it is full swing. She has to push her way to the stairs, hair in disarray from work, paint clinging to her clothes. "Nice to see you've dressed up for the occasion." Someone drawls as she pushes past people.

Clarke turns to face Murphy with drink in hand, who smirks at her. "I had to close tonight and people wouldn't leave the store. What was I supposed to do?"

"Put their heads through a wall."

"It should concern me that your first instinct is extreme violence." Clarke states, crossing her arms.

"It concerns everyone." Murphy retorts. "Seriously, clean yourself up, it's embarrassing."

"As opposed to you being embarrassing at all hours of the day?"

"Stop deflecting, we're talking about you." Murphy laughs, shoving her up the stairs. "And when you're presentable, come meet me in the kitchen. You're about five drinks behind everyone else and Monty and Jasper have the drink to catch you right up."

"Should I be scared?"

"Only if you think not remembering the rest of the night is scary."

"Then I'm scared."

"What a pansy." Murphy says. "Hurry up, you're wasting quality drinking time!"

Clarke laughs as she pushes her way down the hall. Even in undergrad, she didn't go to parties that got this intense so quickly. Her mind was always in one place: medical school. While she occasionally went out, the classes were too rigorous to do it often. Now that she's surrounded by it, she wonders if she missed much. Sneaking into her room, Clarke shuts the door and quickly shimmies out of her work clothes, thanking that she had the forethought to set out an outfit before she left from work. She does the best she can in a few minutes, running a comb through her hair while simultaneously applying mascara as quick as she can without poking herself in the eye.

When she reaches a level of acceptable that she can at least defend herself with if Murphy decides to be an asshole, she leaves her room to the booming music outside the door to find that particular asshole waiting for her with a drink. "I'm here to be your drinking spirit guide, because you have so many problems." Murphy states, extending a hand and giving her a cup. "Come with me on a quest."

Clarke eyes it. "What is in here?"

"Alcohol. Drink it." Murphy leads her through the throng of people. "Monty and Harper have been asking about you because they think that, for some reason, between Bellamy and myself, we've scared you from coming."

"You guys are the least scary people I've ever met. You should stop feeling so highly of yourself."

"Oh, I forgot we have a princess in our midst with such high standards. Can you please let me know when I've reached a level of acceptable for you?"

"Never." Clarke says as seriously as possible.

Murphy eyes her for a moment, clearly unsure of how serious she is. When she grins at him, he lets out a loud huff and throws his arm around her shoulder. "Asshole, coming through! Make way everyone!"

He charges the two of them into the kitchen, where a group of people huddled by a football-sized Gatorade jug start cheering. "Clarke! You made it!"

Clarke's taken aback by Jasper's exuberance, but even more so by a pair of goggles on his head. "What's with the shades?"

"I am a scientist, I need to make sure it's safe!"

"Oh my god, are you planning on lighting anything on fire?" She asks the group and only receives wicked smiles in return. 

Monty shuffles next to her. "Sometimes you just have to light things on fire to see what happens."

Clarke stares. "Fire. Fire happens."

"That's only been the case 100% of the time we've tried, but you never know." Jasper says, waving his hands in the air. 

"Oh my god, I'm going to die." Clarke mutters to herself.

"More than likely." Murphy laughs. He hands her a shot and takes one for herself. "It's easier if you're drunk. You won't be able to feel your soul leave your body."

Clarke pauses. She's surrounded by laughter and smiles and colors she'd purged from herself for months. Murphy keeps his arm around her as if he knows that it's calming her down. The fact that he squeezes her shoulder once with a small smile confirms it and she shakes her head with a laugh. "Ah, what the hell." She says, taking the shot and knocking her glass against his. "Let's do this."

"Fuck yeah, the Princess is partying!" Murphy shouts and even though she knows that no one in the vicinity knows anything they're talking about, they cheer nonetheless.

Clarke can't help but laugh with everyone, Jasper and Monty refilling people's cups. Before she can get another word in edgewise, Murphy shoves his drink in the direction of Raven and Finn and yells, "Reyes! You and Finn versus me and Clarke. Beer pong. It's the greatest way to bond!"

Clarke opens her mouth to object, but Raven beats her to it. "Hell yeah, Murphy. Prepare to be dominated!"

"I can beat you, even with a Princess at my side!" 

"Hey!" Clarke exclaims. She may not want to do this, but she's offended by the implication. In fact, it makes her competitive edge sneak out and she finds herself wishing Murphy was against her so she could beat him out of spite. "You're not supposed to trash talk your own team."

Murphy rolls his eyes. "I trash talk everyone."

"I'm going to kick you in the shins."

"I'd still crush you."

"We're on the same team!"

"I'll crush everyone."

"You make zero sense!"

"Now you're getting it." Murphy laughs. "Let's go destroy the space walkers."

Clarke rolls her eyes, holding her drink close. It may be the shot and it may be the drink in her cup that could peel tar off streets, but she sighs. "Hell yeah."

Murphy beams and drags her over to the table where Raven and Finn are already set up. "Let's crush them." Raven says to Finn, who is eyeing Clarke in a way that she has to ignore. If he's doing this with Raven right next to her, it must be the way he is and she shouldn't worry about it. So she ignores every part of her that is telling her something is out of the ordinary and focuses on the setup in front of her.

Murphy turns to her. "Do you even know how to play beer pong?"

Clarke makes a face. "Are you serious right now?"

"You have a very 'follow the rules' demeanor about you, how should I know?"

Clarke shoves him out of the way, rolling her eyes. "Raven, you and me." She snaps and the game starts.

Once they start playing, Clarke finds it easy to ignore Finn and focus on the fun of it. It turns out that Raven is as fierce of a competitor as her red flame suggests, and she and Murphy have an extraordinary ability to trash talk each other. Clarke, who never really master that art, focuses on winning because she'll be damned if she is the dead weight on the team. Her competitiveness takes over and when she lands the winning shot, Murphy straight up lifts her from the ground, shouting a victory cry as he does so.

"Fuck you, Raven!" He bellows once he lets Clarke go. "Fuck you sideways!"

"You wish, Murphy!" Raven screams back and Murphy sprints toward her, eliciting yelps from everyone in the area.

It's entertaining to watch, but Clarke finds herself alone with Finn afterwards, which she doesn't know what to do about. Just as she's about to excuse herself from the area, Finn approaches her. "Want another drink?"

Clarke looks at the table where everything is nearly emptied. "I think I'm going to sit this one out and regroup after that."

Finn laughs. "Probably for the best."

Looking around for someone else she knows, Clarke comes up empty but doesn't feel like she can leave him by himself without being rude. Which is how she ends up sitting on a small bench, Finn's speech slurring a bit as he clutches his drink. "Seattle is just the worst, you know? It's always grey and it rains. But not really rains, it's like this weird mist crap that is just enough to be annoying, but not enough where you can use actual windshield wipers."

Clarke doesn't think that she really needs to respond or be a part of this conversation because the more he takes drinks out of his cup, the more he barrels into new topics. "It's just been so hard since I moved out here. It's nothing like when we lived together before. She's always busy and sure, I have a job too, but it's not the same. Working thirty hours is not the same as working sixty. And who am I supposed to hang out with in a house filled with people who sided with a psychopath?"

"I'm assuming the psychopath is Bellamy?" Clarke asks, berating herself after for engaging.

"Yeah, but you get it." Finn says. "But for some reason, everyone is so keen to follow him, as if he doesn't yell at everyone on a regular basis."

"Well, actually--"

"And it's not like I'm being unreasonable. You can't be everyone's something and maybe what we had was good then, but it's not good now."

Clarke shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "You know, I'm not really comfortable talking about this--"

"Has anyone told you that you look really beautiful tonight?"

Clarke is taken aback by his words, too startled to respond. She tries to scoot away, but then Finn places his hand on her leg when she's about to. "Things aren't what they used to be." He says again and Clarke's fight or flight response is kicking in. Except she's frozen, his hand on her leg, as he leans closer. "Maybe change can be good, in this instance."

"I need a drink!" Clarke exclaims, shooting straight up from the bench. She sprints upstairs without so much as a glance behind her shoulder, bee-lining it to her room and shoving past as many people as she can.

She reaches the door to her room and swings it open - only to see a couple on her bed on top of each other, very close to having no clothes on. "Oh my god!" She exclaims. "Why does this keep happening to me?"

Without thinking, she unchains the lock on her shared door, and sneaks into Bellamy's room before the couple can even look up from what they were doing.

Once on the other side of the door, Clarke shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. In and out, in and out. The room's quiet and a seeming haven from the party outside, giving Clarke's mind a chance to settle.

"You okay?"

Startling at the noise, Clarke opens her eyes to see Bellamy frowning at his desk, leaned over the back of his chair. She points to her room. "There are people about to have sex on my bed in my room."

Bellamy nods knowingly. "Forgot to lock the door to your room? Rookie mistake. You won't make that next time, I assure you." But when she doesn't respond, he continues, "Everything okay? You look a little pale."

"I need to tell you something." Clarke says, the words pouring out of her before she can stop them. "Not because you specifically need to know, but because I need to tell someone and you are here and sober and a person."

"Wow, sober and a person, that's all your requirements?" Bellamy laughs. "I suggest raising your standards."

"Can you focus, for like two seconds?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe a little, but that is so not the point!" Clarke exclaims. "I need you to focus!"

"I literally have not looked away from your face."

"Good, eyes on me." Clarke snaps her fingers a few times and then sighs. "Maybe I am a little drunk. But I need advice."

"Okay?"

"Finn came onto me."

"What?" Bellamy exclaims, leaping up to his feet and looming over her as if he's trying to intimidate her - which is working. 

"I didn't ask for it!" Clarke cries, surprised by his fury. "It's not like I went up and asked for any of it!"

"I didn't say you did!"

"But you're very angry!"

"This anger is not for you!"

"But it's directed at me!"

"Then it's misplaced!" He huffs. Taking a deep breath and a step back, he says, "Okay, continue."

"Yeah, be all calm now." Clarke mutters. "He's been giving me weird looks since I got here and since no one has said anything, I thought that was just his personality. But he started talking about how Seattle sucks and how everything's different, and maybe he needs a change and then he put his hand on my leg and..." She shudders because everything is messed up and she doesn't want to have to start over from her starting over.

"And what?" Bellamy bellows, his rage coming in at full force again.

"I ran away!" Clarke exclaims.

Bellamy appears taken aback at this. "You... ran away? You just like... ran away?"

"Yes!" Clarke says incredulously. Bellamy tries poorly to hide a smirk, his shoulders shaking as he tries to conceal a laugh. "Why are you laughing, this is not funny!"

"Someone came onto you and you ran away from them. This is hilarious. And it's Finn, who is an asshole, which makes it even more hilarious."

"No it isn't!" Clarke snaps, smacking his shoulder. He simply rolls with it, beaming. It transforms his whole face when he smiles and Clarke really sees the bright yellow pouring off of him in waves. It's almost blinding, the color of it. "What do I do? Do I tell Raven?"

That sobers him up. With a sigh, he says, "Well, yeah. You have to tell her that her boyfriend is an asshole."

"Why don't you tell him that?"

Bellamy snorts. "She'll just think I have it out for him again. I'm not allowed to talk with her about Finn because, apparently, 'I have a grudge.'"

"Yes, I've heard all about how you're Finn's biggest fan."

With a sigh, Bellamy slumps back in his seat, surrounded by papers. Clarke folders a leg under herself as she sits on his bed, finding that she doesn't want to leave the room at all. "Are you working?"

"Yeah, it's been really busy." Bellamy says. "I told you it was near midterms."

"Then why are we having a party?"

"You want to stop the human train that is Jasper and Monty? I dare you to. But if you try, please let me be in the room."

"I suppose that makes sense." Clarke murmurs. She can hear the bass from the party pounding outside the room and she takes comfort that she's away from it. When Bellamy moves back to his papers, Clarke asks, "What if Raven blames me? What if she asks me to move out?"

"First of all, she can't tell you to move. You have a contract with me, not her. And I'm formally saying you are not allowed to be kicked out because her boyfriend is a twat." Bellamy swivels in his chair. "Secondly, it's not your fault. And if she takes her anger out on you instead of Finn, it's because she's not thinking clearly. Just focus on that and wait for it to pass. Raven's smart. Like, an actual genius. Even if it starts rough, she'll know whose to blame eventually."

Clarke groans, flopping on his bed so she's lying on her back. "I just wanted to start over with a clean slate."

Bellamy chuckles. "Not possible. Everything leaves their marks."

Maybe it's because she's tipsy or maybe it's because, somehow, Bellamy's becoming the one person in the world she trusts. Maybe it's a combination of both. Whatever the reason, Clarke wrings the watch around her wrist and says, "I'm supposed to be in medical school right now."

Bellamy doesn't answer. She's looking at his ceiling instead of him and she can tell he's turned to face her. The silence weighs on her and everything piles up. Madi, Finn, and the more than likely stupid decision to drink when she knows her emotions are all over the place. The words spill out of her mouth before she can stop them, "My dad just died."

They hang in their air, Clarke blinking away a few tears as she continues to stare at the ceiling. She hears Bellamy get up from his chair and he sits on the other side of the bed. There's a beat and Clarke feels him take her hand without a word, giving it a slight squeeze.

"I don't want to have to go back home." She whispers.

He doesn't answer with words. But he does answer with holding her hand and sitting there with her, letting the yellow wash over her when surrounded by a sea of blue.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR

This time, the day starts in an unfamiliar room with the sun peeking through the blinds.

Except it's not unfamiliar because she's fallen asleep in this room before. Clarke lifts her head where she's strewn across Bellamy's bed, her legs tangled in his sheets and... with his legs. With a squeak, Clarke pulls her legs back with enough force to flip her off the bed, landing to the floor with a thump. Bellamy groans at the noise, placing the pillow over his head. "Shut up immediately." He mumbles through the pillow.

Clarke falls back and lays on the floor. She doesn't remember falling asleep, but does remember the way his hand felt in hers as she willingly thought of her father for the first time since the funeral. It was a grounding force, pulling her to earth as she threatened to be swallowed by it. Clarke knew that she shouldn't have stayed, but she couldn’t help it. There’s something about this space that makes her feel safe and less anxious.

She tells herself that it has nothing to do with the body in the bed.

Standing up, Clarke frowns where Bellamy is strewn across his bed. His arms are wrapped around his pillow and his face is shoved into it. She can’t help but smile. “What are you doing?” Bellamy mumbles into the pillow.

“I’m going back to my room.” Clarke says.

“You don’t have to, you can stay here. It doesn’t bother me.” He mutters. “What if people are still having sex?”

“Apparently I have no safe space from people having sex in this building.” Clarke crosses her arm with a smirk.

Bellamy chuckles, his shoulders shaking. “Weird problem to have.” Finally, he lifts his head, his eyes half-lidded and doused with sleep. “Are you getting up now? You’re going to make me feel bad.”

Clarke makes a face. “How?”

“It’s my day off and you’re getting up at a decent hour. I thought we agreed if you moved in, it would be a judgment-free zone.”

Clarke snorts. “I never agreed to that.”

He blinks. “Yes you did.”

“You could even get a tattoo that says ‘Only God Can Judge Me,’ and it won’t stop me from doing so.” Clarke says.

Instead of responding back, he laughs into the pillow again. “Fair enough.”

Clarke moves to go back into her room, but finds herself hesitating at the door. “Bellamy,” Clarke says. “Thanks. For listening. And letting me stay.”

Bellamy lifts his head, his eyes finally clear of the fog of sleep. “Anytime.” He presses his face into the pillow and squeezes his eyes. “Seriously. Anytime.”

Clarke ducks so he can’t see her smile. Rushing behind their shared door, she takes a deep breath, relieved there’s no longer anyone in here. Her bed is mussed and a few things are thrown around her room, but for the most part, everything is in order. She’s planning on scrubbing everything regardless. Before she does that, she grabs a set of clothes that isn’t dirty and rushes to the bathroom.

The Ark is quiet in a way she’s never heard. The doors to the rooms are shut and not a single person is awake. Peering over the ledge of the second story, Clarke sees several figures passed out on the ground, empty cups littering the area. She sneaks into the bathroom and starts the shower.

Letting the water run down her back, Clarke leans against the wall. She takes a few breaths as encompasses herself with the steam, washing the events of last night off. She can still feel Finn’s hand on her leg, running up it as she panics. She can still feel Bellamy’s hand in hers, calming her down. In her science classes in undergrad, she did always learn with ever action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Clarke stays in the shower until she’s clean, scrubbing ever inch of herself until she feels some semblance of normal. A part of her insists she should be feeling guilty and embarrassed for speaking to Bellamy while mildly intoxicated, but another part of herself can’t help it: saying the words aloud was just as horrible as she expected… except not. Having someone there helped more than she expected.

Bellamy was just not what she expected.

Stepping out of the shower, she wraps herself in a sweater and an older pair of jeans. Even on her days off, Clarke had been constantly moving – finding new furniture, picking up odd tasks to make money through the first month of rent before her paycheck. Today was the first day off she had since moving to Seattle that was an actual day off and she wants nothing more than to have an opportunity to sketch and avoid people. The perfect day.

However, when she leaves the bathroom and sees Raven and Finn stumbling up the flight of stairs to the second floor, she hesitates. Finn’s arm is wrapped around Raven’s waist and Raven is hobbling to help get him all the way up. Wincing, Clarke finds herself struggling to even offer, “Raven, do you need some help?”

Raven’s head whips up. “Oh, thank god. Someone not completely passed out. Yes please, can you help me get him into bed?”

Clarke lifts his arm and helps Raven into their room. She tries her best not to look around, but there are photos and evidence of their relationship everywhere. She gulps, the ghost of his hand on her thigh. There are pictures of the two of them at all ages, laughing and smiling. It’s upsetting and terrifying at the same time. Clarke can feel the anxiety rolling off of herself in waves and she needs to rush out of the door of the room as soon as possible. So when Raven and Clarke lay Finn on the bed, she gives Raven a half smile and rushes out the door.

Except Raven follows her. The moment they’re outside the room, Raven rubs her eyes and pushes back her hair that’s askew all over her face. “So that party got out of control.”

“Isn’t that how most parties are?”

“Yeah, but this hit next level.” Raven frowns. “But you were here, how don’t you know?”

Clarke rubs the back of her neck. “Uh, I ended up in Bellamy’s room for most of the evening.”

Raven’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? You were in Bellamy’s room, like—”

“Not like that!” Clarke cuts her off, putting her hands up. “I was in his room while he was doing his work. It got kinda loud.”

“Oh yeah, the parties do that.” Raven frowns. “But why did you run off? We played beer pong, Finn said he was talking to you and that you just left. Everything okay?”

Clarke opens her mouth, but finds she can’t catch any words. Nothing’s coming. It’s the perfect opportunity to say something and she knows it. She should just tell her.

Then, there’s a slam on one of the doors. “Octavia, listen to me!”

Bellamy’s pulling a sweater over his head while a phone is glued to his ear, which would be funny if it wasn’t so aggressive. Raven sucks in a breath. “That can’t be good.”

“Who’s Octavia?” Clarke whispers.

“His sister. She’s come here a few times. Nice, but flighty. Bellamy has a hard time remembering she’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions.” Raven whispers. “He had to take care of them when their mother died when they were teenagers. He dropped out of college and everything.”

Clarke’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t respond.

Bellamy finally gives in and takes the phone away from his ear so he can finish putting his sweater on and shouts, “O, no. O – tell me where you are and I’ll pick you up. We need to talk about this! You can’t—” He stares at his phone. “You did not just hang up on me for the second time in a row. I swear to God—” Bellamy punches numbers into his phone with a force so hard, Clarke’s surprised he doesn’t break it. He lets out a groan and grumbles into the phone, “Octavia, call me back. You can’t just hang up on me whenever you don’t agree with me. Call. Me. Back.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh and runs his hands in his hair. Clarke and Raven stand awkwardly down the hall, Clarke really not sure what to do in this situation. Raven doesn’t seem to be trying to calm him down at all, so Clarke takes a few steps forward. “Bellamy, you okay?”

Bellamy flinches at her words, eyes wild like he’s just realizing he had an audience. “Do you have any siblings?” He asks.

Clarke shakes her head.

“I need to get out of here, I just need…” His hand runs through his dark curls again. “I can’t handle this right now, while I’m writing my thesis and when—” He lets out a groan.

Clarke thinks of the day she has planned, filled with sketching and being completely, utterly alone. Perhaps she can have some company being alone. “Do you have to go to the University today?” Bellamy shakes his head. “Well, I have the day off and I was planning on driving somewhere to sketch – do you want to join?”

Bellamy stops his manic pacing and angry muttering. “Wait, what?”

Clarke points down the stairs. “Do you want to come with me to get away?”

Bellamy eyes her, as if he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. She isn’t sure what he finds, but his face softens and he sighs. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Good.” Clarke smiles. “You can get me that coffee you owe me on the way.”

“Excuse me? I gave money to Raven to get you a coffee that she so conveniently lost the change of.” Bellamy drawls, moving so that Raven is in his eyesight and he jabs a finger in her direction. “I could not believe you less, Reyes.”

“You know me, I always have holes in the pockets of my jeans. It must’ve fell out.”

“Please.”

Clarke puts her hands up. “You ordering someone to get me coffee is not the same as actually getting me coffee as an apology.”

“I made it very clear it wasn’t an apology.”

“Come on,” Clarke spins him around and shoves him toward the door of his room. “Let’s go. I’m ready, I just need to grab my supplies. Get whatever you need – a big book for nerds or whatever it is you do for fun.”

“Reading The Odyssey is not a nerdy thing to do, Griffin—”

“You should really listen to yourself before you speak.” Clarke says.

Bellamy leans his head back and hisses, “Were you telling Raven about—”

“No, please just get your things, I’d like to run away from here as soon as possible.”

“Interesting. I always thought with you and fight or flight, you’d be a fighter.”

“Grab your stuff, or offer is revoked to be with someone I actually like.”

Bellamy barks out a laugh, the tension draining from his shoulders as she shoves him into his door. He whirls around so that they’re dangerously close, but he’s done this so many times, Clarke remains unfazed. “Don’t lie, I know you like me.”

“How did you know.” Clarke drawls, rolling her eyes. “Go get your stuff.”

Bellamy beams. “I’ll go on this trip with you, Clarke Griffin, as long you make me one promise.”

“And what is that?”

He leans down closer. “Promise me you won’t fall in love with me.”

“Your ego is astounding, you know that right?” Clarke shoves him into his room. “I’m leaving in five minutes if you are in Rover or not.”

She can hear his booming laugh from inside his room, but then it’s followed by a shuffling that she knows means he’s actually listening to her. Clarke places a handful of graphite and colored pencils in her bag, shoving a few sketchbooks that will fit. Bellamy is surprisingly at the front door before she is, tapping his wrist and foot impatiently with a grin that makes Clarke instantly regret her offer. As the two leave the Ark, she hears a groan. “Is Bellamy willingly leaving the house with someone?” Clarke turns to see Murphy, face covered in lines that could only be made by sleeping on their uneven wood floors.

“No, it’s a figment of your imagination.” Bellamy says, walking through the door and flipping Murphy off while he does so.

“That’s fucking rude.” Murphy mutters and proceeds to promptly fall back to sleep.

“Good to know your social skills are terrible to everyone and not just me.” Clarke calls as she jogs to catch up with him.

Bellamy stops before Rover and faces Clarke. “How much do you trust me?”

“With that face? Not at all.”

Bellamy doesn’t even acknowledge her response. “I know the perfect place to go if you’re wanting to get away from civilization and go somewhere quiet. Now that I’ve seen your car, we can totally get there. If you let me drive, not only will I take us there, but I will also by you coffee, as promised, and lunch for the day.” A smile stretches across his face and it’s such a painful, radiating yellow, that it’s almost blinding.

Clarke feels the urge to say no out of spite, but she can’t help but be curious as to what would alter Bellamy’s mood in such a short amount of time. Plus, she’s had enough driving for a while after her cross-country road trip. “Fine.” She sighs, handing him her keys. “I’ll have you know that he cost $2000 and if you break him, I assure you your medical bill will be much higher than what he cost.”

Bellamy laughs, snatching the keys from her hands. “I’ll take my chances.”

It ends up working for the best because the moment he sits behind the driver’s seat, he relaxes. A calm washes over his face and Bellamy drives. He drives to places Clarke doesn’t recognize and hasn’t explored. He points things out has they pass, explaining the different regions. Clarke can’t even bring herself to make fun of him because it’s actually interesting, and he sneaks in stories about the crew of the Ark as he does so.

“So, how did the whole Ark thing happen?” Clarke asks after a particularly hilarious story involving Monty, Jasper, Raven, a gallon of gasoline, and a pair of old trousers from a bad relationship. “How did you get in charge of running it and how did you find everyone?”

Bellamy smiles. “To pay for undergrad, I took a lot of odd jobs around the city. I’m good with my hands – I may not be able to sew up bodies,” he says with a wink and Clarke rolls her eyes. “But I can fix a window in a pinch. The building belongs to one of my professors from University of Washington – Professor Jaha. I got in, uh, some trouble my second year and had to make some repairs to the school. He was overseeing my work, and I guess was pretty pleased by it. He asked me to fix it up on the weekends because he knew I was paying for school for myself. When I finished, he asked if I would take over and find tenants. It started out as me reaching out across campus, but it kinda got a name for itself and spiraled from there. As long as we don’t burn the place down, Jaha doesn’t really care what happens with it. He checks in from time to time, but everyone is on their best behavior when that happens – surprisingly.”

“Ah,” Clarke grins. “Now I know how to take you down if you piss me off.”

“Please, as if he’d believe you over me.”

“I have a very innocent face.”

“You don’t fool me in the slightest.”

“It’s not you who I have to fool in this situation, is it?”

Clarke beams at him and he chuckles when catching her eye, only taking his focus off the road for a second. “I regret ever letting you through those doors.” He mutters, but with no heat. “I knew you were going to be a menace, Griffin.”

She shrugs. “Everyone’s gotta be something.”

The drive takes a turn for the wild when he exits to a path up a mountain, the vast evergreens stretching for miles around them. Clarke can’t help but roll down the window and gaze out, watching the trees span across valleys and dance with fog. She takes a deep breath and there’s something crisp about the air that brightens everything about her.

Green.

The green that she once was. Green as the earth she came from, green as the earth she would return to. Even the melancholy blue struggles to stay around her as they venture deeper into the forest, Rover easily driving over the rocks and paths. She can sense Bellamy’s gaze on her from time to time as she leans out the window to get a better look, surrounded by trees she’d never seen the likes of in New York.

They reach a point where they can’t drive any further and Bellamy puts the car in park. “This is our stop.”

Without a word, Clarke hops out of Rover, rushing over to the edge of the cliff and staring at the vista. The wind blows through the holes of her sweater, but she can’t bring herself to care about the chill. Everything about it is freeing. She extends her arms out and closes her eyes, allowing the wind to rush around her. After a few seconds, Clarke whirls around. Without any pretense or sarcasm, she exclaims, “This was an excellent idea!”

Grabbing her bag from Rover, Clarke rushes to where Bellamy’s make his way toward a trail she didn’t see upon their arrival. He does nothing but smirk at her when she catches up, shouldering his backpack and starting his way through the trees.

“How did you find this place?” Clarke asks as they make their way through the giant pines, looming over them and sharing only bits of sunlight.

Bellamy grows somber. “I used to take my sister up here when we were kids. She loved butterflies and since it’s hard to reach, not many people come up here, so there’s a lot.”

Clarke bites her lip. “What’s going on with your sister?”

Bellamy sighs. “I told you she wants to move in with that guy, right? Well apparently they already found a place. And she wants me to come over and help them move. I haven’t even met this guy and she wants me to move her into their joined apartment? Is she kidding?”

Clarke laughs. “You know you don’t have to if you feel this strongly about it.”

“Of course I’m going to help, she’s my sister!”

Clarke shrugs her shoulders. “Then you should tell her how you feel.”

“I have—”

“In a normal, grown up voice, Bellamy. Use your grown-up words, use your grown-up patience, and don’t yell.”

Bellamy turns to her. “You know what grown-ups don’t do? Refer to themselves as grown-ups. See if I take your advice now, you child.”

Clarke can’t help but chuckle. “Fine. Continue what you’re doing, yell at her over the phone, and have her hang up on you. Because that seems to be working so well.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t retort.

Clarke nudges his side. “If she’s calling you and asking for your help, did you ever think that maybe she wants you to meet him? And you may not understand their relationship, but she’s trying. That’s got to count for something.”

The tension in his shoulders melt away. “Okay, you can stop making sense now, please.”

“Fine, I’ll be illogical from this moment on.” Clarke promises, saluting him. He playfully nudges her so she stumbles into a bush, tripping over her feet. “What are you, twelve?”

“Yes, on a scale of one to ten, I am definitely a twelve.”

“Your ability to switch like this could be signs of a sociopathic behavior.”

He chuckles. “Some say it’s a gift.”

“Well, those people are not in this area.”

“Clearly.” Bellamy states. “Here we are.”

Clarke opens her mouth to retort, but stops when she sees it.

The valley is vast. Trees line the mountains and surround a lake at the bottom, reflecting the snow on the mountain tops. The clouds surround the sun, but everything is brighter than any clear sky could ever achieve. A rock face hangs over the bottom and Bellamy seats himself on the edge, his feet dangling over the edge.

“Scared, Princess?” He taunts when she doesn’t follow him.

With a look, Clarke joins him, seating close. She tells herself that it’s because of the wind chill, but in all reality, she wants to be near him. She doesn’t understand it or even want to think about it, so she doesn’t. Bellamy doesn’t seem to mind or even notice; he doesn’t move. Instead, he pulls out a book from his bag and flips open to a dog-eared page and starts to read.

Clarke doesn’t take her supplies out right away though. She breathes in the green. She breathes in the icy way the fog rolls under their feet and the sharp noises the birds make as if they think they are all alone. She watches the way her feet swing underneath her and how her fingertips feel against the cool rockface.

Clarke reminds herself she’s alive. She feels it.

Pulling out her sketchbook, she hesitates before asking, “Can I draw you?”

Bellamy peers up from his book. “You want to draw me?”

“Yeah.” Clarke nods. “Among other things.”

The corner of his mouth moves up. “Sure,” he responds softly. “Go ahead.”

So she does. She pulls out the yellow colored pencil and turns it on its side. Brushing the page with quick strokes, Clarke peers at Bellamy as he reads. She sees the way his jaw twitches as his eyes flit across the lines. The way his arms flex as he holds himself still against the rock. They way he seems to relax among the nature around them. It’s beautiful, like he’s made up of stardust that the sky couldn’t handle anymore. She tries to catch it.

After a while, Bellamy shifts his attention back to her. “Can I see?”

Clarke is now surrounded by pencils, legs crossed with her sketchbook on her lap as she adds various colors into the shadows. She opens her mouth to say ‘no,’ but then stops. “Sure, why not?” She says, turning her sketchbook around.

Bellamy takes it out of her hand, his fingers brushing against the page. He looks at it – really looks at it in a way Clarke’s never seen anyone focus on her work before. After a while, he finally asks, “Why am I yellow?”

Clarke smiles to herself. “Because you’re yellow.”

Bellamy extends an arm as if to provide her evidence to the contrary and she swats it down. “Not like that. You’re—” she tries to think of the word, bringing her hands up to gesture around his whole form. “Yellow. I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Please try.”

His genuine request surprises her and Clarke is startled enough to do as he says. “Well, everyone has a color to me. It’s always been that way. Like, Raven. Raven is red. But not like a crimson or pastel color, I’m talking fiery red. One that is vibrant and full of passion.”

“Everyone has a color?”

“It’s like, the essence of who they are, you know?” Clarke asks, waving the pencil in her hands. “I can see it rolling off of people and it tells me a lot about who they are. You’re yellow.”

“Yellow.”

“Yeah, yellow.” Clarke says with a soft smile. “But not like, neon, obnoxious yellow. Yellow like the sun is, after days of clouds and it finally comes out. That beautiful way it does when you feel like you’ll never see it again and then it just… appears? Covered in clouds and bright? You know?”

Bellamy stares at her with an intensity she doesn’t recognize. She’s not used to people looking at her like this, like there’s nothing else around them. She fights the impulse to flinch away, focusing right back. For a moment, they’re the only two in the world.

Bellamy sighs. “Shows how little you know me.” He mumbles.

Clarke’s surprised, and poorly hiding it. “What do you mean?”

“If you knew about my life, you wouldn’t think that.” Bellamy states, bowing his head. “Sure, we share a wall, but you don’t know the kind of stuff I’ve done. The repairs to the school were just the start of it.”

“I don’t think anything, Bellamy.” Clarke states. “It’s what I see. You were yellow when you were yelling at me in your underwear and you were yellow when you held my hand last night.” Bellamy’s head whips up. “I don’t want to make you talk about anything you don’t want to because I mean, hypocrite alert, but I know a good person when I see one.”

Bellamy’s eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to find any sort of sarcasm within her words. He’ll find none. Clarke doesn’t know much about the boy she shares a wall with, but does know this: sunlight would envy the yellow he radiates. “You don’t know things I’ve done.” He says, his voice thick. Somehow he’s gotten closer to her even though they were already dangerously close to begin with.

Clarke thinks about last night and how panicked she was. How the simple act of his holding her hand grounded her to earth. Reaching across, Clarke grabs his hand and pulls it atop the sketchbook in her lap. “I don’t need to.” Clarke states.

He looks to his feet, but doesn’t pull his hand away.

“I don’t know what you’ve done, but it’s in the past. And from what I can tell, you’re doing your best to move forward. But if you need forgiveness? Fine.” Clarke squeezes his hand. “You are forgiven.”

Bellamy still doesn’t look up. “It doesn’t work like that, Clarke.”

“Why doesn’t it? Who says it doesn’t work like that?” Clarke insists. “There are worst things in this world, Bellamy. We all deserve a second chance.”

The words throw Clarke through a loop. She stumbles over them, thinking of New York and everything she left behind. All deserve a second chance.

“Like what you’re running away from?” Bellamy asks.

It’s not cruel. It’s painful, but not cruel. Clarke bows her own head, but keeps his hand in hers. He makes no move to take it back. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Like that. I think we can figure out a way to move forward.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Maybe you can’t move past some things.”

“Maybe.” Clarke mulls, staring off into the valley. “But god, we have to try, right?”

Bellamy groans. “This is so not why I brought us up here.”

Clarke laughs. “No, you did that to run away from your problems with your sister.”

“Okay, first of all, rude.” Bellamy says. “You’re running away from Raven.”

Clarke laughs. “No judgment, you’re talking to a world class runner, here.”

His expression softens. “No more of that, okay?” He says quietly. “The time for running is over.”

Clarke thinks about it. Her eyes flit to the drawing on the sketchbook, doused in the brightness of the sun. With a final squeeze, she lets go of his hand and picks up her pencils, returning to her work. He, in turn, returns to his book. Neither of them say anything else.

The wind catches the words they don’t say, ready to be taken adrift forever.

***

Reluctantly, Clarke mentions to Bellamy they can’t stay out here too late. Bellamy insists they stay at least until nightfall so they can see the stars, point out various constellations and explaining the story behind each one. His voice is low and soothing, causing Clarke to start to lose consciousness as he does so. She leans her head on his shoulder, finding warmth and comfort there. He continues to talk for a while, until finally as her eyes start to close, he places a hand on her shoulder. “We should probably go.” He admits, but it doesn’t sound like he wants to.

The feeling is mutual.

They don’t say much as they make their way back to Rover, Clarke close to Bellamy as to not trip over the branches under their feet, guided only by the flashlight app on their phones. As they both clamber into the car, Bellamy turns Rover on, but doesn’t put him in reverse right away. “Thank you.” He states, not looking at her. “This was a good idea.”

“I can’t believe you think I had a good idea.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” She grins, beaming at him.

“You’re going to be insufferable.”

“That’s rude, I thought I already was insufferable.”

“You really are,” Bellamy mutters to himself, putting the car in gear.

As they make their way down the mountain, Clarke stares out the window, her forehead pressed against the glass so she can crane her neck to see the stars. “Do you think we’ll ever get peace?” She asks.

She doesn’t give any context. She doesn’t need to. That’s one of the things she finds comforting about Bellamy; he knows what she’s talking about without her having to explain. Explaining how she feels has never been her strong suit.

“I hope so.”

The two don’t say anything else for the remainder of the trip.

By the time they reach the Ark, it almost feels like a whole other world. It feels like more than a day should’ve past, but when they open the door to the Ark, they can hear the bubbling conversation and groans from those still hungover.

“Where have you two been, past curfew?” Raven calls, hands on her hips while charging to the foyer. “And did you guys forget your phones or just your heads?”

Clarke blinks, peering at Bellamy. “What?”

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day and neither of you answered. I was starting to worry.”

Bellamy looks sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Oh, right. We were in the mountains and didn’t get any cell reception.”

“Bellamy, how many times do I have to tell you, if you’re going into the woods, tell someone. So we know where to look if you die. We’ve had this conversation a million times. And Clarke! I thought you were responsible!”

Clarke takes out her phone, wincing at the amount of texts and calls missed. “Sorry, I didn’t even think anyone would try to get a hold of me.”

Raven flinches as if the words hurt her. “Why wouldn’t we try to reach you if we didn’t know where you were?”

Clarke is at a bit of a loss. “I’m not used to that.”

“That is, well sad.” Murphy states, flinging an arm around Raven’s shoulder. “Where the hell were you last night, Griffin? After our glorious defeat, you disappeared! We were supposed to win the night and I ended up having to use Jasper as a partner. After two games, he passed out and we had to forfeit! It was embarrassing!”

“Fuck you, Murphy!” Jasper calls from the other room. “I could’ve died.”

“You’re still breathing, right? Quit your whining!” Murphy exclaims. He turns his attention to Clarke. “Where were you?”

Clarke feels a nudge at her shoulder. Peering up at Bellamy, he lifts an eyebrow and nods. She winces at the gesture, which Raven catches. “What’s going on?”

Murphy makes a face. “Please tell me you aren’t sleeping together. I thought you had standards, Princess!”

“And on that note,” Bellamy growls, grabbing Murphy by the collar of his shirt. “What did I say about letting the Lexington boys in this house, Murphy?”

Bellamy drags the two away from them, casting one final look behind his shoulder. “What? I didn’t!” Murphy exclaims.

“That’s one of their shirts, right there—”

Raven frowns. “Clarke, what’s going on?”

“Can we speak, privately?” Clarke asks, pointing to the still-open door of the Ark.

Raven follows her suspiciously, the two of them standing outside amongst the stars. Only a moment ago, she felt so calm under them and now all she wants to do is join them. “Everything okay?” Raven asks. “Why did you and Bellamy run off today?”

“That’s sorta unrelated.” Clarke mumbles. “I need to tell you something.”

Raven nods.

“You see, at the party yesterday,” she starts, biting her lip. “I was talking to Finn and something weird happened.”

Raven tilts her head. “Weird?”

“Um, I think that—” Clarke can’t bring herself to say it. She wants to be back in the woods, she wants to pretend nothing happened.

She wants to run.

“I think that Finn came on to me.” The words pour out of her mouth before she can stop them.

Raven takes a step back like she slapped her. She blinks a few times and her face becomes unreadable. Her red rages and Clarke wants to hide away from the fire. “No,” Raven starts, her voice shaking. “No, he wouldn’t do that.”

“I-I could’ve read the situation wrong, but I think it’s true.” Clarke say quietly.

“You read the situation wrong, obviously.” Raven snaps, but her words are laced with hurt. “He wouldn’t do that to me. He’s my family, Finn is my family.”

“I-I never meant—”

Raven puts her hand up. “I’m not listening to this. I can’t believe you would even say something like that to me.”

“Raven—” Clarke says, but before she can get another word out, Raven whirls around and storms inside the Ark.

All the green that came back to her is washing away.

Clarke takes a couple minutes before reentering the Ark. Clenching her fists, she tries to control her tears. She needs to hide them. She can’t let people see her cry. See her break apart.

She can’t turn to dust in front of people who will let the wind take her.

When she’s under control enough to make it to her room, Clarke marches back into the Ark without sparing anyone so much as a glance. “Clarke, you want some tacos?” Monty calls from the kitchen. “We ordered too many, which is a shocker since you know you can never have too many tacos.”

She doesn’t respond. Instead she charges straight to her room and hides behind the door, throwing her art back on the ground. Pencils spill out, her sketchbook sliding across the floor. Clarke doesn’t even move to pick them up, instead staring at the half-finished mural before her.

Blinking back a few tears, Clarke runs her fingers down the mural. She places her forehead against the wall and closes her eyes, trying to take in all the colors she’s painted to keep the melancholy at bay. Her hands shake as she does so, the guilt eating away at her stomach.

There’s a soft knock on her shared door and even softer words she can’t make out. Even though the chain isn’t in place, Bellamy doesn’t even try to open in the door. It’s helpful, knowing he’s there. Clarke picks herself up from the mural and grabs her sketchbook. Flipping through the pages, she finds her first drawing of the day.

Bellamy’s face is so close to the book, his nose almost touches the page. His shoulders are relaxed in a way that Clarke’s recognized as rare, and he’s sunlight, shining over the valley. Wiping away a few tears, Clarke takes a pencil and writes in the corner:

See yourself the way I see you. – Clarke

Clarke moves to the door and places the drawing half-way under it and waits. Only a second passes before it’s taken. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t try to come into the room.

Clarke faces her mural and envelops herself in color, dreaming of stars and the stories told about them.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE

The quiet that settles over the Ark after the party is one that Clarke doesn't enjoy, despite her need for calm. People go out of their way to avoid her, which she isn't sure whether she appreciates or not. The month of peace and rejuvenation was stripped and nothing is left but awkward chaos. So Clarke does the only think she think she can do: she keeps her head down, eats meals in her room, and only sneaks out to leave the house. That's the adult thing to do, right?

The only person who hasn't completely shunned her from the social on-goings of the Ark is the asshole who shares her wall, but even he is swamped with midterms and is rarely in the Ark. So Clarke throws herself in her work, chastising the small moment she thought she'd be able to regain her green when she's doused in such deep melancholy blue. The mural on her wall takes shape and she starts to collect canvases to splatter paint across when words are too hard to express.

Leaving the Ark before everyone wakes one morning, Clarke sneaks into Rover. The sun hasn't even risen and the weight of her father's watch brings her wrist down as she turns on her car. She doesn't need to be at the art supply store until ten, but locking herself in her room is suffocating. She continues to add color to her mural, but everything is everywhere and overwhelming and not enough at the same time. Nothing is making sense and when nothing makes sense, she takes to the open road, driving down half streets she doesn't recognize.

It's calming, simply driving after a month of tumultuous highs and lows. She only stops her car when she reaches a park where large pieces of equipment stick from the ground and rolling hills invite her to climb. Hopping out of Rover, Clarke walks up the grassy hills, ducking behind the large machinery until she's at the highest peak of the park, looking out over the bay and the large Seattle buildings before her.

It's quiet and calming; people walk their dogs and drink their coffee as the sun rises. Clarke brings her knees to her chin and watches it all around her. She feels a part of this world, but also so distinctly separate at the same time. It's as if she is behind glass and can't bring herself into the world like everyone else. What is it about the earth that demands so much from people? That takes and takes, and then has the audacity to ask for more?

Her pocket buzzes and Clarke pulls out her phone, unable to help the way her mouth turns up at the name.

Bellamy: Did you really chain your door last night? Is it because of the snoring? Because I know you can still hear me through the wall!

Clarke doesn't answer, or ask about why he's trying to get in her room in the first place despite a great curiosity. He continues to send her angry messages throughout the morning, but doesn't ask for specifics, so she assumes it's nothing urgent. However when her phone continues to buzz, she frowns and takes it out of her pocket. Mom flashes on the screen and Clarke freezes. Suddenly the breeze no longer feels relaxing, but chilling, sinking down to her bones. The picture is an old one. Clarke and her mother hugging and smiling at the camera. There's such a light in both their eyes she never considered would even be extinguished.

Clarke watches it until her screen turns black. 

Sucking in a shaky breath, Clarke runs her hands through her hair and places her phone next to her. She ignores it as it buzzes from time to time, almost forgetting it's there when it's finally time to make it to work. She spends her time in the park trying not to be entirely engulfed by the blue that surrounds her and failing miserably. The look on Raven’s face when she spoke to her plays over and over in her mind. It was a nice thought from Bellamy that nothing would happen, but she knew deep down he was wrong. In mere seconds she lost everything she built around herself and she wasn’t sure what to do.

The drive to the supply store is quiet and filled with a cloud that she can't shake, and by the time she makes it in the shop, Clarke is drowning in the blue. She tells herself again and again to perk up, but even being surrounded by enough color to make a new tapestry, it isn't. 

She's stocking some shelves when Julie marches over to her. "Clarke, why aren't you answering your phone?" She demands, placing her hands on her hips.

Clarke pauses when she's doing to stare. "Uh, because I'm at work?"

"No, this morning!"

"Did you call me this morning?" Clarke asks. She didn't even check her phone after her mother called. She just stuck her phone in her purse and left it there to collect messages.

"No, but Roan tried to. And then he proceeded to call me to inquire why my recommendation isn't answering her phone."

Clarke freezes. "Roan tried to call me?"

"He was impressed with your application and samples you sent. He wanted to know if you'd come in for an interview in the morning, but never got a hold of you."

Clarke's eyes widen. "Did I miss the opportunity? Can I call him back?"

Julie sighs. "Take your ten minute break now. And I swear, if you make me look bad, I am going to give you every closing shift for a month."

"Right." Clarke scrambles to her feet and rushes to the back, pulling out her phone. There's several missed calls - two from her mother, one from a number she doesn't recognize, and one, surprisingly, from Bellamy along with quite a few texts. She quickly checks to make sure there isn't some sort of emergency, there's nothing more than an escalation of drama when he discovers her Rover's gone and she locked everyone out and left, so she ignores him. Punching in the missed number, Clarke brings her phone to her ear.

It rings a few times, a deep voice answering on the other end. "Azgeda Gallery, this is Roan.”

Clarke’s startles that he’s answering his own phone that it takes a few attempts for her to respond. “Hello, this is Clarke Griffin from Alpha Art Supply.”

“Clarke Griffin,” the voice on the other end says pleasantly. “You’ve received my phone call.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry I missed your initial one. I was… driving and I tend not to look at my phone when I do so.”

“Smart. That’ll keep you safe.” Roan says. “I wanted to reach out and see if you had any time today to come to my studio and take a look around. It’s only a few blocks away from the supply store. If you have a lunch break you wouldn’t mind coming down and having a chat about the internship?”

“O-Of course! I have a lunch at three?”

“Beautiful. See you then.”

Clarke stares at her phone long after he’s hung up. She can’t help the smile curling on her lips and something within her chest feels something resembling hope. Before her supervisor can come in, she flips through her texts just to make sure Bellamy won’t explode.

Bellamy: Are you ignoring me?

Bellamy: Is this because of what happened with Raven?

Bellamy: Suck it up and answer because I believe in texting full, English sentences and I will not shorten any of my words.

Bellamy: Seriously, where are you? You got up before me. You never get up before me.

Bellamy: Do you want me to talk to her? Anything to call her boyfriend an idiot again.

Bellamy: I’m totally talking to her.

Clarke: DON’T YOU DARE

Clarke moves to put her phone in her pocket, but it buzzes right away.

Bellamy: So, it DOES LIVE.

Clarke: I’m at work, I gotta go.

Bellamy: Text at work like a normal human!

Clarke: No

Bellamy: If my students text during my amazing lectures, you can text me during your work shift!

It’s as dramatic as she expected, but it doesn’t bother her. She feels confident enough that he’s not going to do anything, so she shoves her phone back in her apron and marches outside of the supply store. The hours pass like molasses as she waits for her lunch break and when Julie says she needs to take her thirty, she nearly trips trying to untie her apron.

Shuffling down the grey Seattle streets, Clarke tries to calm her hair down that is currently thrown into a messy braid. It occurs to her that she is in no way prepared for an interview with her raggedy clothes and frizzy hair, but it doesn’t stop her from swinging the doors open to the gallery.

In geometric print painted in icy colors above are the words Azgeda Gallery and when Clarke marches through the door, her eyes widen at the amount of color in the place. It isn’t simply the artwork, it’s the people and the energy of the place. Clarke finds her footsteps slowing as she gazes around, trying to take in everything at once.

“Clarke Griffin?”

“Yes?” Clarke asks, whirling around.

The man that approaches her is not what she expects. He’s wearing slacks and a button down, but his hair is down to his shoulders and braided on the sides. Half of it is in a bun and tattoos line his forearms where they are visible. “I’m Roan.”

“Hi,” she breathes, reaching out. “I’m sorry, it occurred to me that I am not in appropriate interview attire since I ran here on my lunch.”

“Don’t worry. I asked if you had a break, I assumed as much.”

Roan starts to walk around the space and Clarke takes this as she should follow him, matching his strides. “Welcome to the Azgeda Gallery. We mainly showcase local art, but occasionally host international pieces. We focus on the uncanny and uncomfortable.”

“So no Thomas Kinkade?” Clarke jokes.

Roan startles at that, his lips quirking up. “No, no Thomas Kinkade. We work closely with our artists to correctly showcase their work, as well as how it should work in the space. The internship will be a lot of coordination work – some answering phones, but mainly working with artists to make sure their work arrives safely. Also, we throw a mixer once a month and it’d be a lot of planning that. While we don’t have the budget to pay you, we’ll pay you by showcasing one piece of your work a month of your choosing. We’ll put it in the corner, but we’ll put it up. With all the mixers, it’ll be a lot of visibility.”

“Are you serious?” Clarke chokes, eyes wide.

“I saw your work and I think it would fit in well here. You have a very peculiar eye when it comes to color. You remind me of David Hockney.”

“David Hockney – the man with synesthesia?”

“Yes. He channeled his creative eye into his work and I see how you do the same. Now, if you take this internship, I highly recommend having a change of clothes in your car. You will act as the receptionist – take calls, help our artists, so there’s a certain level of togetherness we’ll need. It’ll be part time, since we can’t pay you. I can help work the hours around your job at the supply store. What do you think?”

Clarke blinks. “Wait, you didn’t ask me any questions.”

“No.”

“But you’re offering me the job?”

Roan smiles. “Clarke, I will admit I was hesitant when I saw your application – degree in biochemistry with a minor in molecular biology? No formal art training, no background in a creative field. But I saw your pieces. I felt your pieces. And Julie says you’re the hardest worker she has. That’s enough for me.”

Clarke sucks in a breath. “Really?” She tries to keep herself from being emotional, but everything’s been such a rollercoaster since she moved that it’s hard. Offering him her hand, Clarke says, “Yes. I’d like to work here.”

“Very professional.” Roan snorts as he takes her hand.

“I’ve been having a rough week and I’m trying to keep it together.”

“I appreciate that. If you cried, it’d make me uncomfortable.”

“Me even more so.” Clarke nods. She checks her father’s watch. “Sorry, I need to get back to the art supply store.”

“I’ll call you with further details.”

Clarke nods, approaching the door. Then she pauses. “Did you hire me just so you’d get discounts at the supply store?”

Roan smirks. “Is it that obvious?”

“Thought so.”

Clarke leaves the Gallery and takes a breath. For a moment, the air is easy and the world is not overwhelming. She can’t help but smile to herself, forcing herself to continue the monotonous task of stocking shelves when all she can think of is things to paint when she got home.

***

Except she isn’t sure what home is anymore.

When Clarke approaches the door, she hears yelling. She isn’t certain, but has a strong suspicion it has to do with her because the yelling doesn’t sound particularly teasing. Pressing her ear against the door, she opens it a crack, wincing when it makes a small squeak.

“—bullshit! You can believe what you want, but the fact of the matter is, your boyfriend is an asshole.” Clarke hears Bellamy’s angry voice in the living room and she considers running away in that moment.

“This is none of your business, Blake.” Finn’s voice snaps.

“You don’t address me. Ever.”

“Bellamy, calm down!” Raven exclaims. “It was all a misunderstanding. I spoke with Finn and he said—”

“Oh, this must be good.”

“Go to hell!”

“As long as it’s away from you!”

“Both of you, enough!” Raven snaps. “Listen, Clarke overreacted and I don’t think that you have any right coming here and—"

Clarke takes this an opportunity to swing the door open and pretend to be shocked when the surprised expressions of everyone in the vicinity turn her way. Monty, Jasper, and Harper are in the doorway of the kitchen while Raven, Finn, and Bellamy stand in the foyer. Clarke hates the feeling of everyone focusing on her – it makes her skin crawl. But she’s tired of hiding in her room when she’s done nothing wrong. The only person who looks relatively comfortable is Murphy, who is sitting on the back of the couch with his feet up, a smirk on his face. “Welcome to a conversation that you are definitely not the topic of, Princess.” He states, waving his arm.

Clarke fixes him a look and he merely laughs, but doesn’t move. Everyone just stares, not talking. She sighs. “Anyways, continue whatever you’re doing, I’m going to take a shower.”

“No, we should talk about this.” Bellamy snaps, pointing to Finn and Raven. “I am sick and tired of this high school bullshit. I don’t care enough about your relationship to ignore it any longer. I would like to grade my papers in peace and not hear endless complaining about that stupid party last weekend, okay?”

“Dude, you do realize you’re not everyone’s dad, right?” Murphy drawls from the couch.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Murphy?”

Murphy shrugs. “It’s a family meeting, right?”

Bellamy groans, running his hands down his face. “Listen, I—”

There’s a few pounds against the door and everyone freezes. Murphy starts counting everyone in the room. “Everyone’s here,” he says. “Do any of you have friends outside this room, because I find that hard to believe.”

No one makes any movement to the door, until Raven finally groans and swings it open. “Can I help you?” She snaps far too aggressively for a stranger.

“Is this where Clarke Griffin lives?”

Clarke whirls around, confused. Bellamy matches her movements and they face the door, just as Raven nearly bites the person’s head off. “Yes.”

Clarke cranes her neck to see the person at the door, unable to stop a gasp from escaping her lip when she sees him.

The man steps in the Ark, his dark eyes searching until he finds Clarke. He’s wearing a loose set of jeans and a Harvard Law sweatshirt, a ballcap nearly covering his eyes. “Clarke?” He breathes when he catches sight of her.

“Wells?” Clarke asks, her heart pounding in her chest. “W-What are you doing here?”

Wells marches into the foyer of the Ark, focused solely on Clarke. “You aren’t answering anyone’s phone calls. I didn’t know what else to do!” He moves toward her and she can’t help but take a step back by instinct, the hurt in his eyes apparent. “Clarke, what the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Clarke exclaims, her eyes watering. She can feel everyone looking at her, the tension and anger that had been present only moments before melting away. “Why aren’t you in Boston?”

“You think you can just disappear after a funeral and people wouldn’t be looking for you?” Clarke sees Raven’s head whip in her direction at that, Clarke trying to keep her tears from falling. “Clarke what are you even doing here, you need to come home. You can’t just disappear!”

“I-I can’t do this with you right now, Wells.” Clarke states, crossing her arms and putting a large space between the two of them. “Whatever you thought you would get from coming here, you were wrong. I think it’d be best if you just left.”

“Clarke—”

“I think she told you to leave.” Bellamy snaps, stepping up to her side. “This is my property. And she asks nicer than I do.”

“I’m not leaving. We need to talk about this, Clarke.” Wells states. “I’m not leaving unless Clarke does.”

“I don’t think you’re reading the situation, buddy.” Murphy leaps off the back of the coach and casually strides over. “It’d be best if you just,” he flicks his hand. “Skidattle.”

“Clarke,” Wells turns to her, his eyes earnest. “You know that no one meant for that to happen. People did some shitty things, but no one expected how the people would react. Our parents never meant to hurt your dad in any way.”

She can’t help it, a tear slides down her cheek. Seeing Wells before her may be the most overwhelming thing yet; he radiates a calming earthiness she could never express in a true color because it always changed. When she was bright, he evened her out. When she was in the depths of despair, he was the light. His color was whatever was needed at the time and she loved him for it.

Right now? She hates him for it.

“Stop,” Clarke states, infuriated at how her voice shakes.

“My dad didn’t mean for any of it to happen.” Wells insists and Clarke blinks a few times and a few more tears escape. “Your mom didn’t—”

“I said stop!” Clarke shouts and she doesn’t mean to.

Then, it occurs to her that everyone’s staring.

Even Bellamy, who stands next to her as if to shield her from Wells in some way is hesitating, as if hanging onto the words of her past that she didn’t give anyone permission to listen to. Clarke wants to be any place but here, but if she knows anything about Wells, it’s how persistent he can be. Shaking her head, she grabs his arm. “Come on.”

“You’re coming?”

Clarke looks incredulously at him. “No! We’re just not doing this here. I-I can’t do this here.”

Before she can leave the Ark, someone pulls her own arm. Bellamy has reached out, his dark eyes concerned. “Clarke—”

She puts her hand up. “Let me just… deal with this, please.” Wrenching her arm out of his grasp, she slams the door behind her and leads Wells to her car.

He frowns at the sight of it, but hops in the passenger’s seat nonetheless. She slams Rover into gear and drives away from the Ark as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the concerned stares Wells shoots her way every once and a while. It isn’t until they’re on the highway that she can even consider finding her voice again. “Wells, seriously. What are you doing here?”

Wells scoffs at that. “I told you, Clarke. I’m here to get you.”

“I’m not something to be retrieved!” Clarke exclaims. “I left for a reason and everyone needs to respect that!”

“No!” Wells shouts. “You left without telling anyone where you were going! You left without a note, without a call! You just left and expected all of us to be okay with that? Absolutely not!”

“Wells—”

“No, Clarke. I gave you space because I thought you needed it. I didn’t hear from you after your dad’s funeral, but I thought that I was right to give you space. I thought when the semester started and you were at Harvard Medical School and I was at Harvard Law, we’d be able to talk. But you never showed up. And you won’t answer my calls, you won’t answer your mom’s calls – hell, you didn’t even tell Harvard you weren’t attending until two weeks into the quarter! The only reason I found out about this was because your roommate had a switch of partners. That’s not okay!”

Clarke can’t help it, but a dagger of guilt starts twisting itself in her stomach as he talks. She wants nothing more than to not think of any of this, but can’t help but see a bit of his side. Clarke doesn’t say that though. Instead, she focuses on the road ahead and scowls at ongoing traffic.

She leads them back to the park she was at this morning, the sun setting over the buildings as they approach the bay. Wells barely notices the giant pieces of machinery in the ground. He’s focused on one thing and one thing alone: Clarke. It makes her uncomfortable and slightly itchy, as if reminding her that her actions since the funeral have been less than smart.

She seats herself on one of the grassy hills again, waiting for Wells to follow. He does so, perching his arms on his knees as she does, looking out to the bay before him. “It’s beautiful,” he mumbles.

Clarke nods. There’s so many things she wants to say to him, but what comes out is, “I can’t go back, Wells. You know that.”

“I don’t know that Clarke.” Wells says, turning his head. “You have an entire family who is here for you. I am here for you. And you left without so much as a goodbye—”

“I couldn’t, Wells!” Clarke cries. “You and I both know what happened. You and I both know what our parents did—”

“That had nothing to do with your dad’s death, Clarke! And if you think clearly for two seconds, I think you’ll know that I’m telling you the truth!”

Clarke drops her gaze to the ground and allows a few tears to escape. With a trembling voice, she states, “I’m not going back, Wells. I have a life here now. I have a job, I have people I care about—”

“So forget everyone else who cares about you, then?” Wells snaps, his words bitter.

Clarke’s lower lip quivers. “I’m sorry.” The word comes out soft and broken, but sincere nonetheless. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Wells bows his head. He doesn’t say anything for a little while. Instead, the two watch the sunset over the bay. Clarke marvels at how the light sprinkles across the water and she wishes this moment could be nothing but sunlight. She knows it can’t.

“Well, I had a feeling it was a long shot.” Wells says, his voice raspy. “But I had to try.”

“I can’t believe you came all the way out here. How did you even find me?”

Wells snorts. “You were tagged in some party picture on Facebook and the person checked in to ‘The Ark.’ It wasn’t that hard. You’re just lucky that our families are terrible with technology.” He grumbles, letting out a frustrated huff. “One text a week.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You owe me one text a week. Just an update on how you’re doing and what you’re doing. It doesn’t have to be a novel, but enough so that I know you’re alive. And if you don’t text me, I will not only come back here to drag you to Boston, I will tell both our parents and they will send the National Guard.”

Clarke fights a smile. “Fine.”

With a sigh, Wells does one last ditch effort. “Clarke, please. Come back home.”

Clarke’s eyes fill with tears. She feels the weight of the watch on her wrist and the actions of those that lie in the past. “That isn’t my home anymore.”

“And this place is?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, to be honest. There’s good people here though.”

“Yeah, sure. Like the super angry guy in that shitty building you live in. He seems like a delight.”

Clarke smiles to herself. “He’s alright. Once you get to know him.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Well duh, aren’t you in the middle of school?”

Wells chuckles. “Yeah.”

“You need to be getting back to school.”

When he looks at her, Clarke can sense the longing in his eyes. She didn’t realize how much she missed her best friend, but she misses him, even though he’s right there. It would be easy going back to Boston with Wells, to fall in the roles she always played.

Easy, yet impossible.

“We talked about living together. When we were in high school.” Wells says suddenly. “We wanted to live in Brooklyn, away from our parents and the Upper East Side.”

“I remember.” Clarke says with a laugh. “We said we’d get a studio apartment because it’d be all we can afford and figure out how to make bunk beds.”

Wells barks a laugh. “You said you’d cook eggs every day and I promised to learn how to make bread. We were going to live off bread and cheese like Lord of the Rings characters.”

“Which, lets be honest, is better in theory.”

“Yeah,” Wells says distantly. “Still would be nice, though.”

Clarke looks at her hands. “A lot of things would’ve been nice, Wells.”

He bows his head. “I don’t regret coming here. I’m glad you’re okay. Well, as okay as you can be.”

Clarke nods. “Yeah.”

“Make sure that group of weirdos treat you nicely.”

Clarke thinks of the drama she has to face when she returns and how small it all seems now. As much as she wishes Wells didn’t air out her laundry in front of everyone, it did put things into perspective. “Yeah,” she says softly. “They’re alright.”

When Clarke drops Wells off at the airport, he’s antsy. She can tell he doesn’t want to go – that he’s considering grabbing her and running. “Take care of yourself, Clarke.” Wells says before the terminal doors. “You’ve lost weight since I’ve seen you. You do this when you’re stressed out – forget to eat and all that.”

“Wells—”

“No arguing. You know how it was in undergrad. You’d get busy, forget to eat, and then get super sick. Just, take care of yourself, okay?” Wells says.

Nodding slightly, Clarke feels her eyes water again. In this moment, she doesn’t want him to go. She doesn’t want him to leave her because he’s safe and warm. Except she can’t be in that place anymore. “Bye, Wells.”

“Clarke.”

Before he goes into the terminal, he envelops her in a hug. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” She answers honestly, her eyes filling with tears.

“Please come home.”

They both know she can’t. Pulling away, she scrubs under her eyes and gives him a small wave. He returns is, pulling his hoodie closer and making his way into the airport. “One text a week!” He calls, as the door open. “Or the wrath of the National Guard will descend upon you!”

“One text a week!” She repeats.

The drive home is sad. She doesn’t play any music, but thinks about the empty chair next to her. The Ark comes too quickly and too far all at the same time and she considers avoiding everyone and sleeping in her car. She did that once when she drove to Seattle and it wasn’t as bad as she expected.

She knows she’s being ridiculous, but she gives herself this.

Opening the door to the Ark, Clarke tries to be as indiscreet and subtle as possible. Which, of course, is why Murphy lies on the couch, peering up from his video game once she does so. Once he catches sight of her, he calls, “Hey Bellamy! Clarke’s back! That dudebro didn’t come with her!”

“Seriously, Murphy?” Clarke hisses.

“Bellamy is way scarier than you are.” Murphy says, returning his attention to his game.

Clarke takes several strides forward and snatches the game from his hands. “You want to reevaluate that position?” She says in a low voice.

Murphy’s eyes widen. “Okay, now I think you’re both crazy.”

There’s a slam at the door upstairs and Clarke groans. “I just want to go to sleep, and he’s not going to let me.”

“Dude, then chain your door.”

“He will talk through the crack in the door. He’s done it five times when I haven’t wanted to talk to him.”

Murphy chuckles, grabbing his game back. “I know, he’s the absolute worst.” And his attention’s gone.

Bellamy’s stalking down the hallway, but before he can say anything, he’s cut off by Raven, who bursts out of her room. “Sorry Bell, I need to speak with Clarke.”

He lets out an exasperated groan, but doesn’t argue. Raven leans over the railing of the second floor and tilts her head. “Clarke, can we speak for a moment?”

Clarke turns to Murphy. “Ten bucks if you shove a pencil in my leg hard enough so I have to go to the hospital.”

“Twenty if you chill.”

Clarke makes a face. “Useless!”

“I know.” He says, not taking his eyes off his game.

Making her way to Raven is a terrifying experience. She’s had enough drama for one day and wants nothing more than to sleep, but knows she can’t avoid this, just as she couldn’t avoid the first conversation. When she approaches Raven, Raven’s face doesn’t give much away. She leads Clarke into her room.

Which has changed.

The pictures mounted all over the walls are in a box and there’s a noticeable lack of stuff. Clarke can barely formulate a sentence. “I want to apologize.” Raven says quietly. “For icing you out that past couple days. Bellamy was right, it was childish.”

“Raven, I’m—”

“Stop.” Raven puts her hands up. “This was a long time coming. I just ignored the signs because Finn and I have been together for such a long time. And even though nothing happened between you two really, it still isn’t how I deserve to be loved. Also, never tell Bellamy that I think he was right and I was wrong.”

Clarke fights a laugh. “I’m still sorry.”

Clarke wrings her hands, unsure of what to do. It isn’t how she expected any of this to go and finds the exhaustion of the day wearing on her. “It’ll be fine.” Raven states. “I don’t want someone intimidated over how awesome I am anyway. I’m just sorry I took it out on you.”

“I get it, though.” Clarke states. “If the roles were reversed, I’d probably have reacted the same way.”

Raven nods, tears in her eyes. “Well, I guess all we can do is move forward.”

Clarke’s shoulders slump. “Yeah, I guess.”

Moving toward her, Raven places a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” Raven asks. “I know you probably didn’t want us all hearing that, but I’m not going to pretend I didn’t.”

Clarke thinks about this. “I’m… tired.”

“You want to sleep in here? It’s the first night I’ve slept alone in a while and Bellamy never comes in after the time I poured an entire bucket of water on him for doing so. It’d be nice to have company.”

“Really?”

Raven laughs. “Yeah. It was awesome.”

Clarke nods. “Thank you, I would like that.”

Raven gestures to the bed, which has now been stripped so it’s nothing but a single sheet lying on top. “I hope you don’t mind minimalism. Because that’s all I have available. I threw everything else out.”

“Minimalism sounds about perfect.”

Raven smiles, but it’s sad. Her red has dimmed a bit, the raging fire on a woman with a mission slowly fizzling. Clarke approaches her and places her hands on her shoulders. “You deserve so much more, Raven.” Clarke states. “I have only known you a month and I know that. If Finn has known you for your entire life and hasn’t realized that? He doesn’t deserve you.”

Raven closes her eyes and a few tears roll down her cheeks. “I should be comforting you.”

Wrapping her arms around Raven, Clarke places her chin on her shoulder. For the first time in a few days, she breathes as easy as she had. She embraces the warmth of Raven’s red, mixing with her own melancholy. Tire and exhaustion weigh down her bones and she closes her eyes.

“You are.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX

“Okay, I’d like to make a toast.” Raven clears her throat, lifting her beer and placing a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder, who buries his face in his arm. Clarke can’t help but grin at how his cheeks flush at the attention and he attempts to shrug off her hand. It doesn’t work, Raven’s got his shoulder in a vice-like grip. Raven holds up her drink. “Bellamy has finished his first midterm as a grad student. It’s a great achievement and, I for one, am excited that the pretentious, killjoy asshole that has been in his place will be replaced with our regularly scheduled loveable asshole.”

Bellamy groans through his fingers. “Thanks Raven.” He grumbles.

“Cheers!” Raven says cheerfully, but Clarke can see the pain of Finn’s absence in the depths of her eyes. But she smiles through it anyway, looking affectionately at the man squirming under everyone’s gaze. “Oh, and a second toast!” Raven says after taking a drink.

“Raven, I swear to god—”

“Not everything’s about you, Blake.” She snaps affectionately. “A toast to Clarke.” Clarke startles, nearly dropping her drink in surprise. “For only being in town for a month and already receiving an internship at a hella cool gallery. Because she’s awesome.”

Bellamy blinks a few times, staring at her in that intense way he does whenever something startles him. He raises his glass all the same, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he does so. After draining his drink, he announces, “Next round’s on me.” The table cheers, no one fighting him on it even though this whole shindig was to celebrate midterms be over. “Clarke, can you give me a hand?”

Clarke shrugs, downing the last of her own and approaching the bar. He leans against it, his face more relaxed than she’s ever seen it. He smiles easily, not even trying to flag down the bartender, who’s speaking to a girl at the end of the bar. “So,” he says with a grin. “Congrats.”

“You too.” Clarke says.  “How does it feel, being free of testing and grading at the same time?”

“As close to an orgasm that a school function can give.” He states.

“Vivid.”

He laughs. “Well, I try.” A moment later, he sobers and asks, “Are you okay?”

Clarke heaves a sigh. She knew she couldn’t avoid it for long. Raven’s room was a solace and the two women had an unspoken rule about not talking about the events of last week. Raven didn’t even hesitate when she asked Clarke to stay with her for a week, Clarke all too excited after the drama with Wells. It was nice to have someone not ask questions, just want company. So the two stitched themselves back together and everyone gave them that.

Clarke winces. “How likely is it that I can convince you that Wells had the wrong person?”

Bellamy snorts. “You must really have a low opinion of my mental capacity.”

“I have a lot of anecdotal proof of it.” Clarke smiles as she says it and Bellamy merely rolls his eyes. “Eh, I’m okay. I think. I don’t know anymore.”

Bellamy huffs like he knows what she’s talking about.

She places her forearms on the bar and leans into it, focusing on the bottles of alcohol instead of Bellamy’s intense expression. “It doesn’t feel real sometimes, you know?” She ends up saying. “And then something happens and I’m hit with it all over again.” She turns the watch in her hand, an involuntary tick that she’s had since leaving the east coast. Clarke is proud that she doesn’t feel like crying and her eyes are dry.

“If it would make you feel any better, I could fly to Boston and beat the shit out of that guy.”

Clarke can’t help it – a laugh sneaks from her chest and Bellamy appears quite pleased with himself by it. “Wells is actually a wonderful person, so if you ever see him again, be nice to him please.”

Bellamy sighs as if the request is a terrible hardship. Then, he grows serious. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Clarke ponders this for a moment.

It would be easy, telling everything to him. Explaining everything. She opens her mouth as if to start, but then drops her gaze to the floor. “I don’t think I can right now.” She admits honestly. “Is that okay?”

“Is that okay?” Bellamy repeats. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Ever.”

Clarke can’t help her grin at that. “Good to know. Because you seem to be pretty insistent whenever you get an idea in your head.”

Bellamy tilts his chin and rubs it with his fingers. “I’m all about pushing people to be their best selves.”

“That’s what we’re calling it, are we?”

“Can I get you two anything?”

Clarke almost leaps back. Somehow to two had gotten closer, their faces mere inches apart. Bellamy even looks a bit sheepish, ordering a round of drinks from the bartender quickly. “So, this internship?” He asks. “How does Raven know about this but no one else?”

She chuckles, able to hear the genuine curiosity through the snark. “That’s what happens when you share a bed with someone for a week.”

“Should I be jealous?” He asks with a smirk. “That you seem to be jumping around from bed to bed?”

“You should be.” Clarke says. “Because Raven’s a much better bedmate than you. She sticks to her own side.”

Bellamy makes a face. “Please. Many would love this wrapped around them in the morning.”

“So many things wrong with you.” Clarke laughs as she grabs a few beers from the bartender.

Bellamy hesitates before picking up the drinks, frowning. “I actually kinda thought you were avoiding me. After the whole blowup in the foyer. And the fact that I confronted Raven and Finn after you told me not to.”

This genuinely surprises Clarke. “Well, if we’re being honest, I was avoiding you.” Clarke says. “But not because of that. I secretly was grateful someone said something because I kinda was losing my mind.” Bellamy’s stretches a smirk. “I wasn’t ready to talk about any of it. And for some reason you have this infuriating face.”

Bellamy’s taken aback. “Infuriating face?”

“I want to tell you things, but I also want to punch it.”

“This may come as a shock to you, but you are not the first person to say something like that to me.”

Clarke shakes her head. “That is not a shock.”

“They say the emotions of love and hate are very close together.”

“That’s why they’re both red.” Clarke states matter-of-factly, taking the drinks and returning to the table.

When they arrive, they’re met with general cheer. Which means, of course, Murphy has to do something to make it weird. “God, finally.” He moans, snatching a beer from the center of the table. “Took long enough. Just make out already and get it over with.”

Clarke is so grateful she’s had years of practice of intense compartmentalization because she keeps her expression neutral. “Oh, I’m sorry Murphy. I forgot how jealous you get when you realize you want this.” She states, dancing a little on her bar stool. He scoffs at her, flicking some condensation from the side of his glass at her. “Can you stop throwing things at me?”

“Can you stop being irritating?”

Clarke sighs. “That’s a big case of the pot calling the kettle black, there.”

“Not even that because you are so much more annoying than Clarke.” Monty says with a grin. “I’ve got your back, Clarke.

Harper leans in. “That does not sound as nice as you think it does.”

Clarke shakes her head. “I’ll take it. As long as I am less annoying than Murphy, I consider my life a success.”

“You need higher goals,” Raven states after taking a sip.

“We were making fun of Clarke, remember?” Murphy scoffs.

“Actually, you were making fun of Clarke.” Bellamy chimes in, taking his seat next to Clarke. “I thought you’d realize by now that’s a dangerous game.”

“Yeah Murphy, get your shit together!” Jasper calls from the other side of the table. When Murphy glares at him, Jasper puts his hands up. “I just like to stir the pot.”

Clarke smiles into her beer, wishing she could stay in this moment forever. Everyone’s color surrounds her, but it isn’t overwhelming. It’s like a blanket that warms her, right as the night grows cold.

***

“If anyone named Michael Johnson calls, I’m always busy. Always. If I wanted to talk to someone of his personality, I’d talk to a wall.”

Clarke’s scribbling notes in a sketchbook as Roan takes her through the gallery, her pencil pausing at that. She tries to stifle a snort and fails, but Roan doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks rather pleased with himself. He gestures to the main desk. “Here’s where you’ll spend most of your time. It’s not glamorous, but you’ll be able to see anyone who walks through. Feel free to help them, but if they want specifics, grab me. Unless they want to complain about how they could make a painting like that with finger paints. Then tell them to kindly fuck themselves.”

“Really?” Clarke asks, shocked.

“No, not really.” Roan sighs, exasperated. “It’s how you say it that they get the message. It’s like when southern people say ‘bless your heart.’ Say something like, ‘that’s nice, do you meet your goals often?’”

“That still sounds mean.”

“You know what I’m getting at.” Roan says, waving his hands aside. “Other than that, you’re good to go. I’ve emailed you a list of things we’ll need for the monthly mixer. If you can get started on that, it’d be nice to have it done before the doors open, which hasn’t been the case the past three times.”

Clarke makes a face. “What did you do?”

“I’m an artist, Clarke, I can’t be rushed.”

It takes a few moments before she realizes that he’s kidding, the twinkle in his eyes mischievous enough for her to laugh. Clarke ends up rolling her eyes at him and he doesn’t nothing more than huff a laugh, which she appreciates. He snarks at her throughout the day, which eases her behind the desk. Clarke finds that her job here isn’t much different from the supply store. She may have on nicer clothes, but it mainly is dealing with people and finding odd tasks to finish her time.

The door rings and Clarke glances up, two figures walking through the door. She smiles at them, the two casually walking up to reception. “Hi, how are you doing?” Clarke asks cordially.

The woman eyes her, arching a manicured eyebrow at her. She has a gaze that makes Clarke a little uncomfortable, powerful and commanding. “Hi, I’m here to meet Roan.”

The man who’s next to her eyes Clarke with a smirk as she doesn’t quite care for. “I can go get him for you. Can I get your name?”

“Charmaine Diyoza.” The woman states, leaning over and eying the sketchbook that Clarke is doodling in. “This is my assistant McCreary. You’ll probably be dealing mainly with him.”

Clarke nods, wishing that she wouldn’t have to, but it seemed to be a hazard of the trade. She runs to the back where Roan is, frowning at his current piece. “There’s a woman named Diyoza here to see you?”

He snaps out of his stupor. “Ah, great. I’ll be right out.”

Clarke takes a peek at what he’s doing, taking in his piece. There’s a wild amount of color that is almost out control. She almost winces at the amount of red. It reminds her of a few months ago, the chaos and blood surrounding her. “Have you considered adding more complementary colors and more distinctive lines to contrast the monochromatic color? I think it would help your piece have more depth since it seems a little two-dimensional.”

Roan blinks, surprised. “That’s one suggestion.” He says with a smirk. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

Clarke smiles to herself, following him out to the reception area.

Roan waves his arms open. “Diyoza! I thought we talked about setting appointments.”

Diyoza gives him a smile. “You know that I don’t need to announce my presence. People should simply know that I’m coming.”

Roan laughs. “Of course, how could I forget? Is there a reason you’re deigning me with your presence?”

Diyoza puts a hand on his shoulder. “I wanted to talk about the next mixer. For some reason, I see my artists’ are not in primary location.”

“Diyoza—”

“Why don’t we chat?” She asks. “And I can tell you exactly why you’re wrong.”

“Always a pleasure, Diyoza.”

The two wander in the gallery, Clarke trying not to flinch under McCreary’s gaze. He leans against the reception desk, his eyes wandering to every part of her. She shudders, trying not to think too much about it. It feels so much like her time with Finn that she wonders if she’s projecting, but sighs. “Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” McCreary says, leaning across the desk.

“I suppose so.” Clarke answers. She knows that her job relies on these contacts, but she struggles to even look him in the eye. When she does, she tries not to flinch under his scrutiny. She starts questioning every wardrobe decision she made, inconspicuously pulling up her shirt to hide as much cleavage as possible.

“You may not have noticed, but Diyoza likes things a certain way. So I’ll be here often make sure her needs are met.” He states, his words dripping with inuendo.

Clarke forces a smile. “Well, anything I can do to help.”

“Trust me, I’ll reach out when necessary.”

“Clarke!”

Clarke jumps at her name, almost sighing in relief when Bellamy marches through the door, bespectacled and shaking his wet hair from the Seattle rain. He shoulders his bag, frowning at the exchange at the reception desk, eyeing McCreary in a way only he can. McCreary almost steps back when he sees Bellamy, scowling at the intrusion. “Bellamy!” Clarke exclaims almost too excitedly. He doesn’t stop eyeing McCreary as he approaches, moving behind the desk where Clarke is. She’s grateful; as much as she can handle herself, she feels calmer with him being there. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t take his gaze of McCreary. “I wanted to see if you wanted to grab dinner. You said today was your first day.”

“Yes!” She agrees too quickly. Finding Roan, she waves at him and he flicks his wrist, clearly too engrossed in his conversation with Diyoza to care if she leaves. Grabbing her purse, she says to McCreary, “It was so nice to meet you. Have a great evening!”

They leave before he can even open his mouth.

It’s almost a block before either of them speak. “Do you have, like, a sandwich board that says something like ‘If you’re a creeper, I’m open for business?” Bellamy cries incredulously after a while. “Because the men who are attracted to you are the worst.”

Clarke sighs, trying to mask a giggle as she does so. “First of all, rude.” She manages as Bellamy fumbles with his umbrella. Grasping her hand, he draws her close so she’s under it, shaking his curls so it sprays her with residual water. She yelps at it and he laughs, but reaches the umbrella to cover her all the same. She tries not to focus how close they are or the fact that she wants it to be closer. Clarke reminds herself not for the first time that his friendship is becoming more engrained in her life than she ever imagined – to the point where she isn’t sure what she would do if she lost it. “Secondly, it’s not like I ask for any of it!”

He snorts.

Clarke glares. “What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?” He asks innocently.

“You know exactly what I’m referring to.”

Bellamy groans. “Nothing I could say right now would make any of this better.” Clarke continues to glower at him until he sighs. “I know you don’t mean it, but you’ve got the face with the eyes.”

“The face with the eyes?” Clarke repeats. “As opposed to faces without eyes.”

He shakes his head. “You just don’t get it.” He mumbles. “You have a very strong presence. I think in another lifetime, people would’ve fought wars for you.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, shoving him forward without thinking of how he takes his umbrella with him. “Oh my god, be serious.”

“Hey, I’m becoming a professor of history, I know my shit.” He says with a grin. “You have to believe me without questioning anything. Because you don’t know enough to argue with me.”

“Oh, I will argue with you just on principle. Even if I think you’re right.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Bellamy groans. “Let’s go here.”

He leads her into a restaurant, shaking his umbrella outside before they enter. A few ladies are huddled by the counter of the old diner, barely paying attention to the two. Bellamy points to a booth in the corner and they do nothing more than roll their eyes, Bellamy snagging a few menus before dragging Clarke to the back.

“Been here before?” Clarke laughs as he moves through the confusing table setup with ease.

“You have no idea. They’re open twenty-four hours a day and if I had a dollar every time this place has saved my life with alcohol-soaking pancakes, I’d be bankrupt.”

“You’re a college graduate student, how much money can you have?”

“I don’t know cut-out artist who is working an unpaid internship.” He snaps, but there’s no real heat to it. He even looks a little guilty, giving her a slight smile after. Clarke really doesn’t mind, she’s happy to be anywhere else than with someone who makes her skin crawl. She hopes that he’s overestimating how much time they’ll have to spend together.

Bellamy doesn’t say anything while Clarke looks over the diner menu, but she can feel his eyes on her. That’s when it hits her. Looking up from her menu, she stares him square in the eye and says, “You want to talk about it.”

Bellamy shifts his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You are not as smooth as you think you are.” Clarke sighs, but she can’t help but laugh. Narrowing her eyes, she says, “You didn’t come to go to dinner because my internship, you came because I’ve been staying with Raven and you’ve been dying of curiosity.”

“Uh,” Bellamy states and says the most unconvincing “No?” on the planet.

Clarke surveys him. Every instinct of hers is telling her to walk out right now, but she makes a face instead. “Okay. But this is going to go both ways. I’ll say something, then you’ll say something.”

Bellamy blinks. “I’m sorry?”

Clarke shrugs. “I say something, you say something. I think it’s fair.”

Bellamy genuinely ponders this, only breaking from his stupor when the waitress comes to take his order. Clarke wonders if she broke him with the request, watching as his eyes dart back and forth like he’s reading something.

“Listen, you don’t have to,” Clarke says, feeling like she should apologize for some reason. As much as she wants to know about him, he appears genuinely torn over the request. “But I trust you with my stuff.”

That seems to break Bellamy out of his reverie. “You trust me?”

Clarke wrinkles her nose at the expression, but knows she’s in too deep at this point. “I do.” She states honestly. “Beyond all reason, I trust you.”

Even with the caveat she throws at the end to make herself feel more comfortable, a smile stretches across his face. Bellamy’s yellow’s almost blinding, she wants to look away because it’s as if she’s staring at the sun, but can’t bring herself to. His smile is infectious and she finds herself smiling back.

“Well then,” he says quietly, grinning into his water. “I accept your terms.”

Clarke nods. “Okay, as an act of trust on my terms, I’ll ask the first question.” Bellamy’s eyes widen. “Why did you take time off school?”

“Wow, jumping right into it, are we?” He groans. Clarke almost thinks that she started too strong, but he continues, “My mom died. Octavia was still a teenager – she was fifteen. Either I had to drop out of college and become her legal guardian, or she went into the foster system. I chose to drop out. I finished my undergrad just last year – so only a few years late.”

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke says, her eyes watering. She can’t help it – everything’s to fresh and real in her own life for her to behave normally.

Bellamy seems to notice this, putting his hands up. “It happened a long time ago.”

“I’m still sorry.” She insists, putting all her weight into it. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It was for the best, probably.” Bellamy shrugs. “I… wasn’t doing great. I was making some bad decisions in school. It woke me up, you know?”

“Yeah.”

He looks at her. Really looks at her. Because she knows that he most likely has never had someone truly know before. Perhaps someone had said they understood – but people don’t. Not if they’ve never experienced it before. But Clarke knows it – she knows it in every corner of her soul.

It’s the color of periwinkle blue, like seeing the clear sky for the first time. Jarring, but beautiful.

He nods. “I suppose you would.”

Their food comes and he appears relieved. Without hesitation, he picks up a fork and almost stabs his pancakes, which is too funny of an image for Clarke not to laugh at him for. “So, your turn.”

Clarke nods. “My turn.”

Squinting, Bellamy takes a moment, which stresses her out far more than it should. “Why’d you quit medical school?”

“Yikes,” Clarke says.

“You didn’t pull punches on your question.”

“No, you’re right.” Clarke fiddles with her eggs, making a face. “I feel like this will answer multiple questions though.”

“So redact some stuff.” Bellamy shrugs. “I can pry more later.”

“Fair.” Clarke takes a breath. “My dad died. My parents were going through a separation. He recently lost his job, but they didn’t tell me why. I found out why on my graduation from pre-med.” Clarke says bitterly. “He also died on my graduation.” Clarke says, her eyes instantly filling with tears. They escape and falling, hitting the table. She can’t bare to gaze at Bellamy and instead focuses on table in front of her. “It was my mom’s fault.” Clarke states. “Why he lost his job. And it destroyed him.”

Bellamy doesn’t say much for a while. Clarke isn’t sure how he’ll react and she isn’t sure if she wants him to. Instead, he takes a couple bites and then clears his throat. “Your turn.”

Clarke blinks her tears away. “Huh?”

“Your turn for the next question.”

Scrubbing under her eyes, Clarke sucks in a breath. “Right. Okay,” she ponders this. There’s so many things she wants to know, but she remembers an offhanded comment from Murphy. “So, did you recently go through a breakup?”

Whatever anxiety Bellamy must feel filters and he bellows a laugh, actually tilting his head back. “Yes, I did.”

“What happened?”

“Technically two questions, but I’ll let it slide.” Bellamy smirks. “We dated in college before my break. When I took custody over Octavia, we split up, but got back together once Octavia went to college. It wasn’t meant to be. We were like… puzzle pieces that didn’t fit, you know? She ended things. I was never good at that part, but I think we both knew.”

The two sit in a companionable silence while Bellamy thinks of his next questions. She watches the rain hit the window outside, almost missing his question when he asks, “Are you ever going to take the chain down on our door?”

Clarke bursts out laughing – she can’t help it. She knows he’s being nice and not asking a follow-up, but it seems so ridiculous in the grand scheme of things. “Of course I’m not!”

“Why?” Bellamy exclaims, but he can’t help but chuckle too. “I thought we were cool!”

“We are cool!”

“Then why are you so determined to lock me out?”

“I think we both know why. It’s for your own good.” Clarke says with a grin, stabbing her food.

Bellamy leans across the table and lifts his eyes suggestively. “Afraid to see me naked?”

Clarke doesn’t back down this time. With a bout of confidence she doesn’t recognize, she leans closer. “Are you?”

They stay like that for a few moments, Clarke waiting for Bellamy to get uncomfortable and back down. Except he doesn’t. He stays there, his eyes wandering to her lips, like he’s contemplating something. Clarke isn’t sure how she feels about it, her hands growing tingly as she waits for whatever he’s thinking. If anything, she moves close, as if daring him to do something.

In the end, he doesn’t.

He lowers himself with a smirk, but refuses to keep eye contact with her for a minute. Clarke views this as a win, but wonders to herself what was going on in his mind. If he too wanted to close the gap between them.

They’re friends. She tells herself, trying to inconspicuously let out a sigh. Bellamy doesn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with his pancakes.

“Okay,” Clarke barrels ahead, wanting to move past whatever awkwardness has settled between the two. “Have you decided anything with your sister?”

Bellamy lets out a breath, running his hand through his hair. He seems relieved for the change of topic, finally lifting his gaze. “I forgot to tell you,” he murmurs. “She, uh, is going to be staying with us for next week. While she’s in between apartments.”

“Really?” says Clarke, surprised. “Why wouldn’t she stay with her boyfriend?”

“You know, I am trying to focus all my energy on not focusing on that, thank you.”

“You really need to get over it.” Clarke says without thinking.

“Get over it?” Bellamy almost yells, his eyes narrowing. “You wanna try that again?”

“She is a grown woman.” Clarke states. “And if you raised her, I’m sure she’s a fine person. She you need to accept the fact that she can make her own choices. And if she needs help, you help her. If she doesn’t, back off.”

Bellamy makes a face. “I agree with nothing you just said.”

“Of course you don’t.” Clarke says rolling her eyes. “How about this? I’ll be there. Whenever you need a buffer – whenever you feel yourself boarding the crazy train, just let me know.”

Bellamy thinks about this. “And you’ll be back in your room? You won’t be hiding in Raven’s any longer?”

“I mean,” Clarke says. “If she wants me, I’ll be there for her. But unless she asks, I will be on the other side of the wall.”

She expects something snarky in response, but Bellamy lets out a shaky breath. “Good,” he mutters to himself. “That’s good.”

Smiling to herself, Clarke returns her attention to her breakfast food, waiting for another question.

Except it doesn’t come. Nothing else comes, as if he anticipated that she couldn’t share anymore. Instead, they lapse into comfortable conversation, Clarke poking fun at his love of mythology references, while Bellamy laughs at stories she shares from the supply store.

For the first time in a while, she’s simply allow to be, and the melancholy blue lifts.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVEN

The day starts off with a bang on the door and a yell.

“Get your ass up, I know you’re in there!”

Clarke blearily shoots up in her bed. “What?” She exclaims.

The pounding on her door increases in volume and intensity. “I will not stop! I know you’re being an asshole about everything, but you will open this door and talk to me like a grown-up!” The slamming continues.

Clarke is annoyed for many reasons, one being it is her only day off this week. A day off where she planned on doing nothing but staying in pajamas, working on her mural, and maybe going to a park for a walk. Now, she has to hoist herself out of bed at seven twenty-seven in the morning. Swinging the door open, she’s greeted by an attractive brunette, her eyes fierce and piercing. She’s radiating a fierce blue, but not the melancholy that Clarke shrouds herself with. It’s electric and vibrant, like the feeling when someone leaps into crystal clear water, or illuminates a dark cave. It’s assaulting, wild, and free. “What do you want?” She cries, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice.

The woman makes a face. “Seriously? Do you just go around answering other people’s doors?”

Clarke knows she hasn’t been awake for more than thirty seconds and she is not a morning person, but she doesn’t think that she’s misunderstanding any of this because of sleep. “What?” She cries.

Pushing past her, the woman charges into her room, only stopping when she sees the painting and furniture and decorations of flowers. “What the hell? My brother allows some tramp he’s sleeping with redecorate? Do you have money or something?”

Finally, everything clicks. Pointing at her, Clarke says, “Octavia.”

The woman startles. “Wow, it’s the first time my brother gave one of his hookups my name.”

Clarke sighs. Grabbing her arm, she drags her to the corner of the room. Octavia is surprised enough to allow it, only fighting back when they get to the door. “What the hell, get off of me!”

Clarke let’s go, but only to unchain their shared door. Swinging it open, Clarke motions her to follow, glaring at Bellamy, whose head is tucked under his pillow. It’s not the first time Clarke’s woken up Bellamy – turns out the loud alarm is a regular thing – and so she picks up a pillow and smacks his head with it. “Wake up!” She snaps.

Octavia watches this all happen with surprise, understanding dawning on her face. Before she can utter an excuse or even an apology, Bellamy lifts his head, his eyes barely up. “What do you want?”

Clarke gestures to Octavia. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“O?”

He sits up quickly, gaze flitting between the two women. “This is a combination between my dream and my nightmare.” He says sleepily.

Clarke frowns. “Why?”

He gestures at her and then Clarke flushes. She definitely forgot that she fell asleep in her underwear and bra after painting in them – she likes to be free when creating, okay – and that she never put a shirt on, thanks to Octavia’s brutal wakeup. Now the tramp comment makes a lot more sense. Flushing, Clarke doesn’t even try to cover herself. It’s all downhill from here and there’s really no point anymore. “I hate you.”

“I’m sure.” Rubbing his eyes, he says, “What the hell are you doing here, O?”

“You won’t answer my calls.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I may just be busy?”

“You?” Octavia laughs. “Busy? Please.”

“I have a life.”

“I’ve yet to see it.”

“Okay, if you guys are gonna do this, I’m going to go back to sleep now.” Clarke says, gesturing to the open door. “Good luck, Bellamy.”

“I’m sorry I called you a tramp!” Octavia calls after her.

“You did what?”

Clarke waves it aside. “Well, I’m not dressed as a doctor.” She answers sleepily.

“If it helps, if I didn’t just move in with my boyfriend, I would hit on you!”

Clarke hesitates before closing the door. “It does actually, thank you.”

It doesn’t take long to go back to sleep. In fact, she completely crashes, not even waking up once before eleven. She doesn’t feel necessarily refreshed, but she’s grateful that she was even able to crash again. By the time she’s showered and ready for the day, a few people are up and rummaging in the kitchen. Jasper never gets up before noon and Murphy has on many occasions said waking up before one in your twenties meant you would die alone, but a few people are sipping coffee.

Clarke hesitates when she sees Octavia and Bellamy in an uncomfortable silence in the corner, both gazing up when she enters the room. A part of her had hoped that walking into Bellamy’s room in nothing but her underwear was an elaborate dream, but when Octavia smirks and Bellamy follows suit, with a bit of blush creeping on his cheeks, she knows it’s real.

“Hello again,” Clarke states, going to the fridge and pulling out some leftovers.

“You’re dressed.” Octavia states matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I don’t often just wander around in my underwear.”

“Just when your friend’s sister comes over?”

“Need I remind you that you nearly broke down my door this morning.” Clarke states, deciding that she’s not embarrassed. It requires too much energy at this point and she hasn’t even had coffee yet. “And you marched into my room. I am not the weird one in this situation. It’s not my fault you forgot which room was your brother’s.”

Octavia at least looks a little bad, her cheeks flushing. “Yeah, well, it’s not like he invites me over all the time.”

Bellamy looks affronted. “Um, I invite you all the time, you’re the one whose been driving around the country and shacking up with some guy you barely know.”

Clarke chuckles. “I can’t possibly figure out how you feel about that.”

“He’s subtle, isn’t he?” Octavia nods. “You have great boobs, by the way.”

“I know.” Clarke says, sitting next to the two of them. For a moment, she worries she’s interrupting, but it’s clear the moment she sits that both are relieved. “What are you going to do today?”

“Well, my brother is going to apologize for being such an asshole, for starters.”

Clarke snorts. “Good luck with that. He doesn’t apologize.”

Bellamy glowers at her.

“Literally your own words.”

“Whatever, Clarke.” Bellamy grumbles. “And I’m not apologizing because I have nothing to apologize for. Octavia is going to introduce me to the real winner that she just couldn’t wait to move in with.”

Octavia makes a face. “This is why he is not being introduced to him.”

“O—”

“Well, that sounds like you two have a lot of stuff to do.” Clarke says. “I’m gonna just go—”

“No!” Octavia exclaims, grabbing her hand. Clarke genuinely wonders what she would do if she just wrenched it out of her grip and ran away. It seems like a viable option because whatever Octavia is about to say, she does not want to hear. “You should come with us!”

Definitely should’ve just fled.

“Uh, this seems like a brother, sister thing. I mean, I wouldn’t know since I’m an only child, but it feels like—”

“Octavia!” Someone shrieks from the kitchen doorway.

Before Clarke can even turn around, Jasper’s launching himself over her to get to Octavia, who merely laughs uproarishly at the action. Bellamy lets out a loud groan at this, running his hand down his face at the sight. “Jasper!” Octavia squeals with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck, since it’s the only thing she can really reach with him strewn across Clarke like this.

“Is my body and general self getting in your way?” Clarke asks. She hasn’t had enough coffee to have such a shot of Jasper’s ass in her face.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Jasper whispers, giggling his butt a bit.

“I’m definitely uncomfortable.” Bellamy murmurs, glaring at the sight. “I swear to god Jasper, if you spend the entire week hitting on my sister, I’m gonna—”

“But our love is pure!”

“O, don’t you have a boyfriend you should be telling him about?”

Octavia throws Clarke a plain look. “Now he acknowledges it.”

Clarke can’t help but snort at that, shoving Jasper off of her as she scoots out of the kitchen nook. “Oh my god, you guys are so loud! Don’t you know that it’s morning?” Murphy grumbles from the kitchen doorway.

Clarke is grateful for an excuse to scurry away from the noise. “You do know it’s past noon, right?”

“Yeah, at least three hours earlier than I usually get up.”

Clarke nudges his side. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

“I’m a bartender Clarke, some of us don’t have the luxury of working two full time jobs in the middle of the day.”

“That’s not as intense a burn as you think it is.” Clarke laughs.

“Shut up, I haven’t had coffee yet.”

“Neither have I,” Clarke says. “Want some? I’ll make a pot for both of us.”

Murphy lets out a moan. “I take back everything I’ve said, you’re a goddess among men.”

“About time you recognize it.”

Clarke moves to the counter, very aware of a handful of eyes watching their entire exchange. Even Bellamy’s lost his scowl, but it’s almost comical how Octavia and Jasper freeze. “Oh my god,” Octavia states, eyes wide. “I have never seen anyone warm to Murphy before. It’s like watching animals in a zoo.”

“Shut up, I’m awesome.” Murphy grumbles, running his hands down his face.

“If you keep telling yourself that in the mirror every day, it might come true.” Clarke coos, patting the top of his head. He swats her away, but all she can do is laugh brightly and return to her coffee. Leaning against the counter, Clarke is happy to remain a witness to warm conversation. Monty and Harper join after a few minutes, all rushing over to say hello to Octavia as well, although not nearly with as much enthusiasm.

Handing Murphy a cup of coffee, Clarke settles next to him as everyone plans their days out. “What about you, Clarke?” Murphy says, perked up a bit now that his cup is half empty. “You have your typical day off plans?”

Clarke looks at the Blakes, panicking because there’s no way she wants them to know she has nothing to do. “Uh, if you mean by typical you mean—”

“That you’re going to hide and ignore everyone for a day.” Murphy jabs his thumb in Clarke direction. “For someone this hot, she’s really anti-social.”

“I am not!”

“You so are.” Murphy states. “On her last day off, I invited her to play half-naked beer pong on the patio and she said no. Can you even imagine?”

“Okay,” Clarke says, waving her hands. “You’re only giving them half the story. You invited me to play beer pong at three in the afternoon, only in my bra and underwear, on the porch in broad daylight.”

“Sounds hot.” Raven states, pushing past everyone. She’s covered in grease and wiping herself down with a rag that genuinely looks like it’s doing more harm than good.

“Thank you!” Murphy exclaims. “Who in their right mind would say no to that?”

“I mean, I met you in your underwear today.” Octavia offers.

“What?” Murphy cries. “You trusted her half-naked and not me? Have you met Octavia? She’s insane!”

“Hey!” Bellamy growls, clearly horrified by this conversation.

Octavia merely shrugs with a smirk. “It’s true, I am.”

Clarke can’t help but laugh at herself, shaking her head. “Just because I’m not as generous with my clothes as you are, doesn’t mean that I’m still not awesome.”

“Good lord—”

Clarke kisses Murphy’s cheek. “You suck. Goodbye!”

Before he can argue, Clarke skips out of the kitchen, allowing everyone to catch up with Octavia. She genuinely thinks that if she leaves, that’ll be that – and she’ll be able to ignore everyone for the rest of the day. Of course, this isn’t the case.

The moment her hand is on the banister, someone grabs her arm. Whirling around, Clarke finds herself face-to-face with Bellamy, far too close for any normal set of people. She wonders briefly if Bellamy just genuinely has no sense of personal space or if he knows that it distracts her. “What was that all about?” Bellamy snaps, eyes blazing.

“What was what all about?” Clarke asks, genuinely confused.

“You left!”

“Uh,” Clarke stutters. “I don’t even know where to begin answering that.”

“You promised!”

“Bellamy, either start giving me all the information or I’m walking away from you.”

He lets out an annoyed huff, but refuses to let go of her arm.

Clarke gapes. “How are you frustrated in this situation?”

Bellamy doesn’t respond to that. “You said that you would come with me if I needed back up!”

“Yeah?”

“And then you left!”

“Did I leave the country?” Clarke laughs. “I literally left the room!”

“Come on, you know what I mean.” Bellamy groans. “I need you to come with me to lunch to meet her boyfriend.”

“Okay?”

“Okay?” He repeats. “Just like that?”

“Bellamy, you are aware that you never actually asked me to do this? You had an unwarranted freak out and now are getting upset with me?” He opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything. So Clarke pats him on the cheek and rolls her eyes. “Your social skills need desperate work.”

“Oh whatever, Clarke.”

He still hasn’t let go of her arm. Bellamy has a way of staring at her that grounds her to the earth and takes her away at the same time, which she doesn’t understand. She thinks he’ll let go of her, but it persists. Clarke knows she should tell him to, but—

“That’s something I never thought I’d see.”

Both Bellamy and Clarke jump back from each other, Octavia smirking at the two of them. “For someone who annoys you as much as you say she does, that looked pretty cozy.”

Murphy wanders into the foyer, his mouth full of food. “Yeah, we don’t need clean energy, we just need to find a way to harness Bellamy and Clarke’s sexual tension.”

Clarke knows her cheeks are flushing red, but is proud when she manages, “We really have to balance out the lack of sexual anything coming from your direction, Murphy.”

Murphy scowls, giving Bellamy a moment chuckle and duck his head, moving back towards his sister. “You’re a menace, O.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“I told you that, today.”

“See?” Octavia states. “So what was so important that the two of you had to be so intimately close?”

Bellamy shoves her playfully and Octavia lets out a laugh, Bellamy joining her. It really transforms his face when he does so. He looks looser – freer – than she ever saw him before. She pushes him back at this. “Clarke is going to come to lunch with us.” Bellamy says. “She wanted to meet your boyfriend too.”

“She did.” Octavia states, clearly not convinced. “She really needed to meet the person I’m dating, even though we just met and she has no investment in?”

“Yes?”

“It’s cute that you think that’s convincing.” Octavia smirks. “But, probably a good idea to have a buffer. Leave in twenty, Clarke?”

Clarke guesses there’s really no way out of this now. “Yeah, let me change. I’m in my painting clothes.”

“Really? I just thought you were super into the grunge style.”

“Clarke and grunge?” Murphy repeats, bursting into laughter. “Thank you god for letting me be here to listen to that.”

Clarke can hear Murphy’s boisterous laughs all the way up to her room. As soon as the door’s closed, she leans against it, breathing heavily. “Oh god, Clarke, what are you doing?” She whispers to herself, smacking herself in the head a bit. “You all but agreed to a double date with the guy you share a wall with.”

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she texts the one person she can think of that will be impartial and will not speak to anyone else about it.

Clarke: I make bad decisions

She waits a bit, tapping her phone against her palm. Fortunately, it’s only moments later that they respond.

Wells: I could’ve told you that

Wells: what did u do

Clarke: im not saying I do

Clarke: but I may be going on a pseudo-date with someone

Wells: plz don’t tell me its angry boy

Clarke: angry boy?

Wells: the one with the hair and the biceps

Clarke: weirdly im grateful im not the only one who notices

Wells: how can u not he pushes them up with his hands

Clarke: do guys really do that

Wells: how many times have u pushed your boobs up to get a free drink

Clarke: fair point

Clarke: tell me how to get out of it!

Wells: tell him maturely u don’t want to go

Clarke: sounds fake

Wells: climb out the window and start a new life as an outlaw

Clarke: now ur talkin

Wells: if u like him suck it up and do it

Clarke: I cant believe ur telling me to suck someone I like

Wells: o my GOD what is wrong with u

Wells: I am in the LIBRARY what if the books can hear u

Wells: you r the absolute worst

Wells: no more advice for u

Wells: good luck

Clarke: thanks :)

Clarke lets out a shaking breath, locking her phone screen. Right as she’s about to find something to wear when someone pounds against the door. Clarke leaps back from it and calls, “Will you please stop doing that?”

“We leave in five minutes!” Octavia shouts from the other side.

In spite of herself, she laughs. Wells texts her one last thing: a selfie with him surrounded by books and hands on them. The caption reads ‘Protect the Innocent!’ With a smile, she goes to her closet before sending off one last text.

Clarke: I’ll let u know how it goes

Wells: :)

***

“So, you’re Lincoln.” Clarke states because no one else is talking. It’s exhausting simply being in the same space as the lot of them.

Bellamy all but sulked the entire way to the restaurant, Clarke hoping some sort of manners would kick in by the time they got there. It allowed Octavia and Clarke to chat a bit – Clarke understands Bellamy’s concern, even if it borders helicopter parenting. Octavia’s free in a way Clarke’s never been in her life. She’s almost envious of it – someone who is inherently themselves and not afraid.

All Clarke ever is, is afraid.

So when the world’s most intimidating man walks up, covered in tattoos and several inches taller than Bellamy, introducing himself as Lincoln, Clarke knows this is going to be a shit show. Sure, Bellamy can intimidate Jasper and Murphy, but he almost looks small compared to Lincoln. When the four get a table, everyone is awkwardly playing with their waters. Clarke tries to ignore the fact that both Blakes are glaring at each other from across the booth, so Clarke focuses on the man in front of her.

“What do you do?” Clarke asks with a half-smile.

Lincoln clears his throat. “I work downtown actually. I work in public health. It’s a lot of outreach with local schools and such. It’s how Octavia and I met.”

Clarke fully expects Octavia to pick up the story from there, but the Blakes seem to be having some sort of wordless exchange in the corner of the booth, so she asks, “Do you mind telling me this story? I haven’t heard it.”

Lincoln smiles, his eyes growing warm. “Octavia recently got a job with the National Park Service. I was implementing a “Go Outdoors” kinda movement – we had a lot more funding, of course, when Michelle Obama was the first lady,” Clarke sighs at that and mutters ‘of course’ under her breath and Lincoln beams. “Yeah, you get it.” He says with a wink. “But it’s really to try and get city you into the National Parks.”

“Wow,” Clarke says, no longer feigning interest because she’s wildly uncomfortable. “That sounds amazing.”

“It really is.” Lincoln says. “And we like to do two groups – one for casual outdoorsy people and one for more intense kids. Octavia was leading the intense group—”

“There’s a surprise.” Clarke laughs.

“Right? Anyways, she’s hard to miss. And we met that way.”

Clarke thinks about this. “Do you just do public schools?”

Lincoln frowns. “What do you mean?”

Biting her lip, Clarke says, “There’s this… this kid’s home close to my work. And we have kids in once a week to teach them to paint and I lead the class. I think it’d be great if we could set something up for them.”

“Are you in charge of their activities?”

“No, I’m just their painting teacher.” Clarke says softly. “But there’s this girl who recently lost her parents and she mentioned they used to camp at Mt. Rainer. I was just thinking, maybe…”

“Totally!” Lincoln says cheerfully. Clarke eyes him, trying to figure out if he’s simply being nice. But he reaches into his wallet and pulls out a business card. “Call my office on Monday. Of course, you should probably talk to the actual center, but I’m all for it. I’ll advocate for your group.”

“Thanks.” Clarke states, taking the business card. She thinks of Madi, the girl who’s slowly coming out of her shell with every painting class. All her paintings are of the forest and mountains. At the end of each class, she hands it to Clarke. Clarke’s kept all of them, unsure of what to do with them, but they are far too important to ever throw away. So currently they’re leaning up against a wall in her room until she can figure out what to do. “This means a lot. Especially to someone you’ve just met.”

“It’s the least I can do, right? I mean, it’s a good cause for one. And you were dragged to the most uncomfortable lunch known to man and are being super nice.” He turns his head to see if either Blake registered his words, which of course they didn’t. He makes a face at Clarke. “It’s like we’re not even here.”

“I know, how rude.” Clarke laughs. “They invite me along and proceed to ignore me.”

“Think of how I feel.” Lincoln states. “I’m here to meet the infamous brother who raised my girlfriend and notoriously hates everyone she dates.”

“To be fair, it sounds like she’s dated some assholes.”

“True,” Lincoln says, tipping his water at her.

“You don’t seem like an asshole though.”

“Thanks, that means a lot.”

Clarke turns to Bellamy and Octavia. “Guys,” she says and neither of them stop glaring at each other. “Guys, pay attention. Guys.” She sighs and says to Lincoln, “I really could say anything right now.”

“You should give it a shot.”

“Guys, a meteor is crashing toward earth. All the Chipotle’s have closed down. Jurassic Park is becoming at thing and a velociraptor is going to eat us.” Lincoln laughs at that, taking a sip of his water. “I’ve murdered Murphy and now have a taste for blood that I don’t think I can stop.”

“Did he give you his number?” Bellamy states, whipping his head in their direction. “When his girlfriend is sitting right there?”

“Oh my god.” Clarke chuckles, smacking him upside his head. Bellamy’s stunned enough to loosen and Octavia stops glaring and laughs. “That’s what you heard after all of that?”

Lincoln smiles. “I’m more upset you were lying about the velociraptor.”

“Yeah, that was my favorite bit too.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Octavia asks.

Lincoln wraps and arm around her shoulder. “While you two were going on your face journey over there, Clarke and I were talking like normal people.”

Clarke watches as Bellamy’s eyes narrow at the gesture. He opens his mouth to say something – probably something incredibly stupid, so Clarke reaches out, placing a hand on his. He flinches at the contact, but it manages to get him to shut his mouth. She smiles at him, soft and genuine. “It’s okay.” She mouths at him and he slumps with a sigh.

“So,” Bellamy grumbles. “How did you two meet?”

Clarke bursts out laughing as Lincoln smiles into his water. “It’s okay, Lincoln. I don’t mind hearing the story again.”

Bellamy and Octavia at least have the decency to look sheepish at that. When he retells it, Octavia jumps in with her own details. It turns out, it’s a much funnier story than he let on – including a mountain lion and a kid who all but parent-trapped them into a sketchy trail bathroom together. By the end, even Bellamy’s smiling against his own desire. When Clarke tries to take her hand away, he grabs her fingers and keeps them there. He doesn’t look at her and neither do the couple across the booth, and if they see anything, they don’t mention it.

The lunch turns into a casual affair, Lincoln asking Bellamy questions about his classes and how the two of them met. Bellamy flushes a deep shade of red at that while Clarke flips her hair and leans in to tell him. A few times, Bellamy places a hand over her mouth when she gets too imaginative with certain aspects, Clarke pulling his hand down to try and finish her thoughts with a laugh. Octavia – thank goodness – laughs with them, her eyes warm and gentle at the two of them.

When Lincoln excuses himself to use the restroom and Bellamy announces he has to go as well, Octavia sighs. “I knew this was coming.”

Clarke watches as they leave. “Is he giving Lincoln the big brother talk?”

“Yes,” she groans. “He’s scared off three boyfriends with that talk alone.”

Sounds about right. “Well, if they’re scared off that easily, maybe it’s for the best.”

Octavia smiles to herself. “Yeah, I think so too. But don’t tell Bell about that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Clarke says.

“Actually, I’m glad that they’re gone, to be honest. It gives me the opportunity to give you the little sister talk.”

Clarke frowns. “What?”

“Listen, Bell isn’t usually one for long-term relationships because he’s spent his whole life doing everything for me. But—”

Clarke puts her hands up. “No, no. You’ve got this wrong. We’re not dating—”

Octavia snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“We’re not. We’re just roommates.”

“Yeah, roommates don’t act the way you guys do.”

“Okay, we’re friends too.”

Octavia surveys her for a moment, her eyes narrowing. After a while, she sighs, “Well, anyway. Even if you’re friends, I’ve never see Bell get attached to someone so quickly before. It was almost a year before he even let anyone from the Ark actually hang out with him.”

Clarke grins. “Sounds like Bellamy.”

Octavia doesn’t miss that smile, pursing her lips. “Bell’s told me a bit about you – not anything too personal, but that you moved from NYC to start over.”

“Okay?”

“You’re not allowed to run away like that.”

“I beg your pardon?” Clarke asks.

“You uprooted your entire life – you’re not allowed to do that here. Bell’s getting attached to you and he doesn’t get attached easily. And he’ll never say it, but he’d be really upset if you left.”

“Octavia, I—” Clarke swallows, suddenly wishing the guys would return from the restroom. “I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.”

“Good.” Octavia says. “Because my brother gave up everything for me. And he never says anything about it. I’m tired of him having to give things up or things being taken from him. So if you’re going to be close with Bell, you need to know that comes with a responsibility.”

“Octavia—”

“We’re back, move.” Bellamy states unceremoniously, shoving Clarke’s shoulder.

It startles her out of an argument, which she’s grateful for. Octavia’s fierce expression wipes and she beams at Lincoln. “Everything alright?”

“You can’t ask people that when they come back from the bathroom, O.” Bellamy mumbles.

“I can when you mysteriously need to go at the same time.” She shoots back.

Bellamy frowns at Clarke’s expression, which she hasn’t been able to get back to something neutral. “Everything alright here?”

“Of course!” Octavia says a little too cheerfully than anyone would believe to be honest.

He doesn’t push it though. He casts a few glances at Clarke from time, Clarke able to feel his gaze on her. She pointed stares ahead, unable to really process how his sister suggested that she’s a permanent fixture in his life right now. Honestly, all she wants to do is call Wells and lament over it with a glass of wine, but that isn’t something she could achieve at the moment.

“So, what about tomorrow night? We were thinking about going downtown – maybe some dancing. You guys should totally come.” Octavia says, her eyes sparkling with something that Clarke is beginning to recognize as mischief.

“Uh, we can’t tomorrow, can we?” Bellamy stumbles over his words. “Because we have that thing.”

Clarke frowns. “What thing?”

“You have that monthly mixer at your gallery that you’ve been planning.”

“Yeah, I have that thing, but I wasn’t expecting you to—”

“There’s this guy that works for one of the donors whose been really inappropriate to Clarke.” Bellamy explains hurriedly. “And I offered to go as a kind of sexual harassment buffer.”

“Sexual harassment buffer?” Octavia repeats, unimpressed.

Lincoln shrugs. “Hey, I can see him being good at threatening people to stay away from someone. This, of course, is not from personal experience only moments ago.”

Bellamy glares.

Clarke laughs at the exchange because Lincoln seems so aggressively unbothered by it all. “Uh, yeah. I forgot… that Bellamy offered that.”

“See? Sorry, O.” Bellamy says with a face that does not appear sorry in the slightest. “I’ve got to do my civic duty here.”

Octavia lifts an eyebrow. “I’m sure you do.”

Clarke pointedly ignores the look she gives her, filled with words Clarke would never have the guts to say.

***

The night of the mixer is a stressful one.

Bellamy offers to come with her to set up, but she insists that he’d be bored, so he promises to show up the moment it starts. It’s for the best, because she runs around in her sweats, prepping everything, Roan watching her with amusement. “You realize you need to be presentable for this event, right?” He drawls, crossing his arms.

“You want to help then? Maybe I’ll have time to get ready.” Clarke grumbles, setting out a handful of wine glasses.

“Why would I help? It’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

“You don’t pay me at all.” Clarke snaps, making sure the bar is stocked. “There, I’m done. I’m going to go get dressed now.”

“Thank god, I didn’t want to have to explain that I hired a vagabond.”

“If you keep it up, I’m going to stay in my sweats.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, Ice Man.” She snaps.

She called him that once as a joke, but it stuck, even though Clarke is pretty sure you aren’t supposed to give your boss stupid nicknames like that. If it bothers him, he never lets on, merely rolling his eyes as she rushes to the back to get ready.

Half of her hair is curled when she hears the door open, panicking that people arrived early. When someone pulls back the curtain in the back, Clarke sighs. McCreary walks into view, a smile on his face. “And here I thought you were hiding from me.”

“Why on earth would anyone do that,” Clarke mutters to herself, trying to not let him realize just how much he’s affecting her. Except when he smirks, she knows she’s lost that battle.

“You look beautiful tonight,” McCreary states, his eyes not subtle as they rake up and down her body. Clarke genuinely feels chained to the area by her curling iron. If she wasn’t close to finishing, she would just let her hair stay straight for the event, but all she has left is the front of her face.

“You look nice as well.” Clarke states curtly, quickly running her fingers through her curls. They loosen and lengthen, Clarke pinning one side up with a clip. Turning around, she forces a smile. “I should probably get back out there.”

“You know Diyoza is planning on including a few more artists next month?” He mentions as she passes him. “It means that we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

Clarke suppresses a shudder at the thought. “It’s nice to know that business is good.”

McCreary’s eyes fall down to her chest. “Among other things.”

“If you’ll excuse me.”

Clarke rushes out of the back and shudders dramatically, unable to stop herself. No one’s arrived yet and Diyoza and Roan seem to be deep in conversation, so Clarke allows herself to wander around, making sure everything’s set.

“Thank god, Roan, for the first time, I’m not entirely embarrassed to be here.” Diyoza’s saying, observing the room. “There’s not even a box of champagne in the middle of the floor.”

“I aim to please.” Roan smirks. “This is all me, clearly.”

Clarke snorts at that without meaning to, Diyoza’s eyes sparkling. “Sure it is.” She turns to Clarke. “Is there anything else you need? McCreary may be useless now that he’s in a tux, but I’d like to introduce you to someone.” She gestures to a figure who was in the corner of the room, staring at the one piece that Clarke made that’s in the gallery. He’s leaning close to it, frowning at it like he’s trying to figure it out. “Shaw, pretend to be sociable.”

Shaw startles, grinning sheepishly as he steps over. He extends a hand, a wide smile on his face. “Sorry, I got distracted. I’m Shaw.”

Clarke takes his hand. “Clarke.”

Shaw lights up. “Oh you’re Clarke! Diyoza says all the time that the gallery has gotten infinitely more bearable since you joined.”

Roan scoffs. “I am so offended.”

Before Shaw can stumbled over his words, Diyoza elbows him. “You know it’s true.”

“I know, but still, the audacity, in my own gallery…”

The two walk away, linking arms and laughing. Clarke points to where he was. “Why were you frowning at that painting?”

Shaw flushes. “Oh, sorry. I was just trying to figure it out.”

“Really?” Clarke smiles, leading him back to where it was. “What are you trying to figure out?”

“The colors here make me… anxious? But I don’t know why. They aren’t even the right colors!” He exclaims. “I need to talk to whoever made this, a, uh—” He reads the name of the artist and freezes. “Well this is awkward.”

Clarke chuckles. “No worries, I totally set you up for that because I thought it’d be fun. If it makes you feel any better, I wanted you to be anxious when looking at it.”

“It does, actually.” Shaw rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly, I don’t understand half of the stuff in here. I don’t really get art.”

“Then why did you come to an art show?” Clarke asks. “Because I don’t know if you know, there’s are everywhere.”

Shaw laughs. “I’m here for Diyoza. She was my Captain when I joined the military. She retired a few years ago before getting into the art game, so I try and make it whenever I can.”

“That’s nice of you.” Clarke says genuinely. “Are you still in the military?”

“Sorta..?” Shaw says, frowning. “I’m a civil servant now – so I work on projects for them, but I’m not enlisted. Actually, I just got assigned to be an engineer with a project with NASA, which is pretty cool.”

Clarke grins. “My friend is an intern at NASA – you should meet her. Her name’s Raven and she’s literally the most terrifyingly intelligent woman you’ll ever meet.”

Shaw laughs. “Sounds like my type – terrifyingly intelligent.”

The door creaks open, the first few guests entering. “Well, that’s my cue.” Clarke beams. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too. It’s nice to know someone at these things, since I know literally nothing about art.”

“If you have any questions, just find me.” She smiles. “But I have one for you really quick.” Shaw tilts his head. “Is McCreary as creepy as he seems?”

Shaw groans, “He’s the fucking worst.”

Clarke sighs. “That’s what I thought.”

Fortunately, she’s unable to really get caught alone with him once the mixer starts. Bellamy arrives a shortly after the first guests show up, in the nicest clothes she’s ever seen him in. In a button down, tie, and vest, he walks in the gallery and shoves his hands in his pockets. Clarke has to take a moment before going over to him, because she’s honestly struggling with her attraction with him.

Before lunch with his sister, she was doing a great job about simply ignoring it, but ever since their talk, she finds she can’t. Settling her nerves, Clarke beams and waves at him, grabbing a glass of wine and approaching him. “You look really nice.” She says with a smile, handing him the glass.

Bellamy open his mouth, the word catching in his throat. He clears it, takes a sip of wine, and then says, “You do too.”

She tries not to blush at that, linking her arm in his and taking him around the studio. It’s small and the tour doesn’t last long, but she milks it as much as she can. Honestly, she’s tired of talking to people pretentiously wealthy and would be more than happy simply sitting in a corner with Bellamy for the rest of the evening.

Of course, Roan spots them at a painting and makes his way over. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. I’m Roan, I run this gallery.” He says, placing his hand out.

There’s something in Roan’s eyes that Clarke can’t figure out, which scares a little bit. Bellamy takes his hand and shakes it firmly. “Bellamy.”

“And you are…?” Roan lifts an eyebrow at them.

“He’s one of my roommates.” Clarke says suspiciously, not caring for the mischievousness in Roan’s eyes.

“Ah, the one that you share a door with.” Roan says with a knowingly look. Clarke shakes her head at him, eyes wide.

Bellamy’s clearly surprised. “You know about that?”

“You know,” Clarke says hurriedly. “You talk throughout the day.”

“You’re exactly how I imagined you’d look.” Roan says with a smirk.

“Okay, we’re going away from here now.” Clarke says, pulling Bellamy with her.

“Don’t try to run away from me, Griffin!” He calls after her, earning a few heads in his direction.

When they’re out of earshot of Roan, Bellamy clears his throat. “He’s, uh, interesting.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Clarke mumbles.

Bellamy smiles at her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you talked about me with him.”

“Good thing you know better, right?” Clarke says, pointedly not catching his gaze.

Bellamy laughs, looking around the room. “This is pretty awesome, Clarke. You did a great job.”

Clarke is surprised by that, flushing. “Oh,” she says without thinking. “Thank you.”

“Seriously,” Bellamy continues. “You really have a knack for this sort of thing.”

Clarke isn’t sure what to do with someone complimenting her, so she tucks a curl behind her ear. “Thanks, it’s really fun, actually. I can’t believe I actually get to do this half the time.”

Bellamy laughs. “Honestly, if he doesn’t start paying you soon, I’m gonna have words with him.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hey – you deserve to be – holy shit!” Bellamy exclaims, hiding behind her.

Clarke’s startled enough to freeze, genuinely unsure of what’s happening. She let’s Bellamy hide behind her, and if she had any mental capacity to think straight, she’d laugh at the image of him crouched by her waist. “What is happening right now.”

“My ex is here!” He whispers, grabbing her arms and moving her to block her.

“She is?” Clarke laughs. “Who is she?”

“That is so not the point!”

Clarke tries to find someone around his age, settling on a tall brunette laughing at someone Roan said, a drink in her hand. “Wait, did you date Echo?”

“You know her?”

“Yeah, she’s one of Roan’s closest friends, of course I know her.” Clarke nods. “Wow, what a small world.”

“Can you focus, please?”

“What am I focusing on?”

“I can’t stay,” Bellamy states, pulling her closer to the door.

“Bellamy, this is so ridiculous—”

“I’m so sorry Clarke, I know I said I’d stay the whole time, but—”

“You said you two split amicably! That it was an on-again, off-again thing.”

“I may have stretched the truth on that.” Bellamy whispers in her ear. “We really broke up because Octavia didn’t like her. Even though I told O she can’t make my dating decisions for me, I couldn’t imagine dating someone my sister didn’t like. So I broke up with her.”

“Does she know that?”

“Technically no, but I lied and I know she didn’t believe me.”

“Oh my god, Bellamy.”

“I know, this is definitely not my proudest moment!” Bellamy says, grabbing the door of the gallery.

Clarke follows him outside and he straightens. Crossing her arms, Clarke says, “This is stupid, and you should be aware.”

“I am.”

Clarke sighs. “It’s fine, I’ll see you at home?” She says, all too cordial.

Guilt flashes on Bellamy’s face at her words. “Clarke—”

“It’s fine.” Clarke states, waving her hands aside. Sure, McCreary had left her alone for the majority of the night since she kept Bellamy close, but she wasn’t going to explain that. “I get it, you don’t want it to be awkward. I’ll see you at home.” She flashes him a smile she knows doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s alright. I should, uh, get back inside.”

Turning around, she enters the gallery, telling herself she’s not upset. She walks through the gallery so that he doesn’t see her pause or hesitate. She blinks so her eyes stop watering, grabbing another glass of wine. “Everything alright with the boy?” McCreary asks, stepping next to her as she’s trying to compose herself.

Clarke considers investing in mace.

“He had to go.” Clarke gives him a half-smile. “Something came up.”

“His loss is my gain.”

Clarke heaves a sigh. “Yeah,”

The rest of the night is relatively uneventful. The mixer goes on without a hitch, Roan even pulling her aside to thank her for her work. Sixty percent of the pieces sell, including her own. Clarke knows she should be thrilled with that, but her entire skin feels itchy.

She knows Bellamy did nothing wrong. She wouldn’t want to be at an event with her ex either. She would react the exact same way. What she doesn’t understand is why it hurts as much as it does. It’s not fair to be upset with him, but she’s upset nonetheless.

She ponders this on the drive back, thinking of her conversation with Octavia and the ache in her chest.

When it hits her, she curses herself for being an idiot.

She loves him.

It’s so juvenile and stupid and annoying. Clarke flushes even though there’s no one else to witness it. She always knew he was attracted to him, but somewhere along the way, everything switched and she realized she’d rather be with him than without him. The thought is terrifying. Clarke feels the itch in her bones to run.

She’s not proud of it, but her first instinct is to sprint away. Taking a breath, Clarke reminds herself she’s overreacting. Checking the clock, Clarke frowns at the flash of five minutes past midnight. She knows that Bellamy has a paper to write, so there’s a good chance he’ll be awake.

Honestly, the last thing she wants is to talk with him.

Her phone had been beeping all night with messages she’s certain are from him, but she doesn’t look, in case she’s tempted to respond. She doesn’t feel comfortable talking to him until she figures out where her head is. Right now it’s nothing more than a confusing mess of feelings and anger, which she doesn’t trust. Clarke wants to scream – she’s known him for less than two months. How can you love someone you’ve known for less than two months?

It’s absurd.

If it were anyone else, she’d roll her eyes. And yet here she is, loving him.

The Ark is quiet when she gets home, not noise but the faint sound of video games from Monty and Jasper’s room. Clarke sneaks up the stairs as quietly as possible, not even turning on her light when she reaches her room. Instead, she goes straight for the chain on the wall and locks it for the first time in weeks. Finally when she’s certain that he won’t be able to get into her room, she turns her light on.

The reaction’s almost instantaneous.

The door opens from his side, slamming against the chain on the wall.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t try to open it more.

Clarke can hear him take a breath as she lies on her bed, still in her dress and her hair curled. She can see his shadow on her wall from where the light is pouring in. She stares at it, not sure of what she wants him to do. His fingers peek through the doorway, wrapping around the frame.

After a few moments, he walks away.

He doesn’t shut the door though, and Clarke doesn’t move to open it. It feels like her chest is split open. She curses Octavia for talking to her. Without that catalyst, she could’ve remained in the dark about her feelings for him for a long time.

Instead, she feels like an exposed nerve, prepared to feel everything.

A tear slides down her face as she stares at the ceiling and she takes a shaky breath.

It’s not his fault she loves him. It’s not his fault he left. She just can’t handle seeing him right now. She can’t handle being confronted with everything. There’s a heavy silence between them and honestly?

It’s louder than any conversation could be.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHT

Clarke wishes she could say that she was tricked into going to the Grounders Bar at midnight through a series of misdirection and scams, but honestly it was because Murphy’s a dick.

She had every intention of doing what she did the entire week: work at the supply store, finish at the gallery, and then hide away in her room and work on her mural. The first couple days, Bellamy opened the door but she kept the chain in place, telling herself that she needed to maintain space if she were to ever figure out what her epiphany at the gallery meant. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to Bellamy to push him away like that, but she couldn’t be around him for more than a second without her overactive brain telling her youlovehimyoulovehimyoulovehim. Until she could get that under control and accept the fact that it would be one-way, she needed space.

So when Murphy barged into her room and told her he needed help with something, she accepted without thinking, happy to have an escape from Bellamy slamming the door against the chain on her wall. What he didn’t say was that he had a shift at the bar and wanted to hand her shots until her toes felt tingly and she started to sway on the bar stool.

Murphy at the bar was almost an entirely different person. He smiles, jokes, and sometimes even starts a conversation willingly. Watching him work was like observing a new animal at a zoo, something which Clarke informs him as he hands her another drink. “Is that so?” He asks, his smile plastered on his face. Clarke knows he doesn’t find her this amusing and must be the alcohol, but she pretends its not.

“You realize you’re much more charming here than at the Ark, right?” She says, shifting in her seat.

The bar’s relatively quiet, so Murphy’s leaning over with a grin. “I’m charming always.”

“You’re kinda an asshole.”

“You’re kinda an asshole, too.”

“Cheers to that.” Clarke says, lifting her glass. Murphy pulls out a drink from under the bar, sneaks a look around, and tips it. After settling a bit, Clarke eyes him. “Why did you make me come here?”

“Because you’ve been moping and it’s been annoying.” Murphy states, leaning closer. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve been busy with my internship—”

“Please.” Murphy drawls. “Bellamy threatened to kick my ass ten times for no reason, that’s six more times than normal. I know something happened between you two, so you might as well tell me because I have been liquoring you up from the moment you got here.”

Clarke stares at her drink. “Betrayal!”

“Yeah, but it’s a free betrayal, so be grateful you uncultured swine.”

Clarke giggles into her drink in response. When Murphy doesn’t end the intense eye contact – even when someone walks up to the bar – Clarke sighs. “It’s stupid.” She grumbles.

“I’m sure it is.” Murphy states.

“You’re such a dick.”

“I just figured we’d get straight to it and skip all the skirting around the issue.” Someone calls for him and Murphy snaps, “Dude, in a minute! Do you have a masturbation clinic you need to get to or something?”

Clarke snorts. “That sounds more like you.”

“My pleasantness comes in waves.” When Clarke doesn’t respond right away, Murphy smacks his hand on the counter bar. “Anytime, Princess. I have annoying customers to serve.”

“Hey!”

Murphy scowls. “You know you are, shut up.”

Clarke downs the rest of her drink, wincing slightly. “I’m in love with him.” She says far too quickly.

“And the sky in Seattle is grey.” Murphy says with a shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“What?” Clarke cries. “You knew?”

“You didn’t?” Murphy exclaims. “It’s so obvious!”

“It is?” Clarke exclaims, horrified.

“Well, to people with a brain, so no to Bellamy. Because we all thought—”

“We?”

“Well, yeah!” Murphy laughs. “Hang on, I need to get this person a drink before he explodes or becomes so annoying, I punch him in the face.”

When Murphy leaves, it gives Clarke a moment to regroup. She sucks in a breath, closing her eyes and trying to calm herself, but if anything, her heart beats faster. She never expected anyone to notice, particularly since she didn’t realize until only days before. She’s only had a week to deal with the implications of it, and somehow she feels like the melancholy blue that shrouds herself has grown to others. It makes Clarke recoil at the thought of it, spreading the melancholy, but it’s happening. Even Murphy’s orange, which burns brighter than any orange she’s ever seen, is starting to taint blue.

Clarke tips her drink, rolling the glass on the bar. She watches as Murphy quickly hands the person a drink and then scrambles back over with another whiskey neat for her. She throws him a look, and he shrugs. “Listen, I may joke around a lot, but this fucking sucks. Trust me, I know.”

Clarke frowns at the whiskey in front of her. “I don’t know what to do. I didn’t know until the gallery and I’m not ready to say anything. But I feel like I need to get away because I can’t deal with everything that’s been happening. It’s too much – it’s all too much.”

Murphy contemplates this for a moment. Really contemplates it. She’s grateful that he’s not casting snark at her at this moment – she isn’t sure if she could really handle it. “I know it’s been a tough year for you, Clarke. There’s a lot of things thrown at you that would cause anyone to go into a ball. And you’ve had a lot of balls thrown your way.”

“Ay-oo.” Clarke says weakly, taking another drink.

Murphy gives her a pity laugh at her noise. “You had someone you love leave you. And even if it’s a different kind of love, it’s still tough.”

Clarke focuses so intently on her glass, that she’s certain if she had magical powers, it’d explode.

“Don’t let whatever your feeling toward Bellamy push him away. Because, even though that guy is an asshole ninety percent of the time, he’s also a good person one hundred percent of the time.” Clarke snorts at that and Murphy explains, “You can be a good person and an asshole simultaneously – I prove this fact every day.”

“You do.”

"Listen," Murphy says with a strange sort of seriousness that Clarke sees as rarely as the Seattle sunlight. "Shitty things happen sometimes. And you mourn. You grieve. And then you find a way to move forward."

Clarke blinks back a few tears, nursing the drink he's handed her. He knocks it closer to her until she sighs and drains it, the alcohol going to her head and making her toes tingle. Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, Clarke stares at her empty drink, the ice melting in the glass. A new one appears as the old is taken from her hands, Clarke sighing.

"My dad died when I was eight." Murphy admits with a sigh. Clarke's head whips up, eyes red and wide. Murphy doesn't meet her eye as she does so, suddenly very interested in the bar before him. "It's a club that I wish I wasn't a part of, but I am. And you’re in it too now. And as shitty as that it, I’m here to tell you that there are more of us out here."

"How did you get through it?" Clarke asks, her voice rough and soft. "I keep thinking that one day, it'll be easier. That I'll... figure out a way to live in a world where he doesn't exist."

"You won't." Murphy states matter-of-factly. "It will always be in the back of your mind that he's not there. And there may be things that you find to ease it - or even forget about it for a little while. But every time you remember, it'll hit you all over again and the world will suck a little more."

Clarke sips her drink. "I was hoping you'd tell me it'd get easier."

Murphy makes a thoughtful face. "Easy isn't really the word I would use. Bearable, maybe. Because that wave that hits gets a little lighter and you relearn how to live in a world where someone isn't there." He sighs. "I did a bunch of shitty things because of it. And I used him as an excuse, which I do not recommend. The law does not care if your dad died. Everyone dies and they don't have any sympathy." Murphy puts a hand out and grabs hers. "Although I'm not sure which was crazier. I stole a few cars and binge drank my teenage years away, you moved across the country and dropped out of the most prestigious school in the world. It's a coin toss."

Clarke can't help but laugh at that and Murphy grins to himself. "It's okay to be sad, Clarke." He says. "It's okay to be angry. But know you have a weird group of delinquents who are here for you. Everyone else, obviously. I'm merely here for sarcastic comments."

Chuckling, Clarke puts her free hand on top of his. He gives her one last genuine smile, then pulls away. "Okay, sentimental shit over now. I feel like I need to take a shower."

"You really should."

"Rude, I've been giving you free drinks all night and I was nice to you for five minutes. What more do you want?"

"Basic hygiene."

"Bah," he groans with a wave of his hands. "You women are all the same."

"People who have standards? I surely hope so."

Murphy opens his mouth to argue, but a laugh catches in his throat that he clearly can't stop. Clarke tries not to laugh herself, but it sneaks out and before she knows it, the two are in full bellowing laughs, Murphy leaning across the bar. "You're such an asshole," he breathes.

"So are you!"

"Probably why we get along." Murphy muses.

Clarke bites her lip. Before she can talk herself out of it, she says, “Sometimes I forget that he’s dead. Or even worse, I think that I’m so happy I’m here with you all. And that’s worse.” Clarke can barely force herself to make eye contact with him. “Because I wouldn’t if he hadn’t died. I’d be at Harvard right now, and life would be different. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“Well, I already know you’re a terrible person, so let’s not backtrack.” Murphy agrees. “It would’ve been different. But we don’t get to make those decisions. We don’t get to choose who lives and dies. We just deal with what we’re given and try not to fuck it up.”

Clarke snorts.

“And besides,” Murphy offers. “You found us, which you desperately needed. Because we’re awesome and you were like Bambi learning how to walk.”

Before Clarke can answer, one of the guys from the other end of the bar clearly has had enough, standing up from where they are an angrily stomping over. "Dude," he starts. "I know she has great tits, but if you don't serve us, I will slam your face into the bar."

Murphy is clearly unimpressed. "You are a minute before getting kicked out. The only reason you're not is that you brought up the excellent point that Clarke has great boobs."

"I do." Clarke agrees with a shrug.

That simple comment seems to defuse the tension because both the man and Murphy laugh, Murphy tapping the bar before he leaves. It leaves Clarke alone to her thoughts, which is both appreciated and dangerous. She likes being alone, for the most part, but whenever she is, it mainly reminds her of who's not there. The hole in her chest filled with the melancholy blue grows and Clarke can't help but want to dull the vibrant color with whiskey and dim bar lighting.

She's content to stay in this exact spot for the remainder of the evening, regardless of whether Murphy pours her drinks or not, when she hears the door open and a gaggle of conversation. Normally, it wouldn't strike her as odd in any way, except she knows those voices. She recognizes them. 

That's when Clarke turns to see every single resident of the Ark walking through the door. Including Bellamy.

Murphy is dead. He may have said that they don’t get to choose who lives or dies, but he is dead.

Clarke shifts her body, scrubs under her eyes to wipe away any wayward tears, and flags Murphy down. He sees who just walked in and beams. "What are the chances?" He asks about as innocently as he does anything.

"I'm going to kill you."

"Well, that's not nice, seeing as we just had a very touching moment."

"What are they doing here?"

"You see, I asked them if I bought them a free round of drinks, if they'd come here. Shockingly, they said yes." Clarke makes a face at Murphy, who plows on. "The funny thing is, Bellamy turned me down initially - making excuses about school and all that - but when I informed him you'd be coming, suddenly he was free." His smile stretches at that and Clarke seriously considers making good on the man's promise and slamming his head into the bar. "Can you even believe?"

"I'm seriously killing you in my mind right now."

"Oh, whatever, you guys are being ridiculous." Murphy says, apparently not threatened in the slightest. "I thought that there was no person more emotionally stunted than Bellamy and you come along and prove me wrong. Listen, I don't know what happened at that freaking art show, but I am so over whatever is happening."

Clarke opens her mouth to argue, but finally the group sees them and she panics. "Oh my god, they're coming over here. I can't believe you'd do this."

"You can't?"

"They're coming over here, save me." Clarke says quickly, hiding poorly in her drink. "They're coming. They're coming, Murphy. Murphy, help—"

"This is helping. I'm so tired of the drama, I want to go back to not caring about anything."

"Murphy--"

"Clarke!" Raven exclaims, giving her a warm hug when she arrives. "How are you?"

Clarke smiles, shoving her drink to the side, only to have Murphy nudge it back over with a wicked grin. "Thanks to Murphy, a little tipsy."

"Damn straight. Give me the recognition I deserve."

"Good place to be." Raven states, sliding onto the bar stool next to her. "Murphy, I believe you owe us something."

"Most ungrateful people on the planet, I swear to god." Murphy mutters, pours a few drinks and shoving them in everyone's direction. "Take your drink and leave me the fuck alone."

"I know you love us, Murphy!" Jasper exclaims, swiping a few.

Clarke doesn't even need to look to her right to know who's slid next to know who it is. Bellamy feels like a physical presence next to her, creating a tension that her door chain has given her the capacity to avoid. Raven catches the eye of the person behind her and makes a face, only to shepherd everyone at the bard. "Come on, you idiots. Let's snag that table before someone else does."

Clarke represses the urge to groan, taking a breath before turning to face the one person she's been avoiding for the past week. "You're about as subtle as a battering ram."

A grin stretches across his face at that. "It's never really been my strong suit. I've always had a flair for the dramatic." 

"I could've told you that and I've only known you for a few months."

He chuckles, his fingers running up and down the sides of his glass. It's very distracting and Clarke has to remind herself that this is already uncomfortable enough without allowing herself to plummet into any fantasies that she's currently struggling with. "Yeah, well," he says distantly. "I can't help it. My sister is Octavia."

"The two of you could win awards."

He snorts. "Please don't say that to her - she may take it as a personal challenge."

"I promise," she smiles to herself.

The two fall into an uncomfortable silence, which drives Clarke crazy because one of the reasons she loves being with him is the fact that it's never uncomfortable in silence. Except this one is and Clarke is fighting every instinct to sprint away. It doesn’t help that she’s intoxicate because the impulse is even greater. Clarke opens her mouth to say something innocent, but Bellamy beats her to it.

“Listen, Clarke. I know you’re upset with me and I’m so sorry I left your gallery mixer. I shouldn’t have – I knew it when I was walking home. I promise to have endless uncomfortable conversations with Echo—”

“Bellamy, stop.” Clarke says. She needs to take a breath. Perhaps she never realized how anxious he was as well or how much her absence would affect him. “I’m sorry, I overreacted.”

Clarke forces herself to turn to him. Every overthinking comment she obsessed with this week – everything she rolled over in her mind, every argument she tried to convince herself with that she wasn’t in love with him. But when she looks at him for the first time since the gallery, she knows none of that is true. His hair is messy, his glasses are tucked in his pocket, and he’s looking at her as if there is no more important conversation in the world. She sucks in a breath and shoves every last bit of feeling into the corners of her heart, allowing the melancholy to fill her up further.

“Clarke,” he says her name and it sounds like the answer to the million questions running around in her mind. It shatters her walls she builds up and Clarke forces a smile.

“I was stressed. And annoyed with McCreary. And I have a tendency to need some time to regroup after something like that.” She admits lamely. It’s not untrue, but furthest from her secret truth that she can think of. “And then I got busy with the store and the gallery. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pull away as much as I did. I know it probably looked like I was upset with you.”

Bellamy observes her and Clarke can’t help but absently wonder if this is how his students feel when he’s grilling them in class. It’s uncomfortable and she resists the sudden urge to tell him all her secrets. But blurting out ‘I’m in love with you’ doesn’t seem like the way to go.

“I shouldn’t have left you.” Bellamy says softly.

“You should’ve.” Clarke says with a forced laugh. “If I were you, I’d want to leave. You know me and running.” Clarke snorts, finishing her drink. Murphy notices almost immediately – he really has found his true calling – and swaps it with a fresh drink. “You’re getting me drunk.”

“I’m impressed that you aren’t already, actually.” Murphy comments.

Clarke tips her glass at him. “Thank you alcohol for helping me repress my emotions all through college.”

“Here, here!” Murphy exclaims before he leaves.

“I don’t understand your friendship with him.” Bellamy says.

“Neither do I actually.” Clarke smiles to herself.

Before she can say another word, Bellamy places his hand on Clarke’s and she has to do everything in her power not to react. Even that small touch has her stomach in knots and she wishes she hadn’t had so much to drink because she’s about to say something she’ll regret tomorrow.

“I am sorry.” Bellamy says seriously.

Clarke gives him a weak smile. “Honestly, it’s alright.” Placing her own hand on top of his, she beams. “You missed me that much?”

Bellamy laughs and then the tension’s destroyed. It shatters and Bellamy relaxes, finally taking a drink out of his cup. “Let’s not let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” Clarke teases. “You missed me while I was busy. I now have it on record.”

“While you were avoiding me is more like it.”

“Let’s just say while I was serendipitously busy.”

Bellamy snorts in his glass. “I’m calling bullshit.”

“You’ll never know, so I wouldn’t dwell on it.” Clarke smirks. “So, update me. How’s classes? How’s the students?”

And like that, it’s back to normal. Well, as normal as it can be, seeing as she’s stupidly in love with him.

Bellamy regales her stories about people he’s thrown books at for falling asleep in class, while Clarke counters with her own of children who finger paint on the walls of the art supply shop. Clarke tells him her idea to get Lincoln’s company involved with the orphanage and Bellamy begrudgingly admits that it’s a good idea – and that Lincoln might be different than Octavia’s previous boyfriends. When Clarke tells him that she’ll never ask him to attend a mixer with him again, he nearly cries with relief, telling her stories about the honestly awkward breakup between the two.

He’d been wildly withholding.

“Seriously, I’ll go if any other reason than to punch McCreary in the face.” He says after explaining how he leapt out a literal window to avoid Echo last time he saw her, which Clarke started laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes.

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t go.” Clarke states. “If you punch the face of my boss’ client’s assistant, I am so fired.”

“Hey, I heard everyone say how amazing the mixer was. You may not get fired. And he totally deserves it.”

“You can’t just go around punching people.”

“He can’t go around commenting on your ass!”

“Both of these things are wrong.” Clarke laughs. “And I think Echo is a common visitor, so you are free of your duties.”

“Ugh, fine.” Bellamy says with a smile. He waves down Murphy for another drink, who appears with it cheekily.

“Did you finally kiss and make up?”

“Fuck off Murphy,” Bellamy grumbles, snatching his drink away.

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I couldn’t stand you pouting for another second.” He says to Bellamy.

“I wasn’t pouting, I was busy with school—”

“Just like this one was busy with the art gallery?” Murphy asks.

“Hey!” Clarke cries. “Don’t involve me in this!”

“Don’t pout and I won’t have to!” Murphy snaps. “Just kiss, make up, and let us move on with our lives. Communication is the key to everything. Breathe in, breathe out.” Murphy takes exaggerated breaths as he walks away, winking.

Bellamy surveys him as he goes. “If I wouldn’t get arrested for assaulting an employee instead of my obnoxious roommate, I’d throw something at him.”

“You can always do that later.”

Bellamy sighs. “I’ll probably lose the anger and just be grateful he forced a situation where we could talk.”

Clarke tries to hide her smile. “Yeah, he’s okay.” She mutters. “How did you ever agree to let him live in the Ark.”

Bellamy laughs. “He totally tricked me. I met him helping fix my Professor’s house, and I thought he was just a neighbor kid. Turns out he jacked his car and was sent to juvie for a couple months. To shorten his sentence, they worked out this deal where he’d help with whatever. When I was put in charge of the Ark, I asked if he’d like to live there too since he wasn’t entirely useless.” Bellamy fixes Clarke with a flat look. “Big mistake there.”

“Murphy’s alright,” Clarke says softly, watching him joke around with other customers in the bar. “He’s a good friend.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy admits. “It’s annoying, isn’t it? He’s such a dick, but also has your back in his own weird way.”

“He does,” Clarke states. “And he gets things. That most people don’t.”

Bellamy doesn’t respond for a bit and Clarke wonders if she’s made him too uncomfortable. She opens her mouth to change the subject, but he cuts her off. “You mean about his dad?”

Clarke blinks. “He told you about that?”

“Not willingly,” Bellamy admits with a wince. “Our first party at the Ark – he had too much to drink and it kinda came out. We all felt guilty because I don’t think he’d want us to know under normal circumstances. It took us all a few days to admit what he said. It was very awkward until he threatened to murder Jasper for looking at him wrong.”

“Sounds like Murphy.”

Bellamy pauses. “You don’t have to, but… would you mind telling me something about your dad?”

That question startles Clarke to the point where she almost drops her drink, and not because the bar is swaying a bit. “What?”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked—”

“Why did you?” Clarke asks and she has a hard time making it not accusatory.

Bellamy winces. “Murphy said when I spoke to him… that he knew. He knew he told us. And that he just wanted an excuse to tell us, because he never really talked about it with anyone. Have you?”

Clarke looks away from him. “Have I what?”

“Talked with anyone about him.”

Clarke’s mouth runs dry and her breath runs short. “I mean, you guys know and so does Wells—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Clarke knows. She knows that’s not what he meant. But the thought of her father still brings tears to her eyes. Draining the rest of her glass, Clarke closes her eyes. “He always rolled up one pant leg when he was working.” She blurts out.

It clearly startles Bellamy because he stumbles over his words to say, “No, you don’t have to here. I’m just worried that you’re keeping it all in.”

Except… Clarke knows that. She knows she doesn’t have to. There’s something else here. Something different.

She wants to.

She may be avoiding her feelings for him, and this may be the whiskey talking, but she feels like she’ll explode.

You see, melancholy can only fill up so much. Confusion is a speckled, noise-filled grey. Despair resembles a sickly green. Regret is a pale red. Clarke can’t fill herself with anymore colors that make tears come to her eyes. She needs to release one of them, and since she can’t release her feelings to Bellamy, she chooses this.

“He was an engineer.” Clarke states, opening her eyes to peer at him. She knows they’re filled with tears, but for some reason, she’s stopped caring around Bellamy. It feels safe, this place between the two of them. As if they’re in their rooms now, the soundtrack music plays quietly. Clarke’s brushing lines on her wall while Bellamy’s grading papers. It’s become her safe space. A place she hasn’t given herself since the gallery.

Perhaps it isn’t their rooms with the door open.

Perhaps it’s him.

Clarke pushes the thought out of her mind.

“It was his job to fix things when they were broken.” Clarke continues. “I think that’s why I haven’t been sure how to move forward. Because my dad always was the one to fix things. And he’s gone and I don’t know how to fix anything.” She wipes a tear that slides down her cheek. “He primarily focused on medical equipment. Which is how he and my mother met – she’s a doctor. He made all this equipment for the hospital she worked at and he would intentionally break things so he could see her. She told me later that she knew he was doing it, but never reported him.”

It feels like she’s open and raw. The melancholy blue is so overwhelming at it’s physically painful and she feels like she can’t breathe. Right when she’s about to push over the edge, Bellamy places a hand on hers.

For a moment, she feels yellow.

It’s like the sun is kissing her cheeks after days of rain. It’s so startling that she chokes a breath and can breathe again. In, then out. In, then out.

Smiling at him gratefully, Clarke continues, “I thought there wasn’t anything more beautiful than their relationship. I really believed in it all. Family, love.” She closes her eyes and several tears fall down her cheeks. Before she can register what’s happening, Clarke feels Bellamy’s fingers brush against her skin, wiping a few away with his thumb. She can’t help but lean into it – she blames the alcohol – and give herself this small moment. “One day he found out about something.”

Bellamy frowns at this, opening his mouth, but she moves on before she loses the nerve.

“Something about the hospital. He wanted to tell the board, but my mother was against it. She told him again and again not to say anything. To let her deal with it. It turns out, my mom was somewhat responsible. She got paranoid he’d tell the board, so she told them that he was about to do something reckless and he was fired.” Clarke bites her lip. “They separated after that. Apparently they were working through it. They didn’t even tell me. I was at school, studying, and they didn’t bother to tell me they weren’t living together anymore.

“I actually didn’t find out until graduation.” Clarke states, her eyes distant. She can almost smell the freshly cut grass of Harvard, wrapped in a vibrant green that she used to be. “My mom was there and I asked where Dad was. She didn’t know and was being weird about it. I tried to think of any circumstance as to why they didn’t arrive together, but I couldn’t think of any. Because them being separated didn’t make any sense. I-It didn’t make any sense.”

Clarke sucks in a breath. “Turns out the reason he wasn’t there was they took separate cars and he was killed on his way to the ceremony. Some students who started celebrating early ran a red light and smashed into his car.” Clarke states. “I-I remember looking around, wondering where he was. So upset he wasn’t there. Upset my mom was obviously lying to me. And I was upset, and he was gone.”

Before she can do anything, Bellamy stands from his stool, pulls Clarke up, and wraps his arms around her. She stands there, knowing that the rest of the Ark is probably staring and that Murphy is most definitely staring, but she doesn’t care. She feels his hands wrap around her braid and pull her closer, and she holds her own hands on his back.

He’s gently rocking her, but it takes her a moment to realize it’s not the alcohol.

After a few moments, he lets go, extending his arms so that he’s looking square at her. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.” He states. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Clarke nods, unsure of what else to do at this point. She should probably just catch an Uber home and hide in shame for crying in a bar – when did she become that person – but before she can run away, Bellamy says, “For what it’s worth, I think you should call your mother.”

Clarke’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry?”

“I know she’s been calling you.” Bellamy says sheepishly. “I’ve seen her name. You should just… talk to her, you know? Because I’m sure she’s worried that she doesn’t know where you are. I mean, your friend flew all the way out here because of a Facebook tag.”

“That is a wildly bad idea, Bellamy.” Clarke says. “I am drunk and emotional.”

“Which is what makes it a wildly good idea.” He says with a grin. “If it goes south, you can blame the booze. Do what Murphy did. Say something tough when intoxicated because then you have an out if you want one.”

“That is terrible advice.”

“It’s excellent advice.”

“Would you give it to Octavia?”

Bellamy pauses at that. “I’d like to think she’s never had alcohol.”

Clarke fixes him a look. “Right.”

Bellamy waves that aside. “It’s up to you. But for what it’s worth, I think you miss her. You lost both your parents that day. I think you could get one back.”

He’s playing dirty and they both know it. She sad, tired, drunk, and trying to ignore her very real feelings for the man in front of her. He lifts an eyebrow in almost a challenging way, and Clarke sighs. “Fine. But I’d really like to go home afterwards.”

“I’ll drive you.” Bellamy says too cheerfully. “I’m done here anyway.”

“Why did you even come then?”

“For you.”

Clarke freezes at the bluntness of it. Two words. She never expected him to admit it, but he does simply. For her. She doesn’t know how to respond, gripping her phone and merely staring at him. He doesn’t cower. He doesn’t blink. He’s simply… there.

“Okay then.” She manages, turning on her heel and heading to the door.

Once outside, she notices that Bellamy doesn’t follow right away. Perhaps he’s explaining that he’s leaving or paying for drinks Murphy doesn’t feel like giving complementary. Mostly, she thinks he’s giving her privacy, for which she’s grateful.

It’s midnight.

Three in the morning on the east coast. Clarke’s thumb hovers over her mom’s name. It’s more daunting than she anticipated. With a bout of courage that could only come from a certain yellow, Clarke presses it and brings it to her ear. With every ring, she wishes the woman won’t answer. It goes again and again, and just when she thinks that she’s off the hook, someone answers.

“Clarke?”

Clarke lets out the breath she didn’t realize she’s holding. That one word causes her to crumble. She didn’t expect to feel the pain in her chest ache more, but it does. Because Bellamy was right.

She desperately missed her mom.

“Mom?” She asks, the word quivering.

“Oh my god, Clarke, it’s you.” The woman breathes with relief, any sleep that was in her voice gone. “I can’t believe you—”

“I didn’t call to talk or catch up, Mom.” Clarke states, wiping a few stray tears. “I just wanted to let you know that I was safe. And you can stop worrying.”

“Clarke, I’m not going to stop worrying. You disappeared for three months without a single word.”

Huh. Clarke repeats the phrase ‘three months’ in her head. It’s odd, because it seems like it’s passed quickly and slow at the same time. She tries to think of how she functioned without those in the Ark in her life.

A lot can change in three months, it seems. You can start over. You can relearn how to breathe.

You can fall in love.

“I wanted to call and ask why you would do it.” Clarke states, allowing the looseness of her tongue from alcohol to take over. “You made dad lose his job and then didn’t even tell me your were separated. We used to tell each other everything. We… we were a team. We had each other’s backs. You were supposed to have his back, Mom.” Clarke chokes on a sob, covering her mouth to keep it from echoing outside the bar. She hears the woman on the other end cry too, but she can’t bring herself to stop. “And you were supposed to have mine.”

Before she can hear any response, Clarke ends the call. Leaning against the wall, Clarke keeps her mouth covered with her hand. She stops trying to stifle her sobs, the mixture of booze and her mom getting the best of her. Looking to the sky, she can’t see the stars past the city lights, a slight haze of orange wafting over her. It’s beginning to mist and Clarke breathes in the city rain, letting it dampen her clothes.

“Ready to go home?”

Clarke turns her attention to the voice. Bellamy stands a few feet away from her, hand outstretched, no judgment or pity in his face. In fact, he’s smiling in a way she missed.

Tucking her phone in her pocket, Clarke swallows. “Yeah,” she states, taking his hand.

“Home.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINE

The next week goes like this: Clarke goes to work in the morning at the art supply store, finishes her day at the gallery, she then steals leftovers of whatever Roan's recent party is (she's taken to grabbing his leftovers that he leaves in their communal fridge. Secretly she thinks he knows she's sharing, because recently the amount of food has increased), and then she goes home and shoves a plate of food under Bellamy's face because it's getting close to finals and she's convinced he's forgetting to eat.

Then, she opens their shared door, working on her mural while he grades papers, the sounds of Hans Zimmer, John Williams, and John Powell wafting through the air like a comforting cloud.

It's gotten to the point where the door is already open by the time she gets home, the light pouring from Bellamy's room into hers. So, somewhere along the way, the two stop closing the door and it's simply open all the time. Sometimes when he needs a break, Bellamy marches to her bed and watches her paint for a while, and when Clarke does, she flops into the chair in the corner of his room and messes around on her phone. There's something weirdly intimate about it, but Clarke's doing her best not to think too hard about what it means. Something has shifted since the bar and it's all she can do not to overthink every last detail.

Instead, she ignores it all.

Honestly, there's nothing more she can do. She could try and understand what her feelings mean, she could try and have a conversation, but... there was too much risk. She finally felt like pieces of herself were taping back together. She had direction. She had a home. The very last thing she needed was to tell Bellamy something that would end all of that.

So, Clarke says nothing. She focuses on her job and the mural, ignoring the knowing looks Murphy threw her from time to time. She concluded that she would rather be in Bellamy's life and hurt in a way only those with unrequited love would know, than not be in it at all. That conclusion came with a price, but she decided it was worth the cost.

One night, when Clarke finds herself pretzeled in Bellamy's chair, she startles when a familiar name pops up.

Wells: Next time you call your mom, please tell me.

Clarke: ????

Wells:  I just received a lecture that put me within an inch of my life, I thought she was going to murder me.

Clarke:  o god

Clarke:  But I didn't tell her you knew!

Wells:  Plz

Wells:  Do you think your mom wouldn't figure out that I knew?

Clarke glares at her phone. There's so many things she wants to ask, but she doesn't know how to without sounding accusatory. Thankfully, Wells knows her so well that the next text answers the question she desperately wanted to know.

Wells: Don't worry, I didn't tell her where you are.

Clarke:  Thank you.

Clarke:  I'm just not ready for her to know.

Wells:  Fair

Wells:  But...

Clarke:  ... but?????

Wells:  Don't hate me for saying this

Wells:  Or stop messaging me

Clarke:  ???????????????

Wells:  I think you should message her every once and a while

Before Clarke can respond in anger, he messages instantly.

Wells: There's a lot going on here

Wells:  Which I'm sure you know

Wells:  Because of the report your dad tried to file

Wells:  It's been tough for the hospital

Wells:  I think it'd be good if she knew you were okay 

Wells:   At least every once and a while

Clarke doesn't respond right away. In fact, she considers turning off her phone entirely. But as her thumb goes to shut it off, her rational side breaks through. As does the guilt. Perhaps Bellamy and Wells are right, it's hard dealing with everything alone. She was just so angry all the time, she couldn't imagine not being angry at this point.

Wells:  Please don't have shut off your phone

He knows her too well.

Wells: Don't be angry

Wells:  In fact, forget I said anything

Wells:  Let's go back to talking about paint colors

Clarke:  No, you're right

He doesn't respond right away. Just as he's guessed every other emotion she had, he knows when to push and when to pull back. She's grateful, because it gives her a moment to gather her thoughts.

Clarke:  I don't know how to not be angry right now

Wells:  Then be angry

Wells:  You don't have to be nice or polite

Wells:  Just be there

Clarke ponders this. Before she can talk herself out of it, she opens a new text window and types in her mom's number. Scrolling through her photos, she finds one that Murphy took a few days ago. He stole her phone - after figuring out her password, the asshole - and took a few photos of her dancing around, covered in paint. Murphy had changed her music mainly to annoy Bellamy, but Clarke was caught up in the hilarity of it all and proceeded to dance around as Bellamy threatened to hurt him. The picture was caught, mid-jump, Clarke's hands in the air and a smile on her face that she doesn't remember the last time having one so carefree. She secretly loves that photo. Just her, movement, and her mural.

She sends it and turns her phone upside down. Honestly, she doesn't want a reaction right now.

That's when she realizes Bellamy is staring at her. "What?" she asks, brushing the wayward hairs out of her face.

Bellamy laughs. "You look like you're going to murder your phone."

Clarke settles into the chair. "I would never murder an inanimate object intentionally."

"What about a human?"

"Depends where this conversation is headed."

Bellamy startles and laughs, the clear laugh that is unimpeded by forethought and self-awareness. It's a beautiful sound that Clarke loves and she can't help but smile whenever she causes it. "Well now I'm terrified of responding."

"And I have you right where I want you."

Bellamy ducks his head. "Has anyone told you that you're impossible, Griffin?"

Clarke smirks. "You. On many occasions."

Bellamy's smile softens. "You definitely are something else."

Clarke has to bow her head because she can't bring herself to answer. It isn't fair, really. Not that he knows what he's doing. Clarke feels like her body is radiating a soft pink of embarrassment and attraction - never a good combination. 

"So, you going to leave me hanging for info, Griffin?" Bellamy asks, turning his chair wholly to face her because apparently he's invested now. 

Clarke taps her phone against her chin. "Actually, I kinda want to see what you'd do if I say no."

Bellamy's eyes narrow. "You do not want to challenge me."

"Maybe I do."

"Brave Princess."

Clarke beams at that, the nickname that once grated against her now able to set her stomach aflutter. She wills herself not to blush - she will not blush if she doesn't want to, dammit - and merely shrugs. “You’re not that scary.” She settles on, ignoring the impulse to check her phone.

Before she even knows what’s happening, Bellamy stands, marches over to the chair she’s in, placing his hands on the arm rests of the chair. He leans close and she recoils into the cushions, pressing against the pillows to try and disappear. She tells herself that he can’t hear how hard her heart is pounding, but it’s currently trying to break away from her chest.

Bellamy leans so they’re just inches apart. “What about now?”

Clarke takes a second to settle. Her skin feels as if it was on fire and he’s so close, she wonders what would happen if she closes the last few inches. How her life would change. She wants to – oh god she wants to – but there’s the fear. The fear that clearly his sister never has. Perhaps one day she’ll ask Octavia how she does it – is so inherently unafraid.

Because now? She’s terrified.

“Nope.” She ends up saying and is so grateful of how still her voice is. “Still not scary.”

Bellamy’s mouth turns up and his eyes fall, distracting her just enough to where she leans in a little closer, close enough to feel his breathing on her cheek. There’s nothing more she wants to do than close the gap.

Except it’s not real.

Swinging to the side, Clarke plants a kiss on his cheek, giving herself a moment longer than she should. “Nice try.” She states.

She doesn’t let herself stay on how domestic that seemed, and how much she wanted to turn her head to the left. “I should probably get back to work on my mural.” She says, placing her hands on the arm rest to get up.

Except he doesn’t move. He seems frozen where he is, like he doesn’t want this moment to end. Her fingers brush against his as she tries to get up, but he doesn’t budge. “Do you have something against personal space? You have so many issues.”

His eyebrows furrow at that comment, as if it takes him out of whatever trance she gave him. Straightening, Bellamy chuckles. “What can I say, Griffin? I beg to differ. I love to watch you squirm.”

“Then beg.” Clarke states with a smirk. He gapes at her and she chooses to take this time to scurry to the door.

She can’t close it, but she doesn’t want it wide open either. Glancing at her phone in her hand, Clarke sees her mother has texted back – nothing more than an emoji heart. Even in her anger, she can’t help but smile, grateful it was nothing more. Tears well in her eyes and she shakes her head. Instead, she focuses on her mural – on the colors that she’s already painted on the wall. Clarke startles.

It’s been a while since she’s really looked at the mural. She knows what she has been planning, but she’s been painting what she felt. And the colors speak for themselves. It’s the Ark all over the wall. She sees Bellamy’s yellow, crisp and bright. Raven’s vibrant red, Murphy’s assaulting orange. They’re all there, hugging her on her wall. Clarke takes a breath.

She never expected to find home in Seattle.

The writing was quite literally on the walls.

***

“This mixer, please order twice the amount of wine because the Covingtons are coming and they will consume a bottle each alone.” Roan’s telling her as she jots down notes. The next mixer’s coming up in a week and Clarke’s trying to spend all her time focusing on the logistics than a specific person that will be attending.

“Also, Diyoza is doubling her product – she was really pleased about the last mixer.” Roan states, eyeing Clarke. “Which I never formally thanked you for. You really did a good job.”

Clarke’s cheeks flush. “Thank you.”

“She says that her assistant particularly is pleased with your help – it’s a big reason why she’s trusting our gallery with so many more contributions this month.” Roan continues, not noticing when Clarke’s smile falters.

“Do you mean McCreary?” She asks, her voice hesitant.

That’s when Roan stops pacing and turns to face her. “Yes, why?”

Clarke wonders if she should say something. She always reads on the news about girls who lose their positions for saying anything. Biting her lip, she winces. “He… he kinda makes me uncomfortable.”

“Ah, yes.” Roan says with a sigh. “You’re not the first person whose said that. But he doesn’t mean anything by it, I think it’s how he connects with people. If he ever crosses the line, let me know.”

Clarke clenches her jaw. She tries not to think of the way he makes her feel when he looks at her. Like her body is coated with slime and all she wants is to take a shower.

She doesn’t say anything.

What can she?

“Anyways, at the mixer next Thursday, I’d like to make a toast with everyone a half an hour—”

And the lecture continues. Clarke takes proper notes, she knows what to do. Because of her success in the first mixer, Roan offers to hang two of her paintings for the mixer, which she’s grateful. But the thought of spending the entire evening with McCreary makes her skin crawl and she can’t find the joy and excitement she knows she needs for this occasion. Clarke thinks of Bellamy and wishes she could invite him. She thinks of everyone in the Ark and realizes that the only person she’d be able to convince to join her is Bellamy – and now he’s a no go.

So, she has to suck it up and learn to deal with McCreary. As much as she hates the idea of it. No one’s coming this time.

The rest of the day passes as it usually does, the only difference being a friendly call as she goes to Rover. Clarke answers her phone with a cheery, “Hey!”

“For someone who just worked 12 hours – I know you did – you are awfully chipper.”

Clarke laughs. “I’m really hoping you’ll have good news to tell me.

The person groans. “I really don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, Clarke.”

Clarke sighs. “Just give it to me straight, Lincoln.”

Lincoln huffs on the other end. Ever since the painfully awkward lunch with the Blakes, the two kept in touch. Clarke kept true to her word and called him about the children’s center and Lincoln kept his about trying to organize a trip for the orphans. “I’ve hit another wall.” He finally admits.

Clarke resists the urge to groan. “What now?”

“The center doesn’t have enough people to chaperone. We need one chaperone legally per every 5 kids, and they just don’t have the staff to do it.”

Pondering this, Clarke asks, “Do they have to be workers in the home, or can they be volunteers?”

Lincoln doesn’t answer right away. She can hear him typing on his computer through the phone. “I think just volunteers… I’d have to confirm.”

“Okay,” Clarke grins. “I’ll call you tomorrow. How many do I need?”

“Oh god. You’re going to ask the Ark, aren’t you?”

“No comment.”

“Do you honestly think a group of delinquents should be watching a bunch of orphans?”

“Yes, actually,” Clarke argues. “Because they can talk about real stuff. Not sugar coat anything a regular chaperone does on these sort of things. Life is hard and they know it’s hard. They should be with people who understand.”

Lincoln makes a noise. “Ugh, fine. Get me numbers and I’ll get you a date. Deal?”

“Deal.” Clarke says with a smirk. “As always, a pleasure, Lincoln.”

“You’re lucky you’re nice.”

“It’s annoying, right?” Clarke laughs. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Bye Clarke.”

“Bye.” Clarke says with a smile. Before her phone can turn dark, she thinks about it. She calls one last number, explaining the situation, before stopping by the store to get the largest box of beer she can find.

Struggling to get inside the Ark, Clarke manages to hoist the box of beer and several pizzas on the top lid, barely able to make it into the house without dropping everything. She only gets two steps into the doorway when she hears Murphy cry, “Hey guys, Clarke’s coming in complete with bribes!”

Clarke drops the beer on the floor. “Hey!”

Murphy steps over, eyes the large box of beer, three pizzas, and makes a face. “But am I wrong?”

She tries to think of an answer that would not confirm Murphy’s suspicion, but also not lie. “I’m… asking you guys for help.”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “Guys, Clarke is bribing us with pizza and beer!”

“I got Rainier! The one local with the mountain on it!”

Jasper makes a face from the downstairs game room. “Rainier beer tastes like piss in a can.”

Making a face, Clarke groans. “Really?”

Monty shuffles behind him. “I mean, we’ll drink it. But it’s super gross.”

Clarke moves down to pick up her very obvious bribes, Murphy watching her with his arms folded. He makes such a point not to help her, that she feels like snapping at him. “You’re such a dick.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wants to bribe us. I’m just playing by your rules. I’m not helping you move the bribes into the kitchen.”

“Why do you even sit on that couch out here? You don’t have a television and you’re always in the way!” Clarke exclaims, gesturing to the shitty couch in the foyer.

“How else will I create such magical moments?” Murphy asks with a grin.

“We’ll help you, Clarke.” Monty says with a smile.

“Yeah, we won’t just watch.” Jasper snaps, throwing a nasty look at Murphy. “Because we have manners, unlike some.”

Murphy is unphased. “Sucks for you.”

It doesn’t take long for the promise of free beer and pizza to echo throughout the Ark, everyone huddling in the kitchen. Everyone knows something is coming, but Clarke can’t bring herself to gather the courage to ask now that she’s wildly outnumbered. Everyone continues to throw looks in her direction, but when she doesn’t ask anything, it turns into a casual conversation.

Wringing her hands, Clarke starts, “Thank you for coming.”

Murphy sets his beer down. “Here we go.”

Clarke makes a face. “Do you have an off button?”

“Do you?”

“At least I say relevant information.”

“And I provide comedic relief. You ain’t special.”

Clarke laughs despite herself. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” she says, glaring at Murphy. “I need a to ask a favor.”

Clarke begins to regale everyone with the explanation of her idea and the issue with the chaperones. For the most part, everyone seems relatively receptive, despite Murphy’s comments throughout it. “So, if you do this, I’ll buy everything for the next family dinner – including dessert.”

“Two meals? I’m in.” Monty says, reaching over Jasper to get another slice. “Maybe being outside will be good for the skin.”

“Yeah, because you don’t need to go outside for your ‘gardening.’” Jasper jokes, stealing the slice from him and shoving half of it in his mouth. “I’m there. I haven’t seen Mt. Rainier up close before.”

“Dude, you’ve lived here your entire life.”

“I can see it from my window! Whatever.” Jasper shrugs.

Harper smiles. “I’m in. I should be there for Monty to help point out what a tree is, if he gets confused.”

“Did everyone collectively forget my parents are farmers?”

“Shush, honey.” Harper says, patting his head. “We’re in.”

Clarke turns to Raven, who’s making a face. Before she can argue for it, Raven states, “It’s not that I don’t want to help – I do – but I have to use every second I’m not at my internship studying. Everyone there is just waiting for me to make a mistake. I have to work twice as hard as everyone else as the only girl.”

Clarke ponders this, because it’s a fair point. “Maybe it’ll be good to be outside for fun, though. Everyone needs a break every once and a while. And,” Clarke says with a soft smile. “I invited someone else I want you to meet.”

The walls of Raven’s suspicion go up instantly. “Yeah..?”

“I met him at the mixer a few weeks ago. His name is Shaw – he was a pilot for the military, and now is working on a NASA contract.”

Raven’s eyes narrow. “So?”

“So?” Clarke smiles brightly. “I think you two could have a lot to talk about.”

Raven groans, “Come on Clarke. Are you really trying to set me up right now?”

“Only if you want it to be a set up.” Clarke states innocently. “I just think the two of you would get along. Have I mentioned he’s a little older than us, but super hot?”

Before Raven can even respond to that, Murphy leans in. “Do you think it wise to set her up with someone that you both think is attractive? Because that worked so well for your last relationship.”

Both women whip their heads in his direction, eyes blazing. He shrugs, “What, too soon?”

“You are such a dick, Murphy!” Clarke snaps, shoving him away. “We are having a private conversation, so either agree to come or go away and reimburse me for my pizza.”

Murphy shrugs. “Of course I’m going. Keep your panties on.” He makes a thoughtful face. “Or not, whatever you want sweetheart.”

“You’re going?” Clarke asks, surprised, choosing to ignore everything else.

“What of it?” Murphy responds, flipping her off and moving away to join Harper and Monty.

Turning back to Raven, Clarke fixes her with a soft expression. “Obviously, if you don’t want me to even introduce you, I won’t. But he did agree to come, he’s really nice, not bad to look at, and maybe an ally you could have in the program, you know?”

Raven sighs. “Am I really so sad you have to go out of your way to orchestrate an event where I might meet someone?”

Snorting, Clarke puts her hands up. “Let’s not get carried away. This is about the kids, not everything is about you, Reyes.”

“Should be.”

“True,” Clarke responds. “I just hope you know that I’d choose you first. And I want you to find someone else who would too.”

Raven doesn’t respond right away. She glances at the ground, her feet shifting slightly. If Clarke didn’t know better, she’d think she made Raven uncomfortable. Placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder, Clarke gives her a slight squeeze and offers a harmless smile, to which Raven launches herself at Clarke and wraps her arms around her neck. “Thanks.” She says softly so that no one can hear, but Clarke is positive everyone could.

Pulling away, Raven coughs. “Murphy, you better not have hogged all the supreme pizza.”

“Oh, fuck off Reyes.”

“I’m gonna kill you if you had.”

“I’d like to see you try!”

With that, she leaves.

Clarke eyes Bellamy in the corner, clearly happy to be nothing but an observer, sipping a beer as he leans against the counter. She joins him, leaning on the space next to him, smiling up at him. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

The corner’s of Bellamy’s mouth quirk up. “I dunno, Griffin. I’ve got a lot of papers to grade.”

His teasing tone convinces her that he’s 100% going, so she doesn’t read too much into it. “But we’ll be outside. And you love hiking.”

“That’s true, I do.”

“Octavia’s going too. She’s a ranger at that National Park.”

“It’s true, she is.”

“And Murphy’s going.”

“Well, if Murphy’s going,” Bellamy laughs. “Then I better show up so he doesn’t one up me.”

“Good.” Clarke states, opening her own beer. “I’m glad.”

“Good.” Bellamy responds with a grin.

They both take a drink, leaning against the counter and not facing each other.

***

Of course these things always are a little chaotic. The day of the Rainier trip, it all but takes Clarke a gong to get Murphy out of bed, she walks in on Monty and Harper having sex (“Good god, why the fuck does this always happen to me?!”), and Raven jumps out wearing steel-toes and takes convincing that she will want to light her feet on fire by the end. But when the group gets to the center, the kids are already outside, chatting excitedly amongst themselves. Clarke can tell that some don’t want to show how pumped they are, hanging out in the corner and rolling their eyes at those outwardly excited, but there’s something in the air that’s somewhat magical.

Clarke feels a soft green tinge her blue melancholy.

It’s almost startling. She’s been so used to being shrouded with such a powerful blue that it’s become engrained in who she is. But when she notices the green hue hovering around her, she can’t help but beam at the group before her.

“Clarke!”

Before she can’t even register who shouted at her, someone sprints toward her and plows right into her front, nearly knocking her over. When she sees the mess of wild, knotted hair, Clarke wraps her arms around the girl and hugs her so she lifts her off the ground. “Madi!” She exclaims.

The girl’s eyes are brighter than Clarke’s ever seen and she’s nearly vibrating with energy. “I can’t believe you did this!”

“Well, it wasn’t just me – trust me.” Clarke laughs. “Everyone helped.”

“But you said you’d try and you did it.” Madi presses. “Normally people say they’ll do things for the center, but they never end up doing it.”

She has to duck her head to keep from flushing to intensely, grateful when Bellamy chooses that moment to step up to the two of them. “They’re ready for everyone to get on the bus, Clarke.” He says, putting an arm around her shoulder.

It’s such a casual and intimate thing, Clarke tries not to be too affected by it. Madi eyes the gesture, opening her mouth to say something, but Clarke widens her eyes. Snapping her mouth shut, Madi sticks a hand out. “I’m Madi.” She states.

Bellamy grins. “You’re The Madi? Clarke’s been talking about you for months now. We have your paintings all over our house.”

That seems to throw Madi off a bit. “You kept them?” She asks in a small voice.

Clarke’s surprised by the sudden vulnerability of the child. “Of course I kept them, Madi. They’re beautiful and you gave them to me.”

Bellamy’s expression grows soft. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough for helping decorating our house.”

Madi smiles to herself, only looking up when she notices that everyone’s already on the bus. “We should get on.” She mumbles, running ahead.

Bellamy doesn’t let go of Clarke’s shoulder, twirling her around to follow after the girl. They move toward the bus, Bellamy stating, “It’s a really great thing you did, Clarke.”

“It was mainly Lincoln, honestly. I just suggested—”

“No, seriously.” Bellamy states, holding her back from getting onto the bus. “When my mom died, they almost put Octavia in a home because someone argued that I wasn’t a good enough guardian for her. She actually was in one for a few months. When she told me what happened…” he breaks off, wincing. Without thinking too much about it, Clarke places a free hand on his resting on her shoulder. “I’m just saying it’s good, what you did.”

Clarke looks to the ground. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Either make out or get on the bus!” Murphy shouts from the bus window and dozens of giggles can be heard behind him.

“Oh god,” Bellamy groans. “They’re gonna love him, aren’t they?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Clarke says with a laugh, jogging to get on the bus.

By the time they get on, all the seats are taken except a few in the front. Madi waves Clarke down to join her seat – Harper whispers that a boy tried to sit there, but she pointedly told him, ‘This seat is saved.’ And snapped at anyone who tried – and Clarke scoots in next to her. The majority of the Ark delinquents are in the front, Jasper falling asleep on Monty. Raven asks Harper if she’s jealous that her own boyfriend didn’t want to sit next to her, to which she shrugged with no jealousy and responded, “I think we all know what the real relationship is.”

The only person not in the front is Murphy, who already seems to have a cult-like following in the back. Clarke tries not to listen to whatever he’s telling them, knowing that the less she knows, the better. Instead, she asks Madi if she can braid her wild mess of hair, to which she agrees, and the group of them spend the entire drive joking about camping and weird experiences in the woods while Clarke’s fingers twist and turn Madi’s long hair.

Bellamy’s in mid-story about Octavia getting lost on a hike when she was eight and him rounding a group of the neighborhood boys to find her when the bus shudders to a halt and the driver announces “We’re here.”

Madi’s smile falters, as if she didn’t want the ride to end, that she wanted to hear endless stories from the group of them, but they all get off all the same. They’re greeted to Lincoln, Octavia, and a few other people Clarke doesn’t know, but everyone smiles warmly at the sight of the group. When Murphy brushes past her, Clarke hisses, “What are you teaching them?”

“Important life skills.” Murphy responds with a wink.

Burying her face in her hands, Clarke tries not to dwell on it while Lincoln gives the group the run through. “And that’s it!” He finishes. “For those who want to hike, find Octavia and she’ll sort you into groups depending on how hard of a hike you want. But you are also free to stay at ground level and explore the park. If you do wander, you do need to let a chaperone know and have a buddy. That’s one very important thing about the woods. Buddy system, folks.”

“And if you can’t find a buddy, find a chaperone. They can be your buddy.” Octavia offers. “We’re all here for you guys.”

“Murphy, will you be my buddy?”

“No me!”

“Wait, can I come?”

“Oh god.” Clarke groans and everyone laughs at her side.

Brushing his shirt off, Murphy preens and offers, “Later losers. My popularity is calling.”

“I hope you realize he’s going to be insufferable because of this.” Bellamy says flatly.

“You say that as if he wasn’t insufferable already.” Clarke mumbles with a sigh.

“Clarke!”

The group turns at the call, a figure jogging up to where everyone is. Clarke’s annoyance with Murphy dissipates when Shaw runs up, more casual than she’s ever seen him in a set of basketball shorts and a t-shirt. He’s shrouded in deep blue, but not like Clarke’s melancholy. It’s a blue that reminds her of the night sky, of deep underwater. Something that is coated in an air of mystery, but endless foundation. Solid. Comforting as if greeted by the stars. “Shaw!” Clarke explains, offering a hug when he arrives.

Bellamy stills at her side at the gesture, but Clarke chooses not to read anything into that.

“I’m glad you made it!” She says.

“Thanks for thinking of me – I love this kind of stuff. Anything to be off the flight pad for a day, am I right?” He grins, winking at her.

Clarke peers around for Raven, snatching her arm and dragging her over. “Shaw, this is my friend I was telling you about that’s in the NASA program.”

Except the two freeze. Raven’s mouth drops open when she catches his eye and Clarke honestly doesn’t know what’s about to happen. “You.” She snaps finally and Clarke takes her hands off.

“Oh my god, it’s you.” Shaw closes his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Raven snaps. “What, didn’t get enough of questioning my every move during the week?”

“Come on, I apologized! You were doing it differently than the protocol—”

“Yeah, to make it more efficient!” Raven cries.

“Look, I’ve apologized a million times—”

“Three times, let’s not get melodramatic.”

“Me? Melodramatic? After what you pulled in the cafeteria?”

“You deserved every moment of that.”

“Listen, I don’t want to do this, but I am your superior officer in this situation.”

“Superior officer?” Raven repeats. “You are a civil servant working for NASA. I am a part of NASA. So you are working for me.”

“You’re an intern!”

“You’re an asshole!”

Shaw opens his mouth, but a laughs sneaks out. Before anyone can put space between the two, Raven’s smile stretches across her face. The two start laughing and Clarke casts a glance at Bellamy. “Don’t look at me.” He says, putting his hands up.

“Uh, I’m gonna, go over there.” Clarke states, gesturing to the middle of the park.

“Why?” Madi asks. “This is awesome to watch.”

“You are such a menace, Madi.” Clarke laughs.

“Raven.” Raven says, extending her hand.

“Shaw.” He says taking it. “I meant no offense, I genuinely thought you were fucking up my aircraft.”

“I was actually trying to give you an advantage toward everyone else because I thought you were hot. And not a misogynist.”

Shaw looks mortally offended. “I’m not! I would’ve yelled at anyone who was taking apart my control panel.”

Raven shrugs. “Probably should’ve given you a warning about what I was doing.”

“Ya think?”

“Yeah, let’s give them some space.” Clarke says, leading Madi away. “Don’t want to watch if any of this gets rated R.”

“What do you mean?” Madi asks.

Bellamy snickers at her side. “Yeah, what do you mean, Clarke?”

“Uh—”

“Oh, you’re afraid they’ll have sex?” Madi asks. “Bold of them to do it in public.”

Bellamy and Clarke share a look and then burst out laughing. “Come on, let’s go find the group.” Clarke mutters, playfully shoving Madi forward.

The day passes in a blur, but one that Clarke is so grateful to be a part of. She can’t remember the last time she didn’t feel the weight of her father’s death on her chest, laughing freely. Everything was chaotic around her, but in a way that made it easier to think. Madi rarely left her side that day, claiming that they were supposed to be on the buddy system. Clarke let the girl lead her around, showing her tricks that her parents taught her when she was younger.

Bellamy begrudgingly went on a hike with Lincoln due to Octavia’s insistence, and the two came back in one piece. The smile Octavia gave her brother must’ve erased all annoyance because the moment he saw how happy his sister was, his frustrated front melted and he smiled back. When the two hugged, Clarke couldn’t help but feel something warm in the pit of her stomach.

“So, is he like your boyfriend or something?” Madi asks at her side, shoving a handful of trail mix in her mouth.

“What?” Clarke exclaims, startled. “What? No. No! Obviously no.”

“Why not?” Madi asks. “Your face gets all smushy around him.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Like you want to put your face on his face.” Madi says. Then she brings her hands up and air makes-out with a space in front of her.

“Madi!” Clarke exclaims, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Madi laughs, pulling her hand down. “What? It’s true.”

“It is decidedly not true.”

“Okay, Clarke.” Madi says with a knowing look. “Whatever you say.”

“You know what, you little runt,” Clarke says, all but tackling her. The girl laughs, which causing Clarke to do so two, the two of them lying on their backs and looking up at the sky.

“Thank you for doing this, Clarke.” Madi says softly, all teasing gone form her voice. “I feel better out here. Like my parents aren’t really gone.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, watching the clouds drift above them. “I get that.”

“Do you believe in heaven?” Madi asks at her side.

Clarke thinks about this. Because it’s an important question. Not one to give an answer so off the cuff, but not one to not answer at all. “I don’t know,” she settles on, mainly because it’s true. “I hope so. I’d like to think we meet the ones we love again.”

“Me too.” Madi says to her side. “I hope it’s true.”

Clarke turns her head in the grass and Madi does the same. “I’m glad I met you thought.”

Madi’s mouth turns up. “Me too.”

Clarke returns her attention to the sky, her thoughts filled with her father. She tries to remember the last time she ever saw him. She thinks it’s was a Tuesday, but the memories are growing softer and softer as days passed.

It was a Tuesday. Clarke had a late class, so she went to have breakfast with her dad. It was a coffee shop next to her dorm and he had circles under his eyes that she remembers asking him if he was sick. He said yes. What she can’t remember is if she gave him a hug.

Did she? Did she wrap her arms around him, unknowing that it would be the last time she ever would? If she did know, she would’ve never let go.

“May we meet again.” Clarke says to the sky.

Next to her, Madi shifts slight. In a small voice, one that Clarke knows only she can hear, Madi repeats it.

“May we meet again.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TEN

The second mixer felt emptier than she remembers the last one being.

After Roan gave his toast and people were chatting, Clarke took her glass of wine and did a quick lap, hoping to see a familiar face. Secretly she hoped to see Shaw again, hidden among the paintings, but he’s nowhere to be found. Instead, she finds herself playing a game of avoiding McCreary, who is trying his best to get her alone.

He finally succeeds when Clarke is deep in thought, observing a painting she hung only hours before, but didn’t really get a good look at. She’s leaning close to it, watching the way the lines swirl before her and the colors that are made. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me.” He sneaks up behind her and places his hand on the small of her back.

A shiver makes its way up her spine as she tries not to react, her hand clenching around her wine glass. “What would give you that idea?” She only says it with a hint of sarcasm, which he seems to not pick up on at all. Clarke can’t decide if she’d rather he take the hint or not.

He leans in. “Can I get you another glass of wine?” he asks, flicking the side of her glass, which was still half full.

“No, I think I’m alright,” Clarke says, scooting her glass away.

Leaning closer, he whispers, “The good thing about the ends of these things are all the dark corners.”

Clarke shuts her eyes, telling herself that she is not crawling out of her skin. “I—”

“Clarke, right?”

Both turn to see a woman sipping a deep glass of red wine, her dark eyes focused on McCreary. She’s stunning, filled with sharp edges and icy gazes. She’s the color of pale blue, like ice paints her skin. It’s the color of breathing in the cold, or crystals on a lake. “Would you mind if I steal her for a moment? I saw her work in the corner and I want to discuss it.”

Clarke doesn’t even question it, she shuffles alongside the woman, throwing McCreary an apologetic look. “Sorry, duty calls.”

The woman doesn’t even hesitate. She takes Clarke’s shoulders and whips her in the direction of her own work. Clarke focuses on that, trying not to reveal somehow that she knows exactly who this woman is, and the fact that she knows way too many intimate stories about her. The woman stops her in front of her painting, tilting her head. “You looked like you needed to be rescued.”

Clarke deflates. “Thank you.” She sighs. “You have no idea.”

“McCreary is well known within the art circle between doing some scandalous things. Us women have to stick together.” She says, still staring at Clarke’s pieces in the gallery. “I’m Echo.”

Clarke smiles awkwardly. “Clarke, as you know.”

Echo surveys her. “As you knew my name already.” She says, taking a sip of wine.

Clarke isn’t sure how to react, even though she knows she’s already been found out. “Uh…”

“I saw you with Bellamy the other mixer,” Echo states. “And considering your reaction, I assume you know we used to date.”

Clarke sighs. “Yeah, I do.”

“Brave of you to admit it.”

“I really don’t know what good it would do to deny.”

“Then would I be right in saying he fled the last one when he saw I was here?” Echo asks calmly, not even sparing Clarke a glance. When Clarke doesn’t know how to respond, she smiles into her wine glass. “I thought so.”

Echo takes a drink, staring at one of Clarke’s paintings. “Honestly, I don’t know why Roan hired you. You’re different from every other artist he looked at.”

Clarke makes a face into her wine, trying not to show how much she disliked what was said. “Well, I’d like to think that it worked out for the best.” Clarke says, trying not to bristle.

“I would say so.” Echo states, not even picking up on her frustration. She’s so sharp and straightforward, Clarke can’t tell if she’s being antagonistic or not. “So, how do you know Bellamy?”

“He’s my room…friend.” Clarke says a little too quickly. When Echo lifts an eyebrow, she clears her throat. “Roommate. I live in the Ark.”

“Ah,” Echo says. “You’re a part of the Ark? I never would’ve pictured you among the delinquents.”

“You’ve been?”

“Bellamy and I have been on and off for six years.” Echo huffs a laugh. “I’ve definitely been to the Ark. I believe Murphy threatened to kill me fifty times in my entire tenure here. He is not quiet when he doesn’t like someone.”

“Murphy isn’t quiet ever.” Clarke snorts. “And he threatens to kill us all the time. So I wouldn’t feel too bad.”

Echo doesn’t even crack a smile. “Trust me. He never warmed to me. I have a feeling there was a little more honesty to my threats than anyone else’s.” Echo flips her hair. “I’m special.”

Clarke snorts. “Well, he doesn’t have very good judgment, so I wouldn’t be too offended.”

“Oh, I’m not.” The corner of Echo’s mouth quirks up. “I’m quite proud.”

The two stare at Clarke’s paintings, dimly lit in the corner of the gallery. “This one is quite yellow.” She says, tilting her wine glass at it.

Clarke can’t help it, but she flushes at the comment. But upon looking at the painting more, she can’t help but really evaluate what she had done. Clarke chose this one for the mixer because she thought the composition had good balance and that it wasn’t too assaulting in the amount of colors she used. Now she realizes, it’s almost all yellow. She tries to remember when she made it, and when she does, she blushes harder.

It was a Wednesday. Bellamy had come home from work in a terrible mood, throwing his bag in his room. She could almost feel his frustration and anger through the door, which was chained. She chained it because Murphy had been teasing her about her crush and she just couldn’t handle the teasing and seeing him at the same time, but she found a courage she’d never had. Unchaining the door, Clarke opened it wide and asked “Everything okay?” He responded, “No.” And she nodded, keeping the door open, the gentle music wafting between.

Because she likes space when she’s upset and thinks Bellamy’s similar, she moved her easel to the door frame, the heels of her feet hitting the wood lining between rooms. And she painted next to him, but not with him, almost feeling the tension leave. By the time she finished, Bellamy had pulled his chair over and was watching. “It’s yellow.” He had said. She agreed. “You said I was yellow.” Clarke remembers nodding and saying, “Maybe this is for you.”

“It’s for someone.” Clarke tells Echo.

“They must be a big fan of the color.”

Clarke smiles to herself. “Something like that.”

Echo takes another look. “You know what?” She says quietly. “I’m not usually into abstract art, but, it kinda reminds me of how I feel when it’s been really cloudy in Seattle and the sun finally comes out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why.”

Clarke turns to face the painting, unable to conceal her grin. “I guess that’s the benefit of abstract art. There’s something in it for everyone.”

Echo makes a thoughtful sound, finishing her wine.

Fortunately, the mixer ends uneventful enough. Roan is delightfully buzzed by the end of the night and says she doesn’t have to clean up – that McCreary volunteered. Clarke knows for a fact that McCreary volunteered because he thought Clarke would be cleaning up by herself, so she doesn’t even make sure Roan’s serious before bolting out the door. Except before she can, Roan grabs her. “Clarke, you have done extraordinary work since starting.”

Startled, Clarke manages a shaky, “Thank you.”

“I’d like you to consider coming onto the gallery full time.” He winks at her. “I’ll even pay you.”

Clarke is almost too stunned for words. “R-Really?”

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “But go out, celebrate. And we’ll talk about it on Monday at your usual time.”

Clarke can’t help the smile stretch across her face. “We’ll talk about it on Monday.”

She leaves the gallery, her heart pounding in her chest.

The drive home is odd.

Her skin feels jittery, like the noise of a television broken over time. There’s something electric in the air that she isn’t sure how to handle it. She feels like she needs to do something, she needs to be somewhere she’s never been.

So without thinking, Clarke exits the highway back to the Ark and drives until she hits the beach. It’s quiet. But not in a lonely way, the kind it would’ve been months ago when she first came to Seattle. Clarke was broken, drowning in a sea of dark blue melancholy that felt like molasses the more she moved. Every time she got one foot out, the other would sink deeper and she’d be stuck all over again.

As she jogs toward the water, Clarke stumbles as she unclasps her heels. Her dress drags in the sand and she doesn’t care. The moon light is shimmering on the Puget Sound, the only movement around her the waves and the occasional dark shadow in the distance. The beach is empty. But she doesn’t feel alone.

Stretching her arms out, Clarke leans her head back and laughs. Laughs. She knows to any passerby, she must look positively deranged, but she doesn’t care. Spinning in the sand, Clarke basks in the moonlight, in the stars in the sky. Her dress flings sand and she accidentally lets go of her heels so they skitter off in the shadows. Instead of going after them, she steps toward the water, the fabric of her dress floating. It’s freezing, her pale skin almost luminescent. Sucking in a sharp breath, she moves closer.

The water feels as cold as ice, but she can’t remember the last time she breathed so clearly. “You’re okay, Clarke.” She breathes to herself, the words whispers of what she said in the motel the night before coming to the Ark. Words she didn’t believe, but had hoped if she said them enough, they might be true some day.

Tonight they were true.

A tear slides down her cheek and she brings a hand up to touch it. Another giggle escapes as a few more tears fall, but she doesn’t care.

She’s okay.

When she starts to lose the feeling in her feet, she stumbles out of the water, the end of her dress sticking to her legs. Sitting herself down on a piece of drift wood, she manages to get her phone out of her jacket pocket that she’d left tucked by a rock. When she looks at the screen, she smiles to herself.

Bellamy: How’s the mixer going?

Bellamy: Need me to kick anyone’s ass?

Bellamy: I know you’re busy, let me know when you’re done.

Bellamy: Uh, it’s kinda late – everything okay?

Bellamy: Hey, can you text me?

Bellamy: Shouldn’t it be over by now?

Bellamy: Seriously, just a text.

When Clarke unlocks her phone, there’s an ellipsis at the bottom of her history with Bellamy and she can’t help but roll her eyes.

Clarke: Hey

Bellamy: Thank god

Bellamy: I thought I’d have to come to kick someone’s ass.

Bellamy: Where are you?

Clarke: Has anyone told u ur a nerd for typing full sentences

Bellamy: Many times.

Bellamy: Answer the question!

Clarke looks out at the water, her toes tingling with cold and something else. Something filled with possibilities and home.

Clarke: At the beach

Bellamy: WHY?

Clarke: Because I felt like it

Clarke: Explain when I get home

Bellamy: Which will be when…??

Clarke: Soon

Bellamy: Oh good, I was worried you’d be vague about it.

Rolling her eyes, Clarke tucks her phone away. For this moment in time, she wants to be alone. She wants to feel the world when it’s no longer crushing her. She wraps her fingers around her father’s watch, clasped around her wrist as usual. Just having it there makes her feel like he’s with her.

Right now, that’s enough.

***

“Why are you all wet?” is the first thing she hears when she gets home.

It’s almost two in the morning, most of the lights in the Ark are out, so when she carefully shuts the main door behind her, she is definitely not expecting someone to all but shout at her. She leaps in the air, has to try really hard not to scream, and is flustered when she turns to see a shirtless Bellamy, clad in nothing but pajama bottoms and his reading glasses. “Why would you do that?” She whispers, hand over her chest. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Why are you all wet?” Bellamy repeats, gesturing to her dress, which is tracking muddy sand onto the welcome mat.

Clarke gives herself a once over. At the beach it made a lot of sense, but here, she isn’t really sure how to explain it. Her heart is pounding still, but she knows it’s not just from being startled. He’s all but glaring at her, but she can’t help but beam at him. If anything, that makes him more frustrated, because he crosses his hands in that way where she feels like she’s about to get a lecture. “I got offered the job.” Clarke says to him, unable to mask the excitement in her voice. His annoyed expression slips as she continues, “I-I was leaving and Roan asked if I would come on full time and I sold both my paintings and…” Clarke tries to find the word for it.

Because now’s the time. It’s the time because she’s feeling brave and is fueled by the scent of the sea.

“I just feel…” Clarke tries to explain it, gesturing wildly. “When I first came here, I didn’t even feel like a person, you know? I felt like even the smallest gust of wind could tip me over and I would shatter everywhere. But now? Now I-I feel like I’m really in a place where I should stay. Like, I made the right decision to drive all the way out here, you know?”

Bellamy doesn’t respond, but all evidence of anger is gone from his face.

“I can stay here.” Clarke states, eyes widening at that fact. “I always wondered if I made the wrong decision, but now I don’t have to because I know I made the right one. It was good that I came here.”

Bellamy’s expression softens. “It was,” he says, his voice low. “It was really good.”

Clarke’s smile stretches across her face. Before she can second-guess herself, she closes the gap and all but launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He startles only for a second, stumbling back once until he wraps his own arms around her waist. With a rough laugh, he picks her up from the ground and Clarke lifts her feet, enjoying a moment filled with nothing but happiness.

They break away and Clarke laughs. “I think I got sand on you.”

“You definitely did.” He says with a grin. “And all over the front door, I might add.”

“Well, shoot.”

“You’re becoming an unruly tenant, Griffin.” Bellamy says, teasing in his voice. “One might think of throwing you out?”

“Just as I got a grown-up job?” Clarke asks. “Suspicious timing. Getting scared that I may stick around, are you?”

Bellamy chuckles at that. “Yeah, Clarke. That’s it.”

Clarke can’t help but simply smile at him. She thinks of the yellow from the painting and the moonlight on the water. Perhaps there’s happiness in little things, when there’s sorrow in the large.

“What are you even doing up, right now?” Clarke asks, swimming back to reality. “Don’t you have a tutoring session super early tomorrow?”

“Yeah, it’s gonna suck. Fully expect to wake up to my alarm at six in the morning.”

“You are the absolute worst.”

“I know.” Bellamy chuckles. “Actually I wanted to ask you something.”

Clarke lifts an eyebrow. “You waited until two in the morning to ask me a question?”

Bellamy scratches the back of his head. “When you put it like that, it sounds crazy.”

“Sounds? You realize you own a phone, right?”

“I wanted to do it in person.” Bellamy says sheepishly. “Tomorrow is Octavia’s birthday and we have this tradition that the two of us do on her birthday – something we’ve been doing since she was fourteen. Traditionally it’s been just the two of us, but she asked if she could bring Lincoln this year, so I asked if I could bring you.”

It nearly startles Clarke into a heart attack. “What?”

Bellamy smiles, but in a way that almost looks like a wince. “Well, uh, I didn’t want to be the third wheel at my sister’s birthday, but it’s really important to me that I spend it with her, so—”

Clarke places a hand on his forearm. “Of course I’ll go.”

He all but deflates with relief. “Oh, uh, cool.” He says. “Do you work tomorrow?”

“It’s my day off.”

“Good. Then it’s a date.” Bellamy says. “Okay, I should probably go to bed. See you tomorrow?”

Clarke barely nods. “See you tomorrow.”

He leaves her in the foyer of the Ark, staring at the wall, wondering what just happened, the words It’s a date ringing in her head.

***

The funny thing is, she doesn’t even have an opportunity to question any of it because it turns out Bellamy is a ball of anxiety in every instance that involves Octavia. When he gets home from tutoring, his hair is standing on end and his shoes are on the wrong feet and he honestly enters Clarke’s room, thinking it’s his. “What is going on right now?” Clarke asks, her hands up and approaching him like he’s a wounded animal. “I thought we were just hanging out with your sister and her boyfriend.”

“We are!” He shouts and thankfully, Clarke’s been around Bellamy enough to not even flinch at his accidentally yelling.

Instead, she makes a face. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to use your adult words so you can explain what is going on?”

Bellamy heaves a sigh, if somehow she’s the frustrating one in this situation, and runs his hand through his hair. “Listen, Octavia and I were on our own for years and her birthday was always one of the days where I felt the guiltiest. I just want to make sure it goes great.”

“Are you ever going to explain what we’ll be doing today?” Clarke asks. “Because you’ve kinda left out all important details. What are we even doing?”

“We’re doing what we always do.” Bellamy says as if she should know exactly what that means.

When he doesn’t explain further, Clarke takes a breath. “Let’s rephrase the question: do I need to look nice?”

Bellamy snaps out of his daze at that. “You always look nice.”

Clarke flushes, but says, “I know you’re lying to make me feel better, so thank you, but I need to know.”

“It’s a be comfy kinda day.” Bellamy says. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, then we can go, alright?”

And he leaves.

It’s comforting to know he’s every bit of a disaster as she is, even though she sits on the couch in the foyer, waiting for him to come back down. Fiddling on her phone, she sends Wells a quick update that she may or may not be going on a date with the boy she’s secretly in love with, and then sends her mother a quick update that she’s been offered a full-time job where she is that she’s excited about. Both respond exactly how she thought they would – Wells fires off ten texts right in a row, demanding more information, while her mother (in her attempt to keep giving her space) simply sends a thumbs up.

Clarke is debating whether she should respond to Wells at all when there’s a weight next to her. Murphy’s hair is disheveled and it’s clear that he’s just woken up. “So what’s this I hear about you going with Blake to celebrate his sister’s birthday?”

Clarke makes a face. “How do you even know about that?”

“You realize I’m a bartender, right? And keep bartender hours? So if you two are going to have a regular conversation in the foyer, I will hear it.” Murphy says with a laugh. “I was literally in the kitchen, making myself a sandwich.”

She groans. “Of course you were.”

Murphy snorts. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He asks seriously, dropping his voice low.

Clarke startles, because of the switch in tone, but mainly because Murphy doesn’t grow serious unless he’s absolutely sure no one could hear him. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

With a sigh, Clarke says, “We can be friends, even if…” Clarke winces. “Just because I feel a certain way, doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“But he doesn’t invite anyone to things with his sister. In fact, he actively goes out of his way not to let us know when she’s around, which is why he’s always so annoyed that she and Jasper became such good friends. I just…” Murphy groans. “Be careful, okay?”

“Murphy, what—”

“Listen, you’ve changed since you got here.” Murphy says. “When you first moved in, we didn’t mention anything, because we didn’t know you and it was rude, but you were in a rough state. You don’t think we didn’t hear the crying or know that you barely slept? We saw all of that, but wanted to give you space. And lately it seems like things have been going pretty good, and the last thing I want is for you two backslide for whatever reason. Especially not because you have terrible taste in men and decided you’re into Bellamy.”

Clarke can’t even laugh at the joke. “Murphy, I’m okay, you know? I think it’ll be fine.”

“You think it’ll be fine.” Murphy huffs. “Just, be careful, okay? Don’t need any excuse for that world class Griffin bolting.”

She rolls her eyes. “Murphy—”

“You ready to go, Clarke?”

Bellamy steps up to where the two of them are on the couch, hissing frantically at each other. He looks much less frantic than he had a half an hour ago, in his hands a wrapped gift. “Yeah,” Clarke says cheerfully, standing and turning, only to make a face at Murphy. He huffs at that, placing his hands behind his head.

“Go off into your own idiocy, Clarke.” Murphy says teasingly, but Clarke knows Murphy well enough at this point to know that he’s being honest. She makes a pleading face and he sighs. “Have her home by ten, asshole.” He adds with a wink.

Bellamy merely flips him off and Clarke jogs to catch up.

It isn’t until the two are in his car does Bellamy ask, “What did I walk into?”

Clarke groans. “Murphy… was just being a dick.”

“What else is new?”

She snorts. “He likes to tell me when I’m being stupid, which to him, apparently is all the time.”

“He really should look in a mirror before calling anyone that.” Bellamy says. “If he’s bothering you, I wouldn’t pay him any attention. I think he likes to cause trouble just for fun.”

Clarke is glad that’s where he’s taking it. “Yeah. That must be it.” She leans on the arm rest between him. “So are you going to tell me anything about today? For all I know, you’re taking me to my death.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Every year on my baby sister’s birthday, we like to sacrifice someone to the gods.” Bellamy says flatly. “It’s very Roman of us. My sister goes by the Red Queen – reigns over blood.”

“Okay, I started this joke, but you’ve taken it to a very weird level.” Clarke says, laughing.

Bellamy shrugs. “It’s what I do. Okay, so every year on her birthday, since we could never afford to go out or anything, we order a pizza, build a fort, and then watch movies in the fort.” He says very quickly, like he’s hoping the speed will prevent her from understanding what he’s saying.

“You… watch movies in a fort?” She asks.

“Yes.”

Clarke can’t help the smile stretching across her face. “That’s… amazing!”

The wince on Bellamy’s face relaxes. “Really?”

“Oh my god, that sounds like the best way to spend a Saturday, honestly.” Clarke says honestly. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve been in a really excellent fort. Do you think we’ll have enough room for four people?”

Bellamy focuses on the road, but there’s a smile teasing his lips. “Cool.”

The rest of the car ride is spent in casual conversation, Clarke trying not to think how close their hands are from each other or what it means that he’s invited her to something very personal. By the time they get to Octavia’s, the two are in a heated debate about Plato’s The Allegory of the Cave, which Clarke honestly doesn’t care too much about, but Bellamy cares endlessly about and that’s what makes it so fun.

“Oh my god,” Bellamy says as he gets out of the car. “You can’t possible mean that.”

“I do.” Clarke says curtly, even though she really doesn’t care. “And you need to learn how to deal.”

“You are an actual menace to society, do you know that? I can’t believe you would come into my car, on this day, and—”

“I heard yelling, so I assumed the two of you were here.” Octavia leans against the door of her house, amused.

Bellamy stops mid-rant, beaming at his sister. “Happy Birthday, O.”

Octavia faces him. “What? No birthday hug?”

“Give me a moment, crazy.” Bellamy laughs, dropping his gift on the trunk of his car, running up to her, picking her up and spinning her around. “Today is the day the world got more chaotic.”

“Damn straight it is.” Octavia laughs.

Clarke awkwardly tries to allow the siblings to have a moment, when she’s thankfully rescued by Lincoln. “Clarke!” He exclaims, jogging down the porch steps. “I’m so glad you could come.” He scoops her up in a hug herself, Clarke so grateful for his warmth.

“So good to see you, Lincoln.”

They pull apart, Lincoln leading her into the house while the Blakes do… whatever it is the Blakes do. “So many people have been calling about the trip,” Lincoln says with a smile. “They want to see if it can become a more regular thing. Apparently the kids have not stopped talking about it.”

Clarke can’t help but smile to herself. “It was an amazing day. The stuff you guys are doing really is incredible.”

“Thanks, Clarke.” Lincoln says. “But give yourself some credit too.”

“I don’t know—”

“Well, I do.” Lincoln says. “Do you want to stay in the kitchen with me and have some coffee? Octavia explained that the setting up of the fort is a brother-sister thing, which is why I’m very glad you’re here. At least I’ll have someone to talk to when the weird sibling dynamic escalates.”

“I feel the same way.”

The two chat while the Blakes make a ruckus in the living room, occasionally shouting at each other. “So Clarke, let’s get real for a second.” Lincoln says quietly, dropping his voice down. “Are you and Bellamy an item?”

“What is with the men in my life today?” Clarke asks herself, grateful she has a mug of coffee to focus on. Lincoln merely smirks at her, but waits for her to respond. “We’re just friends. I don’t know how many times I have to say that for people to leave me alone about it.”

“Listen, Clarke. You’re clearly a smart girl. But anyone with half a brain can see what’s going on.” Lincoln says.

Clarke makes a face. “I’ve been trying to hide it.” At that, Lincoln grows confused. “Please don’t tell Bellamy I have feelings for him. I’m just now feeling like Seattle is my home and the last thing I need is to make it weird with my landlord. Just… let me work through my feelings.”

Lincoln laughs. “Clarke, you’ve got to be absurd to think it’s a one-way thing.”

“Of course it’s a one-way thing!” Clarke says, mainly to convince herself more than anyone. “He doesn’t see me in that way, which is fine. Once I figure out how to get over him, everything can go back to normal.”

“Okay, I’m not going to try and convince you of something that you clearly don’t want to hear. But let me say this: It took Octavia a month to convince him to let me in on the birthday tradition. It’s something the two of them hold very special. No one is allowed to come. Not a single boyfriend of hers has ever joined. Definitely not a girlfriend of his. The only reason he agreed is Octavia suggested that he bring you. Not any girl, not any friend. She specifically said that he should bring Clarke and he agreed.” Lincoln puts his hands up. “Look, Octavia’s it for me. I know it, I’d like to think she knows it. I consider her my family and I know she considers me hers, which is the only reason she asked if I could be here. This day is a day for family.”

He shrugs, standing up from the kitchen bar stool, and then kissing the top of her head. “You don’t have to be alone Clarke. Family’s everywhere.”

He peeks his head inside the living room, makes a noise, and then says, “I just wanted to make sure you guys didn’t murder each other. Time to order pizza?”

“Yeah!”

“No!”

Clarke laughs when the siblings contradict each other at the same time, Lincoln shooting Clarke and exasperated stare. “On second thought, get out while you still can.” He says with a wink.

The Blakes exit the living room playfully shoving each other, Octavia going to jump on Lincoln’s back as he tries to make their pizza order. Bellamy wraps and arm around Clarke’s shoulder, leading her to the living room with a goofy grin on his face. “What do you think? Do you think four people can fit.”

All Clarke can do is gasp.

Somehow, the two have managed to fasten blankets to the ceiling fan and pin them to the walls, creating a tent that covers the entire living room. Blankets and pillows are stuff inside, lights and lamps buried under blankets, giving a soft light. Deep inside sits the television, illuminating the dark.

“You guys should go pro.” Clarke says, in awe.

“That’s what I keep telling Octavia.” Bellamy says. “She says that’s not a thing.”

“Then you should make it a thing.”

“That’s what I always say!” Bellamy exclaims, squeezing her shoulder. “Next time we have the argument, you should be my backup.”

Clarke looks up to him. “I’ll always have your back.”

His face softens at that. He pulls her even closer, which honestly Clarke didn’t think possible, leaning his hand against the top of hers. “I’m really glad you’re her.” He says softly, barely loud enough for her to hear.

But she does here.

Clarke thinks about everything that’s happened in the past few months. The gallery, the children’s center. The Ark, the beach. She thinks about Raven, Murphy, Monty, Harper, and Jasper. All their colors surrounding her until the darkness slowly seeped away.

She leans her head against his chest. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 11

Three things change over the course of the next month.

Firstly, the door never closes anymore, let alone be chained. After a while, Clarke just stopped caring and it was nice to have the comfort of another presence. They never really talked about it, but at minimum, it's cracked. From time to time, Bellamy eyes the chain on the wall, but Clarke can't bring herself to take it down. It would cross her mind, and while she trusted Bellamy more than she ever expected to - especially from the landlord who yelled at her moments after she moved in - there was something comforting about it. Comforting that in her own way, she'd be able to run away if it was ever necessary. It's terrible, but true.

Secondly, Octavia started texting her. After her birthday, Octavia somehow got Clarke's number (honestly, Clarke figures that she stole Bellamy's phone and then her number) and now she gets daily messages from her. Sometimes it's to persuade Bellamy to do something, other times it's to give updates on Lincoln's work just for fun. Clarke can't help it - she enjoys talking to Octavia and feeling involved in whatever they're doing in a weird way. Plus, any excuse to tease Bellamy is welcome and having a built-in teammate made her happier than she feels like emotionally unpacking.

Thirdly, Clarke quits her job at the supply store and suddenly has infinitely more time. Her mural is very close to being finished, she sets up weekly dinner dates with Raven, weekly video game dates with Jasper and Monty, and weekly bitch and brew sessions with Murphy. Her life filled with color to the point where she found her own green returning. Of course there were moments when she awakes in darkness or feels like hiding for an entire day. Which she sometimes does. But the door remains open and she can feel the yellow sunlight wafting into her room, enough to keep the cave of despair dimly lit.

One night, Clarke is adding the final highlights on her mural, her forehead streaked with varying hues of white paint, when she sees a figure out of the corner of her eye. There's only person it could be, but she's focused on finishing the stroke she's on, she doesn't look up. But the person only watches for a second, then moves over to where her laptop is playing the evening music. They type in something, and then a new melody plays one. Strings fill the room and it causes Clarke to look up. Bellamy nods at the laptop. "We're going straight up classical tonight. This is one of my favorites. Vivaldi's Winter." He smiles. "Probably my favorite."

The music builds, echoing so that it feels like the violins are in her chest. She's surrounded by a barrage of color and music to the point where it's almost overwhelming. Smiling, Clarke says, "It's beautiful. I probably should've guessed you would like Winter the best."

Shrugging, he responds, "What can I say, I'm an easy read."

She laughs, stepping back from the wall and to where he is. "What do you think?" She asks, crossing her arms,

Bellamy peers at her. "Clarke Griffin, are you telling me the mural for the ages is complete?"

"I think it might just be." 

It's bigger than anything she ever worked on, filled with the colors of those around her. There are only a few discernible forms every once and a while - Clarke filled it with how the earth made her feel, rather that what she saw. A patch of flowers and ivy climbs the wall, nothing more than messy brushstrokes and layered color. Except it didn't matter to her whether anyone could figure out what anything was. To her, it felt and looked like freedom. Observing, Clarke sees how she felt when she rushed away in her Rover. She feels the anxiety climbing the walls of a new fear, highlighted with excitement and new possibility. She sees the way the wind felt on her face when she and Bellamy took their day trip. She sees the first time Raven appeared, covered in grease and dirt, or how she felt when Murphy hijacked her at the bar.

She feels home.

"It's beautiful," Bellamy says in a low voice, as if he's afraid that anything louder would shatter the mural itself. “I don’t know why, but it feels like the Ark, if that makes any sense? It feels like home.”

Clarke can’t help it – tears well in her eyes at those words as she tries to hide it. It does feel like home in the best ways.

Bellamy turns to her, his eyes wanting. She feels as though her skin is slightly on fire, as if something inherently changed within their relationship in the matter of moments. He opens his mouth, licks his lips, and wince. “Can you—” He starts, then sighs. Closing his eyes, he takes a breath and manages, “Can you show me?”

“Show you?” Clarke repeats. “Show you what?”

“I want to see the world how you see the world.”

Clarke smiles to herself and nods, rummaging around until she finds an empty canvas for one of her next pieces at the gallery. Roan has increased the amount of pieces she’s allowed to showcase – his direct words are ‘whatever you want, I just have to approve them’ – and so she purchased too many canvases before she lost her discount at the supply store. Placing it on a rickety easel in the corner of the room, Clarke gestures Bellamy to follow.

The gentle, yet staccato-ed notes play in the room as Vivaldi’s Winter grows louder. Clarke picks up a brush, moving close to Bellamy. Placing her hand over his chest, she says, “Can you feel it in here?” She asks. He stills when she touches him, somehow this gesture more intimate than anything else she could’ve done. Except she doesn’t care. The runs of the violin move around her and she feels the sharpness of the notes as if they’re icicles forming on the walls. The undercurrent bass are like the winter flowers desperately trying to emerge from the ground. Everything is an icy blue and a soft yellow, like the sun glimmering off fresh show.

“Do you hear that riff?” Clarke asks when the theme of the piece comes back. “The way the notes are huddled together, but sharp? That’s an icy blue, but the way cold blues look with the reflection of sunlight.” She says, stepping away from him and toward the canvas. Dipping her brush in a few colors and mixing them together, she mimics the violins sharp notes by using quick, hurried strokes along the sides of the canvas.

The music shifts to the quiet and gentle bridge, long notes blending with one another. Clarke places a finger in the air. “You see this? This is the sound snow falling, except slow and magical. The glimmering way silver can be, with hints of purple and blue. You can hear the way the purple is behind the notes, can’t you?” She asks, but he doesn’t respond. She creates long, fluid strokes in the center of the canvas, closing her eyes to listen to the music.

When the violin picks up the pace again, the notes fluid and quick, Clarke puts her hands up. “This is the blue of a river in the evening. Deeper blues than you can imagine. With highlights cresting the top and—”

Before she can register what’s happening, she feels a hand under her chin and tilt her head up. Bellamy presses his lips against hers, soft and quick. She wonders if she’s dreaming it more than anything, not wanting to open her eyes and wake up. But they’re gone as soon as they’re there, so Clarke does finally open them to see Bellamy only inches away from her face. “What was that?” She asks, almost embarrassed at how breathless her words are.

“I’m sorry,” he says, a little sheepish. “I just… couldn’t handle it anymore.”

“Handle what?”

“All the excuses I was telling myself not to do that.”

“Good.” Clarke states, placing her hand on his cheek. “Because I was getting tired of mine.”

Winter continues to play, but the painting remains forgotten.

***

“You did not make out with Bellamy.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“You can keep saying that, but it’s not going to make it less true.” Clarke sighs, staring at her latte.

Raven merely gapes at her, her cheeks still covered in soot and grease from her work day, but she doesn’t seem to care. In fact, she doesn’t seem to care about anything except the words that just came out of Clarke’s mouth. With a grumbled huff, Raven says, “You couldn’t have at least waited one more week?”

“I’m sorry?”

Raven crosses her arms. “Now I owe Murphy twenty bucks.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Bah, you can’t be mad.” Raven says, waving aside her comment. “You guys are like, the most obvious people on the planet. And if you’re going to be that obvious, you have to deal with the consequences of being that obvious. We’ve had an ongoing pool and Murphy only had a week left in his time slot before I would’ve won. So thank you for that – you’re paying now.”

“We already paid, Raven.” Clarke manages, mainly because her brain is short circuiting with everything else.

“Oh right, damn. Next time then.”

“I don’t think you’re grasping the situation!”

“How? So you guys made out – thank god, the sexual tension was getting too much for me to handle. And making out isn’t even a big deal, let me know when you bang.”

Clarke’s eyes widen. “What?”

“What’s the big deal? I never took you as a prude.” Raven says.

“I-I’m not, I’m all about a healthy sex life, but I can’t have a healthy sex life with Bellamy!”

“Why not, he’s awesome.”

The implication that hangs in the air and Clarke nearly chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

Raven seems indifferent. “It was one time – after Finn. He’s a good buddy to bang one out, but once it became clear you two were getting closer, I knew it was a one-time thing. But take it from my experience, Bellamy is good!”

Clarke buries her face in her hands. “I would like to go back in time and not hear any of this.”

“What, you’re not mad, are you?” Raven asks, suddenly concerned. “Because you weren’t together and I was sad and—”

“No, no, of course not! I’m just… having a hard time wrapping my mind around it to be honest. And I’m genuinely surprised I didn’t hear.”

“Oh, well that’s because we did it in my room specifically for that. At the time, I thought it was because I thought you made Bellamy nervous after your first day, but looking back at it now, I realize it’s because he didn’t want you to know just in general. Poor boy has no self-awareness when he likes someone.” Raven stops, eyes widening. “Fuck it, I bet you a million dollars Murphy had something to do with him making a move! Just when I was getting closer, he must’ve said something. I’m gonna kill him for rigging the pool.”

“Can we, I dunno, refocus for a second?” Clarke cries.

“Why, I need to murder Murphy!”

“We can murder Murphy another day – I’ll even help. I need you to give me worst case scenario.”

Raven stops mid-text and looks up. “Worst case scenario.”

“Well,” Clarke starts with a grimace. “What if something happens? What if it’s suddenly awkward? What if we break up and then I have to move? What if I get kicked out? What if—”

“Okay, woah, woah, woah.” Raven says, setting her phone down on the table. “You need to calm down. Take a breath, drink your coffee, which I hope is decaf.”

“It is not.”

“Okay, so maybe we should get you some soothing tea.” Raven jokes, but it falls flat. “Listen, if you have doubts about it, you need to consider it being a bad idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sure, you caught Bellamy at a weird time when you first moved in, but when he is with someone, he is with someone. And he introduced you to his sister, invited you to her birthday… in Bellamy-speak, that means he’s serious from the get-go. And if you have doubts about him, you need to stop it before it gets worse.”

“I don’t have doubts about Bellamy.” Clarke says, almost angry by the implication. “But sometimes everyone can do all the right things and it still doesn’t work out. If we don’t, it’s more than just two people breaking up.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to lose you guys either!” Clarke all but shouts in the café. A few people startle and turn around, causing Clarke to flush and take another sip of coffee.

Raven’s expression softens. “Clarke, you aren’t going to lose us.”

“You don’t know that.” Clarke says, gesturing almost manically. “People say that all the time, but in splits, there are always sides. And I only have been here for four months and I don’t want—”

Raven cuts her off by placing her hand on top of Clarke’s. “Listen to me, crazy. You aren’t going to lose us. We’re here for you. Even if, worst case scenario, you and Bellamy don’t work out. We all love you.”

Clarke tries to find any lie in her words. Except Raven’s blazing such a fierce, strong red, she can’t. She can’t find any hint of pity or omission. Her red burns around them, warming Clarke’s toes. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Biting her lip, Clarke says, “I’m also nervous. I’m in love with him.”

“Stating the obvious, but go on.”

“Do you think that’s smart for me… right now?”

Raven’s playful nature melts and she grows thoughtful. Flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, she sighs. “I don’t know. How are you these days?”

“I feel better,” Clarke says honestly. “Sometimes… it hits me all over again, but it helps being here.”

“Then I’d just be careful.” Raven says. “You may be in love with him and he may be in love with you, but you don’t have to go at warp speed. You can ask to take it slow.”

Clarke thinks about that. “Yeah, I guess I can.”

“You can ask for whatever you want, Clarke. Whatever you need.”

Nodding, she sips her coffee. “Okay, I’m feeling self-conscious now, so I’m changing the subject.” Raven smirks at that. “Have you talked to Shaw at all since the National Park day?”

“He has an ass that won’t quit.”

Clarke chokes on her coffee, sending it spraying everywhere. “Oh my god, it came out my nose.”

Raven laughs at that, handing her a napkin. “Feeling less self-conscious now?””

Taking the napkin, Clarke throws her a dark look. “Yes, I love it when coffee comes out my nose in public. I feel so much more comfortable now.”

Shrugging, Raven says, “Your fault, you asked.”

“I didn’t even remotely as about his butt.”

“You should’ve, because it’s awesome.” Raven offers. “So yeah, I’ve seen Shaw a bit.”

“Without you going into any specific details,” Clarke puts as much emphasis in details as possible and Raven chuckles. “Are you just sleeping together?”

Raven sobers a bit. “Sort of? I don’t know. I mean, I’d like him to come to the Ark one of these days for family dinner, but we’ve never done anything like that. What if he wants to stop if I ask?”

“Please know that I say this with the utmost love for you Raven,” Clarke states. “Because you are one of the smartest people – if not the smartest person I’ve ever met. But that’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard in a really long time.”

Raven scoffs at that.

“Why wouldn’t he want to be with you?” Clarke asks, incredulous. “You’re amazing. You’re singlehandedly a force of nature. Any person worth while would be tripping themselves to be with you.” Clarke pushes every ounce of authenticity she can in her voice when she says, “You can ask for whatever you want, Raven.”

Raven makes a noise, and grumbles, “You’re not allowed to use my own thing against me.”

“Why not, I was taught by the best.”

Raven looks at her coffee, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says quietly.

After a beat, Raven looks back up, “It’s problematic that we have similar taste in men.”

“Right?” Clarke laughs and all the tension filters away.

“I think that means we need some sort of system.”

“Or we could just tell each other about our dating lives.” Clarke offers.

“That works too.” Raven answers thoughtfully. “Have I told you about how flexible Shaw is?”

“Oh my god, I said no details!”

“Seriously, he can put his—”

“Raven!

***

The good and bad thing is, Bellamy fell into finals very soon after everything happened, so it gives Clarke an opportunity to really think about the kiss and what it means. They had nothing more than a few minor talks, which allowed Clarke to focus on the next mixer and her work, while Bellamy stayed in the library until ungodly hours helping students with papers and projects. The only interactions they had was when Bellamy didn’t hear his alarm and Clarke went into his room to wake him up. Except that isn’t unnecessarily unusual because it happened all the time before anyways.

The main difference is that now he loops an arm around her waist instead of shooting out of bed, allowing the alarm to ring endlessly in the room. “You’re supposed to get that,” Clarke says, although perfectly happy to let it ring for just a while longer. Bellamy grumbles in response, pulling her closer so that she’s somewhat trapped.

“It’s fine. If my students don’t know it by now, they’re certifiably stupid.”

“That’s the spirit.”

He huffs a laugh, peering down at her. The sleep clears from his eyes and he says, “We should go on a date.”

It startles Clarke, but isn’t necessarily surprising, so she can’t help the smile that stretches across her face. “I would agree with that.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight is our monthly mixer. Kinda extra important, seeing as I have six pieces in the gallery this time.” Clarke says.

“Do you want me to come?”

“I will not put you through that.” Clarke laughs, pushing him away slightly. He doesn’t allow it, but instead pulls her closer. “How about tomorrow? Your students will be taking their finals – you’ll have turned in all your papers, and I won’t be worried about champagne shipments.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Bellamy agrees. “And maybe no long wandering walks after this mixer? Just for the health of my heart?”

Rolling her eyes, Clarke says, “I suppose.”

“You’re a menace, Griffin.” Bellamy says, leaning in.

The kiss is deeper than their last one, Bellamy placing a hand on her back and gripping at her shirt. She slides her hands around his side, her hips moving close to his when—

“Oh my god, if you don’t turn of that alarm, I’m going to murder you both!”

Murphy bursts into the room, takes one look at the two of them, and groans. “I hate you both already and now when you guys are going to have sex, I’m going to hate you even more.”

He marches over to Bellamy’s phone, which is still ringing, picks it up, and then throws it at them. Clarke buries herself under his arm, but she hears it hit Bellamy in some way because he makes a noise. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m a bartender. It is six thirty in the morning. I have been asleep for two hours. I will murder you.”

“That escalated quickly.” Clarke offers.

Murphy isn’t amused. “I will jump in between the two of you and cock block this moment so hard that Bellamy will never be able to get it up again.”

“That’s real weird, Murphy.” Bellamy groans. Hands on the sheet, Bellamy takes a breath. “I slept naked last night, Murphy, as an FYI.”

“Oh my god—”

“Which means I’m gonna get up and you’re gonna see my dick and my ass if you remain in this room for one more second. Let’s do this.”

“Good god!” Murphy exclaims, rushing out of the room and slamming the door.

When he leaves, Clarke lifts an eyebrow. “You are 100% wearing boxers right now.”

Smirking, Bellamy shrugs. “Got him out of the room, didn’t it?” Leaning down and cupping her face, Bellamy gives Clarke a quick kiss. “Okay, I officially have to get ready. Feel free to sleep in here because we all know my bed is way more comfortable than yours.”

“I had to buy so much furniture, I couldn’t get something nice—”

Chuckling, he cuts her off with another kiss. “Good luck tonight. Text me to save me from losing my mind surrounded by my idiot students.”

“Will do.” Clarke says, not even pretending to put up a fight to go back to her room. She falls asleep to the sound of Bellamy rustling around and getting ready, feeling the sunlight of the room on her skin.

***

Unlike the other mixers, Clarke hasn’t been working since first thing in the morning and arrives in the gallery two hours before the event to start setting up. Roan’s already there, adjusting some of the work in the gallery. He looks up when she walks in with coffee for the two of them, waving her over. “Clarke, I want to show you something.”

Clarke offers him his coffee when she reaches him, and he leads her to one of the main walls in the back. She gasps when she sees it, almost dropping her coffee to the ground. In the back, there is an entire wall dedicated to her work. All six pieces hand with small lights fixed above them, pouring onto the canvases.

“It’s a beautiful series.” Roan starts. “I thought it deserved a better location.”

Clarke moves closer to them all, overwhelmed by the presence. The Ark Series is labeled to the side next to an ‘About the Artist.’ All six have a different color scheme, filled with rich sweeps and staccato-ed lines. Red, Yellow, Orange, Teal, Pink, and Purple – all colors swirling around.

Her friends.

Her home.

Under each painting is a title, all only having one word. Raven. Bellamy. Murphy. Jasper. Monty. Harper. Every feeling she felt with those she loved are on the canvas. Tears well in her eyes when she looks at the pieces. “Thank you.” She whispers.

“Thank you.” Roan says. “Now start setting up before I regret it.”

Nodding numbly, Clarke moves over to the reception desk, trying to ignore the way she’s trembling. She picks up the phone and gets to work.

The mixer itself goes smoothly, Clarke finally feeling settled and able to anticipate what needs to be done before anything happens. She weaves herself around the usual suspects, managing to avoid McCreary like a champion with the help of Echo and a brief instance of Shaw. He stopped by before going to the Ark itself, mentioning nervously that Raven invited him over to meet the roommates officially, not surrounded by dozens of children. Clarke hugs him, warns him about Murphy, and sends him on his way.

When it concludes, Roan asks her to stay to clean up this time, the last people filtering out of the gallery. He grabs his coat before leaving and says. “Four out of the six. Not bad, Griffin. I think we all knew the pink one would be a tough sell.”

“If everyone met Monty, it would’ve been the first to go.” She laughs.

“What?”

Waving his confusion aside, Clarke says, “Nevermind. I’ll clean up.”

“Good. See you Monday?”

“See you Monday.”

The door closes behind him, Roan locks it to prevent anyone from the street coming in, and Clarke takes a breath. Empty wine glasses and food trays are scattered around the Gallery, speckles of red on the floor where people over served themselves. She starts to gather the glasses and empty wrappers, tossing them into the trash. Reaching her computer at the reception desk, she plays the playlist Bellamy made for her, filled with classical pieces. The first is Winter, Clarke unable to stop the smile that stretches across her face when it starts.

“Oh, did everyone leave?”

Clarke nearly leaps out of her skin when McCreary steps out from the back with a smile. He’s in the process of taking off his tie, glancing around the room. Clarke’s heart skips when she sees him and she whirls back to where she was throwing something away. “Yeah, the mixer is over. You know, you can head out, it’s not that bad today. I can just clean up myself.”

“Part of my job as Diyoza’s assistant, unfortunately.” McCreary says. “That’s what happens when your boss is an investor.”

“I promise I won’t tell.” Clarke says with a fake smile. “I got this.”

“That’s okay, I’ll stay. I kept thinking we’d work closer together, but it seems like something always comes up.” McCreary says, grabbing a few wine glasses from the corner of the gallery.

“Funny how that happens.” Clarke says.

He moves closer to her, placing a few glasses where she’s stacked hers. “I think we both know you’ve been avoiding me.”

“You make me very uncomfortable.” Clarke states, trying to keep the shaking out of her voice. “And it feels like you’re doing it on purpose.”

McCreary laughs at that. Full on tilts his head back and laughs. Clarke feels like there’s something slimy running under her skin, so she walks over to another part of the gallery and picks up a few plates. “Clarke, you know how it is in this world. Everyone is with everything – that’s what happens with artists. You need to embrace it. You’ll be much happier.”

“I don’t know how it is.” Clarke states, firm. “Nor do I want it like that. Besides, I’m seeing someone. So why don’t we just clean up and then be professional colleagues from now on?”

“Don’t be like that, Clarke.” McCreary states. “Everybody wants something. And in this industry, this is what it’s about. Doing something for someone, while you get something in return. Like you and Roan. You worked for free, but now you have a job. I can get you on Diyoza’s list of artists so you don’t have to answer phones anymore.”

Clarke makes a face, her heart speeding up. “Are you asking me to sleep with you in order to be one of your boss’s clients?”

The violins in Winter slow.

McCreary looks thoughtful. “Merely putting the thought out there. This is a cruel world, Clarke. You should accept the doors that are opened for you.”

“Get out.” Clarke snaps, pointing to the door. “Get out right now.”

“Come on, Clarke, don’t be like that—”

“Get out, or I’ll tell your boss what you like to do when she’s not looking. I don’t care if I lose my job, it’s not worth this.” Clarke says, marching toward the door. Placing her key in the lock, she turns, but then there’s a hand wrapped around her wrist.

“You know I can’t let you do that, Clarke.” McCreary says lowly, his once even voice now turning into something darker. “I’m not going to let you destroy my career because you’re stuck-up.”

“Get off of me.” Clarke says, wrenching her arm away from him, but his grip is far stronger than she anticipated. “I will call the police.”

“How?” McCreary asks. “Your phone is in the back. And no one will believe you, just like no one ever believes people like you.”

Clarke’s heart is pounding in her chest while the pace of the soft music picks up. The violins are sharp again, running up and down scales that only quicken her heart beat. Bringing her hand back, Clarke strikes McCreary across the face hard enough for him to startle and let go. She sprints to the back, but not before he catches her and roughly shoves her against the desk at reception, wine glasses falling and shattering when she accidentally collides in the to break her fall. A few pieces of wayward glass slice across her palms and fingers, blood speckles dotting the desk.

“Now, let’s not be hasty Clarke.” McCreary says. “Trust me, you are not worth whatever trouble you are threatening to give me. But you need to learn that in this world, your attitude can make or break you.”

“Please just leave me alone.” Clarke says, trying to push out the sound of violins and woodwinds that once gave her joy. “I won’t say anything, just leave.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.” McCreary says, wiping away the blood from his lips from where she had struck him. Grabbing her shoulders, he throws her against the wall where her own paintings hang. The canvases rattle against the walls, one of them crashing to the ground among the wine glasses and the plates. It’s Bellamy’s – his soft yellow canvas knocking over a half-full wine glass and soaking with the drink. The red covers yellow, but not like Raven’s fierce storm.

It’s the color of blood.

He strikes her, putting a hand in her face. “Listen here, Griffin. If I can’t have this job, you can’t have your job, do you hear? You are going to do what I say and—”

“Why is this door unlocked?”

Clarke’s heart all but stops at the voice, the two flinching. “What the fuck is going on here?” The person says.

Then suddenly, McCreary isn’t on her any longer. The violins swell.

Clarke scrambles away without thinking, her legs shaking enough to trip over her own feet. She collapses to the ground, her bloodied hands breaking her fall as she turns around to try and see where McCreary is.

He’s on the ground.

Diyoza stands over him, her heeled foot on his throat. “This is the last time you will ever touch any woman, I will be sure if it.” She seethes. Her back faces Clarke as she pulls out her phone, dialing a number. Except Clarke can’t hear the words. She can’t hear McCreary’s cries. She can barely even see him try to get back up, and Diyoza flatten him once more with a swift punch.

All she can hear are the violins.

All she can see are her paintings on the wall that moments before were so important to her. Now they are askew, on the ground, or even torn or stained. Murphy’s collapsed in the corner. Bellamy’s soaked with wine. Monty is off its hinges. Raven’s is torn by its own mounting equipment.

They’re all ruined.

Then Winter ends.

Clarke doesn’t remember leaving.

The violins play in her ears over and over again.

There’s a logical side of her that tells her she needs to stay. Certainly Diyoza called the police and she needs to talk to them. Except it felt like the walls were closing in on her and Winter grew louder and the colors were everywhere in the worst way.

She thought the melancholy blue was the worst of it.

No.

The worst of it was being filled with the colors of other people and watching them be destroyed before her very eyes. The violins slow in her ears, playing over the sound of the cars around her.

She realizes then, she’s only wearing one shoe. Clarke’s isn’t sure when she lost it, but she kicks off the other, not even caring where it lands. She walks.

She walks in bare feet and a dress that’s torn up the side. She knows she should be feeling something. She should be feeling the pain and the weight and the fear.

She’s not feeling anything.

All she hears are the violins and all she sees is the destroyed color.

She approaches the Ark without realizing it, moving toward the door on autopilot. Winter continues to play. She feels McCreary’s hands on her, flashes of glass and canvas playing in front of her eyes as she opens the door.

Turning the door handle, she barely registers the smears of blood she leaves on the handle. She doesn’t hear the noise, but somehow she registers it’s loud in the Ark for the time it is. “Is that Clarke!” Someone shouts from the kitchen and a few cheers follow.

The violins play faster.

Clarke stands in the foyer, as lost as she felt the first day she stepped in. Someone gasps and says something, but she can’t hear it. She can no longer see them. Her vision is blurry from under her tears and she’s holding her hands in front of her as her fingers grow numb.

As she grows numb.

“Oh my god,” someone breathes.

Clarke hears that. She finally can see Bellamy step forward from the group that is doing nothing but stare at her, his eyes widen. He takes a step forward.

The violins hit a piercing note.

She snaps out of it and runs up the stairs.

She can’t hear the shouts, she can’t hear the footsteps behind her. Reaching her room, she slams the door behind her and then slams the door that’s been open for weeks and slides the chain over it.

The tears fall as the violins grow to a crescendo.

Then they end.

“Oh my god,” she breathes for the first time since Diyoza burst into the studio.

“Clarke!” Someone shouts on the other side of her door. There’s a pounding against the wall and several voices. “Clarke!”

She looks at the chain.

It’s not enough.

Rushing over to the bookshelf, she shoves it as hard as she can so it crashes to the floor in front of her shared door, the books tumbling out and the wood splintering. She hears some commotion and then there’s a noise on the side of the shared door. Someone tries to open it, but it barely budges, slamming against the shattered pieces of the bookshelf. “Clarke!”

The pounding on her walls grow louder and all she wants to do is hide from them. The colors that were destroyed in front of her eyes. That were covered in stains and glass and him and everything she thought life should be. Grabbing the sides of her dresser, she shoves it in front of her door, the large item tumbling and scratching the wall. “I’m going to break down this door, I swear to god!”

Her eyes catch something. In corner of the room is the painting that she did for Bellamy as they listened to music, the strokes long since dry. She marches up to it, the lines now doused in the color of bruises and red wine before her eyes. Picking it up, she peers at it. “None of it was real.” She says to herself, her chest weighing down in a way that is all too familiar. Blinking away a few tears, Clarke wraps her hands around the wooden frame and snaps it in half. The canvas hangs loosely and she tears it off, marching to find scissors at her desk. Taking the scissors, she cuts the painting into pieces, so it’s nothing more than garbage.

Winter stops.

The pounding on the walls doesn’t.

***

One thing changes over the course of the next few hours.

The threats of breaking down doors fade and the slamming against her broken furniture grind to a halt. She hears a soft, “Clarke, I’m here.” On the other side of the door, barely opened even a crack thanks to the destroyed bookshelf.

She lies on the ground.

She lies on the ground and a thought occurs to her. And one thing changes.

“I miss my mom.” She whispers to herself, feeling the weight of the loss of everything. And she thinks of how she can see their faces. See their faces after watching the colors destroyed and torn. How she filled herself up with them from the holes of her father’s loss.

Because all she did was avoid it.

How could she see their faces, knowing what happened?

So Clarke makes a decision. A decision she made four months again when she found herself punched with nothing but holes. A decision that caused her to pack a bag similarly to what she is doing now.

She strips off her ruined dress, wipes the dripping mascara from under her eyes, and she does what she does best.

Clarke runs.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWELVE

Melancholy has a distinct color.

As does despair.

It’s a sludge. It’s tar on the side of the road, oozing across gravel on a sweltering day. It’s ink spilt on clean sheets and slime running down steps. It moves slow, but overtakes all.

Clarke stands in the motel bathroom, her phone long since turned off. Once she was off the road and no longer needed her phone for directions, she turned it off and shoved it in her purse. The messages mounted up the moment the sun rose and people slowly realized what she had done.

There wasn’t enough time to grab everything. She shoved everything she thought was necessary in a bag, walked back to the gallery where everything had grown quiet. She could see the broken wine glasses in the window and police tape wrapping up the wall with her destroyed art. Clarke froze there, as if watching it play out again. Watching herself get pinned and struggle against him.

Shaking her head, she finally was able to find the Rover.

Unsurprisingly, Bellamy was the first to message her. And then again. And again. Then he started to call. Suddenly the texts were filled with capital letters, misspelled words, and zero pronunciation. Everything Bellamy hates about text. Her eyes caught one of the messages by accident, and she wished she hadn’t.

Bellamy: you left, didn’t you

The words are replaying in her mind over and over again. She can even see his face as she types it, unsurprised and heartbroken. Maybe he always knew it would end this way. She ran enough times to make it a pattern. Perhaps that’s why it took them so long to be together. He sat there, waiting for her to flee and she sat there, waiting for her to break.

Gripping the sides of the shitty bathroom sink, Clarke tries to keep herself upright. Her entire body feels like it’s on fire and she can feel his fingers on her, stroking against her skin. She’s trembling. Vivaldi’s Winter plays in her mind as she stands alone in the bathroom, with nothing but dark colors and panic attacks to keep her company.

It gets too much.

She can’t muster the energy to even take off her clothes. She all but stumbles inside the bathtub, lined with stains and rust, tumbling into it. Her quaking hands reach for the knob on the wall, water pouring out. Clarke’s still wearing her shoes. She doesn’t feel the squish in her socks.

It’s a burst of cold that’s welcome, saving her from going over the brink of her panic attack. All she can do is grip the sides of the tub, feeling the panic rise in her chest, and wait.

Alone.

***

When she arrives, it occurs to Clarke that this may not have been the smartest idea. Jumping out of the Rover, she winces in the sunlight, looking around her.

The buildings are made of beautiful brick, covered in ivy. People are bustling around her, giving her odd looks as they pass. She understands it, standing in her wrinkled hoodie and stained jeans, her hair thrown in a knot that’s frizzing around her head. She doesn’t belong her. She never belonged here.

Harvard.

Clarke wonders absently if there is another world where she went to medical school. Another world where she wasn’t a runner, where she went to school and was happy. She wishes there was one.

“Excuse me,” she asks someone power-walking by, clutching an enormous pile of books. “Where’s the law building?”

The person hesitates, fully taking Clarke in. She must look like a vagabond the way the person is sizing her up, but in the end, they sigh and point. “Go that way and take a left. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” Clarke responds, but the person is already gone.

She leaves her purse and phone in the car, keeping nothing more than her keys. She hides her hands in the sleeves of her hoodie, twisting and untwisting her fingers as she makes her way across the lawn. It still feels like he’s on her, like a film she’d never be able to scrub off, no matter how many showers she took. After she let the water run cold, she took a loofa to every part of her body, scrubbing and scratching. All it did was leave her skin raw and red, but the feeling remained there.

She turns the corner and a prestigious building comes into view, students filtering in and out. Clarke stands before the steps of it, looking at her life in another world. Instead, she’s cold and hollow, like someone scraped her out and tossed her away. Her eyes water as she stares at the door, feeling rather foolish. She should’ve called. She should’ve checked if he would even be there. Instead, she stands in front of a building, people eyeing her suspiciously as she passed. Clarke tells herself to go and get her phone, call him, but she can’t be moved from the spot. So she stays there.

“Clarke?”

Clarke jumps at the word, her gaze turning to someone at her right. Wells stands a few yards away, clearly taking in all of her. His mouth drops open when he catches sight of her, his books tumbling from his arms. They clatter to the ground, pages bending and ripping as he does so.

Something inside her breaks.

Clarke sprints. She sprints to cover the distance between the two of them. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Clarke all but flings herself onto him, gripping his shirt as sobs erupt from her throat. “Clarke,” he whispers in her ear, only taking a moment of surprise before clutching her tightly.

She sobs in his neck, unable to stop it. Her entire chest heaves and she can’t catch her breath. But Wells holds her. He grounds her to the world like he’s always had, his hands on her back and holding her up when she no longer could.

“I got you, Clarke.” Wells says quietly to her. “I’ve got you. It’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

Clarke knows logically he has no idea what’s going on, but she can’t help but be eternally grateful for his words. She clings to them as much as she clings him, her violent shaking slowing. Once she’s relatively calm, Wells doesn’t say a word. He scoops his books from the ground without taking his arm off from around her shoulders, leading her across campus despite the stares they’re getting. Clarke allows herself to be corralled across the grounds until he leads her to a tall building covered in windows and swipes his ID.

It isn’t until they’re past the door does Clarke realize he’s taken her to his dorm room. It’s surreal to look around, as if peering at her own life. “Not like our shitty studio apartment.” Clarke says, shocked at how raspy and hollow she sounds.

“No,” Wells agrees, moving to the small kitchenette area. He places a kettle on the one burner he has, waiting until it makes a noise before turning to face her. “No, it isn’t.”

Handing Clarke a steaming cup, Wells grabs a blanket and lays it over Clarke. She barely registers a difference in temperature, but appreciates it nonetheless. Bringing the tea up to her lips, she doesn’t even feel it burn. Tears are still falling down her face as she sits there and stares somewhere in front of her. She doesn’t even know what she’s looking at. It’s all a blur, all faded.

Wells doesn’t say anything for a while. She can’t bring herself to talk either. So they sit in silence until Wells scoots his chair closer to hers and places his hand on top of hers. It’s nice. Warm. Clarke’s so grateful he isn’t making her explain.

She holds her tea, steaming with melancholy.

Wells’ phone rings, but he doesn’t even glance at it. “You should go to class.” Clarke finds herself saying, even though she couldn’t think of something she wants less. “I’m sorry to have disrupted you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Clarke.” Wells says quickly, silencing his phone. It continues to go off, the screen lighting up again and again.

“That could be your professor. Or classmate. Or friend, worried about you.” Clarke says, nodding at it. “You should at least answer it.”

Wells looks at his phone with a frown, then back at Clarke. “I’ll be okay by myself for a minute, Wells.” Clarke insists, holding her tea. “It’s not like I could make it very far anyways.”

He sighs, giving her hand a squeeze. “Fine.” Picking his phone off the coffee table, he answers, “Hello?” His expression changes to one Clarke can’t quite understand, his eyes widening. “How the hell did you get this number?”

Giving Clarke an apologetic smile, he stands, his hand leaving hers. It feels cold, once he does. Wells is radiating a soft green, as if he knew it’s exactly what she needed. But the moment he leaves the room, she’s filled with the oily blackness again, the film of grime over her skin.

“Listen buddy, I’m not even going to respond to that.” Wells snaps from the other room. “I’m hanging up on you – because it’s none of your damned business! Even if I knew, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you. Why the hell would I?”

That’s when Clarke knows who called. She understands the shocked look on his face and indignation. Clarke sets the tea on the table and grips the blanket Wells laid over her, wishing she could disappear.

It’s unfair, the passage of time. You never get a moment to regroup. To put yourself back together. It simply. Moves. On.

“Oh my god,” Wells breathes from the other room and Clarke shuts her eyes. “Yeah, of course. Yes. I will. No, please don’t. Yeah, I’ll keep in touch. Okay. Bye.”

Clarke can’t even bring herself to look at him when he reenters the room. Wells isn’t stupid enough to think she hadn’t heard him or figured it out, so he stands a few feet away, as if afraid to come close to her anymore. “Clarke,” he says, his eyes watering. “Why didn’t you—”

“Please.” Clarke states, shutting her eyes. “Please before you say anything. Can you just, not say anything?”

“Clarke—”

“Please!” She shouts, startling even herself. Gripping the blanket, Clarke buries her face in her knees and lets the world wash away.

She isn’t sure what happens next. She can hear Wells moving around her, but she doesn’t look up. Clarke doesn’t bring her face out of the bundle of fabric over her. Her hands grip her knees so tightly after a while she loses the feeling in her fingers.

There’s a soft knock at the door and Clarke hears Wells move toward it. She panics, wondering if he allowed anyone to come this way, the logic of the speed to which that would’ve required the only thing calming her down. She looks up anyway, her mouth falling open when she sees the person walk through the door.

Her mother’s thinner than she remembers. Her hair is tied in a braid, trailing down her shoulder. She’s outside of scrubs, which Clarke can’t remember the last time she wasn’t in her doctor’s garb. “M-Mom?” Clarke asks, eyes wide.

Abby moves closer to her, closing the distance in a matter of second. She sits on the couch next to her, pulls her hands off her knees where they’ve grown white and numb, wrapping her arms around her. “Clarke.” She breathes in.

“Mom,” Clarke says, crumpling into her mom’s shoulder.

That’s when the despair floods out. All the colors that were spilt on the floor of the gallery mix together until there’s nothing left but the flood of black. It envelops her in a ways that’s suffocating. She feels Monty’s Pink clash with Raven’s Red. Murphy’s Orange oozes across Bellamy’s yellow. They all twist and swirl until it’s nothing more than a mass of nastiness, like the shredded canvases on the floor.

The only thing that gets her through is her mother’s soft red. A red that feels like the embers of a fire, ready to blaze a myriad of colors if needed, but dormant and soft until stoked. It warms her toes, but isn’t enough to warm everything.

Instead, she sits in a pool of black, waiting for the embers to bring her back.

***

Clarke sits on her mother’s couch, unable to sleep. It’s four in the morning in Manhattan, the city still alive, but quieter than most times. Clarke hasn’t been able to sleep the past few days, every time she closes her eyes she’s greet with McCreary’s face, looming over her.

On the coffee table is her phone, dark and quiet. She unlocks it to see the numerous unread messages and voicemails, the numbers climbing as the days pass. She’s often looked at Bellamy’s name, wanting to pick up the phone. Every time she had, she didn’t know what to say. What can she say?

As if she summoned him, Bellamy’s name flashes across the screen.

Bellamy: Please

Bellamy: Just tell me where you are.

Bellamy: And if you’re okay.

Bellamy: I’ll leave you alone after

Bellamy: Promise

Bellamy: But if you want, you don’t have to be alone

Bellamy: We could do this.

Bellamy: Together.

Clarke doesn’t reach out for her phone.

Gentle footsteps sound behind her and Clarke startles to see her mother in the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker. “I-I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Abby smiles softly at her daughter. “Of course not. You weren’t even making any sound. I just am so used to getting up early to go to the hospital, it’s hard to break the habit.”

Clarke frowns. “You’re… you’re not going to the hospital anymore?”

Abby sighs, scooping coffee beans into their machine. It makes a whirring noise as it’s turned on, Abby not answering the question right away. In fact, she doesn’t say anything else until she hands Clarke a coffee cup and sits across from her in a lounge chair. “A lot has happened, since your father’s funeral.” She says quietly, bringing the cup to her lips.

Clarke stares at her mother. “Did release Dad’s findings?”

Abby nods. “Yes.” She responds, her eyes watering. “Me.”

Clarke would’ve choked on her coffee if she had been taking a drink. “You did what?” Clarke asks.

“It was the right thing to do.” Abby says. “Even if it cost me my job. I was foolish to think that job was more than your father or you.” She closes her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t go back in time and make up for what I did. All I could try to do was make it right.”

Clarke sucks in her breath, desperately close to crying herself. “Why didn’t you do it the first time?”

“I don’t think you understand addiction, Clarke.” Abby states. “And what it does to the brain. Medically, I understand. But I couldn’t break past the fog. It wasn’t until you left did I realize what I was doing.”

Holding her cup close to her chest and feeling the warmth from the steam, Clarke closes her eyes. “Mom, can you explain what happened? I’ve heard so many pieces of stories, I want the truth. From you. I deserve that much.”

Abby looks at Clarke, her eyes wide and red. “I suppose you do.” Sucking in a breath, Abby starts. “It started innocently enough. You know we work long shifts and staying away is sometimes incredibly challenging. A few doctors would skim a few pills from the supply to keep themselves awake through long surgeries. It’s an easy enough justification – it may not be right, but you do it to save a life. But, as with most things, they snowball from there.” Abby sighs. “Soon, I was doing it just to get through a basic shift. And one day, your father found out about the operation. Not that I was involved, but that doctors were stealing from the hospital. Some for personal gain, some for altruistic reasons, but mainly for self-medication. He wanted to go to the board, let them know.”

Abby settles herself, taking a sip of coffee. “I submitted a false report, saying he wasn’t qualified to fix the equipment. I submitted it anonymously, afraid that if your father whistle-blew on the hospital, I would lose my job. Or more importantly, access to what I needed. I never expected him to find out I was the one who submitted the report, let alone that it would be the end of our marriage. Granted, I should’ve. But I convinced myself of a lot of things, then.”

Abby finally looks Clarke in the eyes. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know that sounds fake, or not good enough, but I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you or your father. I understand why you left and why you hate me—”

“I don’t hate you, Mom.” Clarke says, her words soft, but firm. “I was mad at you, yes, but you didn’t drive that car. You didn’t kill Dad. It wasn’t your fault he died.” Clarke says and she realizes as the words come out of her mouth that she means them. She means them so much, her chest aches with all the time she’s lost with her mother. “I’m sorry you lost both of us that day. Even if I was just for a little while.”

That’s when Abby crumbles. She places her hand over her face and curls up on herself. It reminds Clarke so much of herself, it’s startling. Hoisting herself out of the blanket, Clarke moves over to where her mom is and sits on the arm rest. Placing an arm around her shoulder, Clarke holds her as her mother cries. Her own tears form and she realizes that they’re so similar. And they need each other. More than she ever understood.

After a few painful minutes, Abby quiets and quickly scrubs under her eyes. “Sorry,” she says quickly.

“Don’t be sorry, Mom.” Clarke says. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, honey.” Abby says. “I wish we weren’t brought back by such circumstances, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” Clarke says honestly.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” Abby states, moving her head up to look at Clarke.

“About what?”

“I wanted you to consider going to speak with someone. About what happened.”

“Mom—”

“Here me out,” Abby states. “It’s not weakness to get help, Clarke. Everyone needs help. You’ve been through something traumatic. And horrible. This year has been unkind to you. I just want to make sure you will make it on the other side. I got help, Clarke. I went to rehab for a month.” This information startles Clarke. “After I lost my job, I put myself in rehab. I’ve been trying to find ways to cope too.” Placing her hand on top of Clarkes, she says softly, “I think it’d be good for you.”

Clarke’s phone buzzes. Lifting her eyebrows, Abby comments, “You should let them know you’re alright.”

“Mom, I don’t want to talk to them.”

“Then you should talk to a professional. Please Clarke, for me.”

Clarke sucks in a breath. “Maybe.”

“Maybe then, you’d be able to talk to your friends.”

Because she’s stubborn and possibly because her mother is giving her that very ‘mother-like’ look, Clarke marches over to where her phone is without so much as glancing at the photo and picks it up. Throwing her mother a look, she answers it. “Hello?”

Her mother snorts and returns to her coffee. “I’ll make an appointment for you today.”

Waving her aside, Clarke hears the startled surprised noise. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Murphy?” Clarke exclaims.

“Who the fuck else would it be?”

“Sorry, I didn’t look to see who’s calling. What are you even doing awake? Isn’t it like two in the morning?”

“What part of bartender do none of you understand? I swear to god, it’s like I’m talking to goldfish over here.” He grumbles. “Clarke! Where the hell are you? Are you okay?”

And then it all hits her again. The wear on her bones. The touch on her skin. Everything comes back in a flash and she has to sit down due to the weight of it. She looks up at her mother, who’s watching her very closely and Clarke knows her mother is right. There’s no way she’s going to be able to scrape her way out of this one on her own. So she nods at her mother, hoping she gets it. Of course her mother does, getting up out of her chair and leaving Clarke for the study.

“—larke? Clarke! Clarke?” Murphy is crying on the other end of the phone. “If you have hung up on me, I’m going to be so pissed!”

“I’m still here, Murphy.” Clarke states.

Murphy’s exclamations quiet and the next words out of his mouth are soft. “Are you somewhere safe?”

The question strikes her enough to make tears fall down her cheeks. She’s thrown by the softness of the gesture, anger gone and replaced with nothing more than concern. Of everything she expected someone to say in anger, she never expected kindness. “Yes,” Clarke says. “I’m with my mom.”

Murphy makes a surprised noise, as if he’s startled that she honestly answered him. In fact, she’s kinda surprised herself. Clarke is gripping the phone, waiting for him to respond. When he finally does, all he says is, “That’s good.”

“It is?” Clarke finds herself asking.

“Of course it is, Clarke. You need to take care of yourself. How are you right now?”

Clarke almost lets the word “fine” slip out of her lips, but she stops. “Numb.” Is what she settles on.

“The police have been by our house a few times.” Murphy says. “They need your statement. What do you want me to do? Tell them you moved? Tell them you died five years ago?”

Clarke can’t stop the chuckle from bursting out of her mouth. “Tell them I died five years ago?”

“I could make convincing. Trust me, I can cry on cue.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Clarke says with a sigh. “I don’t know, honestly.”

“Well, when you figure it out, let me know. I also know three guys who can dispose of a body – take that as you will.”

“You would be the person I would come to with a dead body.”

“I know.” Murphy hesitates. “Um, I know you answered your phone by accident and all that, but maybe could you answer other people? Everyone’s kinda losing their minds.”

Clarke can’t help the guilt gnawing at her stomach, so she doesn’t respond. “Whenever you’re ready, obviously,” Murphy stumbles out. “But, we care about you. A lot.”

Clarke looks to the floor, watching the color of despair cover her toes. “Yeah,” she says quietly.

There’s a gentle knock on the door and Clarke’s head whips up. “What the hell?” She breathes.

“What?” Murphy asks on the line.

“Someone’s knocking on my door – it’s like five in the morning.” Clarke says, moving over to where it is.

“Really? Are you going to answer?”

Moving closer to the door, Clarke peeks through the side window, the only thing visible being a tuft of curly black hair. “Oh my god,” Clarke breathes.

There’s an uncomfortable silence on the other line. “So, I may have left some information out on the craziness of the Ark.” Murphy states, but his words seem like they’re coming from her at a distance. “Turns out your friend Wells will break not out of annoyance, but if you plead your case on how much you care. Can you imagine?”

“Murphy, I gotta go.”

“Okay, but be nice. I told him it was a dumb idea, but he never listens to me—”

She hangs up the phone and her hand hovers over the handle of the door. Taking a deep breath, Clarke swings the door open, revealing the brightest yellow she’s ever seen. It shines on her, showering her with a warmth she forgot about and all she wants to do is hide from it. The figure looks up, eyes tired and clothes rumpled, but that all melts away.

It all melts away when he says her name.

Clarke is rooted to the spot, staring at the sun and feeling her wings melt.

“Bellamy.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Honestly, she shouldn’t be as surprised as she is.

Except all Clarke can do is simply stare at Bellamy as he stands in her doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets, but an intense look on his face. “Bellamy,” she repeats, still clinging to the door and fully preventing him from coming inside by blocking the door with her body.

She isn’t sure what to do. She can’t just leave him on the porch, but every flight instinct she had once is screaming at her to slam the door and hide. Clarke isn’t an idiot – she knows she looks like she hasn’t slept in days. Her hair is in a knotted mess because she hasn’t been able to convince herself of the benefits of combing it. She’s in her pajamas because it’s six in the morning and Clarke knows for a fact that there are dark purple rings under her eyes that are similar to the cloud of despair that hangs off her skin.

“What are you doing here?” She manages after simply gaping at him for what feels like forever and a moment all at the same time.

Bellamy adjusts his glasses, shifting uncomfortably. “I-I—” he starts, the words catching in his throat. “I just had to see you. I had to see that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” She says far too quickly to ever be believed, even if she didn’t look like the manifestation of a human disaster. Bellamy gives her a look that tells her that he isn’t even beginning to pretend to believe her, causing Clarke run her hands on her face.

“Clarke,” he says, the world filled with a million other things. He’s blazing a brilliant yellow that’s blinding enough to where Clarke isn’t sure she can keep looking at him.

“Here, come in.” Clarke states, opening the door wider.

Bellamy moves closer, both of them tensing the closer they get. His hands reach out to touch her and without thinking, she flinches. Clarke opens her mouth to apologize, but the words get caught in her throat. She honestly doesn’t know what she would be apologizing for. So instead she opens her mouth and then snaps it shut, ducking out of the way as the two make their way into the house.

Clarke isn’t sure what to do, curling up on herself as she awkwardly enters the kitchen. “Do you want any coffee? My mom was making some.”

Bellamy nods, wringing his hands. Clarke tries to ignore the discomfort clouding them, but it settles among them like a blanket she wants to cast off. Neither says anything for a while, Clarke unsure of what to say. As she opens her mouth, her mother marches into the kitchen while looking at her phone. “Clarke, I made an appointment for you later today. I think that we should set a weekly – oh.” Abby stops in her tracks as she takes in Bellamy. “Who’s this?”

“Um, Mom, this is Bellamy.” Clarke states, gesturing at him. “He… uh, came to visit.”

“I’m sorry to drop in like this Mrs. Griffin.” Bellamy says smoothly. “I wanted to see, Clarke.”

The corner of Abby’s mouth twitches. “I understand. I’ll get out of your way.”

Clarke almost grabs her mother to require her to stay, but instead steps further into the kitchen wishing there was a way to disappear. She backs up until she hits the counter of the kitchen, pressing against it as if she can disappear.

Bellamy takes a breath. “Clarke, I am so sorry.” He says. “I-I don’t even know what to say. I know what to do. I-I understand why you left, but why haven’t you been answering my phone calls? My texts?”

Clarke doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she pours herself a cup of coffee and hands Bellamy his, so she can have something to do with her hands. She runs her fingers around the edge of the mug, letting the warmth thaw her hands. “I-I didn’t know how.” She says, her voice quieter than its ever been. “I still don’t even know what to say now.”

“I just needed to know you were okay.” Bellamy insists. “I-I did know what to do—”

“What was I supposed to do, Bellamy?” Clarke asks, the tears that she knew would come falling.

“Clarke—”

“No honestly. What was I suppose to do? In seconds my entire life was just… shattered. I-I didn’t know what to do! I couldn’t think! I couldn’t breathe! I couldn’t…” Clarke feels herself losing control and the darkness of her despair swallowing her whole. Shaking her head and closing her eyes, Clarke takes a few steps away from him. “No!” She shouts. “I-I’m not going to explain myself to you!”

“I’m not asking—” Bellamy snaps his mouth shut.

At first she thinks she’s imagining it, but then Bellamy looks to the ceiling and the light catches the tears in his eyes. “Clarke,” he says, his words soft. “I-I just want to be here for you.”

Clarke wrings her hands, clutching her coffee. She sets it down because she can’t imagine drinking it and her hands are shaking so much that she’s afraid of spilling. It almost falls off as she does and she steadies it, focusing on the mug for a second as an excuse. She braces herself against the kitchen counter, her shaking hands curling against the marble.

The fact is, she doesn’t know what to say.

Everything was going so well. It feels like an entire lifetime ago that the two were in his bed, planning their date. She thinks of that moment. The moment when she was simply looking into his eyes and nothing else was around her.

She tries to catch onto that feeling. That moment of warmth.

But she’s like ice.

Everything reminds her that night.

“I-I don’t know what you want me to say.” Clarke says, still not looking at him. “I don’t even know why you’re here.”

“You don’t know why I’m here?” Bellamy asks, a hint of hurt in his voice. Clarke doesn’t even know what to do. He’s looking at her like he’s considering taking her away with him, but also like walking out the door. “How can you not know?”

Clarke tries to breathe, but it comes out broken and jagged. Shutting her eyes, tears escape and she finally turns to face him. “I-I don’t even know…” She takes a breath. “I don’t even know what we were. I don’t know what we are. We shared a door. You were my landlord.”

“Were?” Bellamy repeats, his face incredulous. “Were?”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is, Bellamy.” Clarke says. “I can’t go back to before… I can’t be that person, whoever she was.”

“Clarke—”

“Don’t you understand what I’m saying, Bellamy? I can’t do it. I can’t be that person. I can’t be who you want me to be.”

“I don’t want you to be anyone! I just want you!” Bellamy shouts, his hands coming up to his face to scrub down his cheeks. “I-I—” He sets himself. “I love you, Clarke. I don’t want you to be anyone else but yourself because I love you. And if that means we need to—I don’t know! I just want to be here for you. And I want you to come back home.”

Home.

Clarke looks around her mother’s apartment. It’s new. It’s not the house that she grew up in – that’s been long and sold. It’s a nice apartment, bigger than most people could afford in New York. It has the feeling of something that hasn’t been lived in. She feels slightly like she’s in an IKEA catalogue, to see what spaces could be when they aren’t lived in.

It’s not like the Ark.

It’s not like the mural she has on her wall which makes her feel the people she loves. It’s not like the couch that sits in the foyer where Murphy likes to sit, commentating on anyone passing by. It’s not like the kitchen with the small island in the middle that Clarke hops onto when she’s talking with people, or the door that shares their room.

It’s not the same.

But the Ark isn’t the Ark anymore. Clarke thinks of when she realized she loved Bellamy, outside the walls of the gallery. She watched him walk away and knew he was taking her heart with him without even realizing it. “I can’t.” she whispers, but she may as well have shouted them.

Bellamy sucks in a breath. “Don’t run, Clarke. Don’t run away from this. I’m here for you – we’re all here for you. Just… just come home with me. Just come home with me and we’ll figure it out—”

“No.”

“Clarke, please. Just come home and we can figure something out. You can stay in Raven’s room again if you want or maybe even Murphy. You guys have a weird friendship that I don’t understand—”

“No!”

“—or you can just stay with me. We can turn your room into an art studio or something and we can figure out what we—”

“No!” Clarke shouts, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Bellamy, no. I said no!”

“Clarke—”

“You don’t get it.” She says, her words frantic. “You don’t get what I’m saying to you. I can’t go back. You can’t ask me to go back!”

“I know I shouldn’t, but I am.” Bellamy say, his words breaking at the end. “I’m asking you to come back with me.”

Clarke can barely see him, her vision burry and her body trembling. “Please don’t.”

“But I am.” Bellamy says. “Please come with me. If you need space or help, I can give that to you.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Please stop.”

“Clarke—”

“No!” She shouts again. “No, no, no, no, no! You can’t ask me to come back there. You can’t say these things. You can’t show up at my door and just… say you want me to come with you. You can’t do that!”

“I know that you didn’t think you could talk to me about gallery stuff – and that’s my fault.” Bellamy says quickly. “I made you think that I wouldn’t be involved in that gallery at all and you thought you couldn’t count of me. But you can count on me, Clarke. I’m here now. I’m here!”

“Bellamy stop—”

“So please come home. Please come home and we can figure something out. Please—”

“No!” Clarke shouts, her tears dried and eyes hard. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“Until you mean it, Clarke.” Bellamy insists. “You can’t just walk away from all of us – I know how much the whole Ark means to you. You can’t just never interact with us again. You can’t just… never… we are something!”

“We aren’t anything!” Clarke cries and Bellamy recoils as if she slapped him. “If anything, we’re an ‘almost.’ An almost.”

Bellamy doesn’t say another after that. He simply stares at her, as if he could find the answer he’s looking for.

One she doesn’t know how to give him.

Sure, she knows the answer. She knows the answer as if she’s studied for this on a test. But she can’t give it to him. She can’t give it to him because she doesn’t know what’s the truth anymore. Sure, she loves him still. She loves him enough to where she can see herself taking his hand and having him lead her out back to the Ark. She can see what being in a relationship with Bellamy would be like. She can see it all.

Unfortunately, that’s not all she can see.

She can see McCreary coming out of the back room. She can see his gaze on her. She can feel his hands on her. She sees everything.

And it’s too much.

“Clarke, please.” Bellamy whispers in one final desperate plea.

But they both know. They both know what the answer will be. Perhaps that’s the most heartbreaking thing. Perhaps that’s what is making her hesitate to say the words. For that in this moment, she isn’t separating them forever. In this moment, they are still an ‘almost.’

“No.” She says one final time.

Bellamy doesn’t move right away. He holds his cup of coffee, untouched. Bellamy moves towards her, but stops, hand outstretched.

That’s how it is, isn’t it? Bellamy reaching for her, but Clarke worlds away.

Nodding, Bellamy sets his cup on the counter. Without another word, he marches toward the door and disappears behind it.

Clare supposes that’s the issue with the sun. Icarus went too close and his wings melted, casting him back to earth. Now, it’s Clarke’s turn to fall to the Ground, only able to look up at the sun as she submerged further under water.

***

The next few weeks are something of a routine: Clarke doesn’t sleep, goes to therapy, and paints.

Oh, how she paints.

She paints the color of Bellamy when he smiles. The shining bright yellow that is almost too much to look at, like the sun when it first crests the water, glimmering with a beauty too bright for the human.

Clarke paints the fiery passion of Raven – a world doused with fire and chaos, but in a magical way that seems intentional. Like a bonfire on the beach, reflecting on the sand and skin. She paints Murphy’s orange like he’s next to her, like the sky lit afire with mischief.

Clarke paints until she becomes paint itself, marks from all her works lining her skin. She doesn’t even bother wearing a smock at this point, all her clothes nothing more than something to wear. Occasionally her mother would poke her head in, but would leave without a word.

One day, when the sun wasn’t up yet and Clarke was hours into her next piece, her phone buzzes next to her. Traditionally, she wouldn’t even look at it. She couldn’t bare to see who would be calling her after Bellamy left, because she knew it wouldn’t be him. In fact, she entertained the idea of getting a new phone all together, just so she wouldn’t be reminded.

But when the center’s number flashes before her face, Clarke pauses. Without thinking it too much through, Clarke answers the phone. “Hello?”

“Clarke?”

Madi’s voice hits her and it’s like a wave of pain hits her all at once. She tries to shove it down before answering, “Madi?”

“Oh my god, you are okay.” Madi breathes. “I was worried.”

“Madi, it’s four in the morning here – that means it’s one in the morning there. What in the world are you doing calling me at one in the morning?”

“I was worried.” Madi says quickly. “I hadn’t seen you in a while – even with quitting the art supply store, you still taught classes there. Katie came back, so I was worried something happened to you. The people at the store wouldn’t tell me.”

“Madi—”

“—but I ended up hearing people talk about it when I went to the bathroom. The art supply has a lot of really gossipy people, did you know that?”

“Matter of fact, I did.”

“They mentioned that you moved away and something about a police investigation. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Madi. You still haven’t answered why you are calling me at one in the morning.”

“It’s the only time I’m able to. I stole a phone from the staff and if I return it before they wake up, no one will know.”

Clarke runs her hand down her face. “Madi—”

“I know stealing is wrong, but I thought in this one instance that it’d be alright. Like in Robin Hood – he stole, but because the king was a dick and he wanted to give back to the people.”

Clarke can’t help it – she laughs. “I don’t think you stealing a phone is the same as stealing from the rich to give to the poor.”

“I didn’t know if you were okay.” Madi states. “I needed to know.”

“Madi, I’m alright.” Clarke insists. “I’m alright.”

“But you’re not here.”

Clarke doesn’t know how to answer that.

“Do you know when you’re coming back?”

Back.

Clarke doesn’t answer right away. How can she? How can she tell Madi she’ll never be ‘back.’ She tries several times to answer, but nothing comes out.

“Are you not coming back?” Madi asks when the silence grows too lengthy.

“Madi, I—”

“Because I think you should.” Madi continues before Clarke has an opportunity to come with any sort of an answer. “I know that something bad happened. Nobody will tell me what, but something bad happened. And when something bad happens, you want to be around people who love you, right? And… well… I love you. And I want you to come back.”

Clarke doesn’t even know what to say. “Madi,” she starts, so she isn’t simply gaping at her phone.

“I know you needed to go back home. But when you’re done being back home, do you think you could come back here. To your real home? Please?”

Clarke tries to think of something – anything – to say to her. When she doesn’t, Madi says, “I get it. Just… please come back when you’re ready, okay? I miss you.”

She ushers a quick goodbye before hanging up the phone, leaving Clarke to stare at her own like an idiot, surrounded by all her paintings.

Clarke isn’t sure what to do. She stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by canvases and her phone up to her ear, feeling no longer part of the world.

It’s odd, feeling like the world is no longer something you live in. She feels outside of herself, watching the sad person stand amongst the paintings, a child’s voice in her ears.

“Clarke?”

Her mother peeks her head in her room, like she’s done countless times. “Would you like some breakfast?”

It’s 4:30 in the morning. Nodding, Clarke places her phone on the desk in her room, ignoring how it lights up from texts from Murphy as he gets close to ending on of his shifts. He does this every day, regardless of whether Clarke answers back or not. She’s simply waiting for the moment when he stops.

When her mother hands her a coat – unsurprising, because neither of them were ever great with cooking – the two head out to the streets of New York, the day already starting for most. Cars whip around, deliver trucks roll onto the sidewalk, and there’s an energy blazing around them that Clarke wishes she could bottle up and give to herself.

“Who was that on the phone?” Abby asks after a bit, shoving her hands in her pockets. It’s a crisp December, the flurry of Christmas and family washing over her. Even at 4:30 in the morning, New York still has its twinkling lights on. Clarke thinks about the Ark may be doing for Christmas. Raven told her months ago that Bellamy tries to string lights while Murphy runs commentary from a lawn chair below. Monty and Jasper bake – not bake bake – but actually make cookies for everyone to decorate. It sounds lovely, but also like an impossible dream she’ll never be able to have.

“Madi. That girl I told you about. From the Center.”

“What did she want?”

Clarke doesn’t look her mother in the eye. “She wanted what Bellamy wanted. She wants me to come back to Washington.”

“It seems you’ve made quite the home for yourself there.” Abby muses, sneaking a glance her way. “You have a lot of people who love you.”

Clarke isn’t sure how to respond to that, so she doesn’t. Instead, she points to the café they frequent, stuck behind an obnoxious CVS sign that you would miss if you didn’t know it was there. However, when she opens the door, it’s bustling and loud, like it is every day. Abby and Clarke get in line, Clarke pointing at the bagel she wants and hiding back outside when it isn’t quite as stuffy.

When Abby returns with a bag and two coffees, she hands one to Clarke and says, “Listen Clarke.”

It’s not a good ‘listen Clarke.’ Clarke’s been on the receiving end of this ‘listen Clarke’ many times in her life, and almost always, Abby’s about to say something she doesn’t want to hear (but usually desperately needs to).

“I want you to stay here. I want you to be here with me for as long as you like. I’ve loved the past few weeks we’ve been together. But,” Abby says, her eyes dropping to the concrete. “I would hate for you to run and hide from something that would cause you to be unhappy.”

“What are you talking about, Mom. You can’t be seriously asking me to go back to Washington.”

“When your father lost his job after the report I submitted, he was confused. And hurt. He didn’t know it was me at first. He thought one of the people he caught saw him and did it. But, the truth – as these things often do – came out when he confronted Jaha about ending his contract.” Abby sucks in a breath and Clarke can’t look at her. It’s still raw – still fresh. Clarke knows logically that her mother and Jaha had nothing to do with the guys who ran the red light, but it still doesn’t help the voice in the back of her head that says that none of it would’ve happened if they never submitted that report.

Abby seems to be following where Clarke’s mind is going, because she goes on quickly. “When your father left, I didn’t know what to do. Because you see, in the mind of an addict, you don’t think that your addiction is affecting those around you, even though it always is. But you don’t see it – or want to see it, rather. And when your father left, I was so panicked he would go to extreme measures to reveal what had been going on. So I didn’t go after him. I distanced myself from him and let the termination do whatever it could to his reputation.”

Abby stops them in the middle of the sidewalk, earning them both a few choice words from passersby. “Clarke, I didn’t go to him and I’ve regretted that every day since it happened.” She says, ignoring the swear words around them. “I loved your father – I will always love your father. And the day he left me was one of the worst days of my life. The first being his funeral, where I also lost you.”

Clarke can’t help it, she’s crying in the middle of New York streets now.

Placing her hands on the sides of Clarke’s face, Abby blinks away a few tears of her own. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, Clarke. Running is fine, for a little while. Sometimes we need to run in order to heal. In order to figure out our next move. But we can’t make running our entire lives. Because eventually the world will not allow us to catch up anymore.”

Clarke grabs her mother’s hand on her face. “I don’t know if… I-I don’t know if I’m strong enough to go back there, mom. How can I go back there and see everyone’s face after… after everything?”

“That man took something from you that day.” Abby insists. “He took something you created for yourself – your home, your family, your life – and he stained it. He stained it. He made it seem unsafe. But you have to remember, Clarke, that his actions do not define your life. They do not define how you will heal.” Cupping her face, Abby says, “You are strong, Clarke. You will figure out how to move forward. And you have to allow yourself to let those who love you help. Don’t make the mistakes I made, Clarke. Because you, of all people, should know that life is simply too short.”

Clarke loses it on the streets of New York. People still yell – still swear – but she barely hears them. She cries and she feels all their colors all at once, even though they aren’t here. She feels the warmth of Bellamy’s yellow, the fire of Raven’s red. The crackle of Murphy’s orange and the softness of Monty’s pink. She feels it all at once, plowing into her. She spent weeks pushing their colors away – trying to forget them, paint them out of her system, but they’re there. They’re a part of her in a way she never imagined.

Permanent.

A part of her own color spectrum.

“W-What if I’m too late?” Clarke asks, the question that was gnawing at her mind taking over. “W-What if—”

“I’d like to think that those that love us will wait for our return.” Abby says. Reaching in to her pocket with her free hand, Abby pulls out an envelope. “I know it’s not quite Christmas yet, but I thought you’d appreciate the gift early.”

Clarke opens the lid of the envelope, her lower lip trembling.

JFK -->  SEA

“Mom—”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Abby says. “Like I said, I love having you with me. I would just hate for you to run so far, you couldn’t return.”

Clarke stares at the plane ticket in her hands, dated for a few days from now. She thinks of the first time she looked at Seattle for places to live. She thought a city filled with art and music would be a perfect place to hide. Instead, she found home.

Instead, she found color.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Clarke stands in front of the Ark, like she did all those months ago.

It looks almost exactly the same. The lights that Clarke was told about aren’t hung up. There’s still ivy growing everywhere and a few pieces of trash in the yard. Cars are lined up in a row as they always have, Clarke looking at the vacant spot where her Rover once was. She tells herself that it’d be okay to walk inside, to step forward. But her feet won’t move. She doesn’t know what to do, honest.

“Clarke?”

Clarke all but leaps in the air and whirls around, Raven bounding toward her. Before she can set herself, the woman launches herself at Clarke, wrapping her arms around her. “Oh my god, Clarke,” she breathes, clutching her shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“You knew I was coming, I called you.” Clarke says, choking back a few tears. She holds her close, the burning red of Raven’s fire warming her in a way she hasn’t felt in weeks. She doesn’t want to let go, which seems to be alright because Raven appears perfectly fine simply hugging her in the driveway of the Ark.

“I know,” Raven says in her ear. “But I wasn’t sure if you were actually going to come.”

They break apart, Raven keeping her hands on Clarke’s shoulders as she takes Clarke in. Sure, she’s not nearly as vivacious as before, but she feels more like herself than she has in what seems like ages. Her hair is pulled back into a braid and she’s in loose-fitting clothing that she felt would be comfortable on an airplane. Next to her is a small carry-on suitcase and she’s holding a backpack that’s mainly filled with sketchbooks an art supplies.

“I see you’re as heavy of a packer as ever.”

Clarke can’t help but grin. “You know me.”

“Yeah, I do.” Raven says back with a smile. Without warning, she pulls Clarke back in for another hug. “I’m just so glad you’re here. That you’re back.”

Clarke holds onto her friend, trying not to completely lose it – as she’s done so many times in the past few days. “How are you?”

Raven chuckles, letting go. “Oh you know, better now that I know that one of my closest friend’s alright.” She says. “I’m okay. It’s been a bit crazy, but you know how that goes.”

Clarke nods. “Yeah, I do.”

She returns her attention to the Ark, trying to ignore the tingling in her chest that seems to be warning her of a very real panic. Raven notices, so she places her hand in Clarke’s. “It’s okay, Clarke.” Raven says. “I’m here with you.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t rent out my room.”

“Well, you left all your crap there, so what were we supposed to do?” Raven laughs, but it falls short of anything other than sad. “It’s okay. Everyone’s going to be so thrilled to see you.”

“Everyone?” Clarke asks.

She asks this because she’s called Bellamy exactly four times since he showed up to her mother’s apartment about a month ago. Every single time, she’s received his voicemail and hung up before uttering a single word. She’s written text after text, erasing the words before sending them. What can she say? What can she say to the man she ran away from, then repeatedly closed the door on. Again and again.

Clarke wonders why. Why she didn’t trust Bellamy with her darkest thoughts. Why she didn’t trust him with her fears.

Why she doesn’t trust anyone with those.

The last time she trusted someone, they died. The last time she let her guard down, she was locked within a gallery. The last time she took a chance, she felt like she lost everything.

She didn’t. But after she made sure she did.

“I mean, you know Bellamy.” Raven says, her voice superficially light. “He takes more time than most.”

“I can’t believe he agreed to let me come back here.”

“That’s the thing,” Raven says, running her hand down the back of her neck.

“No.”

“Clarke, listen—”

“He doesn’t know?” Clarke exclaims, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“I didn’t know how to tell him!” Raven says. “He’s spending all his time in his room and using school as an excuse not to see anyone. I thought if I could coax him out of his fox hole before you got here, we could get the temper tantrum out now, but I haven’t seen him.”

“You haven’t seen him?”

“He only leaves when he’s positive no one else is around. It’s crazy. I’m convinced he’s crashing on his professor’s couch or something.” Raven sighs. “It’ll be fine. If he throws a fit, we’ll out vote him.”

“He my landlord, Raven!”

“What’s he going to do? Kick all of us out?” Raven laughs, but it falls flat. “Listen, Bellamy will come around. You know him, he never met a grudge he didn’t think was worth keeping. And he’s… tough to get close to and even tougher to keep if he’s upset. He’ll come around. And if he doesn’t, you can just stay in my room. You’re a fine bedmate.”

“Aren’t you and Shaw still a thing?”

Raven waves her hand aside. “We’ll just have sex at his apartment. Or, you know, you could be our third. We’ve talked about it—”

“Oh. My. God.”

“There’s the smile I was looking for,” Raven says, nudging her shoulder. “Of course you wouldn’t be our third, I don’t like to share. That was the whole problem with Finn.”

Clarke groans. “Too soon, Raven.”

“How is it too soon? A million things have happened since then.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says to herself. “They have.”

Raven squeezes her shoulder. “I got your back. Promise.”

Taking a breath, Clarke nods. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The two enter the Ark, everything looking just the same as it did when she left. She remembers standing in this foyer, blood dripping on the floor. Looking down, she sees its been since scrubbed out. She wonders who ended up doing that, even though she knows the answer is painfully obvious. Clarke tries not to think of him on the floor, trying to get it out. She has to look up.

“You fucking asshole.”

That does it.

Before she can register who is swearing at her – although, a part of her knows because obviously – they’re colliding with her. “You fucking asshole. You piece of trash on the side of the road like a rejected lyric from a Katy Perry song.”

Raven lets go of Clarke’s hand so she can wrap it around Murphy’s shoulders, squeezing him tight. “Hi Murphy.”

“I cannot believe that you’re here without even a stupid text, can you please take your head from out of your own ass because no one’s impressed.” Murphy says, but his words have no space behind them. In fact, he’s clutching her so tight, she can barely breathe. But Clarke doesn’t care. “I text you every night when I know you’re awake because you have the sleeping schedule of a deranged owl on drugs, and you can’t even give me a fucking courtesy text?”

“It’s good to see you too.”

“Fuck you, Clarke.” Murphy pulls away and he’s beaming, despite the string of curse words flowing out of his mouth. Wagging a finger in her face, Murphy snaps, “You better not be here just to get your stuff, because I swear to god, I’ll light it on fire.”

“That’s called arson.”

“Grow up, it’s called friendship.” Murphy drawls, rolling his eyes. Then he reaches out and holds her again. “Fuck, I thought Bellamy scared you off for good. Did I tell you that he put his hand through a wall?”

“Uh, no?”

“Broke his hand in three places. Serves him right, the emotionally stunted jackass.”

“You know, Murphy, you have a lot of opinions for someone who refers to himself as a cockroach.” Clarke says, pulling away.

He shrugs. “It makes me uniquely qualified to pass judgment. Go ahead and put your stuff in your room. Jasper, Monty, and Harper are out, but I’ll text them. I’m sure they want to say hello.”

Clarke lifts her gaze to the upstairs. “Is he…?”

Murphy sighs. “Yeah, he’s up there. If he’s a jackass, just let me know and I’ll clock him in the face.”

“Murphy—”

“I’ve always wanted to, and you’re finally giving me a shining opportunity to. Don’t ruin it for me, Clarke.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Only in the best way.”

Clarke takes a breath and grabs her suitcase. Raven reaches out. “Do you want me to come with you?” She asks.

“No,” Clarke says, shaking her head. “I’d like to go by myself.”

“Dumb, but okay.” Murphy says, typing furiously into his phone.

Clarke ignores him, grabbing the banister as she climbs the stairs. She goes slower than she ever would, feeling like every step is an answer to the questions Bellamy asked her. When she reaches her old room, she hesitates.

It all comes back.

She remembers throwing the bookshelves in front of the door. Lying there, tears rolling down her cheeks as she sat in her torn even dress, Winter playing over and over in her ears. She remembers the pounding on the door as much as she remembers McCreary’s hands on her.

Taking in a deep breath, she wraps her hand around the doorknob and opens the door.

It doesn’t hit anything, like she expects. Instead, it swings open, revealing a room that she remembers well. The bookshelves are gone, all splinters since swept up from the floor. Her dresser is still there by her mattress barely a few feet off the ground, her mural long dried and ever the same. Even her torn dress that she cast off in the corner is gone.

It’s clean.

Setting her suitcase down, Clarke tries to take it all in without getting overwhelmed. She doesn’t particularly succeed, but she doesn’t fall apart either. She thinks of everything her mother said – everything her therapist said – and reminds herself that she may be only one breath away from feeling alright.

So she breathes.

She breathes, waiting for the next breath to calm her down. And after a while, it does. Then the next gets her a little closer. And a little closer.

Until all she’s doing is standing in her room.

Clutching her chest, Clarke reaches her dresser and takes the photo that she left there, too painful to take. It’s of the trip to Mt. Rainier, all the kids from the center lined up with the volunteers in the back. Madi’s climbed onto Clarke’s back and is giving her bunny ears as she laughs, all but falling into Bellamy, who has his hands out to stabilize her. Murphy’s surrounded by teens and pretending to be their lord (perhaps not all pretending) and Raven and Shaw are unnecessarily close. She remembers that day and how for the first time in months, she felt wholly alive. Running her fingers down the frame, Clarke tries to hold onto that feeling.

There’s a noise behind her and Clarke whips around to see the shared door open. The chain hangs on the wall next to it as it always has, Clarke finding it hard to look at. But she finds the person opening the door even harder to look at.

Bellamy has his hand on the handle, his head peaking through the door frame. At first, his eyes widen with surprise at the sight of her, but then they turn into something hard. Something painful to look at. He doesn’t let go of the door handle, his jaw clenching.

“You’re back?” He asks, his words too even and calm.

“Yes.”

Clarke can’t read what’s behind his eyes. There’s something there, but he’s doing whatever he can to keep it hidden. She doesn’t even try to say anything. Neither does he.

After a beat, he closes the door.

***

Clarke wishes everything would return to normal, but she knew it wouldn’t. Everyone tip toes around her, not asking her anything other than superficial questions. If she had Rover with her, she would be hiking almost every day, but instead she finds other ways to fill her time. She paints, as she always has, walks to the Center to be with Madi, and avoids the gallery with every part of her being.

But things change in other ways too. Sometimes she joins Monty in the garden and watches in awe as he actually has an amazing way with plants, despite being a full time game developer. She helps Jasper with his date night outfit with a girl named Maya who he met at the hospital he works at as a lab tech intern. Sometimes she and Raven go on drives just to drive, Raven screaming at the top of her lungs and encouraging Clarke to do the same.

Except the biggest change is who’s not there, even though Clarke knew that would be the case. It’s odd because she always had Bellamy – even when she didn’t have anyone else. She had him in ways that she didn’t understand until they were lost.

One day, when Clarke wakes up and looks at the closed door between their rooms, she feels an itching need to do something. Do something brave. Something that makes her hands quake and her heart still. So she marches downstairs, her hair brushed and jeans cleaned – it’s a feat, these days – and runs into Raven and Shaw in the kitchen, Raven bossing Shaw around as he attempts to make them breakfast.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, the pan’s too hot.”

“The pan’s not too hot – it’s exactly the right temperature needed to make pancakes.”

“No, it’s exactly the right temperature to burn pancakes.”

“Can you please just, make coffee or something? And leave me alone.”

“You should defer to the pancake master, here. It’s too hot.”

“Insufferable woman!” Shaw exclaims, grabbing her face and kissing her for a moment. When he breaks off and Raven has a dopey look on her face, he takes the opportunity. “Coffee, please! Or there will be more where that came from.”

“Wow, what a threat,” Raven laughs, padding over to the coffee machine.

“Good morning,” Clarke says, entering once they seem to have finished with their moment.

Both look up from where they are, Shaw beaming. “Clarke, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” Clarke says absently. “I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Raven, I was hoping to ask you for a favor.”

Raven looks up from the coffee. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“As you know I flew here, which means I no longer have a car.” Clarke starts.

Raven snorts. “Honestly, I’m surprised that piece of junk survived a second cross-country road trip.”

“So rude, be nice.” Clarke smiles. “Anyways, I-I—” Clarke isn’t even sure how to say it. Usually, she would do this by herself – call an Uber and not tell anyone about it. But per her mother and therapist’s request, she’s trying this new thing where she talks to people when she feels overwhelmed (even though she’s not convinced it’s a good idea). “I was thinking about going to the gallery today to speak with Roan. And I was hoping you’d give me a ride, if you aren’t busy.”

Shaw drops his spatula, the pancakes sizzle on the pan. Raven all but knocks her coffee over, the lighthearted look on her face dropping. Clarke slightly hates herself for forcing that to be dropped, but she remains strong. “If you’re busy, or if you guys have plans, I-I can—”

“No, no!” Raven says, putting her hands up. “Of course I’ll take you. It’s just… are you sure? Are you up for that?”

Clarke fights her instinct to be angry, or embarrassed. She thinks about the question, reminding herself it’s from a place of love. “I think so,” she starts. “If anything, it’s something I need to.”

Raven shares a glance with Shaw, who Clarke is pointedly not looking at. She doesn’t have to wait long to figure out what he’s thinking because he asks, “May I come too?”

That startles her enough to turn to him. “What?”

Shaw returns to his pancakes. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to come. Just to make sure you’re alright.”

Clarke stares at him. He’s pointedly avoiding her gaze, flipping his pancake prematurely so the batter sprays everywhere, but he doesn’t seem to care. Raven doesn’t comment on it either. “Yeah,” she says, her mouth dry. “Yeah, you can come.”

Shaw nods once. Then, he turns and smiles. “Pancakes? We made enough batter to feed Jasper in case he got up.”

“He hungover?”

“Him and Monty tried a new drinking game called ‘take a shot every time Murphy swears.’” Raven says.

“How are either of them still alive?”

“The world may never know.”

Clarke offers a small smile. “Sure. I’ll take pancakes then.”

The breakfast passes quickly and mostly in silence on Clarke’s part. Raven and Shaw talk about things at work – or rather, argue about things at work – but it doesn’t mean that Clarke doesn’t notice them shooting peeks in her direction. She can’t help it though, she can’t focus on them. Instead, she runs through what she’d like to say to Roan when she sees him. She repeats it over and over, poking at her pancakes until they ask, “Ready?”

The answer is no, but instead she says, “Yeah, let’s go.”

Clarke looks out the window of Raven’s car, watching the rain run down the glass. It’s apt that it’s raining, despite it being the norm in Seattle. It grounds her, gives her something to focus on, unlike the snow in the northeast. There’s the quiet sound of Raven’s rock on a low volume, Clarke trying to keep her heart in rhythm with it. It grounds her, reminds her to breathe.

When the arrive at the gallery, Clarke seizes up. Her hand’s on the door handle and she blinks away a few tears.

Getting out of the car is challenging, but approaching the door is even more so. As she looks into the gallery, she sees the broken glass on the ground. The spilt wine. The flashes of violence.

Shaking her head, Clarke turns to Raven and Shaw, who are watching her like a wounded animal. “Okay, I’ll be right out.”

Raven frowns. “Do you want us to come in with you?”

“No, thank you. I think I need to go in myself.”

As soon as the words are out, she’s hit with a pang of regret, even though she knows it’s the right thing. She gives them a hollow smile before turning and pushing the door open before she can talk herself out of it.

It almost takes her breath away, being back in this space. Like her room, everything looks as it was before the incident. It’s odd. She doesn’t want the reminder, but it feels wrong for it all to return to normal. Because she could never return to the normal she once had.

“Welcome to Azgeda Gallery, how can I—” Roan starts, stepping from behind one of the gallery walls. “Clarke.”

“Roan.” Clarke says and every part of her is screaming to run. Blood pounds in her ears as she peers at the reception desk, where she sat every day. Where the wine glasses broke.

Roan settles himself, his square shoulders straightening. “You’re back.”

Clarke nods slightly. “I-I wanted to come by.”

“I understand. Hold on, let me put the phone to voicemail.”

“No, you don’t—”

“Yes I do.”

Roan motions for Clarke to follow which she puts a hand up. “I’m just going to tell my friends where I’m going. I’ll be right there.”

Opening the gallery door, Clarke sticks her head out. Raven’s on the phone, angrily yelling, while Shaw makes an uncomfortable face. “—I don’t care! This is bigger than that, so you need to get over yourself and get your ass—”

“She’s, uh, talking to someone at work.” Shaw says as Raven notices Clarke and steps out of earshot.

“Oh, okay. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going into the back with Roan, I should be out in a few. If you guys have somewhere you need to be, I can take an Uber back to the Ark.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’ll be here.”

Clarke can’t help but smile at that, returning back into the gallery. Knowing the two of them are out there makes her breathe a little easier, enough to where she doesn’t even give the wall where he paints once hung a second glance. When she enters the back room, Roan is surrounded by pieces of canvas. It takes her a moment, but the wind is knocked out of her when she realizes what they are.

“It felt wrong to throw them out.” Roan says softly, taking the pieces of what once was Jasper’s canvas, the frame broken and cloth ripped. “I didn’t know if I’d see you again, but I couldn’t just toss them.”

Clarke walks over and picks up Bellamy’s. There’s wine stains that have dried down the front, the color of crimson mixing with the yellow in the worst ways. She runs her fingers down the painting, unable to stop the tear drops that fall on them. In a box next to Roan is all of them, all torn or ruined in one way or another.

“Obviously, you can have them if you want.” Roan states. “Or we can light them on fire. Whatever you want.”

Clarke puts Bellamy’s painting back into the box, not taking her hand off it. “I’d like them, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t, Clarke.”

The two stand in an uncomfortable silence for a while, Clarke unsure of what to say. Everything she practiced over breakfast is out the window at this point. She scrambles for something to say, but Roan beats her to it.

“Clarke, I want to apologize. For everything that happened here.”

“Roan—”

“No, please. Let me just say this.” He says, holding his hands together at his front. “You came to me and told me he made you uncomfortable. I knew his reputation. And yet I continued to put you two together. And for that, you have my sincerest apologies. I don’t know how I can ever take that back – I can’t. I’m truly sorry I didn’t take you seriously enough.”

Clarke fights the impulse to say ‘it’s fine.’ Because it’s not fine. It’s not nothing. Wiping away a few tears, Clarke says, “Well, I suppose all we can do is move on.”

Roan’s jaw clenches. “I know you don’t want your job back here. But please know that if there’s anything I can do to help you with your next one, I’ll do it. I’ll write you a recommendation, I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” Clarke says genuinely. “Really, thank you.”

Roan extends his hand out and Clarke takes it, squeezing once before dropping her hand. “Best of luck, Clarke Griffin.”

“You too.” Clarke states, grabbing the box of her ruined paintings.

Her sight is a bit blurry as she makes her way out of the gallery. Nudging the door open with her shoulder, Clarke is greeted by Raven and Shaw… and someone else.

“Bellamy.” Clarke says because she honestly can’t believe it.

Bellamy stands next to Raven, who has her arms crossed and is actively glaring at him, her phone call making all the more sense. “Clarke.” He says quietly. He nods at Raven and Shaw. “I’ll take her home. That is,” he glances at her. “If that’s alright.”

“It’s fine.” The words come out of her mouth before she can stop him.

Raven glowers at Bellamy one final time, them sharing some sort of moment as she gets in her car. Shaw offers her a supportive smile before disappearing into the passenger seat, the two taking off down the road. Bellamy approaches her hesitantly, his eyes dropping to the box in her hands. “What’s this?”

“My paintings. From that night.” Clarke says and Bellamy, looks at her, his gaze a little too intense to handle. “It didn’t feel right to just throw them away.”

He reaches in and grabs his own, eyes raking down the ruined yellow. “They are beautiful.” He says absently.

“Were.”

“No, are.” Bellamy says. “Broken things can be beautiful in their own way.”

Clarke can’t bring herself to tear her gaze away from him. She’s falling right back into the sun, like she always had. He leans in closer, as if he feels it too, for a moment, the two letting their guards down.

Only to recoil back.

With a grin, Bellamy asks, “What do you think about an adventure?”

Clarke frowns at him. “And adventure?”

“Why don’t we leave for the day. You and me.”

“Leave?” Clarke repeats. “We can’t just leave.”

“Yes we can. To hell with everyone. Let’s go.”

Clarke thinks about this. She planned so much. She planned her whole life until… the plans fell apart. Life went on. There’s simply only so much planning one could do until… you can’t anymore.

“What do you have in mind?”

A smile stretches across his face and he opens the passenger door for Clarke. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“I do.”

She says the words before she can think of what she’s implying. Bellamy seems to catch it because he stops to turn and face her, his eyes wide and filled with something more than just friendship.

“Yeah?” he asks, the word cracking.

Clarke looks behind her at the gallery. It’s the same, as is her room. She’s the one who’s different. Taking a breath, Clarke smiles at him.

“Yeah.”

***

Melancholy has a distinct color.

It’s blue, but not a rich blue of that of the deep sea. It’s the color of ice blowing off a glacier at dusk, pale and haunting. It morphs into deep blacks when it touches your fingertips and it swarms around a person like a thick fog, threatening to suffocate whomever its wrapped itself around.

But so does hope.

Hope is the color of pink, but not bright and shiny like Monty. Hope is the color the sky makes when the sun comes up in the morning, swirling with the clouds. It’s the color ink makes when it’s dropped into water, spider webs of color and life reaching to every inch of the glass. It’s ever changing, ever moving.

It’s easy not to see hope, when you’re drowned in melancholy. Because melancholy is heavy and oppressing. But hope always climbs into it, reaching out to the corners of a lost soul, holding on.

Nothing changed overnight.

In fact, not a lot changed at all. The only difference, is Bellamy opened the door again. It seemed like more than just a door opening. Like an opening for something more. Something… real.

On Christmas morning, Clarke snuck into his room, sitting on his bed as he blearily looks up from his pillow. “Clarke, it’s like 5:30 in the morning. I haven’t been awake this early on Christmas since O was seven.”

“I know, but I wanted to give you your Christmas present before everyone else was awake.”

“You mean Murphy.”

“Mainly, yeah, but also everyone else. It seems… private.”

That seems to wake Bellamy up a bit, now sitting up in bed, just as shirtless as the day she met. It makes her flush a bit and she’s not sure why. He still is able to make her stomach twist in knots, despite everything. He seems to notice because he smirks in a very Bellamy-way, which makes her flush even more.

She brings her hands in front of her, where she has a small box with a bow. Reaching out, she hands it to Bellamy, who suspiciously takes it from her. He shifts so his back is against his headboard and Clarke remains at the foot, anxious. She wants a quick getaway in case this all goes horribly wrong and she knows that despite that he is faster, she’ll have the advantage.

“Merry Christmas.” She says softly.

Bellamy takes the bow off and sets it next to him. He’s oddly precise in unwrapping the gift, making sure not to tear the paper. Once the white box is in his hands, he frowns. Taking the lid off, he stares.

Moments pass.

“I-I—” Clarke starts to stutter because she doesn’t know what to do. He’s simply staring at the contents inside the box, not saying a word. “I took it down.”

He places the box in his lap, the chain that Clarke installed her first night in the Ark sitting in it. She thinks about running to her room – clearly this was a bad idea. Sure, they kept the door open, but she panics that this was a moot point.

Placing her hand on the bed to help herself up, Clarke stammers, “W-Well, I’ll let you sleep. I shouldn’t have, I’ll just—”

Before she can go anywhere, he grabs her wrist. She freezes, unsure of what to do. When she finally musters the courage to look up at him, she sees he’s staring at her with that look again. The look that took too long to understand.

Without a word, he pulls her in and kisses her.

It’s tentative at first, as if asking permission. She’s startled enough to hesitate, but once her brain catches up with her heart, she places a hand on the back of his head and closes whatever miniscule distance is between them.  

It doesn’t last long. They pull apart, their breathing heavy and wrecked in a way that seems to release everything they’ve been avoiding saying. But he doesn’t take his hands off of the back of her neck, keeping her close. Not that she wants to run.

She doesn’t want to run.

Instead, she tangles her fingers into his curls, not wanting to leave this moment. It’s filled with yellows, and pinks, hope and love, and him. “Hey,” she says to him, unable to stop the soft smile stretching across her face.

“Hey.” He responds, holding her there.

Hope has a distinct color.

It doesn’t stay forever, but it remains dormant until you’re ready to embrace it. Things aren’t magically fixed. They take time, as does hope, filling you up when you thought you’d lost it.

So Clarke finds hope.

She finds it in the Christmas with those in the Ark. She finds it with the visit to Madi, the two exchanging gifts under the tree in the Center. She finds it in her calls to her mother, and texts to Wells. In a good bottle of whiskey with Murphy. A drive with Raven screaming at the top of her lungs. In a new job, a new start.

She finds it everywhere.

Because color’s everywhere. You simply have to find it.

And perhaps paint it.