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chasholidays · 6 years

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Prompt: Bellamy is there for Clarke through the loss of her dad, Wells, Finn, Lexa & pretty much everyone else in her life ever.

Bellamy is eleven when Octavia comes home and says, “Clarke’s dad died.”

His reaction is kneejerk, automatic. “No he didn’t, O. That’s not not what die means.”

“He did so! Mrs. Park told us. They were in a car crash and her dad died and Clarke got hurt so she isn’t going to be in school for a while. We made a card for her and everything.”

He swallows hard. “Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie about that,” she says, and he knows that’s true. He thought she might not know what she was saying, but that’s different from lying. If she’s sure, and she seems to be, then it must be true.

“I know, I’m sorry. That’s awful. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Nothing happened to me. But I was thinking we could go visit, maybe?”

O and Clarke aren’t exactly best friends, but Clarke’s been over a few times, and Bellamy likes her well enough, for an eight-year-old. She’s no more annoying than any of his sister’s other friends. Even a little less annoying, sometimes.

“Do you know what hospital?” She shakes her head, and he nods. “Okay. I’ll come pick you up from school tomorrow and ask Mrs. Park if she knows about visiting and stuff. They might not want anyone to come by yet, it’s probably really tough.”

“Okay. Thanks, Bell.”

“Sure.” He gives her a smile. “What do you want for dinner?”

Mrs. Park appreciates his concern, but as she expected, he says it’s probably not a good idea to go visit yet. Maybe in a week.

So Bellamy comes back, obedient, a week later, to ask if she thinks Clarke might be ready for visitors.

“We just want to make sure she’s not alone.”

Mrs. Park smiles. “I believe her mother said she was home. Let me just give her a call for you.”

He feels a little guilty, going to Clarke’s actual house; he doesn’t know her mother, and even though he’s escorting his sister, he can’t help thinking he’s a little out of place.

The woman who opens the door looks a little young to be her mother, and her smile is weary. “May I help you?”

“I’m Bellamy Blake,” he says, “and this is my sister, Octavia. She’s in Clarke’s class at school. We just wanted to check in, if she’s ready for visitors.”

“Let me go ask Abby,” says the woman, with a smile. “I’m sure Clarke will be happy to see you.”

It feels like a lot of checking in, but he guesses he can’t really blame anyone. It must be pretty tough.

Clarke’s mother smiles, shakes both their hands and thanks them for coming by, says Clarke hasn’t had many visitors yet. Her arm is broken and she’s shaken, but she’ll be happy to see some friends.

Bellamy lingers outside the door at first, awkward, but Octavia tugs. “Come on, Bell. Don’t be weird. Hey, Clarke,” she says, soft.

Clarke looks up from her book, eyes a little red, but smile steady. “Hi, Octavia. Bellamy. Thanks for coming.”

O nods. “Mrs. Park told us what happened. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” she says, looking down at her hands. “How’s school?”

She and Octavia talk about friends and school for a while, and Bellamy lets his eye wander, checking out the room, as large as his and his sister’s put together, full of books and toys and love.

Pictures of her dad, too; they look like they’re close.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Octavia asks, and when Clarke gives her directions, Bellamy finds himself suddenly alone with Clarke.

She looks about as uncomfortable with the whole thing as he is, so he shifts closer. “What were you reading?”

“Frog and Toad Are Friends,” she says, holding it up. “My dad used to read it to me.”

“Yeah, I used to read that to O when she was a kid.”

“You’ve been taking care of her for a while, right?”

“Forever, yeah. She’s my sister.”

“And you guys don’t have a dad.”

“No.”

Clarke nods. “But you’re okay.”

It feels like it might be too strong a word, but–they are, right? Most of the time. “You will be too,” he says, because that feels like what she’s asking. “I’m lucky, I don’t remember when my dad died, but–you’ll be fine. Eventually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, smiles a little. “If you ever need–someone else to talk to. I’m around. I know you’ve got plenty of people, but–”

“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

“I mean it,” he says. “If you ever want an older-brother type, I’m around.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling a little. “I’ll let you know.”

He doesn’t really believe it, and he doesn’t hear from her for years, honestly forgets about her, for the most part. She and Octavia drift apart as they get older, moving to different friend groups, still in classes together sometimes, but not friends, not really.

It’s five years later, at the end of his sophomore year, when he leaves work at the deli on main street to find Clarke waiting for him, this small, scowling form leaning on his car, arms crossed over her chest as she pretends not to be watching the door.

“Clarke, right?” he asks, once he’s remembered her all the way.

“Hi.”

“Either you’re waiting for me or you didn’t know whose car this was,” he remarks, and her mouth tugs up at one side.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“Do you remember when my dad died?”

“Yeah.”

“You said I could come to you if I needed someone to talk to, and I do.”

His first reaction is that she must be incredibly hard up, but that’s not really a constructive thing to say. And it’s not like he’s unwilling to help some poor kid who needs some company. If she is hard up, that just means she really needs it.

“Okay. Driving, walking, sitting?” At her frown, he clarifies, “Where do you want to talk?”

“Oh, um–driving is fine. If it’s–if that’s okay. Sorry, I know this is–really weird.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” He unlocks it. “You can even have shotgun.”

She snorts, soft. “Wow. Generous.”

“Don’t say I never did anything for you. Anywhere in particular you want to go?”

“Not off the top of my head.”

It should probably be weirder, but Arcadia isn’t that big a town, and he does know Clarke. And she’s probably going to do all the work here.

“I’m just going to drive around, then.”

“Thanks.” She waits until they’re in motion before she says, “I had a fight with my best friend. Which I obviously couldn’t talk to him about, because the fight’s with him, and if I tell my other friends, they’ll get involved.”

“So you want an impartial third party?”

“Pretty much. And I saw your sister and that reminded me—you offered. Sorry it took me so long to take you up on it.”

“I’m amazed you remembered.”

“It was a shitty time,” she says, sounding like she’s forty, not thirteen. “You were nice to me.”

“And now it’s another shitty time.”

“Not nearly that bad. Thank god,” she adds.

“So what happened?”

“He told me he liked me. Like, you know. As more than a friend. And I told him I didn’t like him back. And I guess he was pretty sure about it?” She sighs. “I don’t know. I wasn’t even—I don’t want to date anyone yet.”

“No?”

“How old are you again?”

“Legal to drive you. Sixteen.”

“I assume you remember how stupid dating is in middle school. It lasts like a week and all you do is hold hands and maybe get a couple bad kisses in.”

“Wow. You’re jaded for thirteen.”

“I don’t want to screw up my friendship with Wells for that.”

“Maybe it would be better.”

“Maybe. But I don’t like him like that.”

“If he’s your best friend, I doubt you lost him,” he finally says. “Yeah, it’ll be kind of awkward for a while, and getting rejected sucks, but—he’ll probably get over it.”

“I know. I still feel like I did something wrong.”

“You didn’t. It’s not your fault you’re not interested in him.”

“Is this just what you do? Brother for hire?”

“If you were my sister I’d probably be threatening to beat Wells up. Which would suck, I like Wells.”

Clarke snorts. “You know Wells?”

“He’s in the Latin club.”

“Of course he is. I like him too, just not—“

“For dating. I get it.”

“Thanks for listening.”

“Like I said, any time.”

She moves up to high school next year, and they nod when they pass each other in the halls, talk if they happen to be in the same place for long enough.

Her sophomore year, she comes back from the summer with her hair cut short and dyed red in one patch, and she learned to dress to accentuate her body type instead of hiding it, which he feels like an asshole for noticing, but it’s really noticeable. Clarke Griffin got hot is a popular topic of conversation, even among seniors.

Which is probably why he hears when she starts dating Finn Collins, and why when he hears that Finn died, suddenly, in a car crash, he goes to her immediately. Without even thinking about it.

Her mother opens the door this time, not the family friend from before. “May I help you?”

“I’m a friend of Clarke’s, I wanted to—“

“Oh. Yes, of course. Let me see if she’s up for company.”

“It’s Bellamy,” he tells her. It feels like it might make a difference.

He doubts she remembers him, but she smiles anyway. “I’ll let her know you’re here, Bellamy.”

The way up to Clarke’s room is the same, and he didn’t realize before how stuck the memory was in his brain, how much it stayed with him. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time.

The door is ajar, and he knocks softly before pushing it open. Clarke’s eyes are red, but dry, and he offers her a small smile.

“Thought you might need someone to talk to.”

She throws herself at him, shaking with tears like a dam is breaking, and he just holds her, rubbing soothing circles on her back, saying words he doesn’t actually hear himself.

He’s not sure how long it takes for her to cry herself out, but she says in his arms even after, taking the comfort, and it’s not until she pulls back that he lets her go.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, before she can say anything.

Her laugh is still watery. “Can I thank you?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

"You’re welcome.”

They’re mostly friends after that, albeit in a strange way. He makes sure to check in on her for the first few weeks, and he keeps checking in for a while after that. Some of his friends tease him about it, flirting with the hot sophomore, but it’s not really like that. Maybe if it wasn’t his senior year, if he wasn’t already into college, he might try something, someday. Once the pain had faded.

As it is, she comes to his graduation and kisses him on the cheek and thanks him for everything, and he says, “I’m still available for long-distance conversations, if you need them.”

He means it, like he always means it, but he doesn’t really expect anything. They’ve never been the kind of friends who just chat. But the first week of his freshman year, Clarke Facebook messages him to ask how college is going, and suddenly that’s a part of his routine. She’s a junior this year, starting to get into looking for colleges and full of questions, but that quickly turns into casual conversation.

“When did you and Clarke Griffin get so close?” Octavia asks, when he comes back for spring break and makes plans to hang out with her.

“Just kind of happened,” he says, with a shrug.

They don’t see a lot of each other, even when he’s home, but they still chat almost every day. She talks him through his breakup with Roma sophomore year and brags about finally getting to help him with a breakup for a change. He helps her work through a bisexuality crisis a few weeks after that, and then he goes through one of his own when he gets a crush on and somehow manages to date a guy the year after that.

Her senior year of college, Lexa happens, and he kind of wonders if that’s it for her. It seems pretty serious.

She calls him when they break up, a first for them, and he’s so shocked he nearly drops the phone. “Hi?”

“Hey. Lexa and I broke up.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

“I kind of saw it coming.”

“Yeah.” They’d talked about it, but he’d mostly been rooting for them to make it. Except for the small, mostly ignored part of him that still thinks Clarke is kind of pretty and kind of amazing and kind of one of his favorite people in the world. “Still.”

She sighs. “Yeah. But we were going different places, and that was–it wasn’t negotiable for her. She’s moving to California and she doesn’t want to do long distance. So–we broke up.”

“I’m sorry. Are you still thinking you’re going to come to Boston?”

He thinks his voice comes out even on the question, like he doesn’t think about it all the fucking time and wonder. She certainly doesn’t seem to think it’s weird, just says, “That’s the plan, yeah. I’ve got an interview in a couple weeks, can I crash on your couch?”

“Yeah, always. Any time.”

She comes down a few times, and he never says anything, never makes a move, but he’s so aware that they’re both single now, that she’s moving to his city, to his neighborhood. That she’ll be close he could see her whenever he wanted to.

He helps her move into her new place and she buys him a pizza, and he doesn’t kiss her, spends a week aware, all the time, of how he isn’t kissing her.

Then she shows up at his door.

“Hey,” he says, cautious.

“Hey. I need to talk to you about something?”

“Yeah, of course. Is everything okay? What happened?”

“Miller’s not home, right?”

“On a date.”

“Okay.” She lets out a break. “I think I’m in love with you. And you don’t have to be–I know you probably still think I’m your second screw-up little sister, but I thought I should double check in case–”

“I don’t,” he says, and kisses her.

“You’re not going to have anyone to talk to if we break up,” he tells her, a few hours later, when they’re cuddled together in his bed, warm and sated and close.

She yawns and kisses his shoulder. “I know. I’m not worried.”

“No,” he admits, with a smile. “Me neither.”

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