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Clarke wakes up groaning, the effects of last night's bottle of wine hitting her when she sits up too quickly.
“Happy Christmas, Clarke,” she mutters, a hand going to her head in an effort to stave off her coming headache.
She feels sick, and not just because she’s hungover. The day promises nothing but questions, questions and more questions. Which she’s normally okay with - she’s known how to please her extended family with answers on study and boys since high school. But today - today she really doesn’t want to deal with it.
It’s just past nine, the bright morning winter light creeping in through the blinds of her childhood bedroom. Clarke knows that she’ll have to get herself up and alive sometime in the next few hours, but for now she’s happy to wrap herself up in a blanket burrito and forget all about the impending doom that today is. (She’s not even being that dramatic.) Her mum got in a few hours ago - she checked on Clarke in the middle of the night, probably to make sure she wasn’t drowning her sorrows in even more alcohol, which yeah, it’s fair - so even Abby won’t make her get out of bed until noon. Thank god for overnight shifts, Clarke muses.
Merry Christmas, babe. Good luck with today. Love you always.
Clarke smiles sadly at the text that comes through. Raven’s honestly the only reason she’s made it through these last two months, and her best friend knows how hard today will be for her.
Thanks Rave. I’ll text you when I’m hiding from my family in
the bathroom and snapchat pictures of myself when I’m drunk
and embarrassing myself. Happy Christmas. Love love love xxx
Looking forward to it. Call me if you need to power cry.
That pulls a laugh from Clarke, and her smile is a little less sad. It’s a nice offer, but she hopes it won’t be needed. Still, she’s glad that in the event she gets messy drunk and has a meltdown, Raven won’t mind her calling to cry and complain.
After twenty minutes of wallowing, she shifts in her old bed, keeping herself wrapped in the doona while getting to her feet. She doesn’t want to get out of bed, but her need for some aspirin has priority over laziness. Shuffling out of the room, she makes her way to the kitchen - passing her mum’s room and finding her fast asleep -, pops two tablets and downs them with non-alcoholic eggnog.
“Bleugh,” she blanches, the drink a little too rich for nine in the morning with a hangover.
She chugs two large glasses of water - a difficult task, really - and butters some toast before adding cinnamon sugar to it. It’s not really how she expected to spend Christmas morning - cold, hungover and alone, eating possibly the most pathetic excuse for breakfast ever - but it’s where she’s at in life.
She puts on Love Actually when back in bed, eating the sugary mess that is her toast as Bill Nighy fucks up his lines. The movie always makes her laugh, but it also always makes her cry - and it’s called Love Actually. Watching it is not Clarke’s finest idea. Her sniffles turn into full blown sobs with Colin Firth’s heartbreak at leaving the woman he loves behind, that feeling resonating with her and hitting a little too close to home. She sings along shakily to All I Want For Christmas Is You, wondering not for the first time how Little Kid Sam is thirteen in the movie, and not like, eight. She finds comfort in her old teddy bear Bess (because she couldn't pronounce it's actual name of Beth) during the final scenes, although even her childhood toy cannot stop her from feeling desperately lonely.
It’s almost twelve when the movie finishes, and Clarke’s mostly calmed down from her heartbreak. She resigns herself to the fact that she’ll have to get ready eventually, so makes her way to the bathroom and lets the almost burning hot water wash over her. It’s calming, and she feels herself relax as she washes her hair and scrubs herself clean with jasmine scented shower gel. Her skin is flushed pink when she hops out, the shade bringing back memories that would make her smile if it weren’t for her current situation (see again - hungover and alone).
“Knock knock,” Abby calls from the door, opening it without actually knocking.
“Hey mum,” Clarke smiles, tugging on a pair of stockings.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” she says softly, coming to hug Clarke from behind.
“Merry Christmas, mum,” she whispers, resting her head on Abby’s shoulder.
“You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, sniffling a little. She sighs, repeating the words she's had to say time and time again when explaining her devastating heartbreak. “I just thought he was it for me.”
Abby releases her, turning Clarke to hug her properly.
“I know, baby. I know.”
They stand together for a few moments, and Clarke breathes out a shaky breath before pulling back and offering a smile.
“I let Maggie know, so people shouldn’t ask any questions.”
Clarke huffs a humourless laugh. “Thanks mum,” she says genuinely.
She squeezes Clarke’s arm. “We should leave in about forty, okay?”
“Yep, I should be ready,” she smiles, and her mum leaves her be to get ready.
Clarke lays her dress on the bed, putting on a fluffy Christmas dressing gown to keep warm as she makes herself up.
Christmas had always been her favourite holiday. Her dad loved it. Every year he would hold a crafts day, and she, along with her childhood friends, would make decorations and ginger bread cookies. Their house became a winter wonderland, with ornaments all around - Clarke’s homemade paper snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, and fairy lights illuminating the outside at nighttime. He would dress up as Santa Clause on Christmas Eve and make sure Clarke saw him put presents under the tree. He made it magical, with his enthusiasm and his love, and Clarke never felt more special than she did on Christmas morning, when she would open presents with her parents and eat chocolate chip pancakes.
And then he died when Clarke was fifteen, and even though he no longer dressed as Santa or invited her friends over for crafts days, it felt like Christmas was no longer so amazing. She got it back after a while, once her heart had healed a little, but today felt like that first Christmas without him.
So much heartbreak and so much sorrow.
They met when she was in her junior year of college - when her friend Monty and his best friend Miller started dating and brought two groups of friends together - and hated each other. They laughed about it later, even agreeing with their friends that a lot of hatred was probably sexual tension that was badly channeled. He disliked her on principle - her mother was head of surgery at the local hospital and on the board of Ark University - and she disliked him because he was a dick. It wasn’t her fault that she grew up privileged and with an abundance of money (really, it was always going to come down to the money), which sounds childish even to her ears, but it’s true. He didn’t have to be an asshole, but he was.
They fought like cats and dogs for the first year of knowing each other, moving on to be reluctant acquaintances when Octavia told them off for being selfish and ruining a group get together again. Which, yeah - it was fair. They tended to ruin quite a few things when confined to a small space together.
And then one drunken Halloween, when Clarke was twenty three, they hooked up. And it kept happening, again and again and again, until they couldn’t not talk about it. It turned out that he liked Clarke as much as she liked him, and they decided to go for it.
She told him she loved him first, when he brought over a homemade dinner during her finals week. He repeated the words about two seconds later, and she found that I Love You sex is really as good as they say.
Clarke had never felt the way she did when with him. He challenged her constantly, got on her nerves every single day. He loved to make her scream (in more than one way), loved to rile her up until she was hitting him in the chest in frustration. He made her feel impossibly safe, which wasn’t something she’d felt in a long time, whether it be when he held her at night or kept a hand at the small of her back during parties. And he loved her - even now she knows he loved her - so much that she could feel it. She didn’t just feel how much she loved him, she felt how much he loved her, and that was truly incredible.
He was the one. She knew it when he spoke on her twenty fifth birthday, when he kissed her after, finishing with an I love you, and made love to her later in the night. She wondered whether he’d propose. He was thirty, and she knew he was ready to settle down. She wondered whether they’d have kids, her heart swelling and tears prickling her eyes when he whispered onto her skin that he wanted them to have her eyes.
“Well I want them to have your freckles,” she replied, a soft smile tugging her lips.
He never liked his freckles as a child, something that made her heart break when he told her. She peppered kisses along his chest, where his freckles were spattered across like the constellations he would tell her about, up his neck and to his face. Feather light reminders that he was beautiful and that she loved him.
So it was a surprise when three months later he stormed out of her apartment, leaving her for good. She had fallen to the ground, sobs wracking through her as she gasped for breath. Raven found her three hours later in the same position, face tear stained and body shivering with the evening chill that came in.
“It was about money,” she whispered after twenty minutes.
Raven was wrapped around her, holding her tight and letting her cry.
“It was always going to be about money,” she continued, the memories of the fight prompting a new wave of nausea. “He said that he didn’t want to come to Christmas with me.” She shook her head. It was ridiculous how everything spiralled. “That he didn’t want my family judging him like they always did. I told him that it was o-okay, but they wou-wouldn’t judge him.” She swallowed, blinking back tears that threatened to spill. “But he kept going. He was saying that he was sick of all the questions about whether he’d - whether he’d go back to college or if he had a better job and stuff.” She shakes once with a sob, and Raven clutches her more firmly. “He said we were from different worlds and kidding ourselves thinking - thinking that we would end up together. He brought up Wells and I just - I told him to stop. To cool off and we could talk later. He - he didn’t want to and I just couldn’t listen to it anymore.” She released a shaky breath, let her tears run down her face in hot streaks. “I told him to get out. And he said - he said that if he left he wasn’t coming back. I said good and let him leave. Everything just - spiralled, I don't even understand what happened.”
She hadn’t spoken to him since, their only interaction a text letting him know that she would be at work for him to pick up his stuff three weeks after the fight.
And two months later, she’s putting her hair in soft curls for the very family gathering that lead to her break up. Completing her make up meticulously, she finishes off with the deep red lipstick that always makes her feel better. She steps into her royal purple dress, the fabric hugging her body in all the right places, and finds her black heels and grey coat.
Christmas has always been a formal affair for her extended family. She used to hate it, but now finds it oddly calming - comforting. She knows how to do this, but it’s not - it’s not really her. Which is what she wants. She wants to wear the mask today, just so she can get through it.
“Ready?” Abby calls from across the hall.
Clarke straightens her dress once more and steps into her heels, taking a deep breath and telling herself she can weather this storm.
“Ready.”
The first hour isn’t as bad as she thought it would be, actually. Her aunts, uncles and older cousins look at her as they would a puppy that’s been repeatedly kicked, but they don’t say anything, so Clarke's calling it a win. She repeats herself again and again, telling her extended family how teaching is, how she’s enjoying the new apartment - nobody mentions the fact that she was supposed to be moving in with someone, instead of finding a last minute roommate to cover half the rent for a room that was supposed to be the study - and how life is as an adult (it’s a joke, really).
After that she follows her game plan, which basically involves keeping a glass of any type of alcoholic beverage on her at all times, and hanging out exclusively at the under tens table.
She’s tipsy by three - the added alcohol fending off her hangover - and filling herself up on hard eggnog and finger food, dancing in the lounge room with Alice. Her heels are off, and Alice is standing on Clarke’s feet as they sway to Otis Redding’s White Christmas. She’s probably not supposed to have favourite cousins, but Alice is definitely up there. She’s six, and absolutely adorable. Her tied competitor is Max, her twin brother - equally adorable and mischievous.
He comes crashing into the two girls, pulling a chuckle out of Clarke as she steadies herself and Alice.
“I wanna dance,” he declares, pulling on one of Clarke’s hands.
She takes it, and one of Alice’s, and they dance around in circles, happy and carefree, laughing when Clarke trips and brings the other two down with her.
“Where’s Bellamy?” Max asks quietly after he stands, holding out a hand to help pull up Clarke. There’s no way he could - he’s six and tiny - but she indluges him anyway.
Alice looks interested in the answer as well. And a little guilty. Clarke suspects that Sarah, their mum, told them not to ask about him.
Clarke crouches down in front of the twins, smiling sadly at them. They have loved Bellamy every time they met him - which, after almost two years of dating was quite a bit -, his energy fitting so well with children, and were probably devastated that he wasn’t there with them. Clarke knew the feeling.
“Bell’s back at home today. We broke up.”
Alice frowns, and Clarke realises that they probably don’t get that concept at six. Their parents are still together and happily married - they probably assume that people stay together forever.
“What’s that mean?” Max asks.
Clarke releases a shaky breath, taking one of each of their hands and giving it a squeeze.
“It means that we don’t really hang out anymore.”
“That’s sad,” Alice declares, stepping forward to Clarke and embracing her. Max does the same, and Clarke enjoys being enveloped in two tiny people who she loves and who love her.
“Yeah. It is, isn’t it?” She replies when they let her go. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom, okay? When I come back we can play a board game. Do you want to find one?”
The twins nod enthusiastically, and Clarke excuses herself to the upstairs bathroom of her uncle’s house - not the one she should really be using, but the one that will allow her the most privacy. She closes the door, locking it quickly before slumping against it. She breathes heavily, tears prickling at her eyes as a hand goes to her mouth to silence any sobs.
She slides down onto the floor, her body shaking with silent cries. She pulls out her phone to text Raven after kicking off her heels.
Lasted until now to cry. It was my two little cousins that got me in the end.
Navigating to her photos, she brings her legs to her chest to hug herself before scrolling to the end of the reel. She finds the one she’s looking for, remembering the night it all started. 31 October 2013 her phone says. Clarke’s dressed as a mermaid, and Bellamy a pirate. They’re obviously already drunk, because they don’t look like they mind having a picture taken together. In fact they’re smiling rather goofily at each other. It’s easy to look back and see how that night was the beginning of everything.
She continues, finding all the silly ones they took when their time together was exclusively spent in either of their beds. His mussed hair is possibly her most favourite look, and her heart feels heavy even through the giggles the photos prompt, as she wonders whether the hair is from sleep or sex.
It’s easy to see when they actually started dating, because the photos aren’t just of them in bed, a sheet to cover their naked bodies. She smiles sadly, a watery laugh pulled from her body despite everything, when she remembers the dates at the park - the beautiful scenery that she would sketch while he would read. How they drove for four hours, not knowing where they were heading until they found a serene lake, only for Clarke to get sunburst and Bellamy having to massage aloe vera onto her back for a week straight. His face dirty when she proved that she would in fact smack his ice-cream cone in his face. Her on his shoulders wrestling with Octavia and Lincoln in the water, playing beach volleyball with all their friends later in the day. The summer barbecues where they’d make out for a majority of the afternoon, the taste of beer and fruit salad on her tongue whenever she would kiss him.
Merry Christmas, Bell.
She knows it’s not fair, but. It’s Christmas and she misses him.
Even when they hated each other she saw him. And now it’s been two months and her heart feels so heavy in her chest it’s hard to breathe.
Merry Christmas, princess.
Tears escape her as she scrolls up her phone to find the last text he sent her. You’re ridiculous and I love you.
Alice and Max miss you.
Clarke shakes her head. That’s not fair either.
Sorry. I shouldn’t have sent that.
It’s okay. Tell them I miss them too.
And that I miss their cousin.
She huffs a laugh, wiping away the tears staining her face. She’ll have to fix her makeup.
I have it on good authority that she misses you too.
She gets up slowly, standing at the mirror and grabbing the roll of toilet paper to fix her running mascara. When she’s mostly presentable - if anyone mentions her puffy eyes she might punch them - she descends the stairs slowly, finding the kids setting up Junior Scrabble. Bellamy would’ve loved it.
Max hugs her as soon as she sits down with them, and Clarke finds herself amazed at how much kids can pick up.
“Thanks darling,” she smiles, kissing him on the forehead.
“Clarke,” Alice starts.
“Yeah, Al?”
“We think that you should go see Bellamy.”
She smiles at the little girl, her braided blonde hair resembling Clarke’s exactly at that age.
“It’s not that simple, darling.”
“Why not?” Max asks, which - it’s a hard question to answer. “You’re not as happy today as you are when he’s here.”
“I’m fine,” she lies.
“Do you still love him?” Alice asks, her hopeful expression breaking Clarke’s heart.
“Yeah, I do,” Clarke whispers, wiping away another tear. God, she's crying a lot.
“Then go see him,” she says while giving Clarke a little push. It sounds so easy.
“Guys,” she laughs a little, “I can’t do that. It’s different when you’re grown up. It's not that simple."
They groan in unison, and Clarke feels a little bad at pulling that card. Their youthful naivety isn’t something she wants to take from them.
“You can, Clarke,” Max scolds.
“You should do what makes you happy,” Alice adds.
And - she should. It’s hard to argue with little kid logic, even though it’s very simple. Simplicity is sometimes key; she should be doing what will make her happy, and what will make her happy is definitely seeing Bellamy. Screw doing what might be grown up. That'll only lead to what ifs and the very long process of learning to live with a heavy heart (she doubts it will ever mend if she continues down this path). She doesn't want to do that - doesn't want to let this, him, slip away - and she's tired of being too proud to go see him.
“Okay,” she nods, feeling a sense of relief at the decision. She should've done this a long time ago. They're both too stubborn for their own good.
The twins grin, cheering a little before tackling Clarke in a hug. She laughs, throwing her head back as she catches them both.
“I love you two,” she grins, standing up and hauling them up with her. “I think I’m gonna go.”
“And we’re coming too,” Max cheers, jumping up and down in excitement along with Alice.
“Yes!” Clarke cheers without thinking, then “No,” she backtracks. “I don’t think your mum and dad would be happy with that.”
They pout, and it’s adorable, but nod solemnly. Going against Sarah’s wrath on Christmas isn’t something they would want to experience.
Clarke doubts she’s good to drive, and she could wait for two hours to be sure, but. She’s waited long enough. She pulls out her phone and goes into the spare room, booking a cab relatively easily (which is a surprise). It’s coming in ten minutes, so she runs back into the room and tells her mum that she’s leaving.
Abby’s smile is warm and genuine, and Clarke is reminded once again of how far they’ve come since the first Christmas they spent without her dad.
“Go get him, baby,” she laughs, hugging Clarke fiercely. Clarke nods, hugging her mum back just as tight.
“I’m heading off, guys,” she calls out loudly, not much care for her rude behaviour. “I’m really sorry but…something’s come up. Thanks so much for having me, Simon, and I hope to see you all soon.”
She receives some knowing smiles back, and Sarah chuckles when she embraces Clarke.
“Max and Alice?” She asks.
“Max and Alice,” Clarke confirms.
The taxi beeps from the front of the house and Clarke gives her two cheeky cousins one last kiss before running out in heels, her coat and handbag in hand.
She tells the driver the address as soon as she’s buckled up. It’s about a forty minute drive, so she has a lot of time to freak out.
Shit Clarke. Are you okay? I didn’t have my phone on me, sorry!
It’s fine, Rave. I’m all good. Going to see Bell now. I’ll
let you know how it goes.
Oh thank fuck. I was planning an intervention with O. Seriously.
Smack him in the head for being so silly before you kiss him, yeah?
Clarke chuckles, a grin splitting her face.
Will do, babe.
It’s not until she’s ten minutes away that doubts start creeping in. What if he was just being kind by texting her back? What is he’ll be angry that she shows up on his doorstep on Christmas day? What if he really wants their relationship to be over? What if - what if he doesn’t love her any more?
She tries to shake the intrusive thoughts as she checks her makeup. This isn’t where they end. It can’t be.
“We’re here,” he driver announces, stating her total (which is just…a lot - Bellamy better compensate her if he ends up sending her away).
“Thanks,” she says as she hands over the money. “Merry Christmas.”
“You too,” he smiles back at her as she hops out of the car.
The house looks the same, which. Obviously it would, because it’s only been two months. But it’s been two months, and she expected something to have changed.
The pathway has had the snow shovelled from it, which Clarke is thankful for. She tugs her coat closer, the winter chill already getting to her and takes her first step. And then her second. And soon enough she’s at the front door, not sure whether her shaking is from the weather or her nerves.
With a deep breath, she bites the bullet and knocks on the door.
“I’ll get it,” she hears a very Bellamy-like voice call from inside the house, the sound of him walking through the lounge room to the front door.
He looks stunned when he opens the door, and Clarke has a few moments to take him in. He’s wearing his ridiculous Christmas sweater, which he’s somehow able to pulls off. It’s green, red and gold, a reindeer and christmas tree pattern that’s more on the side of cheesy than 'cool hipster' sprawled across it. Winter has dulled his skin a little, the tanned glow that graces his face in summer making way for a paled brown. His hair is longer as well, the curls sweeping in front of his eyes a little. Clarke always teased him about it, but she loves his long hair, loves carding her fingers through it after they have sex, or when his head is in her lap after a long day.
She looks past him, finding Octavia, Lincoln, Miller and Monty at the dining table just past the living room, staring at her. Octavia’s grinning smugly, and the boys mostly look in shock.
Bellamy does as well, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he takes her in.
“Are you gonna let me in?” She jokes half heartedly, trying to cover up the fact that she’s actually worried about his answer.
He nods dumbly, backing a few steps so Clarke can get out of the cold.
“Can I,” he starts, his voice rough. He clears his throat and tries again. “Can I just kiss you?” He asks, sounding as tired as she feels about this whole ordeal.
She doesn’t answer, just steps forward to crash her lips to his. He gasps at the impact, opening immediately so Clarke can deepen the kiss. His arms come around her waist, pulling her flush to his body while hers wind around his neck. Their lips slide together in perfect harmony, their tongues warm against each other in the most familiar dance. She tunes out everything except for him. His arms wrapped around her and sending sparks of relief and love through her body, warming it and making her feel more content than she has since she last saw him; of his mouth on hers, moving together almost desperately. She can feel the unspoken words on his lips. Why did we wait this long? And she can't help but agree with the sentiment. He tastes like a mixture of peppermint Schnapps - something Clarke’s sure Octavia brought over - and eggnog, the flavours mixing with the taste of Bellamy in the most delicious way. And she's missed this more than she could've ever imagined, her body longing for just the simple act of kissing. The simple act of affection that means I love you to them, and she understands with perfect clarity what people mean when they say that kissing someone you love feels like coming home.
When she breaks away, only because breathing is probably important, she rests her forehead against his. They don’t pull away from each other, and she revels in how safe she feels when he wraps her up, when he presses another reassuring kiss to her lips. She registers the cheers coming from the dining room, feels herself smile when Bellamy chuckles.
When she looks up, his smile is radiant and just for her. She buries her head in the crook of his neck, breathing in the distinct Bellamy smell that no amount of deodorant or cologne could hide.
“I’m sorry,” he says right into her ear, and Clarke nods in response, because she is too. “I love you so much, princess.” She nods again, although this time she laughs a little too.
“I love you, too, Bell,” she says as she looks back to him. “And I don’t want to spend another Christmas without you, okay?”
“Okay. I promise,” he smiles, leaning down to press one last kiss on her lips.
And he keeps that promise for years to come.