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Clarke knows that there a moments that divide your life up into segments. Things that happened before X, or after Y. When she was a child, she thought it was birthdays. Before she turned seven, after she turned seven. But by the time she turned sixteen, she knew that wasn’t the case.
There was before she kissed a girl and liked it, and after.
There was before her father died two years later, and after it.
There was before the car accident that she survived, and Wells didn’t, three years after her father… and who she was after it.
And then there was before she used her inheritance to buy the bar, defying her mother, abandoning the big city, and moving to Ark Falls in the middle of nowhere. And after it.
You can’t go back after some things, and they change you and the way you think. Clarke wasn’t so naive as to think that the moments that change everything were going to stop happening. But she figured moving to a small town where nothing happened kind of improved her odds. And not letting people get too close. Seemed like a genuinely good plan. But plans like that kind of have a way of getting derailed by… just life.
It started when she hired a chef and a second bartender. Nathan Miller ran the kitchen with a kind of military precision, and she was unsurprised to learn he actually was a military brat. And the bartender she’d hired… she really didn’t know what she was thinking when she’d hired Jasper Jordan. He had this weird frenetic energy, wore goggles on his head, and she didn’t think he’d ever mixed the same drink twice. He tried making everyone call him “JJ” for about a day, but it didn’t take, and he didn’t seem terribly bothered by it. Miller, who never answered to Nathan, seemed to like him as much as he liked anyone else. Which was that he tolerated him, and almost smiled occasionally. And they both seemed to like Clarke well enough. And she was safe, because she liked them, but it wouldn’t destroy her if they left. She could laugh and things made sense, and it was good. Until the bar fight.
Clarke got in between them before she even thought about it. They were tall and slugging it out over Clarke didn’t even know what, but she didn’t really care. All she cared about was them not breaking her bar. And then one of them punched her, and she staggered backwards, and then Miller was there, hustling them out and warning them that they weren’t going to be welcome here again. Jasper hovered over her with a bar towel, which she took, and then she ordered him back behind the bar and tried to clean herself up in the back corner of the storeroom that she called her office, using her laptop screen as a mirror.
Miller found her there not long after, and he leaned in the doorway with his arms across his chest.
“We’re closing early,” he tells her, like it’s his call to make and she frowns until it hurts the cut above her eyebrow, and then she clears her throat.
“We don’t have to close early,” Clarke replies. Miller shakes his head.
“People are leaving. It’s not us,” Miller says. “Fights happen and people leave. We need a bouncer.” Clarke goes to raise her eyebrows, but that doesn’t work well either so she closes her eyes and inhales long through her nose.
“We don’t need a bouncer. We’re a small bar in a small town. Bouncers are for clubs in the city,” Clarke replies. “I don’t have time to find a bouncer.” She he looks at Miller, still looking at her expressionless still. But she thinks she catches a hint of care around his eyes.
“I know a guy,” Miller says. “He’s looking for night work. He’s at the police academy at the moment. He fucked his leg and he can’t go back on active until he’s back to A1.” Clarke remembers her eyebrow this time before she raises it.
“What good is a gimpy cop as a bouncer?” Clarke asks.
“People know him here, and he’s got a good glare. He’s also mostly better, but he won’t go active until he’s finished with his new recruits because he’s got big brother complex,” Miller explains. It’s probably the most words she’s ever heard him say at once. He also kind of has a point.
“I’ll give him a week trial. If he doesn’t piss me off or lose us customers, we’ll keep him,” Clarke offers, and Miller nods, giving her a small smile, but it’s genuine.
“We like you, Clarke, want you to be safe,” Miller tells her, and then he’s gone. She finds herself smiling absently after he’s left, and she thinks that her plan maybe isn’t working so well. But it’s still the plan.
It gets worse with Bellamy Blake, Miller's cop friend. Her first impression of him is that he's an asshole. She recognises him from the few times he's been in for a couple of drinks. He leans on the bar, smiles like he's seen her naked, and there's something about him that makes her want to punch him in the face.
“Heard you needed a little help,” he says, or rather, charms. Clarke raises an eyebrow and fights a wince from the still unhealed cut. She bristles at his phrasing.
“Miller suggested it. I told him I'd give you a week's trial,” Clarke tells him. “And provided you don't piss me off and we actually use you, you get to stay.” Bellamy’s grin changes to amused and she likes him better already.
“Sounds fair,” he agrees. “When do I start?” Clarke shrugs.
“Tonight, if you want,” she says, and she can feel Miller looking on approvingly from the service window behind her.
“Tonight it is. Want me checking IDs on the door or in the crowd?” he asks. Clarke has no idea what to do with a security guard, and she glances over to Miller. He shrugs and goes back to food prep.
“I have no idea,” she admits, turning back to Bellamy. “I've never hired a bouncer before. Or worked in a bar before. I'm learning as I go.”
“Surely it's a little presumptuous to buy a bar when you don't know what you're doing?” Bellamy says, idle. Clarke grinds her teeth slightly. Her mother had said the same thing.
“I'm learning as I go,” Clarke repeats. “And I guess you'll do the same.” Then she turns on her heel and goes to check the kegs in the cool room before she fires him.
“That went well,” Miller says, standing behind her. Clarke huffs.
“He’s an asshole,” she says. But… she kind of liked that he was an asshole. She was already weirdly attached to the two nerds she’d already hired.
“He is an asshole,” Miller agrees. “But he’s good at what he does. He’ll keep people safe. Big brother complex.” Clarke snorts.
“He’s going to use this job to pick up and then I’m going to own the bar with the gigolo bouncer,” she says, and Miller snorts too.
“Nah, not while he’s working,” he says. “Just give him the week.” Clarke sighs her agreement and Miller leaves.
Clarke really does think it’s going to be a shit show, but then she notices that Bellamy’s not just stopping fights. He’s picking up empty glasses and delivering them to the bar. He’s making sure girls are getting home safely if they’ve had too much, and stepping in if guys are harassing them. She gets it now, about his big brother complex. He’s an asshole, but he’s also a protective asshole with a heart of gold. Business has increased. And sure, some of it is girls coming to ogle him, because, seriously. But it’s also because people were feeling safer here. So Clarke keeps him.
But Bellamy comes as a package deal with his sister, Octavia, and she comes with her boyfriend Lincoln. And Jasper’s so called hetero life partner Monty starts hanging out more. Miller’s cousin Raven decides that Clarke’s car is a disaster and fixes it free of charge. And then Clarke’s getting invited to barbecues and brunches, because they all work nights and apparently brunch is their thing. Then she hires another bartender, Harper, and another chef, Monroe, because Clarke’s apparently good at this running a bar thing, and the family grows. And it is a family, and she doesn’t know how she acquired one when the plan was not to have one at all.
And worst of all there’s Bellamy Blake. The asshole. Because he’s pretty successfully become her favourite person without even trying, and Clarke’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a clue. She’s tried being stand offish to him, mocking him, trying to set him up with other people -- anything to stop her feeling like she could belong beside him. But it’s not working. The worst part is, he’s a first responder. Not right now, but he will be again soon. He won’t even be her employee soon, and she won’t have that excuse not to have a stupid crush on him. But it’s not just a stupid crush, because sure, he’s hot, but he’s not her really her type. It’s <him>, his personality, the way he laughs, the way he looks at her when Jasper and Monty do something stupid, like they’re the parents of these idiot children. The way he looks out for the people in the bar. She respects him. And she’s stupidly attached, and it’s fucking doomed (it’s one of the things that changed, the before and the after… after her father, after Wells… these things are always doomed).
Clarke knows it’s coming, because of course she does. He was just waiting until his recruits finished training to go back. Known that since before she even met him. But she still feels sick when he deposits himself in the chair opposite her desk in the store room. It’s her <birthday> and it’s not like she told anyone, but seriously, him quitting is the worst birthday present ever. Thanks for nothing, universe.
“My recruits graduate next week,” Bellamy tells her. “And I’m going back on active. Finally.” Clarke forces a smile, because she knows he’s been hanging out for it, as much as he’s loved being den mother to the recruits too.
“That’s good news,” Clarke agrees. “Are they making you a traffic cop because you’re so out of practice?” He rolls his eyes at her.
“Ha ha,” he comments dryly. “No, I’m going back into organised crime.” Clarke raises her eyebrows.
“There’s like four thousand people in this town. There is no organised crime,” Clarke responds. Bellamy sighs.
“No one takes me seriously. There are gangs. They murder and GBH and run prostitutes and sell drugs. It’s a legitimate problem. They have motorcycles and everything,” Bellamy defends himself, and Clarke can’t help but laugh, because she knows he’s telling the truth but he’s so indignant about it that he must have caught a lot of shit from everyone in the past.
“It sounds serious,” Clarke manages and Bellamy picks up a pencil from her desk and throws it at her.
“It is serious,” he retorts. And then he sobers. “I liked it here though.” Clarke rolls her eyes.
“You’re so dramatic. Just because you don’t work here doesn’t mean you’re never coming back. It’s a bar. After a hard day chasing down murdering motorcyclists I’m sure you’re going to want a beer occasionally,” Clarke replies, but he looks at her like she’s missed the point. She hopes in equal measure that there was a point to miss, and that there wasn’t.
“Yeah well, I’ll miss being here all time,” Bellamy says. Clarke smiles at him.
“I’ll miss you too,” Clarke tells him. “And the business you brought in by being a specimen. The ladies love you.” Bellamy snorts out a laugh and she grin, genuine.
“Right, well, formal notice. Last week. Hire another bouncer,” Bellamy tells her. Clarke rolls her eyes.
“Yes, had figured that out, thank you. But… do you have any recommendations?” Clarke asks. “I only found you because of Miller.” He looks at her strangely, and she wonders what he’s thinking. For all that it’s been six months, and for all that she’s seen him almost every day, she hasn’t learned him all the way yet, but she knows him better than she knows anyone else.
“I’ll think about it,” Bellamy tells her, and then he’s gone, and Clarke ignores the ache in her stomach.
Her mother sends balloons. Fucking balloons. They haven’t spoken in almost three months now, but facebook lets them know they’re both still alive. And Abby Griffin sends a balloon bouquet to the bar. It’s so far out of character for her that Clarke wonders if body snatching aliens are involved. She grabs the bouquet off the delivery guy brusquely, thanks him, and then tries to hide the monstrosity behind the crates of the last delivery. But it’s a Friday night, and everyone’s there, and by the time Clarke comes back out from behind the boxes, there are half a dozen people staring at her.
“What?” she demands, folding her arms across her body. Bellamy just blinks, trying to process, and Miller snorts at her defiance. Raven looks shell-shocked, Jasper keeps looking at everyone’s faces, trying to figure out how he’s meant to be responding, and Octavia looks downright amused.
“It’s your birthday,” Monty points out. Clarke lifts her chin slightly.
“And?” Clarke asks. She knows she’s being petulant, but she can’t help it.
“I quit on your birthday,” Bellamy says absently, and Miller snorts again. Clarke glares at Miller lightly, but she’s glad he’s there.
“You’ve been to five birthday brunches since you’ve lived here,” Octavia points out. “And yet somehow you decided not to have one?” Clarke shrugs. She’s not sure how to tell these people, her friends, how she wasn’t meant to have any here. That’s why she came. But no man is an island, and she gets that she’s probably hurting them with her isolationism.
“It never came up,” Clarke defends herself. Miller rolls his lips in together and Raven mutters something in Spanish under her breath. Monty covers his face with his hand.
“This is ridiculous. You’re a ridiculous person,” Octavia informs her. “Was there some sort of tragedy that happened on your birthday that you’re trying to forget?” Clarke sighs.
“No, just, you know… tragedies in general,” Clarke says vaguely.
“But that’s more reason to celebrate,” Bellamy says, stepping forward. “Life’s either a funeral dirge or a victory march.” There’s a lot of eye rolling, and Clarke knows his backstory, but he’s never heard hers. No one ever asked, and she never told. It seemed easier. Or rather, they’d kind of asked and she’d deflected. She sighs.
“Okay, it’s my birthday. Happy twenty eight earth orbits to me,” she says, sarcastic. “Can you get back to work now? I’m not paying you to stare at me.”
“We just what to know why you didn’t tell us,” Monty asks, sadly. And it’s Monty, and she got a soft spot for Monty because it’s not humanly possible to not have a soft spot for Monty. Then, of course, there’s the guilt. Clarke looks down at the floor, avoiding their eyes.
“I didn’t want it to matter,” Clarke admits. And then she looks up at them, smiling wryly. “But I guess it does. I just don’t really celebrate my birthday.”
“Well that’s just unacceptable,” Jasper informs her. “It’s an excuse for brunch. French toast. Hash browns. Seriously, Clarke. You made me miss brunch.” Clarke laughs, and so does everyone else, and she thinks that’s it. She calls and leaves her mother a voicemail, thanking her for the balloons, and everyone goes back to work.
Their liquor license ends at 1 AM on a Friday night, so they do last call at 12:45. Normally. But at midnight, Bellamy starts hustling people out, and Jasper seems to be telling people they’re closing early, and Miller, who should have gone home hours ago, calls her into the kitchen to talk about stock levels and possibly a menu change. She’s not stupid, she knows something is going on, but she’s honestly too tired and distracted to really register it. And then the sound system starts playing what appears to be the Marilyn Monroe version of ‘happy birthday’ and Miller is pulling her into the bar, and someone’s made a banner, and there are dorky party hats and an ice cream cake, and the whole group grinning at her like kids at Christmas. She stares vacantly, jaw ajar, just not quite sure how to process what’s happening in front of her.
“It’s not much,” Bellamy tells her, awkward. “But we didn’t have much time.” Clarke nods, licking her lips as she closes her mouth and she tries not to cry.
“It’s… amazing. You guys…,” she tries, but she can’t, and Jasper slings an arm around her as Harper passes her a drink.
“Happy birthday, Clarke,” Monty says. “Want some cake?” She nods, and remains kind of speechless as everyone tells her happy birthday and offers her drinks. Raven, Miller, and Jasper seem to be having some sort of worst dance off, and Octavia has challenged Monroe to a game of darts. Lincoln and Monty are talking about ways to infuse vodka with new flavours, and Bellamy slots in beside her.
“Was it okay?” Bellamy asks her softly. Clarke nods, watching the dance off.
“It’s probably the best thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she confesses. “I’ve never had a surprise party before. And I didn’t expect…” Bellamy nudges her with his shoulder as her voice trails off.
“Well you probably should have. We weren’t subtle. And we love you, Clarke. You’re family,” Bellamy explains. Clarke nods, and smiles, and tries not to cry again.
“Family,” she agrees, and she tries not to think about how the before-Clarke would have felt. Because it’s a moment, she realises. Before her first birthday party in Ark Falls, and after it. And they did this, for her.
Clarke seems to burn through bouncers after Bellamy. First there’s John Murphy, who seems to enjoy exacerbating fights. Then there’s Dax, who makes everyone uncomfortable. Anya is vicious and breaks a guy’s nose while ejecting him. Clarke wonders why Bellamy keeps sending her these people who are so wrong for her place, but Miller rolls his eyes and says he’ll talk to him about his jealousy issues and find someone he trusts to keep her safe. Which is how Lincoln stops patrolling the mall at night, and starts working in her bar instead. Clarke tries not to think about the fact that things got better after Miller talks about jealousy issues.
Bellamy loves being back on active, and it’s evident for all to see. He works shitty hours and complains all the time, but he never stops smiling. Octavia nags him about staying safe when they’re all together, and Raven says there’s no point in telling him that because he’s the world’s big brother. Bellamy pretends to be offended, but he knows it’s true and he just says that some people need protecting and the gang assholes are assholes. Clarke smiles fondly at all of them and pretends not to notice that Bellamy always finds a way to sit beside her. And honestly, not much happens. It’s a small town, and they’re just a small group of friends, and everything is normal, and it’s just life. For three months. And that’s when Bellamy gets shot.
Lincoln is the one who tells her. It’s five thirty in the evening on a Wednesday and she’s going over some orders before the dinner rush, and Lincoln comes barrelling into the store room. Clarke looks up at him, and she knows something is wrong straight away, just from the look on his face.
“Bellamy,” Lincoln says, and it’s enough. Clarke’s on her feet and her stomach drops away and the blood drains from her.
“How bad?” Clarke asks, and Lincoln just looks at her, and it’s enough.
“You’re coming with me,” Lincoln tells her. She nods, vacant, and Lincoln puts an arm around her and steers her out of the store room. He pauses at the kitchen.
“Bellamy’s been shot,” Lincoln says, and Miller stops what he’s doing, and his face hardens.
“Yo, Harper,” Miller calls out. “Dinner service is off tonight. We’ve got a family emergency. Call in Monroe. Jordan, let’s go.” Clarke knows she should be making some of these decisions, it’s her bar and her call about the dinner service and who is working and she really does need to do those orders but… the words “family emergency” echo around in her head because that’s exactly what they are, family, and that’s exactly what this is.
Clarke could not tell you who drove to the hospital, or who sat where, or how she ended up on the uncomfortable plastic chairs of the waiting room, sitting between Octavia and Miller.
“If he’s dead, I’m going to kill him,” Octavia says, vehement, and pretending that she’s not crying. Clarke swallows.
“He’s not dead,” Miller says. “He’s too stubborn.” Clarke’s been here before. Her father. Wells. The waiting. She’s never been here when someone’s walked out alive.
“I have to go,” she says, standing up. Because if she is a bad luck charm, she won’t be the reason Bellamy is dead.
“Where?” Miller asks, incredulous.
“What’s more important than my brother?” Octavia demands, fierce. Clarke shakes her head.
“I’m bad luck,” Clarke says, her voice sounding foreign to her. “My father. Wells. I… it’ll be my fault.” Miller grabs her wrist and pulls her back down into the chair.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he tells her. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to this family in a long time.”
“He’ll be sad you’re not here when he wakes up,” Monty tells her. But Clarke feels sick, and half an hour later when the surgeon comes out and can’t meet anyone’s eyes, Clarke knows exactly what’s happened. And she blames herself. She doesn’t even have to hear the words, and white noise rushes past her ears as she can see Octavia scream and sob, and Lincoln hold on to her, crushing her against him, his face an impassive mask, except the pain in his eyes. Miller grips her wrist, tight, and Clarke stares at the floor. Bellamy Blake is dead. Moment. Before and after. She wishes she’d told him she loved him.
The funeral is organised by police service, and it feels so wrong and impersonal. There’s a picture of an almost unsmiling Bellamy in his dress uniform, and wreaths of flowers. Octavia declines to speak, leaning against Lincoln, smaller that she’d ever seemed, wearing a black slip dress and flat shoes. Clarke had never seen her in a skirt, or out of her combat boots. Clarke’s sandwiched between Monty and Miller, and they’re packed into the first two rows, like they’re really his family, not just some adopted misfits. The church is full. Mainly with uniformed cops, and some of them look so young that they must have been the ones he called his. The captain speaks of Bellamy’s exemplary record, his care for his partners, his work within the community. Clarke thinks it should make it easier, feel less like it’s Bellamy’s funeral, but it doesn’t. It feels worse. She stares at the back of Octavia’s head, or her hands clasped in her lap, and wonders if she’s going to feel like she did at her surprise birthday part ever again.
They hold the wake at the bar. Octavia says it was Bellamy’s favourite place, and he loved Clarke, and he’d want it to be there. But Clarke feels sick making a profit off the drinks people are buying, but she can’t afford to give it away either. It’s wrong. And she doesn’t understand how this was Bellamy’s favourite place. Octavia breaks away from Lincoln part way through the night and grabs Clarke’s wrists in her hands, holding her gaze intently.
“You need to know that Bellamy loves you - loved you,” she says, fierce, and tears lingering in her eyes. “You need to know that.” Clarke nods, choked up.
“I loved him too,” Clarke replies and Octavia shakes her head.
“No, I mean he’s, was, in love with you. And he’s an idiot. And you need to know. Because… you love him too, right?” Octavia says, and it’s not how Clarke pictured this happening at all, or even… she knew, of course she knew she was a little in love with him. But… Clarke chokes on a sob as she nods and Octavia hugs her more tightly than she’s ever been hugged in her entire life.
“I’m never going to forgive him for this,” Octavia says into her hair. “And you shouldn’t either.” Clarke lets out a little laugh, because it’s ridiculous and mad and Octavia.
“I’ll never forget it,” Clarke promises. “But it’s a lot of work to not forgive.” Octavia is about to say something else, but she’s interrupted by the Captain coming over, thanking them for their sacrifice and talking about how great Bellamy was. Octavia drifts back to Lincoln after that, and Clarke can’t blame her, wanting that strength and love beside her. But Clarke’s not alone either. Miller hovers by her elbow, or Monty, or Jasper, even Raven. She’s never alone, and the stream of people coming up to her saying that she must be Clarke and Bellamy told them about her breaks her into a new piece each time. She’s in so many pieces she doesn’t know how she’s still standing. How she’s going to get out of bed tomorrow and work and pretend everything is normal.
She just wants to go home. And it’s really unfair that it’s only now that she’s figuring out ‘home’ isn’t with her Mother back in Phoenix, or her tiny cottage two blocks from the bar… Home’s got brown eyes, freckles, and a smile that always lets her in on the joke. But Home, is six feet in the ground, like her father, like Wells… all the men she’s ever truly loved and trusted. And she blames herself. For loving them, for being in the waiting room, for not guarding her heart better. And she hates and hates and hates that Octavia, who has more claim on him than she does, whose loss is greater than hers, is doing better than she is. Clarke knows if she leaves know that she won’t come back to Ark Falls. Not for a long time, if ever. And while all she wants to do is run away from everywhere she’d seen Bellamy’s face… he’d never forgive her for leaving their family like that, especially not now. So she puts on a brave face, hires another bartender so she doesn’t have to work front of house anymore, and gets on with it. Because that’s all you can do, isn’t it?
The friends that don’t work for her, still live in the bar. For weeks after. They knock off work and they come and sit in a corner booth. They play darts, and make each other laugh, and pretend that Bellamy not being there isn’t killing them. Octavia’s not there as much, and Clarke understands her need to deal with shit in her own way. But the others are there, sharing stories, some with Bellamy, some without. They have brunch three weeks after his death, because it’s Jasper’s birthday. And for a moment they all forget that Bellamy’s gone. Clarke’s laughing so hard there are tears on her face, and Jasper’s wearing the most ridiculous birthday hat, Octavia is propping herself up on Lincoln, and Raven’s thumping the table with her hand. And then, one by one, they remember, and look around guiltily. Octavia sighs.
“He wouldn’t want us to be like this,” she says. “And can you imagine what he’d say if he saw that hat?” And then they’re laughing again and things are normal. But Clarke feels the pit in her stomach.
The next week, Raven brings someone to the bar. Her boyfriend, she announces, defensive, as if someone’s going to fight her about it. Miller raises an eyebrow, and then a glass to the guy.
“Nice to meet you, man,” Miller says. And the guy raises a glass back, grinning. Raven leans against the bar beside Clarke as Miller and her boyfriend (Wick, she’d explained later) played darts.
“Life’s short, you know?” Raven says. “I kept thinking I’d be ready later, or… I don’t know. My love life is a train wreck. But life’s too short not to live it. Bell… he’d been telling me to move on for ages and then… I don’t know.” Clarke nods, slowly.
“Life’s too short,” she agrees. And then, “‘Gotta get to livin’ while the livin’s good’. My dad used to say that.” Raven looks at her.
“You never talk about him. Or before,” Raven says. “Not that I’m prying. It’s just… you don’t.” Clarke nods.
“I wanted this to be a fresh start. But… I don’t know. Wherever you go you take you with you,” Clarke says, which is something Wells used to say, and she’s know idea why she’s saying this stuff now, or to Raven.
“That is some philosophical shit,” Raven replies. “But I don’t think you get fresh starts. You just kind of guide the road.” Clarke smiles.
“Yeah. Well. I didn’t plan on all of you,” Clarke tells her. Raven laughs.
“You don’t plan on family,” Raven agrees. “They just kind of find you. You were doomed from the second you hired the first two.” Clarke laughs, because she’s right, and it’s not fair, and it’s funny and cruel.
“He really did love you, you know. We used to give him so much shit about his crush on you,” Raven says, her voice low and confessional. Clarke looks at her, kind of startled. She’d figured that Octavia had known because she was Octavia. But everyone knew? “At first he thought it would be weird to ask out his boss, and then we’re all family and he couldn’t find a good excuse.” Clarke huffs a laugh, because that was so Bellamy. Big brothering himself out of getting where he was going.
“I would have said yes, if he’d asked,” Clarke confesses. Raven nods.
“It’s why I finally said yes,” Raven agrees, gesturing at Wick. “I think he’ll be okay though.” Miller and Wick are laughing together and Clarke smiles and agrees.
After the fifth week, Clarke’s able to be front of house a little more, and she doesn’t feel like each smile is a betrayal. Octavia’s around a little more again, and the quality of Miller’s cooking has gone back up too. It’s like they’re balancing out, finding that new normal. And Clarke feels like there’s always going to be a before she met Bellamy Blake, and an after. But that she can live with it, with what she learned, and who she’s becoming, and who she wants to be. She’s still sad and pathetically stalks his facebook on occasion to see pictures of him laughing, often with an arm slung around her neck. She doesn’t read the memorial wall posts anymore. She thinks she’s going to be okay. Which is why when Octavia bounces up to the bar and jumps so high she almost sits on it, Clarke snorts out a laugh and gives her a look of disbelief.
“You can calm down if you like,” Clarke suggests, handing the drinks she was mixing over to the customer and taking their money.
“I can’t because I can finally tell you!” Octavia announces. Clarke rings up the sale on the register.
“Tell me what? Did Lincoln finally propose?” Clarke asks. She collects the change out of the cash drawer and closes it with her hip.
“Bellamy’s coming home tomorrow,” Octavia says with glee and Clarke freezes, looking at her, change in hand and customer waiting. She can’t even think.
“He’s dead,” Clarke says, her voice sounding empty and flat. Octavia shakes her head.
“It was fake for work. Something about him knowing something about gun running and if he was dead they could go ahead with it and they did and the bad guys are in jail and Bellamy’s coming home,” Octavia speaks quickly, her words rushing together with glee, and Jasper’s come up behind Clarke, and Miller’s come out of the kitchen.
“Can I have my change please?” the customer asks. Clarke starts, shaking her head and hands it over.
“Sorry,” she says. “There you go.” And then she turns back to Octavia.
“What the fuck?” Miller asks, but it’s really more an expression of disbelief and Clarke feels like she’s going to have to call the psych registrar to get Octavia put away.
“Bellamy’s alive,” Octavia says, slowly this time, like she’s speaking to idiots. “And he’s coming home.”
“There was a funeral and a wake,” Jasper says. “I cried. We mourned.” Octavia nods, slightly apologetic.
“I couldn’t tell anyone, even Lincoln. For security reasons, but I so badly wanted to. And now I can,” Octavia explains.
“What the fuck?” Miller says again. Clarke just stands there, vacantly. It’s the kind of thing she used to dream would happen with her father or Wells, that they’d still be alive and there was a mix up at the hospital and amnesia. But now it’s happening, she feels like she can’t breathe, and she’s the wrong shape for her skin, and nothing is real.
“Why aren’t you guys happy? I thought you’d be happy?” Octavia complains.
“You just told us Bellamy’s been alive this whole time. We kind of need a minute to adjust to the new world order,” Miller tells her, like he’s telling her off. And Clarke swallows thickly. It’s slowly starting to sink in around the edges. Bellamy’s alive. And Octavia told her that he was in love with her. And Raven. And he’s done this to her, this five weeks of what ifs and might have beens and agony. And now she was expected to run into his arms, joyous he was still breathing?
“No,” Clarke says quietly. All heads turn to her. “No,” she repeats. “This isn’t happening.”
“Are you okay?” Miller asks quietly, stepping forward, and Clarke shakes her head, and then looks at Octavia.
“You said you wouldn’t forgive him. This is what you meant,” she says, dots clicking into place. Octavia nods, grinning. “And I said I would. But… how could he do this to us?”
“He’s the world’s big brother,” Miller reminds her. “He saved lives and he knew he’d be coming back to us. He did the right thing.” Clarke takes some heavy breaths.
“Asshole,” Clarke exhales. “Motherfucking asshole.”
“Are we throwing him a welcome home party?” Jasper asks. And Octavia grins like the cat that’s got the cream. And a party starts to get planned around her, in her bar, but Clarke doesn’t say anything. Instead, she disappears back out into the storeroom and wonders if she’s going to be able to bring herself to attend.
The party is scheduled for later that evening, because his plane is meant to get in at six. So they put up signs saying they are closing the bar early for personal reasons, and no one seems to mind. They’re re-using the ‘happy birthday’ banner from Clarke’s birthday because, Jasper reasons, it’s like his new birthday, coming back to life and everyone thinks it ridiculous and loves it. At five thirty, Clarke announces she’s going home. Ostensibly, it’s to get changed for the party, have a shower. But she doesn’t do that normally, just hanging around in her work clothes and pretending she doesn’t smell like stale beer. There’s a few knowing smiles, like she’s dressing up for Bellamy and tonight’s the night they’re going to get together and the family will be reunited. But she’s really going home to watch Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels and yell at the television and eat premade cookie dough raw. She knows she’s not the only one Bellamy hurt, or the only one that missed him. She’s not the only with trauma and death in her past. But this is how she’s dealing with hers, and if they want to have a party, fine, but she’s not going. She’ll see him later, and yell at him, and see how it goes. And by that she doesn’t mean ‘hook up’, she means if she stays friends. Because when it all comes down to it, her overriding emotion isn’t joy that he’s alive, it’s betrayal.
Bellamy Blake is on her doorstep when she gets home. She stops in the drive and stares at him, sitting on the steps until he looks up and notices her. He gives her this sheepish smile and rubs the back of his neck and she wants to punch him.
“You’re not smiling,” Bellamy says. “Aren’t you glad I’m alive?” Clarke narrows her eyes, and Bellamy knows exactly what he’s doing, because he’s grinning and she really, really wants to punch him.
“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” Clarke snaps. “I’d be glad you were alive if you’d never died. But you’re dead. Ergo, you’re a ghost and who wants to be haunted?” She’s kind of impressed with that line on the fly, but Bellamy just keeps grinning.
“Yeah? And what would you say to my ghost?” Bellamy asks, walking towards her. “Because I’ve heard some things.” Clarke rolls her eyes and scowls and the fucking traitors.
“You were dead. Everyone was saying nice things,” Clarke defends herself stubbornly. Bellamy presses his lips together.
“Clarke, I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry and I love you. You’re kind of meant to make it easier. You know, play along,” Bellamy points out, but Clarke shakes her head.
“You weren’t meant to be dead and shit I said in confidence after your death shouldn’t have been repeated,” Clarke returns. “And, honestly? We’re not having a conversation about love right now. We’re having a conversation about how angry I am that you were alive and I fucking mourned you. About how I blamed myself because all the men I love die while I sit in plastic chairs in waiting rooms. About how hurt and confused I am that everyone’s telling me how much you loved me when you never had the balls to do it yourself.” Bellamy sighs.
“I’m sorry, Clarke, I really am. But I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to. I asked to. But it’s immediate family and significant others, and you weren’t either,” Bellamy explains. “I wanted you to be, but you weren’t.” Clarke looks away, swallowing the lump in her throat. “And it hasn’t exactly been easy for me, hearing from Octavia how broken you were.” Clarke glares back at him at that.
“Oh, I’m sorry hearing that I was sad was hard for you,” she scowls. “We fucking mourned you, asshole.” Bellamy sighs again.
“I came here first,” Bellamy tells her. “Because I had to see you. Had to do this bit just you and me before the party.” Clarke looks at him, and the bitterness fades a little; melts just enough that she lets it sink in that he’s actually alive and standing in front of her and she can say all the things she wished she could, that they get the chance to do all the things she thought they missed out on.
“You’re the world’s big brother, Bellamy Blake,” Clarke says, quoting Miller. “I forgive you. But I’m still angry.” Bellamy slouches with relief, and she can hear his exhale.
“Thank god,” he breathes out. “You had me worried there for a minute.” Clarke raises her eyebrows.
“A minute? You had me worried for five fucking weeks!” Clarke yells, and then she does actually punch him, and he stumbles back. “Asshole. And to think I was in love with you.” Clarke brushes past him to her front door, but he catches her wrist and pulls her back.
“Was in love with me?” Bellamy asks. “As in no longer in love with me?” Clarke glares at him.
“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. You were… I’m going to need some time to adjust,” Clarke says in the end. “I was in love with you, you died, I was dealing, but you’re not dead. And it doesn’t make everything all right.” Bellamy nods.
“It was the thing I promised myself I’d do first, when I got back,” Bellamy confesses. “Tell you how I felt. Life’s short.” Clarke snorts, and he grins, and things are normal.
“Alright. Get lost and I’ll see you at your stupid party,” Clarke tells him. “We’re friends again.” Bellamy grins.
“But I’ve got a shot, right? At… you. Being with you, I mean,” Bellamy says, the most awkward she’s ever seen him and it’s stupidly endearing and she laughs.
“I think so,” Clarke tells him. “But not yet. Be alive for a little longer first and we’ll see.” Bellamy grins again, kisses her cheek and swaggers off down the street towards the bar. Clarke watches him go for a moment and wonders what she sees in him even though she knows the answer is everything.
Bellamy’s patient, and waits for her. Of course, he doesn’t just wait. He is at the bar every night, and he asks every now and then if he gets to kiss her yet. Clarke always shoves him and scowls and tells him to wait. She tells him it’s creepy, he’s only a month old, and he rolls his eyes and complains to Jasper about her cruelty. But he gets it, she knows. Why she has to wait, why she wants to figure it out.
“It’ll be worth it, when it happens,” she tells Raven one night. The boys are re-enacting a bicycle crash from Le Tour de France. “But I don’t want it to be out of relief he’s alive, you know? It’s too important to fuck up.” Raven rolls her eyes.
“I’m not going to say he won’t wait forever, because he probably will. He’s a disaster. But at some point you need to stop punishing him for doing his job,” Raven tells her. “He came back, he apologised, and he’s been patient. Seriously. What are you waiting for?” And that’s when Clarke realises she doesn’t know.
Bellamy finds her after everyone has gone home, and she’s sitting at the bar, sipping on a lemonade. He sits in the seat behind her.
“Want me to walk you home?” he asks, because he’s Bellamy and he cares and he knows she never drives to work because it’s literally two blocks. She normally flips him off or tells him she can take care of herself. But tonight she takes his hand and laces her fingers between his and smiles at him, shyer than she imagined.
“I’d like that,” she says softly. He looks at her like he’s not sure this is really happening and his brain takes a moment to catch up.
“Ready to say yes to another question?” he asks her, hope in his eyes, and Clarke smiles.
“Maybe,” she tells him.
As they walk, Clarke tells him everything. About her father, about Wells. About why she came to Ark Falls, and about how she was so scared to start a real life here. Bellamy listens and says all the right things, the things her mother couldn’t even work out to say, and he holds her hand the entire time. When they reach her front path she turns, keeping their hands joined but standing in front of him.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and then she presses herself up on her toes and kisses him, brushing her lips gently against his. He lets go of her hand so he can rest both hands on her hips.
“Can I?” he asks her. “Are you ready?” Clarke smiles at him.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” Clarke says, and he holds her against him and kisses her with the kind of intensity she’d read about in books.
“I’m keeping you,” Bellamy tells her when they’ve made it to her front door and she’s got it open. He keeps saying he’s going, but he keeps kissing her, and she keeps laughing and kissing him back. Clarke looks at him, and he’s serious and he means it, and it’s a lot. But she smiles.
“I’m keeping you too,” Clarke tells him. And she does.
It’s another moment, she thinks, but it’s one she’s already got. The story’s just going to be different. Because there’s still before Ark Falls, and after, and before Bellamy Blake, and after. But after… well. She kind of likes the new after.