For some reason I really like the idea of Bellamy being the owner of
A bar? Also really feeling the one-shots lately,
But I appreciate any and all feedback ya'll give!
Do you like it? Why or why not?
It's 2 in the morning and Clarke is on the subway heading home after an extremely long day at the hospital. Being the on call resident in a trauma hospital is a grueling job. She leans against the window and vaguely sends out a silent prayer that no one puked on this window today. To be honest though, she's so tired she doesn't even care. If someone did puke on this window it wouldn't be the worst bodily fluid she'd had on her all day.
"Hey baby, long day?" A thick voice drawls out across the aisle, Clarke sits up quickly and her eyes land on a thick man with a beard sitting much closer to her than she felt comfortable. It is only her, this man, and a sleeping form at the other end in the car. "I bet I could help take the edge off," he slurs out, clearly drunk. Clarke's back is rigid and her fight or flight instincts are kicking in as she moves to grab the mace in her pocket. Closing her eyes in disbelief she wraps her fingers around the only thing in her pocket; her apartment keys. Turns out she left the mace either at the hospital in her locker or sitting on the small table that she empties her pockets onto every night by her front door. She clenches her hand around the key as the man stands up and moves towards her as the car shudders to a halt. If push comes to shove she's sure she can at least gouge an eye out with her key.
"Why don't we get off here and I show you a good time."
"No thank you," she answers tartly, her voice sounding much stronger than she feels. Her heart is beating so hard she's surprised it hasn't leapt out of her throat.
"That isn't very polite," the man drawls out, taking the seat opposite her and leering over at her. Despite herself she can't help but stare defiantly back at him.
"I'm not a very polite person," she fires back at him; her voice shakes and the man smiles threateningly at her. The train comes to a stop and with a glance out the window she reads the signs. She's still far from her stop but she stands anyways, deciding maybe she'll just wait for the next train instead of sitting on this one with this creepy man. But as she moves to step around him he reaches out and grabs her wrist.
"I'm not done talking, sweetheart." She tries to yank her arm away in vain and when the man only tightens his grip she swings out with her right hand and, with the keys still gripped tightly in between her fingers, she catches him across the cheek. He lets out a loud, angry roar and shoves her away from him and into the wall behind her. She is vaguely aware of the pain in both her knuckles and in her shoulder blade as the man advances on her, holding her up against the car wall. She feels the train lurch forward as it begins moving again and when she looks back to the end of the car she notices the other person that had been sleeping is gone. Angry tears sprang to her eyes as she blames them for not helping her out in this situation. "I said," he drawls out slowly, his face is mere centimeters from hers and the alcohol on his breath is so heavy it makes her head spin. "I'm not done talking."
"I think the lady is done talking to you," a voice replies coolly directly behind Clarke's adversary. "You should probably let go of her." The large man releases Clarke and turns around. Much to her relief, Clarke realizes that the person that had been sleeping at the other end had not, in fact, left her. He was standing against a pole, glancing nonchalantly over at the pair.
"You should probably mind your own business," the man puffs out his chest and steps towards the younger dark haired guy still leaning against the pole very composed and at ease.
"I will only ask nicely one more time. Leave her alone and go sit down," though he is speaking in a calm manner Clarke can still hear an edge to his voice. Clarke's attacker, however, seems to miss this and laughs loudly as he takes another step towards him.
The next scene unfolds so quickly that Clarke barely has time to register what is happening before the drunk man is lying face down in the car with blood pouring from his nose and lip. She looks to the dark haired guy standing over the drunk and blinks, amazed.
"Thank you," she breathes. The guy nods at her, his chest heaving as he steps towards her. "Your face…" She says vaguely, pointing at his reddening cheek and split lip.
"My face," he says slowly. "Is fine. Are you okay?" He asks, reaching out and grabbing her hand. She recoils and, unlike the drunk, he releases her hand and raises his own. "Hey, just wanna see if you broke it." He holds his hand out expectantly and after a short beat she places her own back in his. "Does it hurt if I touch here?" Yes, she winces and he moves his fingers tenderly up her hand and finally says in conclusion, "I don't think it's broken. You should probably see a doctor just in case though."
"I am a doctor," she says dumbly, pointing at her scrubs. He smiles gently at her and nods.
"Right," the train comes to a halt and, taking her by the elbow he steers her towards the door.
"This isn't my stop," she points out nervously, following him off the car.
"I just assume it's best if we're not found in the same car as him, he'll be up soon anyhow I'm sure." The car door's slide shut behind her and before she can protest the train is pulling quickly away from them. "Do you have a friend you could call to come pick you up?"
"I don't… I don't have my cell phone," she answers quickly. Up until tonight she's never had a reason to take it to work with her. For starters they're not supposed to have their phones on them at work and besides that the only person she'd need to contact would be her roommate and again, she's never had a reason to do so. He hands her his phone silently and she quickly dials out Raven's number.
The phone rings five times and then her voicemail picks up. Instead of leaving a message, Clarke hangs the phone up and hands it back to its owner.
"It's okay; I can just walk home from here." She glances up at the street signs and notes that she's really only about twenty minutes from her street.
"Yeah right," he snorts. "I can walk you home."
"That's really not-"
"Look this will just save us both a lot of time if you don't argue." She can't help it, she smiles.
"Fine," and she heads off towards her building.
"I'm Bellamy, by the way. And sorry I didn't step in earlier. It was a long night at the bar." He runs his hand through his unkempt curls and smiles wearily down at her.
"No, I appreciate what you did.. I'm Clarke," she says. Silence falls around them and as they near her street the wind picks up significantly; turning the decent night into a chilly one. "So you're a bartender?" She asks, pulling her jacket collar further up her neck.
"Yep, I own the bar, actually. It's just a few miles from here, actually."
"The Rabbit Hole?" He smiles and nods.
"That's the one." They come to a stop in front of Clarke's building and she stops and stares up at him awkwardly.
"Well, this is me. Thanks again, for knocking that guy out. And walking me home."
"Not a problem." Clarke nods and glances back up at her apartment building.
"You know, if it isn't too late for you, I have some coffee upstairs I can make for you; as a thank you." Bellamy grins at her.
"That really does sound great, but I'm afraid if I don't turn up at home sometime soon my sister might send out a search party for me. Some other time though?" Clarke nods. "Wonderful. And since you don't have your phone on you, because you're a crazy person, here's my number." And he takes out a pen from his pocket and jots his number down on the inside of Clarke's forearm. With a wink and a quick, "Good night, Dr. Clarke," Bellamy disappears into the dark, leaving Clarke staring after him with a giddy feeling in her chest.