Clarke watched the exit signs grow farther and farther apart as she made the once-familiar drive back to her hometown in Southern Georgia. Clarke knew the route like the back of her hand from the countless road trips her family had taken when she was a child. Clarke's parents had instilled a love of travel in their daughter from an early age, and they had driven across the country in the attempt to visit all fifty states. With a pang of sadness that always accompanied her childhood memories, Clarke realized it had been nearly nine years since she had rumbled down these country roads.
Clarke and her mother, the esteemed Dr. Abby Griffin, had spent several years after Clarke's graduation from high school on rocky terms. The long stretches of radio silence between the two women were only punctuated by short, terse phone calls on special occasions – Clarke's birthday and Jesus's. After her father's death during her senior year, Clarke was broken. Jake Griffin and his daughter were as thick as thieves, and the sudden car accident had left Clarke feeling broken and alone. Abby tried her best to help her daughter mourn, but her own grief for her husband forced her to bury herself in her work. Clarke's bitterness at her mother's somewhat disappearance led Clarke to put her dreams of college and medical school on hold and go to Africa for a year-long program, which only served to widen the gap between them. The two stubborn women refused to admit that they both just missed each other, and it took extreme circumstances to bring them back together. After the incident, Clarke felt as if she had lost everyone, and there was only one person she could turn to. Clarke had sat on the floor of her apartment at Johns Hopkins with silent tears running down her face for two hours before finally dialing her mother's number. After a long and tearful reconciliation, Clarke had packed up her apartment and hit the road by dawn.
Remembering the shambles of the life she was leaving behind in Baltimore, Clarke unconsciously sped up. The dust billowing behind Clarke's ten-year-old Honda CR-V created a dense haze that blocked out most of her rearview window. Suddenly, Clarke could make out swirling blue lights peeking through. Glancing down at the 90 MPH mocking her from the speedometer, Clarke let out a curse and quickly drifted off to the right of the road. Shit, shit, shit! The last freaking thing I need right now is a ticket! Clarke drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as the cop slowly exited his car and began striding toward her. Feeling like a gazelle being stalked by a lion in the middle of Africa, Clarke ran through excuses, arguments, and likely scenarios she could employ to avoid punishment. Family emergency? No- too small of a town. He'd know my family. Broken speedometer? Come on, Griffin. Like that one's ever worked. The officer was just feet away and Clarke analyzed him in her side view mirror, trying to figure out the best plan of attack. Noticing the young, and incredibly hot (if she was being honest with herself), features of the cop, Clarke swallowed her pride, adjusted her shirt, and put on her best "hot blonde" face. Duty calls. The cop finally stood next to her open window and crossed his arms. Holy shit. He's hot and ripped!
"Ma'am, do you know how fast you were going?" the officer asked Clarke with a disapproving tone and facial expression to match.
"Um… Too fast?" Clarke let out an uncharacteristic giggle. God, Clarke. Eight years of prestigious collegiate education and this is how you use it. She rambled on. "You see, officer, I was just—Bellamy?!" In an instant, the act was dropped, and Clarke was left gaping at the now recognizable man from her past.
Bellamy stared blankly at the gorgeous woman in front of him trying to figure out how they knew each other. One of Octavia's friends? No. Someone from in town? Nah, Baltimore tag. Oh, shit. Have I slept with her? Finally, memories of swing sets and backyard barbecues and sleepovers poured through his conscious. "Oh my god! Clarke? What the hell are you doing here?" Bellamy forgot about the fact that he was supposed to be ticketing the idiot driver who was going 35 over the limit, and instead tried to remember the last time he had laid eyes on the one and only Clarke Griffin. God, she's even more beautiful than she was nine years ago.
"Me? What the hell are you doing here? How in the world does the bad boy of ARK high school become a cop?" Clarke's eyes roamed over the man in front of her and tried to match the image with her best friend's cocky, douchebag older brother who tormented her throughout high school. Tried, and failed.
Bellamy let out a soft chuckle and rubbed his hand through his dark tousled hair, exposing more muscle as he did so. "Well, it's kind of a long story…" A blue pickup truck drove by, covering the pair in a cloud of dust and causing them both to have a sudden coughing fit. Once recovered, Bellamy continued, "…and this is hardly the place to have it. But, I'll tell you what, I'll let you off the hook for driving like a complete moron…" At this, Bellamy gave Clarke a pointed look, to which she gave an indignant huff. "…and in exchange, you have to get a drink with me." Bellamy gave Clarke his signature smirk. Please say yes, please say yes, please say-
"You're kidding, right?" Clarke rolled her eyes at the immature display in front of her, forgetting that she was trying to avoid getting arrested, not do her best to ensure it. "Here I was thinking you had somehow gained an ounce of maturity, but it looks like you're just as cocky as you were nine years ago! In case you don't remember, we weren't exactly pals in high school." Who does he think he is? He doesn't get to be a complete jackass for years, and then just ask me out and act like everything is fine!
Bellamy's heart plummeted. You idiot! Of course she still hates you. You only ruined her life for four years. Before Clarke could notice his moment of vulnerability, though, he switched back into his cocky façade. Bellamy widened his smirk. "Don't get your panties in a wad, Princess. I'm just messing with you." Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. "Look, I'm not going to give you a ticket, but if I see you drag racing against yourself again, I might have to take you downtown." With a wink, Bellamy was strolling back to his squad car and speeding away.
Blood boiling, Clarke brought her car roaring to life and continued down the dirt road, paying slightly more attention to her speed than before. As she drove, she couldn't help but analyze every word spoken between her and the eldest Blake. He almost seemed genuine for a moment… Then he had to ruin it.
In middle school, Clarke had possessed the biggest crush on Octavia's older brother. The tall, dark, and handsome Bellamy Blake had the power to turn the brilliant and mature Clarke Griffin into some silly, love struck girl. For three years, Clarke pined after Bellamy, always willing to ignore his bad boy demeanor because she knew the kind and sensible man underneath. Or so she had thought. Upon entering high school, Clarke began to lose faith that Bellamy still possessed such character, what with his constant teasing, pranking, and infuriating nicknames – "Princess" was the worst one of all. It seemed to Clarke as if tormenting her was Bellamy's personal mission, and he was great at it, always able to push just the right buttons and hit her where she was most vulnerable. Clarke's love for Bellamy quickly turned to hate, and the doe-eyed glances and dreams of future romance were replaced by shouting matches and plans for where she could dispose of his body.
Yes, Bellamy Blake had been an integral part of her childhood and teenage years, and though she had managed to ignore him for nine years, he was suddenly a very real part of her life again. Especially with those ab- NORMALLY annoying smirks. Which are NOT sexy. At all. Nope. You do not find him, or his muscles, or his hair, or his as- OTHER well-proportioned body parts attractive, do you, Clarke? Distracted by her inner monologue, Clarke barely registered that she had pulled into the driveway of her childhood home. She was pulled from her thoughts as she stared at the simple, light blue house. Memories seemed to dance in front of her: Clarke's father teaching her how to ride a bike, her mother sitting on the porch with a glass of lemonade and a first-aid kit; Octavia and Clarke lounging on a huge blanket with their favorite books and smiles on their faces; Clarke giggling as she pelted a young Bellamy Blake in the face with her first snowball. Blinking away tears, Clarke took a deep breath and got out of the car, slowly making her way up to the front door. Before she could even reach the front step, though, the wooden door burst open and Abby barreled into her daughter, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Gravity finally got the best of Clarke's unshed tears, and the women continued to hold each other tightly as if they were afraid they would wake up from a dream if they let go. Finally, Abby released her daughter and beamed at her.
"Clarke, sweetie, I am so glad you're home."
"Me too, mom. Me too."
