Notes:
This is the first fanfiction ever I wrote in canon verse!
All mistakes are mine.
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Bellamy is so immersed in the pile of clothing lying around on the table in front of him - mostly socks and a light camisole he's volunteered to patch - that he doesn't even notice when Chancellor Kane enters his quarters that afternoon.
"Bellamy," Kane announces his presence by clearing his throat. Looking at his current demeanor, though, - an odd dance between his usual reserved, peaceful stance and shifting his weight from one leg to the other - Kane must have been standing in the doorway for a while.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks.
He sounds a bit off, which - coupled with his weird dance moves - is indeed very much un-Kane-like.
"I - ah - yes, of course," he settles on saying, letting the soft fabric slip through his fingers whilst he's placing the needle on the big magnet that Raven had smuggled out for him from her lab. He straightens his back and starts to rise to his feet but Kane hushes him before he can stand.
"No, it isn't necessary," he says. "It will only take a minute of your time," he claims, and then "maybe a little more."
Kane is not exactly looking at him, his eyes are clearly focused on the small mountain of garments piling on his desk.
Not soon later, though, he cocks his head, just enough to meet him in the eye. He doesn't say anything for a while, as if to gather his courage for whatever it is he's come to share. But it takes another long moment to pass before he clears his throat and finds his voice once again.
"I can see you're busy, " Kane tells him, rather emotionless.
"It's okay, sir," Bellamy responds, aiming to show up a smile.
"Son," Kane starts," like I said - there's something I wanted to talk to you about."
For all stoic and determined that Kane usually is, he sounds embarrassed.
Bellamy wasn't really all that worried before, but maybe it's the odd stutter in the chancellor's voice, or maybe that the older man is looking at him with a force that could set his hair on fire. All that, plus the fact that he's still seated behind the desk, in the middle of something, that - by any measure - still counts on the ground as 'fixing underwear'. Or that Kane is very much over-towering his seated form, like a father figure he'd never had. Now that - that's what puts him on edge.
And that is the moment his palms are starting to sweat.
But it's not until another prolonged minute later, when Kane actually starts speaking again.
"Clarke is technically like a daughter to me. The wedding is just two shy days away, it's almost official."
"Oh-kay," he tries carefully, eyebrows slightly furrowed, waiting for Kane to elaborate.
And he doesn't.
His mouth is suddenly all dry like sandpaper and he has to swallow, then clear his own throat, twice, before he can ask for an explanation.
His voice is still careful, he doesn't trust it, but he tries: "What can I do for you, Sir?"
"Like I said, Clarke's like a daughter to me," says Kane. "So I have to ask - what are your intentions with my daughter?" he asks, with a level of decorum and steadiness in his voice that it's hard to believe it is the same man who was almost kicking the threshold to his quarters with the tip of his boots in his nervousness a few minutes ago. Which, now rather seems like something that'd happened yesterday, if not a week ago.
His stomach drops. He hasn't expected this from Kane, of all.
"Sir," Bellamy starts, wetting his lips. His voice is still careful, he still doesn't trust it, and he is right not to trust it. His palms are getting really sweaty and clammy by the minute, which is a telltale sign of his growing nerves. And, he still doesn't know what exactly he's going to say, that is.
"I don't know what you're talking about—" he settles on saying, and starts to put together an argument in his head, but is promptly cut off by Kane's deep voice.
"I think you do."
There's absolutely no trace of Kane's earlier embarrassment left anymore. He's using his chancellor voice, for one, looking at him rather pointedly - and that's how he knows this is real and Kane is serious.
The truth is - he doesn't know.
He does know what Clarke means to him, per se, but he hasn't decided what to do about it. Or, if he is going to do anything about it. Yet.
"Sir, I —" he stutters, but he's interrupted by Kane once again.
"Bellamy, just think about it, okay?" he drops his head and takes a step closer then another until he reaches his desk. "If you care to take an advice from an old man with a greying beard- " Kane starts, and lets himself a crooked, barely there smile spread across his face at his own joke. At the same time, he's steading his hands on the table, shifting his weight and lowering his voice for Bellamy's ears to be the only ones to hear - like he's about to whisper a secret. "I'd recommend to act on it," he tells him.
Maybe it's the soothing baritone of Kane's voice, maybe it is his over-towering form, maybe it's the raised eyebrows and the pleading quality of his eyes, but for a happy moment there he feels like a little boy again, whose hopes hadn't been crushed by the ARK's cold reality.
His lips are slightly parted, and he doesn't exactly remember how and when the soft material he was grabbing is back in his hands again, but it is definitely there. His fingers tighten around it, balling it into a crumpled mess.
Abby walks in on them then; her hurried footsteps signalling her arrival and breaking the silence of the room. Her determined steps are eerily resembling to the way Clarke is storming into places, when she's in a hurry, Bellamy thinks. Which is - most of the time and the thought coaxes a small smile around the corner of his mouth.
Abby's eyes are still fierce, no matter the prospect of a better future they'd fought to keep for so hard, but he also notices there something else. Her eyes are positively sparkling, and she's lost that emotionless edge to her face she'd used to wear before — well, before they'd gotten Clarke back.
Kane takes a step back, which pulls Bellamy out of his reverie. Abby halts to a stop at Kane's side, her flailing brown hair coming to a stop around her shoulders with her body, and she links her fingers together with Kane's.
She only glances briefly at Bellamy before looking at his hands still laying on the table, like she's thinking about something very hard and then back at his face. Her lips are quirked into a soft smile, and she shakes her head, infinitesimally.
"Bellamy," she nods quickly as a way of greeting. "Do you mind if I steal Marcus back? There's something we need to discuss as a matter of urgency."
And then: "I think, Clarke is on her way to pick you up."
They leave eventually, and as they leave Kane is throwing a look over his shoulder. "Sooner rather than later, son. We never know when the world is going to end again," he calls back.
"Okay," Bellamy breaths, although Kane and Abby are already gone and cannot hear his whispered response.
He exhales then inhales slowly, stretching his arms a little, like the conversation was straining his muscles beyond his limits and he needs the exercise for avoiding muscle-cramps.
He takes another deep breath and that's when a familiar scent reaches his nose. He would remember the scent anywhere.
It's Clarke's.
It's a bit like the early morning dew and the dandelion they'd found after the first rain, but there's something peculiar about it, something that is distinctly hers.
The same scent that's been lingering in her hair and on her skin, the scent he's got familiar well enough while breathing her in.
She smells like warmth and home.
He only remembers then, that he's grabbed a fabric somewhere around the time Kane was asking him about his intentions with Clarke. He dares a peek: the fabric in his hand is one of Clarke's - that explains the odd looks and Abby's smile. It's the thin, soft, deep blue camisole with a thin lace trimming, just one of the things among the batch of socks - the one thing Clarke had asked him to patch where it started to loosen around the edges and he'd promised her to fix.
A rush of heat, thankfully too late for anyone to notice, spreads all over his face.
"Great," he murmurs, dropping his head to the table, letting go of the camisole.
He's so overwhelmed with the smell he doesn't notice when Clarke steps into the room later.
But Clarke walks in, and a soft hand on his shoulders what makes him alert and straighten up. She greets him with a smile that makes his head feel lighter and his heart thump in a madly rhythm, from no more than her proximity.
"Are you ready?" She beams at him, her hair finally back to that sunlight colour he'd got to see her for the first time all those gruesome months ago — having lost the remaining shades of that pinkish fading red.
He ducks his head, willing his heart rate to slow back down to it's easy, normal thumping, or at least slow enough to make his voice sound less wobbly and more like his.
Yeah, soon, he thinks, rising to his feet as he returns her smile with one his own.
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End Notes:
If anyone interested -
I picked dandelion because it's yellow (energetic), although it's technically a weed, but also an edible weed, with medicinal properties, and might be just a teeny bit toxic if you are not careful enough. Anyway, yellow flowers remind me of spring and new beginnings. So that's why.
COMMENTS would be nice. Thanks!