Smutty verson of this can be found on my a03 account! Just to be safe :)
Hey mom, just got to Chicago! Going to be leaving-
Hope the weather is nice there, mom, because I'm on my-
Airport food is so gross, yuck! Haha. Well, I'm on the start of my-
Clarke sat on the uncomfortable row of connected metal chairs, signing into her hands as she deleted every start of a message. Her fingers hovered above the keypad of her iPhone, willing a message to come out that didn't sound totally forced or fake.
She closed the app, checking the time. Still four more hours until her flight left. Half-heartedly, Clarke glanced around at the people milling near the first gate she'd found. Her own flight, a direct from Chicago to Paris, hadn't been assigned yet. The gate she was sitting at claimed to be on its way to Milan, and admittedly a part of Clarke wished she was going there instead.
Clarke pursed her lips, quietly slipping the phone between her palms as she curled her feet more protectively around her gigantic carry-on bag, wishing desperately for a companion on this trip. She'd flown internationally before, but never alone. She was hungry, but getting food meant dragging this monstrosity over to a stand, awkwardly digging through it for her purse, and attempting to drag it back whilst also carrying a coffee or a scone. No, Clarke could wait.
She opened her phone back up again, looking through Instagram with half of her mind elsewhere. She liked Well's photo from his internship, messaged Raven something cute under her most recent picture of her best friend sporting her new NASA gear, and decided to try that message to her mom again.
Instead, she texted her father.
CLARKE to JAKE: Hey pops! Just made it to Chicago. Four hours till takeoff :)
JAKE to CLARKE: Thanks sweetie. You tell your mom yet?
Clarke scowled, pouting.
CLARKE to JAKE: Was just about to.
She couldn't think of a way to make the message less curt, though her father didn't deserve her frustrations.
JAKE to CLARKE: She'll be pleased to hear from you to know when to expect you
CLARKE to JAKE: She has my flight info, doesn't she?
There wasn't an answer for a bit after that, but Clarke was fine to throw her phone in her bag to procrastinate on texting her mom.
Going to Paris wouldn't have been Clarke's first choice, as pretentious as it might sound. If Clarke could spin the map and pick anywhere, Florence or London may have piqued her attention first. When her parents divorced three years ago and her mother became estranged from her dad, Clarke had personally always thought her mom had caused more of the problems in the relationship. Not that her dad was a saint, but all her dad had done was love her mom. And her mother? Well, as soon as Clarke had gone to college, leaving the pair alone, she'd practically jumped ship.
So, Abby Griffin was not Clarke's favorite.
Of course she loved her mother, she was her mother. She just didn't care for her a lot of the time.
It had seemed like a blessing in disguise when Abby had decided to go and study at the medical research labs with her team in Paris, France. Her time zone was totally different and she texted instead of calling, so this relationship of strained back-and-forth occasional messaging didn't seem too much of a problem. She had come back to celebrate Clarke's 21st birthday last year, trying to repair the already very damaged relationship with her daughter. Clarke should have appreciated the effort, but it felt like too little too late. Still, it wasn't nothing.
So, when Clarke had been applying to some senior year one-semester internships, maybe she shouldn't have been surprised when Abby offered her up a spot in Paris' largest hospital without any of the red-tape Clarke was jumping through at other institutions.
Clarke wrestled with her own conflicting feelings about this.
Her parents and their very large wealth paid her college funds. This was not a luxury she could turn down, and she was very aware of her own privilege. She didn't like using her parent's money to further her own ambitions. This internship had nepotism written all over it, underneath it all.
However, as her roommate Harper had pointed out, if she looked at the internship in itself, it was nothing to scoff at. She'd just been avoiding Paris in particular due to her mother. If her mother wasn't there, and she'd be offered the same position, Clarke would be crazy to turn it down.
Plus, Clarke spoke French (as well as a smidge of German) and didn't speak any Italian. Not that she couldn't learn, but going into a foreign country to study already having those language skills under her belt meant more time actually learning the lessons.
After many sleepless nights with consistent inward battles, Clarke gave in and took the offer from Paris.
CLARKE to ABBY: In Chicago. I'll text you when I land.
That was about as nice as Clarke could currently manage.
ABBY to CLARKE: Love you. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning.
Clarke nearly texted back an 'I love you too', out of habit of response to when her father texted, but decided maybe it was better said in person.
With two and a half hours until her flight, Clarke checked the large international departures list and found her gate. She lugged her bag down the glossy halls, claiming a seat next to an outlet. This gate still said Istanbul, but this didn't worry Clarke. Her flight info would be up shortly, especially since she caught a couple speaking quiet French to each other near the windows.
Only two more hours here, and then a long flight.
XXxxXX
There was a game that Clarke played, one her father had introduced her to back as a child. They'd play it in airports all over the US, dissolving into giggles while her mother read whatever journal or non-fiction text she was currently into.
The game in itself was quite simple, one that Clarke was sure others had likely thought up before. Since airports were a prime people-watching space, find the most average looking people and make outlandish ideas about what they were doing and where they were flying to. If possible, pick out small details about them that truly add to the story.
Clarke had then gone on to tell all her friends about it, once when the group of girls and boys were traveling to Miller's beach house for spring break, and now it was a popular past time. Clarke took a few pictures, sending them off to the group chat.
For the couple speaking French by the window; a pair of assassins on their way to take out an evil overlord in Brussels, and then get out of the business to live their dream of opening a gourmet loaded fries stand on the beaches of Monaco.
There was a woman with a puppy; Harper said she was training a whole legion of adorable pets to one day take over the world. No one would see the apocalypse coming when they were being killed by big eyes and fluffy fur. Miller added that maybe this is who the assassin couple was on their way to kill, and they were just really bad (or really good, and maybe Clarke's flight was about to get a lot more interesting).
There was a man wearing a rather ugly tweed jacket. Zoe said he was on his way to a very stuffy and exclusive tweed convention, and he spent his life in a tweed house with tweed furniture doing tweed things, whatever that meant.
There was a balding man who looked completely normal, which made it the most fun. Raven said he was secretly Batman. Zoe argued he was a millionaire (who made his fortune from being the guy who invented the Snuggie) that liked to remember how it felt to fly among 'plebs'. Miller said they were both obviously wrong and this dude was a God in disguise, maybe Dionysus from the way he was was chugging wine at the bar.
It was only when he opened his carry-on bag and Clarke was nearly sure that he had a plastic duck in there that he became way more interesting.
Miller stood by his assessment; the duck was a poor mortal who had offended him once. Raven said maybe he wasn't Batman, but Duckman...a off-brand superhero just waiting to battle Villains of Minor Irritation like 'Gum-On-Shoe Man' or 'The Dog Welder'. Zoe and Harper jointly decided that he was a billionaire and his fortune was from making those freaky fake owls that people put on their lawns, or he had a fetish including ducks and misplaced mommy issues. Or something.
It was during the game that Clarke saw Bellamy for the first time. She didn't know his name, in that moment, but she spied him at the pretzel stand across from where she sat.
Airports were also a good place to scope out hot guys, imagine where they were going, and the such. Clarke felt one could tell a lot from what someone wore to an airport. Clarke usually just wore jeans and a sweater. She appreciated the men who came in suits, like this was some sort event or party.
He wasn't wearing a suit. He was browsing the selection of pretzels that were already pre-made. Clarke almost snapped a secret picture to send to the group chat, but she wanted this fantasy all to her own.
He was around Clarke's age, or not very far from it, and maybe that's what interested her right off the bat. He was wearing a pair of gray pants with a mid-blue shirt and a cardigan. He looked like the type of person who'd be a college professor, or a TA. He didn't have a backpack, but had a leather cross-body bag. When he slung it to his back to peer at the food, Clarke caught the monogrammed 'B.B' near the edge. When he ran his fingers in thought through his slightly curly black hair, Clarke was sure she'd never seen anyone else so immediately attractive; and Clarke was bi. She liked supermodels but somehow, they didn't compare to the quiet and simple sexiness of this mystery guy.
He sort of looked like Harry Potter, without the glasses. Or, she corrected, James Potter. He looked like he could be a James, if his initials had been 'J.B'. Clarke couldn't comprehend a proper 'B' name for him, so he was James in her head.
He decided on the pretzel bites, which Clarke approved of, and a lemon-aid.
Clarke was so caught up in just watching him, like a creep, she didn't even recall she was thinking of a fantasy until he'd walked down the hall and out of her sight.
No matter, Clarke thought, for somehow, she doubted she could imagine anything as good as what his real life was, and she'd rather leave it at that.
She hoped wherever James was going, he'd have safe travels.
XXxxXX
Clarke's mom always sprung for business class. Clarke had done it once or twice; it had been great.
However, she didn't want to ask more of her mother than necessary of late, so Clarke took an economy seat.
Transatlantic flights weren't bad, not always. The leg room wasn't quite as cramped as flying continental. Plus, most airlines always had a TV screen, even for the 'poor people'. Clarke had the ability to fall asleep damn near anywhere, so the difference between the two levels of seats was micro, since she planned on sleeping before Paris anyway.
To Clarke's surprise and joy, she had managed to snag an unoccupied row of three seats to herself, her own assigned seat at the window.
Clarke had heard it from more than one person that Paris emptied out in August, which was precisely why Clarke thought this was a good month to get settled. It had been in her favor now as well, since this meant Clarke could lay across the three and sleep more comfortably than usual.
Her plan was simple; watch a movie or two and eat their dinner, order two glasses of wine to put her right to sleep, and wake up in another country in another life. Three hours into her flight, it seemed everything was going according to plan.
She tipped back the last drops of her Merlot as the credits rolled for one of the Star Wars movies. She flagged down the attendant, simultaneously finding her little neck pillow by her shoeless, socked feet.
The lights in the cabin were dim, and Clarke went to sleep, wondering absently where James had been going and if he'd enjoyed his pretzels.
XXxxXX
Clarke woke up unexpectedly.
She felt a little bit of a wine headache, but more than that she quickly realized she had to go to the bathroom. There must have been a bout of turbulence that had awoken her, and now she would have to relieve herself before she could sleep again.
The lights were still off, and when Clarke opened her window, all she saw were black clouds.
Still half-asleep, Clarke unbuckled and tapped the screen. She estimated in her head she'd been asleep two, maybe three hours. She would squeeze in another three hour nap before breakfast was served, and that would be that.
On the screen, in the right hand corner, it said approximately forty-five minutes before landing.
This woke Clarke up right away.
She was 100% sure she hadn't been asleep six hours already, and wine didn't make her lose that much time.
When she tapped on the interactive map of their route, there was something very off. It told her they'd be touching down in...where was that? Newark, New Jersey?
Clarke had four thoughts;
This was a bad prank
She wasn't awake and this was a dram
There was a glitch in the systems
Somehow, miraculously, she'd gotten on the entirely wrong flight...even though she was sure she'd heard the stewardess speak the safety in French and comment on the weather at their destination.
Clarke stared at the screen, willing an answer. Willing a solution, if the fourth reason was somehow true.
The intercom crackled.
"So, as many of you have noticed, there is a slight change to the destination," The pilot stated in a calm, even tone. Oh, thank God. Clarke wasn't crazy, "We don't want to worry anyone, but there is a minor issue up front here. The first pane of glass in the cockpit has cracked, causing us to do an emergency landing. We still have the second one intact, but we'd just like to get the official okay before heading back out over the ocean."
"Oh, you're fucking kidding me," Clarke muttered, rubbing her eyes. There was no way she'd fall asleep now. Around her, other people were making similar sounds of distress or frustration.
Clarke saw the fasten-seat belt sign ding on, just as the plane hit a bumpy patch. This just made her urge to pee even worse.
She saw someone a row behind her get up and go to the bathroom three rows in front of her. Clarke watched like a hawk, and once he returned, she hastily threw off her seat-belt and hastened toward the door.
"Sit back down," A flight attendant barked as Clarke was inches away from grabbing the sliding door.
"But-,"
"We're going to descend soon," The lady said, not giving Clarke a chance to explain. And, she was already standing, so was it really worth it to send her back now? Clarke hated being the one to disobey people in authority, but frankly, flight attendants always rubbed Clarke the wrong way.
"Look, Aunt Flo came a little early this month, and I'm a heavy bleeder. So, if you could just let me go in there for two minutes- I swear I'll be quick- I can fix this before I bleed on the cushions." Clarke fibbed, but knew that most times, mentioning periods caused both men and women to be grossed out or sympathetic enough to bend rules.
"You'll just have to wait then. Sit back down." The woman said without missing a beat. Clarke super had to go. This sucked.
Feeling embarrassed and frustrated, Clarke turned around just in time to hear someone give a quiet snicker. She turned and to her absolute horror, she saw James sitting in the row right next to the bathrooms, and he'd heard everything. When he caught Clarke's eye, she decided that he was way more attractive than she'd originally seen, and he seemed like a nice guy, because he gave Clarke an apologetic shrug.
Clarke averted her eyes, now feeling mortified, and scurried back to her seat. She tried to block out her worries and find a TV show that had absolutely nothing to do with water.
They didn't even start descending for another twenty minutes, which made Clarke very vexed.
"When we arrive, you'll see some emergency vehicles on the tarmac. Do not be concerned, they're just going through a safety drill and do not relate to us at all," The pilot said as they started for land.
Clarke raised an eyebrow; did anyone believe that? No, they were three for them, in case the second pane broke and they all died. Or something grim like that.
By the time time the plane touched down, Clarke was all together just so done with this entire experience. She sent her mom a text, but it was the middle of the night in Paris and it was unlikely she'd see it for awhile, and then called her dad when they were still taxiing.
"I'm sorry to hear that sweetheart," Her father said after the whole story came out in a rush, "But you have to know, you're going to get off this plane and they're not going to let you back on tonight."
Clarke suppressed a sigh. Some part of her had really hoped they'd be given the thumbs up, and they'd be back in the air and only slightly delayed. It was a stupid hope, a foolish one. Her father was right.
"They also have a bunch of ambulances around, said it's just 'for practice'," Clarke watched the gleaming blue and red lights surrounding them, "Do they think we're idiots? Came in handy, though, since they just carted a girl off. I think she had a panic attack or something. They asked for doctors."
"Did you raise your hand?"
No, because it was the bitchy lady and I hold grudges.
"I mean, I'm basically just an intern. On a flight this big, there's gotta be more experienced people." Clarke pointed out.
Her father made a non-committal hum.
"Well," he finally said, "Keep me updated."
"Yeah. Will do." Clarke agreed. She pressed her forehead to the glass. This night was just going to get worse, wasn't it?
XXxxXX
The Newark Airport at midnight is dark, closed down, and would be completely deserted if not for the group of passengers who had just disembarked their failure of a flight, wandering through the endless halls like a group of believers who had just spent 40 days in a desert.
As soon as the flight had reached the gates, everyone was up out of their seats and disregarding the attendant's pleas to remain seated much more than usual. The pilot came on to announce that the airline would be 'taking care of them' and they could go to the service desk after getting off.
'Taking care of them' was a vague statement, one Clarke disliked. This could mean they'd be doing everything or doing as little as giving them pathetic food vouchers while washing their hands of this mishap and letting individuals fight for remaining seats on other flights.
James managed to be up and out of his seat swiftly, traveling light. Clarke would have been not far behind him, but she had a feeling that the flight attendant that helped the man in front of her receive his luggage from the storage bins was going slow on purpose.
No matter. Clarke speed walked through the halls in an attempt to find a bathroom as quickly as possible. It seemed there wasn't one in sight, which was a horrible design choice to her. The first time she saw an inkling of a sign was around the same time she stumbled upon the help desk.
Clarke had only been in row number 20 or so, so perhaps she hadn't realized the magnitude of this plane. Even with a scattering of open seats, it was a big plane. As she looked between the line starting at the help desk, the bathroom, and the group of people going right for that already increasing line, Clarke decided to get through the hassle first.
She slid her carry ons to her feet and prayed that the people at the desk wanted to get people out of the airport as fast as Clarke wanted to go through this.
Except, there was only one person at the desk for maybe 300 very pissed off customers. Clarke felt for her, she did, but she also wanted to get this show on the road.
She must have been uncomfortably fidgeting because an elderly couple tapped her shoulder after not even five minutes.
"Traveling alone?"
Clarke nodded, throwing a smile to them.
"Do you want us to watch your bags while you go to the bathroom, dear?"
While Clarke usually would never leave her bag alone with strangers, no matter if it was an elderly couple that looked completely harmless, Clarke's bladder was near about to burst.
"Yes, please, thank you," She nearly gasped as she darted around the corner to relieve herself.
After managing to do what she'd set out to do nearly an hour ago, she washed her hand. God, she looked exhausted, didn't she? By looking at her watch, she was supposed to be landing in Paris in about three hours had the flight gone all right. It was definitely infuriating.
As Clarke exited the bathroom, she stood back and did a mental head-count. About thirteen people in front of her to the help desk. Yeah, that was manageable.
She spotted James near the front. He must have really hustled. Standing near him was a group of four others; a mom, dad, a girl around late teens or early 20s, and a young boy. They all were sporting the same curly black hair and freckled skin. They were talking with James. He must be flying with his family. Maybe going to Paris on a vacation, Clarke figured.
This didn't ruin her idea of him, but it did change things, a little.
Middle rows, which were cheaper, were four across. Perhaps James had offered as seemingly the eldest sibling to sit alone. Clarke hadn't really been looking at the people sitting near him.
Even though imagining future for strangers was what Clarke did in her free time, it felt weird to do it for James.
Clarke returned to her space in line. The elderly couple chatted her up about what her plans had been. Everyone was inconvenienced, of course. Clarke's wasn't even the worst. She, in fact, had time to spare before starting her internship. The worst was that her mother might have to pick up her flat keys, but what could you do?
The elderly couple had been going to meet their granddaughter who was an art student abroad and would likely miss her art show. There was a husband who had been going to visit and surprise his wife, and now he'd have to explain it. The worst was a young couple in front of Clarke that had gotten married yesterday and were attempting to start their honeymoon. The girl was trying not to cry. Their destination was Egypt and they were supposed to make a connecting flight that they absolutely were not going to make. They didn't have a lot of money and time off, so this honeymoon hinged on a plane not being taken out of the sky, for example. She was on the phone with her mom, but things didn't look good for them.
Behind Clarke, she could hear people looking up alternate flights to Paris, which one could book at the service desk here. Since it was so last minute and so many people were frantically trying to secure seats, Clarke heard one one choke at a near $700 price tag.
Yeah, that was a no-go for Clarke.
A woman was making her way down the line. As she got closer, Clarke picked up that she was explaining the choices the airline had made to cover.
The airline would book them a place for the night, free of charge. They'd be getting food vouchers for three meals. The airline had also decided that the easiest way to deal with this was that they were just going to find a replica plane, but with a non-cracked window. Everyone would retain the same seats. At least, Clarke thought, she'd still have her makeshift bed.
Then came the kicker. The new plane would depart at 5pm tomorrow night...a full 24 hours after when their flight was supposed to leave yesterday.
As imagined, that news didn't go over great.
At this point, Clarke thought maybe she should call her dad.
"You were right," She said when he picked up, not even a hello.
"Stranded, eh?" Her dad sighed.
"Yeah. I mean, they're being pretty nice about it, still…" Clarke listed off the reimbursements.
There was a beat.
"Your mom wanted it to be a surprise, an activity. She knows you've always wanted to see the Moulin Rouge, ever since you saw the musical movie of it, so she bought you tickets for both of you tomorrow. I guess, now...well, you can see it another time."
"Oh." Clarke whispered. She felt her throat tighten and her eyes water. She sniffled, blinking.
It was stupid. Why was she crying? She had it so much better off than others. She was going to be living in Paris, she could see it another time.
Maybe she was tired. Maybe she was hungry. Maybe her mother's gesture warmed her heart. Maybe it was all three, but all of a sudden, Clarke felt so much younger and more vulnerable than her age of 24.
"Hey, honey, it's going to be okay," Her father said, which just made her want to cry even more. Of course it was going to be okay, damn it, stop crying.
"I know, ugg, I just want to go to bed." Clarke bit out.
"Newark isn't that far from New York City. A full day...if I were with you, we'd go into the city. As it is, I don't want you to miss your next flight." Her dad sighed, "I don't think Newark is exactly a tourist hotspot."
"Figured. I'll be fine. Wander. I dunno." Clarke shrugged. She saw she was nearly to the front, "I'll uh, text you when I get to the hotel. Love you dad."
"You too hun. I'm sorry this is happening."
"You didn't knock the plane from the sky," Clarke muttered, but was still smiling.
She'd missed where James went. Oh well. Unless his family opted to get one of other tickets, she'd see him tomorrow. And then, well, she'd just see him. Admittedly, one very spontaneous part of her had thought about giving him her number. But with his family? That seemed a little weird.
The woman at the service desk asked Clarke for her plane ticket. Thank god she held onto it, instead of using it as a gum garbage like she often did. She gave Clarke $30 dollars in food vouchers and the name of a chain hotel that Clarke had never heard of. It sounded cheap. Best Beds Inn or something. Not a Sheraton, that's for sure. She was instructed to a place where a shuttle would pick her up. She wasn't given an option to get her luggage, even though they had to move it all anyway.
One part of Clarke was miffed. She luckily carried at least a pair of underwear and a bra in her carry on, since she knew how often luggage was lost abroad. She didn't have her dob kit with her toothbrush, or pjs. But, at 1am, Clarke didn't want to argue it.
The night air was almost comfortable. Without the wind, it would have been nice. The shuttle cars were set up by brand down a long concrete slab. Clarke found hers soon enough.
James and his family ambled by, but went to different car areas. Or, the family sat at a Hampton's Inn stop, whereas James wandered off elsewhere. They didn't exchange any goodbyes, and when the bus came, they didn't wait for him. Maybe he'd grab the next one?
Clarke was the only person at her stop. A 14-person van with the hotel name nearly scratched off pulled up in front of her. She clung to her purse, hoping she wasn't about to get murdered. The man driving it grabbed her heavy carry-on and she slid into the bus.
Just as it was about to pull out, a hand slammed the door open.
James got on.
Clarke felt her whole face go red. James looked at her, but his expression was unreadable. He choose a row in front of her.
The car idled for a couple more minutes before it was clear they were the only people going to this cheap-o place.
Makes sense, Clarke thought, send the two that look like unaccompanied college kids there. It's probably what they usually live in, right?
"I thought...aren't you traveling with family?" Clarke couldn't help but ask. James turned, frowning. As though Clarke was talking to someone else.
"Uh, no."
"But, that group… the family…"
"Being polite. Making small talk." James said.
Clarke was pleased he was traveling alone. As the car drove through the night, to a location Google Maps told Clarke was around 20 minutes away, Clarke tried to not be too weird to him.
She wasn't sure it worked.
"I'm not on my period, by the way," Clarke blurted. In the rear view mirror, she saw the driver raise an eyebrow.
"Good?" James seemed halfway-amused and halfway-confused. His answers were purposely curt, Clarke should have realized that. But she couldn't stop talking.
"I just really had to use the bathroom. It usually works to say that."
"Right." James nodded, his fingers picking at a loose strand on the car's seats.
"Just, so you didn't...I mean, it can be a little gross."
"Uh-huh."
More silence.
"I'm Clarke. Clarke Griffin." She said. James turned back to her, tilting his head, as though trying to figure her out. Trying to figure out her goal. Honestly, Clarke was trying to figure it out too.
"Bellamy Blake," James-no, Bellamy-offered. His tone was a little warmer. And his name, Bellamy. It was so perfect. So unlike anything Clarke could have come up with herself. It fit him, better than James did. And so unique, like Clarke's own name. Clarke, because her dad had been absolutely sure she was a boy. Whoops.
"Paris your final destination?" Clarke leaned forward, taking that small glimmer of friendliness in his voice.
"Yeah." He was back to one-syllable answers. Darn it all.
"Me too. So...yeah." Clarke trailed off. By this point, they had reached the hotel. Bellamy got out, gave her a sort of awkward nod, and entered. Clarke slammed her head down onto the seat in front of her.
"It wasn't that bad," The driver told her as he helped her get her things. Clarke just remembered Bellamy's face and wanted to disappear.
"Oh, yes it was."
XXxxXX
It was 2AM and Clarke was supposed to be getting fed by this point on her flight. So, she was hungry.
She'd already eaten the granola bar she'd bought past security, and that hadn't filled her up.
A quick check on EatStreet told her that in this location, outside the city and in a suburb, there was pretty much no delivery food options at 2AM on a Monday night.
Knowing she needed a toothbrush, toothpaste, and maybe a razor, she decided to go down to the front desk. The night auditor was friendly and open. He even gave Clarke a late check-out of about 2pm, once she explained her messed up situation.
"Hey, so, I was going to be eating right about now. Any place still open that will deliver?" Clarke thought. He'd know, of all people.
"This is probably your best bet. Greasy and totally unhealthy. Or, we have a vending machine," The deskman pointed to a hallway.
"Beggars can't be choosers," Clarke agreed, snatching the pamphlet away.
She had a wad of cash on her and decided to try to get a soda or a tea from the vending machine. Who did she find other than one Bellamy Blake?
He didn't notice her enter, not at first. She watched as he unwrinkled a fiver and slid it into the machine. He punched in his order, and then...nothing. The machine whirled, but then seemed to freeze. She watched Bellamy struggle with the machine for a couple moments, before searching through his pockets and wallet with a crestfallen expression.
Now, in semi-decent lighting, Clarke got a chance to look at his clothes, now that she wasn't admiring him from afar, trying not to meet his gaze on the plane, or talking to his head in a dark vehicle. His clothes were well-worn and well-washed. His sweaters, around his elbows and wrists it was unraveling. His knees were washed out in color. His shoes were scuffed.
How much do you want to bet that's his last five and he's just as hungry as you are, Clarke?
"Hey, uh, if this is totally out of line…ignore it," Clarke started, "I was about to order a pizza. Large seems to be the best deal, but I totally can't eat an entire one myself. Want to split it?"
Bellamy turned. He almost laughed.
"You this friendly to all strangers?"
"It's a curse," Clarke replied, deadpanned.
Bellamy stuck his hands in his pockets, "I mean, if we're being smart about it…"
"Perfect!" Clarke grinned brightly, "My room is number 212. Just knock when you're ready to order. We'll find a bad movie on cable and get some food."
Bellamy gave an honest-to-god smile and, heavens, he made her knees go weak.
"After this day, that sound perfect."
XXxxXX
Bellamy came bringing wine, which Clarke wasn't about to say 'no' to. He'd bought it after customs, but explained with a pink face that he didn't have any more cash on him. He could Venmo Clarke his share, but this seemed like a good trade. Clarke had found it fair.
A glass of wine and some really bad pizza in the best sort of way later, he had opened up a bit. They'd gone safe; pepperoni and breadsticks. The pizza was huge, so Clarke was glad to share it. They'd talked about stupid things for awhile, like movie opinions, but eventually the conversation was steered to their reasons for being on the flight.
"My mom got me this job. I mean, we haven't had a real conversation in years, but maybe she's trying. I don't know. I guess I speak French well enough. I can understand it more than speak it, but that will come later. I hope," Clarke explained.
"Take it from me. Fix that bridge earlier than later with her." Bellamy's voice was rough.
"Speak from experience?" Clarke asked.
Bellamy gave her a quick look. He took a deep swig of the wine from his plastic cup.
"Yeah. I'm uh, I don't really know what I'm doing." He admitted with a dry laugh.
"Eating pizza."
"No, I mean, traveling." He frowned, "My mom died two days ago."
"Holy shit, Bellamy," Clarke sat up straight. Any fuzzies the wine had caused went right out the window as she sobered immediately.
"I don't want pity, really. Please."
"No pity. I pinky-swear." Clarke said, nodding, "You want to talk about it? I'm a stranger. Who am I gunna tell?"
Bellamy gnawed on his lip.
"My whole life, I just did everything right, you know? Never knew my dad. My mom raised me and my younger sister and gave us everything. Gave everything," He said meaningfully, his face twisting, "And I felt like if she was doing that, I had to as well. She had a lot of secrets, though, ones that I didn't know. She died to protect my younger sister, but it was sort of my fault that circumstances led there. My sister hates me and my mom's dead. Life sort of sucked and I was just staring at her casket and I just...what was I doing with my life? I'd never done anything on spur of the moment in my life. I built everything around a sister who, don't get me wrong, I love dearly, but who basically kicked me out of her life for right now. I don't like to think I'm running away, but maybe I just need to leave her be for awhile. Octavia will come around. She always does." He said the last bit like a mantra he wasn't sure he himself believed.
"Bellamy. Geeze." It was really all Clarke could say. She hadn't been expecting that.
"So I just packed up and booked a flight to Paris. I guess I lied. Paris might not be my end destination. I could go anywhere. I've always liked the idea of Rome. I'm a history nerd, and I really mean that. But I'm also good with languages."
"How many?" Clarke leaned forward on her elbows.
"French and Italian near fluent. I can make conversation in Spanish, German, and some Russian. I'm doing Arabic on DuoLingo right now. Everything else I can more or less figure out."
Clarke whistled. This guy was smart. She was so turned on.
"What will you do for work? Or, is this just for pleasure?"
Bellamy's cheeks reddened as Clarke realized her implications which she hadn't meant to say...out loud. She saw him swallow quickly.
"Not sure. Work. I have some friends around Europe, a godfather. Reach out to them, see if they know of a job. I'm not picky. I'll take whatever. Just until I figure out the 'next'. It was always just protect Octavia, do what my mom asked. And I don't really have those jobs anymore. I guess I sort need to figure out what I'm like as my own person."
"Takes guts." Clarke agreed.
"I'm terrified," Bellamy laughed, "I'm not spontaneous. Or, I'm trying to be moreso."
"Is it working?" Clarke asked, leaning across him to dip her breadstick in his cup of garlic butter sauce.
"Ask me when I get to Paris," he wheezed. She saw how his eyes tracked her face. How his gaze dipped down to her lips, if even for a second. She saw it then drop to her slight cleavage, and she for sure didn't miss how he shifted on the bed.
"I think I need to work on it more too, sometimes," Clarke admitted, "Or, do what scares me."
"Uh-huh, yeah." Bellamy nodded, his eyes pointedly watching the movie that was on. Some old Adam Sandler comedy.
"Bellamy?" Clarke asked.
"Hmm?" He turned. Clarke grabbed his shirt, and holy hell she felt abs under there, and pulled him to her. She kissed him hard and fast, before he could stop her. When she pulled back, Bellamy reigned her back in. His fingers carded through her hair, and his kiss was equally as experimental. However, neither of the kisses were chaste and sweet. There was no denying the lust in both of their breathy exhalations.
It was a split second decision, but Clarke was shoving the partially eaten pizza box to the floor and Bellamy was pulling her farther up onto the bed, her name on his lips.
XXxxXX
Clarke woke up wearing Bellamy's blue shirt. She must have gotten cold during the night and fished it from the ground.
Bellamy was gone when she woke up, but his things were still in her room.
Just as Clarke was finishing up a shower, Bellamy re-entered, carrying an assortment of continental breakfast items.
"Wasn't sure what you liked." He said, "So I grabbed everything." He said. She was still wearing his blue shirt. He didn't say anything about it. He was wearing a new shirt, and Clarke remembered he'd said he had a whole other outfit in his carry on. Preparedness and all.
"I have this room until 2pm. You can join me, if you want." Clarke said between shoving oatmeal and fruit into her mouth.
"I have some things to take care of, as nice as that sounds," Bellamy gave a long sigh.
"Oh, right. Of course. No problem." Clarke couldn't help but feel a little sad, though it was reasonable, "We'll see each other on the fight."
"Yeah, then." Bellamy agreed, smiling.
It was at this point, they thought maybe it might be smart to program each other into the phones, and maybe friend each other in Facebook. Since, they might be in Paris together, after all.
When Bellamy packed up and left, grabbing his things and checking out, Clarke realized he never took his shirt back and she was still wearing it.
She slipped a cami on under it. She'd just return it on the plane.
For the moment, she inhaled his scent and flipped through the channels to find something worth watching.
XXxxXX
Clarke did not like the Newark Airport.
She had thought that $30 dollars worth of food vouchers was excessive, but was she ever so mistaken. The entire place seemed to have only weird new hipster restaurants that were outrageously overpriced. I mean, Clarke was used to overpaying at airports, but nearly $20 bucks for a burger? This had to be theft.
Plus, there wasn't one central food court. It was scattered throughout the area and everything was ordered via touch pads. Clarke enjoyed avoiding awkward small-talk with cashiers as much as the next person, but it felt strange having close to zero human interaction.
Overall, Clarke would have settled for McDonalds or P.F Changs, but instead found herself rubbing the paper voucher in her fingers. She had her carry ons at her feet, so she had to decide quick, because once she found her gate, she wasn't getting up again.
"You like Starbucks?"
Bellamy had somehow found her in the massive airport and damn nearly scared her half to deaf.
"Yeah, who doesn't?"
"Pick your poison, Griffin. On me." He said.
"Bellamy. You don't have to buy me a drink. The pizza was like eight bucks split in half." Clarke rolled her eyes.
"True, but these vouchers expire in a week and both our tickets are one way. I figure a totally overpriced burger, one coffee for me, one coffee for you and maybe one last bag of Doritos and that uses up my cash allowance, right?" He said logically.
"Well, if you're offering to pay," Clarke teased, "I'll be good with a chai latte."
"Not a coffee drinker?"
"Trying to drink less," Clarke pulled a face, "If you grab those, I'll get the burgers. Starbucks can't be jacked up in prices that much."
Between them, Bellamy took $20 worth and Clarke took the other $40.
So the burgers weren't actually $20, Clarke had been overstating that a little. For her and Bellamy's burger, however, it was close to $30, which was still super expensive, considering fast food burgers were like $4 bucks and even pub burgers were maybe $12, if it had truffles on it or something.
She managed to find them a weird table in the middle of the aisle and waited. Bellamy found her once again, and they watched one of the free TV shows on the iPads around them. Clarke had his shirt on, under her sweatshirt, but she would give it back to him on the plane. That is, unless he asked, but chances are he hadn't recalled at all.
The gate area seemed much less packed, once they loaded up on snacks to finish off the voucher. She figured a lot of people grabbed flights earlier, leaving only those who didn't want to pay or didn't care. She saw the elderly couple as well as the newlyweds. She sure hoped they had figured something out.
Bellamy read a novel by Plato (god, he was a history nerd) while Clarke checked in on Instagram. Her mother expressed her disappointment, but promised to change the tickets to another night. She asked to be informed so Clarke could still be picked up from the airport.
Clarke had just been planning on grabbing her own taxi. But, side-glancing Bellamy, she sent her mom her new flight info.
The seats on the plane were the same. Clarke settled in, pleased she could see Bellamy in the rows ahead of her. She was right in her assessment that the plane was much less crowded.
"Second verse, same as the first, without nearly dying," Clarke murmured under her breathe as they took off again.
The flight was still during the night and still nearly six or seven hours there. Clarke was fed again, but didn't get wine and didn't fall asleep. She didn't want to jinx anything. Bored easily, she tried to get Bellamy's attention, but he was sort of ignoring her. Admittedly, ever since they got up to board the plane, he'd been strangely dismissive.
Whatever, he was just a guy Clarke met. Not like it mattered, or anything.
After dinner, once the lights in the cabin had been shut off, Clarke lounged and zoned out, half watching her show and half just thinking. She'd taken off her sweater, feeling warm. She was thinking about all the things she needed to do once she got to Paris...set up her apartment, explore her neighborhood, figure out the subway system, probably start to brush up on her French more…
She almost didn't see Bellamy pass, but somehow was tuned into his movements now. As he did, he didn't look at her, but a small piece of folded paper did fall on one of the empty seats next to her.
She watched him go into a stall.
She held the paper up to the small light.
Want to join the Mile High Club? Let's both be spontaneous ;) You in?
Clarke inhaled, feeling her blood split itself between rushing to her face and to between her legs. God, he was serious, wasn't he? Truth be told, it was on her bucket list…
XXxxXX
She adjusted her hair and then quietly slid out of the lavatory. One male flight attendant raised an eyebrow at her, clearly onto what just occurred, but moved on. She was very pleased and figured now she could fall asleep happy.
She came back to her seat to see some random person in the aisle. She at first wondered if she had the wrong row.
"My tray table wasn't working, so I was moved here," The man said apologetically. Clarke glanced back at where Bellamy had been sitting. Wide open.
"No problem. Actually, if you could just grab that purse?" Clarke asked. She'd stowed her items above, so not a lot to move. Just her purse and pillow thing. He handed them over.
Clarke sat in the window seat in Bellamy's row. When he exited a minute or two later, he just grinned.
"Couldn't resist me, huh?"
"Something like that."
He sat down carefully.
"You ready again?" Clarke couldn't help but laugh under her breath.
"If I could, yeah, but let's not push our luck," Bellamy winced, "But that was not nearly as satisfying as I hoped."
"I think I'm offended," Clarke put a hand over her chest.
"Not like that. I mean, damn, but I just want more now." Bellamy's hands seemed like they were almost going to rest on her knee, but he stopped himself at the last second.
Clarke, unsure how to handle this admittance, looked down.
"Crap. I still have your shirt. I can, uh, go to the bathroom later and give it back before we land."
Bellamy waved a hand, "Keep it. Looks better on you anyway. Plus, it gives me a really sexy image I don't think I'll ever forget."
"I sure hope not," Clarke teased, "Do you bring all your dates in there?"
"Only you. Feel special."
Clarke yawned. She started to adjust herself to fall asleep. Bellamy wordlessly offered her his shoulder. Clarke, not about to pass that up, fell asleep like she had last night.
XXxxXX
Clarke could have stayed on that flight, sleeping on Bellamy forever. All too soon, the flight was landing and they exchanged half-hearted promises to stay in touch. She'd try, but things like this sometimes just didn't work out.
She hoped he found what he was looking for out here.
Her mom picked her up. Clarke remembered Bellamy and his mother being unexpectedly dead and decided to try to give her mom a second try. She owed her mother this much, at least.
"Let's go out to that fondue place you told me about," Clarke offered. Her mother looked surprised.
"I thought you'd want to settle in."
"I have lots of time for that. I haven't seen you in over a year, mom." Clarke said.
Her mother smiled. This was a start.
"I'd love that."
XXxxXX
Three weeks passed. Clarke hadn't set up texting, thus so far, the only connection she had to Bellamy was via Facebook...and damn, was he bad at keeping things updated. His last post was from May of this year, and his Instagram was no better. Though, two weeks in he posted a Instagram story at Notre Dame, which gave Clarke hope he was sticking around Paris.
When she'd told her friends about it, Raven's first instinct was fuck-buddies. Clarke agreed, but personally, how could she tell Raven that she almost wanted more? That she'd known this guy for less than 24 hours before she was imagining a future together? It sounded mad, really. Crazy.
And, realizing this, she wasn't going to text him until she knew for sure he was in Paris for good. And then, start slow. Coffee. A date. Maybe no more sex until like the third date.
Still, as it was, she was thrown into work so quickly she hardly had time to think about it.
She met her mother's friend at work, Jackson, who she would be mostly working under. She also met her mom's new boyfriend, Kane, who Clarke didn't dislike. He was so...unlike both her mother and father, but still really nice. It made it very hard to dislike him. He did something in the hospital, but Clarke wasn't entirely sure what.
She was just punching in when Kane happened to run across her near the lounge.
"Clarke! Hey, so we just got a new hire here, and he's about your age. He's like family to me, so I want to introduce you. Might be nice to have a friend."
Clarke was putting her hair in a pony tale. So far, she'd been busy enough she hadn't gotten much of a chance to meet people her own age. She'd started temporary friendships with some of the other interns, but nothing stuck yet. What did she have to lose? Plus, she hated to say it outloud, but she thought Kane was good for her mom.
"Yeah, 'course." Clarke shrugged.
"He's the new translator. You know, if we get someone who doesn't speak French or English or whatever, he'll be there to explain. He's got a good head on his shoulders, I'm sure he'll pick up the medical knowledge quickly." Kane beamed, pride in his voice.
"As long as he can keep up, cool." Clarke shrugged.
"Hey,Rebel, this is the daughter of my girlfriend I was talking about," Kane teased, using a nickname that clearly meant something between him and this kid, waving someone over, "Ironic nickname. Kid's hardly done anything wrong in his life," Kane added.
As the boy rounded the corner, Clarke nearly choked.
"Bellamy?"
Bellamy did a double take.
"Clarke?"
Kane rubbed his chin, "You two know each other? How unexpected…"
"We…" Clarke began, and frowned. How to end that sentence? They'd shared a pizza and he'd gone down on her? Then they'd ended up rutting in a very small bathroom stall of their airplane? They'd talked and Clarke was hung up on him, somehow nearly totally insanely into him?
"We were on the same flight over, if you believe it. She was in the seat next to me." Bellamy came to her rescue, but from the way his fingers were clenched around his Fanta, Clarke knew he was thinking the same dirty thoughts she was "My godfather." He tilted his head to Kane.
"Ah," Clarke said, "Small world."
"Perfect!" Kane said, jolting them both from their daze, "Got along well, I hope."
"Oh, yeah, really well." Clarke grinned, probably a little too brightly.
"Well, that's good. It can be lonely without a friend here and-," Kane broke off, frowning at their expressions, "Oh, oh." He winced. He totally knew they'd banged, "Please stop making those expressions when Abby's around. She does not need to know what I know now."
"Abby's your...mom?" Bellamy guessed. From his voice, he'd met her. Clarke nodded looking down. She darted up, catching Bellamy's eyes. They both snorted, and then nearly dissolved into laughter.
"I guess I should be happy," Kane crossed his arms, "No funny stuff here, got it? Clarke has a perfectly nice apartment for that…" He said, wandering off and shaking his head.
Clarke looked at her watch, "So, technically I'm three minutes late-,"
"Yeah, no, me too."
Clarke nodded, backing up, not wanting to stop looking at him, like he might vanish.
"Clarke?" Bellamy asked.
"Yes?" She sounded way too excited, but Bellamy just looked so happy. So relieved. So, stunned that the universe allowed this crazy coincidence to happen. Clarke was glad it wasn't just her.
"Let's go on a real date. Let's do this. You in, Princess?"
"Oh, rebel, I am so in."
Hello all!
I've actually been meaning to write this for two years, as like a 'sequel' to the other traveling related Bellarke I did. The reason it's a sequel is not just because Bellarke has sex on two different modes of transportation, but because BOTH of those stories are semi fashioned around my real life travel problems. Literally, every time I go abroad, something goes wrong.
The biggest thing is that, yes, two years ago when I was traveling to Paris (though, just for a vacation, I was alone and meeting up with my fam there) our plane got landed in this exact scenario. And, there was this kid who looked to be about my age who I just kept bumping into, but since I'm happily taken, there was no hanky-panky going on. I did try to go to the bathroom as we landed, and got yelled at, and tried to use the period lie. Yep, still totally embarrassing two years later..I only had 5 days there, so it was pretty depressing to be missing out on a whole day. I went to the Moulin Rouge (an different day, it was great) but what I specifically missed was that 'Day 1' was 'Lexie's Day' or all the things I wanted to see- the Louve, Monmontre, The Art Train Station...and I missed it ALL.
I guess, if something seems very specific, you CAN imagine it's because I'm a fantastically realistic writer, but more likely, it's an event I actually recall from the trip.
The other thing that kept happening to me, though I didn't write this in, was that when I was traveling, despite being 21 I kept being mistaken for like an unaccompanied minor? Like, a really nice dad bought me an entire meal in the Newark Airport before we talked and he realized I wasn't 13?
But yo, the Newark Airport. One of my other worst travel stories happened there. I think I'm just going to re-write Bellarke with all my problems haha. I'm going to London next week, so we'll see if anything new happens!
Hope you all enjoyed! I'm loving the rest of the entries that have been popping up.
Cheers!