Title: "We Own the Sky"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13/Light R
Character/Pairing: Clarke, Bellamy, Bellamy/Clarke (the rest of the cast in minor roles)
Spoiler: N/A
Length: multi-part
Summary: When Jake Griffin dies, Clarke goes home for the funeral and uncovers a secret she won't let stay hidden. What's intended to be a short visit turns into a lengthy stay, especially when a former love comes back into the picture.
Or the "Sons of Anarchy" AU where Bellamy's in a motorcycle club and Clarke's the high school girlfriend that got away.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Author's Note: Everyone, thank you for supporting this experiment! I'm totally loving writing a modern fic, but especially writing this fandom in a different 'verse. Please be patient with my portrayal of Aurora and Octavia – they will have actual character development in later chapters. And finally, because my schedule just got jam-packed, the update is going up earlier than expected. Enjoy.
Clarke finds the letter the next morning, tucked under her mattress like she's still in school. It was a tradition between her and Jake, a bit of good luck before a big test or important game, but she hasn't lived in this house for ten years. There's no reason for her dad to leave a note.
"Dear Clarke," it begins. "If you're reading this, I'm already gone…" He talks about his hopes for her future and regrets about their past; he laments not working hard enough to repair the rift between her and Abby. It's a lovely letter, but not what catches her attention. "…I'm already gone…", he'd written. They're not the words of a man with time on his hands – they're the words of a man that knows his time is running out.
She sinks onto the bed, her half-packed duffel forgotten at her feet. "It was an accident," her mother had said, voice trembling through the phone line. "A terrible accident. He died immediately, without pain."
Tears pool in Clarke's eyes. It wasn't an accident. "…I'm already gone…" repeats through her head, like a record on the fritz, like that time she and her dad were dancing to The Doors and it skipped, "Riders on the storm, storm, storm, storm…". She sees that flash of black and chrome, feels the metal bite into her wrists, and she knows she can't leave. Not until she knows the truth, not until she's sure. She can't give back the ten years she was gone, but she can give her dad this. She can make sure his killer pays.
Slowly, she folds the note and methodically unpacks the duffel. She takes a deep breath and goes downstairs to tell her mother.
"You're going to miss your flight," Abby says when she hears Clarke's footsteps on the kitchen tile, and a crease forms between her eyebrows at her daughter's lack of luggage. "Did your plans change?"
"I'm going to stay a couple weeks," Clarke says. "I've been away too long."
"Oh honey, I'm so glad." She starts for a hug but Clarke takes a step back.
"Are you fucking Jaha again?"
Abby visibly flinches. "It's been ten years."
"Answer the question."
"No! He's a friend, nothing more. He knows how to deal with these things." Clarke remembers well, the summer they turned eleven and buried Wells' mother. She'd died of cancer, a clean death without questions. It hadn't hurt any less, but at least Wells had closure.
Clarke studies her mom's face, but it's absent of familiar tells. Her mouth doesn't twitch, her eyes don't shift. She believes her. "Okay."
"You'll never forgive me, will you?"
"He was my dad and you slept with his friend. Why should I ever forgive that?"
She storms out of the kitchen before Abby can answer and takes deep, sucking breaths once she's in the yard. She didn't think this through. Staying in Arkadia means being near her mom and Jaha, the betrayal that nearly tore her family apart. "Get it together, Griffin," she says. "You're not a kid anymore. You can do this." She glances at the house, sees the drooping line of Abby's shoulders through the window, and it steels her resolve. This isn't about her mom. It's about her dad and the debt she owes him, for loving her long after she abandoned him. She survived this town once. She can do it again.
She moves in with Raven. The house is small, but neat, and the guest room has its own bathroom. "You won't even know I'm here," she says but Raven waves her off and hands her a beer.
"Dinner's at seven. We can switch off who cooks."
"I really appreciate this," Clarke says and sinks into the couch.
"Stay as long as you like." Raven turns on the tv. "What are your feelings on 'The Bachelor'?"
Clarke doesn't care about which of the twenty-five women Chris chooses, but she likes how she feels sitting on Raven's couch. On the other hand, she doesn't like how it feels staying for free, so the next morning she stops by the hospital to inquire about jobs. She's already requested a leave of absence from her fellowship in New York, and she hopes they'll have something available at St. Finneus'.
"Clarke Griffin?" She looks up from her application to see a blonde woman approaching.
"Ms. Sydney?" Her high school biology teacher steps forward with a smile.
"You graduated, Clarke. Call me Diana."
"Well, hi Diana."
She takes an empty seat. "I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a great man."
"Thanks." Clarke repeats the familiar refrain. "I appreciate it."
"You're applying for a job here? I heard you were at a hospital in New York."
Clarke puts down her pen. "I decided to stick around for a while. Once I was home, I realized how much I missed this place." She even manages to smile. It's not a lie – there are things about Arkadia that she's happy to have back in her life.
"You know I'm the hospital administrator, right?" Clarke blinks. She had no idea that Diana had left teaching.
"Really?"
"Three years now. I miss the classroom, but wanted to try something different." She pauses, studies Clarke with her shrewd gaze. It's a bit like looking at Octavia; there's always something more churning behind her eyes. "We have an open spot in Peds. You should take it."
Clarke taps the clipboard. "I thought the same thing."
"It's yours."
"That's not how things work."
Diana lays a hand over hers, stares at her with those bright, cunning eyes. "Trust me on this."
"Okay..."
"We'll be in touch." Diana takes the half-filled application and smiles.
Clarke feels a little nauseous on the walk to her car. Her dad's car. It was what she hated about this town, the backroom deals and violence and lies, but she has a mission. She needs a reason to stay, a means of supporting herself, and Diana's offering a way in. She doesn't let herself question Diana's motives, her eagerness to have Clarke join her staff; it's not her problem. She shoves aside her reservations and focuses on what she's accomplished: she has a job, an income, a cover story. She heads to Raven's and naps the afternoon away. She's betrayed her morals enough for one day.
Clarke calls Lexa that night, huddled on the back step and talking in low tones so she can't be heard inside. She probably trusts Raven her life, but she's not ready to share her secrets.
Lexa picks up on the third ring. "Look who's finally returning my calls." She's left seven texts and messages and sounds annoyed to hear from Clarke.
"Hey Lex."
The annoyance fades from her voice. "How are you?"
"I need a favor."
The annoyance is back. "Guess that answers my question. How can I be of service?" She phrases it like a joke, but Clarke fails to hear any actual humor.
"I'm staying in Arkadia for a bit and hoping you can send my stuff."
"What about your job?"
"I'm taking a leave of absence."
"Clarke, I don't understand. You said you'd never go back there and now you're staying? What's going on?"
She pauses, tries to figure out how to explain without giving too much away. "Just some stuff with my dad."
"I'll get on the next flight – "
"No. I need to do this on my own. Just…can you send my things?" There's no response. "Lex, you there?"
"I guess I should be happy that you finally committed to something."
Clarke sighs. She'd been trying to avoid the subject, but it's rich, since Lexa had been the hold out. "It's unprofessional," she'd said. "I'm your superior," she'd protested. But she'd given in and Clarke had loved her for as long as she could. They're still friends, sort of, but this might be the deciding blow.
"Lexa," she starts but her ex cuts her off.
"I asked you to marry me and you said you needed time. Time's up. I'll send your clothes, but that's it. I'm done waiting for you."
"I'll text you the address. Send the bill for the shipping. Lex, I'm – "
The call ends with a dial tone and Clarke stares a moment at the phone in her hand. She can't give Lexa what she wants but this isn't how she thought it would end. She thinks about the hate in Bellamy's eyes that night at the clubhouse, wonders when she became the girl to leave a trail of angry exes in her wake.
She sees him again a week later. Even though she's working Peds, she still has to pay her dues, and starts with an overnight shift. The hospital is quiet, and she's three-fourths done with her crossword puzzle when he comes in.
It's Nate that taps her on the shoulder. There's blood on his shirt and a bruise forming beneath one eye, but he's more concerned about what's happening in exam room three. "Princess, we need your help."
She startles at the nickname. It felt like a compliment when Monty said it the other night, but from Nate, it's more like an insult. His loyalty to his brothers runs deep. "Check in with the on-call nurse and – "
"This isn't a choice." His jaw is taut and his eyes are wide with worry and Clarke knows it's a losing battle. He's three times her size and has two other guys with him. She doesn't think he'll hurt her, but he can certainly intimidate her into doing his bidding.
"What now?" She follows him down the hall to find Bellamy sitting on the exam table, bleeding profusely from a cut along his ribs.
Bellamy's lip curls. "No."
Nate sighs. "It's her or Jaha Jr."
He stares at the wall. "Make it quick."
To her disappointment, Nate leaves them alone and the resulting silence could swallow her whole. Bellamy fumes, despite the amount of blood he's leaking, and Clarke's throat feels achingly dry. This wasn't what she signed up for when she accepted Diana's offer. But it's Bellamy who's bleeding, Bellamy who's in pain, and she knows she won't turn him away.
"I'll do my best." He continues staring over her shoulder so he doesn't have to look at her.
The cut is relatively clean and requires only a single row of stitches. Clarke works in silence, concentrates on keeping her sutures neat and tight. He's just a patient, just a body with a problem that needs fixing.
"Must be nice to have your kingdom back, Princess." They're the first words he's said to her in ten years.
"Just doing my job." She's proud of how her voice doesn't shake.
"Couldn't make it in the big city so you came crawling back to the sticks?"
Her hands still and she puts down the scissors. "We have our differences, Bellamy, but I don't remember you being mean."
"You don't know me anymore." His eyes are filled with that deep, dark burning, so different from the laughter of their youth. "This is on you, Princess," his eyes say. "You're the one that left me."
"You're right. I don't." She slaps a bandage over the wound. "Come back in a week and I'll remove the stitches."
He tugs down his shirt and hops off the table. "Later, Clarke."
She doesn't hear the door slam on the way out. She doesn't hear anything over her rapidly beating heart.
He shows up at Raven's the next morning. It's almost ten, but she's exhausted from thirty-six hours of call and knows she looks a fright. She glares at Bellamy through the mess of her uncombed hair.
"What?"
"Good morning to you too." His grin is slow and sensual and she grips the doorjamb to keep from thinking about it. "Can I come in?"
"Whatever." He follows her into Raven's kitchen, accepts the cup of coffee she offers him. She takes a hearty sip and feels some of the fog lift.
"Got any sugar?" She nods, opens a cupboard and hands him the box. As she watches him dump three packets into his mug, she realizes they've never drunk coffee together. They were kids when she knew him; back then, he'd survived on cigarettes and beer.
"Why are you here, Bellamy?"
"I realized I never said thank you for stitching me up."
"It's my job," she reminds him.
He looks at her knowingly. "You took an oath to do no harm, not to lie to the police."
She shrugs to mask the tightness in her chest. She doesn't want to think about that part. "I didn't see a reason to report it."
"Either way, I appreciate it. I checked our records and your car's due for an oil change. Come by Blake-Kane. We'll do it for free."
"That's not necessary – "
"I insist." He sets aside his mug. "Thanks for the coffee."
The kitchen feels too big when he lets himself out, like all the energy's been sucked out of the room. She'd forgotten the rush of simply being near him. It's been ten years but her skin still tingles from sharing his air.
She doesn't plan on taking the car to Blake-Kane, but the "change oil" light is driving her insane, so she pulls into the parking lot despite her better judgment.
Jasper comes out to meet her. "Bellamy said to expect you. Give us twenty minutes and you'll be good to go."
She smiles. "Thanks, Jay." He blushes slightly at the old nickname and practically skips to the garage.
Aurora stares at her through the office window. Clarke takes a seat at the picnic table and pretends to flip through a chart. She's fooling no one. Ten minutes later, Aurora's boots click angrily against the pavement. "I thought I made myself clear."
Clarke closes the chart and shifts her sunglasses over her eyes. "I'm just getting my car fixed."
"There are other garages in Arkadia."
"I wanted the best."
"I don't care what you want. My business, and my son, are off-limits."
It's like they've fallen ten years into the past, but Clarke's no longer a scared teenager. She pushes to her feet so she's eye to eye with the other woman. "I've changed, Aurora. I'm not that kid that you can boss around anymore." Jasper gestures from across the yard. "My car's ready. Thanks for the chat." She tries to slip past her, but Aurora yanks up Clarke's t-shirt to expose the phoenix inked into the skin of her lower back.
"Guess there are some things you can't change."
Clarke twists out of her grasp, tugging the shirt into place. Aurora is smirking at her, but Clarke's exhausted from this fight. Getting out of Arkadia wasn't a choice, no matter that it broke Bellamy's heart. "I leave it there so I remember all that shit's behind me."
"I forgot how clever you can be. This is your last warning."
She grits her teeth to keep from saying something she'll regret and storms across the lot to Jasper, grabs the keys out of his hand, and guns the engine. She can see Aurora in the rearview mirror, triumph splashed all over her face. Clarke eases her grip on the wheel, reminds herself why she's really in Arkadia. Aurora Kane is just a hitch in her plan; she can face her over and over if it means doing right by her father.
"How's your mom?" Wells asks over dinner that night.
"Wouldn't know." She's careful to avoid his eyes. In the time she's been back, she's done everything in her power to avoid her mother. She even schedules her shifts on days Abby doesn't have surgery.
He tries again. "I heard you were at Blake-Kane today." She spears a piece of chicken and shoves it in her mouth. "Clarke?"
"I heard you." She pushes aside her salad and meets Wells' even gaze. "I was just getting my oil changed."
He watches her calmly. "There are other garages in Arkadia."
In her lap, her fingers clasp painfully. The last thing she needs is a repeat of her conversation with Aurora. "Jasper did it as a welcome home present." Wells keeps watching her. "That's it, really."
"Okay." He doesn't push, but Clarke knows the conversation isn't over.
"It's not about Bellamy."
"I didn't say anything."
"But you thought it."
His blank expression finally breaks. "Clarke, he got you arrested. You almost lost your scholarship because of him."
Technically, they got arrested together, but she doesn't feel like dredging up the past by correcting him. "I know. Trust me, I know." As if she could ever forget the disappointment in her dad's eyes when a deputy had called him to the station in the middle of the night to bail his daughter out of jail. "Actually, I need a favor."
Wells shakes his head. "Of course you do."
"My dad…do you know what he was investigating when he was killed?"
His smile falls. "Clarke, it was an accident."
She manages to keep her face impassive. "Sure. But do you know?" She watches him fidget in his chair, find the words to let her down easy. "Wells, this is important to me. I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate."
He doesn't look happy about it, but doesn't turn her down either. " I don't know, but I can find out."
Clarke reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. "I owe you."
Wells smiles uneasily. "They say you should let sleeping dogs lie."
"I think it's better to live with your eyes open."
"There's a first time for everything."
"Not this time." She takes a bite of salad, asks about his day. He takes the bait, talks about being a police officer in a small town and the mound of paperwork on his desk. Clarke tells him about her patients, the little boy whose leg she splinted the other day and the toddler whose chin she sewed back together, and they fall into to the easy rhythm she thought she lost when she left town. It's the best meal she's had in a long time.
Octavia drives her to the garage to take out Bellamy's stitches. She honks the horn twice and Clarke finds her drumming her fingers on the steering wheel when she comes out to investigate.
"Get in." She's staring with those piercing blue eyes, but Clarke's had a long day – she doesn't have the energy to argue.
"I could have driven myself," she says, braves Octavia's wrath to turn down he radio.
Octavia shrugs. "You did Bellamy a favor. Just my way of saying thanks."
Clarke thinks she probably is grateful that her brother didn't bleed out in the clubhouse, but there's more to this trip than Octavia's letting on. "You're welcome."
"You need to stay away from him."
And there it is, the real reason Octavia instigated the car ride from hell. "I didn't come back for him, O."
Octavia recoils, fingers tightening around the steering wheel, her mouth setting into an angry line. "We're not friends anymore. You don't get to call me that."
Clarke feels her own flare of anger. She's sick of the abuse from the Blake women, the accusation in their eyes. She got out and made a better life for herself, regrets that Bellamy got hurt in the process, but she didn't kill anyone. She doesn't know where the bodies are buried. "Fuck you! I just went to college!"
Octavia deflates a little, her posture loosening as she bends over the wheel. "It took him a long time to get over you. I don't want to see him go through that again."
"We're not getting back together."
"Okay."
"Okay."
The rest of the ride is spent in silence and Clarke opens her door the moment they pull up at the garage. She couldn't spend another moment in that car – the silence was just as nasty as Octavia's anger.
Even though it's midday, the clubhouse is full of people. Atom is behind the bar and Monty's hunched over a laptop and Murphy's playing pool with Denby when she steps through the door.
"Hey Clarke," Monty calls without looking up.
"How'd you know it was me?"
He points at a white box on the ceiling. "It's the 21st century. There are cameras everywhere."
"Good to know." She shifts her weight. "Where's Bellamy? I'm here to take out his stitches."
The club does an expert job of examining the floor before Monty sighs heavily. "He's in the apartment."
"Would you mind getting him?" She forces herself to meet Atom's eyes. "I'll wait."
He also sighs, but throws down the bar rag and heads for the back. It's ten minutes before Bellamy appears, his hair still damp from a shower. "Hey Princess," he drawls and stretches his arms over his head to expose the torn and mangled flesh of his abdomen.
Clarke drops to her knees to get a better look. "You're healing well," she says, gently examines the wound. It will scar but there's no sign of infection.
Someone snorts and she realizes how it looks. She's on her knees, staring up at Bellamy while he stares down at her from beneath dark, laughing eyes. She's eye level with his dick, her mouth open and wide as she realizes what's happening.
"Shut up, Murphy," she snaps. Bellamy extends a hand and she takes it, lets him pull her to her feet. "You ready?"
"Let's do this."
He guides her to the bedroom, his hand large and warm around hers, like they're teenagers again and he looked at her like she was made of starlight. The room is a mess, but there are touches that scream Bellamy: his father's rings on the desk, the history books on the shelf, a photo of Octavia and Aurora by the bed. "Where should I sit?" he asks.
"The bed's fine." She rummages in her bag for the supplies. She tells herself not to be nervous. They're just stitches, he's just Bellamy. Bellamy. Of course she's uncomfortable.
"This okay?" He's removed his shirt and the motion has mussed his hair. She tightens her grip on the scissors to keep from fixing it.
"Fine." She sits across from him in the desk chair and starts to clean the wound.
"I heard you moved in with Reyes."
"Yup. It's like a permanent sleepover. It's great." He laughs, a low sound that makes her face feel warm. "Why are you staying at the clubhouse?"
He groans. "O's crashing at my place, which was fine when it was just her, but then the Reaper moved in and…Kane's trying something out. I'm trying to keep the peace."
She puts down the gauze and starts on the stitches. "That took me by surprise too. I never thought I'd see a Son and a Reaper drinking together."
"Welcome to the new age. Marcus thinks we can make more working together than…you know…"
Clarke nods, focuses on ripping stitches. It's the most Bellamy's told her about his outside life, but she put two and two together a long time ago. Guns. Drugs. Women. It's better that she doesn't know. He shifts uncomfortably and she lays a hand on his bare shoulder to steady him. His skin is warm, muscles firm, and he tenses under hand but doesn't push her away. "It's okay," she says in a ragged whisper. "I'm almost done."
She's still touching him when she rips open the last stitch and only lets go to press a bandage over the scar. "All done," she says, drops her hands into her lap to keep from tracing the outline of his ribs. He has a magnificent body, broad shoulders and lean hips and corrugated muscles running the length of his torso. He reminds her of the statues she saw in Italy during her study abroad, only he's real, hot and pulsing under her gaze.
"Thanks, Princess," he says, his voice low and raspy. She's frozen in place, staring into those deep, dark eyes. There's no reason to stay but she can't tear herself away.
It's the knock that breaks the spell and Clarke jumps to her feet while Bellamy reaches for his shirt. Nate looks apologetic. "Church in thirty."
"I'll be there."
This time, she can't stop from smoothing down his hair. "That's better."
He smiles and it still steals her breath. "Need a lift home?"
Somehow, she manages to nod, to put one foot in front of the other so she can follow him into the late afternoon sun and swing behind him on the bike. She hasn't been on a motorcycle in years, but the helmet doesn't feel heavy as it settles over her hair, and she instinctively wraps her arms around his waist. Her thighs bracket his and she clings to him as he turns onto the road, feels the wind in her hair and tears in her eyes and strong, solid muscles pressing against her breasts. She feels like she did at sixteen, like the highway would never end, like she could hold tight to Bellamy and follow him into eternity.
But she's not sixteen and this is only a ride home, and he carefully parks the bike in front of Raven's house. She hops off and hands him the helmet, but he grabs her wrist before she can step on the sidewalk. She spins into the wheel casing and it digs into her leg, but she doesn't notice, not when he's so close.
"I'm glad you came back," he says softly. "Anything you need, the club's at your disposal."
"Thanks." She waits a beat, but he doesn't say anything, and she can't read his eyes in the darkening twilight. He smiles again, kicks the bike into gear, and roars away.
Raven finds her on the sidewalk, watching Bellamy's taillights disappear into the night. "Rough day?" she asks, casually throws an arm around Clarke's shoulders.
"You don't know the half of it."
Raven steers them to the front door. "Come tell me about it. I have wine and Netflix."
She follows Raven inside and collapses on the couch, drinks almost an entire bottle of chardonnay on her own, but it does little to dull the noise in her head. It's been ten years, but she can't stop thinking about Bellamy's smile or the messy hair that's always a little too long, or the way his body felt under her hands. She hears his voice in her ear and the promises they made, feels the burn of his anger when she got on that plane. She remembers the boy he was, sees the man he is today, and she wakes with a pounding headache and the numbing realization that she'll always be a little bit in love with Bellamy Blake.
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