Tapping his pencil against the tiny desk that barely covered his lap, Bellamy stared at the bubble sheet, and then the test booklet. Rubbing his forehead, he sighed with exasperation and stared harder. Macroeconomics was his last final; the last one and he could finally pack up his stuff and head home with Clarke in a day or two. He would've felt great if the test wasn't kicking his ass. The first half had been fine, just multiple choice. Now there were graphs and free responses; he hated both of those with a passion. And his grade already wasn't that great in the class. Passing the final was essential because it guaranteed that he wouldn't have to spend another semester in economic hell.
Taking a deep breath, he turned the page and stared at another graph. "Fuck!" he hissed. Curling his fingers into a fist, he pounded his thigh discretely. Lifting his head up, he rubbed his eyes and visually roamed over his lecture hall. There were more than one hundred kids packed inside, more than the average class attendance. Unlike regular class, people made sure to show up for exams.
Some people were busy scribbling answers and professionally interpreting graphs. Other kids looked more like him, and Bellamy found comfort in that. That meant he wasn't alone. They were the ones mentally cursing their lives, and possibly the professor. Focus, focus, he told himself. There was still an hour and a half left from the original three. He had time to pull stuff out of his ass and hope for the best.
Flexing his fingers, he grabbed his pencil and studied the graph. Shaking his head, he bubbled in two more answers. His pocket buzzed. Anxiously tapping his pencil, he glanced up, wondering if anyone had noticed. Everyone was absorbed in their thoughts and the test. Digging into his pocket, he furtively extracted his phone and checked the screen. A new text message. Glancing around the room once more, he clicked to read it. He didn't want anyone noticing and trying to accuse him of cheating.
"I'm in labor," he read to himself. It took a moment for the sentence to process in his head. When it did, his eyes widened and he crammed his phone back into his pocket. Holy shit, he thought. Picking his pencil back up, he swallowed and tried to breathe normally again.
Clarke was in labor. Clarke was having the baby. That meant he needed to get onto the road and into that hospital. Panic set in. She'd been fine that morning when he dropped her off at school. This wasn't supposed to be happening right now. Clarke had obviously been in school, and he was in the middle of a huge test. Thoughts racing through his head, he half-stood up, and then flopped back down. The kid next to him shot him a weird look.
Seizing his test booklet, he flipped through it. Locking his jaw, he couldn't help but be mildly infuriated. There were two more graphs and five free response questions. There was no time. Bellamy had no time. Maybe he'll let me reschedule, Bellamy thought. He wasn't too fond of the guy, but there was a slim chance. What kind of person wouldn't excuse a student because his girlfriend went into labor? Thankfully the aisles weren't cramped like they were in some other lecture halls. Getting up, he jogged down the steps towards his professor's desk. Pushing his glasses up, he looked up from his newspaper. "Yes?"
"I-this is really important," Bellamy smiled politely. He even lowered his voice to avoid disturbing other students. "My girlfriend just went into labor and I was wondering if I could reschedule or… finish this on another day." His gray-haired professor looked over him.
"The test must be taken today. No exceptions," he said bluntly, returning to his paper. In disbelief, Bellamy glared at him. Biting his lip, he took a few seconds to calm down and regroup. Apparently, this was the person who wouldn't excuse a student because his girlfriend went into labor.
"I understand that," Bellamy leaned down, causing his professor to loosen his grip on the newspaper. Setting it down, he stared back blankly. "But my girlfriend is having our kid and I would kind of like to be there. So could I please-"
"The final is either taken today or you fail," his professor said indifferently. "No exceptions." Giving him one last scathing look, he resumed reading.
Aware that he'd hit a heartless, brick wall, Bellamy stood up, silently seething. Those were his options. Take the test and show up late, possibly inciting the fury of an in-labor-Clarke, or leave and fail. He returned to his seat and flopped down, pissed. Those were horrible options.
Breathing heavily, he seized his pencil and rapped it furiously against the side of his desk. Leaning back, he peered over the bent heads and the test booklets. On the verge of breaking his pencil, he tossed it into his backpack, and rested his forehead on his desk. This is bullshit, he thought. Absolute bullshit. There's no way I'm gonna finish this anyway. I fucking hate graphs. Sitting back up, he leaned back a bit, head pressing into his palms. Screw this.
Abandoning his test, he grabbed his backpack and ran from the room, attracting all sorts of attention. The double doors slammed loudly behind him, echoing all the way down to his professor.
"I made it!" he burst into the room with Clarke's bug out bag – his title – that he had her pack a week ago, complete with pajamas (basically just one of his t-shirts she'd taken to wearing and her pajama shorts) and all the necessary things the internet suggested she'd need when she went into the hospital. He'd had it sitting in his truck for days.
"I made it, Clarke. I almost got into two wrecks, but its okay. I'm here." Throwing his jacket into an empty chair, he stalked over to her bedside. "Mom." She stepped back to give him more room. Donning a hospital gown, Clarke sat up a little in the bed. She grimaced at having to be connected to several machines; Bellamy knew how much she hated needles. "Hey." He ran his fingers through her hair.
"This hurts so bad," she whimpered. "So bad."
"Where were you?"
"Statistics," she frowned deeply. Moving around, she found a spot that suited her. "Then I had to go to the nurse. And then called your mom. And now I'm here."
"It's going to be okay," he reassured her.
"Do you know how much pain I'm in?" she fired back, glaring at him. "It's not gonna be okay! I hate this." Bellamy shrank back at her sudden change in demeanor.
"You haven't seen anything yet, honey," Aurora Blake commented.
"Mom," Bellamy made a face at her. That was the last thing Clarke needed to hear. "Ignore her, you're doing great."
"It's the truth," she shrugged and walked over to one of the chairs near the window. Lifting the blinds, she let in more light.
"Well… how long ago did your water break?" Bellamy breathed deeply.
"Like almost two hours ago," Clarke answered, rubbing her forehead. "And you took your sweet time getting here."
"Clarke!" he accidentally made a face at her. Bellamy fixed it as her eyes thinned into another piercing glare. "First of all, I was in the middle of my final, which I failed, I'm sure, because I was only halfway done when you texted me. Second, you know I'm an hour away."
"You failed your macroeconomics final?" her face softened. "That means you'll have to take it again."
"Yeah, I know," he answered, rubbing her hand. "I'll take it with another professor though because the one I have now is a complete dick."
"I'm sorry," she apologized before squeezing her eyes shut and tightening her grip on his hand. "I'm sorry, Bellamy."
"It was mostly graphs anyway," he muttered and casually snuck his fingers from beneath her vice-grip once she let go.
"Am I being scary right now?" cheeks flushed red, she opened her eyes and stared helplessly at him. "I don't want to be scary… I don't want to be like those crazy women giving birth in movies."
"You're in labor," he said calmly, rubbing the back of his head. "It's excusable."
"If I get too crazy, just tell me to calm down."
"Uh, okay," he nodded. That sounded like the last thing any guy should ever say to a girl in labor. "So what do we do now?"
"We wait," his mom answered, checking her watch. "Doctor's said she's not even fully dilated yet. Won't be for a while."
Bellamy didn't fully understand what 'dilated' meant. He'd heard the word once on some doctor drama while flipping through the TV channels and a Google search a month ago when he was preparing for this inevitable day suggested it had to do with the baby and his impending arrival. Pacing a bit, he sat down next to his mom.
Three more hours passed and Clarke got sweatier and more restless. In response, Bellamy got more anxious and afraid. Doctors and nurses kept coming in and checking her. And every time, she still wasn't ready. Almost there, but not completely. "Do you want ice?" he asked apprehensively.
"No," she shook her head.
"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked next. He'd read – also on Google - that walking induced labor. Thinking to himself, he wondered if that applied to their situation. She was already in labor, so would a walk do anything?
"No!" she hissed, and her face contorted in pain. Backing up, Bellamy noted that her eyes weren't as friendly as they normally were.
"Okay, okay," he said calmly. He didn't have any ideas; he was just as clueless as her. He knew she was still in the first stage of labor, but he wasn't sure if she was in the active phase or transition phase. And his lack of ideas didn't really matter since she rejected every single one. Bellamy doubted she would accept that though. Google was unhelpful when applying it in real world application. Alarmed, he looked at his mom, who directed him to focus back on Clarke. "Um… what about-"
"I just want him out!" she cried. Rolling her head to the side, tears slid down her cheeks. "I just want this over. Bellamy..."
"Clarke, it's okay, baby," whispering, he stroked her hair. "It's okay. Everything will be okay, I promise. You're doing fine," he repeated, like a mantra.
The door opened. And in came Octavia, who looked at Bellamy with alarm. "Just know, I did not bring him. Or tell him anything." He didn't have time to work up a response because Finn pushed his way into the room, nudging Octavia out of the way.
Bellamy felt his temperature skyrocket within seconds. Standing up, he glared daggers in his direction. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard-"
"Get. Out," Bellamy said menacingly. He had no business being in the same room as them. Finn had zero right to be in any room where Clarke was giving birth. Bellamy had also made it clear, on two separate occasions that he never wanted Finn near her again. He didn't get a free pass just because she was in labor. Finn didn't move.
"Finn," Aurora looked at him strangely. "What are you doing here?"
"Get the fuck out!" Bellamy shouted, incensed. Everything else in the room disappeared but Finn. Vaguely, he heard Clarke crying harder as Octavia sank into the seat on the other side of her bed, clutching her.
"Bell." Clarke grabbed his hand. The touch of her fingers didn't quiet him.
"Get out!" Bellamy yelled. Aurora looked between the pair, lost. Bellamy didn't care and he didn't plan on explaining. That wasn't his place, and it wasn't his responsibility. All he knew was that he wanted the asshole before him to get out of the room. Bellamy had worked his ass off to be there; Finn hadn't done shit.
"Bellamy," Finn said plainly.
"Either tell everyone what you've done, or so help me, you'd better get the fuck out of here right now," Bellamy tightened his grip on Clarke's hand. His eyes started watering. "This is my kid, and my girlfriend, and my family. Leave."
Clarke's heart warmed for Bellamy despite her sobs that seemed to rack through her, uncontrollably. He'd make similar declarations before, but not like this.
Setting his jaw, Finn took a sad look around the room, and then left. Chest rising and falling, Bellamy remembered where he was. As the door shut, he caught a brief glimpse of the staff members staring curiously in their direction. Turning back to Clarke, he leaned down. Her free hand was covering her face as she sobbed. "I'm sorry," whispering an apology; he pressed his forehead against the back of her hand. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry." He kept repeating that. Reaching his opposite hand up, he swiped at a defiant tear. Clarke clutched on to him for dear life.
"Bellamy," his mom said softly. At the sound of her voice, Bellamy closed his eyes. She'd never know the truth. No one besides him and Octavia would. As evidenced, Finn didn't plan on coming clean. It wasn't his story to tell, so Bellamy's lips were sealed, and Clarke had been adamant from the beginning about no one else finding out. This was it.
"Can you just go please?" sniffling on accident, he swore silently. Keeping his back to her, he listened for her footsteps and the closing of the door.
Octavia looked between the two of them and launched herself at Clarke, holding on to her shoulders the best she could, as tears sprang to her face. "I'm so sorry," she choked out, her hold on Clarke so tight she could barely breathe. "He was outside the room when I got here; I tried to stop him from coming in…"
"O, oxygen would be appreciated-"
She pulled away, sniffing and wiping her nose gingerly. "Sorry," she muttered, embarrassed.
"No problem," Clarke replied uneasily.
Then Octavia had circled the bed and all of a sudden, Bellamy was the one enveloped in a bone crushing hug. Octavia was always very sensitive – she cried every time those guilt trip Sarah McLaughlin commercials for abused animals came on. "I'm gonna… go with mom. Give you two a minute…" Shooting a watery smile at the pair, Octavia turned on her heel and left, the door clicking closed behind her.
This was supposed to be a great moment, one of the most memorable of his life. The room screamed with silence. "I'm sorry, Clarke."
"It's okay," she wiped her eyes. "What you said, about us – me and Tristan, being your family…"
"I meant it, Clarke." He linked their fingers, bringing her knuckles up to his mouth. "You're stuck with me. All of us," he gestured, even though they were alone in the room. She knew he meant that Octavia and Aurora were her family now, too. And Tristan's. "We'll make a Blake out of you just yet."
She cried again, but this time it was because she was happy.
Another hour and a half passed, bringing them to five-thirty in the evening. Manning Clarke's bedside, Bellamy felt his stomach grumble. He'd promised not to leave her alone, a decision he now regretted. He hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning. Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed the cup with melting ice chips and popped a few in his mouth. Crunching, he ran his hand down the green scrubs he'd been forced to wear.
"Can I push yet?" Clarke asked aggressively. The sun was setting, and Bellamy felt like his entire day had passed by within the walls of the hospital room. He'd seen the same doctors and nurses walking past the door, flipping through charts and notes. Maybe other people were having babies, too. Bellamy wondered if any of the other dads felt the same way, that despite the internet searching and flipping through baby books whenever he was in a store, he still felt wildly unprepared for his son's arrival. He was more of a visual learner. If he and Clarke ever had any more kids, then he'd finally feel sort of prepared.
"Yep," the smiling nurse lifted her head. "You're fully dilated. I'll get the doctor and then all engines are a-go. You're having a baby." Bellamy didn't like how happy she was; maybe because he was so tired, and bored. Had he known how long labor took, he would've brought some entertainment. And food.
"Oh my God," Clarke sat up. Her blond hair was mussed from lying on it for so long.
"What?" he looked up, alarmed.
"Did you hear what she said?" she stared at him. A male doctor returned with the nurse a few minutes later. Shutting the door, he pulled on gloves.
"Yeah," he nodded.
"He's coming," Clarke's eyes widened. "He's… coming."
"Well we've been here for six hours," Bellamy muttered.
"What?" Clarke snapped.
"Nothing," he said quickly. Pasting on his best smile, he offered his hand.
"Alright, Clarke," the doctor lifted up the sheet that had been shielding her bottom half for as long as Bellamy could remember. "We're in the home stretch now. When you feel a contraction, you can push."
"Bellamy," she squeezed his hand tighter as another wave of pain wracked her body. He lost feeling in his fingers. "Are you… gonna go down there and see?"
"What? Where?"
"Down where… he is," she pointed at the doctor.
"Uh, I hadn't planned on it," Bellamy deflected, flexing his fingers as much as he could. Being down there for fun was one thing. Being down there to watch a baby come out was another.
"You can," the doctor said calmly, smiling over at him. "Plenty of fathers watch their children being born."
"Uh… okay." Slipping his hand from hers, he sidled past the nurse, who began encouraging Clarke. Occupying his hands, he ran them over the scrubs again. At the end of the bed, he stopped and craned his neck to see around the sheet.
"Come around here, son," the doctor said invitingly. Hesitantly, Bellamy rounded the edge, looked, and immediately found himself battling his gag reflex. Turning away from the scene, he hurried back up to Clarke's face, motioning for the nurse to move aside. Closing his eyes, he struggled to erase what he'd just seen.
"Are you… are you sure you want me down there, 'cause I think I'd be way more beneficial up here," he felt himself hyperventilating. "Like way more beneficial."
"What's the matter?" she questioned, bearing the brunt of another contraction. "What are you talking about?!"
"I don't like it down there!" Bellamy answered hysterically. "I'm scared!" He didn't mention that he also found it insanely gross.
"You're scared?!" she fired back, making a face at him. Bellamy grabbed her hand in response, hoping she would drop the subject in the midst of her pain. "You're not doing anything!"
"Clarke, calm down."
She stopped her deep-breathing and gave him a devilish look he'd never seen before. Searching for what he'd done wrong, he glanced down at the doctor, who raised his eyebrows before returning to his safety behind the sheet. The nurse occupied herself with a nearby clipboard. "What? You told me-"
"Calm down?!" she asked wildly, knuckles turning white. "Bellamy, you idiot! Do you not see what I'm doing right now?!"
"You're right," he acknowledged. Clarke's tone terrified him. "That was stupid. I shouldn't have said that."
"Push, Clarke!" the doctor ordered from his end.
"I can't!" wheezing, Clarke collapsed against the bed, crying a little. "I'm so tired… I can't do this."
"Clarke, yes you can," Bellamy took her weakness as the perfect opportunity to redeem himself. "Yes you can. A few more pushes, babe. Just keep telling yourself that."
"No." Clarke sniffled and stared up at the lights. Shaking her head, she ran her hands over her face. "Noo…"
Bellamy glanced down at the doctor, who spoke in a low voice to the nurse. He felt helpless; she had to push. There was no getting out of it. Sure, Bellamy didn't know how much pain she was in, but the only way to make it stop was to keep pushing. Then she'd be pain-free and holding a baby. Biting his lip, he thought of other motivational techniques. Then it came to him, a brilliant idea. Stalking over to the chair, he grabbed his phone, scrolled through some of his music library, and stopped on Coldplay. Clarke moaned in the background. Choosing one of the songs, he turned it up to the maximum volume.
"Push, Clarke," taking hold of her hand, he set the phone down on the nightstand.
"Can you turn that down?" the doctor asked.
"No, she likes it!" Bellamy argued, tucking hair behind Clarke's ear. That wasn't a lie. Clarke loved Coldplay, and what better time for their inclusion than the birth of their son? "Come on, Clarke. You can do this! Chris Martin wants you to push!" Grunting, she did. And again when another contraction hit. She clung on to him enough to break skin, leaving little crescent shaped welts on his palm.
"Good, good. A few more, Clarke," the doctor said supportively. "You're doing great."
"Come on, Clarke," Bellamy tightened his grip to counter hers. "Come on."
"Bellamy," her face flushed red beneath the strain. "You will never know this level of pain!" She pushed again. "I hope you get kidney stones!"
"I can see his head!" the doctor shouted. "One more, Clarke! Again!"
"One more, Clarke. Just one more." Bellamy ignored her threat. Please don't let me get kidney stones, he prayed.
Crushing his fingers, Clarke shrieked while tears slid down her face.
The surprisingly clear sound of their son crying for the first time shook Clarke from the absolute state of fear at being a parent she'd been in since those two pink lines stared back at her on a home pregnancy test.
Now that Tristan Blake had come into the world, wrinkly and screaming at the top of his little lungs, Bellamy finally understood what his mother had meant when she claimed there's no greater love than that of a parent and their child.
"Do you want to cut the cord?" the Doctor asked Bellamy, who still stood there, dumbfounded and holding Clarke's hand. He nodded, numbly, unable to take his eyes off the sight of the baby, their baby, as the doctor walked him through the process.
Dazed, he saddled back into the chair next to the bed as the nurse laid their newborn son against Clarke's breast. Bellamy couldn't take his eyes off them; he comprehended fully now what his mother had meant about children being miracles, something he'd once rolled his eyes over, but he couldn't distinguish or give name to any of the emotions swirling in his chest.
Clarke looked over at him, beaming through happy teams streaming down her face as she played with tiny fingers, murmuring little assurances to the bundle in her arms. Even though she was tired and her skin was paler than usual, Clarke's face was glowing, and Bellamy thought she had never looked stronger or more beautiful.
"You wanna hold him?"
"Yeah," his voice was thick. "I do."
Hands in his pockets, Bellamy stood before the glass, smiling at all the babies. From what he could tell, there were more pink blankets than blue ones. Scanning the rows, he found Tristan's rolling home and stared at him as he slept. He was huge, almost eight pounds; Bellamy recalled hearing him scream loudly as the doctor held him up after Clarke's final push.
Tristan had eyes greener than Clarke's and a mop of curly brown hair that could pass for his. Bellamy already knew he'd be a good looking kid.
"There he is!"
Bellamy turned to his left and smiled wide. As soon as Tristan burst into the world, he'd texted Miller.
"New father!" Miller greeted him with a hug. Half the frat was with him.
"We got you a balloon, bitch," Jasper handed it to him before giving a congratulatory handshake. Bellamy smiled at the shiny, blue balloon bearing the classic: It's a boy! "Where he at, man?"
Bellamy pointed him out in the second row. Tristan yawned.
Miller looked thoroughly at Tristan and then at Bellamy. Then back at Tristan. "Yep. He's yours," he confirmed, stepping back from the glass so the other guys could get a better look.
"How can you tell?"
"He's lazy," Miller replied.
"Shut up," Bellamy elbowed him. Perking up immediately, he turned to his brothers. "Guess what his middle name is."
Everyone shrugged after a few moments of thought.
"Ark-Chi," Bellamy revealed. Awed, their faces lit up one by one.
"Are you serious?" Murphy slapped Bellamy's chest. "How the hell did you get Clarke to agree to that?"
"She didn't!" Bellamy exclaimed. Neither of them had discussed middle names. They'd concerned themselves with a first name and then moved on to other baby-related things. "She was so doped up on pain meds that she didn't even notice!"
"Clarke's going to kick your ass," Miller replied, fake-punching Bellamy in the chest. He still looked impressed.
"Probably," Bellamy said knowingly. "But that's a sweet ass middle name. He's a legacy and he has our house name as his middle name."
It was genius. Clarke had to appreciate genius.
"A-C-E!" they started chanting loudly. "A-C-E! A-C-E! A-C-E!"
"Boys!" one of the nurses shot them a look.
"Sorry," Bellamy hurriedly apologized as he motioned for them to quiet down. The air of excitement was difficult to contain. Bellamy felt energized, like he did after working out for a long time. He wanted to go crazy, flip things over, party, something. Turning back to his friends, he reveled in the congratulations and the hugs.
"Bellamy!" Clarke sat up as he entered the room, pushing the plastic thing containing Tristan. She'd waited diligently for his return. If she'd had enough energy to walk, she would've hunted him down. He couldn't have gone far, and knowing him, he was somewhere around the babies. She fondly recalled her first appointment that Bellamy attended, where he had wanted to go see all the newborns.
"Shh, he's sleeping," he motioned.
"Ark-Chi?!" she questioned in a loud whisper, glaring in his direction. "You named your son after a frat house?!"
"It was our first house!" Bellamy defended himself. What the hell is wrong with him, Clarke asked herself. Shaking her head, she relaxed against the pillows and wordlessly combated some lingering pain. "We have a lot of memories there, Clarke!"
"I'm going to kill you," slightly irritated, she tapped her nails against the bed railings. Coming up with a middle name had completely slipped her mind in the last month because other things seemed more important. Clarke rolled her eyes. "Ark-Chi… Really, Bell."
"He's gonna be the most kick ass kid in preschool," Bellamy resorted to his usual logic. "Think about it. No one messes with a kid named Ark-Chi."
"That's not his name," Clarke pointed out a little harshly. Parents were supposed to agree on a baby's name. She'd agreed to 'Tristan', because it fit her versatility request almost perfectly. She hadn't approved the inclusion of Bellamy's frat house in his name. Beyond fatigued, she was not in the mood to have an argument.
"Yeah, but… it's part of his name," Bellamy shrugged, lifting Tristan out. "And all the girls, or boys, will fall at his feet. He's going to have no problem getting a date to Prom." Beaming, he immersed himself in his own world, dancing while holding Tristan.
"Bellamy-"
"Here's the happy couple," Miller poked his head in the door. "Is it safe to come in?"
"Yeah," Clarke nodded, giving up. It wasn't the worst middle name – her dad's middle name was Muriel - but it definitely wasn't something she would've chosen. And she knew there'd be no changing Bellamy's mind. Since there were other people in the room, she didn't want to fight in front of them. That was rude. "I'm assuming you heard?"
"Oh yeah," Miller said proudly, filing in. Eight more people filed in after him, nearly filling the room to capacity. Jasper waltzed over to the window, adjusting the blinds. "Ark-Chi? We approve."
"Of course you do." Clarke muttered. She could only imagine the nurse's face when Bellamy said that. A frat house? Really? There's no way they think we're going to be responsible parents, Clarke thought. They were obviously young parents and with Bellamy's executive decision… she could do nothing but shake her head.
At least he didn't say something ridiculously stupid, like the name of a superhero, or some long-dead Roman emperor. He had named Octavia, after all. Covering her face with her hands, she raked fingers through her hair and hoped her appearance wasn't too unsightly. Their visit was unexpected. Aurora and Octavia had come in shortly after Tristan was born; the two of them had been Clarke's only anticipated visitors.
"Awh, I want one." Octavia cooed as she cradled Tristan, rocking him back and forth in her arms as she pressed a finger to his nose.
Bellamy only glared at her. "Don't even," he said at the same time that Aurora replied, "Not til you're thirty."
Finn, thankfully, didn't dare show his face after the scene Bellamy had made. She was afraid hospital security would've ended up throwing both Finn and Bellamy out, because she knew if he stayed any longer, Bellamy probably would've assaulted him. The last thing Clarke wanted to do was take her newborn son to the police station with Aurora and Octavia to bail him out of jail.
"You look great, Clarke," Monty commented. She smiled back in response. Her smile remained as she watched Bellamy dance around with Tristan; it was cute.
Getting down on one knee, Bellamy held Tristan up in the air in the direction of his gathered brothers/friends, carefully making sure he was supporting Tristan's head properly, just the way his mom showed him. "Tristan Ark-Chi Blake, I present you to the eventual fathers of your future frat brothers!" he proclaimed. They whooped and cheered. Rising regally from the floor, Bellamy handed Tristan to Miller, who had three little sisters and held Tristan like an expert. The boy's all clambered over to Miller, each wanting their own turn holding Tristan. After ensuring Tristan's safety, Bellamy walked backwards to Clarke's side.
"We can change his middle name if you want," he said in a low voice. "I can see how much you hate it." He laughed.
"No," Clarke sighed and observed their son being passed from one guy to the next. "You love it too much, and knowing you, you think its genius."
"That I do," he concurred.
"And you've already told them," she gestured to the horde of people in her room. "And they're excited, so I'll suck it up and get used to it."
"Yes!" Bellamy grinned excitedly. When he leaned down to hug her, Clarke inhaled a relaxing combination of sweat and cologne. "If I told you that I kind of might love you a little, would that freak you out?" Clarke Griffin was pretty much it for him, but that would freak her out, so he wasn't planning on telling her that anytime soon.
"Yes," she nodded as he pulled away.
"Okay," he said, unperturbed. "Then I won't tell you." Smiling, he wrapped his fingers around the railing and watched Tristan move from arm to arm. From their position, it sounded like his friends were arguing about something. "Support the head!" Miller commanded before relinquishing the baby to Jasper, who was wiggling his fingers like a maniacal villain. If Miller and the rest of the guys weren't there, Bellamy was convinced that Jasper would probably try and sneak Tristan out with him like some mustached Mafioso in a telenovela like his mom watched.
"He has hair like Bellamy's," someone pointed out.
"Do you think he'll be as stupid?" Miller stared over Jasper's shoulder.
"Nah." Several of them shook their heads. "He knocked up Clarke. This kid's going to be smart." Clarke smiled at the compliment.
"You think he'll be as slutty?"
"Maybe. Look at those eyes."
"I have something else to tell you, too. And it's kind of embarrassing," Bellamy lowered his eyes and scuffed his heel against the ground.
"What?" she raised a suspicious eyebrow. That first thing had been heavy enough. Normally, she wouldn't be able to tell if he was serious. But the look in his eyes told her he was. And that was scary.
"You owe me twenty bucks." He said it so casually that Clarke almost laughed. Strolling into the center of the testosterone-laden pack, he accepted Tristan back into his arms.
Bellamy shifted in his chair. Hectic wasn't the right word to describe the past month or so. After bringing Tristan home - the frat house, that is - Bellamy and Clarke had to pack up pretty much everything and move back to their real house an hour away. College was over; Bellamy's sophomore year was done. At the start of the year, his room housed one person. Now, there were three people vying for space. It was tight, it was cramped, but they were doing their best to make it work.
He quickly realized that Clarke had been right, scarily right. Tristan's first night home, he went straight to sleep, fooling Bellamy into thinking that being a dad wasn't so hard. Tristan woke up two hours later, screaming.
Wanting to make a good impression on Clarke to show her he was serious, and he wasn't going to leave her or Tristan, ever, Bellamy got up, lifted Tristan from his crib, and took him from the room so she could keep sleeping. He was tired, very much so, but he didn't mind the one on one time. There was something peaceful about calming down his son and putting him back to sleep. After quieting him, he laid him back down, only to be startled awake two hours later.
Then again two hours later.
It took almost a week and half for Bellamy to get used to his new sleep schedule, and not a night went by where he didn't silently swear while holding Tristan and watching late-night infomercials. He and Clarke decided to alternate turns during the night because it seemed fair, and it kept both of them equally sleep-deprived. The only problem was high school. Bellamy's year was over and done with; Clarke still had a little over a month left before graduating, which meant she still had classes, tests, and homework.
With that little dent in their newfound parenthood, Bellamy basically became a stay-at-home-dad. As promised, his mom taught them how to properly hold and change a baby, how to warm up bottles, how to change diapers, everything. After the first two weeks, she stepped aside as teacher, but kept a watchful eye in case Bellamy screwed something up.
While Clarke learned and his mom worked, Bellamy dressed Tristan in the morning, fed him at whatever intervals he demanded, changed him when necessary, and put him down for naps in the afternoon. At night, while his friends partied and hit on girls, Bellamy bathed Tristan and played with him while Clarke did her homework. This was his new life. It was hard, but he didn't find himself wishing he was out partying every night, drunk off his ass. He had a newfound sort of purpose. He had a son, and Clarke. It was hard, but it was more than worth it. Sometimes he even opted not to go to sleep, knowing Tristan would wake up, and instead watched his tiny son sleep, lulled by the baby's soft breathing. He resolved to be a better father to Tristan than Bellamy's father ever was.
His mom had come home from work early one afternoon before Clarke got out of school. He'd taken to picking up both Clarke and Octavia after school with Tristan in tow. The same girls from their class that had one time shamed and shunned Clarke during her pregnancy, would now surround his truck and coo at a sleeping Tristan in his car seat. He learned early that girls were suckers for guys with babies. Clarke would just roll her eyes and kiss him on the cheek and he'd grin like the cat that got the canary, because whether or not she realized it, she was marking Bellamy as hers.
"Oh, good, you're home," she said as she stripped off her cardigan and tossed it haphazardly on a ring of the coat rack, along with her purse. Where else would he be? "Where's Tristan?"
"I just put him down," he yawned. He'd contemplated a nap after feeding and changing Tristan and finally getting him to sleep, but something in his mom's expression told him that wasn't going to happen.
"I wanted to talk to you about what happened at the hospital with Finn," she started, wringing her hands together.
Bellamy closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in expiration, knowing this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. "Mom," he warned. Aurora was more accepting of Clarke now, but that didn't mean she kept her opinions to herself, and she was treading into dangerous territory by mentioning that jackass.
"Octavia wouldn't tell me, but…" she looked as uncomfortable as he felt. "Something you said at the hospital, it hit me… Is Finn Tristan's father?"
Bellamy glared at her from the couch, getting more angry and frustrated by the minute. "No, I'm his father. I'm the one who's been there for Clarke, I'm the one that has taken her to her appointments, I made sure she's had her prenatal vitamins, ate right, and Tristan is my son."
"Of course he is," Aurora said determinedly, brow wrinkling as she sat in an armchair, toying with the ends of her hair like Octavia did when she was nervous or agitated. "What I'm asking is, is he Finn's biologically."
Bellamy scrubbed his hand over his face, tired and irritated with this conversation, and the fact he couldn't seem to escape fucking Finn Collins. He could only imagine what his mother thought of Clarke now, if she put two and two together and realized that her daughter's ex boyfriend was the biological father of their son. It wasn't his story to tell, and he didn't want Aurora to pity Clarke, either. Clarke was a fighter. She had already intended to raise Tristan herself, cut off from her family, alone, long before the two of them got involved.
"Well… you're asking, so you already know the answer," he grumbled. What did biology matter anyway? Bellamy's biological father stepped out and abandoned them. Clearly, it wasn't everything. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, looking over at his mom. "It's not my story to tell, okay? None of this is Clarke's fault. I'm Tristan's dad because I want to be, and he needs one, and… just don't start."
Reaching over, Aurora placed a hand on his knee, holding his gaze. His mom completely surprised him by answering, "I won't." It wasn't like Aurora Blake to concede defeat and he eyed his mom from across the median. "Clarke's a good girl and she's a good mom," she said by way of apology.
Seemingly content, she got up to make her way to the kitchen, stopping once in the threshold. Aurora turned to look at him with a small smile and said, "I'm proud of both of you. Now, go get some sleep before you pick the girls up from school. I will take care of my grandson when he wakes."
Mutely, he nodded.
After a couple of hours of much needed sleep, Bellamy begrudgingly rolled out of bed, leaving Tristan to be spoiled by his grandmother while he went to get Clarke and Octavia. He was quiet on the drive home, despite Octavia's persistence in engaging in conversation. Clarke could tell something was bothering him, but wanted to wait until they were alone in the privacy of their bedroom to ask.
He told her about the conversation he'd had that afternoon with his mom. He was waiting for her to be upset and angry, but instead she just nodded vehemently, understanding, with her lips in a tight line and a crease in her forehead.
Later that evening, after putting Tristan to bed for the night – or for the next several hours, he walked into the living room and stopped in the hallway, his ears perked at the sound of Clarke and Aurora. He peaked around the corner. Sitting on the couch was Clarke, in nearly the same spot he was in earlier that day, and his mom murmuring quietly from beside her. Aurora's eyes glistened in the low light, but Clarke was openly trying to stifle sobs, pressing her hand over her mouth and palming her cheeks.
He almost burst in there, ready to yank her into the cocoon of his harms and chastise his mother for making his girlfriend cry. Instead, Clarke stopped talking, and Aurora slid closer to her, engulfing Clarke in her arms. If anything, Clarke cried harder when his mom started rubbing soothing circles on her back, petting her hair the same way she would his or Octavia when they woke up crying in the middle of the night after their dad left. "Shhh," she whispered, rocking the blond in the safety of her arms.
Bellamy felt as if he were intruding and quietly stepped back into the hallway, sticking his head in Octavia's room where she lay sleeping haphazardly on top of the covers with her phone stuck to her cheek. No doubt she had fallen asleep texting Lincoln. He crossed the hallway and closed the door silently behind him and waited for Clarke.
He was dozing off by the time she came back to the room, eyes red. She blinked at him, as if she hadn't expected him to be waiting on her. "Bell…"
"C'mere," he said, scooting further across the bed, he raised the covers invitingly. She slid in a moment later, pushing her back against him like a little spoon, pulling his arm over her stomach. "I told your mom," she said quietly, pressing her lips shyly into his forearm as his arm tightened around her. She burrowed into him with relief.
"I know. I'm proud of you." His voice was warm and reassuring against the top of her head that she couldn't help but wiggle around until she could see him, eyes glistening in the darkness. Clarke rubbed her cheek against the warm cotton of his t-shirt, nestling closer. His breath fanned against her hair and his hand took up a slow caress at the base of her spine.
It'd been a long time since she could really remembering feeling like a family, like part of something, free to breathe and heal. She was glad that she got this one, with Bellamy and Tristan, and Octavia and Aurora.
Rubbing his eyes, he looked around the gargantuan room. He couldn't remember his last full night's sleep. He'd never pulled an all-nighter before, but he figured that was basically the same as taking care of a baby all night. Roaming his eyes over the audience, he transported himself to this same date two years ago, June fifteenth. There were so many people. So many people.
Families screamed as their graduated paraded across the stage with a big smile on their face. Turning his eyes to the stage, he stared at the members of the school board, some of whom looked like they'd rather be somewhere else. A guy crossed the stage. Yep, Bellamy thought, same as always.
Walk across the stage, shake the principal's hand, receive diploma, shake some guidance counselor's hand, walk off. That walk, with the cameras and the lights, was the most nerve-wracking part of graduation. Bellamy smiled at the memory of some kid tripping at his graduation.
Biting his bottom lip, he gazed over the sea of intermingled red and gold robes. Unlike most schools that dressed graduates by gender, robe color at his former high school was determined by grade point average. Honor graduates received yellow robes; everyone else got red ones.
He had already clapped fiercely when the B's rolled around and Octavia walked the stage, both hands in the air, and shouted, "We're done, bitches!" – And, much to the dismay of staff and parents, half the graduating class echoed her sentiments.
Bellamy cheered her on vehemently, thrusting his fist in the air, before settling back down to retrieve Tristan from his mother's lap as the announcer called for Roma Bragg. He vaguely remembered the dark haired girl from prom.
A last name starting with 'G' caught Bellamy's attention the second time.
"Mom," he attracted her attention. Since he had the baby, she had the camera. Standing up, he cradled Tristan and turned him around so he could see the stage. Bellamy listened anxiously for Clarke's name. "Mommy's graduating," he said in a low voice to Tristan, bouncing him up and down. Bellamy silently prayed that Tristan didn't throw up on his blue shirt. Tristan was also clad in blue because, according to Clarke, it made his eyes 'pop'. Glancing down, Bellamy couldn't help but agree; his tiny eyes did look brighter.
"Mom," he said again, looking over to his right.
"Yes, Bellamy, I'm filming," she assured him.
"Okay," he nodded, bouncing Tristan. "Are you zoomed in on the stage?"
"As much as this thing allows," she commented. "I know how to film a graduation, Bellamy. Yours is at home, nicely done, remember?"
"Mhm," he nodded.
"And you should probably stop bouncing him. He just ate," she reminded him.
Bellamy stopped immediately. He'd been thrown up on once before, and it'd been one of the grossest moments of his life, and the smell of sour milk seemed like it'd never go away. He didn't need a repeat in front of all these strangers. Tapping his foot, he continued waiting. An excited buzz pervaded the air. This wasn't even his graduation and he was excited.
After all the diplomas were distributed, the principal would ramble on for a bit, and then declare them graduates. Tassels would turn, caps would shoot up, and then rain down onto crying, elated seniors. They would then march from the room to a song Bellamy had heard a million times but couldn't name, and he would locate Clarke outside amongst the mass of families, congratulations, and flowers.
"Clarke Elizabeth Griffin," the speaker enunciated. Grinning, she marched across the stage in her yellow robe.
"Look!" Bellamy pointed excitedly. "Look, Tristan! Mommy's graduating!" He glanced down at Tristan, who didn't look as interested or ecstatic. Even though their son wasn't nearly as enthused, Bellamy couldn't prevent a stupid grin from coming to his face.
Not only was he excited, he was proud.
Part of him wanted to run down there and crush her in a hug, but they were only in the middle of the alphabet. He had to control himself for at least another half hour. Bellamy watched her return to her seat and refrained from yelling out something ridiculous. Reaching a tiny hand up, Tristan hit Bellamy in the face. Smiling wider, Bellamy looked down again, wishing Tristan understood the day's importance. "Mommy's graduating."
Thank you thank you, you've all been awesome all throughout this story and I love all of you. I might even be working on a new AU but I'm not sure how I feel about it so far and I prefer to be pretty much finished before I post anything.
ANYWAY.
THANK YOU EVERYONE. You are all effin awesome. I never expected people to like this.
AND a thank you to yourmomshouse from ao3 for betaing this (and the last chapter) and giving me pointers on what to add and what to subtract and generally for being awesome and reading my train wreck of a last chapter from it's first draft (it really was painful)
xx love you all