Chapter 55

Clarke's head had to be spinning. Waking up after two days of unconsciousness and finding out she'd been in a car accident had to throw her for a loop. Bellamy felt for her, especially because, from the moment her mom, stepdad, and Dr. Tsing came into the room, it was clear she was clear she was going to be asked a lot of questions.

Dr. Tsing looked her over fully, as did her equally medically competent mother. Marcus cracked a few jokes with her and got her to laugh a little, and Bellamy mainly just hung back, leaning against the window, trying to stay out of the way while her parents stood at her bedside.

The doctor's physical exam all looked positive, and she said Clarke definitely seemed to be on the mend. She wanted to ask her some things, though, just to ensure that there was no cognitive damage.

"Fire away," Clarke invited her.

"Okay. What's your mother's birthday?" Dr. Tsing inquired.

"August 2nd, 1967," Clarke replied without hesitation.

"The name of your first pet?"

"Never really had one. Mom wouldn't let me get one." Clarke sent her mother a slightly miffed glare.

"They're unsanitary," Abby claimed.

"What are the last four digits of your phone number?" Dr. Tsing asked.

"3415."

The doctor smiled, a clear indicator that this was going well. "How about your first kiss?"

"Ugh," Clarke groaned, making a face of disgust. "Finn Collins, janitor's closet."

Dr. Tsing laughed a little. "Who's president?"

Clarke rolled her eyes. "I'd rather not think about that."

"Okay, who's your best friend then?"

Bellamy tensed, noticing how Clarke looked over at him out of the corner of her eye. But when she answered, she said, "Raven Reyes." And that kind of stung.

"Very good, Clarke," Dr. Tsing praised. "You did well."

"That wasn't exactly the ACT exam," Clarke pointed out. "Not too hard to pass."

"No, but you didn't seem to have any problems coming up with the answers. So that's a very good sign," Dr. Tsing said. She glanced at the clock on the wall and noted, "It's getting late. I think I can leave you be for the night. But I'll check in on you tomorrow. And we'll go from there, okay?"

"Okay," Clarke said. "Thank you."

"Yes, thank you," Abby said, giving her fellow doctor and former colleague an appreciative hug. She closed in at Clarke's bedside after that, though, and started talking to her daughter. Bellamy decided it was the perfect chance to slip out of the room and follow Dr. Tsing, because he needed to talk to her about . . . about that thing they hadn't talked to Clarke about. Or her parents.

"Dr. Tsing," he called, scampering to catch up with her.

"Oh, Bellamy, isn't this great?" she said excitedly. "See, I told you we had reason to be optimistic."

"Yeah, it's . . . a miracle," he agreed, feeling like even that word didn't really do this justice. That moment when Clarke had woken up and said his name had been the most incredible moment of his life. He actually felt ashamed that he'd been so close to giving up hope completely, but that had more to do with his past than anything else. He'd never really give up on her.

"Listen, Dr. Tsing," he said, wrinkling his forehead in confusion, "I don't think Clarke knows she's pregnant." It just seemed weird that she hadn't asked about it. He'd been so sure that that was why she'd been on her way over to see him prior to the accident, that that was what she'd left him a voicemail about. But really, he'd just assumed. He didn't know for certain.

"She didn't seem to have any idea when you brought her in the other night," Dr. Tsing remarked.

"No, I know for sure she didn't know then," he said. "And I thought she might've found out on her own, but . . . I mean, if she did, wouldn't she ask if the baby's okay?"

"I wondered the same thing," Dr. Tsing admitted. "I think you're probably right that she doesn't know. And I don't think it's a wise idea to tell her tonight. She's already coping with enough stress. We don't need to overload her. She needs to be as calm as possible for these next few hours."

"Yeah," Bellamy agreed. "It can wait." He knew a thing or two about stress. In fact, stress had been his constant companion these past few days. It was better if Clarke didn't have to deal with everything at once right now. He didn't want to overwhelm her or get her worked up; he just wanted to be there for her.

...

"Are you sure I can live without a spleen?" Clarke asked her mother for the fifth or sixth time. She didn't even know what her spleen did, or if it did anything at all. It just seemed weird to no longer have one.

"I'm sure," her mom said, smiling at her. "It is part of your immune system, though, so there's some medication I wanna make sure they get you on. But no, you don't need a spleen, honey. You'll do just fine without one."

"Okay, if you say so." Clarke touched the left side of her upper abdomen, knowing she'd probably see a gross-looking scar once she lifted up her hospital gown. By all accounts, she'd been lucky, though, and she wasn't taking that for granted. Based on the crash the doctor had described and the reported condition of her car . . . yeah, it could've been a lot worse.

"The type of surgery they did on you isn't as invasive, either," her mother informed her. "So your recovery time won't take as long. You'll be good as new in no time."

Good as new, Clarke thought, picking at the bandaging on her left forearm. God, it was itchy and annoying, but hopefully she could take it off soon. All in all, it beat the hell out of a cast or a sling. Nothing was broken or fractured or dislocated. She had cuts and scrapes and bruises. She was sore, but she was . . . fine. So she was grateful.

"I'm sorry you guys had to cut your vacation short for me," she apologized. They probably could have just stayed in Aruba and checked in on her when they came back.

"Oh, honey, don't be sorry," her mom said, cupping her cheek lovingly. "You are so much more important than anything else."

"We hated not being able to get here sooner," her stepfather added. "But Bellamy was with you the whole time."

Bellamy. She looked at the door he'd just walked out of, wondering where he'd gone. To tell Raven and everyone else that her brain wasn't wonky, probably. "Was he really here the whole time?" she asked.

Her mother nodded. "They told me he's listed as your emergency contact."

Huh. Even though she hadn't anticipated him actually getting contacted about anything, she vividly remembered writing that in a couple nights ago. Along with the word boyfriend, which hadn't applied then and definitely didn't apply now. But of course he'd been the first one to know, the first one there. And he was still there.

He hadn't left her.

"Can I see my friends?" she asked, needing to get her mind off of Bellamy.

"Tomorrow," her mom said. "I just want you to take it easy tonight."

"But I've been taking it easy for two days," Clarke pointed out.

"Sleep and unconsciousness are not the same thing. You need to rest."

Clarke shifted around a bit, feeling stiff and uncomfortable in this bed that she wasn't used to. But she did feel tired, too, she had to admit. She wanted to see her friends, thank them all for being there for her, but . . . her mom probably knew what was best.

She nodded, reluctantly accepting the wait-and-rest plan. It'd probably be better if her friends didn't see her until tomorrow anyway. She'd seen herself in a handheld mirror, and it wasn't a pretty sight right now. No makeup, hair a mess, and a nice little bruise around her right eye. She'd probably scare them if they saw her. Although . . . they'd all already seen her, she supposed. According to her mom, she had "quite the fan club" out there, and they'd all sat down and talked to her these past couple days.

She sort of wished she knew what they'd said.

"You guys are gonna be here tonight, though. Right?" Clarke asked them. As resilient as she was trying to be, she was still pretty shaken by all of this. It was a small comfort to know that they were there.

"We'll be here," her mother promised.

Clarke looked down at the thin blankets on her lap, embarrassed to even ask her next question. "What about Bellamy?"

Almost as if on cue, the door to the room opened, and he came back inside.

"I'm sure he'll be right here," her mom replied quietly. She smiled at her again, bent forward, and gave her forehead a kiss, the way she used to do when she was putting Clarke to bed when she was younger. "Goodnight, sweetheart," she said. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Clarke told her. She probably didn't say it enough.

Her stepfather gave her hand a squeeze and told her, "We'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay." Hopefully she'd be . . . livelier. Maybe less confined to this bed.

For some reason, it didn't dawn on her that her parents were leaving her and Bellamy alone until they actually were left alone. Her mom and Marcus walked out that door, and Bellamy remained behind. He shuffled towards her bed, hands in his pockets, and gazed down at her wordlessly. She had to look away, just because . . . it was undeniably awkward. He was there, and he was Bellamy, but . . . he wasn't the same guy she'd listed as her emergency contact the other night. And they weren't the same pair.

"You had me worried," he mumbled.

Oh god, she could only imagine. Not that she thought she could compare to Roma or Gina, but . . . she knew he must have been so scared after everything he'd already been through. "I'm sorry," she apologized, looking up at him. He was . . . pretty disheveled. His hair was everywhere, his eyes had bags under them, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in days.

"Did you . . ." He started to ask a question, but then he trailed off. "Never mind."

"What?" she prompted. For the first time in days, they could actually have a conversation; so now definitely wasn't the time for him to go silent on her.

"I just wondered if . . . if you could hear me," he said softly. "Any of us. We were talking to you."

Of all the words people had said to her these past few days, his were definitely the ones she was most curious about. But trying to recall anything from the past forty-eight hours was like . . . like looking into a giant black hole in her memory. There was just nothing there. "No," she replied. "I didn't hear anything."

He let out a heavy sigh and looked down at the ground. "Right."

She glanced to her left at the tray connected to her bed and saw one of her cheesy romance novels lying there face down, opened about a fourth of the way. She had a feeling he'd sat there and read to her. Probably for hours.

He was still a really good guy.

Now was totally not the time to be contemplating her very complex relationship with Bellamy Blake, though, and she knew that. So she pulled the blankets up over her chest and said, "I'm supposed to get some sleep."

"Oh." He sounded . . . almost disappointed to hear that. "Okay." Sitting down on the chair beside her bed, he grabbed the book off the tray, acting like he was going to sit there and read. But Clarke knew him better than that. He'd sit there and watch her sleep, probably all night. He'd breathe in when she did and breathe out when she did. Knowing that he was being so vigilant with her would make it impossible for her to fall asleep. So as much as she hated to do it, she suggested, "Maybe you should leave."

He frowned, like that hurt his feelings. "You sure?" he asked, probably wanting her to change her mind.

"Yeah." If things were different, if they were still together . . . well, then he would have crawled into that hospital bed with her and held her throughout the night. And she would have let him. She would have loved it.

He set the book down, slowly rose to his feet, and stood there unsurely for a moment, almost like he couldn't leave even though she'd asked him to.

"I'm okay," she assured him. She'd open her eyes again after closing them. She'd see him tomorrow and talk to him more then. She'd thank him for being there for her and tell him to make himself a priority, too. He had a job, and now he had a class, both of which he'd probably missed out on just to sit at her bedside.

"Alright, I'll let you . . . sleep then," he said, slowly stumbling towards the door. It was like he took the longest time possible to get there, and when he did, he turned back around and asked, "You got everything you need? Are you comfortable?"

"Yeah," she said, snuggling a bit deeper in the bed. "Could you shut off the lights?"

"Yeah." He reached for the light switch, but when he flipped it, it didn't get completely dark in there. Just really, really dim. "Goodnight," he said.

"Night." She watched him leave the room, wondering how many hours he'd sat in there with her, waiting and hoping she would wake up. And now that she had, she'd basically just kicked him out. Great.

It had to be done, though. Had to be done.

Falling asleep turned out to be easy. Her body was still very tired, so she drifted off in no time. Her dreams weren't particularly pleasant, what with thoughts of a car crash and surgery flying through her mind. So it was actually kind of a relief to wake back up again in the middle of the night.

It happened when her doorway opened, letting a sliver of light from the hallway inside. That little sliver of light was enough to wake her up, though she didn't move and barely opened her eyes.

Through half-closed lids, she saw Bellamy's familiar form silhouetted in the doorway before he quickly shut it again. He came into the room and muttered a swear under his breath when he stubbed his toe on something. She watched as he limped over to the cot set up underneath the TV on the wall and lay down, not even bothering to grab a spare pillow or a blanket to make himself comfortable.

She closed her eyes again, keeping them shut until she heard him start . . . not snoring, exactly, but like one step down from that. Bellamy tended to breathe pretty loudly when he slept. She recognized the sound well.

Opening her eyes again, letting them adjust to the nearly dark room, she watched him, getting an idea of what it must have been like for him to sit there and watch her these past two days. Except this was different, because she knew he'd wake up. When it came to watching over her, he hadn't had that luxury.

His devotion was . . . heartwarming. Not surprising, but heartwarming nonetheless. And maybe a little misleading. He hadn't snuck back in there because he was all of a sudden in love with her now; it was because he loved her. As a best friend.

Oh, well, she thought. For tonight, that was good enough. She closed her eyes, taking comfort in his nearness, in the fact that he was right there if she needed him. And then she drifted back to sleep.

...

The bed was so small and so not soft that Clarke didn't sleep particularly well that night. From the second she awoke in the morning, she felt like she needed more rest. Both her mom and the doctor had told her that she should expect to feel lethargic for the next few days, but she wasn't looking forward to having such little energy.

Being in that hospital room was so weird, because in a way, it was completely unfamiliar. But clearly her friends had done their best to make it homey. She saw some of her clothes hanging up in the closet, and some of her pictures were set out, including one of her and her dad on her first day of high school. During the night, someone—either Bellamy or someone who worked there—had covered her up with a Redskins blanket that wasn't actually hers; it was Bellamy's. But she'd cuddled under it at his house enough that it felt like hers, too.

Once her eyes had adjusted to the morning brightness, she cast a glance at the cot. Bellamy had settled in on it last night and was still lying there now, still sleeping.

She could probably count on one hand the number of times she'd woken up earlier than Bellamy Blake.

Oh, gotta pee, she thought suddenly, figuring that was the reason why she'd woken up. She gauged the distance between herself and the bathroom, feeling like it wasn't too far. She could make it.

Since she wasn't hooked up to a dozen annoying monitoring machines anymore, she sat up slowly, pushing the blankets aside. The left side of her abdomen was definitely a little sore because of the surgery she'd had, but she ignored the slight ache and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Well, as much as she could swing them right now. She hadn't used them for days, so she was very stiff.

When she stepped down onto the floor, her knees nearly buckled, and she had to hold onto the bed for support. As if he had some sort of Protect Princess Mode that alerted him to her potential distress, Bellamy began to stir, and she cringed inwardly at the thought of waking him up. She took a few slow, unsure, quiet steps, feeling as wobbly as a baby colt. She bumped into one of the chairs, and the noise from that startled Bellamy awake.

"Clarke," he said, immediately shooting to his feet. He was at her side in a second, one hand coming up to wrap around her waist, the other holding her arm. "What're you doin'?" he asked her.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she said, holding onto him like a crutch as she walked. This was sort of . . . embarrassing. But she remembered having a hernia removed back in the first grade and having to walk all bent over with a pillow pressed to her stomach for over a week. At least this didn't feel as bad as that, but it did feel similar.

"You want me to just carry you?" he offered.

"No, I got this." She wasn't an invalid. Besides, she was already halfway there.

It was slow-going, but with his help, she made it to the bathroom. He probably would have gone in there with her if she hadn't said, "I can do this part myself," and shut the door on him.

Once she was through doing what she needed to do, she stood at the sink, washing her hands, groaning unhappily at her reflection. Oh god, this hospital gown did nothing for her figure. And her hair looked like a dead cat on her head, so she combed her fingers through it in an attempt to make herself look better. At least the bruise around her eye was yellowing out and subsiding. And she'd chanced a peek at her splenectomy scars, which were a lot smaller than she'd anticipated they would be.

When she came out of the bathroom, Bellamy was right there waiting. He held out his arm for her to grab onto, but she just whimpered, suddenly feeling like that bed was too far away.

"Can you just carry me?" she relented, deciding to take him up on his offer.

"Sure." He moved in close, bent down, and hooked one arm under her knees, securing the other around her back. Like she weighed nothing, he lifted her off her feet and carried her over to the bed, laying her down carefully.

"Thanks," she said, getting back under the covers. As ridiculous as it sounded . . . her legs weren't shaved, and she didn't want Bellamy seeing that. Not that he really cared. He'd even shaved her legs for her one time when they'd taken a bath together, but . . . well, they weren't taking any baths together anymore, were they?

"You alright?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she said. "Just sore."

"What hurts?"

"Stomach."

"Stomach, huh?" He frowned.

"It's fine, though." If she was able to walk around a little bit throughout the day, she was sure she'd get to feeling better.

"Do you want some, uh . . . some food or anything?" he asked her. "I'm sure they can get you some breakfast."

Before she could respond, the door opened, and in came her mom and her stepdad, both of whom looked thrilled to see that she was already awake. And very tan. She supposed they had Aruba to thank for that.

"Good morning, sweetie," her mother practically cooed. She came to Clarke's bedside and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. Clarke could barely recall the last time her mother had been so affectionate. "Did you sleep well?" she inquired.

"Kind of," she replied with a shrug.

"How about you?" Marcus asked Bellamy.

"He slept on a cot," Clarke answered for him.

"Ah, I've slept on worse," he claimed. And Clarke knew he was talking about the trailer he and his mom and Octavia had lived in for a while when he'd been young. He'd slept on the floor in a sleeping bag there. He and his mother both had.

Abby started trying to fix up Clarke's hair for her, which Clarke was actually quite grateful for, and revealed, "Well, guess what? We got to know all your new friends this morning. They took us out for breakfast."

"Can I see them?" Clarke asked eagerly. She'd gotten some rest, and now she just wanted to spend some time with the people who had become her family this year.

...

Clarke had to have the most packed hospital room in the entire building. Everyone was there. Wells and his girlfriend had even driven in from Delaware to come visit her. Everyone wanted to talk to her and tell her what a relief it was to hear her talk back.

It wasn't that different from when they all hung out at his place on Saturday nights, except this was a Friday morning. And it wasn't Bellamy's place. And rather than sitting next to Clarke with his arm around her, he had his arms folded over his chest and was standing feet away from her by the window.

Okay, so maybe it was different after all.

"I think no spleen suits you," Raven teased. She'd cuddled up next to Clarke in the bed and was now fiddling with the adjustable buttons that raised and lowered it.

"It was just holding me back," Clarke agreed, managing to be remarkably good-spirited about the whole ordeal.

"Yeah," Harper agreed, snuggling one of the 'Get Well Soon' teddy bears someone had purchased for Clarke in the gift shop. "Next time we go out to TonDC, you can let loose. No pesky spleen getting in the way."

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll be a world class dancer now," Clarke joked, and that got a knowing laugh out of everyone.

"Is your scar gnarly?" Jasper asked almost excitedly.

"It's not that bad," Clarke told him.

He pouted.

"Sorry to disappoint!" she huffed.

"Ugh, scars suck," Emori lamented. "I have one right by my ass."

"Is that from having your tail removed?" Miller taunted.

"Shut up!" she yelped, seizing the bear from Harper. She threw it at him, but he ducked out of the way, and she ended up hitting Murphy instead.

Bellamy just stood there, halfway listening to the conversation that ebbed and flowed around him, but mostly just watching Clarke. It was so good to see the life in her eyes, to see her smile and laugh with all their friends. She verbalized and vocalized, chattered and babbled. She interacted and reacted, and all in all, it was a beautiful sight to see.

He must have seemed tense or something, though, because his sister came to his side when Murphy launched into a tirade about how horrible hospital food was. "You okay?" she quietly asked him.

"Yeah," he replied. He was . . . better than he'd been in days.

"She looks good," Octavia remarked, "all things considered." She grimaced a bit, holding her back, and Bellamy knew she had to be feeling uncomfortable as hell. She was a very pregnant woman who'd slept in a hospital waiting room for three nights straight. She needed to go home and sleep in her own bed tonight. He was going to make her.

"So what about the . . . you know?" Octavia mumbled. "Any word on that?"

"No." He studied Clarke closely, thinking that she looked so . . . so innocent. When she found out about the baby, she'd be shocked. And so scared.

"Has she . . . has she even mentioned it?" Octavia asked.

He shook his head subtly.

"Does she know?"

"I don't think so." Not talking to her about it was torture, though, for him. It felt like he was keeping some huge secret from her.

"Oh my god," Octavia said. "When are they gonna tell her?"

They? he thought. Who was they? The doctors? Dr. Tsing? She was a nice woman and all, but . . . he couldn't picture himself just standing there like a wordless idiot when she dropped that bombshell on Clarke. No. It had to be something he did. It was their baby.

"Bellamy?" Octavia prompted.

"I'll be back," he said, slinking off behind the backs and shoulders of his friends, exiting the room. They could have their time with Clarke, and once they all dispersed . . . then he'd tell her. And then she wouldn't be laughing and smiling as much as she was right now.

He found Dr. Tsing in the hallway, coming out of the room of another patient. She smiled at him right away and asked, "You get some sleep?"

"Yeah." He'd woken up every few hours to check on Clarke, though, just because . . . he couldn't not.

"It seems like she's doing great," Dr. Tsing remarked, motioning for him to follow her as she traipsed down the hall. "I don't want her to overdo it, but it is good for her to get up and move around a bit. Maybe you could help her with that?"

"Yeah." He definitely could.

"She's gonna need to take it easy when she goes home, though. Does she live with you?"

"Uh . . ." A week ago, she basically had, but now, everything was different. "Not exactly."

"She doesn't?" Dr. Tsing sounded genuinely surprised.

"We're not really . . ." He trailed off, deciding not to get to far into their whole breakup saga. They could figure out plans for Clarke later, before she left the hospital. Right now, there was a far more urgent matter to deal with.

"Can we tell her today?" Bellamy asked, stopping in the middle of the hallway. "Can I tell her?"

Dr. Tsing grabbed his arm, gently pulling him out of the way as another doctor hurried past. "About the baby?" she asked.

"Yeah." The knowledge that there even was a baby to tell her about still made his head spin, but gradually, it was becoming less and less surreal. "I feel like . . . it should be me," he said.

Dr. Tsing nodded slowly in agreement. "You're right," she said. "It should be."

"So I can . . . I can tell her?" he stammered.

"Sure. You have that conversation, and I'll talk to her afterwards."

He exhaled heavily, feeling nervous. "Okay." Already, his palms were sweating, and he didn't usually get sweaty palms. "What do I say?"

Dr. Tsing smiled sympathetically. "There's no script I can give you," she said. "You just . . . you just tell her. And support her. The way you felt when you found out? She's gonna feel the exact same way, maybe even more so. She's gonna need you."

Bellamy gulped, nodding. As crazy as this all had been for him, Clarke was the one who was actually carrying a baby. Or . . . hopefully she was still carrying it. She was going to have so many thoughts racing through her mind when she found out, and she was going to feel so many fears.

He was gonna be there for her. She didn't have to do this alone.

...

Clarke didn't know if what she was eating was supposed to be pudding or Jell-O. It was pretty bad when you couldn't tell the difference. "This stuff's disgusting," she told her mom, forcing another spoonful into her mouth.

"Yeah, hospital food's always a little bland," her mother empathized. She was getting to enjoy a chicken sandwich, but the doctors didn't want Clarke eating anything too hearty. Squishy, liquidy food was what they wanted her to eat right now, because they warned her that her stomach might be a little touchy in the aftermath of her surgery.

"I can't believe you eat this stuff every day," Clarke said, scooping up the last spoonful in her bowl.

"Well, not every day," her mother said. "Sometimes I work through lunch. And our cafeteria's not bad. It's a bigger hospital, so we have more . . . variety, I guess you could say."

"So size matters?" Clarke joked.

Her mother laughed. "In this case, it does."

"Hmm." She glanced towards the door, halfway expecting Bellamy to come back in, just because . . . well, when they were talking about size, that'd be appropriate.

The room had cleared out half an hour ago. If it was up to her friends, they probably would have hung out and kept her company all day. But they obeyed her mother's orders just like they obeyed Dr. Tsing's orders, and when Abby told them they needed to give her a little time to relax, they left. They were all coming back later, though, they assured her, to hang out tonight. She wasn't sure how lively or energetic she'd be by then, but she'd try her best.

Marcus was still mulling about the hospital somewhere, she assumed, as was Bellamy—she had a hard time picturing him leaving without saying goodbye—but it was her mom who insisted on being the one to have lunch with her today. A 'mother-daughter lunch,' she called it. Clarke couldn't even remember the last time they'd had one of those, but despite the fact that she was still confined to a hospital room, it was kind of nice.

"So what do you think of my friends?" she asked, eager to find out what kind of impression they'd made.

"I think . . ." Abby paused, swallowing what was in her mouth, and wiped her lips off with a napkin. "I think you all seem very close-knit," she said. "And they seem like a good group of people."

Clarke smiled, happy to hear that. Perhaps her opinion would be different if she knew that Miller and Jackson were gay, or if she knew that Jasper was a stoner, but . . . hey, she wasn't about to tell her any of that.

"So you got to know them all through Bellamy?" her mother asked.

"Mmm-hmm." She looked down at her lap, wishing it didn't hurt just to hear his freakin' name.

"His sister . . . goodness, she's beautiful," Abby remarked.

"Yeah." As if she wasn't pretty enough, she had the whole pregnancy glow happening, too. "It's the genetic jackpot."

"And I hear you get to be her baby's godmother. That's exciting."

"Yeah," Clarke said, hoping that was still the plan. As awkward as it would be for her and Bellamy to stand up there together at that little boy's baptism . . . they could do it. For Octavia. For Lincoln. For the baby.

"She looks like she's about to have that baby any day," Clarke's mother remarked. "Is she?"

"Uh, she's got about a month left," Clarke replied. "So . . . yeah, I guess we'll be back in this hospital in a couple of weeks. For a different reason."

"Yeah." Her mom set her lunch tray aside and scooted her chair forward, clasping both her hands around Clarke's. "I'm sorry you've had to go through this," she said.

"At least I'm okay," Clarke said. Miller, upon her request, had showed her a picture of what her car now looked like, as photographed by the local news station and posted on their website. It was . . . legitimately scary.

"I knew you'd be okay," her mother said. "You're strong, you're brave."

Clarke grunted, feeling like she hadn't been either of those things lately. She'd spent the majority of her time these past few days crying about Bellamy. That wasn't strong at all; it was the opposite.

"It'll take a little time to fully recover," her mom said, gently squeezing her hand. "Actually, I . . . I wanted to talk to you about that."

"You did?"

"Yeah." Her mom smiled hopefully and said, "I was thinking that, when you leave, maybe you could come home, stay with your stepfather and me for a while."

Home? Clarke thought, frowning. That wasn't home. But then again . . . neither was her apartment. Not really.

"Shouldn't I stay here, though?" she asked. "Dr. Tsing's gonna wanna check up on me. I'm closer to her here."

"Well, I'm a doctor, too," her mother pointed out. "I could take care of you."

Oh, Clarke was sure she could. Her mom was a great doctor, and she and Marcus would probably hire somebody to help out whenever they were at work. If Clarke went home with them, she wouldn't have to lift a finger during her recovery. There would be somewhere there twenty-four seven at her beck and call to get her whatever she needed.

"Maybe you could just stay with us this summer," her mother proposed. "That'd give you some time to . . . figure out what you wanna do next."

A.k.a. figure out my whole future, Clarke thought. That wasn't exactly something she wanted to think about right now.

"I just don't want you to be alone right now," her mother said, obviously just trying to be helpful.

"I'm not," Clarke said. "I'll have Raven and Niylah and . . . all my friends," she said. "They can help out." Surely Raven wouldn't mind letting her stay over for a couple of days. And then, once she'd recuperated a bit more from this surgery, she could go back to her apartment and take care of herself. She'd be fine. She didn't need a babysitter.

"Oh, Clarke . . ." Her mother sat back, sighing. "I'd feel better about leaving you here if you and . . ." She trailed off, hesitating for a few seconds. "Well, if you and Bellamy . . ."

Clarke tensed. Her mom knew about her and Bellamy?

"He told me you two broke up," her mother explained.

He had? God, she could only imagine what that conversation had been like.

"I'm sorry, Clarke," her mother said sympathetically. "I know how you felt about him."

She looked away from her mom, her frown intensifying. Had Bellamy agreed to this? Did he think it was a good idea for her to go spend the summer—or at the very least, a few weeks—with her mom and stepdad in their home? Even though she hadn't mentioned him as one of the people who could help her out, she'd sort of imagined that . . . that he would want to. Regardless of whether they were together anymore or not, she'd assumed he would come visit her and check up on her and . . . just make sure she was doing alright.

"He still loves you, you know," her mother said. "I don't know what brought about this whole break-up, but . . . I watched him with you, Clarke, and he still loves you very much."

Maybe that was meant to be comforting or reassuring, but . . . she almost wished her mom wouldn't have even said that. Because it got her hopes up. It made her believe that there could still be something more between them. Maybe there could be, but . . . she really couldn't think about any of that right now. Her desperation to be with the guy was ultimately the reason why she'd gotten in a car crash. Now she just had to focus on getting better; she couldn't deal with anything else right now.

...

How am I gonna do this? Bellamy wondered as he stared in at the babies in the hospital nursery again. There was one fewer than there had been yesterday, so her parents must have taken her home already.

This was so backwards. It was usually the girls who told the guys they were pregnant. He couldn't help but imagine how Clarke would have told him. In person, probably. Maybe she would have taken a home test with Raven at her side for support. Or maybe she would have brought a test over to his place and taken it there with him. He could've waited with her for the results; he could have spent that time comforting her and assuring her everything was gonna be alright.

A young couple walked into the nursery together, approaching the crib of one of the baby boys. They lifted him out of it, and the mother held him close to her breast, rocking him and snuggling him while the father touched his fingertip to the baby's tiny palms, looking at him in amazement. They looked so happy. They looked like a family.

Clarke was his family now. Whether the baby survived or not, he'd already decided that.

You gotta do this, he thought, reminding himself that he had actually volunteered himself for the job. Even though Clarke couldn't reveal the news to him, he could still be the one to tell her. Their circumstances definitely weren't ideal, but at least it could still be more . . . intimate this way. Special. Meaningful.

He turned and headed back to her room, trekking through the now familiar hallways. He knocked on her door and heard her say, "Come in," so he slowly opened it and stepped inside.

She was alone for the first time all day, sitting up in bed, drawing something on the small notepad of paper that sat on the bedside table.

"Hey," she said, barely glancing up from her sketch.

"Hey." He closed the door and walked forward, squinting to get a closer look at the drawing. It definitely wasn't of him. Not this time. "What is that?" he asked.

"It's a tree," she replied, holding it up for him to see. "It's not very good."

"No, it's nice." He stood between the side of the bed and the chair, not sure if he should sit down or stay standing, if he should just blurt it out or ease her into it.

"I finally had to tell my mom to leave," she said, shading in some of the tree's leaves. "I needed a little me time."

"Oh." And here he was interrupting that. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, setting both the paper and pencil aside. She looked up at him expectantly, but he just stood there like a moron, not saying anything. His mouth felt dry, and his heart was pounding.

"This is awkward," she said.

Yeah, it was. He couldn't help it. He was so nervous, it was as if he'd suddenly forgotten how to use his words.

"Look, Bellamy . . ." She sighed, looking down at her lap. "I don't remember much about the crash, but I do remember calling you before it happened. And I'm sure my voicemail was sort of . . . spastic, but . . ."

"I didn't . . ." He felt bad admitting it, but he couldn't lie to her and let her think he'd heard that voicemail. "I didn't listen to it."

"Oh." She frowned slightly. "You didn't?"

"No." God, he felt like such an ass. "I deleted it."

For a second or two, tears sprung up into her eyes; but she blinked them away just as quickly as they'd appeared. "Of course you did," she muttered dejectedly. "Why am I even surprised?"

"I just thought . . ." He trailed off, not even attempting to explain. What he'd been thinking in that moment and what he was thinking in this one were very different things.

"Clarke, I need to tell you something," he blurted, deciding it was best to cut to the chase before he said anything to upset her even more.

"Bellamy, I'm tired," she said. "Can we not delve into our relationship right now?"

"No, it's not that." That was another conversation, probably multiple ones, that they could have later. Once she'd had time to process all of this.

"Can you just leave?" she asked him. The way she said it . . . it sounded like she was pleading with him.

"Sure," he said, taking a few dazed steps away from the bed. But he quickly came to his senses again and turned back around. "No, I can't," he said, knowing he had to do this. If he didn't, then she found out from a doctor, just like he had. And that wasn't the way to find out. "Clarke . . ."

"What?"

He gulped, wishing he was better at this, wishing he was brave enough to reach down and grab her hand, even if she didn't want him to, because it'd been so easy to hold her hand and talk to her when she'd been unconscious.

Just do it, he told himself. Tell her.

So he did. "You're pregnant."

She stilled completely and just stared at him, her expression an unchanging mask for at least a few seconds. Then she snorted out a laugh, almost rolling her eyes, even, as though she thought he were joking or making that up. But she looked away, and it didn't take very long for that look on her face to change. He watched it happen, watched it go from a slightly annoyed one to slightly fearful. The furrow of her brow deepened, and her bottom lip began to quiver. He could see the wheels of her mind spinning as those two fateful words of his truly registered.

You're pregnant.

She looked like she was deep in thought, asking herself if it was even possible, probably thinking about the last time she'd gotten her period or . . . thinking about any other potential symptoms she might have had.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, expecting to feel like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders now that he'd told her. But he didn't. If anything, he almost felt worse, because the longer she sat there thinking about it, the more scared she seemed. Her eyes got wide with panic and shimmered with tears. And when she concernedly touched her stomach, it almost broke his heart.

"Am I still?" she finally asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She couldn't even look at him.

Yes, he wanted to tell her. Because that was what he wanted; he wanted her to still be pregnant. But he had to be honest with her. He owed her that much.

"I don't know," he confessed quietly.

She inhaled loudly, shakily, obviously terrified, and she still didn't look him in the eye. A few of her tears spilled over onto her cheeks, but she didn't bother to wipe them away.

He stood there by her bedside, feeling the same fears as much as he could. Being a pregnant woman was different, he knew. Try as he might, he'd probably never really be able to understand everything that she was feeling right now.

He didn't say anything, didn't try to get her to talk, either. Instead, he just gazed down at her stomach, praying to God their little baby was still in there.