a/n Thanks so much to you lovely folks who reviewed that last chapter. I hear that some of you are a bit frustrated by Bellamy and Clarke's lack of communication, and by Clarke's mixed feelings about her pregnancy, but I want this to be a plausible portrayal of the kind of emotions they're all experiencing in the wake of S5, so we have a little way to go yet. That said, I'm sure you can guess what the endgame is, here!
If you're looking for something a bit fluffier to offset some of the angst currently at play here, you might want to go read Murphy's Door, which is a Memori oneshot I wrote this weekend.
Massive thanks to Stormkpr (writer of the greatest Mackson fluff ever - seriously, go check some out) for betaing.
Apologies for that uncharacteristically long author's note. Happy reading!
Fretting about their family outing does not consume Clarke in the days that follow. She is a rational creature, and she is standing firmly by her resolution not to be sent unhinged by the loss of Bellamy Blake ever again.
Not that he was ever hers to lose, of course.
No, that is exactly the kind of thought she is supposed to be avoiding. She must distract herself from such things. So it is that she takes great care over her ongoing duties in Medical, and frequently volunteers to go out on missions to observe and collect Jackson's recently discovered herb. She spends, too, rather more time than strictly necessary in Kane's office, offering her opinions on everything from education to agriculture. She's still steering clear, though, of having thoughts on anything that touches too close to security or military matters, anything that could get people killed. She's not quite ready for that, not yet.
The day of their next adventure rolls around and she carefully avoids having any expectations at all as the whole family gathers and sets out towards sector five. There is some irony, Clarke feels, in their choosing to head for the very wildfowl which so frustrated her as a topic of conversation on that first morning that things went so wrong between her and Bellamy. But she is assured that the wetlands are very scenic and that the terrain is easy – just the sort of thing that is suitable for a recovering drug addict and a pregnant woman.
She's only one month pregnant, of course, or more likely a little over, but it seems that her relatives are determined to make a fuss of her. They continue to make a fuss of Madi, too, and everyone has adopted the habit of asking after the girl's health on a near-daily basis, much to her annoyance. She hasn't had a single dizzy spell since that last excursion to the north, and Clarke is determined to keep it that way.
Octavia is particularly lively today, her birthday truce with her brother having evidently stood the test of time, and Clarke is glad of it. Her sunny presence, together with Madi's innate high spirits, have her feeling almost cheerful as they eat up the miles towards their destination.
Then Bellamy appears by her shoulder, looking for all the world as if he is actually walking alongside her by choice, and she creeps ever closer to contentment.
"Hey." She finds it somehow easier to greet him with a smile now than she does to put on this act in the village. Perhaps it is the magic of a family outing, or perhaps it is the change of setting, or perhaps they really are getting there.
"Hey." He's not quite touching her, but as he falls into step by her side he is close enough that she can feel his warmth. "How are you doing?"
"I'm OK." She answers, trying to control her joy at this unsolicited display of concern. Clearly he does still care about her, at least in some way, after all.
"That's good. How have you been feeling? Any sickness? Any sign of how the baby's doing?"
She swallows her disappointment at that, tries to cope with the sudden switch from sunshine to sorrow. So he does care, it turns out, but only for Madi's sake. And she doesn't resent her daughter for this, of course, because that would be madness.
But for the record, if she were to be a little mad just now, she reckons that would be understandable.
"No sickness. Everything's OK as far as my mum can tell. It's too soon to know for sure whether it's Madi." She recites a summary of her state of health dispassionately, and doesn't allow herself to dwell too long on the fact that she's giving the father of this child exactly the same answer as she gave to the cheerful stranger who cleans Kane's office.
"That's OK." He says gently. "I'm sure she is. And we'll know soon enough. As long as you're alright, everything's good."
Well, then. Maybe they are getting there. But even if that is the case, they are apparently doing so extremely slowly.
…...
Clarke continues to practise with some determination for her potential future role as a field medic. Sure, she doesn't go far, with the wellbeing of her unborn child as her priority, but she is keen to be out and about and collecting supplies, rather than only sitting at her desk and acting as her mother's unofficial secretary. And if these excursions get her some fresh air, and help distract her from this situation she never asked for, and above all from her preoccupation with the way things lie between her and Bellamy – well, then. So much the better.
On this particular morning, she takes Madi along with her, too. Her daughter has no lessons today, but has elected to spend the free time with her mother rather than her father, and Clarke has to admit that she is at least a little overcome with joy at this decision, this resounding vote of confidence. Joy that rises above even her sadness that it does not seem to have occurred to any of them to spend the day together, all three of them.
"I hope this isn't too boring for you." Clarke frets as they set out. "We're only going herb-picking."
"I just wanted to hang out with you." Madi says, sounding suddenly rather childlike. "You've been spending so much time helping Kane recently and – and going out on adventures with Dad is great. But I miss going on adventures with you."
"I'm not sure this will be much of an adventure." At least, she hopes it won't. They're heading north, but she intends to stay far closer to the village than to the anomaly.
"It'll be great." Her daughter decides. "What are we looking for, anyway?"
"Jackson's miracle herb."
"Is that what they're calling it?"
"Your grandma wants to call it Jacksonia Vulgaris. Sounds a bit pretentious, if you ask me."
"We could call it JV for short." Madi suggests with an impish smile.
Clarke laughs aloud. "Let's. Definitely."
This is going to be a very enjoyable adventure indeed, she decides at that. She has her daughter's company and good humour, and a pleasant morning of picking herbs lined up. It will be, all things considered, a wonderful opportunity to get some fresh air and leave her troubles behind her.
That's when the horizon flashes green, and Madi stumbles against her.
"Madi?" She asks, worried, as her arms automatically reach out to support her crumpling body. "Are you OK, honey?"
The girl straightens with visible effort. "I'm fine. Just a dizzy spell. Let's keep going."
"Keep going? Are you out of you mind? That flash must have been miles away and it still got you. We're going home."
"Mum, no. Please. Please can we stay out?" She looks on the verge of tears. "I just miss going on adventures with you. And – and I miss you looking all happy like this and laughing at stupid stuff I say."
"Madi, honey." She pulls her daughter into a hug. "We need to go home, because you need to be safe. That's not me being overprotective, it's just me being sensible. But I promise that we'll have a lovely day at home. And I'll try to laugh at all the stupid things you say."
"And we can come out again another day? And go as far away from this stupid anomaly as possible?"
"Of course, Madi. Of course we can."
With that, they turn and make their way carefully back along the path. At least, Clarke muses, they do not have a long walk home. But it is rather worrying that Madi has had a dizzy spell so close to the village, she thinks, as they find the trees thinning not fifteen minutes later.
There is a rustling sound ahead of them, and she braces herself for whatever wild animal has decided to make their day even more unpleasant. But it is no such thing. A small patrol emerges before them, four people, Echo in the lead, Murphy at her shoulder.
"Clarke? And the hobbit?" Murphy is the first to greet them.
"What's wrong?" Echo asks without preamble. Clearly Clarke has not done as well at pasting a calm expression onto her face as she hoped.
"Nothing." Madi lies robustly.
The tilt of Echo's brow makes it clear that she is not fooled.
"Madi just had a dizzy spell." Clarke tells them quietly. "So we're going to go home so she can rest for a while."
"That sucks." Murphy sums it up accurately.
"Do you need any help getting home?" Echo offers.
"No thanks. We're nearly there."
With that, they say their goodbyes and set off again towards the village. Clarke could swear she hears whispers behind her, perhaps a rustle in the undergrowth, but when she turns round, there is no one there.
…...
Clarke sits in the living room later that morning, bolt upright on one of the chairs that serve the small table, and pretends to draw while Madi naps on the sofa. She's made very little progress, really, no more than a vague impression of the shape of a flower and the curve of a leaf, distracted as she is by watching her daughter's chest rise and fall.
Then she hears the key turn in the lock, and a familiar knock at the front door.
She curses internally at this man's poor timing. How on Earth has he managed to show up now, right when her worries have her least composed to face him? And what is to become, now, of that plan to spend a lovely day at home with her daughter when she wakes?
With a sigh, she heads for the door, clenches her jaw against the imminent likelihood of one of those increasingly frigid kisses. Finds her jaw gaping open again in surprise when, all of a sudden, she is engulfed in a rather vehement warm hug.
"Bellamy?" She's not sure why it comes out as a question. Perhaps she's asking for an explanation of this enthusiastic embrace.
"Clarke. Hey. I'm so sorry, I got here as soon as I heard."
"Heard?" She queries, nose still pressed against his neck.
"About Madi, of course. Murphy came and fetched me. Is she OK?"
"Yeah, she's fine. It's just a bit worrying that it happened so close to the village."
"Yeah, of course." He pulls back a little to look her in the eye. "Are you OK? I know it must have been a pretty stressful morning for you."
He's only asking because of the baby, she reminds herself. He's only asking because he knows stress could be bad for her child. But all the same, she has had a stressful morning, so she allows herself, just for a moment, the luxury of pretending he's asking because he cares about her.
"I'm doing fine. It was good that you came over." She finds herself meaning the words, actually, thinking that this long-drawn-out hug is doing her really quite a lot of good. It is doing her good, too, to know that it must be for their benefit, not for the sake of keeping up appearances, safe from public eyes as they currently are.
"Of course I came over. You two are my family and I -"
"Dad?" Madi's voice, thick with sleep, sounds through the open living room door. "Is that you?"
Clarke doesn't think she is imagining his sigh as he pulls away. She feels like sighing, too, as she adds yet another to the tally of unfinished sentences fate has left between them.
"Hey, kid." He pastes a smile on his face, goes to kneel by the sofa. "How are you feeling?"
"Better." She sits up cautiously. "When did you get here?"
"A couple of minutes ago. I was just talking to your mum."
"Oh. Sorry." Madi looks genuinely regretful as her gaze flickers between the two of them. "Don't let me interrupt."
"Hey, it's fine." He soothes.
"Yeah. We can talk any time." Clarke lies cheerfully. Based on the events of recent weeks, it is certainly far from the truth. "How are you feeling? What can we do for you?"
"Can I have a story?" She asks, looking incredibly young, anxiety lining her face.
"Of course you can, Madi." Bellamy takes a seat on the sofa by her side, settles into the cushions as if he is here to stay.
Well, then. So much for an afternoon of laughter with her daughter.
…...
She knows she should attempt to engineer an opportunity for Bellamy to finish that sentence, but she never does. She just can't quite face it, somehow, feels that if it all goes wrong it could take her yet another step closer to unhinged. And she's avoiding that fate for all she's worth, reminding herself carefully that life looks a whole lot better than it did just a couple of short months ago. She has her daughter, and her friends and family, and she has a bizarre public relationship with Bellamy, and those are things she could only have dreamed of securing, before. And, anyway, if that sentence was really so important – well, then. Surely he could have tried to finish it for himself, by now.
She knows, too, that she should attempt to be a bit more open with her friends and family. She still doesn't quite dare to be truly honest with her mother, fearing that any bit of bad news could send her reaching for the pills once more, and she can't tell her daughter that all is not well between the parents she so adores.
She could, however, tell Raven. But she doesn't, not quite. She skirts around the issue, sure, but never entirely opens up to her. She just knows she couldn't bear it, if Raven could make sense of him, now, when she cannot. It would be, she thinks, the final nail in the coffin of any hope of ever understanding him in her own right, of ever truly getting to know him again.
So it is that when she sits with Raven at lunch, the week after Madi's dizziness and that unfinished sentence, she is careful to conceal their complete lack of communication and closeness.
"How are you?" Her friend asks with good cheer which is presumably not caused by the bowl of uninspiring stew before her. "How's pregnancy suiting you?"
"It's fine. It's too early to say much about how the baby's doing, though."
"Yeah, of course. But how's the expectant mother doing, then?" She tries not to tear up at this unexpected evidence that her friend actually cares about her wellbeing, rather than only that of the future – and past – commander. "Got Bellamy giving you those foot rubs yet?"
"No." She says, careful to avoid any eye contact that might give her away. "Not yet."
"That's awfully restrained of you." Raven says, and Clarke can hear the frown in her voice. "I'd have thought you'd have been making the most of the way he dotes on you. I swear, if I see him pull a chair out for you at supper one more time I'm going to have to slap him."
"Yes, he does seem to have decided I can't deal with my own furniture." It might be sweet, she thinks, if they were actually speaking to each other in any useful sense, but as it is, it just makes their situation all the weirder.
"I suppose it's sweet, in a sickening kind of way." Hmm, OK then. Definitely other people agree that it is supposed to be sweet.
"Maybe." She shrugs carefully, takes a bite of lunch.
"Is everything OK, Clarke?" Damn it, she has apparently not been acting as well as she hoped.
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"It's just that, if it were me, and I was expecting a baby with a man I'd loved for literally decades, who had started following me round making a fuss of me, I think I'd probably be over the moon. And you don't look very over the moon."
"I am, of course I am." She lies, wishing she was brave enough to tell her what's really going on behind closed doors. The awkward silences, the careful avoidance of time spent alone with her. The unfathomable coldness of all of those ridiculous kisses on the cheek and the stilted politeness with which he puts a chaste hand on her lower back every time he offers her a chair.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Absolutely. I'm just still worried about Madi – you know she had another dizzy spell last week?"
Raven appears to see nothing amiss in her answer, as she nods and accepts the change of subject. Perhaps, she thinks, that is what hurts most of all.
Perhaps this friendship is built on quicksand every bit as much as that beautiful but dutiful relationship with Bellamy has turned out to be.
…...
Clarke is pleasantly surprised when Bellamy walks into the Medical Centre the following morning, even though Madi is at school and he must know this full well. He must, therefore, be there to see her, and that thought is enough to make her day, for all that she's busy steeling herself to endure that blasted kiss on the cheek she has come to expect.
She is even more surprised when, instead of his usual greeting, he stands a foot away and addresses her with actual words and an impenetrable expression.
"Clarke? Can we talk? Have you got a moment?"
If he finally wants to actually speak to her, she thinks, she has all the time in the world.
"Sure. Are you OK without me for a minute, Mum?"
"Of course." Abby gives a brisk nod, attention still on the notes before her.
Clarke takes a deep breath and leads Bellamy in the direction of that very consultation room he sat in while she tended to his arm all those weeks ago. Time has been playing weird games throughout her life, she muses as they walk. That might be months, but it feels like half a lifetime ago. That span seems longer, somehow, than the six years she spent on Earth without him.
"What is it?" She asks when they arrive, and have the door shut behind them for privacy. She can't read his face, of course. Or rather, she has long since given up trying. But she senses that it must be something substantial for him to walk in here and demand to see her. And even if it's bad news, somehow, she is at least rejoicing that he is so keen to share it with her.
"I've just seen Kane. He wants me to lead a team out to the west, beyond the territory we've explored so far. Leaving in five days, and we'd be gone about a week."
She resists the urge to point out that he promised there would be no more missions that took him away from his family for so long. As far as she can tell, his mind is already made up. Her role in this, she supposes, is to look publicly supportive and to look after Madi while he is gone.
"OK. Thanks for telling me." She is grateful for that, after all. She is grateful that this is the closest they have come to a conversation which is actually about anything since she told him she was pregnant. "Do you want to tell Madi, or shall I?"
He blinks at that, as if it is not the answer he was expecting. "Sorry?"
"Who's telling Madi?"
"Why don't we both tell her? Together?" Ah yes, of course. That game of happy families they are playing.
"Sure. Are you planning on coming over tonight?"
"Of course."
"Great." She says, all false cheer. "Let's tell her then."
…...
Madi seems, once again, supremely unconcerned at the idea that her father is to disappear into the unknown for a week. Clarke is relieved at this, because her daughter has become substantially more nervous in disposition since the fainting fit, but it seems that her unshakeable faith in Bellamy's ability to survive heroic exploits endures.
She only wishes she felt quite so confident.
It is awful, preparing for his departure while things are still so strained between them. She wants so badly to hold him close, and tell him that she wants him to come home in one piece. To tell him, perhaps, even that she will miss him. Because she will miss him, even more than she is missing him right now, while he is somehow simultaneously here yet very much absent. But, of course, no opportunity to say any of these things presents itself, and it seems that she is growing out of practice in the art of creating opportunities for herself, the art of actually initiating conversation. With anyone, actually, she notes sadly, not just with him.
It seems he is growing out of practice, too, at touching her. The stilted public intimacies are becoming ever fewer as the days go by, and she finds herself strangely relieved. As charades go, it is a rather wearing one. And there is nothing that hurts more than being kissed on the cheek by a man who, only weeks ago, was instead trailing his lips down the inside of her thigh.
The last evening before Bellamy's departure rolls around, and, of course, he presents himself at her front door to spend the evening with his daughter. They watch a film, as they have been doing increasingly often of late. There is simply less need for awkward chat during a movie than during chess, she supposes. Madi tries to convince her father to pick something to watch in honour of his imminent going away, but he refuses with spirit, and insists that his daughter should choose whatever she likes. And so it is that they spend three unbearably long hours watching some cheerful account of the lives of a besotted couple brought together by seven children, and she rather finds herself wondering if this means Madi has noticed that something is amiss with the lack of casual intimacy her parents are sharing around the house.
As messages go, Clarke thinks, this movie is hardly a subtle one.
But maybe it is an effective one, she muses, as they put Madi to bed and then they find themselves standing in the corridor outside her room. She's a little confused as to why they're still hanging around, and can only presume that the moral of this evening's story might have something to do with it. Normally Bellamy is straight out the door the moment Madi's head hits the pillow. Why, then, is he still loitering, with that strangely thoughtful look in his eyes?
At least, she thinks he looks thoughtful. Obviously she wouldn't know, isn't claiming that she knows what's going on in that head of his. She's learnt not to claim such things, as a rule.
"Bellamy?" She takes a large breath, and a larger risk. "Do you want to stay for a bit? We haven't played chess in a while."
He shakes his head, and she thinks that the expression on his face might be regret. Or it might not. Whatever. It doesn't matter to her.
"I can't. We're leaving early tomorrow."
"Oh." She tries not to look too downcast at his rejection. "Well, then. Have a good trip."
That's ridiculous, she curses herself inwardly. It is trite. He is not going on a trip, this is not some merry day out in the sun. He is going on a potentially dangerous mission, and if she's not careful, she won't get to say a proper goodbye.
As if he has read her thoughts, he steps forwards and engulfs her in a hug. And she should be surprised, really, because there have been precious few such hugs in recent weeks, but almost instinctively she finds that her arms have reached around him in turn, and she is holding him tight and pressing her cheek against his neck.
"Stay safe." She murmurs, hoping he can hear just how fervently she means it. "Come back to us."
"Of course I will." He soothes gently. "I'll be back before you know it. You take care of yourself, and of our girls."
She nods, and he holds her even tighter at the motion, and the kiss he presses to her forehead is somehow rather warmer than his lips have felt in weeks.
…...
Clarke finds herself strangely optimistic in the days that follow. They are still capable of sharing beautiful hugs, and actually the shared parenting of Madi has been going rather better of late. And yes, of course, it's not nice that he's out on a mission in the middle of nowhere, but Raven and Kane keep them updated about his safety and she intends to speak to him herself, with Madi for company of course, once or twice while he's gone.
She's rather looking forward to that. She remembers only too clearly that meaningful chat they had over the lazer-comm on his last long expedition, remembers the emotional closeness they managed despite the geographical distance. Perhaps, she hopes, they might manage something like that again. It would make a change to have something pleasant to think of while she lies in her lonely bed.
She makes it to day three before cracking and suggesting to Madi that it is time to call Bellamy.
"I thought you'd never ask." The girl responds with an impish grin. "Let's go."
"What – now?" They are half way through a game of chess.
"Yes. Come on."
Madi's enthusiasm is infectious, Clarke decides, as they walk briskly to the workshop. That's definitely all that's going on here. Any suggestion that she is enthusiastic in her own right about this, that she is eager to learn if this call, too, will bring them back towards each other, is clearly unfounded.
They arrive at their destination, and Emori offers them a warm welcome.
"Hey, you two. Here to speak to Bellamy?"
"Yes." Madi answers for them. "Please. Is he there now?"
"Last thing I knew he was guarding the camp while Echo and Miller head off to scout. I reckon he can guard and talk." With that, she picks up the handset and begins to speak. "Bellamy? You there?"
They wait barely seconds for his response. "Yeah. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Your womenfolk are here for a chat."
"They are?" Does he sound excited at the prospect, or is she wrong again? "Pass me over, then?"
"Hey, Dad." Madi virtually tears the handset from a laughing Emori. "How are you?"
"I'm doing OK, kid. We discovered a new type of animal today." Clarke feels her heart leap to her throat at this, wonders if this news heralds a threat like the Titans.
"You did? What are they like?" Madi asks with naive anticipation.
"Sort of like a smaller, tamer version of boar, maybe? They're little and fat, anyway, and they don't seem aggressive. And they taste good." He concludes with a laugh.
"They sound cute."
"Yeah, they are, I guess. How's school?"
"Boring. We're doing human biology and it's way more basic than what grandma Abby teaches me."
"That's because not everyone's grandmother is the Chief of Medical, Madi." He teases cheerfully. "Did Emori say your mum's there too?"
"Yeah, she's right here. I guess I'm maybe hogging the handset a little."
"Hey, don't worry about it, kid. It's great to speak to you. I'd just like to chat to her too." Would he? That's news to her. Before she entirely has time to collect herself, Madi is giving her the handset with a teasing grin.
Clearly, she is now expected to look like one half of a perfect-parents-couple.
"Hey." She supposes the perfect parental relationship would probably involve a few more endearments, a superfluous dear or darling, but they've never really been her thing. "How are you?"
"I think our daughter just asked me that." Right. Yes. Of course. How stupid of her.
"So she did." She tries for a carefree laugh. "Tell me more about these new animals, then?"
"There's not a great deal to tell." He sounds a bit confused. Although she could be wrong, of course. She often is. "They're small and good for eating."
"OK. And how are Miller and Indra and the others?"
"They're fine." No, she's almost positive that's confusion, now.
"Great, great. And is it cold out there?"
"Yes. Winter tends to be cold, I hear."
She chuckles cheerfully at his bad joke. "Of course."
That is when she makes her mistake. That is when she catches Madi's eye, sees the utterly despairing look painted across her daughter's face at this evidence of her parents' incompatibility. And she can't blame her, really. This trivial conversation about absolutely nothing is a pretty poor attempt at happily ever after.
It's pretty poor, even, as attempts at polite indifference go.
And suddenly she cannot bear it. She cannot bear the crushing disappointment of this comms conversation that is so unlike the last one they shared. Cannot bear the crushing fact that they have regressed, somehow, to something even worse than where they were before that last hug. Cannot bear the crushing realisation that rushes upon her, all at once, that they will never, ever get there.
With a garbled suggestion to Madi that she should stay and chat to her father for a while, Clarke flees from the workshop, desperate to get home in time to hide her tears.
a/n Thanks for reading!