Chapter 1
The soft hum of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" soundtracks her violent retching. Clarke blames the overpowering smell of cheap, and probably inedible, food for her recent bouts of sickness. Typically, she isn't bothered by her job's drawbacks. The benefits outweigh the obvious cons. She's worked at The Dropship Diner for nearly ten months. Its never bothered her before.
Just stress, she reminds herself.
Clarke gets back to work after splashing tap water in her mouth and convincing herself that her "half-dead" appearance isn't that noticeable. Clarke's fear that it actually is that noticeable is confirmed when Harper Greene, a fellow waitress, casts an oddly empathetic look her way.
Harper is a year younger than Clarke but a lot happier with her current position in the world. She married her first love, Monty, and is a proud mother of a two-year-old son named Jordan. Harper's the type of woman that never complains about her life and takes everything with stride—positively blissful in ways that Clarke could never be.
Clarke's stomach churns as she eases behind the counter again. Kyle Wick, the owner of The Dropship, is cooking cheeseburgers on the grill. He doesn't seem to mind the popping grease hitting his uncovered hands. He's too busy annoying the staff with his off-tune humming.
Kyle Wick, or Wick, is a cool guy when he's not being a complete douchebag. He inherited The Dropship Diner from his father and mainly uses it as a way to launder money from his other ventures.
Wick unceremoniously transfers the overcooked cheeseburger patties on a napkin-covered plate and puts on eight more. The diner is about to close but Wick's expecting his non-biological brothers to stop by for their weekly free meal (along with their significant others, apparently).
Clarke knows that she's supposed to leave once they arrive—but not because Wick wishes to protect her poorly assumed "innocence". She's no longer welcome around his friends for personal reasons.
It's really a childish situation.
Wick happens to be a member of a motorcycle gang—or club, whatever. Clarke was fully aware that Arkadia was home to Skaikru Motorcycle Club when she moved to California.
Clarke also knows that Skaikru runs guns for the Irish Republican Army, among other organizations with even bloodier reputations. Naturally, she's never publicized the fact that she knows the club is filled with semi-violent criminals, but it's something that she's well-informed on.
The only reason she says semi-violent is because Monty Greene and Jasper Jordan (the namesake of Harper's child) are members and Clarke doubts they could ever pull the trigger.
Full disclosure, Clarke was bored when she moved to Arkadia. It's not exactly a fun place to live. Her life back home was much more exciting than this hole-in-the-wall town. She needed a little excitement, maybe a connection, and she chose to entertain the curiosity of Skaikru's Vice President, a.k.a. Bellamy Blake, for a few glorious months.
It was a strictly casual arrangement until he decided to get back together with his psychopath ex-girlfriend, Echo, for reasons unknown. Clarke doesn't see the allure, but then again, she's slightly bitter that she's lost her main source of fun.
The worst part is that Echo's been enjoying her time as "Alpha Female" since Bellamy took her back. It's annoying.
According to her, Clarke isn't allowed to share Bellamy's space. Since her control is solely limited to dead-end diners, Clarke's humored her. At least it gives her an excuse to leave work early when the club holds Saturday dinner.
"Order up!" Wick yells enthusiastically. It's the third time he's announced the progress of his burgers to the desolate diner. Clarke vaguely wonders if he's sober.
Harper groans as she finishes wiping down her side of the diner, "You don't have to say order up every time, you know?" Wick only laughs in response to her aggravation and Clarke goes back to doing absolutely nothing. She finished her side work before she lost her guts in the bathroom.
"Hey, I didn't ask for your opinion." Wick laughs under his breath and goes back to humming. It's a sweet tune. Clarke's pretty sure Harper and Wick are cousins, but she's never gotten it confirmed. Plus, she's not even sure Harper would claim him. Wick throws on more meat. Clarke watches the grease sizzle, feeling nausea creeping up her throat again.
Jesus, Mary, Joseph.
"Clarke, you can go when everyone gets here," Wick says as if he is doing her a major favor. The truth is, Clarke thinks he feels bad, if not conflicted about the whole ordeal. He's the one that introduced Bellamy and Clarke. Maybe he knew all along that Bellamy was only using her as a distraction.
She just nods because addressing the issue only fucks everyone's mood up.
Harper walks over to Clarke, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Clarke cringes, never one to like casual affectionate touch. Harper doesn't seem to notice. The girl whispers, "Hey if you need anything, l got your back…I know you're super private but I remember how it was, okay?"
Clarke's confused because she's pretty sure Harper has never been hated by anyone in her entire life. Clarke's been known to piss people off from time to time and she's perfectly content dealing with the consequences of her own reckless actions.
Sleeping with Bellamy was fun and exhilarating, sure, but she's got bigger things in her life. Really, his indirect rejection doesn't hurt that much and if she keeps telling herself that every single day, she'll eventually believe it. It was just a fling. Flings end.
"I don't follow," Clarke admits, trying her best to be polite.
Harper sighs like Clarke is being difficult, "When I was pregnant with Jordan, I was always sick, too."
"I'm not pregnant," Clarke says quickly and the blatant aggression in her voice startles her. It's been a while since she's been that direct with someone. Harper looks positively mortified. Clarke readjusts her tone, "Wait, is that the rumor going around? Because I'm not."
"Uh, no, I just thought…you've been throwing up constantly and, you know what? Never mind. I was wrong to assume." Harper gives her a tentative smile but she's clearly flustered and embarrassed. "Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone what I thought. I just wanted you to know that you don't have to be alone all the time."
Harper walks towards the grill so she can playfully pester Wick.
Her head is absolutely spinning. What the fuck was that?
The entrance bell rings. Clarke's heart drops. Oh no, not now. Please don't be him.
Ever since Bellamy broke off their arrangement, things have been odd. Echo's expectations mean her interaction with Bellamy is incredibly limited. When they happen to be in the same space, she can feel his eyes on her. Just watching her move through her dim life. Clarke likes to think he wants to say something but doesn't know how to approach her. Something tells her that she's just projecting.
Clarke does her best to avoid him. It's her way of respecting his decision. She stopped going to the bar and taking smoke breaks behind the diner. She doesn't even sit on her front porch anymore.
She's relieved when she sees Wells Jaha beaming at her instead of Bellamy.
Wells is wearing his police uniform, gun holstered on his side. He gets a lot of praise for his decision to become a police officer despite his father's wealth and political status in Arkadia. Women love him. Clarke doesn't know if Wells is aware of the long line of admirers he has or if he just doesn't care. Everyone knows he has a giant crush on Clarke.
"Hey, I'll get my usual, Wick." He calls out, knuckles drumming on the freshly clean counter. Clarke bites back a grimace because she just finished wiping them down. Wells' smile widens when he notices that he has her attention, completely unaware that she's mentally choking him.
Clarke smiles back even though she doesn't mean it. Harper's words are running through her head and she's trying to translate them until they take on a whole different meaning. The bottom line is that she could be pregnant. Shit like that happens all the time, right? They used protection every breathless round, but condoms aren't 100% effective and they're both young.
She can't help but think she'll never be able to return home if she's pregnant.
Clarke tables her inner turmoil because she doesn't want to alert the entire town that she's slightly unstable. As far as they know, Clarke Chase is just a subpar waitress that moved here ten months ago. The only exciting thing about her is she used to fuck Bellamy. She hasn't disclosed anything else.
Clarke Griffin, on the other hand, is a woman with a rather complicated past.
"Another long night on duty…" Wells muses, plopping down in front of her. He has a habit of sitting wherever she's hanging out just so he can chat her up. She would find it cute if he wasn't so goddamn wrong about her. Wells continues hopefully, "But, I'm off tomorrow."
Clarke raises an eyebrow. He asks her out all the time, especially now that it's obvious she's single. She doesn't want to hurt his feelings but she doesn't see him that way and after being such an idiot with Bellamy, she's not planning on dating anyone here. Or anywhere, honestly.
Love isn't for her.
"So, I was wondering if you had plans?"
"Oh, Wells, I—"
The bell dings again.
Skaikru's younger members filter in through the door, laughing and pushing each other like children. Jasper walks in, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. He leans on the counter, flutters his eyes at Clarke, "Hello, Miss Chase."
"Jasper," Clarke tries to remain neutral but the utter ridiculousness of his stance causes her to crack a smile, "What do you want?"
Wells is displeased that Jasper is interrupting his limited time with Clarke. She gives him a brief smile, just to diffuse the tension. The bell dings but Clarke doesn't notice it, too wrapped up in preserving people's emotions.
Jasper readjusts his elbow on the counter, trying and failing to appear casual, "Can I just say you look beautiful today?"
Clarke narrows her eyes, "Thank you. I repeat, what do you want?"
"A date."
What?
Bellamy walks by the bar like he doesn't have a care in the world. As he passes Jasper, he irritatedly murmurs, "Leave Clarke alone. She's too sweet to tell you to fuck off."
Clarke's willing to bet his message is for Wells, too.
Clarke's eyes follow him until he sits down beside Nathan Miller. Bellamy's wearing a plain black t-shirt and worn, oil-stained jeans but she swears she's never seen someone look so graceful. She envies his confidence after years of falsely manufacturing her own.
His brothers are quiet as they regard him closely. Everyone's always watching him, waiting for their orders. Bellamy just watches Clarke, meeting her unusually shy blue eyes.
Her cheeks flush, and like a coward, she blames the built-up heat from the grill. She looks down at the counter, finding it to be wholly interesting. Her hand starts to fidget with the golden locket around her neck. It's her nervous habit. She hates the effect he has on her even after everything that's happened.
Jasper straightens but doesn't give up. Clarke admires his bravery, not too many people disobey Bellamy. He's a stern leader. But, she reconsiders her admiration when he starts stumbling over his words, "Not a date with you. Not that you're not great. 10/10 would recommend to a friend—uh, I know you hang out with Margot. Her daughter. Maya. Do you think you could hook me up?"
Margot owns a dance studio that Clarke works out at almost every night. She's only met Maya a few times because she goes to college out of state. Jasper's probably trying to lay down some groundwork before Maya comes home for holiday.
"I'll see what I can do," Clarke softly says, "Now, go sit down before you get in trouble."
Jasper grabs her face and kisses her cheek, "Thanks, mom!"
Clarke huffs, amused, then she remembers why she's so stressed out. She's confident Jasper only called her mom because she gave him a maternal-like order but it's enough to make her heartbeat spike and her stomach churn.
"Earth to Clarke," Wells says, waving a hand in front of her face, "What are your plans for tomorrow?"
Skaikru's table is still unusually quiet. Why can't they just mind their own business?
Clarke starts screwing the locket again, "I'm actually leaving for Los Angeles at 4 AM."
She has a prior obligation in LA. Plans she made a couple of weeks ago. Clarke's meeting a family friend. It's why she's been so stressed. Her subconscious reasons, See, you're not pregnant, idiot.
"Oh, wow, LA? What takes you there? That's about a five-hour drive."
"Mass."
Instinctively, she raises her head and sees Bellamy smirking as he leans forward in his chair, elbows against the table. He's pretending to be interested in whatever Miles is whispering about, but she knows that she has his attention.
He always got a good laugh out of Clarke's Catholic tendencies. Maybe it's because he knows how much she loves to sin. Especially with him. Bellamy is, well, different than anyone she's ever been with. She didn't grow up living under a rock, so of course, she knows all about trending BDSM. Light choking, spanking—the works. Fifty Shades started an open-minded epidemic towards kinky sex. While Bellamy's not a swoon-worthy multi-millionaire, he's definitely a dominant.
He never asked her to sign a contract or submit to him. That wasn't the face of their relationship together. Bellamy only requests that type of commitment for serious relationships. Seeing as they were solely casual, they just experimented with light power exchange. She always wondered what it would be like to surrender herself to him. Maybe she'd find it therapeutic. Clarke was certainly eager enough.
Now, it doesn't really matter what could have been.
"You're going all the way to LA for church?" Wells asks and she wonders if he's opting to be oblivious or if he's really that dense. The cruelty of her thoughts makes her feel bad. He doesn't know why she's unloveable. It's not his fault. He continues, "That's real devotion."
The bell dings again. Aurora Blake walks in looking positively ethereal. Clarke thinks she's beautiful but knows that she's a raging bitch. She never had much tolerance for Clarke, especially after it became public knowledge that she was fooling around with her son. What's she going to think if Clarke's pregnant?
Next comes Bellamy's sister. Octavia Blake. She's stunning but there's a darkness in her eyes that Clarke knows too well. Maybe in another lifetime, they would be friends.
Echo follows Octavia, her brown hair pulled up in a messy bun. She's wearing a mid-drift black shirt that shows off a snake tattoo and a pair of tight leather pants. Another beautiful woman. Really, she belongs with Bellamy. She can be everything he wants and she doesn't come with a bunch of baggage and secrets.
Echo clears her throat, "I thought you would have taken out the trash by now, Wick."
Clarke looks up towards the Heaven's for divine intervention. Echo really doesn't want to go down this route. A little voice in the back of her darkly begs, Please, try me.
A good fight might ease the tension inside of her. It's been a while since she's felt the satisfying sting of her knuckles splitting open. She feels like Wells would get too much satisfaction from handcuffing her after she takes a year's worth of anger out on Echo, though.
Plus, if she fights Echo for being disrespectful, Bellamy's mother and sister might jump to Echo's defense and that wouldn't make things any better.
Clarke maintains eye contact with Echo. An old, familiar sensation curls in her stomach and for a moment, she welcomes it. She's always had a reckless streak, especially when she's not facing her problems.
Echo averts her glare, taking a step back. Clarke addresses Wells, a smile on her face, "The priest is an old friend. Look, I have to go now. Be safe tonight. Text me if you get bored."
Wells stutters, "Y-yeah, I will. Have a goodnight, Clarke."
The second she walks to the back of the diner towards the supply closet, she regrets her power display. Clarke's worked out that Echo is a submissive and totally into the lifestyle. It's the only way her relationship with Bellamy could possibly work. He needs control. He needs loyalty. It was cruel of her to use Echo's personality traits against her.
But having to clear the room every time Bellamy's around is ridiculous when they live in a town with less than seven hundred people in it. Not that it was ever a competition, but Bellamy chose Echo. That should be enough.
She grabs her duffel bag before exiting out the side door. Right now, the only thing she wants to do is work off her shitty mood. Clarke starts walking towards the dance studio.
She fishes for the half-empty pack of cigarettes in her apron and sticks one in her mouth. Her mother hates that she smokes but it's either this or the mental institution, so. Just before she lights it, she pauses.
What if Harper's right?
Clarke shoves the cigarette back in the pack and sets her sights on Bill's Grocer. It's the only way she'll be able to settle her mind.
You're not pregnant, Clarke tells herself as she follows the signs to the family planning aisle. She passes shelves filled with formula and baby food on her way, feeling worse with each step. Clarke starts debating her anxiety like it's going to fight back, You don't even have regular periods. Stop being ridiculous.
Bill's doesn't offer an array of options like a chain store would, so she settles for the second cheapest test and tries to be as discreet as possible on her way to the register. The test's packaging claims that it is the most effective on the market. There are two sticks in the box, which if Clarke is pregnant, she'll need just to make sure she's not delusional.
You're not pregnant!
The cashier is a teenager that Clarke's seen in the diner a few times before. Clarke throws the pregnancy test on the counter and tries to act like it's a casual thing to do. American women have marched for the right to be able to buy pregnancy tests without judgment, she reminds herself. It does not change the gnawing guilt in her stomach.
If she is pregnant, her mother's going to kill her. She won't be impressed that her only daughter defied tradition for a nice pair of abs and a bad boy attitude.
"That'll be 12.84." The cashier says in a fake sing-song voice as she bags. Clarke knows that if she doesn't say something now, her business will be all over the town by the time she's out of the dance studio for the night.
Clarke hands the girl a twenty-dollar bill, but hesitates, "If I hear any rumors about myself tomorrow concerning this exchange, I'll personally make your life a living nightmare." It's the confidence in her voice that frightens the teenager into vehemently nodding. Clarke accepts her change and takes the brown paper bag from the girl. "Have a nice night."
Before she's outside, Clarke has stuffed the pregnancy test into her bag.
Margot gave Clarke the keys to her studio a few months ago with two conditions: Clarke use it as much as her heart desires, and that she keep questionable men off the freshly cleaned floors.
Margot probably knows more about Clarke than anyone else because she's seen her dance—watched her lament an old life through complicated step work and resilience.
Occasionally, Clarke will cover a class for her when Margot isn't feeling well. Margot's nearly fifty-four and sometimes her joints don't cooperate with her. Maya used to help before she started school according to Margot, but Clarke never saw her over the summer.
Clarke expects a lot more calls from Margot now that the weather is changing. California's winters are nothing compared to what she experienced back home, but Margot's lived in Arkadia her entire life. Clarke's dreading the requests. Teaching doesn't bother her, it's the memories that come with teaching that haunt her.
From the time Clarke was four years old, her mother insisted that she master the art of ballet.
Except, Abigail Griffin had no desire to see her daughter twirling around in pink tights and fluffy tutus. Abby solely taught Clarke ballet because it would benefit her confidence and make her more flexible.
Clarke transformed from a stumbling child to an agile, precise, and sharp weapon. She formally practiced ballet until she was sixteen and then she upgraded to more advanced physical training.
Now, she continues to practice because it keeps her ready and calms her nerves (especially in the absence of sex). She doesn't feel like her potential is being wasted when she is honoring Tchaikovsky with a flawless rendition of Odette's Solo.
She unlocks the dance studio and changes in the bathroom. Her black pointe shoes are worn from numerous nights of restless training. Clarke swaps her work clothes for tights and a t-shirt, not bothering with a leotard. The t-shirt has a shabby clover etched on it and she wears it often for comfort.
The dance studio is clean and mostly dark except for the streetlight's orange glow through the mirrored windows. No one can see inside, but she can observe the outside world if she feels inclined.
Clarke connects her phone using a Bluetooth link and presses play on her favorite Swan Lake number. Lately, she's been overplaying Swan Lake to compensate for the slight fracturing of her heart. She takes time to stretch her muscles, mind temporarily driving to the things she wants to forget.
She turns the volume up more, drowning them. Her brain is shushed by her mental counting as she performs from memory. Clarke dances until the soreness of being on her feet all day catches up with her, and even then, she pushes forward. Truthfully, she just doesn't want to go home and face the silence again.
She outdoes herself with her pointe work, but her heart is with the Odette tonight. She was a cursed maiden that fell in love and died because of it. Somehow, she doesn't think she's too far off.
After the long walk home—mostly because her muscles were screaming the entire time—Clarke decides it is time to face the music.
She's not the type of person that drags something out unless she's been ordered to do so. If she isn't pregnant, it will be one thing she can rule out and she can assure Harper with polite confidence that she isn't knocked up.
If she is… well, it would mean the end of an era for Clarke. It would mean the end of a lot of things for her—that is if Bellamy wanted to be an active part of their child's life. Clarke wants to say that she doesn't want him to be, but it's a lie.
She just knows her hopes for the future don't support that desire.
The directions are simple:
Pee on the stick—two blue lines mean pregnant. Clarke's fully aware of what she has to do, but that doesn't stop her from reading the fine print anyway. This isn't a time for careless mistakes.
After doing what she has to do, Clarke waits for what seems like an eternity. She slides down her unpainted bathroom walls onto the bathroom floor and waits.
Her fingers card through her blonde hair—she cut it all when she moved but she's been letting it grow back for a couple of months. It feels more like her.
The normal things that might run through an unmarried waitress's mind when faced with a possible pregnancy aren't present in hers. Clarke isn't worried about money—she has money from a trust fund of sorts.
Clarke only works at the diner for appearances and to avoid questions. She isn't worried about space because she lives in a two-story, three-bedroom house alone.
If she's being honest, Clarke's worried about being Clarke Chase for the rest of her life—an unimportant blurb on a town census that serves coffee to people that don't really like her.
She's worried she will never be Clarke Griffin again—the fiercely talented, important woman that she used to be and it's driving her crazy.
Despite her fears, Clarke's hands don't shake when she flips the test over, and she does not cry when it reads positive.
-x-
Her alarm rings at 3:00 AM and she almost convinces herself that last night didn't happen but her legs are sore and the used pregnancy test is lying mockingly on her nightstand. Kill me.
Clarke closes her eyes as she remembers everything she's supposed to be stressed about, but her mind can't handle all of it and today's agenda. She pushes everything out of her mind, focusing on each individual task instead.
She gets out of bed and showers, washing her hair with rose-scented shampoo and conditioner. After her shower, she dries off and puts on some light makeup and a solid black dress with matching heels.
Today is supposed to be about reflection and mourning. The sentiment hangs true as she digs for the small flip phone she keeps in her dresser. Clarke's supposed to keep it on her person but she doesn't see the point anymore.
There's only one number programmed into it and she presses call after some brief hesitation. The phone rings three times and she mentally counts back the hours to make sure she is not calling her parents at some ungodly hour.
On the fourth ring, her mother answers. Clarke finds comfort in her thick Irish accent, "Clarke?"
"I'm here." Clarke's own accent feels weird on her tongue and she feels as if she's just taken off a painful corset. It isn't difficult to do an American accent, but it makes her feel less like herself every time she does. In some circumstances, it's harder to maintain the façade than others.
Her mother has been crying. Clarke recognizes it in her voice. She can also hear her mother's attempt to sound happy.
"I wondered if you would call...since it's been so long. Your father's been worried." Abby would take the time to guilt her for not maintaining communication. It's not like any of them have much to say when she does reach out. Her mother rambles about insignificant Dublin drama, while her father argues with her about his decision to send her away.
Clarke sighs, "I'm tired of fighting."
Abby guilts her, "You should understand your father's reasoning, if not forever, then just for today."
Today's the anniversary of her brother's death in a church bombing. He was only eight years older than Clarke but lived a vastly different lifestyle.
For starters, Ethan Griffin made the choice to stay out of the family business at seventeen when his girlfriend died in childbirth. He had a daughter to raise—Madison, or Madi as she likes to be called. He was a man of great patience and understanding and he never judged Clarke for making a different choice.
He was killed because of his association with her father's organization, Phoenix, just like the other victims. It was a targeted attack. The enemy knew where they worshiped. Madi was only spared because she had a cold and couldn't attend Mass.
That one fact bothers her the most.
Phoenix is an extremely secretive sect tied back to the Irish Republican Army that specializes in trade, assassinations, and soldiers. There's not a direct link to the IRA, especially in light of recent political movements, but that's where it got its origins.
Her father, Jake Griffin, is the current leader of Phoenix. He's reigned Clarke's entire life. In turn, she was raised to be a soldier and fitted to be the next leader until the death of her brother. Her father couldn't stand the idea of losing another child, so he exiled her to America. Clarke couldn't deny a direct order.
Her involvement with Phoenix is how she knows about Skaikru's dealings, and why, despite those dealings, they don't know her true identity. Her father set her up nicely, surrounded by people that might owe the IRA a favor for diplomatic purposes if she ever got into trouble.
Clarke thought he would come to his senses by now. He needs her.
A baby complicates things, though.
Clarke wants to scream, but she whispers, "I do understand."
Abby changes the subject, "What time is it there?"
"Around 3:45 AM. I'm supposed to leave soon so I can attend Father McKenna's memorial service."
Abby seems relieved, "So, you have been meeting your obligations, yes?"
"I have," Clarke says but the guilt lingers. She doesn't want to talk about her Catholic obligations."I've also been practicing ballet to stay sharp. It's not martial arts, but it will do."
Abby tries to placate her, "I miss you dearly. I'll tell your father that you called…and after we get through today, I'll try to convince him to bring you back."
She doesn't protest even though she should probably tell her mom that her plans have changed. Clarke can't take the questions, though. Also, she knows that her mother will be unsuccessful. Instead, she says, "I love you."
"I love you," Abby replies and ends the call.