Bellamy looked over at Clarke from the driver's seat. He'll never know what she's going through. He'll never be able to take this pain away from her. It's not like he wasn't feeling it too, but someone needed to be strong. Someone needed to get them home and put her in sweats and hold her.

He also knew he couldn't be the one to break first, that he didn't have the right to break down and cry. It's not his body that betrayed him. It's not his body going through such a monumental change; he doesn't have the right to feel empty and heartbroken.

Even though it was his baby too.

Bellamy's eyes darted between Clarke and the road ahead. Her hands on her stomach like always in the car or when they're sitting. She loved their daughter so much, always touching her, always holding her and talking to her. Playing Mozart and Bach, reading Jane Eyre and Greek mythology whenever he brought groceries over to her apartment. Watching her fingers stroke over their child wasn't the same, it was tainted with the news. It was tainted with the knowledge that they won't have a baby coming home with them in three months. It's tainted with their dead child still growing and taking Clarke's nutrients as though it were still alive, still had a heartbeat. That her hand felt it moving inside her as though it was still alive.

The guilt was the worst part. The baby was an accident, the baby shouldn't have happened in the first place, and he didn't want it when she told him. Wasn't ready to be a father, he'd just gotten O out of his hair for the first time in his adult life he could focus on himself and what was best for him, something he never thought he'd be allowed. Of course, he doesn't because two months after his hookup with Clarke, she tracked him down to tell him she's pregnant. He didn't have time to think about himself, and that might be the worst part of it. The need to know who he was and never getting that. Blaming Clarke and the baby for him not having the time to become a three-dimensional person. He was Bellamy Blake, protective older brother, it's in his DNA, but he doesn't know who he is without caring for someone else. First Octavia, then the baby and Clarke, now he has to worry about Clarke not beating herself up over this. It's not her fault, its nobody's fault.

His mind shifted to that night. The night their daughter was conceived. He grimaced thinking about it, how Clarke was so malleable and willing under his touch. How everything somehow brought her euphoric bliss. How right it felt thrusting in and out of her. How if he knew all the pain that night would have cause he wouldn't have let it happen at all.

Though he said the complete opposite when he first saw the ultrasound and heard their daughter's heartbeat. Faster than Clarke's what movies and TV didn't prepare him for was both heartbeats, Clarke's and their daughter's. He was confused, and the technician set him straight, the ultrasound picks up both heartbeats, the mother's slow and steady and the baby's fast and erratic.

Caring for Clarke somehow became second nature, his mind sometimes forgot in the middle of a shift that he was about to be a father and when he called her about dinner or her plans, it was all about her, getting to know her and falling for her. He was falling for her and even if she didn't feel the same, they were having a child together. He was good with being her baby daddy as long as it meant being in both of their lives.

He pulled the car into her driveway and turned the car off. Getting out of the car, he saw her climbing out the passenger side and walked up to her house herself, not waiting for him to open the door like he always did.

"Clarke—" he said when he stopped on the porch behind her as she put her key in the lock.

"Go home, Bellamy."

"No, I'm not leaving you alone like this."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Neither am I. We shouldn't be alone right now."

"You didn't want her when I told you. You didn't want any of this so why are you so concerned now?" Clarke spat, and Bellamy nearly recoiled. She hadn't yelled at him like that in months.

"Yell at me all you want, but I'm not leaving. Not when you're like this."

Clarke turned back to the door and unlocked it. Bellamy watched her step inside, and she didn't close the door before she headed upstairs. He took that as a sign for him to follow.

He didn't go into her room, instead choosing the third bedroom, the one that wasn't the baby's nursery and began making the bed and tidying up the rest of the house. After a few hours and he had dinner made, he began worrying about Clarke, more than he already was. He went back upstairs and knocked on her door, not getting an answer, so he opened the door slowly and peeked in. She wasn't in there. He knocked on the bathroom door next, and she didn't say anything, so he pushed that door open too, finding her lying in the bathtub full of water, her eyes on her stomach as tears streamed down her cheeks and her fingers stroked over her soft stretch marks.

"Clarke…" he choked. Seeing her naked wasn't a thing between them anymore. She was horny the first few months, and though she hated him because he didn't want the baby at first, sex was a part of their mending. Probably very unhealthy but that's how they worked, how they found common ground.

"This isn't real," she breathed, and Bellamy sighed, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he dropped to his knees next to the tub. "This can't be real. We—who are we without her?"

"I don't know, but you're not in this alone. Okay? I'm here."

"I don't want you here. I can't have you remind me of what I lost every time I look at you."

Bellamy sighed, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I get that, I do, but we need to lean on each other through this."

She didn't say anything, just ran her hands over her stomach again and again. Bellamy knelt next to her for a few minutes waiting for her to realize her fingers and toes were pruned, and she should get out, it's not good for the…

Fuck.

Bellamy sighed. "You should eat something."

"I eat something, she eats something. It's wasteful," she sounded hollow like her life was over because their baby never made it. Like they couldn't do it again. They could do it again.

Fuck sounding hopeful right now though.

"Okay, then you should go to bed."

"You should go home."

"Clarke, I am not leaving you like this. I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

Clarke turned her head, making eye contact for the first time in the hours since getting the news. She cried into his shoulder for a good hour when they found out, and the drive home was tough and then being in her home was… Bellamy had to keep himself busy to not break down himself and Clarke pushing him away wasn't what he needed. "Why do you care so much about me? We're nothing."

"You're the mother of my child; you're always going to be something."

"Our child is dead. She doesn't exist anymore and I can't…" her fingers latched onto the edge of the tub and Bellamy leaned back, grabbing the towel to pass her if she decided to get out. "I didn't want her either. Not when I found out. Not when I told you. I think it turned into spite when you reacted how you did. You were horrified that I tracked you down to tell you."

"Yeah, because you're a rich princess that could take care of it yourself. I was a barista and bartender, barely making even. I was an ass that was afraid of becoming my stepfather."

Clarke's brows knit together and she glared hard at Bellamy. "That's not you. That will never be you; you care so damn much. That doesn't even make sense."

He smiled softly before taking her hand and helping her out of the bathtub, encasing her in her oversized towel. He may care, but no one ever said his stepfather didn't care until he left.

The next months were hell. The baby was removed, and Clarke didn't speak for nearly two weeks and then she snapped at everyone. Bellamy had never cried so much in his life, from Clarke's venomous words, over what they should have had. She also kissed him soft and sweet, demanding and wanton; confusing. He didn't know if she wanted him to stay or go and maybe that was a part of why he never brought that conversation up, he was afraid that his love for her wasn't reciprocated. He was afraid that she wouldn't love him back if he told her how he's talked for her over the year they've known each other.

He was sitting on the couch, looking over the new lease agreement for the apartment when he heard the door close, and he knew that there was a conversation to be had. A better deal, maybe where he should be permanently, what she wants to be more specific. It's been six months, and they haven't talked about anything other than work and their now mutual friends, Clarke's mom, and Bellamy's sister.

So Bellamy thought that that's what was going to happen when she found him making notes on her new lease, he didn't expect her to throw the folder onto the coffee table, climb into his lap and mold her lips to his in a way that totally made him lose his mind.

"I want a baby," she said against his lips, her hips rocking over Bellamy's quickly hardening cock.

"Clarke," he said, pulling back but she wouldn't let that happen.

"I want your baby," she kissed him again, and Bellamy sighed, pulling her back against him for a kiss.

"God, that's… insanely hot. And primal. We need to talk first."

"You don't want to fuck?"

"No, of course, I do. All the time, you're all I want, babe, but I'm not going through what I had to last time. I'm not fighting you over custody agreements and schedules because we're going to be living together."

"Bellamy—"

"I'm in love with you. If you're not on the same page, if you just want my sperm, I can't do that for you, I can't break my heart again for you."

Clarke didn't say anything, and Bellamy grimaced, before looking up at her, not being able to stop his thumbs from stroking the soft skin of her hips.

"I'm in love with you, Bell. I'm also scared that it's not enough."

"Me, too. That doesn't mean we shouldn't try."

"You want this?"

Bellamy laughed, "Maybe you should have asked that before jumping into my lap stating you want to have my baby."

Clarke grimaced and started climbing off Bellamy's lap when he stopped her.

"I didn't say I didn't want it, just that you did this out of order. I want this, Clarke. I just want you to be certain that this isn't a part of your grieving."

"I've been going to a therapist about it, and he helped me realize that I don't just want your baby because we have optimal genetic compatibility but because I'm in love with you."

"'Optimal genetic compatibility?'"

"Sounds worse now that I've said it aloud. I love you, Bellamy. I love that you didn't let me push you away when we lost the baby. That you gave me space even when you wanted to hold me. You put me first and I—I want to do that for you. I don't know how yet, but I want to let you in to get to know you and figure out what you need."

"Now you're making me sound like a puzzle."

"I got how to get you off in a week, but I want to know everything. A long day after work, do you need time to decompress, a nice stiff drink, an hour at the gym, or a hot shower. Maybe me in the hot shower."

"Depends on the day," he smirked, his hands sliding up her waist under her shirt. "Tonight, fucking you right here and now sounds perfect."

"As long as we order pho for dinner, I'm good with that."

Bellamy laughed as his fingers unclasped her bra. "Whatever you want, baby."

"Will you move in too?"

"Whatever you want."

Clarke leaned down and kissed Bellamy again palming her breasts that were the best he's ever seen.

A year later, Bellamy rolled Clarke and their son, Lucas, out of the hospital and helped them into their car. He has never been happier in his life, and he has never seen Clarke so happy, even if her eyes did have a little sadness. They could have had this eighteen months ago, and he knew she was thinking about it, he was too, but everything happens for a reason. They were meant to have Lucas; they were meant to get married in three months, they were meant to be happy again.