a/n Here's another chapter! Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing it as ever. Happy reading!
Clarke knows it is ridiculous to feel nervous about dinner. Dinner is a meal, and today it's a social occasion, too. Neither meals nor social occasions are worth getting anxious about – not compared to some of the truly dangerous situations she has known.
But she's nervous all the same. In her defence, this is a pretty nerve-wracking dinner. Murphy and Emori are coming over, and Clarke knows that she and her family need to keep quiet about Bellamy's change of priorities. But that's not why Clarke is so wound up, not really. She trusts Madi and Bellamy, and she's starting to trust herself. She knows no one will let slip the news.
She's mostly worried about how well Bellamy will cope.
That's perhaps silly. He's a grown man. But he's not tried to socialise with friends in quite some time, and he's been through a lot. She can see him growing more and more tense, the closer the clock ticks to the expected arrival of their guests. And that has her getting more anxious in turn.
She's in the kitchen, now, putting the finishing touches to their meal. Nothing elaborate – just some bread and soup. Even now, Clarke cannot bear to waste food. But she knows that Murphy and Emori are coming more for the company, so it hardly seems to matter.
Clarke isn't surprised to hear footsteps she recognises as Bellamy. He's been trying not to let her out of his sight all day. But she is surprised to find herself engulfed in a hug from behind while she stirs the pot. She thinks of hugs from behind as an inherently romantic thing, for the most part. Sure, he's got his arms unobjectionably around her stomach rather than touching anything he shouldn't be, but it feels like more than a simple friendly embrace all the same.
She tries to spin round in his arms, ends up doing a sort of stiff shuffle.
"What's all this about?" She murmurs, when she's got her head tucked into his shoulder.
"Can't a guy just desperately hug his wife for no reason?" He jokes, strained.
She doesn't laugh. She normally does, when he tries to distract her with a joke like that. But today she wants to know what's really going on. She squeezes him a little tighter and waits for him to tell her the truth.
"I don't know how to act." He admits slowly. "If we're hugging all the time and it looks like I'm learning how to laugh again, won't they figure out that I'm not with Cadogan any more? But I don't know if I can act like a devoted Disciple now. I don't want to act like I did back on Bardo. That hurt people I care about."
She pulls back from the hug, leaves her hands lingering on his arms while she looks him right in the eyes. "You've got this, Bellamy. You've saved so many lives before now by pretending to be something you're not. Whatever you think is the right way to take this, I'm with you. I trust your judgement on this. Time for you to learn to trust your judgement, too."
He nods, slowly. "I guess I figure the answer is not to say too much. Or not too much... personal. Keep the conversation on Madi's schoolwork and the food and what I've done to tidy up round here and make it look more like home."
"Yeah. That sounds perfect."
"And I guess we should probably try not to hug all the time." He mutters.
Clarke considers her words for a moment. She knows he's not sulking because he likes cuddles, that it's far more complicated than that. Hugging has become something of a coping mechanism for both of them, a way of anchoring themselves in the present moment as well as some reassurance that the people they care about are safe.
Although to be fair, she thinks they do both like cuddles, too.
"I'm not going anywhere." She tells him firmly. "I'll still be here when they're gone, and so will Madi, and you'll still be safe. If you need some kind of... point of contact while they're here, maybe we can try a smile? Or touching feet under the table?"
He nods at once. "Yeah. I'll be OK. This is only one evening. I managed three months on Etherea." He says bracingly.
Clarke's not sure that's a great sign, honestly. He barely managed three months on Etherea, came back physically sick and deeply mentally unwell. She thinks it's less than encouraging that he's comparing dinner with old friends to that experience.
"What about you?" He asks.
She frowns at him, caught tangled in thoughts. "What do you mean?"
"How are you feeling about tonight?"
She lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Oh, you know. Worried sick about you. Worried they might see through us. And the soup isn't -"
The doorbell rings.
There's a beat of silence. And then Bellamy claps a hand to her shoulder, laughing loudly.
"Right on cue. We can't catch a break, can we? We've got this, Clarke. It's only dinner."
With that, they set out towards the front door together. Madi meets them out in the hallway, breathless from having apparently run there from her room. Clarke opens the door to find their guests smiling tentatively on the doorstep.
And then the hugs begin.
This is one of the reasons why Murphy and Emori were good guests to choose, Clarke thinks. Even when Bellamy was at his most distant, Emori insisted on treating him as a friend as best as she was able and greeting him with a hug. So now there is nothing awkward at all as Emori hugs everyone, then Murphy follows her lead and does the same.
Clarke gets a little swept away by the novelty and excitement of having guests and finds herself relaxing into the flow of the evening. Madi leads their visitors into the living room, chattering about school and soccer as she goes. When it's time to eat, Bellamy volunteers to dish up the food, and Clarke lets him go because she can see he needs a moment of quiet. It all works rather seamlessly, actually, conversation and movement running smoothly.
Until they sit down at the table.
All at once, a more formal atmosphere descends. In the living room, when they sat clustered together, it was easy to have a couple of different conversations happening at once, or someone quietly joining in no conversation at all. But at a dinner table of five, it seems that one group conversation is expected. Or at least, that's the indication Clarke is getting from the way that everyone sits, expectant, staring at her.
Why does she always have to be the leader round here?
"The soup is delicious." Emori offers. Good old Emori.
"It's Indra's recipe." Clarke contributes.
"Still takes skill to make it. John's the cook out of the two of us." Emori says.
"Clarke made this." Bellamy pipes up. "I didn't mean to take the credit by serving."
"You're fine." Clarke reassures him at once. "I think I've been through too much trouble to worry about who takes the credit for cooking."
"Do you think I could learn to make cookies?" Madi asks thoughtfully.
"I don't see why not. I'll see if I can trade for the ingredients." Clarke offers, smiling.
"That sounds like a fun family activity." Murphy suggests, eyes narrowed.
Clarke feels her breath catch in her throat. Has he seen through them? How could he? She and Bellamy have barely spoken directly to each other all evening.
"Bellamy will probably go visit Doucette instead." Madi says, sharp, in an admirable imitation of the way she used to speak about him.
The moment passes. Clarke sighs in relief. She looks up to see Bellamy smiling determinedly at her across the table, nudges his toes gently with her own.
Clarke gathers her thoughts and presses on. "I'm surprised you want to learn how to bake, Madi. I thought soccer was your passion at the moment."
"And drawing." Madi insists firmly. "But I can have lots of passions."
"Quite right, Madi." Emori agrees. "Make the most of it now you live a more peaceful life."
Clarke frowns. Is this peaceful? It doesn't feel peaceful, with the threat of Cadogan looming over them. But just as she's about to start fretting about that, she feels Bellamy touch his toes to hers again.
And then, all at once, the ruse falls apart.
"What are you not telling us?" Murphy asks, totally casual, as if the question is of no consequence at all.
"What do you mean?" Clarke asks, carefully light, taking another chunk of bread for something to do. Best to look calm and confident, she thinks.
"I mean, what's going on here? Bellamy is acting, right? I thought he was really with them at first but – but you two can't stop smiling at each other. And I'm sick of you kicking me in the leg when you're trying to play footsie, man."
There's a beat of silence. And then, of all things, it is broken by Bellamy's laughter.
"Great. There goes our plan, Clarke. I'm not going to be much use as an inside man if I can't even keep the act up for one evening." He shrugs ruefully.
"Your acting is fine." Emori says, frowning, looking between the two of them. "It's just that we know you too well. You almost had me – I think it was kicking John that gave it away."
"Message received. Keep my legs to myself when I'm trying to fool Cadogan." Bellamy jokes, tense.
Another silence. Clarke tries to gather her wits.
"You mustn't tell anyone. I mean it, Murphy. This has to stay top secret. We need this to work."
Murphy nods. "I deserved that. But I'm not going to let you down again. Didn't I protect Madi while you were gone?"
Clarke nods. "Yeah. Thanks for that. You're a good guy, John Murphy." She smiles tentatively. She's almost starting to believe this might turn out OK.
"Are any of us good guys? I'm trying to do better." He mutters, shrugging awkwardly down at his soup.
"You're all good guys." Madi pipes up.
Clarke turns to look at her, rather surprised. She's used to her daughter being a confident and talkative sort, but not to her making value judgements about people's ethics at the dinner table.
"You are." Madi insists. "If there's one thing I've learnt since Clarke found me, it's that you're all good guys. Just you're sometimes in awful situations. But I know you guys can figure out this trouble with Bardo. You can't go wrong when you've got my awesome stepdad leading the way."
"So I'm awesome now?" Bellamy asks, eyes bright. "What happened to disappointing?"
Madi looks a little chastened as she peers down at her supper. "I realised I was wrong. I realised it was complicated."
"I'm teasing, Madi. Sorry. I – thank you." He says, firm.
Clarke's not sure whether the no hugging rule still stands, now. Does it need to, if Murphy and Emori know the truth? Or is it a little weird to do lots of hugging at the dinner table all the same?
She finds a compromise. She reaches out to pat her daughter on the arm. And, abandoning all attempt at subtlety, she stretches her legs forward to tangle them closely with Bellamy's under the table.
…...
Bellamy seems to remember he used to look forward to seeing Doucette. Back when things were still so difficult with Clarke, a friendly hug with the man who saved him on Etherea seemed like the highlight of his life. But these days, meeting Doucette has become kind of nerve-wracking. Bellamy has been trying to gradually introduce some more moderate ideas to their conversations. He figures that if he can work towards a point where the First Disciple prioritises happiness over transcendence, as he does, there need not be a coup at all.
Maybe that's a naive dream. But he's going to keep dreaming it all the same until some better idea presents itself.
He's walking with Clarke, this morning, as he goes to meet the Bardo delegation. She has yet another meeting with Indra and Cadogan, and he knows she's growing tired of them. Cadogan looks truly old and unhinged, these days – yet somehow more fiercely fanatical than ever.
Bellamy can't believe he was ever so devoted to the guy. It makes him ashamed to think of it, now.
"I think we should make plans for this evening." Clarke says as they walk.
"What do you mean? Like inviting people over?" He asks, suddenly fretting. Seeing Murphy and Emori was good, but he honestly doesn't have the emotional energy to manage that again tonight after a long morning with the Bardo delegation.
"No. No, not that. I mean nice plans just for us. Something to look forward to while we're stressed out about these meetings."
He nods, catching on. "I'd say drawing with you and Madi, but we do that almost every night."
"We can still plan that." Clarke says firmly. "I just – I need something good to hold onto this morning."
"Then let's promise ourselves some drawing time tonight. Maybe we get those ingredients for Madi to make cookies?"
"That's a great idea. Cookies and sketching." She agrees, her shoulders already softening in relief.
He grins across at her. But they're arriving now, so he forces himself to drop the conversation and the smile. Or at least, he tries. He has a feeling some trace of happiness lingers on his face all the same.
"I'll see you later." He tells her, as neutral as he can manage.
"Yeah. Take care." She gives Doucette a small wave, then sets off towards where Indra and Cadogan stand waiting.
Bellamy tries not to stare as she goes. He tries to focus, instead, on hugging his friend and choosing a topic of conversation for today. He's had a few ideas – mentioning Jordan's idea of a final test, perhaps, or just talking about peace. But he hasn't settled on anything yet.
"Clarke's looking well." Doucette says as he pulls back from the hug.
"Yeah." Bellamy agrees, brief, not sure how much to say.
"Is married life everything you dreamed it would be?" Doucette asks, evidently trying for a joke.
Bellamy swallows hard. He's not sure how to answer that. The honest answer is that it is so much more than he dreamed it would be, back on that snowy day when they said their vows. And yet it is less, too, than he dreamed of back on Earth. He used to dream of the whole package, then – romance, lovemaking, children, and plenty of casual kisses snatched in the kitchen.
He needs to answer. He needs to say something. He needs to -
"Sorry." Doucette mutters. "Stupid question. I was trying to have a laugh but – I'm not good at this. Haven't really had a friend like you before."
Bellamy smiles warmly at him. "You're forgiven. But – yeah. It's a tough one."
"I can't imagine what it's like, to have someone special like that." Doucette muses. But for the first time in their acquaintance, Bellamy thinks he sounds more wistful than only thoughtful.
As if maybe, he wishes he did have love in his life.
"I can't imagine not having her." Bellamy admits, in a moment of honesty he will probably regret later.
Doucette doesn't call him out on it. He doesn't point out that Bellamy is wearing a Disciple's robe, and that his faith comes with certain expectations about surrendering personal relationships in the name of transcendence. It is obvious, surely, that Bellamy will not have Clarke if he transcends? And yet neither of them says a word about his false step.
Instead, it turns out, Doucette has something very different to discuss.
"I need to talk to you about something important." He mutters, voice lowered.
"OK. Here? Or -?"
Doucette looks furtively around. They appear to be all alone, but there's still a worried look in his eyes.
"Come back to the palace." Bellamy suggests.
Doucette nods. Bellamy finds himself walking back the way he just came with Clarke. But this is a much less cheerful journey, with less chatter along the way. Bellamy tries once or twice to introduce a neutral topic – that soup recipe Clarke made the other day, or the weather, or the state of the path – but it seems they are both too distracted by anticipation of Doucette's big news to manage much conversation.
Bellamy wonders what's coming. Is Doucette about to reveal that they have failed? That Bellamy is under suspicion, and that Cadogan knows what they are up to?
They arrive at the home Bellamy shares with his family, lock the door securely behind them. Bellamy invites Doucette into the living room and shows him to a chair.
And then he sits back and waits with baited breath.
"It's Madi." Doucette begins, frowning tightly. "My Shepherd believes she knows information that could help us start the last war. You guessed that already? From that time he sent the Disciples?"
Bellamy nods, urgent.
"It's getting more complicated. Clarke made him sign that addendum. But he's determined to get Madi all the same. But most of his level twelves are against it – they think the treaty is important, or so they say. Honestly I wonder if maybe we're losing our taste for war now we've got some experience of what it's actually like."
"So he wants to seize her but no one will work with him?"
"Not everyone will work with him." Doucette corrects him firmly. "Some people will. He'll probably manage to get a team together sooner or later."
"Thanks for telling me." Bellamy says heavily. "We've got her well-guarded but we'll increase security even more."
Doucette nods. "I'll keep an eye on things in Bardo. I'll let you know if there's more news."
"Thanks."
"Any time. I – I can't let them do that to a kid. My faith is important to me. But it always felt abstract before, you know? The reality of hurting a twelve-year-old is very different."
Bellamy nods. He can certainly relate to that. His faith was certainly much stronger before he was confronted with the day-to-day reality of how it hurt those around him.
"And – I can't let them do that to my best friend's daughter." Doucette admits, quieter.
Bellamy gasps a little. He didn't see that coming. What they've discussed so far is not so very far outside the bounds of faith, he thinks. Making an exception to avoid hurting children is a relatively small bending of the letter of the Shepherd's law.
But protecting her out of personal affection? That's a very different situation indeed.
"Thanks. It means a lot to me. And I know Clarke and Madi will be grateful too." He swallows thickly. "I still wouldn't call her my daughter, though."
"You wouldn't? Even though you're married to her mother and you've admitted she's special to you?"
He frowns. "Yeah. I guess because it's complicated. She used to want me to be her father figure but then I disappointed her. We're still figuring out where that leaves us."
Doucette nods. "I get that. Your family is your business. But I've got your back as best as I can."
Your family is your business. That doesn't sound very faithful, either. Should he push it? Should he ask some difficult, dangerous question about where Doucette's heart really lies right now? Should he -?
"I should be going." Doucette mutters, getting to his feet. "My Shepherd will get suspicious if I'm gone too long, and then I won't be able to help you protect Madi at all."
Bellamy nods at once, stands briskly. The moment is broken, and he has to admit defeat.
"Sure. I'll walk back with you."
It's remarkable, he thinks, that he found such a good friend amongst people who do not believe in friendship.
…...
Clarke doesn't know the first thing about making cookies. And she hates being out of her depth, most of the time. She hates feeling clueless when it comes to political matters or the safety of people she cares about.
But it turns out there is something utterly liberating about being clueless on this occasion.
No one is expecting her to know how to make cookies. There is no pressure at all. She can fail as thoroughly as she likes and no one will care. Sure, she's hoping it will turn out OK, because she hates wasting food and because Madi likes cookies. But if it does all go horribly wrong, and the evening ends with flour behind their ears and nothing in their stomachs, it just doesn't matter.
Maybe that's why she feels able to throw herself into their family baking evening so wholeheartedly, stirring the mixture enthusiastically, giving her utter concentration to weighing out the ingredients according to the recipe Blythe Ann has written out for them.
"I thought Madi was making the cookies." Bellamy jokes lightly, about fifteen minutes in, when Clarke is chopping nuts into perfectly sized pieces.
"It seems like we're both making them." Madi offers affectionately. Clarke can see her daughter rolling her eyes at her, but as pre-teen moments of attitude go, it's certainly more loving than mocking.
"Is there something I can do other than just standing here and watching?" Bellamy asks now.
"Sure. You can find the baking trays." Madi instructs him.
He gives a little mock-salute and starts digging around in the cupboards. He drops a pair of pans on the floor with a loud clang, and Clarke finds herself laughing. She cannot believe her good luck, that they have come to this. Sure, it's not exactly romance and lovemaking and sweet little freckle-face babies with dark, curling hair. But it turns out that living with her daughter and her best friend is pretty damn fun. They have a laugh together, as well as taking care of each other.
If this is as good as life gets, it's good enough. That's what she decides. After all these years fighting, she's tired. If they can only see off Cadogan she'll happily take a quiet life like this when they're done.
No. That's a silly thought. Bellamy won't still be here when they're done, will he? He will have no reason to maintain this marriage when Cadogan is gone.
Maybe he could pop over to make cookies with them sometimes all the same. It would be a shame to have another parental figure ripped out of Madi's life when she's only just getting used to relying on him, Clarke thinks.
There's that, and there's the fact she also selfishly wants Bellamy to still feature prominently in their lives.
She's caught by surprise when a baking tray is deposited in front of her, a warm hand resting on the small of her back. Bellamy really does seem to have abandoned the concept of personal space, since he turned away from Cadogan. She's pretty certain he could have put that baking tray literally anywhere else and not had to reach around her like that.
Not that she's complaining, of course.
She leans back into him, just a little, smiles up at him. Is it normal for best friends to be this tactile? She used to hug Wells a lot, as a kid, and Bellamy reasonably often on Earth. But she's never known anything quite like this before.
The moment breaks. Madi bustles over to them, takes Clarke's chopping board, stirs the cookie dough a little more then starts dolloping it onto the trays.
And yet somehow, even as they step back to allow the child room to work, Clarke notes that Bellamy's hand still seems to be resting on her back.
"We're supposed to chill them for an hour before we bake them." Madi mutters, audibly disappointed.
"Then let's go draw while we wait." Clarke suggests.
Nods all round. The cookies go into the fridge, more or less, trays stacked at jaunty angles. Clarke leads the way out of the kitchen, and misses Bellamy's touch against her spine.
The cookies don't get chilled for an hour, in the end. They get chilled for maybe forty minutes, then baked, then mostly eaten piping hot.
It's a good evening, Clarke thinks. Definitely the best evening she has had since the world ended.
…...
Bellamy is getting much better at visiting Octavia. Tonight's visit went rather well, he thinks, as he walks back home. He took the last of the cookies he made with his wife and stepdaughter the other day, had a good laugh with his sister about the fun of baking them. He even felt comfortable enough while he was there to take his robe off and spend the evening in his shirt and trousers, which made him feel rather more human.
He really can't wait to get rid of this unwieldy thing.
He wonders when visits to his sister will stop feeling like effort. When they will stop carefully talking about themselves and their stories and their relationship, and instead just start casually talking. Chatting away about nothing, like they used to do when she was a child.
It's OK, he reminds himself. He's doing fine. He should feel good about himself for all the small things, the little steps, the tiny signs of progress. That's what Jackson wants him to work on this week.
He means to go straight to bed when he gets home. He stayed with his sister longer than he really expected to. It's now way past Madi's bed time, and he and Clarke usually turn in for the night not long after that. So it is that he just intends to stop by the kitchen for a glass of water and then head straight to sleep.
But as he's heading for the kitchen, he notices the living room light still on. He changes direction, walks in there instead. And what he sees has his heart leaping half out of his chest.
Clarke's there. Clarke waited up for him. Clarke's slumped on the couch, fast asleep, her sketchbook on her knees and his drawing things laid out next to her.
He swallows down tears – tears of happiness and regret all at once. He's feeling so warm and glad at the fact that she wanted to sit up for him, yet deeply sorry that he missed out on this time with her. Was she worried about him? Did she get anxious when he stayed out longer than expected? Did she feel hurt or rejected or stood up that he didn't show up to this plan he didn't even know she had made?
He'll make it up to her, he decides. First thing in the morning he'll tell her how sorry he was to miss her and ask if she wants to hang out, just the two of them, the next night instead.
He hopes she wasn't too worried. He thinks she must not have been. If there's one thing he's learnt about Clarke, since marrying her, it's that she doesn't sleep well when she's anxious. So he thinks that the fact she managed to fall asleep by accident on the couch is a very good sign, both about her mood tonight and her mood more generally.
He acts on pure instinct, when he wanders over there, and sets aside the sketchbook, and gathers Clarke into his arms. That's the obvious thing to do, when he finds his wife asleep on the couch, isn't it? A good husband would carry her straight to bed.
It's more of a struggle to lift her than it would have been before Etherea. He's not as strong as he used to be. Maybe he ought to work out a little more now he's eating well once more. If ever he gets the courage to love Clarke again, he doesn't want her to find him weedy and unattractive. He thinks he could deal with her choosing not to be with him because he's hurt and betrayed her too many times. That would be perfectly fair and he'd do his best to understand it, as she has understood him of late. But he'll be gutted if they get themselves in the right place to make it work only for her to look at him with pity or disgust or even disappointment in her eyes.
All the same, he grits his teeth and perseveres with his self-appointed task. Clarke helps him out, even as she stays more asleep than awake. She tangles herself around him, clinging to him with all her limbs at once, it feels like. And she snuggles her face a little into his robe, lets out a sleepy sigh.
"I've got you." He murmurs, trying to resist the urge to press a kiss to the crown of her head.
Wow. That catches him by surprise. It's a long time since he thought about kissing – the second week on Etherea, he seems to remember. That was when he realised he was most likely destined never to kiss Clarke, he recalls.
Huh. Maybe, one of these days, he might dare to change his mind on that.
The stairs are tough. But he's not about to quit now. He presses on, gets through the bedroom door. Clarke has stopped fidgeting and sighing, now, and he supposes she's fallen absolutely asleep again.
He sets her gently down on the bed. Or rather – he tries to. She wants to protest, it seems, keeping her arms fastened around his neck and her legs kicking uselessly towards him. It's the strangest kind of sweet torture.
"Get some sleep, wife." He murmurs affectionately.
She pouts a little, but lets go of him. She stretches back on the bed. And before he's had chance to think too hard about what he's doing, he finds that he is unlacing her boots for her, tugging her socks gently from her feet.
He leaves it at that, though. He's pretty certain he shouldn't try to help her change into nightclothes. He's already surprised himself tonight by noticing that he can most definitely still feel attraction and arousal, and he doesn't want to push his luck or make either of them uncomfortable.
"I'm just going to change. I'll be right back." He tells her.
She nods sleepily, starts tugging at her own belt. That's his cue to leave, he figures. No point hanging around to make life more difficult than it needs to be.
He heads to the bathroom, gets through his evening routine quickly. He's quite keen to get back to bed and find out whether Clarke is still in a snuggly mood, if he's being honest. It's strange how, to him, cuddling her around the house or in bed is different from the intimacy of carrying her to bed or wanting to kiss her. The first feels comforting, familiar, safe.
The second feels dangerous, and thrilling, and yet he wants it all the same.
No. He needs to keep himself in line. They should figure out how to protect Madi and stop Cadogan first, and he can worry about whether there's any hope for shaping this into a real, romantic marriage later.
He's back at the bedroom, now. He knocks at the door, just in case Clarke is still changing. Silence. He enters, closes the door softly behind him.
Clarke hasn't entirely succeeded at changing, he notes. She's taken off her trousers, dropped her bra haphazardly over the side of the bed. She seems to have decided her shirt and panties will do as pyjamas for tonight.
He swallows. This has been an interesting ten minutes.
He crosses to the bed, pulls the covers up over Clarke before settling into the mattress himself.
"Sorry I fell asleep." Clarke mumbles, not her most coherent.
"It's OK. We can hang out tomorrow." He promises, reaching a carefully platonic arm around her waist and leaning over her a little while they chat.
"Wanted to ask you how your sister was. Wanted to be there in case -" She yawns. "In case it made you sad."
He smiles softly. She's frankly adorable when she's sleepy, it turns out.
"It was great. But I'm sorry I made you wait up. Get some sleep and I'll tell you all about it in the morning." He murmurs, allowing himself the small treat of stroking her hair back out of her face.
She nods, turns it into a snuggle against his hand. And then she's still, her breath lengthening to soft snores almost before Bellamy's head has hit the pillow.
a/n Thanks for reading!