AN: Time for another family reunion! For obvious reasons, I have no idea how interconnected the different US states are when it comes to deaths and such, maybe Aurora's parents would be notified when she died even though they were in another state and had no contact, but let's just pretend for the story…
I don't own anything relating to The 100
Chapter title from "Roads" by the Swedish duo Vargas & Lagola, which you should definitely check out! They also had a great song on Avicii's album that was released earlier this year, along with Swedish singer Agnes, called "Tough Love". OK, I'm done promoting Swedish music (for now)
See the end of the chapter for warnings
60
I Can Feel the Wind Is Changing, Changing Faster Than Before
Clarke's mind seems to settle into some sort of melancholy, probably a defense mechanism – she can't spend the next week with a permanent lump in her throat, after all, constantly close to tears. It's just not mentally possible.
She's able to enjoy herself, even, treasure the moments, the quiet ones when they're just lounging on the couch, watching something on TV, Bas curled up on Bellamy's chest, the heated ones when he pushes her up against a wall or the kitchen counter, into the mattress or the couch, hard inside her, mouth and hands driving her crazy, and all the other little moments in between.
Raven and Zeke show up with take-out on Sunday evening, and they hang out for a couple of hours, eating and talking. Raven and Bellamy put together a menu for the get together on Friday, writing down the recipes they'll be making, and Raven promises to go shopping and get everything they need.
It's nice, really. Clarke has missed her friends while they've been away, especially Raven, but she still finds herself getting a little antsy when Bellamy turns on a movie and everyone settles in on the couch, and they show no signs of leaving.
Raven, of course, picks up on it after a little while, and fakes a huge yawn. "I think it's time to call it a night, babe," she tells Zeke, who looks genuinely confused for a moment before he apparently catches on.
Clarke's expecting Bellamy to tell them it's not that late, or to offer to drive them home, or something, but he just sees them to the door with her and, once it's closed behind them, throws her over his shoulder and takes her to bed.
He seems to want to squeeze as much sex – no pun intended – as possible into the time they have left, without actually spending twenty-four hours a day in bed, and it's not like she's complaining.
On Monday, she drives them through Manhattan and up to Yonkers, wanting to maintain the surprise as long as she can, and watches Bellamy's face carefully when they've parked outside the iFly building.
"I know you said you weren't an adrenaline junkie and haven't dreamt about skydiving or anything," she says when she's killed the engine and he still hasn't said anything. "But honestly, I've been wanting to try this for ages, and… I want to do it with you. Unless you're secretly scared of heights or something, but you were fine at the Grand Canyon, which even I thought was pretty scary when there wasn't a fence, and this isn't even that high…"
He finally puts her out of her misery by starting to laugh. "Relax," he says. "I've read about this, it sounds really fun."
And it is. They get thorough instructions on how to behave in the tank, what to expect, how to signal if they want to get out, but then they finally get to put on the flight suits and then she's flying. The feeling of weightlessness is like nothing she's ever experienced before, and she feels light even after she touches down and goes to watch Bellamy's turn from the other side of the glass.
She can see the same feelings she was experiencing herself on his face as he tumbles around, seemingly in the open air, and the joy and elation stays with both of them.
It's a good afternoon.
"I'm taking a shower," Clarke announces when they get home. "Flying is surprisingly sweaty."
He just hums to confirm that he heard her, and she heads into the bedroom and then the bathroom, dropping her clothes in the hamper on the way.
She's just stepped under the spray of the water, though, when she hears the bathroom door open and close.
"Mind if I join you?"
When she turns, he's already naked, and she raises an eyebrow. "Not even waiting for an answer?"
She turns the water pressure down a little and he slides the glass door open, stepping into the already steamy shower.
"Were you going to say no?" Bellamy retorts drily, matching her expression.
"Shut up," she tells him, turning the water back up and pulling him down to her.
"Great comeback."
She nips at his bottom lip in retaliation and he groans, arms going around her to pull her flush against him and mouth opening to deepen the kiss.
Clarke loves the way she can get lost in him, just let everything else – all worries, all anxiety, all negative thoughts – drift away and focus on the feel of his lips against hers, his hands on her hips, fingers digging into her skin, his body all pressed up against hers, the evidence of his arousal hot and hard against her stomach.
"You know…" he starts after an indeterminable amount of time, breaking the kiss to instead explore her throat and shoulders with his mouth. He pushes her up against the wall and she hisses a little, mostly at the way the cold tile feels against her back but also because he slides a finger inside her. "I kind of have this fantasy of fucking you here in the shower. I really want to try out that shower head…"
It's not like she got the detachable shower head with seven different spray options just because it provides seriously mind-blowing orgasms – she got used to being able to wash her hair without getting a crick in her neck when she lived in Europe – but it was definitely a huge bonus.
"I can confirm that it's fucking amazing," she says, biting back a moan when Bellamy adds another finger and leans down to swirl his tongue around her nipple.
"It's a shame you're so against shower sex," he continues after a moment, and Clarke has to seriously focus to remember that they're apparently having a conversation.
"I'm against someone slipping and breaking their neck during shower sex," she corrects him, pretty proud that she can form coherent sentences when he's clearly trying to distract her.
"These tiles aren't even slippery," he objects, and she knows he's right.
"Do you want to be another statistic?" she asks, pushing against his chest a little to get him to look at her.
He does, though he's still fucking her with his fingers, so she has some trouble focusing.
"Of course not. But seriously, how often does that happen?"
"I don't know, I've only seen it once."
Bellamy's eyes widen a little at her words. "Seriously?"
"Well, I didn't actually see, but I had a Transfer with a broken neck, and the next day, Raven told me that's what happened."
"Huh." He frowns for a moment before his expression clears and he leans down to kiss her again. "How about if everyone keeps both feet firmly on the floor? Less chance of slipping. And you have those built-in shelves in the wall, those would work fine as handholds."
He curls his fingers as he speaks, and Clarke feels the first signs of her orgasm at the edge of her senses.
"How about you get me off with the shower head here and then we have sex in bed?" she counters, pushing against his fingers.
"That's the best I'm going to get, huh?" he asks, sucking a bruise into the skin just above her left nipple.
"Mm-hm."
Bellamy sighs, like it's some great let-down, but then he steps back, pulling his fingers out of her, and she can't help a whimper. "Turn around," he tells her, and she does, hands finding the shelves he mentioned earlier. They actually are pretty good to hold onto.
She hears him detach the shower head and turning it to find a setting he likes before stepping up close behind her. He doesn't just go for it, though, instead nuzzling her throat and squeezing her breast before trailing lower and sliding just one finger back inside her.
"Please…" she pleads, her hips jerking against him because the anticipation is almost too much. "I'm so close, I need…"
"Yeah?" he murmurs in her ear, moving even closer to her, his dick sliding between their wet bodies with ease. "Well, I don't want to leave you hanging…"
The first touch of the hard spray against her clit is like a sharp burst of electricity shooting through Clarke's entire body, but it doesn't quite push her over the edge. He moves it away again and she whines, which makes him chuckle, but he does add another finger and, a moment later, moves the shower head back where she wants it.
This time, he keeps it in place, and a moment later, she flies over the edge and into oblivion, a loud moan escaping her throat.
Bellamy doesn't let up the pressure, though, like she does herself when she uses the shower head, and before she can even catch her breath, the pressure is building again and she comes for a second time, gasping out his name.
"Good?" he whispers in her ear when he finally moves the shower head away and she can only nod.
He's not done, though, two fingers still sliding in and out of her at a slower pace, his mouth trailing along her shoulders, neck, down her spine a few inches and back up. He somehow manages to get the shower head back in the holder and then his free hand closes around her breast, squeezing lightly. She can still feel him hard against her back, and he's moving his hips in time with his fingers, though she can't imagine it offers him much in way of friction.
When he adds a third finger and lets his thumb ghost over her still sensitive clit, making her whole body twitch, Clarke groans, because it's just not enough.
"Fuck, this was your plan all along, huh?"
He bites her shoulder lightly. "What was?"
"Get me off so much my brain stopped working and I'd forget about the slipping and breaking your neck because I want you inside me so much."
"Huh," he says lightly, the hand that was working her breast moving around so he can line up his dick and thrust between her legs. "That's actually not a bad plan. Is it working?"
She arches against him and spreads her legs a little, to give him better access. "I haven't forgotten about it," she feels the need to clarify. "You're good but you're not that good."
Bellamy chuckles against her throat and shifts so he's positioned right at her entrance. "That sounds like a challenge."
Then he's pushing inside her and, OK, her mind does go blank for a moment or two.
"OK?" he asks, voice rough in her ear, and she nods frantically.
He starts moving then, slow but deep thrusts, making intense pleasure shoot through her every single time. Clarke gives up on staying quiet after a minute or two – it's not like anyone can hear them anyway – and lets out the moans and gasps and cries when the sensations get to be too much.
When he speeds up a little and his hand tightens against her hip, she fumbles for the shower head herself and gets it to the right setting again, and she falls apart a second before he stills inside her, head falling to her shoulder.
"Fuck, that was…" she starts when they've both caught their breaths.
Bellamy chuckles behind her and takes a step back, pulling out of her. "See, I told you shower sex was amazing."
-100-
On Tuesday, they head out of the city, taking the Belt Parkway east towards the Hamptons. The heat wave seems to be over for now, the sky is overcast, the thermometer shows seventy-four degrees, and the rain seems to be hanging in the air, but it is still late July and traffic is, of course, horrible. They got an early start, but it's still almost noon by the time they pull into the driveway to what the sat nav tells them is Richard and Linda Blake's house. There's another house next to it, so it's not technically waterfront, but Patchogue Bay is glittering just a handful of yards further along.
Clarke's driving, and she parks outside the two car garage attached to the main house, turning the engine off.
"You OK?" she asks, turning to Bellamy in the passenger seat.
He seems calm, none of the nerves from when they were meeting his paternal grandparents in the Philippines, and he even smiles at her question.
"I think so, yeah."
"Not that I want you to be nervous or anything, but how come?"
He thinks the question through for a moment. "I guess… my dad's family, Mom didn't talk much about them. When I asked, she'd just say that they were in the Philippines and they never came to the US, but that was… we didn't have much, growing up, so I guess I just figured it was because they couldn't afford it. It's not like we could have just taken a trip to them either, so… It wasn't until I got older and started learning more about the country and the culture that I even started thinking about what my dad's parents must have thought about his relationship with my mom, about me, worrying about them not wanting anything to do with their dead son's illegitimate kid…"
"I remember," she interjects.
"But my mom's parents…" Bellamy continues like she didn't say anything. "Mom passed her own relationship with them onto me, I guess. She never lied to me when I asked about my dad or other family, which maybe she should have considering I was… I must have been four when I started. I don't know if I've told you, but I met Miller the day after we moved to Paterson and we became friends immediately, the way kids do, and he has the most traditional family ever, basically. His parents were still married, of course, and he always had both sets of grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins, all that around for birthdays and holidays, so I figured out pretty quickly that my own family wasn't the standard configuration.
It started with my dad, I still remember the conversation – she was doing the dishes and when I asked why I didn't have a dad like Miller did, she just told me he was dead. No sugar coating, nothing like that, he was just dead and was never coming back, and there was no point in crying about it. So it was just a part of life, I guess.
It wasn't that long after that when I asked about my grandparents, after the first Christmas we spent in Paterson. Mom had to work, and she'd gotten to know Miller's parents by then, so I had a sleepover at their place – I think they probably felt a little sorry for her, being on her own with a kid in a new town, no family around to help, having to work all the time, so I was already spending a lot of time with them. Then when she picked me up, I just started asking why I didn't have any grandparents or aunts and uncles, because Miller had so many and it wasn't fair that I didn't have any, they gave him all these Christmas presents and why wasn't I getting any… when we got home, she basically sat me down and told me that a lot of people in the world aren't very nice, and the sooner I learned that the better, and that her parents were conservative snobs who didn't approve of her behavior so they kicked her out.
Looking back, that was five months or so before Octavia was born, so I'm guessing at least part of her speech was anger or maybe betrayal due to that whole situation – I'm pretty sure it was the reason we left Detroit in the first place too… But that stuck with me, you know? So I spent a long time not caring about them, not wanting to see them, and now… I don't know. It's not like we're going to form some lifelong bond, make up for thirty-one years of lost time, no matter what happens, you know, so I'm just kind of… not indifferent, I am glad I get a chance to at least see them, but… whatever happens happens. If they take one look at me and slam the door in my face, I at least tried."
"That's very zen of you," Clarke notes, intentionally skipping over the part about lifelong bonds.
He shrugs. "I guess. So come on, let's get this over with."
Some nerves do seem to set in when they're standing in front of the door, though, and she's the one to reach out and ring the doorbell.
They're immediately greeted by two sets of barking – one deep and booming, and one yapping that makes her think of little toy dogs carried around in purses.
The woman that opens the door a moment later looks like she could come straight out of an advertisement for the golf club she's apparently a member of – chestnut brown hair in a perfect, shoulder length bob (considering her age, Clarke suspects it must be died, but if so, it's definitely well done), a light blue cotton shirt tucked into beige chinos, a simple (but probably expensive) pearl necklace around her throat. There's a Pomeranian tucked under her arm, and a golden retriever peering up at the strangers and wagging its tail at her side.
"Can I help you?" she asks with a polite but bland smile.
Clarke glances at Bellamy, but he doesn't seem to be about to say anything, so she takes the lead again.
"Mrs. Blake? Linda Blake?" she asks.
The woman frowns a little. "Yes, that's me. I'm sorry, who are you?"
Clarke offers a smile. "No, I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself. My name is Clarke Griffin, and this is my husband, Bellamy… Blake."
Linda's attention snaps from Clarke to Bellamy, and her hand flies to her mouth. The little dog yips indignantly, as if annoyed its mistress is upset.
Bellamy has found his voice again and raises his hand in a sort of wave. "Hi."
The sound snaps Linda out of her shock and she takes a step back, putting the dog down on the floor before half-turning to call over her shoulder. "Richard!"
The Pomeranian takes the opportunity to examine the newcomers, and they both crouch down to let it sniff them. When it's happy, it yips again and starts wagging its tail.
Linda turns back to them, even though there hasn't been any response from Richard. "Come on, Coco, inside," she tells the dog, and it huffs but does turn and patters past her. "I'm so sorry, you caught me completely off guard and I'm being terribly rude. Come in, come in."
They step through the door so she can close it behind them, and the golden comes up to say hello as well, sniffing both of their outstretched hands before licking Bellamy's once, making him laugh.
"He's a sweetheart," Linda assures them, her eyes intent on Bellamy and not the dog for a moment, before she takes a few steps over towards the curved staircase that leads up to the second floor. "Richard!" she calls again, a little louder, and this time there's a response.
"Yes, coming!"
She turns back to them with a smile. "That means we'll probably see him within half an hour." She pats her leg and the golden obediently goes to her. "Come on, Duke, let's take our guests somewhere a little more comfortable, shall we?"
The dog trots off and Linda smiles at them, nodding in the same direction before following. Clarke looks up at Bellamy and mouths 'OK?' and he nods, but does reach for her hand as they follow Linda through the house.
'Somewhere a little more comfortable' turns out to be a large but comfortably furnished living room just off the foyer. The entire left wall is glass sliding doors, with a view of the garden with a patio and large pool. While they drove, the skies cleared, and it looks very inviting in the sunlight.
Linda seems a little lost, standing in the middle of the room, but then both dogs go to lie down in what are obviously their beds on either side of an open fireplace, and she gestures at the couch. "Please, have a seat."
Clarke pulls Bellamy down next to her, keeping her grip on his hand, and Linda takes an armchair herself.
"I am sorry we just… showed up like this," Clarke apologizes. "We should have called first."
She had considered it but decided against it in the end, worried that they would just turn him away without even seeing him.
"Oh, no," Linda tells her, shaking her head. "I'm glad you did. Honestly, if you had called, it would have just given me time to stress myself out worrying. This is better." She turns to Bellamy, eyes wide and searching. "I am so sorry."
He lets out what sounds like an unexpected laugh. "I don't know what you're apologizing for."
"Everything, I suppose." Her mouth turns up in a familiar half-smile, full of contrition. "I don't know what your mother's told you about us, but I can't imagine it's anything good."
He takes a breath and Clarke can tell from the way his eyebrows knit together briefly that he's trying to figure out what to say. Linda does seem genuinely sorry, and she's sure he doesn't want to give her too hard a time. "She honestly didn't talk that much about you," he finally says. "Only when I asked, and then she just told me that you… had some differences of opinion and that you kicked her out when she was seventeen."
Linda nods thoughtfully. "I suppose that's what it must have felt like for her at the time. I'm not trying to… downplay her feelings, please don't think that, but to me, it was just another one of our fights." She sighs. "Maybe it was worse than our other fights, and I did say some things I didn't mean in the heat of the moment…"
"Like telling her to not come back if she left?" Bellamy interjects gently.
She sighs. "I didn't even think about it at the time, it wasn't… I didn't mean it, I thought she knew that. But then she didn't come home… Aurora and I were more similar than either of us realized at the time, I think, we argued a lot. And Richard… he grew up very strict, so it was the only way he knew how to be a parent, and I'll admit that I didn't… it was easier to let him handle rules and curfews and punishments, so I did. I know we were hard on her, but we just… we wanted what was best for her – good grades, a good college, a degree… she didn't agree and, well…"
"Yeah, I know what that's like," Bellamy says with a smile.
"Oh, you two have…" Her eyes dart between them and a small frown appears on her face. "Well, you're too young to have teenagers of your own."
"Oh, no, I meant my sister, Octavia," he corrects her. "She's five years younger than I am, and let me tell you, she was a handful in her teens."
Linda's eyes light up. "You have siblings?"
"Just her." He pulls his phone out to find a photo of the two of them with Octavia and Lincoln from Dublin and hands the phone to Linda. "That's her and her boyfriend, they live in Ireland."
"Oh." Linda stares at the photo for a moment, her free hand hovering just above the screen, as if she wants to touch it. "She looks so much like Aurora."
Bellamy nods. "I know."
She hands the phone back and wipes surreptitiously at her eyes. "So, your sister acted up when she was younger? How did Aurora handle that?"
Clarke glances up at him to see his face fall at the question, because Linda doesn't know. She knows he thought that social services might have notified them when Aurora died, but obviously not. He opens his mouth to reply, but just then there are footsteps on the stairs and a moment later, an older man appears at Linda's side.
"You could have told me we had guests," he says with a smile, holding his hand out. "Richard."
Bellamy stands to shake his hand. "Bellamy."
"Our grandson," Linda pipes in, and Richard actually stumbles, taking a step forward. Bellamy quickly reaches out to steady him.
"Are you OK?"
Richard nods but still looks a little dazed, so Bellamy keeps his hold on his arm.
"I can't believe it," Richard says after a moment, shaking his head. "I never thought…"
"Come here, sit down," Linda tells him, and Clarke sees that she's pulled up another chair next to hers.
Richard does as he's told and Bellamy sits back down, reclaiming Clarke's hand, which seems to remind him of her presence. "This is my wife, Clarke," he introduces her to Richard, who offers her a weak smile.
"Nice to meet you, Clarke."
"Nice to meet you too."
Linda pats Richard on the knee. "I was just asking Bellamy how Aurora handled teenage rebellion," she tells him. "He has a little sister… Octavia, yes?"
Bellamy nods. "Octavia, yeah, but…" He glances at Clarke and she squeezes his hand in what she hopes is a supportive way. "I was the one who had to deal with her teenage rebellion. Mom, she… she died. When I was eighteen, Octavia was thirteen."
The room is completely quiet for a long moment, Linda and Richard staring at him as if waiting for him to tell them he's joking. Then Linda lets out a half-choked sound and Coco, who has been dozing by the fire, immediately bounds over and paws at her leg until she lifts the dog into her lap. Richard wraps an arm around her shoulders and she leans against him, tears rolling silently down her face.
"I'm sorry," Bellamy offers after a moment and Richard shakes his head, reaching out to grasp his arm.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he says determinedly. "We always… well, I always hoped that one day she would… not come back, but reach out, at least. I understand why she didn't, but… it's been over thirty years of not knowing. In a way, it's… not a relief, but…"
"It's been hard," Linda takes over, voice shaking slightly. "To worry without being able to do anything. We tried to keep track of her, in the beginning, but… it wasn't as easy, back then. You couldn't just… go on the internet and find someone. Richard had connections in Illinois, friends who could help, and we were able to look out for her from afar for a while, but when she left the state…"
"We lost her," Richard finishes. "We tried, now and then. Put out feelers, but we never…"
"We should have tried harder," Linda says, sniffling. "She was our little girl and we just… we gave up on her."
The grief and guilt in her voice is evident, and Clarke's heart aches for her. She wants to say something, but she knows it's not her place.
"Don't blame yourselves," Bellamy says. "I know Mom was… she was angry, and I get that, but she could have tried to see things from your perspective too, especially once she had me and Octavia and knew how hard it was to actually raise kids. But she knew where you were, she could have reached out too, and she didn't. That's on her."
Linda offers him a small smile. "Thank you for finding us. If we had known about you and your sister, we would have tried too, but we didn't."
Bellamy nods. "I get that. I did think, back when Mom died, that maybe social services got in touch with you, but…"
"No," Richard says, shaking his head. "We would have been there in a heartbeat if they did."
"You said you were the one to take care of Octavia, does that mean your dad…" Linda starts, trailing off without finishing the question.
"My dad died when I was a couple of months old," Bellamy tells her. "And Octavia's dad, he was never around. It was just us and Mom."
Linda shakes her head. "I'm so sorry, that must have been so hard on you. I wish we could have been there."
He leans over to take both of her hands in his. "So do I."
Chapter warnings: explicit sexual content, references to death
