AN: I know the last chapter was difficult to read (it was even harder to write) and this will be more of the same, unfortunately, but I am so incredibly grateful for everyone who's sticking with me!
I don't own anything relating to The 100
Chapter title from "Be Still" by The Fray
Chapter warnings: I'm putting these at the beginning this time, for reasons. This chapter is pretty dark… basically lots of death and grief and pain, and it hurt like hell to write so… proceed with caution I guess…
64
Be Still, Be Still, and Know
It feels like she's suffocating. She can't breathe properly, like a huge hand is wrapped around her ribcage and squeezing all the air from her body. Her head is pounding, her eyes are burning and her nails are digging into her palms so hard she's drawing blood.
None of that can distract her from the horrible emptiness that is slowly spreading to every single part of her body. It's a void, a black hole that's sucking away every happy memory she's desperately trying to cling to, replacing it with a mantra of he's gone, he's gone, he's gone.
She had known what was coming, of course, had tried to prepare herself, had even thought that maybe she had managed to, but… this feeling that's washing over her, dragging her under is nothing she could have ever prepared for.
She doesn't know how long she stays there, how long it takes for the tears to finally stop streaming down her face… at least for now. She has no doubt they'll be back.
When she finally feels like she can actually move, she pushes herself up until she's kneeling in bed, eyes squeezed shut. She pulls in a shaky breath before opening them.
It looks just like he's sleeping, eyes closed, one hand stretched out as if he's reaching for her, even now.
"I love you," she murmurs, leaning down to press her lips to his. They're still warm, soft, and she half-expects his arm to sneak around her waist and pull her down on top of him.
But it doesn't, of course.
Before she can break down again, she forces herself out of bed, fumbling blindly for something to put on. What she ends up with is a pair of her own sweats and a t-shirt of Bellamy's, which smells so much like him she has to take a moment to just breathe it in.
She pauses briefly in the doorway, a part of her desperate to turn around, drink him in one last time, but… no. This isn't how she wants to remember him.
She finds her phone on the kitchen counter and opens the phone app, her hands shaking as she taps in the emergency number.
"911, what's your emergency?" a female voice comes over the line after a moment.
"It's… it's my husband," she starts, having to swallow when her voice comes out more like a hoarse whisper. "I woke up and he wasn't breathing and I can't get him to wake up, I don't know what to do."
She feels the tears streaming again and doesn't even try to wipe them away.
"OK, sweetheart, just take a breath for me, alright?" the woman says. "Can you do that?"
Clarke nods, though the other woman of course can't see that, and sucks in a couple of deep breaths.
"Good, that's good. Can you tell me your address?"
She rattles off her address.
"OK, good, I've got a unit on the way, alright? I want you to stay on the line with me in the meantime, though."
"OK."
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Clarke. Clarke Griffin."
"OK, Clarke. Do you know CPR?"
She does, but she knows there's no point. "No."
"OK, that's fine, the ambulance is just a couple of minutes out so they'll be there in no time."
"OK."
The woman keeps talking, asking inane questions, and Clarke responds but mostly tunes her out. Soon, though, there's a hard knock on the door and she interrupts the emergency operator in the middle of… something.
"I think they're here now."
"OK, good, you hang up and go let them in then. And I hope everything works out, OK, sweetheart?"
She knows it won't, has known for months.
"Thank you," she still says before ending the call.
She can't feel her fingers as she unlocks the front door to let the paramedics in, it's almost like she's watching someone else. An out of body experience, like she's standing off to the side, removed from the situation. When she finally pushes the door open, she finds a woman with warm, brown eyes.
"Are you Clarke?" she asks gently. "I'm Luna."
Clarke just nods and steps aside. "Come in."
Luna passes her with a small smile and then her partner, who Clarke hadn't noticed, pushes into the apartment, bumping Clarke's arm with his bag.
"Where's the patient?" he asks brusquely, almost making her reel back.
"Cage," Luna says, a warning in her voice. The man rolls his eyes and turns away.
"I'll show you," Clarke tells them, leading the way through the apartment to the bedroom. She stops a few feet from the door, though. She can't go back in there. She can't watch them try to do what she knows is impossible. "It's… he's in there," she says instead, nodding at the open door.
The man – Cage – again pushes past her, while Luna squeezes her hand. "You don't have to go in there with us," she says, reading Clarke's mind. "Why don't you sit down, get a glass of water? I know this must have been a shock."
Clarke nods, because it's true. It doesn't matter that she's known it was coming for months, she still can't wrap her mind around the fact that he's really gone.
Luna squeezes her hand one more time before following her partner into the bedroom, and Clarke, not knowing what else to do, goes into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and then sits down on the couch. A meow makes her look up just as Bastet jumps onto the couch next to her, and she pulls the cat into her arms. Bas allows it for a few minutes, purring loudly, but then wriggles out of the embrace to settle next to Clarke on the couch, nose pressed against her thigh, little puffs of breath warming her skin.
She's sort of aware of sound coming from the bedroom, can't pick up the actual words, but enough to know they're… doing whatever it is they're supposed to do.
She still has no concept of time, so she doesn't know if it's been five minutes or half an hour when Luna comes into the room and sits down on the coffee table in front of her. Bastet gives her a suspicious look.
Clarke doesn't want to hear the words she knows are coming, but it's not like this won't be real if she just refuses to listen, so she lifts her eyes to meet the warm brown gaze. If she hadn't already known that there was no point, the expression in those eyes would have told her.
"I'm so sorry," Luna says, taking both of Clarke's hand in hers. "We tried everything we could, but I'm afraid we weren't able to help him."
Clarke swallows hard and squeezes her eyes shut. "Do you know what happened?"
"We can't be sure, honestly, not until the… the coroner gives his report."
Clarke winces at the word 'coroner', but they talked about this. She knows she can, technically, legally, refuse a post mortem, but Bellamy worried that doing that would be suspicious. Like she wanted to hide something. So even though the idea makes her stomach turn over, she's not going to argue.
"It might be a couple of weeks, I'm sorry about that, it's summer and the coroner's office is understaffed and overworked, and, well, they have to prioritize. But someone will get in touch with you as soon as they've conducted their examination and are ready to release him to you." Luna continues, pulling a small notebook from one of her pockets along with a pen. She writes something down and rips a page out that she hands over. "This is the number to the coroner, call them if you feel like it's taking too long or you have any questions, OK?" Clarke nods and closes her hand around the piece of paper. "Do you know if there were any hereditary conditions in his family?"
She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. "His dad died when he was a baby, but it was a car accident. His mom had a brain aneurysm when she was… thirty-seven, I think."
Luna hums at that. "Depending on what the underlying cause was, that could be hereditary."
"So he didn't… he wouldn't have felt anything?" She knows he didn't, of course, knows that she would have noticed if he experienced any pain at all, but she still needs the reassurance.
Luna shakes her head. "I'm sure he didn't. You were in bed with him when it happened, right? You would have known if…"
She's interrupted by her partner.
"Did you call it in yet?"
It's gone in a flash, but Clarke catches the annoyed look Luna gives him over her shoulder. Her voice is still calm, though. "Why don't you do that?"
For a moment, Clarke thinks he might object, but whatever look Luna gives him makes him mutter and pull his phone out of his pocket as he turns his back on them.
"Is this your cat?" Luna asks, pulling Clarke's attention from Cage, and she reaches out a hand to pet Bastet, who seems to have decided that Luna is OK and has gone back to snuggling with Clarke's leg.
"Yeah." It feels like the word scratches its way up her throat.
"I love cats, they're great company."
Clarke is only half listening, distracted by Cage, who is now on the phone in the kitchen, talking much louder than should be necessary.
"Yeah, 31 year old male, DOA. No obvious physical injuries, but a standard post mortem should be done to rule out foul play. The wife seems shocked, but you never know…"
"Hey," Luna squeezes Clarke's hands and she turns her eyes back to her. "Don't listen to him, OK, he's just calling it in. It's just procedure. Focus on me, OK? What's your cat's name?"
Clarke has to think for a moment before she's able to respond. "Bastet."
"Like the Egyptian cat goddess? That's cool."
"Come on, let's roll."
They both look up at Cage at his words and Luna frowns. "Why, did we get another call?"
He falters a little. "Well, no, but we're done here. I called it in, the coroner will be here as soon as they can."
Luna turns back to Clarke. "Then we can stay either until we get another call, or until they get here," she says, voice determined, and Clarke feels a surge of fondness for the other woman.
"Fine."
"So, you like cats?"
Luna keeps her talking, keeps her… not preoccupied, the situation is still hanging over her like a cloud that she knows will explode in thunder and lightning as soon as she's alone again, if not before, but a sense of calm still spreads through her. Shock, her brain supplies.
Then there's another knock at the door, Cage disappears to let the coroner in, and Clarke feels her breathing start to speed up.
"Relax," Luna tells her. "Breathe with me, OK? In… and out… in… and out."
She does as she's told, focusing on nothing but the movements of her lungs as they fill with air and then deflate, eyes locked with Luna's.
"Good," she tells her, glancing up at someone behind Clarke's back. "Do you want a moment with him to say goodbye before…"
She's shaking her head before Luna finishes the sentence. She doesn't know what they did to try to revive him and she doesn't want to know.
"That's OK," Luna assures her. "If you change your mind later, you can talk to the coroner's office or the funeral home, OK?"
"OK."
Luna hesitates for a moment. "Listen, I… I don't usually do this, but… I've been where you are." Clarke looks up at her and Luna grimaces a little. "Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who's been through what you're experiencing, you know? Even if it's basically a stranger."
Clarke nods, because she does know.
"So if you want, you can call me, OK?" Luna continues. "I might not answer if I'm at work, but just leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I can."
She considers saying thanks but no thanks. She has Raven, after all, and her other friends, who she knows will be here as soon as she asks them. But… Luna is such a comforting presence, and maybe she'll need that.
So instead, she reaches for her phone and unlocks it, opening the contacts and handing it over to Luna. "Thank you."
"Of course." Luna puts her number in and hands the phone back. "You have a beautiful apartment, have you lived here long?"
She lets Luna distract her again, telling her about the building and the apartment, trying to ignore the noises coming from the bedroom. When the sound of a zipper carries over to them, though, she can't help but wince, because she can see the scene in her mind and it's almost like a physical ache.
"You're OK," Luna murmurs gently, hands closing around Clarke's again.
She's not, she's so far from OK that she can't even imagine ever being OK again. It feels like standing at the bottom of a hundred foot well, the sky a tiny pinprick far above her, with the prospect of climbing the sheer walls.
Another few minutes later, the sound of the front door closing makes Clarke squeeze her eyes closed, because now he's really gone. He's not even here with her anymore, in the same space, and he never will be again.
Luna holds onto her hands, murmuring quietly, nonsense mostly, until she gets her breathing under control again. When she opens her eyes, Luna is giving her an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry but we do actually have to leave," she says, sounding like it's her fault somehow.
"It's OK, I understand," Clarke assures her.
"Is there anyone we can call? Someone who can come over and keep you company?"
"No, I… I think I need to be alone for a while," she replies, getting a concerned look. "I'll call someone soon, I promise."
"If you're sure…"
Clarke follows Luna out into the hallway, where Cage is waiting, looking impatient.
"Look…" Luna starts, turning to her again. "I know this will sound… I know how it sounds, OK? And I know it won't help you right now, believe me, but… just know that it will get better. I promise. Not tomorrow, not next week or next month or maybe not even next year. But… one day, you'll wake up and it won't hurt as much anymore. And then, someday, you'll be able to remember the good times you got together with a smile. Just… know that that day is coming."
Clarke nods, because she does know, on a logical level. She knows that there will be a day when she won't feel like this, but part of her doesn't want that day to come, because it would feel like betraying Bellamy. Like forgetting him.
Luna offers her one last smile, and then they're gone, leaving Clarke alone. More alone than she's ever been in her long life.
She locks the door with numb fingers and somehow finds her way back to the couch, where she pulls her knees to her chest and leans her chin against them, staring straight ahead at the night outside the windows, eyes unfocused.
She doesn't know how long she sits there. She might fall asleep at one point, because she closes her eyes when it's still dark outside, and when she opens them, it's dawn. The sun must have risen on the other side of the building but it's not high enough to reflect off the skyscrapers across the river yet. The sky is still painted in pinks and blues and purples, and she knows that it's going to be another beautiful summer day.
It feels like a punch in the face.
The next thing she's actively aware of is a pair of arms wrapping around her and she gratefully leans her head against Raven's shoulder.
"Why didn't you call sooner?" Raven asks quietly.
"I didn't call at all," Clarke points out, voice raw from crying and lack of use.
"You say that like it's better somehow. It's not, just so you know."
"I just…" It sounds stupid even in her own ears but she continues anyway. "I didn't want to wake you up in the middle of the night."
"The middle of the night?"
The confused note in Raven's voice makes her pull away to be able to look at her friend. "What?"
"Why would you call in the middle of the night?"
"Because that's when…" Clarke cuts herself off, can't finish the sentence.
Raven frowns. "But… that's not the time listed in the app when I claimed the Transfer."
It's Clarke's turn to be confused. "What?"
"When I claimed the Transfer for you, it said 8:36 PM," Raven explains.
She knows that the exact time of someone's death can change, even if the date never does, so it's not really that odd. Or if it is, her brain can't process it at the moment. Maybe the higher ups, whoever they are, decided that they deserved a little more time. Once she's gotten past the initial shock and grief, Clarke is sure she'll be grateful for the extra three hours or so, but right now, she can't even care. There's still an eternity stretching out in front of her without him.
"Oh." She pauses, thinks over the question but decides she wants to know. "What was the… COD?"
"Brain aneurysm," Raven supplies.
It's what she expected, honestly, and it doesn't make her feel better or worse, so she just nods.
"Did you sleep?" Raven asks, and Clarke shrugs.
"I don't know, maybe a little."
Raven tuts. "OK, we'll deal with that later. Right now, you need to eat."
Clarke frowns at the plate of scrambled eggs and toast that has appeared on the coffee table in front of her. She didn't even notice that Zeke was cooking, but now she can smell coffee as well.
"I'm not hungry," she tries, already knowing it's no use.
"I don't care," Raven replies, holding out the fork. "Eat."
In a way, it's comforting that Raven's basically the same as always, not putting on kid gloves for her. She's pretty sure it would be much worse to be coddled.
She does eat, mostly to get Raven off her back. She can't taste anything, though, it just feels like chewing cardboard, and she only finishes half the eggs and one slice of toast, making Raven frown even as she moves the plate away.
Zeke joins them on the couch after that, turning on the TV, and they basically sit in silence, watching reruns of old sitcoms. Clarke keeps her eyes on the screen but doesn't take in anything that happens. She's not even sure what they're watching.
Wells and Sasha join them at some point, Clarke only becoming aware of their presence when Raven's arm moves from around her shoulders and another familiar set of arms, stronger but more gentle at the same time, wrap around her from her other side. She leans her head against Wells' shoulder and he squeezes her tightly.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles quietly, just for her.
She doesn't answer, just buries her nose against his throat, breathing in the scent she's known for so long and lets it soothe her mind just a little. Just for a moment.
It's probably early afternoon – she was forced to eat again a little while ago – when something occurs to her.
"I have to call Octavia," she says, making the other four turn their attention to her. "And Miller, and his grandparents, I have to tell everyone…"
"Hey, hey," Raven cuts her off, squeezing her hand. "Miller and Octavia are first priority now, right? Miller's in town and Octavia will want to come out as soon as possible, I know she will. The grandparents can wait for a couple of days, OK?"
Clarke manages a nod, trying to think logically, which isn't easy when her entire brain is basically screaming. "Yeah. I know Rosamie and Danilo will want to come for…" she has to pause, clear her throat, to get the words out, "for the funeral, but they need to get visas and all that, so they won't be able to just up and leave. Octavia can. And Richard and Linda were going out of town for a couple of weeks, I don't want to ruin their trip."
Which is an absurd thing to say, but it doesn't quite feel like her mouth is connected to her brain right now.
"Then we'll start with that, and put off everyone else for now, OK? I'll go call Miller and Octavia." Raven gives Zeke a meaningful look, and before she even gets up from the couch, he's on Clarke's other side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. A moment later, Sasha sits down in the spot Raven just vacated, taking one of Clarke's hands in hers.
"She's got it," Zeke assures her. "Raven and Octavia totally hit it off when we were in Vegas."
Clarke just nods, because she's honestly relieved to not have to do it herself. She knows that she'll have to talk to Octavia eventually, but she's terrified of the other woman's initial reaction. Even if Bellamy hadn't said anything, she would worry that his sister would blame her, and right now, her promise to not let Octavia push her away feels impossible. Maybe it's the easy way out, letting Raven make the call, but she thinks she has every right to take it just this once.
Raven has disappeared, maybe into the guestroom, so Clarke doesn't know what's being said. She returns ten minutes later, wiping tears off her cheeks before slumping down next to Zeke and leaning against him.
"How'd they take it?" Clarke asks, unnecessarily, really – she knows Octavia must have been shocked and devastated.
Raven shrugs. "Not great, but what can you expect in a situation like this? Miller seemed mostly dazed, he's probably in shock, which… yeah. I told him they were welcome here whenever if they wanted… I don't know, company? Lincoln took the phone from Octavia after a few minutes, she was crying too much to keep talking, he promised to make sure they get on the first available flight over, so hopefully they'll be here tomorrow."
Clarke nods before leaning her head against Zeke's shoulder again and pretending to watch the TV.
The day continues like that. Raven makes Clarke eat at some sort of regular intervals, even though she doesn't manage to get much down each time, and the others start conversations now and then, but other than that, they're just there, a silent support when she needs them. Raven gets a text from Lincoln a couple of hours after she called Octavia, saying that they will be landing at JFK around one thirty tomorrow, and they arrange for Zeke to pick them up.
"OK, time for bed," Raven announces at some point after the sun has set.
Clarke immediately tenses. "I… I don't know if I can…"
"Zeke changed the sheets and cleaned up, it looks just like normal, OK?" Raven assures her gently, which doesn't help one bit.
"Or you could come with us to the hotel?" Wells suggests. "I don't know if the couch folds out, but if it doesn't, you and Sash can share the bed and I'll take the couch."
"No." Clarke shakes her head, the mere thought of leaving the apartment appalling. "I'll just stay out here, I don't think I can sleep anyway."
Wells lets it go, but Raven levels her with an unimpressed look. "If you think that's a good argument, you don't know me at all. You can sleep in the guestroom, Zeke and I can take your room. Or Zeke can take your room and you and I sleep in the guest room. Take your pick. Couch is not an option."
"Please, Raven."
She's not sure what does it – her pleading voice or the desperate look in her eyes – but Raven relents for possibly the first time ever.
"OK, fine. But please, at least try to get some sleep? And yell if you need us, promise?"
"I promise," Clarke agrees quickly.
Raven still tugs her along to the guest bathroom to brush her teeth after Wells and Sasha say goodnight and take off, but then she and Zeke disappear, leaving Clarke with only Bastet for company on the couch.
She really doesn't think she'll be able to sleep, but she does lie down, pulling the cat to her chest and wrapping both of them up in a blanket, which makes her purring reverberate through Clarke's chest. Manhattan is a ribbon of gleaming lights across the water and she lets her eyes go unfocused, turning them into a haze.
Apparently, she falls asleep at some point, because when she wakes up, she's tucked into the bed in the guestroom.
For a moment, she can't understand why she's in here and not in her own bed with Bellamy, but then the events of yesterday and the night before come crashing back and she chokes on a sob.
"Morning," Raven's voice comes from the doorway. "There's breakfast."
Clarke doesn't even respond, just blinks at her friend, the tears turning her into a blur, but Raven, as always, stands her ground.
"We're not doing this again, are we?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "I know you have to eat, you know you have to eat… why make a big deal out of it? You know I'll get my way in the end, it's easier for both of us if you just don't fight it."
Clarke sighs. "Fine. I'll be there in a minute."
The day unfolds much like yesterday. Wells and Sasha show up while they have breakfast and they all lounge on the couch. Clarke eats when someone puts food in front of her, takes a shower and then changes into a new pair of sweatpants and a fresh tank top when Raven tells her she kind of smells – after making Raven swear that she won't throw Bellamy's shirt in the laundry – but apart from that, she mostly stays quiet, pretending to watch whatever's on the TV and leaning on whoever's closest at the time. The tears come and go, her mind shifting between a black, empty void and ragged pieces of memories that feel like they're tearing her up from the inside.
Miller and Jackson show up at some point, she's not sure when, only becomes aware of them when Sasha's arm disappears from around her shoulder and is replaced with another one that isn't as familiar as the ones she's been passed between so far.
When she looks up, Miller offers her a weak smile, eyes red. "Hey."
She sniffles a little but tries to return the smile. "Hey."
"What the fuck happened?" he asks, voice lost. "He was fine, he… what happened?"
"I don't know," Clarke tells him. "The paramedic, she said it… it could be an aneurysm, like his mom had, but they won't know until after the…" She chokes on the word, can't get it out, but Miller nods, so he probably gets it anyway.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, wrapping his other arm around her as well and Clarke buries her face against his shoulder.
"Me too."
When Zeke leaves to pick up Octavia and Lincoln a little later, she feels the heavy grief that's been like a blanket over her other feelings for the last day and a half being pushed aside, if only momentarily, by a nervous sense of anxiety.
"Hey, you OK?" Raven asks. "I know, stupid question, but you started…" She gestures at Clarke's foot and she looks down, realizing that she's started tapping it against the floor without noticing.
"Sorry," she apologizes.
"No need. I just wanted to know what was happening."
"What if…" Clarke starts. "What if she blames me?"
Wells frowns. "Why would she blame you?"
"I don't know." Clarke shrugs. "People don't always think rationally in situations like this. I was there, what if she…"
"She won't," Miller cuts her off. "And if she does, I'll talk to her, OK? I know Octavia can be a little… harsh sometimes, but I won't let her take this out on you."
"No, you can't do that," Clarke tells him. "She's grieving, she's in pain, if she wants to lash out at me that's fine."
"No, it's not," Raven says. "Yes, she's in pain, but so are you. You both loved him and you both lost him, that doesn't give her the right to take her grief out on you."
Clarke wants to argue some more, but she doesn't really have the energy, so she just shrugs.
She remains on edge until the door opens some time later and Raven pulls her up from the couch. She tries to prepare herself for whatever's coming as they make their way through the apartment, Wells and Sasha falling behind a little, but she's still not really prepared for getting an armful of Octavia as soon as they round the corner into the hallway.
She instinctively hugs the other woman back, burying her face in her hair and letting the tears fall, and for a long moment, the only sound in the space is their sobbing.
"What happened?" Octavia finally asks, pulling back to look at Clarke. Her eyes are red, her cheeks still wet, her voice hoarse.
Clarke takes a deep breath and wipes at her own cheeks before answering. "I don't know," she then says. "The paramedics said it might have been a brain aneurysm, like your mom had, but they couldn't be sure. The… the coroner will do an examination to find out for sure, but they said it could be a couple of weeks. Priorities, I guess."
Octavia nods slowly. "Did he… was he in pain?"
"No," Clarke immediately replies, shaking her head. "I know it sounds like something you say to make someone feel better, but I really don't think he felt anything. We were in bed, I thought he was asleep, I was sort of dozing off myself when I realized…" She cuts herself off, swallowing down a sob that almost escapes anyway.
"You poor thing," Octavia surprises her by saying, pulling her back into another hug. "I can't even imagine…"
It definitely doesn't make everything better, but it's still a weight off Clarke's shoulders, to know that Octavia doesn't blame her.
Their hug is eventually interrupted by Lincoln, who gently disentangles Octavia's arms from around Clarke and ushers the two of them into the living room, where he gently pushes them down onto the couch.
"You need to eat something," he says, focusing on Octavia.
She makes a face. "I'm not hungry."
Clarke can't help but let out a snort, bordering on a laugh, surprising both herself and the others. She quickly covers her mouth with her hand, her eyes widening – how can she laugh right now? – but Octavia squeezes her hand.
"Yeah, that doesn't work here," Clarke says when she's gotten over the shock. "If you don't eat, Raven will force-feed you. And I mean that literally."
Octavia heaves an exaggerated sigh. "Fine. I guess I could go for some Chinese food, it's been ages since I had real New York Chinese food."
Raven disappears, returning a moment later with some take-out menus, and within the hour, they're all seated at the dining table, passing around cartons of food.
Clarke's still not particularly hungry, but she does take seconds of the spring rolls, catching the brief smile of relief on Raven's face.
She can't say that she's feeling better, because she's not. The realization that Bellamy is gone, that he'll never tease her about insisting on eating with chopstick even though she's not very good at it, never curl up with her under a blanket on the couch, never indulge Bastet when she wants belly rubs, just hits her every now and then, and it's like she can't breathe for a moment.
But the afternoon is better than yesterday, and even this morning. Maybe it's the addition of Octavia and Lincoln, Clarke's not sure. When they've all finished eating and moved to the couch, Octavia hesitantly starts talking about how Bellamy used to make all of her Halloween costumes when she was little, and how she had told him she wanted to be Buttercup from The Powerpuff Girls – obviously, she hadn't even thought she needed to clarify that – one year but he thought she meant Buttercup from The Princess Bride, and she had refused to leave the house when she saw the costume he made. When she stops talking, Miller takes over with a story of the first time he and Bellamy stole some of his dad's booze and got drunk behind the high school, and how Bellamy ended up calling a local pizza place and going on a rant about how they were spelling their name wrong since it should be 'Colosseum' or 'Coliseum', maybe 'Colosseo' if they wanted to go Italian, but never, ever 'Colisseum'.
The two of them continue sharing little stories like that through the afternoon, and eventually, Clarke feels like maybe she could contribute something. Tell them about the look on Bellamy's face when he saw the view from their hotel room in Rome, or his childlike excitement at the Parthenon, or how he sat listening to his grandmother's stories about his father, focus so intent he barely even noticed what was happening around them.
She decides against it, in the end, happy to listen to Miller's and Octavia's stories instead. Her and Bellamy's stories are theirs… hers, now. She's sure she'll be able to, even want to, share them eventually, but not just yet.
-100-
The sun has set, the lights flickered to life across the river again. Octavia and Lincoln started talking about finding a hotel an hour or so ago, and Clarke offered to have them stay with her, but Lincoln said they didn't want to impose on her any more than necessary. She was going to argue, but then Miller suggested they stay with him and Jackson instead, and the four of them left shortly after. Wells and Sasha headed out around the same time, and then Raven and Zeke went home too, after Clarke spent ten minutes telling Raven it made no sense for them to go one at a time – she would be fine for an hour. Just to shower and change, Raven made sure to point out, so they're coming back soon. Probably to make sure she eats something more and goes to bed… though she doubts she'll sleep much.
She feels numb. She knows she's sitting on the couch, can feel the material on her bare feet. Bas is stretched out next to her, pressed against her hip only because she can't settle in her lap when she has her knees pulled to her chest. The cat has barely left her side all day, not even running off to hide when new people showed up, even though nine is normally much more than she can handle.
When there's a knock at the door, Clarke almost jumps, the sound harsh in the silent apartment. She turns her head in the general direction of the front door, but doesn't have the energy to do more than that. It's just Raven and Zeke anyway, and they have a key. She doesn't know why they're knocking in the first place. Maybe to get her off the couch and moving a little. She wouldn't put it past Raven.
She drags in a ragged breath through her nose and lets it out through her mouth. Repeat.
There's another knock, more insistent this time. Maybe Raven forgot the key at home or something. She should probably get up and let them in, they're not just going to give up and leave, after all. And she doesn't want them to either, so…
It takes another knock, this one longer and harder still, before she manages to get to her feet and shuffle around the kitchen to the hallway. She pulls the blanket she's wearing like a cape closer around herself and turns the lock on the door before opening it.
And drops the blanket to the floor.
"Hey, Princess."
