Chapter 92

Wriggling her purple bunny over his daughter's head, Bellamy waited for her to take notice of it. She was propped up by pillows on the couch and at first seemed more interested in the TV than anything else. When she did finally look at her favorite toy, she immediately reached for one of the floppy ears and gave it a little tug.

"You got it. You got it," he said. "Can I get it back?" He was impressed when she held on tightly. Or as tightly as she could. "No?" According to everything he and Clarke had read, Avery was about a little bit ahead of most infants when it came to her motor skills development. At this rate, she'd probably be walking in no time.

Clarke emerged from the laundry room with a basket of unfolded dry clothes and said, "She looks cute in that outfit, don't you think?"

"She always looks cute." He let go of the bunny, not surprised that she immediately tried to put its head in her mouth. Everything was going in her mouth these days, mostly her own fingers.

"You wanna help me with this?" Clarke asked, taking a seat next to him on the couch.

"Sure." He grabbed a towel and started to fold it, smirking when one of her bras fell out, straight onto his lap.

"I feel like I do so much laundry these days," she said. "So much housewife stuff in general. Never thought I'd be so good at it, but here we are."

"Here we are," he echoed, glancing up at the clock. Twenty 'til 1:00. Great. Finn could show up any time now.

"Are you listening to me?" she asked.

"Kind of," he admitted. "Just watchin' the clock."

Folding quickly, almost expertly, at this point, she reminded him, "It's only a couple hours. It'll be over before you know it."

"Except it won't, 'cause we gotta do the same thing next week. And the week after that. And the week after that."

"Only for twelve weeks."

"Only?" While he admired her persistence to look on the bright side here, part of him wished she'd commiserate a little more with him.

"I'm trying to be positive, Bellamy," she said, folding the last item in the laundry basket. "No offense, but you're really not making that very easy."

He knew he wasn't. For weeks now, their roles had been switched, because almost all throughout her pregnancy, he'd been the one trying to keep her calm, the one in the supportive role. And somehow, that now seemed to be her job. "You're right," he said, stacking the towels on the coffee table. "I shouldn't be here." He got up off the couch and headed towards the door.

"What? Bellamy . . ." she said, sounding disappointed.

Stepping into his shoes, he said, "I'm only gonna make things worse, more awkward. I might as well just go."

"It's gonna be awkward no matter what," she argued. "I was kind of banking on having you here to-"

"Remember what happened last time you and Finn and I were all in a room together?" he cut in. "I'll just end up gettin' pissed. I should leave, come back after he's gone."

She huffed incredulously, "What, so now I have to supervise his whole visit by myself?"

Shrugging helplessly, he stuck to his guns and said, "I think it's for the best. I'm sorry." He didn't give her a chance to respond, because he didn't want her to change his mind. So he just left. Felt like a jackass for leaving, but he couldn't stay. No. He couldn't just sit there and watch Finn get to do the whole dad thing. It would infuriate him too much.

...

Clarke was pissed that afternoon. She was pissed at Bellamy for leaving, pissed at her dryer for not getting all the laundry as dry as she'd wanted, and pissed at Finn for running late. At 1:10, he still hadn't shown up, so she just sat on the couch with Avery, absentmindedly channel-surfing, never really settling on any one thing to watch.

"Maybe it'll just be you and me today," she pondered, sort of liking that thought. "Wouldn't that be something if biological dad just forgot?" She grunted. "Wouldn't put it past him, to be honest. That'd be alright, though, wouldn't it? We love our mother-daughter time." Unfortunately, right after she said that, the doorbell rang, signaling the end of that precious time together. "I think I jinxed it," she said, groaning as she got up to open the door.

"Hey," Finn said, smiling.

Since she was less excited about this whole get-together than he was, she greeted him with a criticism instead. "You're late."

"My car wouldn't start."

Oldest excuse in the book. She wasn't sure whether she believed it or not. Although . . . Finn's car had always been pretty crappy. "Well, we're not adding ten more minutes onto the end of this, just so you know," she informed him.

He sighed, flapped his arms against his sides, and said, "Alright, next time I'm leave early."

Reluctantly, she opened the door wider for him and allowed him to come in. Finn went straight to the couch so he could scoop Avery up and hold her, and Clarke immediately felt less pissed off at her husband, because . . . maybe he'd been smart to leave. Seeing this, this sight that just looked so incredibly not meant to be, was difficult even for her. It probably would have been impossible for him.

"Hey, sweet pea," he said, smiling down at her.

She made a face as she shut the door. Sweet pea? His nickname, his choice, she supposed, but she was so used to hearing Avery called Princess.

"You glad to see me?" Finn asked her. "You're not crying this time. That's a good start."

Dammit, Clarke thought. Silly as it was, she'd really been hoping that Avery would throw a fuss when Finn held her.

"Where's Bellamy?" he asked.

"He's . . ." It dawned on her as she tried to answer that she didn't even know where he'd gone, so she just said, "He'll be back later." Hopefully he'd gone over to Octavia's or his mom's. Maybe talking to one of them would do him some good.

"Works for me." Finn sat Avery up on his knee and started to bounce her up and down. She didn't seem to know what to think of that, but . . . she still didn't cry.

Clarke tried her best to stay occupied in the kitchen, cooking far more than she and Bellamy could reasonably eat at one meal while Finn played around in the living room with Avery. She kept one eye on them at all times, though, and listened in closely to what he was saying. He kept calling himself Daddy, saying things like, 'You like it when Daddy plays with you, don't you?' and that just drove her up the wall. Not today, but at some point, they were going to have to have a conversation about what Avery would call him someday. Finn. Just Finn. Unless she herself indicated that she wanted to call him something else, then she was just going to call him by his name.

"I think she's falling asleep," he said after about an hour and a half of playing and cuddle time.

Turning away from the casserole she'd begun putting together, Clarke tried not to dwell on the fact that Avery was dozing off in Finn's arms just like she often dozed off in Bellamy's. "Yeah. This is usually when she starts her naptime."

"So you guys have a whole routine, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. I'd go crazy without one." The fact of the matter was that having him there was actually a major disruption to their daily routine, but she just had to remind herself that it wouldn't last forever. Only twelve weeks.

"You know, Clarke," he said, "I don't know if I ever apologized to you for how I reacted when you first-"

"Can we not?" she cut in. "You didn't come over here to make nice with me. You came to spend time with her. So just . . . do that." Someday, after Bellamy had formally adopted Avery (and only after then), perhaps she'd be willing to hear Finn's apology.

Clarke was about to resume cooking when Avery finally began to cry.

"Oh, uh . . . what's happening?" Finn asked, looking nervous.

"She might be hungry," Clarke said, heading into the living room.

"No, I think she used her diaper," he said, holding his hand to his nose. "Holy cow, that stinks. What do I do?"

She enjoyed getting a glimpse of his utter cluelessness when it came to one of the most basic parenting skills imaginable, so instead of immediately taking the baby from him, she just stood in front of him and stated the obvious. "Change it."

"I . . . I don't know how," he admitted, sounding a little . . . embarrassed.

Of course he didn't. Inwardly, she got a good laugh out of that. But outwardly, she said, "Come on," and motioned him to follow her upstairs. He needed to learn, because someday, he'd have other kids. Ones that were really his.

She brought him into the nursery, had him lay Avery on the changing table, and showed him how to do it. It really wasn't rocket science, but he still watched with wide eyes, as if he were intimidated by the whole thing.

"There," she said, securing the new diaper into place. "Just like that." She handed him the dirty one, happy to make him responsible for disposing of it.

"You make it look so easy," he said.

"Well, I've had lots of practice." She was glad that had sounded like she was throwing some shade at him, because she meant to. "You should see Bellamy do it. He's even faster than I am." Actually, she probably had him beat, just because she was at home more and had changed even more diapers than he had. But it didn't hurt to brag him up a bit.

"Gotta say, I'm kinda surprised he isn't here today," Finn said, dropping the dirty diaper into a small trash can that she would happily make him empty outside. "I thought he'd be watching me like a hawk. Where'd he go?"

Since she still hadn't heard from him, she still didn't know. So once again, she kept her response vague: "Out."

...

Although his intention had been to go to the gym, Bellamy ended up at Eligius with Murphy and Miller. Neither one of them had had anything going on that day, so it worked out for them to just bro down with some beers and a couple shots. He didn't tell them that he'd fled home to avoid Finn, because he didn't want them asking him about it. He just wanted to hang out, get a little buzzed, and forget what was going on in his home while he was here.

"Okay, would you rather . . ." Murphy drew it out as he brainstormed another awful scenario. "Watch your parents have sex, or have your parents watch you have sex?"

Bellamy made a face and reached for the last shot left on the table. "Neither. Do I have to choose?"

"That's the game," Murphy said.

He downed the shot and decided, "Fine, I'd rather my mom watch me, 'cause I'm pretty sure she walked in on me once in high school anyway."

Miller laughed. "With Clarke?"

"Well, it was probably more than once, so . . ." He shrugged. "I don't know, possibly."

"Yeah, I'd have to go with that one, too," Miller said. "My turn?"

"Yep."

"Would you rather . . . lose a testicle . . ." he began.

"No," Murphy answered right away.

"Wait for it. Or never have sex again for the rest of your life?"

Murphy snorted. "Well . . ."

"Yeah, decision made. Take my testicle," Bellamy said. Just the thought made him wince, though.

"Yeah," Miller agreed. "That's what I thought."

Bellamy finished off the bottle in his hand, feeling like he wasn't quite done drinking yet. Finn was still going to be over at his house for another half an hour, so he was gonna need a little more help making it through that. "Alright, you guys keep playin'," he said, sliding out of the booth. "I'm gonna go restock."

"Again?" Murphy said.

"Yeah, why not?" It wasn't like he was slurring or stumbling or anything. He was fine.

Diyoza was serving another customer when he walked up to the bar, so he waited until she was done and sauntered towards him to blurt out, "I need another beer."

She took the empty bottle from him and tossed it, but instead of handing him a new one, she gave him a questioning look and asked, "What number you on?"

"I don't know. Four, five. It takes more than that to get me drunk." He wasn't even really trying to get drunk. Just a little . . . lighthearted.

"Sorry, I think I'm gonna cut you off," she told him.

"Why?"

"Because you drove here."

"I'm fine, though," he insisted. "Come on, Diyoza . . ."

She shook her head stubbornly and walked away, down to the other end of the bar.

"Come on," he said again, feeling like he wasn't even close to his limit.

...

"Yeah, I always knew you could knock 'em back, boy!" Winston exclaimed over the pulsating music blaring throughout the entire nightclub.

"About time you loosened up, you son of a bitch," Brady said, signaling the bartender to refill their drinks. "That's what good pussy does to a guy, am I right? You got some the other night?"

"I got some," he boasted. He and Stephanie—or was it Sarah?—had gone back to her apartment and fooled around for a while. It hadn't been the best sex he'd ever had, but it definitely hadn't been the worst.

"Gotta get some more now," Brady said. He motioned to the crowd of club-goers around them and said, "Look at all these cunts just waitin' to be fucked."

Bellamy tensed up a bit, because even in his drunken haze, he wouldn't have used that word to talk about girls. Not any girl. Not ever.

"I'm gonna go get some," Brady announced, walking off with beer in hand. "You get some, Blake!"

"Get some!" Winston resounded as he followed Brady into the crowd.

Yeah, he planned on it. He wanted to down another drink first, though, because if he got drunk enough, then maybe eventually all the blonde girls who approached him would start to look like . . .

"Hey, Bellamy."

As if on cue, a blonde he faintly recognized sauntered up to the bar and stood next to him with one hand on her hip.

"Hey . . ." It took him a moment to mentally scrub his mind enough to locate her name. "Andrea."

"Very good. You remembered. I didn't think you would. You were pretty wasted last week."

He was as shocked as she was, honestly. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd only remembered because she'd been a little more brazen than the other girls at that party, telling him all the things she wanted to do to him.

"No, I remember," he said. "We almost hooked up. But your boyfriend-"

"Ex-boyfriend now," she readily informed him.

"Oh, really?'

"Yeah." Her eyes gleamed with a look of mischief. Clearly, she had one thing on her mind. She wanted to screw a football player, and he was more than willing to help her out with that.

The bathrooms in that club were all packed, so they ended up going outside, literally into a back alley. She wasn't wearing underwear, so it was easy access for him once she hiked her skirt up and bent over. He lowered his pants to his knees, slapped a condom on, stood behind her, and started ramming into her hard from behind. If some cop happened to wander up on them, he'd think he was having sex with a prostitute, because that was probably what it looked like.

Andrea was very vocal. Her voice got kind of whiny and high-pitched, and she made a noise with every single thrust. Things like, "Uh! Oh, yeah! Yeah! Harder! Fuck me harder!" She sounded like she was trying to be a porn star, which actually turned him off a little. It was too much, didn't even seem natural. Sometimes less was more, so he tried to tune her out and instead focused on the sight of his cock going in and out of her. She wasn't the tightest girl he'd ever fucked, but she still felt pretty damn good.

Even though it was just a hook-up, he still wanted to get the girl off, too, so he waited until she came to do the same. Out of habit, he pulled out, ready to cum all over her ass and back instead, but when he remembered he had a condom on, he shoved his dick back in, letting her feel his release. It felt good.

And just like that, it was done. No strings, no attachments, no expectations. He stepped back, pulled his pants up, and cockily asked, "Satisfied?"

"Very," she said, pulling her skirt back down.

Of course she was. He knew what he was doing. Hell, he'd been doing it for years. Sex was . . . a really easy thing for him. Especially when it was meaningless like this.

"Don't tell anyone you fucked me in an alley," she said. "It'll ruin what's left of my good reputation."

He laughed a little, having a hard time picturing a girl like Andrea with any kind of good reputation at all. Maybe her friends didn't know she hooked up with relative strangers, or maybe her parents thought she was at home studying tonight instead of living it up at this club. Whatever. It really was no concern of his.

He stayed out there for a minute longer after she'd headed in, wondering what his reputation was shaping up to be at UCF. People were starting to recognize him more; girls were throwing themselves at him. It was starting to feel like high school, but on steroids.

Reputation was a funny thing. For some people, it changed all the time, but for athletes like him, there were just some stereotypes that were easier to play into than fight against. A lot of his teammates had been starting to think he was a no-fun loner who never went out and partied, but that wasn't the real him. He could drink, and he could score as well off the field as he could on it. In that way, he was probably a lot more like Brady than he cared to admit.

...

Since Charmaine Diyoza was being a complete buzzkill, Bellamy caught the attention of the only other person working. He didn't know her, but she looked like she was barely even old enough to serve alcohol. Maybe she was the one who'd taken Clarke's job.

"Hey," he said, flashing her his most charming smile. "Can I have another beer?"

She smiled back at him and said, "Sure," without questioning anything. And that was all it took to get another bottle in his hand.

...

Clarke made Finn leave right at 4:00, because the agreement was three hours, not three hours and a minute. Of course she'd hoped that Bellamy would come home around that same time, but he didn't. No big deal, because maybe he'd just wanted to make sure Finn was gone before he arrived home. By 4:30, she was feeling a little lonely and texted him, though, and by 5:00, she was starting to get worried, so she gave him a call. She felt a lot better when he answered the phone.

"Hey, are you on your way home?" she asked.

The front door open, and in he walked. "You could say that."

She breathed a sigh of relief, set her phone down, and got up to go hug him. "I missed you today," she said.

"Missed you, too," he said. "How'd it go? Do I wanna know?"

He probably didn't, so she wasn't going to go into detail. "It was fine. It went fast. He just played with her, and I showed him how to change her diaper."

Bellamy frowned. "Don't do that. He doesn't need any parenting skills."

"Well, he doesn't have many." She doubted he'd be going out of his way to change Avery's diaper next week. He'd seemed pretty grossed out by the whole thing.

"Hey, speaking of skills . . ." Bellamy trailed off, bending his knees a bit so he could press his groin up against her. He put his hands on her ass and gave it a good squeeze, too, grinning suggestively.

"You really wanna have sex right now?" she said. It'd been . . . kind of a crazy day for both of them. She wouldn't have minded a good cuddle on the couch.

"Yeah," he said, snaking his hands up the back of her shirt. "I was a jerk today when I just left like that. I gotta make it up to you."

Jerk wasn't exactly the right word, but she had been a little upset with him, so if he wanted to make it up to her . . . "I guess I'm not opposed to that," she said.

He tried fiddling with her bra clasp underneath her shirt, but even though it was something he could usually unhook pretty smoothly, his fingers were sort of fumbling all around. He didn't seem the most coordinated, and that probably had something to do with the alcohol she smelled on his breath. Eventually, he stopped trying to undress her there and just lifted her into his arms carrying her up the stairs and into their bedroom. He laid her down, got on top of her, and kissed her sloppily, lips and hands going everywhere.

"You're so sexy," he murmured against her lips as his hands traced up and down her sides. "Your body . . ."

She moaned, spreading her legs so he could comfortably settle in between. "Yours, too." She'd changed into pajama shorts and a t-shirt, but he still had his jeans on, and they were in the way. "Take your clothes off," she whispered.

He groaned, sat up, and pulled his shirt over his head, but he wasn't his usual smooth self with that, either. His eyes weren't entirely focused on her like they'd been the other night when they'd fucked on the couch, and when he laid down on her again, he didn't even hold himself up. He put all his weight on her, buried his face against the side of her neck, and pressed lazy kisses to her skin. It didn't seem like he was going to be able to really ravage her the way he usually did. He was just sort of out of it.

"You gonna make it?" she teased, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Uh-huh." He sucked on the side of her neck for a moment, then just laid there with her, holding her, face still buried. The next words he said came out as a barely audible mumble: "Let's make a baby."

She laughed, thinking he was joking. "What?"

"You heard me."

Yeah, she had. Barely. Was he not joking? As he started kissing her neck again, she just lay there, absorbing that. "Bellamy," she said, pushing back on his chest a bit. He lifted his head, and she gave him a serious—and seriously confused—look.

"What?" he said. "I wanna get you pregnant."

She felt her eyebrows shoot upward in surprise. "Are you serious?"

He grinned. "Maybe."

She narrowed her eyes, giving him a skeptical look. "You seem kinda drunk."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I had a few drinks, that's all."

It seemed like more than a few. "Do you even know what you're saying?"

"Yeah."

If that was true, then he had to understand why it was catching her off guard. They both knew very well just how big of a responsibility a baby was.

She didn't know how to respond to all of this so she just lay there, and he just remained on top of her, his eager smile gradually fading. "Just forget it," he ended up muttering as he got off of her.

"It's just . . . I just got done being pregnant a couple months ago," she pointed out. "I can't go through all of that again right now. it takes a toll." Plus, they already had their hands full with a three-month old. Was it really a good idea to add another baby into the mix?

"No, I know," he said, lying beside her. "You're right, I'm drunk. Just ignore me."

"I mean, I wanna have a baby with you," she assured him. "And we will. Someday." She tried to grab his hand, but he rolled over onto his side, facing away from her.

"Just not today," he said. "I get it. It's fine. Let's just go to bed. I'm tired."

Was he, though? It was 5:00 in the afternoon. He wasn't tired; he was embarrassed. Probably because it wasn't just the alcohol that had made him say these things.