Hello!
This is the first in what will hopefully become a collection of Bellarke one-shots. I was rooting for these two to be a couple for most of the show and was incredibly disappointed when it never happened, so I had to take matters into my own hands. Most of these fics will probably be AUs, but others could be rewrites of parts of the show or something else. If any of you have suggestions, let me know!
I have no idea when I'll update this - I'm also writing another fic (Harry Potter fans might want to check it out), and I'm pretty busy with school. Plus, I don't know when inspiration will hit. I will do my best to update somewhat regularly, though.
This first story is based on the prompt, "You spilled coffee all over me and almost made me miss my plane and now we're stuck beside each other for this 11 hour flight".
I hope you like it!
. . .
Clarke hated being late. The rushed feeling, the stress, the way it scattered her mind . . . she hated all of it.
So when she arrived at the airport an hour later than she'd intended, her mood was already foul.
Her mother had pestered her repeatedly, making sure Clarke had packed everything she would need for her trip to Peru, where she'd spend a few weeks backpacking to Machu Picchu. The 26-mile trail had been on her bucket list for a long time, and with only two more years left in college, she doubted she'd have another good opportunity to go. To say Abby was nervous about letting her only daughter venture out on her own would be an understatement.
Besides her mother, Clarke had also been waylaid by her friends, who were both jealous and sad to see her go. Raven had wanted to come with her, but she was busy that summer with an engineering internship. Monty, even if he hadn't been busy with his computer science job, would never have been allowed by his parents to go, and Jasper wouldn't have gone without his best friend. But they all took their time hugging Clarke, wishing her luck, and saying goodbye.
When the delays were added to traffic even more horrific than usual, the result was a very grumpy Clarke Griffin.
After hurriedly checking her larger bag, Clarke sped through the airport to security, trying to walk as fast as she could without breaking into a run or losing her grip on her small carry-on bag. Based on her bad luck thus far, she wasn't all that surprised to discover that the security lines were backed up by quite a bit, but it did nothing to help her irritation.
Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor the whole time she stood in line, anxiously checking her watch for the time, watching her time until the flight tick down minute by minute.
After what seemed like an eternity, it was finally her turn to put her items on the security belt, take off her shoes, and walk through the scanners. And then she was through.
Her pace picked up again as she made her way to her gate. She still had thirty minutes, which was certainly cutting it close, but she still had time. She'd just have to skip buying a snack and go to the bathroom.
Business taken care of, Clarke headed back to her gate, checking her watch once again. But she wasn't paying attention to where she was looking, and suddenly she was colliding with someone and something shockingly hot was burning through her shirt, making her gasp.
She stepped back from the person to gape down at her light green shirt, now stained down the front with coffee.
. . .
Bellamy hated being told what to do. The anger, the helplessness, the loss of power . . . he hated it all.
He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing at the airport. All he knew was he was on his way to Peru because his sister, Octavia had somehow convinced him, despite his hatred of being told what to do, to meet her there and hike to Machu Picchu together.
Not that he wasn't excited to see his sister, he was. He missed her when they were away at different colleges and only saw each other over the summer and holidays. And he liked hiking and the outdoors. He just didn't understand why she wanted to go to Peru so badly when there were plenty of hikes they could have done inside the U.S. Not to mention that going on this trip felt a little like being ordered around.
But he loved Octavia and would have done anything for her, so here he was.
He hadn't meant to arrive at the airport so early, getting to his gate an hour and a half before boarding. So Bellamy wandered for a while, looking through the cheesy souvenirs stocked in the small airport stores. When he felt he'd wasted enough time, he began to make his way back to the gate.
He felt his phone buzz in his pants pocket and he pulled it out to see a text from Octavia.
About to board my second plane! See you in a few hours!
Smiling at his sister's message, Bellamy was just about to text back when someone ran into his side. They were small enough and moving slow enough that he didn't even really lose his balance, but he was still ready to berate them.
Then he saw who it was, and what had happened.
The young woman was shockingly pretty, with long golden hair and a nice figure. Unfortunately for her, and for him, the front of her shirt was stained with the coffee she had been holding.
Bellamy opened his mouth, whether to apologize or scold her for not watching where she was going, when she raised her head and their eyes met.
Her eyes were absolutely beautiful – they were close enough for him to see the individual shades of green and blue and the flecks of grey and brown in them. Then she frowned, her eyes narrowing and eyebrows slanting down, and opened her mouth.
"You should really watch where you're going," she said coldly.
It was enough to ignite Bellamy's temper. "Me?" he snapped. "What about you?"
Her scowl deepened. "Whereas you were absorbed by your phone, I was just checking my watch."
"And that makes this all my fault?"
"You've now succeeded in making me even later than I already was," she said. "So even though this has been lovely, I'll have to excuse myself, since now I have to find myself a new shirt. Good day to you."
And then she turned and walked away, leaving Bellamy baffled.
Man, he was an idiot. He could have just apologized and offered to buy her a new coffee, but no, instead he'd turned himself into a complete jerk. But the disdain and hate in her face, such a beautiful face, had angered him. If there was one thing he hated more than being told what to do, it was being blamed unfairly. And she'd done both.
Yet . . . he couldn't shake his guilt as he walked to the gate and took one of the few remaining seats. She had been right, he should have been paying better attention to his surroundings, and he'd been an ass.
Worst of all, her face was now firmly implanted in his mind. And Bellamy knew he wouldn't forget about her for a long time.
. . .
In her mind, Clarke vehemently cursed the stranger as she walked away to the closest of the small stores where she hoped to find a new shirt.
The nerve of some people! To run into her, causing her to spill coffee all over herself, and then act like it was her fault – how dare he?
And of course, he'd also been incredibly handsome – apparently, she couldn't be running into and spilling coffee on herself in front of ugly men. He'd had curly, dark brown hair, tan skin scattered with freckles, and deep brown eyes that had seemed to be laughing at her the whole time even when he was frowning. Plus, he was tall and, if she had to guess, well-built. It was all spectacularly unfair.
Clarke thought her day couldn't get any worse, but she'd most definitely been wrong. The only shirts the store had in her size were cheesy I Heart NYC shirts for tourists. It was the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae of disaster that her day had been.
She huffily paid for the t-shirt, and then quickly went to the bathroom to change into it. She didn't miss the surprised and pitying looks from people as they caught sight of her stained shirt, but she gritted her teeth and ignored them.
Clarke didn't bother keeping her green shirt – that coffee stain wasn't coming out, and she didn't want to put it into her bag. So after she put on the NYC t-shirt, she left it in the bathroom trashcan and left.
People were already boarding when she finally reached her gate, and she was one of the final few people to get on the plane. Thankfully, seats were selected when you paid for the flight, so she at least wouldn't have to sit at the very back. It was a small relief.
She made her way down the aisle until she reached her seat. She was about to sit down, relieved to finally be able to relax, when Clarke realized that she recognized the person in the window seat.
It was Mr. Coffee-Spiller.
The words slipped out before she could stop them. "Oh, no."
. . .
Determined to forget about the girl, Bellamy had just opened his book (a historical fiction novel based in the Roman Empire) when he heard an all too familiar voice.
"Oh, no."
He turned his head and there she was – the same blue-green eyes, the same golden hair, the same tan skin, and the same frown. The only difference was she was now wearing a grey I Heart NYC t-shirt, one of the many he'd seen in the gift shops.
The shirt combined with her smile was enough to make him smile. "You just can't stay away from me, can you?"
She glared but slid into the seat next to him. "I had no say in the matter, believe me."
"I'm having a hard time believing that."
She ignored the comment, digging through her bag for something. After a moment, she pulled out a pair of earbuds and her phone, then plugged the earbuds into her phone and put them in her ears. He watched as she opened the music app and selected a playlist he couldn't read the title of. And then she turned her phone off, leaned her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes.
Point taken.
Bellamy did his best to ignore her in turn, going back to his book. But he was far too aware of her presence next to him and only made it through a few pages by the time they took off at least thirty minutes later.
Finally, he gave in and glanced over at her, only to find her already looking at him.
He smirked at her but she didn't even blush, only asked, "Are you really that slow of a reader or are you only pretending to read?"
He gaped at her for a second before he recovered, bookmarking the page and closing the book. "You caught me."
She rolled her eyes but didn't say anything.
For a few minutes, they were silent.
Then Bellamy said, "If we're going to be next to each other for the next eight hours, can I at least know your name?" at the same time she asked, "So what's your book about?"
They stared at each other for a moment before he said, "If you tell me your name, I'll tell you about the book."
A few seconds passed as she stared at him, seeming to assess him and weigh his question. Bellamy did his best not to fidget under her gaze.
After what seemed like an eternity she answered, "I'm Clarke."
Clarke. The name seemed to fit her – unorthodox, tomboyish, spunky.
He smiled. "I'm Bellamy. It's nice to meet you, Clarke."
. . .
Clarke refused to blush under the guy's – Bellamy's – smile. She would not fall apart just because a good-looking guy smiled at her and said her name. She wouldn't. Not after what had happened not even an hour earlier, not when it went against her principles.
She waited for him to continue, but he said nothing.
"Well? What's the book about?" she asked.
"You know, most people would say it was nice to meet me too."
Clarke scowled. "I'm not most people."
"I've noticed," he muttered. Before she could say anything in response, he added, "Fine. It's a historical fiction novel about the Roman Empire. I don't really know more than that though, because you've prevented me from actually reading much of it."
"There's a summary on the inside cover," she pointed out.
Bellamy shook his head. "That'll give away too much of the story and it won't be as good."
"Then how did you know you would want to read it?"
"Beyond the fact that I like the genre and time period, I didn't. That's part of the excitement."
He had a point, but Clarke didn't want to admit it. So she said, "But what if it's horrible? Then you would have wasted your time and money on a bad book."
"First of all, I actually got this book from the library, so it didn't cost any money. Second, I don't consider reading anything to be a waste of time, certainly not when on a plane ride with plenty of time to spare."
That was too good of a claim to argue against, so Clarke hummed noncommittally.
He seemed to see that she was unwilling to voice any agreement and smirked at her again. It prompted her to look at her watch. Only seven and a half hours to go.
"So why all the interest in my book?" Bellamy suddenly asked, jolting Clarke out of her thoughts.
She shrugged. "The cover art is cool. And I wanted to know what kind of book would be so boring that it would take you so long to read a few pages."
"I thought we'd already established that I was only pretending to read?"
"I never said I thought you were telling the truth," she said, giving him a smirk of her own.
He didn't seem to have a response to that, but a moment later he asked, "Do you like to read?"
Clarke considered her answer for a moment. "I don't know. I don't love it, but I also don't hate it like a lot of people do. Occasionally I'll read a book for fun, but I prefer to spend my free time doing other things."
"Like what?"
"Drawing, painting, being outdoors, hanging out with my friends."
"You're an artist?" he asked.
"No, it's just for fun. I'm studying to be a doctor."
"What kind of doctor?"
"A surgeon, I think," Clarke answered. "Why all the interest in my hobbies and career?" she asked, turning his previous question against him.
"Curiosity."
She gave him a look to say she wasn't impressed with his answer, but he just smiled at her. And to her horror, she felt her mouth trying to form a smile of its own. She quickly looked down at her phone to try to hide it.
Seven hours and 28 minutes left. Clarke wouldn't be able to get off this plane fast enough.
. . .
Clarke grew quiet after that, suddenly seeming determined to ignore him. Bellamy didn't know what he had done to cause the change, or even if it was his fault at all. So he let her have her quiet, and he opened his book again.
It turned out to be quite an interesting read now that he could focus, and he was made good progress through it within an hour or so before the plane met some turbulence. He wasn't really bothered and went back to his book. But then a hand clamped down on his forearm and he looked up.
Clarke was sitting ramrod straight, hands clenched on his arm and the other seat rest, and her eyes were fixed on a point directly in front of her. When the plane hit another spot of turbulence, she somehow became even stiffer.
"Clarke?" She didn't seem to even hear him, so he asked again, "Clarke?"
This time she turned her head slightly towards him and met his eyes. And there was fear – deep, irrational fear and panic – in her blue-green gaze.
"Hey," he said softly, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. "This is normal, okay? You're going to be fine."
She didn't say anything but her eyes seemed to clear a bit.
So he kept talking. "I'm scared of sudden loud noises. Our house got broken into a few times when I was a kid, and the first thing I'd always hear was the door suddenly banging open or a window smashing. So now I freak out a little whenever someone accidentally drops something or even when someone shouts a hello too loudly."
It was all true. And Bellamy was relieved to finally share it with someone – with his mom dead and Octavia looking up to him, relying on him, he didn't have anyone to be this vulnerable with. Yet with this girl, who he'd met only hours ago, he felt like he could share it. He felt like she would understand.
He was startled when she started talking.
"I knew two people who died in a plane crash," she said, her voice soft and low, hesitant. "I wasn't friends with any of them, didn't know anything about them other than their names and that they went to my high school, but one day on the announcements the principal said they'd died and that there would be a memorial and stuff for them."
She paused and glanced down at her hands before looking back up at him.
"It was a few years ago so I thought I'd be fine, but . . ."
"Sometimes our fears are irrational," Bellamy comforted. "Sometimes we think they're gone, but then something happens and sets it off again. But that's okay – it's okay to be afraid sometimes."
"Do you actually believe that?"
Bellamy made sure she could see the sincerity in his face as he answered. "Yes. I do."
A moment passed as Clarke studied him, then she nodded and said, "Then I guess I do too."
. . .
Clarke's admission changed her and Bellamy's interactions for the rest of the flight. No longer were they two strangers who felt an inexplicable curiosity towards the other. Now they were two people who trusted and understood each other. Two people who could become inseparable if given enough time.
At least, it felt that way to Clarke.
They talked for a while, telling the other about their families, friends, college classes, plans for the future, and every other topic they could think of. Clarke discovered that Bellamy had a sister, Octavia, but his parents had both passed away. He had a few friends but wasn't particularly close to any of them. He was majoring in history, which came as no surprise because of his book, and he wanted to be a history professor for either high school or college students. Clarke told him about how her dad had died several years ago and now her mom was dating a guy named Marcus, about Raven, Jasper, and Monty, about how she was in pre-med right now and how it was so hard but she was determined to be a doctor. She even told him about Finn, her ex who had been cheating on his girlfriend with her, and how his girlfriend was Raven, and how the two girls had bonded and become fast friends because he had broken both their hearts.
Bellamy couldn't seem to believe it. "Just like that? You two were friends? No jealousy, no hate?"
"Well, okay, we did dislike each other for a while but I moved on and eventually she did too, and we became friends. Finn moved away not long after that, and I haven't seen him since."
"He sounds like an asshole."
Clarke shook her head. "He wasn't, not really. He'd thought he and Raven had broken up or something – I never really got the details though so I'm not sure – and I think he did care about me. If anything, Raven was the one hurt most about the whole thing, because then he really did break up with her and tried to get me back. But I couldn't, you know? I was a little relieved when he moved away to be honest, even if it upset Raven."
"I certainly can't blame you for being relieved," Bellamy muttered. "I would've wanted to beat him up."
"Well, I guess it's good that you weren't there."
Bellamy made a noise that suggested he disagreed, but he didn't say anything.
After a few seconds of silence, Clarke decided to watch a movie on the screen on the back of the seat in front of her. The airline had a surprising number of options, but none of her favorites. So she went to the science fiction section and selected a random movie, not even bothering to read the summary.
Bellamy must have noticed because he asked, "You've watched this before?"
The opening of the movie was quiet enough that Clarke was able to hear him and respond. "No."
"Then why did you pick it without reading what it was about?"
"I'm trying what you suggested. I picked it based on the fact that I like this genre. Not knowing anything about it is part of the excitement," she teased, throwing his previous words back at him.
Unfortunately, he smirked. "I see you've memorized what I've been saying."
Clarke rolled her eyes, trying desperately hard to hide her fluster. "I have a good memory."
"Mmhmm."
"Do you want to watch it with me or not?" Clarke finally asked. She'd been tempted to ask him from the start but hadn't been desperate enough to dare to until now. She'd do practically anything to get him to stop talking and looking at her like that.
"Well, thank you so much for asking," he mocked. "I'd love to."
So Clarke gave him one of the earbuds – after wiping it off first – and they watched the movie.
. . .
Either Clarke had bad taste or bad luck, Bellamy didn't know. The movie wasn't horrible, just stereotypical in every way possible. After an apocalyptic event, some of the survivors form a new government that ends up being corrupt and a rebel group rises to overthrow it. The female protagonist, an orphan, feels like an outsider and falls for the super good-looking teenage male leader of the rebels. They fight a war, the rebels win, the girl finally confesses her love, and it turns out the boy had been in love with her the whole time. The End.
Or at least, that was everything Bellamy saw because at that point Clarke fell asleep and he turned the movie off so it wouldn't disturb her.
While Clarke was beautiful when awake, her features took on a softer shape when she was asleep. There was no crease between her eyebrows, no frown on her mouth, no narrowed eyes. She was cute, Bellamy realized – really cute, at least asleep. He wasn't sure an awake Clarke was capable of making a face that could classify as cute.
He tried to focus on his book, he really did, but he couldn't stop himself from glancing over at her every half page or so. It was ridiculous how close he felt to her, how drawn he was to her, after them having met only about four ago. It was crazy how much he was dreading the end of this flight.
He forced himself to look away again, but he'd only read two sentences before a weight dropped on his shoulder. And as he looked over to see Clarke's head resting on his arm, Bellamy knew he was gone.
While she slept, never once moving off his shoulder, Bellamy did his best not to move. He didn't want to wake her – didn't want this to end. He didn't want to watch her wake up and be embarrassed for sleeping on him, didn't want her to withdraw again. So he stayed still, not even daring to turn the pages of his book, and hoped she wouldn't wake up.
Bellamy had no idea how much time passed before a flight attendant came by to pick up any trash from the snacks and drinks they'd passed out earlier. Unfortunately, it woke Clarke up, but fortunately, she was too busy dealing with her trash to really notice where she had been sleeping. It was somehow both a relief and a disappointment.
Once the attendant had moved on, Clarke turned to Bellamy and asked, "So how did the movie end?"
"I don't know. I turned it off once you fell asleep so it wouldn't wake you up."
She looked guilty. "Sorry. It was just really boring and I was already exhausted, so . . ."
"No, it's fine," he assured her. "I wasn't all that into it either."
"It seems your method doesn't always work," Clarke replied with a smirk.
He made a face at her, and the smirk turned into a real smile – a smile that lit up her whole face and made her even more beautiful than she already was. Distantly, he felt his weird face drop and knew he was staring but he couldn't do anything about it. Clarke definitely noticed, and her cheeks flushed a little, her smile shrinking, and she looked down.
Bellamy awkwardly looked away and cleared his throat. He fought for something to say but came up short.
After a moment of unbearably awkward silence, Clarke muttered something about the bathroom and stood up.
Bellamy just stared out the window while she was gone, trying to reorder his mind into something resembling sanity. He stared out at the bright blue sky around them and the puffy white clouds beneath the plane for he didn't know how long. He didn't even notice she'd come back until she started talking.
"When I was a kid, my dad used to tell me that when you went to the bathroom on a plane everything flew right out and into the air. So I'd always rush back to my seat and stare out the window trying to see it fly past the plane."
Bellamy looked at her. She was wearing a small, slightly sad smile, her eyes downcast.
"What happened to him?" he asked.
She met his gaze for a moment but turned away again, pausing a moment before speaking. "When I was 16, he and my mom were in a car accident – a drunk driver hit their car. My mom was driving and the passenger side, where my dad was sitting, was the side that got hit. There was never any chance of him surviving."
She paused again, drawing in a tight breath. "I blamed my mom for a long time, and she did too, since she had been driving. It took me a long time to realize and accept that it wasn't her fault, that she couldn't have known the driver was going to hit them. She didn't know he was going to die."
Clarke's voice was shaking now, and Bellamy put a hand gently on her arm. She squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear rolling down her cheek, before she let out a long breath.
"Eventually my mom and I made up, and a few years ago she started dating Marcus. He's . . . he makes her happy, which of course is good, but he's not . . . He's not my dad, you know?"
"I wouldn't, actually," Bellamy answered, bitterness slipping unbidden into his voice.
Clarke looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"I never knew my father," he admitted. "I lied earlier when I said he'd died. I never knew him – I don't even know his name or what he looked like. I'm not even sure if he was also Octavia's dad, or if someone else was. I just know that he got my mom pregnant and didn't stick around long enough to see either of us born."
"Why'd you lie?"
Bellamy stared hard at her. "Because I wasn't willing at the time to share that piece of my tragic backstory with a stranger," he said with an edge.
"But you are now?" she pushed. Damn, it was impossible to look away from those eyes when they were fixed so hard on his.
"You revealed a secret to me. I returned the favor." Bellamy could have sworn he saw a flicker of disappointment and hurt in her eyes, so he added, "And I wanted you to know. I trust you."
There was that smile again – perhaps not as wide as before, but just as beautiful. And just like the other, it made Bellamy's heart stumble.
"When I was seventeen and Octavia was fourteen, our mom got cancer," he continued. "She died not long after that."
Clarke's surprise was evident on her face. "How'd you two manage?"
"I worked any job I could get – tutoring kids, fixing people's houses, working at a McDonald's, eventually being a waiter at a nice restaurant. Octavia . . . I wanted her to have as normal of teenager years as possible. Thankfully, we both did well in school and she got a sports scholarship, so we could both afford college. Only she got the biggest scholarship from Berkley, so she's all the way across the country now."
"It sounds like you're very close."
"We are," he replied, his throat tightening. "I'd do anything for her."
Clarke nodded. "Sometimes I wish I had a sibling. Someone to rely on or who would rely on me."
"It's not all hugs and kisses," Bellamy laughed. "Half the time we're at each other's throats – we've both got independent streaks, and I had a hard time dealing with Octavia's. But . . . she's my sister. My sister, my responsibility. And I wouldn't know what to do without her."
Clarke didn't say anything in response, just reached over and squeezed his hand. And Bellamy realized he was grateful – grateful she knew not to say anything when he was so vulnerable, knew that he didn't need words, he needed contact.
So they sat there in silence for a while, just drawing strength and comfort from each other.
. . .
Eventually Bellamy decided that, with three hours left in their flight, he might as well take a nap. Clarke had just nodded – she'd fallen asleep, after all, so she couldn't fault him for wanting to do the same. That didn't stop her from being slightly upset that they couldn't keep talking, though.
She waited until she was reasonably sure he was asleep before pulling out her sketchbook and pencils. Telling Bellamy about her dad had stirred up feelings she'd kept buried for a while, and now she needed to transfer some of them onto paper. Gradually, her father's face appeared on the paper – his slightly shaggy hair, his tired eyes, his kind smile. And when she was finally looking down at his familiar face, she let out a long breath, tears finally flowing down her face as the walls inside of her crumbled.
Once all her tears had dried and the anger and grief inside her had been released, she turned the page of her sketchbook and began to mindlessly draw. The airplane around her took shape first, the seats, screens, and backs of people's heads done up in shades of grey graphite. Then, without thinking about it, she began to draw Bellamy. Not as he looked now, asleep. No, she drew Bellamy as he appeared when he looked at her with that slight smirk, his eyes warm yet intense, his dark hair somehow perfectly tousled.
But when Clarke realized who she was drawing, she immediately ripped the paper out of the sketchbook, crumpled it up, and stuffed it in her bag. She didn't want him to see it – and she didn't want to encourage any feelings in her that would make it even harder to say goodbye to him in two and a half hours.
She didn't want to think about how that drawing would be all she had of him.
Clarke forced herself to move on, beginning a drawing of how she'd imagined the mountains around Machu Picchu. She was perhaps halfway through when she felt someone watching her.
She looked up to see that Bellamy was awake and his gaze was fixed on her. There was that look again – the intense, slightly amused look she'd seen countless times in the past few hours.
Clarke refused to let herself blush or look away, only demanding, "How long have you been watching."
"Only a few minutes," he replied. "Why? Drawing something you didn't want me to see?"
She didn't even dare think about the drawing in her bag. "I'm not used to sharing any of my art," she said truthfully.
"Why not? They're really good."
"You've only seen one, and it's not even done," Clarke pointed out, but it was half-hearted – it meant a lot that he liked her drawing.
"So show me some of your others," Bellamy challenged.
Clarke stared back at him for a moment longer, making it seem like she was considering. But there was no debate about it, not really. She wanted to show him her work, something she'd wanted few people to do. Raven, Jasper, and Monty had never seen her work – only her mother, Finn, and her childhood friend Wells ever had. But she wanted Bellamy to see it.
She flipped back to the first page of the sketchbook and slowly went through the pages, showing him each drawing. There was one of her mom, one of Raven, one of Jasper and Monty, her college dorm, a stethoscope and various medical supplies, weird things she'd seen in dreams, and several others. She explained each one was she flipped through, pausing only when she reached the one she'd just done of her father.
"That's your dad, isn't it?" Bellamy asked.
Clarke nodded. Thankfully he didn't push her and let her move on.
Once she'd shown him the whole sketchbook, she closed it, then stuck it and her pencils back in her bag.
"You're not going to finish the mountains?" Bellamy asked.
"I have to be in the right headspace to draw," she explained. "And having you watch me the whole time would not be conducive to my focus."
"What? Do I make you nervous?" he teased, smirking.
"Don't flatter yourself. I can't draw with anyone watching."
He made a noise that clearly illustrated he didn't believe her.
Clarke ignored it. "Do you have any artistic talent?" she asked.
Bellamy shrugged. "Not really. I never had much interest when I was younger and after my mom died we couldn't use the money on that kind of thing."
"Oh." She looked down in embarrassment. "Right. Sorry."
"You're fine. We just had different lives, that's all."
"That doesn't make it okay for me to act like a spoiled princess, though."
"I don't mind," he said, then smirked. "But I might start calling you Princess."
Clarke gasped in fake horror. "How could you?"
"Sorry, Princess, that's just the way it is."
She glared at him. But in reality, his new nickname for her was doing funny things to her heart, somehow making it race while simultaneously making it melt. She was surprised he couldn't see it – but then again, maybe he could and just wasn't saying anything.
"Have you ever drawn a self-portrait?" he asked.
"No."
"If I promise not to watch you, will you?"
Clarke raised her eyebrows at him. "Why?"
Bellamy shrugged. "We'll get off this flight in about 2 hours and never see each other again. But I don't really want to forget this, so you can either draw yourself and give it to me, let me take a picture of us, or give me your number. What's it going to be, Princess?"
She mumbled something decidedly unpleasant but pulled her sketchbook back out, along with her phone. She opened a selfie of her and Raven in their dorm room and began sketching. True to his word, Bellamy got his book out and read it instead of watching her. Clarke was glad, even if she was going to end up giving the drawing to him anyways. His attention would have shattered any semblance of calm and focus.
Thirty minutes later, the sketch was finished. It was weird seeing herself on paper – less distant and frozen than a photo, even if it was perhaps less accurate.
Maybe Bellamy noticed that the noises made by her pencil had stopped or maybe he'd been sneaking glances at her the whole time, but he cleared his throat and asked, "Finished?"
Clarke sighed. "Yeah."
She tore the page out and handed it to him. It was nearly impossible not to fidget as he looked at it, and she could have sworn her heart stumbled a bit when a small smile touched his lips.
"Thanks, Princess," was all he said before tucking the drawing into his jacket pocket.
Though she couldn't see it, Clarke felt as if the drawing of him in her backpack was staring at her.
. . .
The last hours of the plane flight passed all too quickly. Bellamy suggested things for Clarke to draw – Octavia (he showed her a picture), the guy across from them (fast asleep and snoring), the cute little boy two seats and across the aisle from them (who alternated between crying and babbling happily) . . . Practically the only thing he didn't dare ask her to draw was himself. He didn't want to know if she'd do it or not – and he didn't know which response would be best.
While Clarke drew, they continued to talk. But instead of discussing the past as they had done previously, their conversation focused mostly on the future, including where they wanted to live, places they wanted to visit, and people they wanted to meet. Clarke revealed she was single, to which he replied that he was too, but they didn't discuss further. It would have been too awkward.
Clarke had just finished a sketch of a strange cloud formation they'd passed when the pilot came onto the speakers to let the passengers know they were beginning the descent. Clarke tucked her pencils and notebook into her backpack and put her tray up. While she was distracted, Bellamy quickly took a photo of her. He knew it was creepy, but he couldn't help it – he wanted more than just a drawing to remember her by. He would have taken hundreds of photos if he could.
The descent and subsequent landing passed far too fast for Bellamy's liking. But when Clarke's hands clenched on the armrests of her seat as they neared the ground, Bellamy offered his hand to her. To his surprise and immense pleasure, she gave him a small smile and took it, gripping it tightly. He held on just as hard, never wanting to let go, never wanting her to stop smiling.
But when the plane finally rolled to a stop at the gate, Clarke released his hand.
"Thanks," she said.
"You're welcome." It was all Bellamy could manage to say.
They unbuckled their seatbelts but remained sitting until the people directly in front of them stood up to get their stuff out of the overhead compartments. Neither he nor Clarke had stored anything up there, so when it was their turn they just stood and got in the line to exit the plane.
Bellamy was eager to see Octavia – she was waiting at the gate for their next flight, according to a quick glance at his phone – but he didn't want to leave Clarke. And since he had over an hour before boarding began, he figured he could walk her at least part of the way to where she needed to go.
But when she didn't head towards the luggage retrieval, though he asked, "Did you not bring any other bags?"
"No, I did. I have a connecting flight."
"To where?"
"Cusco."
Bellamy stopped walking. "Wait, are you serious?"
Clarke stopped and look back at him, confusion written all across her face. "No . . ."
Bellamy grinned. "I'm going to Cusco too, Princess."
She didn't even seem to notice his nickname. "Really? That's a weird coincidence . . . What are you doing in Cusco?"
"Well, my sister and I are only staying there a day or two – we're hiking to Machu Picchu."
Clarke's mouth opened, her lips forming an O that was practically impossible for him to look away from. "No way," she said.
"No way what?"
He'd thought it impossible, but Bellamy's grin grew even more when she answered, "So am I."
They just stared at each other for a few moments. Then Bellamy said, "Talk about fate."
Clarke smiled. "Speaking of fate, I think you owe me a coffee." She gestured at the shop they'd stopped next to – one that appeared to sell coffee.
"I still think it was just as much your fault as it was mine," he said, but he took out his wallet and ordered a coffee for her. They waited a minute before it was handed to him, and he handed it to her.
"Here you are, Princess."
Clarke rolled her eyes but accepted the coffee and took a long drink out of it.
The two of them continued through the airport, making their way past gate after gate until they reached the one their next flight would leave from.
Bellamy searched the seats for Octavia but didn't see her until he heard her shout, "Bell!"
There she was, in one of the seats, a giant grin spreading across her face. She jumped up, ran to him, and launched herself at him. He laughed, wrapping his arms tightly around her.
"Hey there, Octavia."
After a moment she pulled back. "Your hair's getting a little long," she commented.
"I knew the love couldn't last long," he joked, making her smile wider.
"I missed you, Bell."
He smiled down at her. "I missed you too."
Octavia's green eyes darted away from him and Bellamy suddenly remembered Clarke standing next to him, now looking decidedly awkward.
He cleared his throat. "Octavia, this is Clarke. We sat next to each other on the plane. Clarke, this is Octavia."
. . .
Clarke had, of course, recognized Octavia from the pictures he'd shown her, but she appreciated the introduction nonetheless. It was plainly obvious they were extremely close, and she wanted the chance to make a good impression on his sister. Not that she'd ever admit it to him.
Clarke smiled. "I've heard a lot about you," she said, holding out her hand.
Octavia ignored it and hugged her instead, careful of the coffee in Clarke's hand. "Ah, Bellamy's been bragging about his amazing little sister again?" she asked as she pulled away.
Clarke laughed. "Something like that."
Though Octavia and Bellamy didn't share much physically other than their dark brown hair, when Octavia smiled it somehow reminded Clarke of Bellamy. "So, are you going to Cusco too, Clarke? Or has my brother kidnapped you?"
Bellamy cut in. "Clarke's actually hiking to Machu Picchu, same as us."
"By yourself? Or are you meeting someone?"
Though they'd only known each other for two minutes, Clarke could have sworn there was worry in Octavia's voice. "No, I'm going alone. None of my friends or family could come."
"Then you should come with us. It's not safe to hike alone, especially a trip that takes over two weeks," Octavia said.
Clarke looked to Bellamy, expecting him to shoot down the idea, but he shrugged.
"Octavia has a point," he said. "And you'd be welcome to join us."
Clarke looked between the two siblings, weighing their seriousness, the situation, and her emotions. But really, what choice did she have? They were right – hiking alone was dangerous. And she hadn't exactly been looking forward to being alone for that long. Plus, was she really ready to leave Bellamy?
No. She wasn't.
So she nodded, smiling without meaning to. "I'd love to."
Octavia beamed and Bellamy's face split into a grin.
"Good choice, Princess," he said in a low voice.
And somehow, Clarke knew she had made the right choice. And that their journey – hers and Bellamy's – would not end at Machu Picchu.