No one could have been more surprised than Clarke when, after a good night's sleep and a quick rush through the few chores that couldn't be put off, she found herself back at Ark City General.
Even though that Sunday was her first day off in more than a week.
She told herself she was just checking up on a patient, something any conscientious doctor would do. But the thing was that Octavia Blake wasn't her patient and hadn't been since the moment she'd left the ER.
It had been Clarke's responsibility to evaluate her and provide what was necessary to stabilize her — to keep her alive — until one of the army of specialists could take over and provide more in-depth medical care. In this case, that had been Marcus Kane and his team of surgeons, several of whom had been called in to help with Octavia's extensive injuries. So she was now Kane's patient.
And ordinarily… that was exactly how she liked it.
Clarke had chosen emergency medicine because she was energized by the rush that came from never knowing what might be coming through the ER doors on any given day. They were all important to her, every single patient, but some cases were more difficult than others. And she enjoyed the challenge of quickly figuring out what was wrong and how she could help them.
And she was damn good at it! She'd excelled at her ER rotation, so in her third year of med school when she'd needed to choose a specialty, she hadn't even considered anything else.
Of course, she hadn't been even a little surprised that Dr. Abby Griffin, Chief of Surgery at Polis General, had utterly failed to hide her disappointment that her only daughter hadn't followed in her footsteps.
"The operating room is where we can really make a difference, Clarke," she'd insisted, using her most persuasive tone. "Where lives are saved every day. And I've heard… that is, I was told… that you have the talent to be a great surgeon."
Clarke had fumed, unable to decide which she was angrier about — that her mother had discussed her progress with her supervisors, or that she was now demeaning Clarke's chosen specialty. She'd opted to ignore the first and focus on the second.
"You don't think we save lives in the ER, Mom? Who the hell do you think keeps them alive until you get there?"
"Well, of course I understand that what you do is important," Abby had begun to backpedal. "But your career could be so much… more."
"More? Like being a world-renowned surgeon? Is that what you had in mind for me? And maybe you could even mentor me yourself?"
"Clarke…"
"No, Mom. Don't you get it? Emergency medicine is what I'm really, really good at. And the people who end up in my ER are going to deserve someone who's really good at what they do."
And it had all been true, every word she'd said. She just hadn't said all the words, hadn't told her mother about her other, far more personal, reason for choosing emergency medicine. The part that had nothing to do with Clarke's talents as a doctor and everything to do with the soft heart she tried so hard to keep hidden.
Every doctor loses patients; it comes with the territory. And while Clarke understood that truth intellectually, she'd somehow never been able to absorb it emotionally.
So as she'd made her way through the various clinical rotations — internal medicine, surgery, obstetrics, pediatrics, and the rest — she'd found herself unable to achieve that all-important sense of detachment. Unlike her colleagues, she couldn't find a way to erect an invisible wall between herself and her patients. And the longer she worked on a case, the better she got to know the patient, the more devastating the body blow when, inevitably, one of them didn't make it.
It had become a real problem for her, and she'd begun to wonder if she'd burn out before she even got her MD.
So when she had her emergency medicine rotation she knew she'd found her niche.
Of course, she sometimes lost critical patients in the ER, too, but she never treated them long enough to become personally attached. They were wheeled through her doors as The Stroke, or The Heart Attack, or The Car Accident. And for the few hours they were with her she poured every ounce of her energy and knowledge into saving them, into making them well again. And if, even after she'd done her very best, they still succumbed, she certainly felt the weight of it.
But it wasn't crippling. She could cope with it. She could move past it.
And that had made the world of difference.
So for Clarke Griffin to go out of her way to check in on a patient who'd left her care hours earlier — especially one like Octavia Blake, who she knew very well might not survive — was utterly out of character. But early on Sunday afternoon she found herself doing it anyway, promising herself that she'd leave after a quick peek at the girl's chart.
She made her way to the ICU, and was just turning into Octavia's room as Marcus Kane was emerging. She felt that now-familiar flick of annoyance when she saw that Kane was not alone.
"Clarke!" Finn Collins's brows rose in surprise. "What are you doing up in surgery?"
"Dr. Collins," she acknowledged with a nod so brief her head barely moved. "I think I still work in this hospital, so is there some reason I can't be anywhere I choose?"
Finn frowned in confusion. "I suppose not, but you never…"
"Clarke was on duty when Octavia came into the ER last night," Kane interjected quickly. "So it's not surprising she'd like… an update."
Clarke smiled at him gratefully, because they both knew that for the lie it was. She rarely checked up on patients once they left the ER, and never those that were critical. Never the ones who might not make it.
She didn't know why Octavia Blake should be the exception, only that she was. At least for today.
Clarke cleared her throat.
"So how's she doing, Marcus?"
"Surprisingly well," he said, his tone guarded. "I thought we might have to induce coma, but the swelling on her brain seems to be receding. I'm hoping she'll wake up in the next 24 to 48 hours."
Clarke nodded. "That's… good. And her arm?"
"Was badly broken in several places, so she'll need a lot of rehab. What's extraordinary is that while she has extensive bruising, she broke no bones in the lower half of her body." He shook his head. "I can only assume it was something about the way she landed."
Clarke sighed. "Yes. Apparently on her face."
"Which is a mess," Kane agreed. "And will probably need major reconstructive surgery."
He stopped, hesitated.
"What is it?" she asked, sensing a question hovering on his lips.
"Her brother. Is he… a friend? Do you know anything about them?"
She shook her head. "Not at all. I never met him before last night. But he just seemed so… alone, so…" Clarke paused, unable to put into words exactly what there was about the Blakes that had… spoken to her. "Why do you ask?"
Kane frowned.
"I just wondered if they're going to be able to manage the extensive surgeries that Octavia will need to put her face back together."
Clarke blinked in surprise. She'd never known financial hardship, and berated herself that that possibility had never crossed her mind.
On the other hand, she also understood that it was none of her business.
"Surely it's not going to be that big a deal," Finn said, suddenly injecting himself into the conversation.
When the others turned toward him, blank-faced, he shrugged. "I mean, isn't she damn lucky to be alive after an accident like that? And not even wearing a helmet? Doesn't seem like she much cared what happened to her."
Clarke stared at him in astonishment, then wondered why she was even surprised by Finn's total lack of empathy.
"I think we can have a little more compassion than that, Dr. Collins," Kane chastised him mildly. "At one time or another, we've all acted impulsively and done things that aren't in our own best interest. I don't think that means we should be punished for life." He sighed. "But in any case, those are questions for another day. Today, the most important thing is for Octavia's body to heal."
He looked at her kindly. "You can feel good about your work in the ER, Clarke. Octavia never would've made it this far without your help. But now I think you should go and just enjoy the rest of your day off."
Clarke nodded. "Right. I just… I wanted to see… to make sure…"
She stumbled over her words, unable to verbalize to Kane what she wasn't sure of herself.
"I understand," he said quietly.
But Clarke didn't see how he could, not when she herself barely understood the reasons behind her impulsive visit. But it was done now, and she'd gotten her answers, so it was time to leave.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, turning back towards the elevators, while Marcus and Finn continued down the hall to finish their rounds of surgical patients.
Her path took her past the surgery waiting room, which a quick glance on the way in had told her was empty. But as she moved past it this time, she caught a small movement out of the corner of her eye, and suddenly realized the room was occupied after all.
There was still no one sitting in any of the faux-leather chairs, but sprawled across one of the mud-brown couches, its length barely accommodating his long legs, was Bellamy Blake. She stopped, frozen in the doorway, for the split second it took Bellamy to open his eyes and look up at her.
For a long moment they stared at one another in silence, and then he hoisted himself into a sitting position and gave her a tired smile.
"You're still here," she said in surprise, at the same time understanding how inane that must sound, since the evidence that he hadn't left the hospital was right in front of her.
He nodded slowly, and without giving it a single thought she wandered into the room and dropped down beside him.
"At first I just couldn't leave until I'd at least seen Octavia," Bellamy told her, scraping his hands tiredly across his face. Then he huffed a small laugh. "Of course, when they finally let me go in I couldn't see anything anyway because she was swathed in bandages."
He sighed.
"After that, I was just too damn tired to even think about finding my car, so I hunkered down on this godawful couch. And now I'm stiff as a board from sleeping all twisted up like a pretzel."
He shifted his shoulders in a circular motion, as though trying to work out the kinks.
"I feel like crap. I think I must be getting old," he complained, his mouth turning up in a wry smile.
Clarke snorted. "Yeah, I can tell you're pretty ancient. Or maybe," she suggested, "it's something else. Have you had anything at all to eat since you got here?"
Bellamy silently shook his head.
"Well, it's almost two o'clock, so you probably could use some sustenance. I think we can find something edible around here."
"Uh… I'm not sure I'm really up for hospital cafeteria food," he said doubtfully, looking just slightly disgusted.
Clarke grinned at him. "Hey, when was the last time you were in a hospital? We have a food court here and it's pretty damn good."
"A food court?" His eyes widened in surprise. "Well, if you think the stuff's okay…"
Clarke had no idea why she was going all Earth Mother on someone who was practically a stranger, but still she rose and held out her hand. He hesitated for only a second before grabbing onto it for leverage and pulling himself up.
Awareness immediately shot through her, as she recalled — just a fraction of a second too late — her earlier reaction to this man's touch. He looked startled when she quickly thrust his hand away, and Clarke only hoped she hadn't inadvertently offended him.
"You're just gonna have to trust me on the quality of the food," she told him with a hurried smile, working hard to recover her equanimity as she ushered him out of the room and down the hall toward the elevators. "But I guarantee you'll feel better if you eat something."
The Ark City General food court was on the first floor, right off the main lobby. In truth, Clarke rarely used it, because she found it easier and quicker to bring yogurt or fruit from home to snack on when she had a break. But occasionally she'd crave something more substantial, and the food court had never let her down.
It turned out that all Bellamy wanted was coffee and a muffin, declaring that despite what the clock said, this would still be his breakfast.
"I'll get it," she said over his token protest, and when he dropped heavily onto a chair she figured he was just too tired to argue.
"You were right," he said with a small smile, quickly devouring the giant blueberry muffin while she picked at the salad she'd chosen for herself. "This is nothing like the crap they used to serve in the old cafeteria."
Clarke was instantly curious. "That was before my time, but I heard it was pretty bad. Did you… were you here often, then?"
She tried hard to make her question sound off-hand.
He stared at her for a moment, as though weighing what, or how much, to tell her. And then he shrugged.
"My mom was in here a lot, off and on. She had breast cancer, and every time it looked like she'd licked it, it would come back. That's one of the reasons I commuted to Ark City College. It was only the three of us and I couldn't leave Octavia home alone with Mom when she was getting sick so much."
His eyes flicked down to the tabletop, and sympathy coursed through Clarke when she saw him swallow heavily.
"She died just a few days after I graduated," he said quietly. "She was… pretty proud. We don't really have college graduates in our family… what there is of it. So it felt like maybe she was just waiting for that to happen before she could… let go."
He shrugged, looking at Clarke once again, finally answering her question.
"So, yeah, I spent a lot of time here… and in the old cafeteria."
Clarke, who could only imagine what he must have gone through, had to stop herself from reaching across the table to offer a comforting touch. Recalling just in time why that wouldn't be a great idea.
"I'm so sorry," she said instead. "How old was Octavia then?"
"She's nine years younger than me, so she was only thirteen. And at least…" he sighed, as though suddenly recalling what those terrible days had been like, "at least I was old enough to become her guardian. And lucky enough to find a job at the city high school, so she didn't have to change schools."
"She was lucky to have you, period," Clarke told him sincerely.
Bellamy's eyes flicked away again. "Yeah? Sometimes I'm not so sure about that."
Before she could even think about asking what he'd meant, Bellamy cleared his throat and pointedly changed the subject.
"So… didn't you tell me last night that this was your day off? That you were going to catch up on your sleep?"
Clarke didn't know why she suddenly felt herself flushing. It was hardly a crime to check up on a patient. Even one who was no longer hers.
"I… had some things to take care of, so I thought I'd I look in on Octavia while I was here."
It was only a small lie, and really, what difference did it make?
He looked at her eagerly, "Do you know anything about Octavia's condition? I couldn't find Dr. Kane earlier, and then I fell asleep."
Clarke smiled at him reassuringly. "Then I guess it's a good thing I ran into him just before I saw you. He was… cautiously optimistic about Octavia. The swelling on her brain has gone down so they won't have to put her into an induced coma. And that's really a good sign, Bellamy, I promise you. As to what's next, he'll know more after she finally wakes up on her own."
Bellamy nodded slowly. Clarke understood. It wasn't exactly bad news… but it didn't really say much about Octavia's prognosis. But then again, Clarke knew very well that any certainty about that would be next to impossible at this point.
His next question was tentative, as though maybe he was afraid to hear the answer.
"Did he… did Dr. Kane say anything about her face?"
She shook her head.
"No, I'm sorry. But they'll start making decisions about that as soon as she wakes up."
Bellamy nodded in resignation, as though that were the answer he'd expected. He hesitated, finally reaching around to pull his wallet from his back pocket.
"This is Octavia," he said, sliding an old picture out of the wallet. "It's her high school graduation, but she really hasn't changed much."
Clarke took the picture and found herself gazing down at an absolutely beautiful girl, her long dark hair gleaming, her wide green eyes glinting with mischief.
"She's lovely," she said. And then the words, "She looks a lot like you," tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Clarke felt herself flushing when she realized what she'd said.
But Bellamy didn't seem to notice her gaffe.
"You think so?" He shrugged. "We have different fathers, so I never thought about us looking alike. I just… I hate to think of her face all… scarred." He sighed. "And I honestly don't know how Octavia would deal with it."
Clarke nodded. "I understand."
"Of course you do," he nodded. "I mean… how could you not?"
But before Clarke could even begin to parse that enigmatic statement, Bellamy startled her by reaching across the table to briefly touch her hand. And as if that weren't bad enough, the touch was accompanied by a beautiful smile… the first real smile she'd ever seen from him.
The effect on her was devastating.
Heart pounding, she struggled to listen as Bellamy trained his warm brown eyes on her and began to express his gratitude.
"Thanks so much for everything, Clarke. I know damn well I was out of line last night when I asked to stay in the ER, but you let me do it anyway. Then later you waited with me when I know you were dead tired and should have just gone home." He gestured towards his empty plate. "And now you've bought me breakfast."
Clarke worked hard to produce the perfect light laugh, to deliver the suitable breezy response.
"I really don't think coffee and a muffin is such a big deal…"
Bellamy shrugged. "Maybe so. But you've still been… really kind to a total stranger, and I just wanted you to know that, uh…"
His voice trailed off then, as though he suddenly wasn't sure how he wanted to finish that sentence. For half a beat they simply stared at one another, Bellamy slightly abashed, Clarke hoping she didn't look as flustered as she felt.
In desperation, she rose to her feet.
"I don't think it was all that much, but, um, you're welcome," she said hurriedly. "So… you don't need a lift anywhere, do you?"
Bellamy blinked up at her, "Uh, no, my car's out in the lot, if I can just remember where it…"
She cut him off abruptly. "Okay, then! I, uh… I'm sorry but I really need to go."
"Oh. Right. I didn't mean to keep you…"
"No problem." She smiled brightly. "Good luck with Octavia. I hope everything works out."
My god, Clarke, did you forget you're a doctor? Could you sound any more idiotic?
"Yeah, me, too," he said faintly, his face a study in confusion.
Then she was moving swiftly across the food court and the lobby, pushing open the heavy outer doors. When she'd finally left the building behind, she fairly raced toward the staff parking lot, totally focused on reaching the safety of her car.
Heart thumping, she opened the car door and threw herself into the driver's seat, silently asking herself why the hell this man she barely knew should have such a strange effect on her.
Sure, he was good-looking, but she'd known plenty of good-looking men — and women — and none of them had ever induced panic in her. She'd simply… enjoyed the view. Besides, there was absolutely nothing about Bellamy Blake that said he thought of her as anything other than his sister's helpful doctor.
He thought she was kind, for god's sake!
Her absurd moment of panic finally receded completely when she once again recalled that Octavia Blake was not her patient, but Marcus Kane's. That while she might still take an interest in the outcome of Octavia's case, she wasn't consulting on it and would never again need to visit her room.
Or run into her totally unnerving brother.
XXXXXXXXXX
Clarke's method for dealing with her inconvenient — but thankfully brief — attraction to her former patient's brother was to refocus firmly on her own life. To finally take the necessary steps to achieve her most important personal goal.
Thus motivated, she used the rest of her day off to look into yet another fertility clinic, one that specialized in AI using donor sperm. She booked an appointment later that week, and eventually found herself listening to the same assurances about privacy, discretion, and ultimate satisfaction that she'd heard so many times before.
She saw that this clinic had an even higher price tag than the last few she'd considered, and was thankful all over again for the generosity of her father and grandfather.
When Jake Griffin had died from a massive coronary when Clarke was in her teens, she'd been shocked to learn that everything he'd inherited from his own father would pass directly to her. At the time, she'd been much too devastated by the death of the parent who'd best understood and supported her to give much thought to her inheritance. And over the next few years, the money had made little difference to either her lifestyle or her career choices.
But now, all these years later, she understood that what her father had given her was the gift of financial independence, and the ability to pursue her own dreams. And she was absolutely certain he'd have very much approved of her using some of that cash to pursue the dream of motherhood.
With a new sense of purpose, Clarke eagerly began to peruse this new clinic's roster of potential donors — only to end up hours later with exactly the same result. In fact, despite her renewed determination, things seemed more hopeless than ever.
In the past, there'd always been… possibilities. Men who looked like they just might have the right combination of looks, education, and character traits to make them worthy of being her child's father. She'd just never been certain enough to actually pull the trigger.
But no one in this bunch even made it that far.
She'd printed the information onto individual sheets so she could study them more easily, but most she barely glanced at, tossing them immediately into the reject pile. As for the rest, there seemed to be something about each of them that just felt… wrong.
Good looks were all very well, but… why couldn't she find one that looked like he had kind eyes? And their expressions all seemed… detached. Like they'd be way more interested in the cut of their clothes than in, say, taking care of a family member. And as for their professions? Well, what the hell even was "import-export"? Was this wannabe father of her future child some kind of drug dealer? Why were none of them in a "helping" profession? Health care. Social services. Education.
Clarke heaved a sigh, flinging the pages into the trash in disgust. And crawled into bed more dejected than ever.
