"You're out of your mind, Octavia! Why the hell would I want to do that?"
"Because it'll be fun! And because otherwise, you'll be alone for the holiday, probably parked all day in front of the History Channel and munching on stale popcorn. I mean… how pathetic is that?"
"Nice one, O. Nothing like insulting me while you're trying to get me to do you a favor."
"Jesus, Bellamy! I'm not trying to get you to do me a favor. I'm trying to do one for you."
Bristling with impatience, Octavia pushed herself closer to her brother until they were now nearly toe to toe. Which wasn't exactly easy, considering the extra girth she was carrying into her eighth month of pregnancy.
"Look," she said. "I'm just trying to make sure that the money we spent on this trip doesn't go to waste…"
"You know I can't afford to reimburse you, if that's what you were thinking. I'm still paying off my school loans..."
Octavia groaned in exasperation.
"Oh, my god, Bell, I wasn't thinking that at all!" She sighed tiredly. "Look, we booked the holiday trip to the island months ago, thinking it would be our last chance to have some quality alone time before the baby came. But now there's this stupid complication and my doctor's nixed the flying. So we're gonna drive to Lincoln's mom's for Christmas instead so she can pamper me for a few days. Which," she pressed a hand firmly against the small of her back, "sounds pretty damn good right about now."
Bellamy frowned. "And why is it that you can't just get a refund?"
She groaned. "Do you ever listen to me? I already told you… we got a deep discount on the trip, but it was a no-refund deal, no matter what. So I'd rather have someone use it than have it go to waste. And who better than my grumpy big brother who has no plans whatsoever!"
"You really think I'm gonna wanna take a fancy trip to the Caribbean on my own. Yeah, that sounds so enticing." His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Octavia rolled her eyes, shuffled sideways, and dropped heavily onto one end of Bellamy's couch.
"This conversation is really taking it out of me, Bell. I somehow didn't think it would be this fucking hard to get you to do something nice for yourself." She sighed. "And, no, of course I didn't think you'd go alone. I figured you could take one of your, uh, groupies from Friday nights at Murphy's bar, Maybe the tall brunette with the weird name. What was it? Oh, yeah… Echo. Why not ask her?"
Bellamy was appalled. "Jesus, O! I can't take Echo to the islands for Christmas. She'll get totally the wrong idea."
"Huh!" Octavia shrugged. "I'd have thought maybe it was the right idea. But, okay…"
And if Bellamy had thought this conversation couldn't possibly get any more uncomfortable, that was proven false in the very next second
"… in that case, why don't you just take Clarke? I mean, you already live together."
Bellamy nearly choked.
"We do not live together, Octavia, we are roommates," he clarified, his voice tight, as he tried to ignore the sudden, unbidden, mental image of himself cavorting on the beach with Clarke.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she said breezily, dismissing that distinction with a wave of her hand. "My point is that you're used to each other."
Used to Clarke? Oh, yeah, Bellamy was used to her, all right.
Used to the way she looked, all soft and sleep-rumpled as she stumbled into the kitchen for coffee on a Saturday morning.
Used to how she smelled, fresh from the shower, the scent of her shampoo mingling with her body wash to create an enticing olfactory bouquet that threatened to swamp his senses.
Used to how she felt when she cuddled against him while they watched a scary movie, and the tinkling sound of her laughter when it was a comedy instead.
Over the past six months, Bellamy had become so frighteningly, heart-stoppingly used to every wonderful thing about his roommate of two years that he'd actually begun looking forward to the holiday as a way of getting some relief from the daily stress of hiding exactly how into her he really was.
And now here was Octavia trying to send them away together to some tropical island.
Well, he was putting the kibosh on that idea real quick!
"Clarke already has holiday plans, O. She's visiting her cousin downstate."
He could see the response hovering on Octavia's lips, the words of protest forming, so he restated it firmly, and as clearly as possible.
"Clarke is absolutely unavailable."
"Clarke is absolutely unavailable for what?"
Two heads snapped in the direction of the doorway as Bellamy's words were repeated back to him by the roommate in question, who was just now closing the door behind her and slipping out of her boots. All three were silent as she hung her coat on the rack and padded into the room, taking a seat on the other end of the couch from Octavia.
"Hi, Octavia. What exactly is it that I'm unavailable for? Are you lining up babysitters months in advance?" She smiled. "Because I could definitely make room in my schedule for that."
And before Bellamy could even begin to think how to stop her, Octavia was explaining the entire situation to Clarke.
"A trip to the Caribbean?" Clarke looked up at him in confusion, "Why am I unavailable for that, Bellamy? Or… is there someone else you want to bring? Echo, maybe? Because of course, in that case…"
"Nope!" Octavia shook her head. "That's what I suggested first, but he said he didn't want to, that she'd get the wrong idea. But… then he said you already had plans, so…" she shrugged.
Bellamy felt himself flush as Clarke blinked at him in surprise. "Really, Bellamy? You're supposed to be my best friend, but you still thought Christmas with my crazy cousin Josephine would be more appealing than a tropical vacation in the middle of December? Especially now that my mom can't make it this year?"
Octavia smiled excitedly. "So you're not actually stuck with your holiday plans, then? You can go?"
Clarke eyed Bellamy uncertainly. "Well, yeah, I could…"
And that's when he knew it was over.
He couldn't claim he didn't have the time off, because they all knew the high school would close on December 22nd and not reopen again until January 2nd. As for Clarke, she'd already arranged to take time off from her job at the museum to visit her cousin.
So he was out of time, and out of excuses, and besides that, Bellamy knew he didn't have the heart to deny Clarke something she so clearly wanted.
He smiled crookedly, dropping down onto the sofa between the two women.
"Okay, O, you've convinced me. Are you sure about this, Clarke? I mean, it's only, uh, the one room."
"Oh, give it a rest, Bellamy," Octavia said dismissively. "It's a suite, and the thing's probably bigger than this entire flat."
"I'm sure," Clarke said, smiling broadly. "I think it'll be great!"
Bellamy had absolutely no defense when she smiled at him like that. He returned her smile and nodded his agreement. "Yeah, I guess we could have a pretty good time."
Now that she'd achieved her goal, Octavia heaved herself up, tugging at Clarke's arm.
"Let's go check out what you've got in your closet. We may have to do some shopping," she said, following Clarke down the hall to her bedroom.
Alone, Bellamy sighed, just barely resisting the impulse to drop his head into his hands. And wondered very seriously how in the hell he would survive this trip.
He heard the music when it began to drift out from Clarke's room — her favorite yuletide song by far.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas now.
He rolled his eyes. Yeah, right.
XXXXXXXXXX
Bellamy was amazed that Octavia had somehow been able to switch out her and Lincoln's airline tickets and rebook the DC to Nassau seats for Bellamy and Clarke.
"So you're all set to leave early on the 23rd. The other plane will meet you in Nassau for the trip to the island."
"The other plane?"
"Yeah, I know I explained this to you before, Bellamy," Octavia said impatiently. "It's all part of the package deal. There's a charter flight meeting all the resort's passengers, but both that plane and the hotel are just under the name 'Blake', so you should be good to go."
"Are you sure about all this, Octavia?" he asked, wondering suddenly about the logistics of the trip.
"Trust me, it'll be fine. You'll have a blast."
It was only now, as they waited with a couple of dozen others for their charter flight to arrive, that Bellamy realized for the first time that he'd never actually heard of this particular Caribbean island.
"Have you ever heard of St. Vincent?"
He murmured the question into Clarke's ear, hoping not be overheard, but when the tall bearded guy a few feet away glanced at him curiously, he was afraid he hadn't succeeded.
Who, that glance seemed to say, takes a vacation to a place they've never heard of?
Bellamy turned his body away from the eavesdropper as Clarke shook her head.
"Nope." She smiled. "But I figured you'd have the place all scoped out before we even got on the plane in DC."
He sighed. "I… never really thought about it. I just… I had a few other things on my mind this past week."
"I know," she said, sympathy clear in her voice. "I could see you were exhausted and up to your eyeballs in grading finals."
Bellamy nodded, relieved that she'd attributed his recent state of fatigue to work. Thus remaining totally ignorant of the restless nights he'd spent worrying about his ability to maintain the 'roommate and best friend facade' for the entirety of this trip.
"I'll check the place out when we get there," he said now. "All these islands have a lot of great history, and there're usually old forts and stuff to visit."
She smirked at him. "Once a history nerd…"
He shrugged, his lips twisting up in a crooked smile. "Can't help it."
In fact, he'd planned on using that very sort of activity as a buffer, an excuse to go off on his own if (when) Clarke's perpetual nearness began to feel unbearable.
When the charter plane turned out to be the smallest plane he'd ever flown in, Bellamy began to worry that maybe this "resort" wasn't exactly what they'd been expecting. Thirty minutes later, he was somewhat reassured by their first sight of St. Vincent, with its blue waters and white sands, so typical of the Caribbean.
And Clarke was certainly enthusiastic. "Look, Bellamy. Isn't it beautiful!"
His spirits rose. Maybe he was worrying for nothing. Surely there'd be plenty of activities available, maybe snorkeling or parasailing. But enough to do to consume the restless energy that always seemed to pour out of him whenever he spent too much time in Clarke's company.
He'd be fine.
He wouldn't be fine.
Neither snorkeling nor parasailing were available, the clerk at the Paradise Arms carefullyexplained at check-in fifteen minutes later. The weaselly-looking guy, whose name plate told them he was Cage Wallace, suggested with no hint of irony that Mr. Blake might enjoy swimming.
Bellamy couldn't help rolling his eyes.
"Okay, then… what about historical sites? Do you have any brochures about places of interest?"
Wallace frowned. "I'm afraid St. Vincent was never really that important…"
Bellamy gaped at him. "So what exactly is there to do around this place?"
He heard a loud snort behind him, and turned to find the tall, bearded eavesdropper from the airport. The man cocked a brow at him before very slowly and deliberately raking his eyes over Clarke from head to toe.
Bellamy's right fist clenched, and his arm ached with the effort it took not to deck the guy on the spot.
Wallace spoke again, recalling his attention.
"Well, of course, there'll be the contest…"
"Contest?"
Clarke, unaware that she was being thoroughly ogled — or that her best friend had been only a split second away from starting a brawl right there in the lobby — asked the question with sincere interest.
"What's that about?"
"It will all be explained at the meeting."
"Meeting?"
Wallace sighed. "The notice is in your room. Here are your key cards. If you'll excuse me now, Mr. and Mrs. Blake, I do have several others to check in."
Beside him, he heard Clarke give a small gasp. But before he could correct the man, she tugged at his arm and gave the clerk a tiny smile.
"Come on, Bellamy, I think we're holding up the line."
The two of them were silent as they rolled their suitcases down the hallway, until Clarke finally cleared her throat.
"So… it looks like all the rooms are on the first floor, with sliders that open right onto the beach." Her tone was determinedly upbeat. "That's kinda nice."
She glanced at him hopefully out of the corner of her eye.
"Yeah," he nodded, trying to work up some enthusiasm through his several layers of stress. "Sounds great."
"Look," she said, coming to a halt halfway down the hall. "I'm sorry… about that. What that Wallace guy assumed."
Bellamy frowned. "You don't have anything to be sorry about, Clarke. It's just… we wouldn't want to give people the wrong idea… right?"
She stared at him for a moment, and then nodded briskly. "Right. I know how you feel about giving people the wrong idea," she said carefully, before tapping lightly on the door in front of them. "I think this is our room."
It was when they got that door open that Bellamy started to comprehend the true magnitude of his problem.
If this room was a suite, he thought it must be the smallest one in the universe. There was a king bed, and (thank god!) a couch, and also a "kitchen" area that he supposed might be large enough to brew some coffee. Beyond that was a decent-sized bathroom.
But the whole thing seemed to take up no more space than their own living room!
So, yeah, he'd have a separate place to lay his head at night, but he couldn't imagine how he and Clarke could possibly avoid each other.
When Clarke side-eyed him and said, "You gonna be okay with this?" he was appalled to realize his misgivings must have shown on his face.
"Course," he tried to infuse his voice with a positivity he didn't actually feel. "This is just slightly closer quarters than we're used to. We'll have to work out some… creative scheduling, that's all."
"You think?"
"Sure. It's not a problem. Look," he said, searching for a distraction, "here's the notice about the meeting and the contest."
Accrue the highest number of points to win a free stay for you and your partner at the Paradise Arms!And have a lot of fun doing it! Learn the rules today at 4:00 p.m. in the lounge.
Bellamy frowned. "Hard to see why anyone'd put a lot of effort into coming back to this place."
Clarke shrugged, her face flushing slightly.
"It's… the room isn't really that bad, Bellamy, for people who don't have to worry about the, um, privacy issue. Besides," she added thoughtfully, "wouldn't it be great to win the free trip so Octavia and Lincoln could get to come here after all?"
Bellamy had to agree with her there. Still, the room did feel uncomfortably small, so as soon as they'd unpacked he suggested they head to the beach.
"I'll run into the bathroom and throw on my trunks, and then you can have the place to yourself. Take your time. I'll meet you in the lobby when you're ready."
A few minutes later, while he was shopping in the small store off the lobby for the sunscreen they'd forgotten, he suddenly remembered something he'd heard Clarke tell Octavia as they headed out to shop for vacation-wear.
She didn't like bikinis.
"I just don't like showing off that much of my body to total strangers," had been Clarke's exact words, and he recalled them now with a feeling of relief. At least he wouldn't have to spend his time at the beach trying not to get turned on by the sight of his scantily-clad best friend and roommate. The one he was so painfully into.
Just outside the store, there was a notice board with more information about the contest, and he stopped to peruse it while he waited for Clarke.
"I see you've found another activity after all."
Bellamy turned his head to find the same bearded asshole from check-in. Fortunately, his earlier anger had dissipated, leaving behind only contempt.
The man smiled at him. "Cillian Ryan."
Bellamy couldn't believe the guy had the balls to introduce himself.
"Bellamy Blake," he said shortly, turning away with a dismissive nod.
"So… are you and your wife going to be entering the contest?"
Bellamy shrugged, eyeing him warily. "Maybe." No need for this jerk to know anything about their relationship.
A sudden gleam appeared in Ryan's eyes. "Ah. Well, you know, if that kind of activity is a little… tame for your tastes, perhaps the two of you would enjoy… other sorts of games. My companion and I have an open relationship, and we'd definitely be interested..."
His voice trailed off, but the implication couldn't have been clearer.
Bellamy gaped at him, speechless, just as he spied Clarke heading their way.
"In your dreams," he finally muttered, shaking his head in disbelief, shouldering Ryan out of the way as he crossed the lobby to meet Clarke.
"Did you make a new friend?" she asked with a quizzical smile, peering over her shoulder at the man, who regarded her with undisguised interest.
"No," Bellamy said shortly, tugging at her elbow and pulling her out the door. "I bought the sunscreen, so let's go to the beach."
At least he'd be able to relax there.
Or so he thought — right up until the moment Clarke removed her coverup.
What the hell had ever given him the idea that a bikini was the most provocative thing a woman could wear at the beach? Because the truth was that Clarke Griffin, in her white one-piece bathing suit, was just about the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.
The suit hugged her generous breasts, stretched tightly across her beautiful ass, and showed off her long, toned legs. Good god! How the hell was he supposed to deal with being around her when she looked like… that?
Bellamy just barely suppressed a groan as he tore off his T-shirt and rushed past Clarke, diving headlong into the waves. The water was a little warmer than he was used to, but still chilly enough to distract both his mind and his body.
"Someone's eager for a swim," she laughed, wading in to meet him, and the picture she made nearly took his breath away.
And then she sent a playful splash his way.
"So that's how it is," he smirked, grasping her arms and pulling her close.
And for one tiny instant, as they stared at one another, the world seemed to grind to a halt. Bellamy felt like he couldn't move. Could, in fact, scarcely breathe. And then Clarke blinked and smiled, and the moment was broken.
He grinned, grabbing her around the waist and dragging them both underwater.
She came up sputtering and laughing, and suddenly everything was back to normal. They were just two good friends, playing around in the waves, enjoying the beauty of the tropical beach.
Clarke caved in first.
"We had to get up so damn early, and I'm exhausted," she said, heading for shore and the lounge chairs.
Bellamy turned in the other direction, swimming as far out as he dared with long powerful strokes, and then floating lazily in the sun as he thought over that moment with Clarke.
Shit! He'd definitely have to be more careful.
After a while, he swam in, dropping beside her onto a lounger. The next thing he knew someone was calling his name softly.
"Bellamy, Bellamy. Don't sleep too long in the sun."
He opened one eye to see Clarke peering at him, and stopped himself just in time from reaching out to touch her hair and stroke her cheek.
"You're awake," she said, smiling down at him.
"Yeah." His voice was raspy, but he wasn't sure if it was from sleep or from her nearness.
"I think we need to take showers and get some food if we're going to that meeting at four."
"Right," he said, pulling himself up, shaking his head to break himself out of his crazy mood.
Maybe he'd been dreaming about her.
Christ! It was only the first day, and he already didn't know how much more of this he could take.
XXXXXXXXXX
The contest turned out to be a three-part affair, consisting of a scavenger hunt, a trivia game, and on the last day, a mystery challenge. Bellamy couldn't decide whether they were really trying to be mysterious, or if they just couldn't figure out how the hell to end the thing.
Considering how little else there was to do, he voted to participate. He desperately needed distraction, and there were only so many hours a day he could spend swimming. And, yeah, he and Clarke would be doing the contest together, but at least it'd be a directed activity. And therefore pretty much guaranteed to keep his mind from wandering to places it definitely shouldn't go.
And besides — and this trumped all the other reasons, anyway — Clarke was excited about it.
The contest would begin the next day, Christmas Eve, skip Christmas Day, and then continue on the 26th and 27th. They were scheduled to leave on the 28th.
He figured that between the swimming, and the contest, and maybe a few Christmas activities, he might just make it through this holiday trip without totally screwing up his and Clarke's friendship.
"We've got a lock on this thing," Clarke said confidently, as they readied themselves for bed that night. "I mean, who are the undefeated trivia champs of Murphy's bar?"
"Yeah, but what about that mystery challenge?" he teased. "It might turn out to be line- dancing. Or pie-eating."
"You can do the line-dancing," she grinned. "I'll eat the pies."
There was one short moment when Clarke tried to insist there was plenty of room for them both on the bed.
"This is silly, Bellamy. The bed is so huge, we'd practically be in different rooms!"
He scrambled for a way to decline without her realizing that he just couldn't deal with being that physically close to her.
"Nah, I'm a restless sleeper," he muttered finally, accompanying the words with a self-deprecating smile. "I'd probably end up punching you in the eye in the middle of the night."
Which led to her insisting that in that case he should get the bed and she'd sleep on the couch!
They finally compromised, agreeing to switch between the couch and bed each night. Giving him an entire day to figure out how to get her to keep the bed.
Bellamy was certain he'd have trouble sleeping, what with the narrow couch and Clarke lying only a few feet away, but it'd been a long day and his tired body had other plans. He was asleep before he knew it and awoke early the next morning to the sound of waves crashing, when Clarke, sketchbook and coffee mug in hand, opened the slider from their private deck.
"Hey, you're up," she said, smiling softly. "Want some coffee?"
Considering they'd been roommates for almost two years, Bellamy couldn't understand why that early-morning smile and simple question somehow felt so… intimate.
The mood of intimate domesticity set the tone for the day, as they breakfasted, swam, and generally lazed around, waiting for the noon start of the scavenger hunt.
"Since it's Christmas Eve, do I get my present tonight?" Clarke teased as they lounged near the water's edge.
Bellamy suppressed a sudden spurt of panic.
Of course he'd bought her a present. Months ago, in fact. The gift had been one of the last things he'd tucked into his suitcase the previous morning.
And it wasn't like he didn't want to give it to her, or her to have it, or that he had any regrets about buying it.
It was just that he hadn't expected to actually be around on Christmas Day when she opened it.
Because the truth was that Clarke's gift could be considered a little… extravagant. Perhaps not what you'd normally give to your roommate — even if she also happened to be your best friend. So the idea that what he'd chosen might make her uncomfortable was a niggling worry that he'd pushed to the back of his mind ever since he'd agreed to this trip.
Not that there was anything he could do about that now, except maybe put off the moment for another day.
He frowned, shaking his head. "Since when does Santa come early? Hey, I don't make the rules."
Clarke giggled and tossed the bottle of sunscreen at him, narrowly missing his head. "Meanie," she complained loudly.
But at least he got a day of grace.
The scavenger hunt proved to be more fun, and more of a challenge, than he'd anticipated. They looked over the list, Bellamy shaking his head as he ticked off the items.
"The signature of the housekeeper named 'Maria'. How the hell do we find her? A sprig of the official flower of the Bahamas. Right. Three different colors of sea glass. A photo of the smallest room in the hotel!" He turned to Clarke with a frown. "What the hell?"
She just smiled serenely. "Come on, I think I know where we can find some sea glass."
As it turned out, by the end of the afternoon they'd found seventeen of the twenty items on the list. Far more than most of the dozen other couples who were participating. The only fly in the ointment was that they'd been edged out as that day's winner by one other couple: Cillian Ryan and his companion, whose name was Jade.
Bellamy was anything but pleased when the guy strolled over and inserted himself into their conversation.
"Well done, Clarke," he said with irritating condescendence. "You almost beat us. It is Clarke, isn't it?"
Clarke looked at up him amiably. "That's right. And this is Bellamy."
"Yes, Bellamy and I met yesterday," he said, and Bellamy could tell the exact moment she clocked when she'd seen him before.
"I wouldn't get too comfortable with your tiny little lead," she boasted, smiling cheekily. "Bellamy and I are damn good at trivia."
"Of that I have no doubt," Cillian smirked, his cocked eyebrow and arrogant smile scraping along Bellamy's last nerve.
He'd had enough.
"Catch you on the 26th," he said, pulling on Clarke's elbow. "Right now, we have a date with a couple of margaritas."
"Why did we have to rush off like that?" Clarke asked a few minutes later as they sipped their drinks. "We could have asked them to join us."
"No, we couldn't."
She frowned. "Why the heck not?"
He hesitated. "Let's just say I don't like that guy and leave it at that."
"O….kay."
Clarke seemed perplexed, but Bellamy didn't think she'd be any more comfortable around the man if she knew that for the past two days he'd been salivating over her as a potential bedmate.
Quickly changing the subject seemed like the best option.
"So… did your family have a lot of Christmas Eve traditions when you were growing up?"
Even though they'd forged a strong friendship over the past couple of years, Clarke still rarely talked about her childhood.
She shrugged, "Yes… and no. Both my parents were always so busy that sometimes we'd plan things — movie watching, tree trimming — but then it would turn out that one or the other of them couldn't make it. And after my dad died…"
She paused, shrugging, and he could see that her father's death was still a painful subject for her.
"Sorry I brought it up," he said, understanding.
"No, no, I like talking about my dad. It's just… hard sometimes…"
She cleared her throat.
"But it was a really long time ago, and honestly, I'm glad Mom finally found someone else to be with. Marcus is great. And lately, she's even been trying really hard to make more room in her life for family time. Although emergencies still come up sometimes." She sighed. "Like Christmas this year."
Clarke smiled with what Bellamy recognized as cheerful determination.
"So what about you?" she asked, turning the tables on him. "I'll bet you and Octavia have some stories."
Bellamy considered, recalling the years of his growing up, when his mother was still alive.
"The way I remember it, no matter what her job was, it always seemed like my mom had to work on Christmas Eve. But Octavia… well, she wanted traditions. So it was anything I could dream up. Snow angels if we had snow, hot chocolate and Christmas carols if we didn't."
He shrugged, sighing. "I don't think it was much of a holiday for a little kid, but O always seemed to like it…"
Clarke reached across the table then, and he felt the sudden light touch of her hand all the way down to his toes.
"I'm sure you were great with Octavia when she was little," she said, her thumb brushing softly across his knuckles.
In that moment, Bellamy was swamped by such an intense wave of affection for her that it threatened to overwhelm him
"Maybe," he said, working around the lump in his throat. "I hope so."
While they ate their dinner, the conversation about Christmases Past eventually led to an evening of exchanged reminiscences of all types and variety.
"It's funny," Clarke told him later, as they strolled down the corridor back to their room, "I really thought I knew you pretty well, but I think I've learned more about you in the past two days than I have in the last two years."
"What do you mean?" he objected, his smile wry. "I'm an open book."
"Yeah, I'm not so sure."
While Clarke was in the bathroom, he tucked himself himself into the couch again, and when she returned to the room and tried to protest, Bellamy simply pretended to be asleep.
"Good night, Bellamy," he heard her whisper as she climbed onto the bed and shut off the light.
Some time later, when he heard the soft regular breathing that told him Clarke had finally fallen asleep, Bellamy slipped off the couch and retrieved a small, badly-wrapped package from under his pile of clothing, placing it carefully on top of their shared dresser.
And crossed his fingers that she'd like it enough not to focus on how much he might have spent on it.
XXXXXXXXXX
Christmas Day dawned as brilliantly sunny as seemingly every other day in this tropical paradise.
Bellamy woke to find that his package had been joined on top of the dresser by another, the new one larger and much more expertly wrapped.
It looked like it might be a book, but even that presumption told him little.
Clarke herself was nowhere in the room, but after he dressed in a t-shirt and shorts he found her exactly where he'd expected to. Out on their small private deck, sketchpad and pencil in hand.
"Merry Christmas, Clarke. Looks like Santa might have come."
She turned with a smile, hurriedly closing the sketchbook.
"At last! I've been waiting hours to open my present!"
"How about some coffee first? Just to make sure we're awake enough to appreciate the festivities."
"I suppose," she smiled begrudgingly. "But if I only have one gift to open, I want to get to it."
"Don't you have gifts from your mom?" He wondered why he hadn't thought of that before.
"I left them under our little tree at home, along with the ones Octavia dropped off. We can open them when we get back. This is it! My one Christmas Day gift!" She grinned at him. "So it better be good."
Bellamy peered over at her from where he was brewing their coffee.
"Well, uh…"
She laughed. "I'm just kidding, Bellamy. No pressure."
When they'd finally settled themselves on the couch with their coffee, she insisted he open his present first. As soon as he picked it up, he knew it was indeed a book.
He frowned down at it. "I don't know. This package looks way too pretty to unwrap."
"Bellamy!" Her impatience was palpable.
He grinned at her, wildly tearing at the paper and ribbon, to find that he had in hand…
"The Book of Blakes?" He looked over at her inquiringly.
"Yep! I found it online and sent away for it ages ago. You have no idea how many important Blakes there've been throughout history. And who knows? You might even be related to some of them." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, you're such a history nerd, I thought you'd enjoy reading all about them. Do you like it?"
He turned the book over in his hand.
Clarke hadn't just given him some stories to read that fed his interest in history, she'd also tried her best to give him some roots. To give him a sense of… family.
He was incredibly touched.
"I love it. My best Christmas present ever," he assured her. Adding just enough dramatic flair to that statement that he hoped she might not notice he was being sincere.
"My turn," she said, grabbing eagerly for the small box, holding it up to her ear and shaking it.
He laughed. "It's a silent gift," he assured her.
It almost seemed like her fingers were trembling a little as she pulled at the layers of tape he'd used to secure the wrapping, but he knew he must be mistaken.
Paper finally torn away, she looked up at him in surprise. "Sharfman Brothers?"
As she read the name off the top of the box, Bellamy suddenly realized that perhaps his biggest mistake had been using the store's gift box.
She opened it gingerly, then gave a tiny gasp as she gazed wide-eyed at its contents.
"Are these… are these real, Bellamy?" she asked, pulling from the box a pair of small drop earrings, the pale but intensely-colored blue stones set in delicately filigreed sterling silver.
He ignored the question, instead explaining, "When I saw them in the store, I thought they looked like they were, uh… the same color as your eyes." He shrugged, glancing at her sideways. "I'm pretty sure I was right. So… they're okay?"
Clarke beamed at him. "They're beautiful, Bellamy. I love them." She reached across to kiss him softly on the cheek. "Thank you."
Bellamy took a deep breath, trying hard not to show how much he'd been affected by the feel of her lips on his skin.
That was the moment their phones began to buzz simultaneously, with texts reminding them that the hotel — perhaps to make up for the lack of adequate space in the rooms and a dearth of alternative physical activities — was intent on providing their guests with a complete "Christmas Day Experience."
And apparently, the Holiday Breakfast Buffet was now being served.
"Great. I'm starved," Clarke said, jumping up quickly.
"Why don't you get ready first," Bellamy suggested, still working to master his reaction to her kiss. "And don't worry, I'm sure there'll still be plenty of food left when we get there."
"But will there still be Belgian waffles?" she whined, racing into the bathroom.
When she emerged several minutes later, instead of her usual shorts and shirt, Clarke was dressed in a pale-blue sundress, the relatively modest bodice and thin straps still managing to enhance a generous amount of cleavage. She'd pulled her hair back into a braid, with just a few wispy strands left out to float around her face.
And she was wearing the blue earrings.
He thought she looked utterly beautiful.
"See," she said, touching the earrings lightly, "they match perfectly."
Relief coursed through Bellamy. Maybe his gift hadn't seemed too over-the-top after all.
The "Christmas Day Experience" proved to be an all-day affair, and it was clear that Clarke adored every second of it.
"Isn't this great?" she asked over and over, as they made their way through the breakfast buffet, a Christmas concert by professional singers, Santa's appearance to hand out presents to all the guests, and finally a traditional roast goose dinner in the dining room.
And it was all accompanied by enough champagne and cocktails to fill the swimming pool.
If they'd had a swimming pool.
Most of the crowd was pretty well-lubricated by the time dinnertime rolled around, although Bellamy had cut himself off hours earlier. All the better to observe how much Clarke was enjoying it.
And besides, he didn't deal well with hangovers.
There was more entertainment during the dinner, a low-key pianist playing popular Christmas songs. By the time she was sipping on her dessert wine, Clarke was happily singing along.
"Who ever told you you could sing?" he teased, smiling softly.
"No one. I know I'm a terrible singer. But I've had just enough to drink that I don't really give a shit."
Ten minutes later she was yawning, and fifteen minutes after that he began to wonder if he'd have to carry her to bed. But he got her out of the dining room just in time, his arm steady around her as they took the short walk back to their room.
"Cmon, Clarke, let's get you to bed," he said, pulling her sleepwear from the drawer and steering her gently toward the bathroom.
When she came out, he had a large glass of water ready, as well as a couple of Tylenol.
"You're so good to me, Bellamy," she said, throwing her arms around him. "And… and everything is better at Christmas, too. You're better, I'm better, we're even better together!"
"If you say so," he whispered into her ear, utterly unable to force himself to pull his arms away from her, the way he knew he should.
"I do say so," she assured him, pulling back to look him in the eye and give him a firm nod. "Look at us right here, right now. Would this be happening if it weren't for Christmas?"
And that stopped Bellamy cold.
Was that really true? Was it all just… leftover Christmas emotions? All the little touches she'd been giving him for days, even the affectionate looks he'd swear he spotted now and then?
Were people really affected by some kind of… weird emotional overflow brought on by the Christmas holiday?
Fuck! Of course that was it! Good thing she'd made that clear before he did or said something stupid and made a complete fool of himself.
"Cmon, Clarke, time to hop into bed."
And when she whined and tried to pull him down with her, he was grateful, as he gently pulled her hands away, that he'd had that brief moment of clarity.
This was "Happy Christmas Clarke." Nothing more than that.
Thirty seconds later, she was fast asleep. And he was back on his couch, contemplating his close emotional call.
Sleep didn't come quite so easily that night.
XXXXXXXXXX
For the first time since they arrived at the resort, Bellamy awoke first the next morning, his mind racing but his body sluggish. He hadn't gotten any exercise at all on Christmas Day and he knew he needed it to feel comfortable in his own skin.
He eased himself quietly off the couch, threw on his swim trunks and running shoes, and slipped out of the room via the sliders to their private deck. When he saw that it was low tide, he sprinted lightly across the sand to the shoreline, and then started to pound along the edge of the surf until his leg muscles began to feel the burn. And recalled just in time that he needed to save enough energy for the return trip.
Bellamy had nearly exhausted himself by the time the hotel, and their room, came into view again. He'd intended to head directly into the ocean for a swim, but that plan was put on hold when Clarke came racing off their deck, her body slamming into his, arms hugging him tightly.
"Clarke! What's wrong?" he said worriedly, his arms closing around her automatically.
What the hell could have happened in the short time he'd been gone?
"Nothing," she murmured into his chest. "Now that you're back. It's just… I woke up and you weren't there and I couldn't find you, and I… stupidly panicked." She pulled back, gazing up into his face. "I could only vaguely remember coming back to the room last night. And I thought maybe… I wondered… did I do something, or-or say something dumb? I mean… you aren't mad at me or anything, are you?"
"Of course not! I just went for a run. I'm sorry I made you worry."
"No, it's… okay now that you're back. I just wasn't sure if I'd maybe…"
She shrugged, her voice trailing off as her eyes shifted away from him.
Bellamy was dumbfounded. He couldn't imagine what had brought this on. He went for early morning runs at home all the time.
"Hey, I was just about to go for a swim," he said, looking to shift the conversation. "Why don't you grab your suit and join me."
Her eyes found his again, and her lips turned up in a little half-smile.
"Yeah? Okay, why not. Maybe a swim'll get rid of this headache."
"You have a headache this morning? Shocking!"
And then they were laughing and Bellamy was relieved that whatever it was that'd been bothering her seemed to be gone.
Swimming and lounging seemed like a good plan for the morning, especially when accompanied by vast amounts of coffee. By noon, they were beginning to feel human again, ready for a decent lunch, to be followed by the second part of the contest.
Trivia.
"Hey, we've got this knocked," Clarke said confidently, all signs of her earlier strange mood having vanished. "You take the history, geography, and sports, and I've got science and the arts. Piece of cake."
The trivia contest was scheduled to take place at two that afternoon in the lounge. It would be moderated by the supercilious Mr. Wallace, who, it turned out, was also the hotel manager
Unlike the scavenger hunt where the teams were on their own until the end the day, the trivia contest had the couples competing against each other directly. There would be ten rounds of questions, and in each, the teams were given fifteen minutes to figure out the answers to ten questions. Naturally, electronic devices were banned from the room.
Eight pairs had opted to remain in the contest, but Bellamy was pretty sure that he and Clarke, and Cillian Ryan and his companion Jade, had finished the first round way ahead of all the others.
The results were no different this time around. The two pairs took an early lead, and from then on they were neck and neck until late in the day when Bellamy and Clarke managed to pull slightly ahead.
When it all came down to the last round.
As the clock ticked down to the end of their fifteen minute answer period, Bellamy was pretty sure they had eight correct answers, one maybe, and one that they'd completely whiffed. He hoped to god it would be enough to let them win this part of the contest.
As they handed in their answer sheets, something about the smile Cillian sent them told Bellamy that the guy was sure he'd won. Fuck! Not winning the trip for Octavia and Lincoln would be bad enough, but losing to this asshole would be unbearable. They just had to take the lead.
He was tense as the scores were totted up, but Clarke's confidence never wavered. And in the end, she was right. They'd not only won the trivia contest, they'd taken the lead in the whole damn thing.
Bursting with satisfaction, he turned to high-five Clarke, only to find her attention had already been claimed by Cillian and Jade.
"Congratulations, Clarke," Cillian was saying, his smile dazzling. "I really thought I had you beat on the bones of the hand. How'd you happen to know that?"
She shrugged. "Two years of medical school before I dropped out to pursue an MFA. Who knew it'd come in so handy?"
Cillian nodded. "I didn't drop out."
"Didn't drop out of…?"
"Med school. These days, I'm a surgeon at Boston General."
He said the words with all the arrogant self-importance Bellamy had come to expect from the man.
"And you?" Cillian added, his focus completely on Clarke.
"Don't live in Boston," Bellamy interjected, before Clarke could even think about responding. "If you'll excuse us," he said, tugging at Clarke's elbow, "I think I need a nap before dinner."
The way Cillian smirked at him, Bellamy knew exactly what the man must be thinking. And didn't give a fuck.
"Do you really need a nap, or'd you just want to get away from that guy?" Clarke asked as they made their way back to their room.
"Both," he said shortly, unable to believe she could've missed the asshole's blatant interest in her.
He hadn't actually planned to nap but somehow drifted off anyway, right in the middle of reading about all those Blakes. Later, they opted to order salads from the hotel's very limited room service menu, taking them out onto the semi-darkness of their private deck.
They chatted over their meals, and for some time afterwards, wondering how their friends were doing at home, speculating about the mystery contest they'd have to win the following day if they wanted to walk off with the grand prize.
The conversation became more and more desultory, until at last they stopped talking altogether, listening instead to the sound of the waves as the tide began to roll in.
And then Bellamy yawned hugely.
"You really are an old man." Clarke laughed. "You just had a nap."
"Sorry," Bellamy's smile was wry. "I… guess I didn't sleep too well last night. Think I might have to turn in."
Clarke shrugged, and they both moved inside, beginning the now-familiar routine of getting ready for bed together in their undersized suite. And there was no further talk about who would sleep where,
Bellamy tried to read for a while but his lids felt leaden and he finally snapped off the light by the couch. His last waking sight was of Clarke still sketching by the light of the bedside lamp.
When he awoke on the morning of the 27th, it was to the sound of rain spattering across their deck and against the glass sliders. Shit! Their last day and it was crap weather.
He went for a run anyway, dressing a little more warmly than the day before. And this time leaving a note for Clarke, who was still asleep. When he returned, she was sitting on the couch, sketching again.
"Thanks for the note," she said with a rueful smile. "I probably would have figured it out this time. Although," she frowned at him, "running in the rain, Bellamy?"
"Meh? It's still pretty warm out there and at least I got some exercise."
"Well, you should take a shower right away. Don't sit around in those wet clothes."
"Yes, dear," he said, the words slipping out unconsciously, and he was blushing hard before they'd even left his mouth. When he saw her slight flush, Bellamy felt like a fool. "Yeah, so I'm just gonna shower now."
He berated himself all through his shower for letting the atmosphere of cozy domesticity fool him into giving in to the fantasy inside his head. Hadn't he already learned not to do that?
Some time later, they wandered down to the dining room for a late breakfast, only to find that most of the guests had gathered in the lounge.
Clarke stuck her head in as they breezed by. "What going on?"
One of the women shrugged. "The weather's so bad today that we're all just sitting around, speculating on what the mystery contest might be.
"They haven't said yet?"
The woman shook her head. "At one, they told us. I hope it'll be fun. I'm bored stiff with this stupid rain."
When Clarke glanced at him, Bellamy shrugged. Why not?Nothing better to do.
Besides, he sure as hell wanted to know as soon as possible what hoops they'd have to jump through to get Octavia her trip.
They found a couple of empty spots in the large room, and a one o'clock precisely, the snarky Mr. Wallace made an entrance. Smiling and rubbing his hands together when he saw that the room was full.
"Sorry the rain had to spoil your last day here, folks, but isn't it great that you have the wrap-up to our little contest to look forward to."
His manner was so smug, so self-congratulatory, that Bellamy was certain the entire contest had been his idea.
"I imagine you're all on tenterhooks, wondering what we're going to ask of you now, so I won't keep you in suspense. We'd like at least one contestant from each couple to perform for us. Yes, that's right… perform. We have a karaoke machine, if anyone needs it. You can see the piano over there, but we also have other instruments you can use. We can certainly roll back the rug to accommodate a dance performance. Or you can… play a scene, either from a play or something you write yourself. We just want to give our guests the opportunity to show off their… artistic side."
His announcement was at first greeted with total silence, and then the murmuring began, and grew, each couple either excited or appalled, depending to their assessment of their own level of talent.
"And when is this all happening?" someone ventured to ask,
"Oh," Wallace teased, "didn't I say? You have one hour to decide what your performance will be. We'll meet back here at two. And… break a leg."
The man's grin was so wide it was practically predatory.
Bellamy groaned. He'd like to break something, all right. Preferably over that guy's head.
"And we were worried about line-dancing and pie-eating," Clarke whined. "This is so much worse. What the hell are we gonna do?"
And it was true. This was much, much worse. There was no point in running off to their room for inspiration because there was nothing there — nothing anywhere, in fact — that would help them out of this situation.
Clarke sang very, very badly, and the only reason Bellamy got a pass on teasing her about it was that he was even worse! They were the despair of their friend group when it came to any sort of dancing, and the gang always made sure the karaoke ended right before it was Clarke or Bellamy's turn.
The two of them sat rooted to their chairs in the lounge, their gloom deepening, as the other pairs began to race around, apparently looking for just the right medium to showcase their talent.
"Do you think any of these people could possibly be any good?" Clarke wondered aloud, looking around at the motley collection of individuals.
Bellamy shrugged. "They're certainly better than doing nothing at all. Jesus, Clarke! After all we've put into this, it fucking kills me to think about losing by default."
Clarke frowned. "Well… maybe I could sing something? One of the Christmas songs I like?"
She looked at him hopefully.
Bellamy sighed. "Yeah, I guess as a last resort. Better than me singing. Or god forbid, us trying to dance. But realistically, unless we have a decent showing, somebody's gonna just blow right past us." His voice was tight with frustration.
She nodded. "Okay. Well, let's just wait and see what everyone else does."
But as the "talent show" began, and progressed, as one by one their competitors took the "stage," it became clear that the contestants should definitely hang onto their day jobs. Most were barely passable and some were downright awful.
Clarke began to look hopeful.
"They're all pretty bad, Bellamy," she whispered in his ear. "Maybe we still have a chance because we're so far ahead of the others."
"Yeah, but we still have to do something," he muttered to her over his shoulder.
And then Jade stepped up to the karaoke machine.
Bellamy knew what song she was going to sing as soon as the musical intro started. And by the time she got to…
"R-E-S-P-E-C-T…"
…he was beginning to panic.
Not that Jade was exactly Aretha Franklin. Far from it. She was a middle-class Black girl from the Boston suburbs, and it was clear she didn't exactly have R&B in her soul. But she was giving it her all and was… not bad. When she was done, she got an enthusiastic round of applause — even if it was mostly for not being terrible.
Bellamy looked on in frustration as Cillian Ryan kissed Jade exuberantly when she returned to her seat. No doubt already planning his next — free — trip to the hotel. The trip that should have been Octavia's.
And then Wallace, smug grin firmly in place, said, "Well, that was certainly wonderful, Jade, but we've yet to hear from our leaders, the Blakes." He turned in their direction, "Bellamy, Clarke, what artistry are you about to wow us with?"
And Bellamy knew that the moment had come to fish or cut bait. He turned toward Clarke, about to tell her to go ahead and mangle one of her beloved Christmas songs, when she suddenly jumped up from her seat.
"Wait!" she exclaimed loudly.
Wallace frowned. "Yes?"
"Well, I was thinking… I mean, you talked about our artistry. Our artistic ability. So I was just wondering… why does it have to be one of the performing arts? Why can't it be one of the visual arts?"
Wallace looked taken aback, and in truth, Bellamy had no idea what the hell she was getting at.
"Are you a-a crafter or something?" Wallace asked. "Because the point was to create something right here on the spot…"
"But what if I have created something right here at the hotel, but it's just… taken me a few days?"
"Clarke," Wallace's frown deepened, "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Just… can you wait a couple of minutes? I'll be right back."
And with that she raced out of the lounge, turning left to head down the hallway toward the rooms. Wallace gave him a quizzical frown, but Bellamy shrugged his shoulders. He was just as much in the dark as the others.
But he began to have a glimmer of understanding when Clarke reappeared scarcely a minute later carrying her sketchbook. The one he'd never gotten a look inside of.
"Here," she said, quickly flipping back several pages, then thrusting the pad at Wallace. "I've been working on this one since the day we got here, and I just finished it last night."
As he gazed at her sketch, Wallace's expression morphed from skeptical to astonished.
"Clarke, this is… truly remarkable. Not at all what I was expecting. And, you're right, it certainly qualifies as artistry."
Soon, a dozen curious guests had leaped from their seats to rush over and take a peek at whatever it was Wallace was looking at. Bellamy heard their oohs snd aahs, andwatched, bewildered, asseveral of them peered at him over the top of the pad, seeming to scrutinize him.
When he could stand it no longer, he rose from his chair and strode across the room, pulling Clarke's sketchpad right out of Wallace's lands.
And stared down in amazement at… himself.
She'd sketched him at the water's edge on their very first day, as he'd watched her make her way down to the shore in that white bathing suit, hair tumbling around her, looking like a goddamn goddess. Had that really been the expression on his face, how he'd looked at her? With awe, and admiration, and… something else? And then he recalled what had followed — that one brief moment when the entire universe seemed to stand still.
Wallace snatched the book back, declaring that such exquisite artistic talent certainly deserved the top prize, and that "the Blakes" had won the contest. But Bellamy heard it all only as background noise. Welcome news, but suddenly — astonishingly — not at all where his head was at.
Somehow, all he could think about was that sketch, and the woman who'd drawn it.
And as his focus shifted back and forth between the sketchbook and Clarke, Bellamy Blake had an epiphany.
He'd been wrong.
He was not, after all, into Clarke. Nor did he have a crush on her, or a thing for her. Or, god help him, the hots for her. None of that — none of it at all — came remotely close to the truth.
Because the truth was that Bellamy was in love.
For all those months he'd failed to recognize the feeling, because, at thirty years of age, he'd never felt it before. But in that one, single moment of clarity, he knew it to be the truth.
He was in love with Clarke and all he could think about was telling her.
He turned towards her eagerly, only to find that Cillian Ryan had somehow, once again, claimed her attention.
And this time, he just wasn't having it.
There was a roaring in Bellamy's ears, and all he could hear was a single word.
Mine, mine, mine.
He reached out blindly, tugging at her arm, and spun a surprised Clarke towards him and away from the other man. And then, all impulse and no thought at all, he leaned down and kissed her. It wasn't a long kiss or a deep kiss, but it was enough to show the world his claim.
When he lifted his head, Clarke was staring up at him with a look of wonder in her eyes, her fingers unconsciously reaching up to stroke her lips. But almost immediately, Bellamy's eyes slid past Clarke's lips, and past Clarke's face, to land with satisfaction on the face of the man standing behind her.
He might as well have shouted, "Hands off!"
As she watch his eyes shift away from her, Clarke's expression began to change. First to bewilderment, and then, a moment later, to suspicion. Her head swiveled back and forth from Bellamy to Cillian Ryan, and then back again.
It was her soft gasp that finally caught Bellamy's attention.
"Is that why you kissed me?" she asked, staring at him in disbelief, her voice taut with dismay.
Bellamy noted her distress, but he couldn't begin to understand the reason for it, and before he had time to figure it out, Clarke was on the move. She tore out of his grasp, twisted around Cillian, and raced for the doorway.
"Clarke! Where are you going? We've won!" Bellamy shouted after her as she fled the room.
What the hell?
He sprinted after her, unable to think about anything other than finding out what was wrong and telling her how he felt about her. But Clarke had moved fast, and was already halfway down the hall before he caught up with her.
"Clarke! Stop! What's going on?"
His hand on her arm was enough to halt her forward momentum, and she leaned back against the wall while Bellamy stared down at her, hoping for some kind of explanation.
But all he got was the same question.
"Did you kiss me just to make a fucking point with Cillian?" she asked again, only this time her voice was laced with anger.
"I was just trying to protect you!"
"Protect me! From what?"
"From that sleazeball. Do you want to know what he said to me the first time we spoke? He asked if we wanted to hook up with him and Jade. You know, a foursome. Games, he called it. That guy's been leching on you ever since we got to this place. Pouring on the phony charm… when all he really wanted was to fuck you!"
He stood there, breathing heavily, waiting for her to absorb the unpleasant truth that he'd spent the past few days trying not to tell her.
She stared at him for the length of two heartbeats, but when she opened her mouth, the words she bit out were nothing like he might have expected.
"And who are you to make that decision for me? Just because you weren't interested in a… a foursome, maybe I'd have liked a threesome! After all, Cillian's a hot guy and Jade looks pretty tasty, too!" She paused, winding up to deliver the coup de grace. "And maybe I like the idea that someone actually wants to fuck me, Bellamy. Even if you don't."
Bellamy was slack-jawed with disbelief. And while his attention was diverted, Clarke shook his hand off and slipped away, hurrying down the hallway towards the main door.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, leaning against the wall, unable to move. But when the others began to leave the lounge and move past him with curious looks, he roused himself, needing to escape, but having no place to go.
He moved slowly down the hall, finally retreating to the room, now darkening rapidly as the mid-winter night began to fall.
He didn't bother to turn on the lights.
XXXXXXXXXX
Bellamy was so upset by his encounter with Clarke that for a little while he simply felt numb. So he tucked himself into a corner of the same couch that had been his bed for the past four nights and just let his mind go blank. But eventually, as the numbness began to wear off, and he realized that twilight had now become full night, worry began to trickle through the fog.
Where the hell had she gone?
Could she… might she really have meant what she'd said about Cillian and Jade? That she was actually interested in getting it on with them? Was she even now just a few doors down the hall, happily fucking them both?
For a few seconds he allowed that image to live inside his head, and the hot, white flame of jealousy licked through him. But he almost immediately rejected it. She'd been thoroughly pissed off about the whole Cillian Ryan fiasco, but Bellamy's instinct told him it had nothing to do with her wanting to play sex games with the man.
So in that case… where the hell was she? As his brief spurt of irrational jealousy ebbed, it was replaced by a feeling of apprehension that became more intense with every second that passed.
Fuck! He had no idea where to even begin looking for Clarke. Maybe he'd better get some help.
He was already reaching for the hotel phone when he heard the telltale click of a latch. And then the door opened, and in the sliver of light from the corridor, he could clearly see her silhouette.
Bellamy sighed as relief coursed through him.
"Clarke."
"Bellamy!"
He'd called out her name as quietly as possible, but still she jumped at the sound his voice.
"I didn't think you were in here," she said. And after a pause, "Why are you sitting in the dark?"
She moved across the room to perch lightly on the edge of the bed, bending down to switch on the bedside lamp.
"Please don't," he said quietly.
"You…don't want me to turn on the light?"
He shook his head, then realized that of course she couldn't see him.
"I'd rather you didn't," he murmured.
"Why not?"
Her voice sounded raspy, like maybe she'd been crying. Shit! He shook his head, despairing that he'd ever be able to adequately explain himself.
"Because I have some things I need to say to you, and somehow it feels… easier if I don't have to look at you while I'm doing it." He sighed. "As long as I know you're listening."
"Okay," she said after a beat. "Go ahead. I'm listening."
He swallowed heavily because he knew that this was it. Knew he had to be straight with her no matter what it cost him. No matter the consequences to their living arrangement, or more importantly, to their friendship.
"I thought… a little while ago when you didn't come back, I was afraid you might have taken Ryan up on his offer. That maybe, while I was sitting here feeling like the world's biggest jackass, you were down the hall screwing his brains out."
He heard her soft sigh.
"Bellamy… no. I only said that because I hated that you thought it was okay to make that kind of decision for me. Even if you were just trying to… protect me."
"But that's just it. I wasn't. That was just some… bullshit story I fed myself to justify interfering in your life. And I'm sorry for that, Clarke. You were right to call me on it. I think… I hope… we've become best friends, but," he sighed, "I know damn well I don't own you."
He took a deep breath, expelling it slowly.
"So you deserve to know the truth. Which is… plain and simple… that I was so fucking jealous just considering the possibility that you might be interested in him."
"Bellamy…"
"No. Clarke. Just… let me get it all out."
And then he closed his eyes and began to bare his soul. Sick to death of keeping it all inside.
"When you first moved in with me, you were just some college friend of Octavia's who'd gotten a job in town, and I had a room to rent because she'd moved out. We got along okay and it was… convenient. But then, after a while, we became good friends, and that was really, really great. And it stayed that way for a long time."
His lips felt dry and he licked his tongue nervously across them.
"But then one day, maybe six months ago, you came out of the shower, just like you had a hundred times before, but somehow this time, and this day… you just smelled so damn good. And when you walked by me, I, uh," he felt himself flush and was glad then for the darkened room, "I suddenly got… so fucking turned on. Just standing there in my living room. And I told myself what an asshole I was, perving on my best friend and roommate like some kind of disgusting lech."
He paused, recalling the embarrassment of having to hurriedly retreat to his bedroom to hide the physical manifestation of his sudden unexpected arousal.
"But once I'd seen you in that way, I just… I couldn't seem to make it go away. And it wasn't just how you looked, Clarke, which was bad enough because you are so fucking beautiful. It was… everything about you, and about how we were together. All of a sudden, I wanted to be around you all the time, but then the more I was around you, the harder it got. Until finally, it got so bad that no matter where I went, everything reminded me of you. I even bought you those earrings because I saw them in the store and couldn't stop thinking about how they were the same color as your eyes."
He huffed a laugh. "It's hard to believe I could have been that stupid for so long. That it took being here with you like this for me to figure out what it all meant. And I only did that a couple of hours ago."
He swallowed hard, forcing out the words he'd never said before. Not like this.
"Because the thing is… I love you, Clarke. I'm so fucking in love with you that I can hardly see straight. And… I don't know, maybe I never let myself realize it before because up until a little while ago I wouldn't have had a hope in hell that you could ever care about me like that. But then I saw that picture you drew. And I thought… maybe… if that was how you saw me, maybe there was a chance after all."
He sighed. "And then I went and totally fucked everything up. And so… here we are."
He stopped, relieved to have gotten it out at last. Eyes still closed, he leaned back against the couch and waited for her response.
"Bellamy."
His eyes flew open in surprise. Clarke wasn't across the room after all, but instead only inches away at the other end of the couch. He'd been so focused on spilling his guts that he'd never even heard her move.
"Yeah?" He turned towards her, holding his breath, hoping with everything in him that they weren't about to have the I'm moving outconversation.
"I just wanted to say… about that picture… there was something about the way you looked at me that day in the surf, and I wanted to remember that. That's why I drew it. And then… you gave me those beautiful earrings, and I really started to hope." She shook her head. "But I wasn't sure and I was so afraid I might have given myself away when I got drunk on Christmas."
"Given yourself away?"
When she smiled at him, his spirits began to soar.
"I've known how I felt about you for a lot longer than six months, Bellamy Blake. And honestly, I didn't know how much longer I was going to be able to deal with it.
His pulse began to throb. That almost sounded like…
But he needed to hear the words.
"So… what are you saying?"
Her smile grew. "I'm saying that I'm in love with you, too. I think… oh, god this is so hard to admit, but I think I have been almost right from the beginning. Um… why do you think I always smelled so good?"
"What?" Bellamy began to laugh. "It would've been great if you'd mentioned that awhile ago. Saved me a lot of pain and stress."
"Likewise," she said, grinning.
"Come here," he said, smiling at her, reaching out to pull her across the seat.
"Is this far enough," she teased as her thigh banged softly against his.
"Not even close," he said, lifting her across his body so that she was straddling his legs.
And as she gazed down at him, the laughter suddenly died on their lips
Bellamy reached up and stroked his fingers across her cheek, just like he'd wanted to do a hundred times before. And when Clarke leaned down and softly brushed her lips against his, he moaned and immediately deepened the kiss. Soon they were locked in the kind of heated embrace that both of them had been craving for months.
That night, there were no arguments about who would sleep where — not that there was much actual sleeping being done.
XXXXXXXXXX
The shuttle to Nassau left the island at 9 a.m. the following morning, and by the time Bellamy and Clarke caught their connecting flight to DC and made it back to their apartment, it was well past 2.
"We should probably get some sleep," Clarke said solemnly, as they dropped their bags inside the door and Bellamy began to walk her backwards towards his bedroom.
"You're absolutely right," he agreed, smirking, "we definitely should."
But they were still caught up in that heady euphoria brought on by the sudden realization of mutual feelings, so while they did tumble into Bellamy's bed only moments later, the sleeping was put on hold in favor of more pleasurable activities.
Of course, exhaustion eventually won out, and they fell asleep in each other's arms.
Bellamy awoke several hours later to find Clarke staring down at him, her lips curved into a soft smile.
"Hey," she said, "I've been thinking."
"Yeah? What about?" He reached out to caress her skin, ready to pick up exactly where they'd left off.
"Not about that," she laughed.
"No? Then what?"
"I was thinking maybe we ought to call Octavia and tell her the good news."
"Oh!" He considered. "Yeah, maybe you're right."
He began to fish around on the floor, first for his jeans, and then his phone.
A minute later they were sitting up in bed, the phone between them on speaker, while Bellamy called his sister.
"So are you back?" was her greeting.
"We are," he said. "And we thought we should give you a call because we have some good news for you…"
"I knew it!" Octavia's interrupted gleefully. "Everyone said I was crazy, but I knew!"
"You did? I… don't see how you could."
And now she sounded a little more hesitant. "Wait, so… what exactly is your news?"
"Well… the hotel had this contest and Clarke and I won. The prize was a free stay at the hotel. So you and Lincoln'll be able to take your trip to the island after all, after the baby's born."
"We'll even take care of the baby for you," Clarke offered enthusiastically.
"Oh, hi, Clarke! You're there, too?"
"Yeah, I'm here. I mean, we both live here."
"Right, of course. I know that. So, um… that's your news?"
"Yes, O, that's our news. I thought you'd maybe be a little more excited about it."
"Oh. Well, yeah, of course I'm excited. It's… great. Something to look forward to. I just thought…"
"What?"
"Never mind, Bell. You can tell me all about the trip at Monty and Harper's on New Year's Eve."
"Good idea, because we're both really, really tired. It's been an exhausting day."
"What? Hey, wait a minute, Bell…"
"Night, O. See you in a few days."
Clarke was grinning when he disconnected the call.
"I can't believe you just did that. She's going to know, Bellamy. As soon as we show up at Monty's, she's going to take one look, and then she's going to be pissed. Why didn't you just tell her about us?"
"Yeah, I was gonna, but she was just so damn smug. If she really knew all along, why the hell couldn't she have given us a fucking clue!"
Clarke burst into laughter. "Fair enough!"
He shifted his arm to tug her against him, but she squirmed out of his grasp and slid off the bed.
"What now?" he complained, when she headed out to the living room.
"Just getting my iPad," she said. "It's got a better speaker than my phone."
Bellamy frowned. A better speaker… for what?
The answer came seconds later when he heard the familiar strains of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
"Hey, isn't Christmas over?" he teased, as she settled back into his arms.
Clarke shrugged. "I hardly got to play my Christmas music this year, so I'm making up for it now. Besides," she said, kissing him lightly, "this was by far my best Christmas ever, and I want it to last just a little longer."
Bellamy had never before made love to the sounds of Christmas music, but as he pulled her against him, and bent down for another, deeper kiss, he quickly decided that he couldn't agree more.