Chapter 10

"So why do you wanna work out here?" Miller asked Bellamy as they walked into the campus rec center's gym.

"Because Octavia's new boyfriend works here," he explained, scanning the room for him. Oh, yeah, there he was, loading up some other big guy who was doing squats.

"Which one is he?" Miller asked.

Bellamy pointed him out. "That guy."

"Damn." Miller got a very specific look on his face, kind of a turned on one, but when Bellamy sent him a sharp glare, he said, "So what's your plan?"

"I'm gonna bench press," Bellamy declared. "A lot. Intimidate the fuck out of him."

Miller shook his head. "You're not intimidating that guy."

"Wanna bet?" So what if Lincoln had quite a few pounds on him? He'd pushed his way through entire defensive lines before.

"Bellamy?"

He turned around when he heard his sister, and when he saw that she'd shown up to the gym wearing only a sports bra and black spandex shorts, he really wanted to lecture her and tell her to put some more fucking clothes on.

"What're you doing here?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm exercising," he answered quickly.

"Uh-huh." She rolled her eyes. "Well, so am I. So don't get in my way." She bumped past him and headed in her boyfriend's direction.

"Let's load this up," Bellamy said, taking a seat on an open bench press machine.

"How much weight you want?" Miller asked.

"I don't know. It's been a while since I lifted."

"How'd you stay in shape over the years?"

"What, you think rowing a fuckin' gondola was easy?" Maybe he wouldn't be able to lift quite as much as he had in high school, just because he was out of practice, but he actually felt like he was stronger now.

"Oh . . . no." Miller stood behind the bar, cringing as he looked in Lincoln's direction.

"What?" Bellamy looked over there, too, and what he saw made his blood boil. Lincoln had forgotten all about the guy he'd been helping, and now he was helping Octavia. Helping her stretch. She was lying on her back on a mat while he pressed one of her legs up as far to her chest as it would go. It brought his lower body in way too close to hers, and he felt like he was going to be sick. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me," he grumbled. Shooting to his feet, he decided, "Screw this. We're not working out here," and stomped towards the exit.

He and Miller never did end up working out that day, but they did wander around campus for about an hour. Miller was scoping out boyfriends, or at least trying to, but nobody was catching his eye. Bellamy didn't really feel like he was any help in that regard. He was a pretty poor judge of who was an attractive guy and who wasn't. All he knew was that he was attractive—legitimately genetically blessed, in fact—but thankfully, Miller had never had any interest in him.

Because his friend had to go to work, he ended up by himself for lunch. He decided to swing by Eligius in case Clarke was working, and since she was, he decided to have lunch there. Unfortunately, she and the owner were the only ones there, so she was pretty busy. She said hi to him, told him she'd be on her break soon, and advised that he avoid the roast beef sandwich, as it was looking kind of sketchy today.

While he waited for his hamburger, he tried to subtly watch Clarke, just to see how she was doing. She looked a little tired, but she kept a smile on her face with all the customers. She was good at her job. She was . . . kind of good at everything.

Even though he didn't have a problem sitting there by himself, he was still relieved when someone he knew entered. "Jasper!" he called, waving to his high school companion.

"Hey." Jasper came over to his table and sat down.

"What's up, man?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just had a break in between classes."

Man, everyone had a job or had classes or had both. Bellamy didn't have either of those things. "What're you studying?" he asked.

"Psychology. I wanna help kids who have social anxiety and issues like I did."

"That's cool." It'd taken him an entire summer to get Jasper Jordan to come out of his shell and actually try out for the football team. His social anxiety had been a huge hindrance to him, but he seemed a lot more at ease with it now.

"Yeah, I didn't really have anyone to help me," Jasper said. "Except for you."

"Ah, I didn't do that much."

"No, you did," Jasper insisted. "I would've hated every second of high school if you hadn't, you know, taken me under your wing."

He shrugged, not wanting to take too much credit. After all, back when he'd been a little junior high punk, he'd trash-canned kids like Jasper. It'd taken him until high school, until he was under a microscope because of his athleticism, to get his head out of his ass and be a better guy. "How was it after I graduated?" he asked.

"It wasn't the same, but it wasn't bad, either. Everyone knew me as your friend, so nobody made fun of me," Jasper said. "You had a lot of power over that place, you know. People there still talk about you."

"They do?" Obviously people hadn't just forgotten about him, but . . . his curiosity was piqued. "What do they say?"

"Well, mostly they say the football team was a lot better when you were on it."

He nodded. Of course. Football. Of course that was what people remembered him for. It wasn't a bad thing, but . . . there was more to life. He knew that now.

"Why didn't you stick with it?" Jasper asked. "You were good enough to play in college."

"Yeah, but . . . it just wasn't meant to be." It would've been nice playing four years at UCF, actually getting a degree in the meantime, but . . .

"Hey, who's that girl over there?" he said, pointing out a pale chick with dark hair at a table not too far away. "She keeps looking at you."

Jasper glanced that way and said, "Oh, Maya? She's a nursing student. I had a class with her last year. We were in a study group."

Well, Maya kept peeking up from the pages of her book and giving Jasper the eye. "Did you guys hook up?" Bellamy asked.

"No." Jasper grunted. "I wish."

"What do you mean, you wish? You like her?"

"Yeah."

"Then go talk to her," he suggested. "Flirt with her. Ask her out."

Jasper made a face, shaking his head reluctantly. "See, all that stuff might come naturally to you, but whenever I try, I just spaz up."

"It's not that hard," Bellamy assured him. "Just ask her what she's reading. Tell her she looks nice today."

"Okay, okay," Jasper said. "And then what?"

"You gotta freestyle it at some point." He couldn't write out a script for the kid, but he had no problem getting him started.

"Alright. Alright, I'm doin' it," Jasper decided boldly, rising to his feet. He took one step in that direction, then turned back around. "What do I ask her first?"

"What she's reading."

"Right." He took a deep breath, visibly shook out his nerves, and approached Maya's table. She smiled at him pleasantly and set her book down, so that was a good sign.

Come on, you got it, buddy, Bellamy thought, watching inconspicuously. He wasn't sure if Jasper had ever actually had a girlfriend before. He'd never gotten one as a freshman, but he had gone to prom with Bree. Aesthetically-speaking, he could have done worse.

"Is Jasper flirting with that girl?" Clarke asked him quietly as she came towards his table.

"Attempting to." He had to laugh when Jasper nearly fell out of his chair. "I kinda missed that kid."

Clarke untied her apron and slid into the booth, apparently on break now. "Did you keep in touch with anyone from high school?" she asked him.

"No. Miller for a while, but I got busy with football, and he got busy with wrestling, so eventually we just lost touch." It was weird, though, because now that he was back, it felt pretty natural to reconnect with all his friends. And especially with her.

"Wasn't it scary," she said, "just starting this whole brand new chapter of your life all on your own?"

He considered that for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I felt like I could handle it."

She sighed, looked down at her lap, and mumbled, "I wish I felt that way."

Yeah, she definitely had a brand new chapter of her life ahead of her. But she wasn't on her own. She had her parents and . . . maybe she'd have Finn. "You got your appointment tomorrow, right?" he asked.

"No, two days from now." She bit her bottom lip, then confessed, "I'm really nervous. I just have no idea what to expect."

That sucked for her. Weren't ultrasounds supposed to be something parents looked forward to? "You want me to go with you?" he offered.

The look on her face completely changed, and she looked a bit . . . touched. "Oh, I could never ask you to do that," she said.

"You didn't ask. I volunteered," he pointed out. It wasn't like he had a busy schedule or anything. He'd spent every day back in Arkadia just hanging out with people. But she was definitely his favorite to hang out with.

"It's not here in town," she told him. "It's a little bit of a drive."

"So I'll keep you company." He didn't care if they had to drive for hours. Honestly, he couldn't think of a better way to spend a day than with her.

"I mean . . ." She looked a bit hesitant, but he could tell she was giving in. "If you really want to, I wouldn't say no," she said. "At least not for this first one."

There was no way he was going to make her go alone. "Yeah, we'll go together," he decided. "What time?"

"We'd have to leave at 11:00."

"Alright. I'll meet you at your place. Day after tomorrow."

Some of the tension dissolved from her body, and she looked relieved. "Thank you," she said. "That makes me feel better."

Anything to make her feel better. Especially right now.

Jasper came back to the table then, grinning from ear to ear. "Bellamy, I made her laugh," he announced excitedly. Noticing that his seat was taken, he said, "Oh, hey, Clarke."

Clarke smiled up at him.

Jasper finally seemed to sense that he'd barged in on their moment, because he motioned between the two of them and said to Bellamy, "Oh, sorry, are you flirting, too?"

For once, he really wasn't. He was just trying to be a good friend. But flirting was kind of his default setting with Clarke—with a lot of girls, actually—so he understood why Jasper would just assume that was what he was up to.

...

The next day, Bellamy was awoken by a phone call from a number he didn't recognize. He answered it anyway, his voice all hoarse and groggy, and he was glad he did. Because it was somebody calling about a job. That construction job Miller had mentioned to him, as it turned out. He had to go in for an interview.

Having never worked construction before, he wasn't exactly sure what to wear. It wasn't the kind of job that required a suit and tie, and he didn't even really have one, so he went with a button-down shirt and jeans instead. The place that was hiring was just a local company with small offices on the edge of town. He sat out with the receptionist, wracking his brain to remember some of the stuff he'd learned back in careers class in ninth grade. Good firm handshake. Make eye contact. Confidence, not cockiness. And be honest.

He actually considered himself to be pretty good with people. In general, people liked him. In general.

...

The front door of that huge house swung open, and out came Clarke, scurrying towards him excitedly.

"Hey," she said, looping her arms around his neck. Rising up on her tiptoes, she gave him a kiss. "Nice, um . . . t-shirt."

"Is this okay? I don't really have any nicer shirts," he admitted. Actually, he had one suit, but he'd grown out of it a couple years ago. Nowadays, he just borrowed suits from other guys on the team when it came time for the athletic awards night.

"No, it's fine," she said, smoothing out some wrinkles for him. "You look good." Wrapping her hands around his arm, she led him to the door. "Okay, do you remember what we talked about?"

"Your dad likes Led Zeppelin, your mom likes heathy eating, they both like politics for some reason, and neither one of 'em likes the fact that you're having sex with me," he recapped.

"Very good," she praised. "You look nervous."

"I am. I've never really met a girl's parents before." People in that town knew him, so when girls mentioned his name, their parents knew who she was referring to. But this whole official sit-down dinner thing . . . that was new.

"You'll be fine," she assured him as they walked inside. "Just be your naturally charming self."

"But that's the problem. Parents don't think I'm charming. Only girls do."

"Relax," she said. "You got this."

Did he, though? He 'had it' when it came to making a clutch play to win a football game. He didn't feel so clutch right now.

When they walked into the kitchen, there were her parents, both of them. Her mom was taking something out of the oven, and her dad was setting the table. They both stopped what they were doing when he walked in.

"Mom, Dad, this is Bellamy," Clarke introduced.

"Hello," her father said, coming towards him with his hand extended.

"Hi," Bellamy greeted, giving his hand a shake. Good firm handshake. That was supposed to show respect.

"Nice to meet you," her dad said. "I see your picture in the paper all the time."

"Oh, yeah, football stuff." He'd been in the paper, on the news . . . nowadays, there were even websites that detailed his potential as a college quarterback.

"Bellamy, this is my dad Jake," Clarke said, "and this is my mom Abby."

Abby took off her oven mitt and came his way. "Mrs. Griffin would be fine," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Griffin," he said, trying to be all formal and polite. "Mr. Griffin."

"Well, I hope you like seafood," she said, "because that's what I made."

"Oh, seafood. Yeah." He actually couldn't stand fish or anything even remotely fish-like, but he could stomach it for the sake of making a good impression. "I'm on a seafood diet. I see food and I eat it," he joked, but damn it all to hell, he was the only one who laughed. "That sounded funnier in my head," he muttered.

"I thought it was funny," Clarke said. Pulling him towards the table, she said, "Come on, sit by me."

He and Clarke ended up together on one side of the table while Abby and Jake sat at each end. They said a prayer before eating, which Bellamy felt weird about, because he and his family never prayed. Hell, they barely even had a kitchen table to sit at. Most of time it was covered with bills and shit. And they didn't eat fully-prepared meals like this. They did a lot of TV dinners.

The food was . . . interesting. What Abby had been taking out of oven turned out to be seafood lasagna, which he'd never even heard of. One bite in and he could already tell it wasn't his thing, but he forced down a few more bites. There was shrimp, too, which he wasn't even sure how to eat. He watched Clarke easily peel the shell off of hers, but he didn't have the right technique for that and ended up just making a mess when he tried, so he just gobbled a few down shell and all. Pretty chewy stuff. Kind of disgusting.

To his credit, Jake seemed like he genuinely wanted to get to know him and be welcoming. He asked how long Bellamy had lived in Arkadia—his whole life—and what grade his sister was in—seventh. He seemed like a pretty decent guy. Wealthy as fuck, but decent.

"So Bellamy," he said, "when did you start playing football?"

"Uh, when I was really young," he replied, moving the food around his plate a bit to make it look like he'd eaten more than he actually had. "I didn't have a dad, so my mom taught me how to throw."

"And your mom works at a factory, right?" Abby asked.

"Yeah, a—a clothing factory," he stammered. And here this woman was a doctor. Probably because she'd been able to afford an education. Because she'd come from money. And because she hadn't had a son at seventeen to take care of all on her own.

"You should've seen the last game," Clarke piped up, switching the conversation back to football. "Bellamy won it for everyone with a trick play. It was amazing."

Her mother shuddered and said, "Oh, football just makes me nervous. All those hard hits and concussions."

"It's brutal," he agreed. That was why not everyone was cut out to play it.

"Bellamy's really good, though," Clarke bragged him up. "He's gonna play in college."

"Well, hopefully." Nothing was set in stone yet.

"Where do you plan to go?" Jake asked him.

"I don't know yet." Right now, there were a couple options on the table. "Got a visit at UCF in November."

"UCF?" Jake echoed. "Central Florida? That's quite a distance from here."

Fourteen hours by car, over a day by bus. He'd looked it up.

"So you don't plan to stay in the area then?" Abby asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

"No." None of the power five conferences wanted a quarterback from Maryland, so if he still wanted to play Division 1 football, the American Athletic Conference was going to be his best bet.

Eager to shift the attention off of himself and his not-quite-set-in-stone future plans, he cleared his throat, turned to Clarke's dad, and said, "So I hear you're a Led Zeppelin fan. So am I. I love 'Thunderstruck.'"

Jake just smiled and nodded his head. "That's AC/DC," he informed him.

It was? Crap. They played it over the loudspeaker during warm-ups before games. He'd never known who sang it, though. "Right," he said, embarrassed to have made a mistake. He searched for something else to strike up a conversation about, and unfortunately, the only thing coming to mind was politics. "So our mayor's doin' a bang-up job, isn't he?" he said, nearly choking on the words. Why mention a mayor he couldn't even stand and open up that can of worms?

Bellamy was so thankful when the dinner was over. Not only did all that seafood have him feeling a little bit sick to his stomach, but he also felt like . . . he'd failed. And it wasn't that he was unaccustomed to feeling that way. If anything he'd gotten quite used to it over the years, at least in the classroom setting. But he'd really wanted to impress Clarke's parents, just to make things easier on her, and he felt like he hadn't done that.

"They hated me," he groaned as she walked him out to his car.

"No. You just got nervous."

Yeah, he had. He'd actually slipped up once and called the damn president Agent Orange. Oops. "Isn't that fucked up?" he said. "I can get out on a football field every Friday night, but send me to meet a girl's parents, and I just crumble under the pressure."

"You didn't crumble," she said.

"No, I did."

"Well . . . maybe just a little," she admitted. "Why?"

"Because . . . football fans like me," he said, stopping at his truck. "Parents don't like me."

She frowned, holding both his hands in hers. "Well, I like you," she said, almost stubbornly. "That's all that matters." Tilting her head back, she puckered up for a kiss, and he gave her one, not really too concerned if her parents were looking out the window, watching. He was gonna keep kissing their daughter. He was gonna keep having sex with their daughter. Whether they liked him or not.

...

"Bellamy."

A man in a side office poked his head out and motioned Bellamy in. He got up, went into the small room, and found himself face to face with the guy who'd called him that morning.

"Carl Emerson. Nice to meet you," he introduced himself.

They shook hands, and Bellamy said, "Nice to meet you, too," and then he tacked on, "sir," just for the heck of it.

"You can call me Emerson," he said, another one of those people who just went by a last name. Must've been an Arkadia thing, because when Bellamy had been out in California, some people he'd met had been too stoned to even remember their last names. Emerson sat down and motioned for Bellamy to do the same. "I'm on a bit of a time crunch today, so we gotta make this quick," he said. "You ever work construction before?"

"No," Bellamy admitted. "But I'm willing to learn."

"Are you a fast learner?"

He knew he wasn't supposed to lie, but . . . he kind of had to for that one. "Yeah," he said. As long as Emerson didn't know any of his former teachers, he'd be fine.

"Good, because we've got a lot of projects lined up right now, and we're on some tight deadlines."

Bellamy just nodded, feeling like . . . like this guy meant business. He sort of reminded him of his football coach. Very in charge, pretty stern.

"What skills are you gonna bring to my crew?" Emerson asked him. "What can you do for me?"

"Uh, well, I'm strong," he started in. "I was an athlete all throughout high school, played a year of college football, too. So I'm used to putting in a lot of hard work and being outdoors."

"What else?"

"Well . . ." He didn't want to stall too long, so he just said the first thing that came to mind. "I'm good with my hands." It was technically true. There were plenty of girls who in this town who could attest to that.

"You think you could start tomorrow?" Emerson inquired.

Holy shit, was it really this easy? Was he really scoring himself a job? "Yeah, sure," he said. But right after the words left his mouth, he remembered that he already had . . . plans. "Oh, wait, uh, tomorrow won't actually work."

"It won't?"

"No, sorry." He wasn't trying to be unreliable right from the start, but there was no way his first day could be tomorrow. No way. "My friend has a medical appointment," he vaguely explained. "I need to go with her."

Much to his relief, Emerson didn't push. "Next week then," he said. "I'll give you a shot. If you prove you have what it takes, I'll give you a job."

A job meant money. Money meant being able to afford his own place and not having to live with his mom forever. So yeah, he was gonna prove he had what it took.

...

"Construction, huh?" Clarke glanced over at Bellamy's arms, having to fight the urge to salivate. "You'd be good at that."

"We'll see," he said as he turned left out onto the highway that would take them out of town. "I start on Monday."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," she said, picturing him out on a construction site. Sweating. Muscles glistening. Looking fine as fuck.

"I could take my shirt off. And work shirtless," he said, almost as if he were reading her mind. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Shut up." She whacked his shoulder, not about to admit that she'd love that, but . . . come on, hot construction worker Bellamy? What girl on planet earth wouldn't love that?

The medical imaging center was pretty easy to find, not too far past Polis. Clarke felt pretty confident that no one out there knew who she was or knew her mom, but even if they did . . . they couldn't tell her anything, right? Weren't medical procedures confidential?

They were early, so that meant they had to sit in the waiting room for a while. The only other person there was a woman who looked like she was pretty far along, in her third trimester at least. She was by herself, and she just looked miserable. Kept holding her back, groaning in agony, and shifting in her seat uncomfortably. Plus, the poor thing had put on two different shoes. Apparently no one had been around to tell her.

"You know, I had an ultrasound once," Bellamy blurted, probably to take her attention off that agonized woman.

"You did?" Guys had ultrasounds?

"Yeah. Junior year. I fell off my roof and-"

"Your roof?" she interrupted. "What were you doing on your roof?"

"Making out with some chick," he said simply. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, I fell off, got this huge bruise on the side of my knee. It was all swollen and shit, so the doctor made me get an ultrasound to make sure it wasn't clotting."

"Was it?"

"No, it just hurt like a motherfucker for a couple weeks."

She laughed a little, appreciative of Bellamy's attempt to . . . lighten the mood. But she'd felt tense about this all morning, and the longer she sat in that waiting room, the more tense she became. "I can't believe I'm here right now," she said, embarrassed that she hadn't been more . . . careful. "I'm supposed to be the smart girl. Responsible. And yet here I am." Really, she'd done some pretty idiotic things in her life. Not insisting that Finn wear a condom had just been one of them.

"Sometimes things just happen," Bellamy said. His low, reassuring voice was kind of comforting.

"Yeah, sometimes they do," she agreed, momentarily losing herself in his dark eyes. Why was he here with her? It wasn't his job to be here.

"Clarke?"

She whipped her head around when she heard her name. "Hi," she said, standing up, heading back to the door a nurse—was she a nurse?—was holding open. No, not a nurse. A technician. An ultrasound technician.

"Hello," the woman said, holding the door open from her.

"Hi. I'm Clarke. This is, um, my friend Bellamy," she said. "He came with me. I hope that's okay."

"Of course. Come on back," the technician said, motioning her to follow. "Let's take a look at this baby."

Being back in that actual room was . . . kind of terrifying. Not that anything about it was designed to be scary. The lighting was dim, and everything was clean and smelled nice. The bed that Clarke was instructed to lie back on had a nice little pillow for her head, and all in all, it was very private since they were able to close the door. Bellamy pulled up a chair next to her, and she felt so glad he was there. The only reason it was all so terrifying, though, was because . . . she was about to see a baby. In her belly. Or at least what was the start of one.

"We are going to try an abdominal ultrasound," the technician told her. "Sometimes when it's early on like this, the baby shows up just fine, but other times we can't get a clear look at it."

"What then?"

"Well, then we'd have to do a transvaginal ultrasound."

"Vaginal?" Clarke cringed. "Does that hurt?"

"It'd be a little bit of pressure, nothing more," the technician assured her. "But let's find out if we can see the baby this way first." She lifted up Clarke's shirt and said, "Just relax. This gel's gonna be a little cold, but it helps with the transmission of sound waves into your body, and that's how we see your baby."

Clarke flinched when she first felt the gel on her stomach. It felt like someone was rubbing slime all over her. Kind of weird.

"Now don't be alarmed if we don't see anything," the technician said once she began to move the handheld device over her stomach. "That doesn't mean it isn't there."

It just means it's too early to see it, Clarke thought, trying to stay calm and keep her breathing even. She closed her eyes for a moment, but that didn't feel right. If and when that little baby appeared on that screen, she felt like she had to be looking at it.

Opening her eyes, she turned her head to the side to see the screen. There was nothing on there that she could make out yet, and for the first time, she felt afraid that something wasn't there. Even though she hadn't been planning on getting pregnant, now that she was . . . she didn't want anything bad to happen to the baby.

On its own accord, her hand flung out, searching for Bellamy's, and he grabbed it without hesitation, giving it a supportive squeeze.

"Alright, there's your uterus," the technician said as a big black circle came into view. "The black is the amniotic fluid." Gradually, Clarke saw something else appear on that screen, too, something that was unmistakable. Smiling, the technician said, "And right there in the middle of that is your baby."

"My baby?" she echoed, in awe of what she was seeing. She really saw it. It wasn't a very clear image by any means, but . . . it was really there.

"Yep. That's your baby."

"Oh my god." She gripped Bellamy's hand tighter, and tears stung her eyes.

"There's the head," the technician said, pointing everything out on the screen. "There's the body. And you see that flickering? That's the heartbeat."

The tears pooled up even more, threatening to obscure her vision altogether. She blinked, and a few of them fell.

"We can even make out some little arm-buds, and leg-buds. See these two little things right here? Those will become the legs."

It really wasn't just a blob anymore then, was it? It was starting to take shape, to form.

"Let's do a measurement." Clarke wasn't sure what the technician was clicking on or typing in, but somehow she ended up drawing a line from one end of the baby to the other. "Yes, you are definitely in your eighth week," she said. "I'd expect your due date to be in May, towards the start of May. It's only about the size of a raspberry right now."

A raspberry? That was so small. How could they even see this much of it when it was still so small?

"Now we'll listen to the heartbeat."

"Listen?" She was pretty sure her hand was shaking now, but Bellamy kept a tight hold on it.

"Yeah, that's always fun."

Clarke inhaled sharply when she heard the first thud-thud-thud of the baby's little heart. How could something the size of a raspberry have a beating heart? She didn't really understand, but . . . she didn't need to. She heard it.

"Good strong heartbeat," the technician said. "If we measure it . . . it's about a hundred and seventy beats per minute. That's good."

That sounded like a lot, though, for such a little raspberry. "Isn't that fast?" she asked, concerned.

"It's right within the range," the technician assured her. "One-sixty to one-eighty. That's what we look for."

Oh god, it was beating so fast. She couldn't feel it, but right now, all the way inside her . . . that was happening.

"Congratulations," the technician said, beaming a smile down at her. "Looks like you've got a healthy baby in there."

She smiled back tearfully, surprised that this had made her feel so . . . emotional. And not in the sad way. For the first time since she'd found out she was pregnant, she actually felt . . . kind of happy. She looked over at Bellamy, and he had a similar look on his face, the awe-struck kind. He didn't let go of her hand.

When they left, Clarke wasn't empty-handed. She had two pictures in hand now, sonogram images. One was a close-up picture of the baby, and the other had the peaks of its heartbeats on it, like an EKG. She couldn't stop staring at them, trying to wrap her mind around what she was seeing.

"You okay?" Bellamy asked her.

She was, but it was hard to describe exactly how she was feeling. "This is surreal," she said. "Seeing it, hearing the heartbeat . . . it's just really emotional."

"Well, yeah, it's your child," Bellamy said. "I think it's supposed to be emotional."

They stopped at his truck, and she slipped the photos back into the envelope they'd given her. She'd have to put them somewhere safe when she got home, like in a photo album or scrapbook so they wouldn't get bent. "Thank you so much for coming," she told him again. "I didn't wanna do this alone."

He smiled at her, reaching out to touch her hair, and then he exclaimed, "You're having a baby!" and swooped her up off her feet, spinning her around. She laughed, holding onto him while she kept hold of the ultrasound images in her hand.