Chapter 50

Bellamy was strangely quiet the next morning, so that left Clarke to do most of the talking while she made breakfast. Now that simply moving from place to place was becoming such a hassle, she was spending more time in bed and more time on the couch, and she was watching a lot of TV. Particularly the Food Network. To her own amazement, she felt like she was learning some tricks of the trade and becoming a better cook.

"I probably won't have anything to do after class today," she said as she shifted his eggs around the frying pan. "Diyoza wants me to cut back on my hours because she doesn't want me giving birth behind the bar." She turned off the stove, brought the frying pan over to the counter, and scooped the eggs onto his plate, next to the toast she'd only slightly burned. "So do you wanna go get lunch?" she asked him. "Or I could stop on the way home and get something." He stared at . . . nothing, really. He looked like he was either not feeling well or was just lost in thought. "Or you could just sit and ignore me," she mumbled.

His head turned towards her. "What?"

"Bellamy . . ." She put the frying pan back on the stove and sighed. "Talk to me. You were so quiet last night. I feel like you're just shutting me out." She understood that he was still upset about losing his job, but she'd sort of expected him to start bouncing back from it by now.

"Anything you wanna talk to me about?" he asked her.

"Just whatever you need to get off your chest." She was willing to listen to him. If he needed to rant or vent, then she could be his soundboard for that. If he needed to cry about it, then she wasn't going to judge him.

"I'm pissed, Clarke," he grumbled.

"I know," she said. "But you'll get another job. You just have to-"

"No, I'm pissed at you."

She blinked, confused, taken aback by that. "What?"

His eyes bore into hers, intensely sad, and he said, "You told your dad, didn't you?"

She felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to move or do anything. Her heart just sank.

"I asked you not to," he said.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just thought we needed some help."

"Three-thousand dollars' worth of help?"

It was a lot, but she hadn't been the one to write the check. "How did you know about that?" she asked him.

"I saw the check in your purse last night," he told her. "We don't need his money."

"He's my dad, Bellamy. If he wants to help me out, then . . ."

He rose to his feet and roared, "No, it's not just helping you out. It's charity."

"No," she whimpered, realizing she'd started to cry.

"Yes, it is. He feels sorry for me. He doesn't think I can take care of things around here or take care of you or . . ." His eyes drifted down to her stomach, and he blinked back tears of his own.

"Just cut him a little slack, Bellamy," she suggested. "He's just looking out for us." It wasn't something he needed to get worked up about. If he calmed down, then he'd realize this was a good thing, because they did need the money whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Bellamy's jaw clenched, and he shook his head angrily. "You shouldn't have told him," he said. "I trusted you, Clarke. I trusted you, and you told him anyway." He left his breakfast on the counter and headed straight to the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out. The door slammed, and Clarke inhaled sharply, shaken by what had just happened. He'd trusted her. He'd trusted her.

Oh, god, she thought as waves of guilt washed over her. She'd betrayed him.

...

Although his plan had been to go around and pick up some applications that day, Bellamy ended up at his mom's house, intercepting her at the door just as she was about to head out for work.

"Hi, honey," she said. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm just gonna hang out for a while," he said, easing past her so he could slip inside. He took off his jacket and shoes and spotted his sister down the hall.

"Wanna do my laundry?" she called out to him unenthusiastically.

"Wanna kiss my ass?" he shot back.

"Ooh, grumpy today."

"Octavia . . . stop," their mom said. Usually she just let them tear into each other.

"Sorry." Octavia came to the doorway of the laundry room and stood there with her arms crossed, looking at him strangely. For once, it didn't seem like she was going to tease him or taunt him or give him a hard time about anything. That wasn't like his sister.

"Oh, no way," he said, feeling like she was being sympathetic or something. "She told you guys, too?"

"Who told us what?" his mom asked.

"Clarke. She told you I lost my job." Obviously they both knew. That was why they were acting weird.

"No," Octavia said. "I just heard."

"From who?"

"Lincoln."

He nearly threw his hands up in the air. "Lincoln knows?" How the fuck had that guy found out? Was there a memo sent out or something? Was it in the morning paper?

"One of the girls I work with has a boyfriend who works with you," Octavia attempted to explain.

"Worked with me," Bellamy made sure to correct her. "Past tense." Because he was fucking fired now.

"Oh, Bellamy, it's gonna be okay," his mother assured him, coming up behind him to put a hand on his back. "You'll find another job."

"I don't know. Nobody's looking for a gondolier around here," he deadpanned. The long-term jobs he had on his résumé were complete crap. Actually, he didn't even have a résumé, so maybe that was part of the problem. "Mom, I'm gonna—I'm gonna pay you back, too," he promised her. "I just . . . I'm sorry I had to ask you for that, but I needed the money to pay for the ring. But I'm gonna pay you back."

"Don't worry about it," she said.

"No, I will." His mom worked hard for her money, and it wasn't like she was swimming in cash, either. He wasn't just going to take her money and not pay her back. No, he wouldn't do that.

Glancing at his sister, he halfheartedly apologized, "Sorry for bein' a dick, O."

"That's okay," she said as she disappeared back into the laundry room. "I'm used to it."

...

Clarke sat on her bed, distraught as she stared at the silver necklace dangling from her fingers. To me, you are perfect, it read. Bellamy had gotten her that years ago. But it couldn't have been further from the truth, could it? If she was perfect, she would have been someone he could trust all the time, not just some of the time. She would have respected his wish to keep the job and money stuff between them, and she wouldn't have told her dad.

Sometimes she really felt like Bellamy deserved someone better than her.

...

"Okay, smile!"

"Wait a minute," Clarke said, flipping her necklace around. Not that anyone looking at those photos was going to be able to see what it said anyway, but just in case. "Okay, ready," she said then, leaning back against Bellamy, enjoying the feel of his strong arms around her waist. They'd come down to the beach with Raven and Zeke, and Miller, who was proudly proclaiming himself the fifth wheel. Jasper was too young to go to prom, and Monty had two left feet and no date, so it was just the five of them.

"Is this the beach where we . . ." Bellamy trailed off.

"Uh-huh," she said. Technically, it'd been the ocean, but yeah.

"Nice." He must have had a proud smirk on his face. She couldn't see him, but she knew it was there.

Zeke's mom had an old school camera and fancied herself an amateur photographer, so she took tons of pictures. Raven's dad took a lot, too, on his phone, and Aurora had managed to get the night off work so she could get in on the prom action, too. Miller's parents, still adjusting to his coming out, had decided not to tag along, and Clarke felt bad for him. At least both her parents had come and were taking pictures. Her mom was definitely doing it begrudgingly, though, and Clarke was pretty sure she'd crop Bellamy out of all the photos. But her dad snapped more of them, and he seemed genuinely excited for her to be attending her first prom ever.

Mrs. Shaw got them to do all sorts of cool things. She got some of them all holding hands and jumping in the air, some of them running down the beach, trying to look natural despite the fact that they were technically posing, and some of them drawing hearts in the sand. She took photos of just the three guys, then just of Clarke and Raven, and then she got pictures of both the couples. Clarke noticed her mom had completely checked out at that point, but both Aurora and her dad stood over Mrs. Shaw's shoulder, snapping pictures on their phones.

All in all, it was a lot of photography, and Clarke's face sort of hurt from all the smiling afterward. Once they'd lost their lighting and the sun had pretty much set, they all climbed into Bellamy's truck—who needed a limo when you had a truck?—and drove off to the school. Arkadia was too cheap to rent out a nice location for the dance, so they just cleared out the cafeteria, put up some decorations to disguise the usual ugliness, and had it in there. Clarke actually knew exactly what to expect. Since she was on student council, she'd had to help decorate.

On their way, Miller brought up what had been the big topic of conversation at school the past week when he said, "So, Clarke, you ready to get crowned prom queen?"

"No, that's not gonna happen," she said modestly. Although . . . a lot of people in choir had said they were voting for her. And a lot of people had congratulated her for getting nominated.

"Oh, it's gonna happen," Raven declared confidently.

Clarke twisted around and said to her friend, "Well, what about you? You're nominated."

"Yeah, but I'm not gonna win."

"Don't say that, baby," Zeke said, touching the curly tendrils of hair that framed Raven's face. "I'm sure lots of people voted for you."

"And I'm sure lots more voted for Mrs. Bellamy Blake up there," she said, motioning to Clarke. "It's okay. As long as I get to be your queen."

They smiled at each other, started to kiss, and Miller scooted towards the window a bit. "I'm uncomfortable back here," he said.

Clarke cast a glance at the inevitable prom king behind the wheel, just to see if he'd had any reaction to Raven's Mrs. Bellamy Blake comment. He either hadn't heard it, or he'd liked it, because he was just grinning.

Once at the dance, Clarke was so glad she'd listened to Raven's advice on dresses. Raven had been attending prom since she'd been a freshman and knew all about which style of gown to avoid. This year, she'd opted for a flowy maroon dress that she could really move in, and she'd steered Clarke away from mermaid ball gowns because those made even walking difficult. Clarke had gone with a light blue two-piece dress that had an off-the-should top and a flowing skirt. But it didn't have a long train or anything, wasn't something people would step on. Some of the other girls, like Bree, were having a hell of a time. She'd worn a skin-tight sequined thing that required her to waddle around rather than actually walk or dance.

But Clarke danced. She wasn't as strong of a dancer as Raven, but she still let loose out there with her friends, and her boyfriend, who had avoided the spiked punch all in an effort to keep his word about not drinking to her mother. The music wasn't great, but that didn't matter. They were all there together, so everything felt perfect. Fast songs, slow songs . . . she danced to almost all of them. And whenever the boys got tired and tried to go sit down, she and Raven grabbed them and made them stay.

About halfway through the dance, they stopped the music, and Mrs. Sydney got up on stage behind the microphone. "At this time," she said, "we'd like to have all of the prom candidates come up on the stage."

Raven did a quick hair and makeup check, not of herself, but of Clarke. "You're the one who's gonna be in the spotlight," she said. She and Zeke headed up onstage first, and Bellamy took Clarke's hand and escorted her up there. It felt so strange being with all the popular people. Not that she'd ever been unpopular, but . . . getting nominated for prom queen was just surreal. She'd never imagined it would happen, and in fact, she hadn't been one of those girls to fantasize about it growing up. But now that she was here, she had to admit, it was kind of nice.

"Good luck," Bellamy said, his hand slipping from hers as he walked over to the other side of the principal, where all the guys were standing. Clarke fell in line next to Raven and tried not to laugh as Bree struggled to climb up the steps and onto the stage.

Once they were all up there and everyone was paying attention, the principal cleared her throat and said, "Alright, you voted, and now, it's time to crown this year's prom royalty. Without further ado, the runner up and prom prince is . . . Nathan Miller."

There was applause, of course, but some of it was tepid. Unfortunately, not everyone was cool with Miller being gay, even though he'd been gay, unbeknownst to them, his whole life. But Bellamy yelled, "Yeah, man!" and gave his surprised friend a shove forward. And that was like everyone else's cue to clap louder. Miller got a small crown and got behind the microphone long enough to say, "Wow, this is unexpected. Thanks, guys."

People clapped for him some more, and Clarke leaned in towards Raven and whispered, "I'm so glad for him." He'd had a rough month and deserved some recognition for being a good, likeable guy.

"Me, too," Raven agreed.

Mrs. Sydney congratulated Miller, then cleared her throat again and announced, "And your prom king is . . ." She drew it out, as if anyone was in suspense.

"Bellamy!" someone in the audience shouted. And they were followed by someone else, and someone else.

"Bellamy Blake," Mrs. Sydney revealed. "Four years in a row."

The applause was thunderous as Bellamy came up to the podium and accepted his crown, just like he'd probably become accustomed to doing. Where did he put all those crowns anyway? Clarke had never seen them in his room, so maybe he just got rid of them. Or maybe his mom had a special place for them. Clarke could see Aurora caring about them more than Bellamy did.

"Four years in a row. Wow," Bellamy said into the microphone. "I can't help it that I'm popular."

Clarke burst out laughing, as did anyone else who was familiar with the movie Mean Girls. Yep, Bellamy had really just referenced that flick.

Everyone knew the whole prom royalty thing kind of centered on the ladies, though, and Clarke felt her heart start to beat a little faster when Principal Sydney turned to them and smiled. "And now for the girls," she said, and everyone fell silent. Raven reached down and squeezed Clarke's hand excitedly.

I can't believe this is about to happen, Clarke thought, beaming a smile at Bellamy. Last year at this time, she'd been at home studying, looking at other people's prom photos on Instagram whenever she needed a break. Now, she was actually here, and this was actually about to happen.

"In one of the closest votes in school history," Principal Sydney said, "runner up and prom princess . . ." Once again, she drew it out. And then . . . "Clarke Griffin."

A few people gasped in surprise, but most just clapped. And Clarke had to make sure she didn't look too disappointed. Because even though she'd been trying to remain modest about the whole thing, she'd believed the hype, for sure, and she hadn't expected her name to be called for runner-up.

"Yeah!" Bellamy exclaimed. "That's my girl!"

Your girl didn't win prom queen, she thought, feeling oddly . . . disappointed in herself. She went up to the podium, got a small but pretty crown, and said, "Thank you," politely. Getting nominated at all was pretty flattering, and being voted the runner-up was even more so.

That left only one announcement, and it was the big one. "And your prom queen," Mrs. Sydney said, "is Bree Barrett."

There was a mixed response to that one. Some groans of disgust, other wild hollers, and Raven's exaggerated eye roll. Bellamy fake-coughed and said, "Recount!" but Bree must have been oblivious to it all as she waddled up to the podium and accepted a gigantic, sparkly crown. "Oh my god, I told myself I wasn't gonna cry," she said, fanning away fake tears. She practically pushed the principal aside so she could have total control of the mic. "Thank you, everyone. It's so great to know that people love me," she said. "I've always felt like I deserve to be prom queen. From a very young age, I just knew it would happen."

Thankfully, Mrs. Sydney didn't let that go on too long. "Okay, it's time for the royal couple to share their dance," she said.

"I agree," Bellamy said. But instead of holding out his arm for Bree, he came up to Clarke and said, "Come on."

What? she thought, linking her arm with his. This wasn't the tradition. "Bellamy . . ." she said, walking down the steps with him as a romantic, slow song began to play. "I think you're supposed to dance with her."

"I don't want to," he said, and the dance floor cleared out for them. Bree was huffing and puffing up on stage, but when Miller offered to dance with her up there, that seemed to placate her. Zeke and Raven started dancing up there, too, and a few other couples did the same off in the corner or by their tables. But around the dance floor, most of the people just stood in a circle and watched. It was sort of strange and made Clarke feel like an animal in the zoo. But Bellamy just seemed used to it. And why wouldn't he be? Four years in a row and all.

"Look at you," she said, readjusting the crown on his head as they swayed together. "You're a king."

"Yep."

"And I'm a princess." At first, she almost felt like she'd let him down, like she hadn't held up her half of the relationship by being crowned the winner just like he was. But obviously he didn't care about anything like that. And besides, Bree had probably only gotten a lot of votes because she'd . . . well, gotten with a lot of guys.

"Prettiest princess I've ever seen," he said, rubbing her back.

Princess, she thought, smiling. Yeah, she kind of liked it. "Bellamy?" she said, gazing up into his eyes, getting lost in them the way she always did. "This whole year kind of feels like a dream."

He smiled back at her and said, "I know." Her necklace must have turned around again, because he reached down and flipped it over for her, his fingertips linger on her skin before returning to her waist. Everywhere he touched just felt electric.

Everyone else kind of started to fade away, and it felt like just the two of them in her bedroom again, having their own dance with no one else around. Even though it was his fourth year doing this, she knew this one had to be special for him. Because it was special to her, too, and it always would be. Tonight, he got to be a king, and she got to be a princess, and their lives felt like fairytales.

...

Weeping, Clarke pulled open the nightstand drawer and dropped the necklace back inside, shoving it shut. Perfect? Yeah, right. That was a fucking joke, and it always had been.

...

Seeing Octavia on the couch with an open book in her lap was pretty damn miraculous, so Bellamy tried not to bother her when he headed for the door. But of course she looked up from the pages and said, "You're leaving?"

"Yeah. See ya." He put on his jacket and reached for the door, but of course she had to say something to stop him.

"Hey, Bellamy?"

Door halfway open, he turned back around.

"Clarke didn't say anything to me about your job," she told him. "In fact, when I mentioned it to her, she asked me not to tell anyone."

Still pissed off about the whole thing, he grumbled, "That's ironic. Bye." He walked out the door hastily, just not in the mood to socialize. Normally, he would have hung out with his sister for a while, but hell, she'd get more studying done on her own. Maybe.

In the car, Bellamy blasted some angry rock music—very stereotypical, sure, but it fit his mood—and debated whether or not it was worth it to go pick up an application at Burger Hut. He really didn't want to work fast food, but even if they weren't hiring now, they'd probably have a job open up in a week or two. And then, at the very least, they'd have his application on file . . .

He had his music so loud that he barely heard his phone ring. His first thought was to just ignore it, because he didn't feel like talking to anyone, but then he remembered that Mrs. Sydney might be calling him, so he quickly turned off the music, grabbed his phone, and took a look at the screen. Yeah, that was definitely the school's number calling. He'd seen that number on his mom's phone a lot growing up, with teachers and other staff members calling her to report on what trouble he'd gotten into that day.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Bellamy, it's Diana Sydney," his former principal said. "Did I catch you in the middle of anything?"

"Uh, no, I can talk." He gently applied the brake as he approached a red light and waited for her to say . . . something. Hopefully something good.

"Great," she said. "Listen, I just wanted to tell you how great it was to see you yesterday. You're certainly not the same as I remember."

"I take it that's a good thing," he joked.

She laughed a little, but it didn't last long, and then her tone was serious again. "Unfortunately, I can't offer you the job as a para," she said. "I'm sorry."

He hadn't even realized he'd let himself get his hopes up until they came crashing down. He hadn't gotten the job. Fantastic. It'd probably been a long shot, but for some reason, he'd assumed that he'd have the charm and people skills to carry him through an interview and convince her to take a chance on him. But apparently he'd overestimated his abilities. "That's okay," he said, sucking it up. "I get it." She was probably going to hire someone older, farther removed in age from the students, someone with more impressive work experience.

"But," she added, much to his surprise, "there might be another job I could offer you."

Another job? Up at the school? He hadn't seen anything advertised besides . . .

Oh, no. He didn't want that job.

...

Bellamy stayed out the rest of the day after talking to Mrs. Sydney. She'd assured him he could call her Diana now, but that felt too weird, so he was sticking with Mrs. Sydney no matter what name permissions she gave him.

He ended up at Eligius for the second night in a row, by himself, drowning his disappointments. Because he didn't have sorrows, so he couldn't drown those. No, his life could have been a lot worse. He was just bummed that things had gone down the way they had with his construction job, and it wasn't fun knowing his future career options were so limited. Without football, he didn't have any direction in life, so he just had to latch onto whatever came along.

Clarke's boss poured him another drink and warned, "Don't start making a habit out of this."

"What?"

She gave him a stern look. "Drinking alone."

"No, I'm not," he assured her. "My week's just been shit."

"You and half the people in here," she said.

Bellamy looked around. There was a guy sitting a few stools down whose clothes were filthy, so who knew what kind of manual labor he did for work? And there was a middle-aged couple at one of the tables who weren't even talking to each other. It wasn't exactly a happening night at Eligius Bar & Grill. So he fit right in.

"Anything you wanna talk about?" Diyoza asked him

He shook his head. "Not really."

"Well, then maybe you should go home and talk to Clarke," she suggested.

If only it were that simple. Bellamy took a drink, then divulged some stuff to her. "We kinda got into an argument this morning. We don't fight much. And I feel like an ass, 'cause she's pregnant, so the last thing she needs is me gettin' pissed at her."

"Was it even something worth fighting about?" Diyoza questioned.

"I don't know," he said. "I mean, I think I have every right to be upset, but . . . I don't wanna fight with her."

"So don't. Go home and apologize," she advised. "And she'll apologize, too, for whatever she did. And then . . . well, I was gonna say you'll fall into bed and make lots of babies, but . . ."

He managed a little bit of a laugh. Just a little bit.

"Go home, Bellamy," she told him. "Talk to your girlfriend."

Again, she made it sound so simple. And the longer he sat there thinking about it, the more he realized . . . it was that simple. There was really nothing else they could do other than talk it out, work through it, and move on. "Thanks," he said, slapping enough money down on the counter to pay for what he'd drank.

"You good to drive?" she asked him on his way out.

"Yeah." He wasn't drunk or anything, and he was heading straight home. To the girl who loved him.

Clarke's car was in the driveway, but the house was still and quiet when he walked in. "Clarke?" he called. The living room TV wasn't on, and the kitchen looked just as he'd left it that morning. Except the breakfast she'd made for him was in the trash.

He headed upstairs and found the bedroom similarly quiet, but he heard the sink running in the bathroom. When she came out and saw him standing in the doorway, she froze, almost like she hadn't expected him to come home tonight. But it wasn't like he'd ever planned on staying out all night. He'd just needed some space today, and now that he'd gotten it, he'd calmed down.

"Hey, Princess," he said.

Her mouth curved upward just a bit, like she was trying to smile, but she looked too sad to pull it off.

"Can we talk?"

Wordlessly, tearfully, she nodded and went to the bed, sitting down. He moved her huge pillow out of the way so he could sit next to her and started with the big reveal: "So I got a job today."

Her whole face lit up. "What?"

"Yeah. Up at the school."

And her whole face just lit up even more. "You got the para job?" she exclaimed. "Bellamy, that's great."

"Actually," he said, "I'm gonna be a janitor."

The excitement on her face . . . it didn't wane so much as it changed. She realized she'd assumed something that wasn't true, and now she had to act excited for something that was a lesser accomplishment. "Oh. Well—well, that's good, too," she said. Bless her heart, she'd tried, but it was like watching someone open a Christmas gift they didn't really want.

"Wasn't Finn a janitor before he started working at Target?" Bellamy recalled. He was down in the Finn ranks now.

"It doesn't matter," Clarke said.

"No, I guess it doesn't." The world needed janitors, just like it needed doctors and lawyers and professional athletes. "I'll probably get to coach football next year," he said, excited about that prospect, at the very least. "The team kinda sucks without me."

"Yeah, I'm sure." She looked down at her lap, exhaled slowly, and looked like she really had a lot of things she wanted to say to him. She started in with, "Bellamy-" right at the time he said, "Clarke . . ."

They both laughed a little, and he said, "You go."

"No, you," she said.

It'd sort of been in the back of his mind all day, what he'd say to her when he got home. He'd been thinking about it while trying to take a nap at his mom's, while driving out onto the open highway for a while to mull over Mrs. Sydney's offer. He'd thought about it while he'd been sitting at the bar by himself, and he'd thought about it on the drive home. No matter what spiel he came up with in his head, it always started out the same way, with an apology. "I'm sorry I just stormed out this morning," he said. "I should've stayed and talked it out with you. We're not gonna see eye to eye on everything, and when that happens, I need to handle it better." Swallowing his pride, he hesitated for a moment, then said, "And I thought about it, and . . . I do understand why you told your dad. And I am kinda glad he gave you the money." Three-thousand dollars was nothing to scoff at. "You didn't rip up the check, did you?"

"No," she said. "But we don't have to cash it."

"No, we'll cash it." He wasn't such an idiot that he was going to turn down money from a man who had more of it than he knew what to do with. "But I'll pay him back someday. When I can." His mom came first on his ever-lengthening IOU list, because she needed the money more than Jake did. "Anyway . . . that's pretty much it. I'm sorry."

Clarke nodded, but instead of looking happy or relieved, she still looked sad, and tears started to fall from her eyes.

"Oh, no, Clarke, don't—don't cry," he said, trying to wipe some of her tears away for her. "I don't wanna make you cry again."

"It's just . . . I feel awful," she wept. "You were right, Bellamy. You did trust me, and I betrayed your trust. I'm a horrible person."

Well, this had escalated quickly. It had to be the hormones. "Would you stop?" he said, not willing to let her talk about herself that way. "You're the most amazing person I know."

"No, I'm not," she said, shaking her head adamantly. She reached over into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the necklace he'd given her for Christmas all those years ago. "You see this?" she said, dangling it in front of him. "This is a lie. This isn't me. I'm not perfect. I mean, if you even knew . . ."

He snatched the necklace out of her hand and said, "Clarke, look at me."

"No, I can't."

"Look at me." He cupped her cheek with one hand, waiting until she finally lifted her head and met his eyes to continue. "I love you so much," he told her. "And I don't expect you to be perfect."

Her bottom lip quivered, and she sniffed back tears. "I'm so sorry, Bellamy," she apologized. "I'm sorry for everything . . ."

He leaned in, silencing her with a kiss. That was just about enough of this. He wasn't going to let Clarke have a horrible night after what had undoubtedly been a horrible day. It was done and over with, and in the end, it was all okay. He didn't feel betrayed, and she didn't need to feel guilty about it. He loved her just as much as he always had, just as much as he always would.

The kiss deepened, and everything about Clarke just seemed to calm right down. Her tears stopped, her shaky breathing stopped, and Bellamy moved closer to her so he could tangle his hand in her hair. Sometimes he missed her long hair, but this shorter cut suited her, too. He wondered if she missed his clean-shaven face when she reached up to stroke his beard. If she did, she didn't complain.

They probably could have talked some more, but was it really necessary at this point? They'd both said what they needed to say. Out loud, at least. But there were certain things he felt like he could only say by touching her, so one of his hands found its way to the bottom of her shirt, tugging it upward over her stomach. Undressing her while she was pregnant took a little longer than it did when she wasn't, just because it was harder for her to move around and to help him. But he was patient, and watching every inch of her exquisite body come into view was a pleasure all on its own.

He took his clothes off, too, wishing so badly that he could just lie down on top of her and make love to her. Because that was what they were doing. There was a difference between this, this slow and sensual thing, and just fucking. Neither one was really better than the other, but right now, this was what they both needed.

Positions were definitely limited, but after he'd worked her up with his fingers for a few minutes, he curled up behind her on his side, gently urging her legs apart with his knee. He grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and put it down in between her legs to keep the one slightly elevated and slowly slid inside her, pushing as deep as he could go, trying to lose himself in her. She moaned, of course, threw her head back against his shoulder, and whispered his name.

He concentrated everything on her as he began to move. The pace and depth of his thrusts, the placement of his arms, one beneath her head and the other draped over her belly. He pressed kisses to the back of her neck and breathed hotly against her skin. And then, when she wasn't expecting it, when she was so wrapped up in the physical sensations of all of this that she probably didn't even realize he was doing it, he picked up the necklace off the bed, the one he'd taken from her and forgotten about in the midst of undressing. Somehow, he managed to unclasp it and hook it around her neck without stopping what he was doing, without ever letting up on making love to her. Maybe she didn't feel like she deserved to wear it anymore, but she did. She was still perfect to him.