I almost posted this early, because I'm back home and bored...don't get your hopes up, but I might start posting chapters every five or so days...hmm, we'll see!
Shout out to all my lovely reviewers: CheriEstella, heidi1245401, Vicky Tzalachani, shaemysterious, foxcharin, and Nessie2000
I've also decided that at the beginning of each chapter I'll start writing 'x-many years after start of project' to help ground y'all where we are, since now we're starting to see one or two events per year going to happen.
Four Years After Start of Project
He was fourteen and she was nine the night he received one of the best gifts from them. He often told Clarke all the stories and histories he'd told Octavia. It was really cool to be able to tell them twice, to a person who didn't complain she'd heard them all already. And Clarke always seemed to focus on his words, trying to memorize it. She was always curious where he knew it from, and he brought the singular book that held a couple of myths he owned, and explained the rest his mom taught him.
It was his fourteenth birthday, although he was already surprised Clarke and her family remembered, and Clarke was hiding something from behind her back when the two settled onto the couch after dinner to watch a soccer game or play chess.
"Happy birthday." She said, thrusting a gift into his lap. He picked it up. It was a battered copy, but still a fully copy (as far as he could tell) of Ovid's Metamorphosis. He'd heard his mother describe the book, but to her knowledge, all copies had been destroyed. If anyone were to ever want the metaphorical goldmine of myths, this was it. He'd been asking around about it for years, but everyone either had no idea what he was talking about, or told him it hadn't survived.
"Where did you...how...I..." He clutched the book, staring between it and Clarke with wide eyes.
"Sarah Helm." Clarke said, naming a girl in their after-school group, "She can find anything on the Ark, you know." He hadn't known that, but obviously it was true, "I asked her about it a couple months ago. I'm glad she found it in time for your birthday."
"It must have cost a fortune." His head hung a little. Books were expensive, because few could own them. He would never have enough money to repay the favor to Clarke. The obvious gap in their financial lives were oh-so-clear in moments like this, and remembered where he was and, more importantly, who he was, especially in comparison to her.
"Bell, don't even think of the money. We wanted to." She looked at her mom and dad, who were hiding to see his reaction, "I mean, you're my other best friend, besides Wells."
"Really?" He asked, tilting his head. She seemed quite chummy with everyone she met. And they wouldn't have ever become friends if their parents hadn't set them up with whatever their goal was. Then again, perhaps her and Wells would have nothing to talk about if either of them were born outside the Alpha station. But still, to hear that she considered him a best friend was...an interesting development.
"Of course." She said, but offered no further explanation. Clarke's parents were grinning ear to ear, and he wasn't sure if it was the present or something else.
When he returned home, his mother was waiting for him.
"Happy birthday, baby." She said, kissing his head, "I'm sorry I couldn't get you a piece of cake this year." She said apologetically.
"S'fine." He murmured, "I had some at Clarke's."
An emotion flitted across his mother's face, one he couldn't quite place. On one hand, maybe she was pleased he had someone to give him what they couldn't afford, but he knew it must be killing her that she was incapable of providing things like that. She had her pride, and pride was hard to let go of.
Octavia picked the book from his jacket before he could stop her. Her hands were like a bandit; in fact he didn't even realize she'd taken it until she had it in her hands.
"Another book Clarke borrowed to you?"
"No, actually, it was my birthday gift. She gave it to me. She had one of our friends track the copy down." He said, and blushed a bit.
"So she took the effort to find it, it's not just a book she already owned?" His mother said, but he didn't know why this was something really significant.
"Yes?"
Both his mother and sister stopped what they were doing, and gave him wide cheesy grins that reminded him of the look Clarke's parents had given him.
"What?" He asked in confusion. Living with two women was never easy.
"Oh, nothing." His mother said, turning back to where she was sewing something, "Right, Octavia?"
"Yep. Nothing at all Bellamy." Octavia agreed, but her tone told him it was anything but.
"Give me that." He said, snatching it back, "Be careful with it, alright? You have to ask me before you use it. Not just that you 'forgot', really, ask me before you touch it again."
"Because it's from Clarke?" She said with that same grin.
"Because it was a gift." He said, trying to understand her look, "And I mean, yeah, because Clarke gave it to me."
For once in her life, Octavia hardly put up a fight. Usually anything that was his was automatically hers as well, but today she put up her hands.
"If that's what you want." She went back to where she was practicing sewing on some scraps of fabric, in the middle of making clothes for her doll.
"I do." Bellamy said, still studying her. It was not in her nature to just give up on something, even if she hated whatever she was fighting for. Bellamy didn't think this book would be up her style, but it was Octavia he was talking about. Her simple shrug about the matter unnerved him.
He decided not to think about it too much, or about the smiles his family gave him. Girls were weird, and he could spend his whole life trying to depicter their language, but at what gain? Instead, as he began to read each word carefully to fully appreciate his gift, he had made up his mind he had to one-up this gift. He had to find something better for Clarke's birthday.
Bellamy found Sarah the next day, in section. Although the girl was his age, and half his size, she had an air that terrified most people. Something about her laser gaze made her seem unapproachable, hardcore. She sat on a desk taking with Tom Haggard and Hendrick Horn, the two boys doing some homework, while she was preoccupied with something else.
As Bellamy approached, he saw she was stabbing herself with a little needle with something dark on it over and over methodically.
"What are you doing?" He asked, frowning.
"Tattooing myself." She said, thrusting her arm to Bellamy for him to see the start of an outline but he couldn't tell of what, "What did you think I was doing?"
Bellamy wouldn't have even been able to take a guess. He sort of knew what a tattoo was, and he also knew not many people had it. Not only was it frivolous, but also it was an infection hazard. While it wasn't necessarily illegal, it wasn't popular among most of the Ark citizens.
"Doesn't that hurt?" He asked, watching as beads of blood popped up as she tapped her skin with the needle. She gave a casual shrug.
"It's worth it." She put the needle down on the table, wiping away the excess ink and blood with a rag, holding her wrist to the light to see the progress, "Sup?"
"Oh, well, Clarke told me you got a book for her to give to me-," He began, and Sarah's eyes snapped to his.
"That book took me ages to find, Blake. If you don't bloody appreciate that I swear to the moon-,"
"No! I love it." He said, shaking his head, "I wanted to see if you couldn't find something for Clarke's birthday."
"Oh." Sarah relaxed, leaning back against the wall of the room.
"A journal, or I don't know, something she can draw on. She likes to do that." Although Clarke was only 9, Bellamy could already see she had artistic skills beyond that of a usual child.
"Journal, ouch. That might be tougher than a book." Sarah rubbed her chin. While books were kept upon the Ark, and mostly just passed hand-to-hand, when a journal was filled it was basically useless. It was an antiquated system of recording; most of the things done upon the Ark were done on a computer. Nevertheless, Bellamy was sure there had to be something floating around.
"I don't have a lot of money." He felt his cheeks blush red, "Not like Clarke's family had…" He admitted. He didn't want to get his hopes up and then have Sarah tell him she needed money they didn't own.
"Sarah, his mom's a seamstress!" Tom said, and a glance about something Bellamy didn't understand passed between the three, "Right?"
"The best." Bellamy said quickly. Sarah nodded softly.
"I think we'll be able to work something out then, Blake. Come with me to my place after this. I'll tell you what I want done." She said.
"Thanks." Bellamy breathed a sigh of relief, "So, uh, how did you find this?" He asked, taking his book from his bag.
"If I told you, I'd be out of business." Sarah said, chuckling. Bellamy nodded, returning to where Clarke sat.
"What was that about?" She questioned.
"Just thanking her for finding this." Bellamy said, setting the book on the table.
After section, he bid goodbye to his friends, following Sarah to her house in the Geo-Sci Station. It was second in luxury to the Alpha station, and not far from where Clarke lived. A lot of the most important workings of the Ark happened here, including meetings with the chancellor, and he felt a little self-conscious being here. He'd gotten used to the way Clarke's station felt, but this place felt so much less welcoming.
Sarah's house was only a smidgen smaller than Clarke's, although with far less items scattered about. He felt unsure, rocking on his heels in the doorway.
Sarah returned with a box of things, and opened it on her kitchen table. Beautiful scraps of clothing fell onto the hard wood, along with an assortment of mismatched beads in an old tin.
"You know Zahira, right?" Sarah asked.
"Of course." Bellamy said, a little offended. Zahira was another person in their after school class, and by this point, he knew everyone. He could even rattle off a few identifying qualities about each one, if someone asked him too. Sarah looked like she didn't believe him, so he sighed and said, "She's the vegetarian and the neat freak."
"Well, if you gotta be like that." Sarah huffed, but nodded, "Anyway, she's my best friend and she's from Power Station, you know?"
Power station was situated right in the middle of the hierarchy of the stations. It wasn't well off, but it wasn't good of either. It was just…there. The kids there got one and a half to two square meals a day, and sometimes had three to four pairs of outfits.
"Okay…?"
"Well, her family still does quinceaneras and she's my best friend. They were just going to re-use her mom's old dress but that one's pretty ugly and I've been saving this fabric and stuff for a special occasion and she should get her own dress. I found a needle to sew it myself, but I'm no good. If your mom makes her a beautiful dress, I'll find you that journal." She said, "You look surprised." She observed.
"I just…" Bellamy looked down, a little ashamed.
"You thought I was going to ask for something for myself, huh? That us upper-level people were snooty and arrogant and greedy? I thought you were better than that Bell, what with you and your little Alpha Princess."
"Don't call me Bell." He muttered, for only special people called him that. Then, a second later, realizing what she'd also said, felt his face grow hot, "And she's not my princess."
"Right. We have a deal?" Sarah didn't seem to care either way what he thought of Clarke. Sighing, he looked at the assortment of fabric.
"When is the party?"
"In two months, but I'd like to give it to her in like a month and a half."
Bellamy looked at the box she was handing to him. His mom was plenty busy as it was, he wasn't sure she had time to make a princess dress in that much time, but it was for Clarke. He'd help sew or help make ends meet somehow if he had to, but he'd hate himself if he didn't try to find Clarke the best birthday present ever.
"Okay." He agreed, taking the box, "I'll ask her."
He arrived home, and Octavia nearly tackled him.
"Is that from Clarke? What's that?" She asked, grabbing a strand of taffeta from the box. Bellamy snatched it back. Often, he came home from Clarke's with something new; a book neither of them had ever seen, extra food, a shirt Clarke no longer and was far past useful wore but knew his mother could use the extra fabric for. A lot of the time, he let Octavia take it if it was a gift, or read the book first. He felt it was only fair.
"You're late, Bellamy." His mother frowned, "You know you need to tell me if you make plans. Not that I mind, I jut want to know."
"I'm sorry." He ducked his head, "And no, it's not from Clarke." He set the box down on their cluttered table, and Octavia looked on with big eyes. His mother set aside the guard's uniform she was mending, raising an eyebrow.
"Mom…do you think you could maybe make a Quinceanera dress from the stuff here?" He asked quietly. He looked behind and saw his mom had a stack of things to mend or make nearly spilling off her bed. It was a long shot. His mom began to shift through the things.
"Theoretically, yes. These are high-class things. But Bellamy," She gave a long sigh, and he just knew she was going to say no.
"It's for Clarke." He blurted quickly, before she could tell him something he didn't want to hear, "Not exactly." He quickly told the deal Sarah had made with him.
"I feel bad. I have to get her something as nice as this." He picked up his copy of his new favorite book from his bed, "I don't know how else to get anything."
"For Clarke, of course I have the time." His mother's mood changed instantly, "I can make it work."
"Look, you don't have to say that." Bellamy felt guilty, and rubbed the back of his neck, "I can figure something else-,"
"No." His mom grabbed his wrists, "I will have time. It's just going to take some careful planning, but I will make the dress."
"If you're sure…"
"I am. You're right, Clarke deserves it something nice, and you should give it to her." Her smile was warm, but also held something familiar he'd grown used to after four years, but he didn't know what it was. It was an odd hope in her smile, a promise of something he didn't understand.
But he ignored it, because it might be some stupid girly thing anyway.
A month later, two weeks early, Bellamy smuggled a beautifully crafted dress to Sarah's house. She nodded with warmth when she saw it, and gave it to Zahira during section that day. Zahira cried so hard that she couldn't even find the words to thank her friend and everyone insisted she try it on.
"Your mom made that." Clarke observed when she twirled about the room, "I know the sorts of things she makes."
"She did." Bellamy said, looking at her.
Clarke's face broke into a relaxed smile, "It's so wonderful. I hope one day I could own something as beautiful as that."
Bellamy had a feeling if she ever asked his mom, she wouldn't hesitate to make her something too.
Within three days, Sarah had found him a mostly unused journal, still with a handful of clean pages. As an extra thank you, she also managed to find some stubs of colored pencils.
"I've never seen my friend so happy." Sarah said, although Bellamy wasn't sure why she was inviting him into her thoughts, but he found more and more people telling him things lately, "You did good, Blake."
On Clarke's birthday, his gift was the star of the party. She insisted that he sit down and let her draw him in the first page. He objected a lot, because in his mind there were so many better things to draw than his face, but Clarke was extremely firm about it and made him sit for a whole two hours while she painstakingly sketched his profile.
Clarke was the type of person to draw with or on anything, he had realized. And she did, often. Whatever she could sketch a faint outline on, she'd do. She only used the journal he gave her on rare occasions for her best work. She pulled it out sparingly, perhaps once a year, and it was always a masterpiece.
As the years wore on, he was always ridiculously proud that he was the one to give her such an important item in her life. Whenever she pulled it out, a picture already formed in her mind, he would notice she would look his way if they were in the same room (they usually were) and he was happy she thought of him when she took it out.
But he wouldn't know any of that now, not as he finally heard Clarke announce she was done and he got to look at his portrait. She was only nine, and she wasn't a savant by any means, but he could tell there was artistic talent within her so strong and natural. He was thirteen and he might be able to draw a half-decent stick figure, if he was in the right mood. Clarke, though, was on a whole other level.
As much as her drawing improved, and she drew other faces of important people that all progressed with her skill, he liked his portrait was from when they were both so young. It was when they were both innocent, ignorant of the future, bright-eyed and no inclination of anything that was to happen after this day. He always looked back on that portrait when he thought Clarke wasn't paying attention, and he smiled.
That was the day, that he would later reminisce, he really began to like her in all the important sort of ways. The day she drew him with her little stubs, lip caught between her teeth, nose crunched, and eyes so bright and seemed so perfectly happy to be drawing Bellamy Blake, acknowledging him in a way no one ever had before, and no one ever could the way she did.
DAWWW AREN'T THEY JUST THE MOST ADORBS?!
Btw, if anyone wants me to make a photo album somewhere of what all the OCs look like, comment in your review! I have face claims for all of them, but I suppose I'll only post it if you're really interested in knowing.
Remember to review, lovlies!
