AN: Judging by the response on the last chapter, I should do cliffhangers more often ;) Just kidding, but thanks to everyone who read and to those of you who reviewed, it always makes my day when I get one
As always, I don't own anything relating to The 100
Thanks to my beta Liz for her help with the chapter :)
Chapter title from "Fix You" by Coldplay
4
If You Never Try You'll Never Know
268. Bellamy's Number is 268.
He has less than nine months to live.
The look on Clarke's face must reflect the shock she's feeling, because Bellamy frowns at her, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.
"What's wrong?"
This was a bad idea. She knew that all along, she just didn't know how bad of an idea it actually was. She couldn't even imagine this…
She has to get out of here. Has to put some space between them, has to think so she can make a rational decision, and she can't do that when he's looking at her like that.
She puts on a smile that she hopes he'll buy. "Nothing, I just realized that it's getting pretty late and I have a shift at the library at ten tomorrow."
It's not true, she doesn't have anything tomorrow until two in the afternoon, and even that's a Transfer. But she can't tell him the truth.
He still doesn't look convinced, so she reaches up to give him a quick kiss, pulling back when she feels his hand sneak around her waist again.
"I really do have to go," she says, trying to sound reluctant and not like she can't get away from him fast enough.
He sighs. "Fine, I can take a hint."
He doesn't sound too upset, though, just a little disappointed, so it seems like he's buying her excuse and not thinking he's getting ditched all together. Hoping that he won't remember that they haven't exchanged numbers, Clarke quickly pulls her keys out of her purse and moves to the door.
"I'll call you, OK?" she says, shooting him a smile before unlocking the door and slipping inside.
The door closes before he can say anything else, but she can still feel his eyes on her as she crosses the lobby. They burn into her back, and she has to force herself to not turn around. Thankfully, the elevator is already waiting and she slumps back against the wall when the stainless steel doors close.
Damn it! As the elevator shoots upwards, she bangs her fists against the wall and squeezes her eyes shut, trying to keep the tears gathering there from falling.
She knew it was a bad idea to let him in right from the start, even when all she had to worry about was that he was a Norm who would eventually grow old and die. But this…
She'll just have to stay away from him from now on, she decides. It can't be that hard, New York is a big city. She can totally do that. She hopes.
The elevator doors open with a ding and she trudges down the hallway to her apartment, feeling like every limb weighs about a ton. She unlocks the door with sluggish motions, drops her purse and coat on the floor just inside, kicks her boots off and continues straight into the bedroom where she flops face first onto the bed.
When she feels the pillow getting wet against her cheeks, she realizes that the tears she was fighting to hold back have escaped anyway, and rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling instead. She hasn't bothered to turn the lights on, so she can just make it out in the faint light coming from the street lamps outside.
A soft thud announces Bastet's presence, and soon the cat pads onto Clarke's chest, turning once, twice and plopping down facing her. She blinks slowly, her bright green eyes only a few inches away.
Clarke reaches up to scratch her behind the ears and she immediately starts purring.
"I still have you, Bas, huh?" she murmurs, using her free hand to wipe away the tears.
And for so long, that's been enough. Bas, her friends, the occasional one night stand or short fling when she started feeling a little lonely, it's been all she's needed.
But now she knows that there's something, someone, more out there, and she's not sure she can let that go. Even if she knows it won't be her decision in the end.
She apparently falls asleep at some point, because the next time she cracks her eyes open, grey light is streaming in through the windows.
Bastet has moved off her chest and curled up on the pillow on the other side of the bed, her little purring snores a comforting presence in the room.
Clarke pushes herself into a sitting position, blinking to get her eyes open properly despite the dried-in mascara. She knows, without even glancing at the mirror, that she must look like a raccoon, so she just strips off her clothes, tosses them in the hamper on her way to the bathroom, and steps into the shower.
She feels marginally better when she emerges fifteen minutes later and wraps herself in her fluffy robe before venturing out from the bedroom.
She's not particularly hungry, but she knows she hasn't eaten anything in over twelve hours, so she opens the fridge to see what might be on offer.
Not much, as it turns out. She really needs to go grocery shopping… She pours a glass of orange juice and toasts two slices of bread which she spreads some Nutella on before bringing everything into the living room.
A glance at the clock on the wall tells her that it's after eleven in the morning. She's not sure exactly when she got home, but she must have slept for eight hours or so. She really should feel more rested than she does…
A noise from the hallway makes her pause with the last piece of toast halfway to her mouth. It takes her a moment longer than it probably should to realize that it's her phone, ringing in her purse where she left it last night.
Shit, Raven. She'd promised to let her know that she got home OK, but it had completely slipped her mind.
Not that she had been exactly OK when she got home, but still…
She stuffs the rest of the toast into her mouth and hurries into the hallway where she digs around her purse and finally finds her phone.
"I am so sorry!" she answers after swallowing down the last of her breakfast.
"I hope you realize that there is only one acceptable reason for ignoring my texts last night and my calls this morning," Raven says. "And that is that you dragged your delivery guy home and have spent all night getting good and laid."
The reminder makes Clarke wince.
"No, just slipped my mind," she says as she returns to the living room, flopping down on the couch.
"What's wrong?"
Damn it, how can she tell just from those five little words?
"268."
The line is quiet for a long moment.
"Fuck."
It's pretty much the reaction Clarke had been expecting but she still feels her stomach drop and realizes that part of her had been hoping that Raven would offer a solution, even if she knows that there isn't one.
"Yeah," she agrees.
"What are you going to do?"
"Avoid him, I guess. I mean, what else can I do? He doesn't have my phone number… unless you or Zeke gave it to him?" The thought makes her stomach turn. Yes, she might be able to handle staying away from Bellamy if she doesn't have to see him or talk to him again, but she's pretty sure that resolve would crumble if he called her or if she ran into him. But really, what are the odds of that happening again in a city the size of New York? Twice is already unlikely.
"Of course not, and I'll tell Zeke not to give it to him if he or Miller asks, either, if that's really what you want," Raven assures her. "Just… are you OK?"
"No." Clarke feels tears rise in her eyes again and squeezes them shut. "But I will be, I just need some distance."
"If you say so." Raven's doubtful voice doesn't exactly improve her own faith in that. "I'm here if you need me. To eat your feelings or get wasted… or, you know, talk."
"I know, but I think it's better to just get a clean break," Clarke says. "You know, not talk about him, try to get him out of my head."
"Whatever you need, babe."
"Thanks, Rae. OK, I've got to go, I have a Transfer in a couple of hours and I need to pull myself together before that."
"OK, call if you need me. Love you."
"Love you too."
-100-
Clarke can't really throw herself into work to keep herself occupied – she's assigned Transfers on a predetermined basis which she can't affect herself, all she can do is activate the unavailable status in the app, in which case she won't get any at all, or change the areas she's willing to work in, but even that wouldn't really give her more to do, it just might mean she'd have to travel more for her Transfers, and more time on public transportation isn't really what she needs. She doesn't want to take on extra library shifts only to have to cancel if she ends up double booked either, so instead, she dives head first into her art. She stops at her favorite art supply store on her way home from her Transfer the day after Halloween to stock up on canvases, a new sketch pad and some oils and charcoals.
She sometimes takes commissions through her Etsy store, and she has one of those waiting, so she starts with that. This one happens to be one of her favorite types of work, just a basic request – I want something that captures the feeling of the beach – and a couple of color preferences, no strict instructions or photos for her to turn into drawings or paintings.
She finishes the commission in a couple of days and sends it off, and then she just starts painting as an outlet.
Her canvases are angry, vicious slashes of red, black and other dark, murky colors. Her strokes are so violent she almost slices holes in the material more than once as she pours all her sadness, disappointment and anger at the universe into them.
She's never sold anything so quickly in her store as these paintings. She supposes a lot of people can relate, she's not the only one mad at the world.
Her sketchbook, which she only gets out late at night when she's curled up in bed or on the couch, looking out over the twinkling lights beyond her windows, is a whole other story. It's filled with page after page of Bellamy. A snapshot of the day they met, his eyebrows raised under the baseball cap and a smirk pulling one corner of his mouth up. His hand wrapped around her wrist, freckles dotting his skin, even though she's not sure he has freckles on his hands. Close ups of his eyes, mouth, nose… A full body drawing of him at Halloween, in that stupid football uniform with the helmet on his head. His hands reaching up against the sky, pointing out stars to her.
On the last page, she does a more in detail portrait. She works on it for days, getting every little aspect just right – the angles of his jaw and cheek bones, the slightly raised eyebrow, every single freckle sprinkled over his face… The only time she's ever seen him without something covering his hair was when he took the helmet off for their kiss, and at the time she had been much too focused on his Number to be able to note anything else, but she still tries to capture his hair. She remembers that the strands sticking out from under his baseball cap were dark, almost black, and curled a little at the end, so she draws him with unruly, dark curls. She leaves his forehead blank, doesn't want to be reminded of the reason she can't see him, because God, does she want to. Not seeing him, not talking to him or about him has done nothing to alleviate the intense feeling deep inside her that this is wrong. That something crucial is missing from her life, and it's her own fault.
When she's not working or painting, she takes Raven and her other friends up on every offer of going out, even going so far as to pick up people on the dance floor or at the bar at whatever establishment they end up at. She manages to push the thoughts about how they're too tall or too short, too soft or too rough, too different away for at least a little while, but she always finds an excuse not to leave with anyone, backing out at the last minute when something inside her starts screaming that this is all wrong!
On Saturday morning two weeks after Halloween, Clarke is woken up by banging on her door – much too early, in her opinion. She was out with Jasper, Maya, Monty and Harper last night and honestly can't remember when she got home. Her head is pounding, so she must have gotten way too drunk – her body's ability to recover from anything much quicker than normal people's usually means she doesn't get hungover, but apparently today is an exception.
She considers ignoring whoever's at the door, but she has a sneaking feeling that it's Raven, and she knows that out of the two of them, she'll be the one to cave first. Besides, Raven has a key for 'emergencies', and with the way she's banging on the door, if Clarke doesn't open, she might just decide that this qualifies.
Grumbling, Clarke gets up and pulls an oversize sweatshirt over her head before following the incessant knocking to her front door.
Just as she suspected, when she opens it she finds Raven, arms crossed over her chest.
"OK, this has got to stop," she announces, pushing past Clarke into the apartment.
"Good morning, Raven, how are you? Come on in, I was just going to make some coffee to get my head to stop pounding, would you like some?" Clarke says drily as she closes the door and follows her friend into the living room.
Raven stops in the middle of the room and waits until Clarke has taken a seat on the couch before she continues.
"Look, I get that you're trying to deal with this crappy situation, but I refuse to just stand by and watch you make yourself even more miserable than you already are."
"I'm fine," Clarke argues half-heartedly because, really, she's not.
Raven snorts. "Is that what you call going out every other night to get drunk and hook up with random people in seedy bars?"
"The Dead Rabbit's a seedy bar now, is it?" Clarke questions.
"That is not the point and you know it."
Clarke rolls her eyes. "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Isn't that what you said after you and Wick broke up?"
It's a bit of a low blow, and she knows it, but Raven takes it in stride.
"And I stand by that. But you're not, are you? Getting over or getting under."
Of course Raven has her all figured out. Clarke averts her eyes, focusing on a loose thread in the cuff of her sweatshirt.
"I'm trying, OK?" she says after a moment, and even she can hear how small her voice sounds.
Raven sighs and sits down on the coffee table in front of the couch, forcing Clarke to look at her.
"Just tell me this," she asks. "You're clearly already miserable. Would it really be that much worse if you just…"
"If I what?" Clarke interrupts. "Let myself fall for him, get eight amazing months and then watch him die? Yes, Raven, I'm pretty sure that would be worse."
Raven's quiet for a long moment. "I hate to break it to you…" she then starts, "but you've already fallen for him. That much was blatantly obvious on Halloween. You're just in denial."
She's right, of course, except about the denial part. Clarke is very well aware of her feelings, she's just working really hard to push them down.
"It doesn't matter," she insists, shaking her head. "It's just a crush at this point, I'll get over it."
"God, you're so stubborn!" Raven exclaims, rising to her feet and starting to pace around the room. "Look, I get that it would be hard for you when he… I get that, OK? Trust me. But maybe…"
"If you say that it's better to have loved and lost, I swear, I will kick you out," Clarke cuts her off.
Raven runs a hand through her hair in frustration. "Please, babe, just listen to me for a moment, OK?"
Clarke nods reluctantly.
"You were there after I lost Finn, you remember what that was like for me," her friend starts, voice softer.
Of course Clarke remembers that. They had known it was coming, obviously, so Clarke had requested to be stationed in Boston, where Finn and Raven were living at the time.
She hadn't been there when it happened, Raven had wanted to be alone with Finn at the end, but she had been there after, holding Raven as she cried for days. Coaxing her into eating something, sleeping, eventually leaving the house. Helping her get back on her feet, eventually.
She remembers thinking that she never wanted to experience anything like it, which might, if she's honest with herself, be one of the reasons behind her no Norms policy.
"But did I ever, even once, say that I regretted it?"
She can't say yes to that question, because Raven never actually did. Clarke had just assumed that she must have… but then again, she hadn't hesitated when she met Wick half a century later.
"That's because I didn't," Raven continues. "I never regretted loving him, being with him, not even when his death almost broke me. Because that's life, babe. I know it might not seem like it considering we're eternally young and basically immortal, but real life is fleeting. And most people don't even realize when it's about to end."
The room is quiet for a long moment. After a while, Raven sits down next to Clarke on the couch, reaching out to take her hand. Bas jumps up on the armrest on her other side, rubbing her head against her arm as if she, too, is trying to be a comforting presence.
"It's not the same," Clarke finally says, voice rough with unshed tears. "You and Finn had forty years together, of course that would be worth it. Bellamy and me… we wouldn't even get a year."
"I know," Raven admits. "But still… just think about it, please? I can't stand seeing you like this."
Clarke nods slowly. "I will."
"Promise?" Raven pushes. "You know I won't just let this go."
"Promise."
"OK!" Raven claps her hands together and gets up from the couch. "I have done what I came to do, and I have a Transfer in half an hour, so I've got to go."
Clarke walks her to the door, leaning against the wall as her friend stuffs her feet into her boots and puts on her coat.
"And just…" Raven pauses, biting her lip as if not completely sure she should say whatever it is she's about to say. "Just remember that you're not the only one this concerns."
"What do you mean?"
Raven sighs. "He's miserable too, OK?"
Clarke's stomach immediately plummets. She's been so focused on keeping herself busy over the last two and a half weeks, on not thinking about Bellamy, that Raven's words feel like knives twisting in an open wound. She can make herself miserable if it means avoiding even worse pain in the end, but making him miserable… the thought makes her entire being revolt.
"How… how do you know that?" she asks, voice shaky. "Did you…"
"I haven't seen him," Raven answers the unfinished question. "He asked Miller to talk to Zeke about you, but Zeke just said that he couldn't give him your number without asking you first, and that you were still getting over a bad breakup so he didn't know if you'd want to get into something new right now."
Good excuse, Clarke notes absentmindedly. Not the truth, but then again, it's not like that's an option.
"He hasn't said anything since, but according to Miller, he's in a constant bad mood, Miller complains to Zeke every day at work that it's like living with Oscar the Grouch."
Raven is trying to make light by joking, but Clarke just feels worse. It honestly hadn't even occurred to her that their meeting affected Bellamy as much as it did her and that her doing what she thought was best for her and staying away from him would make things worse for him too.
He deserves better than that. What right does she have to make his life miserable, especially when he has so little of it left?
"So try to really think about this, OK?" Raven continues. "From all perspectives."
Clarke just nods, and with a quick hug, Raven's gone.
She returns to the living room in a daze, almost sitting on Bastet, who's stretched out on the couch in her absence.
"Sorry, Bas," she apologizes but the cat just gives her an offended look and struts off to her favorite spot by the large windows, where the sun has warmed the floor.
She is going to think about this, she definitely is. But right now, she's hung over, her head is pounding and she feels slightly sick – though that part is probably more from the conversation with Raven than her hangover – and basically everything hurts.
So she gives herself a day. She doesn't have a Transfer today, and no work scheduled until five in the afternoon, so she's going to veg out on the couch until she has to leave, eating all the ice cream in her freezer and binging Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
And then, tomorrow, when she's feeling like herself again, she is going to sit down and look at the situation from all angles and make a decision about how to move forward.
She knows, somewhere deep down, that the conviction that she's been doing the right thing has already crumbled. But she pushes that thought away for now and lives in denial for a little longer.
-100-
She has every intention of going home after her shift at the library the next day and making a decision about the Bellamy situation. And yes, she is about 99 percent sure that the decision will be to try to get in touch with him to at least assess the situation. It is possible that Raven was exaggerating to get her to do something, or Miller might have been blowing the situation out of proportion when he was complaining to Zeke. Or, a tiny voice somewhere in the back of her mind says, Bellamy might have decided that he's not that interested in her and moved on. It is the normal reaction to rejection, after all.
The thought makes her stomach twist.
In the end, though, she doesn't get a chance to think the situation through, because half-way through the story she's reading for the group of four-year-olds gathered around her, she spots him between the stacks.
Their eyes meet across the room and Clarke trips over her words, her heart racing in her chest. She looks away resolutely, focusing on the book in her hands. He will just have to wait, she's in the middle of Sunday Storytime right now.
She manages to focus on the book, at least well enough that the kids don't notice anything. By the time she's hugged the last of them goodbye and waved them off with their parents, Bellamy's gone.
She should probably be relieved – she's had no time at all to really gather her thoughts and decide on a course of action since Raven's intervention yesterday morning – but instead, she feels a surge of disappointment.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket and sends a quick text to Raven.
Did you tell B I would be at the
library today?
Raven must have had her phone in her hand, because the little speech bubble indicating that she's typing pops up almost immediately.
"You're quite the story teller, Miss Griffin."
The deep voice coming from behind her almost makes her drop the phone, and in an instant, her heartrate picks up while the butterflies in her stomach that had started flapping their wings wildly when she thought he had left finally calm down.
"I thought you'd left," she admits as she turns around, getting a raised eyebrow in return. It draws her eyes to his Number – 251. She forces her eyes back to his.
"No, that's your specialty," he replies drily.
Clarke looks down, busying herself with closing down her message app and putting her phone away for a little longer than is strictly necessary, ignoring the buzz that announces the arrival of Raven's response. "I am so sorry about that," she apologizes. "I just… I don't know, everything was just moving a little too fast for me."
He doesn't respond for a moment, but she can feel his eyes on her.
"It's OK, I get it," he finally says, and she looks up again. There's a half-smile on his face, a little sad around the edges, she thinks, and his eyes are soft. "Zeke explained that you got out of a relationship recently. Just… tell me it wasn't just me? There was… there is something here, right?"
She can't do anything but nod quietly, Bellamy's eyes piercing as he watches her silently.
A loud thump makes Clarke jump and look around, remembering that they are still, in fact, at the library – the noise was a little girl trying to reach a book on the top shelf a few rows over and instead knocking it to the floor.
"Listen…" She turns back around just as Bellamy drops his eyes and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "It's almost time for lunch, do you want to get something to eat?" he asks, eyes fixed on the floor between them.
Clarke realizes that he's preparing to be shut down.
She has a Transfer in the East Village at four, but it's only half past twelve, so she has plenty of time before she needs to take the train over to Manhattan.
"I'd like that," she replies, smiling when Bellamy quickly looks up at her again, a slightly surprised but happy expression on his face. "There's a place just around the corner from here with the best brunch in Brooklyn, maybe New York, that you can get until four on weekends… and if you're really set on actual lunch, they do great sandwiches too."
He gives her a smile that's so bright it's almost blinding.
"Lead the way."