Happy 2020 guys! Hope your year has gotten off to a good start... Thanks to everyone who read the last chapter, I hope you liked it and the story so far
I don't own anything relating to The 100, as always, and also as always - a big thanks to my wonderful beta Liz!
Chapter title from "Here Comes the Rain Again" by Eurythmics
6
I Want to Dive into Your Ocean
Margaret has lived a happy life, as far as Clarke can tell from her memories. Most of them are tinged with joy – bright summer days from her childhood, meeting her husband, her wedding, the birth of her children, Christmases and birthdays and anniversaries, family holidays and, eventually, grandchildren and even a couple of great-grandchildren. And her sad memories – a brother lost in the Vietnam War, various funerals for grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles – are the normal, every-day sad memories that Clarke has mastered over the years. Even if they do tug on her emotions, they don't get to her the way they used to.
When the memories fade, she's still leaning against the wall of the building next to the restaurant. She can hear the vague sounds of commotion inside it – Margaret's friends or family, whoever she was having an early dinner with, have obviously realized what's happened. Sirens blare in the distance, but considering this is New York, Clarke doubts they're for Margaret. Even if someone's had time to call 911 already, it will be a while before they get here.
She mumbles her little prayer before taking a couple of deep breaths, letting her mind settle back into itself, and pushing away from the wall. For a moment, she doesn't remember exactly where she is or which way she has to go to get back to the subway that will take her home, but then the light fog clears and she starts heading back in the direction she came from. Transfers are always a little discombobulating, going from your own mind to someone else's and back again, even if this one was about as easy as they come.
The rain is starting to come down harder now, so she sets out at a quick pace towards the subway station. It's quickly turning into one of those fall days when all you want to do is curl up under a cozy blanket on the couch, light some candles and drink hot coca. Clarke goes through the contents of her pantry in her head and she's pretty sure she has all the ingredients she needs for that, so at least she won't have to stop at the store.
When she's on the platform, away from the rain, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, but apart from some Facebook notifications, there's nothing new. She opens the message thread with Bellamy and starts typing, before realizing that it's only 4:20. She said she had work at four, so it would be odd if she was already done, twenty minutes later. She'll have to give it at least another hour.
Sighing, she instead opens up Spotify, pops in her headphones and starts one of her playlists. She scrolls through Instagram lazily, liking a couple of posts, and then checks her schedule for tomorrow. Just two Transfers, both in Brooklyn. She also has a homework session at the library in the afternoon, so quite a busy day, at least for her.
When she emerges from the subway, the rain is really pouring down. Despite her somewhat waterproof jacket, Clarke's completely soaked by the time she gets home.
It's not like she can get sick, but being cold is never fun anyway. She hangs her jacket up carefully, so it won't get anything else wet, and heads into her bathroom, which is one of her favorite spots in the whole apartment – there's a huge window and from the big tub she has an amazing view of the East River and Manhattan beyond. Wells once asked if she wasn't worried someone might be able to see in, since there are no blinds or curtains she can close, but really, the only ones who might are people with telescopes on the other side of the river, and Clarke reasons that what she doesn't know won't hurt her.
She starts the water running, turning the heat up until it's almost too hot for her to stick her finger under the flow. When she's happy with it, she pops in a strawberry scented bath bomb before going into her bedroom to get undressed and put her damp clothes in the hamper. She resolutely leaves her phone on the nightstand – she is not going to think about Bellamy, or try to compose a text in her mind, for the next hour. She's not. She's going to put him out of her thoughts completely, so she grabs the book she's reading at the moment and brings it with her into the bathroom.
Once the water's high enough, she turns the tap off and gathers her hair in a messy bun on top of her head. She puts her book on the little table next to the tub – which usually holds a glass of wine, but not today – hangs a towel on the peg on the wall and finally sinks into the steaming hot water.
Once she's fully submerged, the bubbles tickling her chin, she closes her eyes and lets out a deep sigh.
It feels like the day has been much longer than it actually has been, probably in part due to her having slept restlessly last night. Raven's words were running through her head as she went to bed and eventually seeped into her dreams. She doesn't remember the actual dreams – she rarely does – but the uneasy feeling that had permeated them stayed with her when she woke up.
And then, seeing Bellamy… it had shaken her initially, and it still does, on some level. A part of her is stubbornly insisting that this is a bad, bad idea and that she should run in the other direction. And she knows this, logically, but emotionally… it's too late. She's already in too deep. Which scares her so much. But the alternative, not seeing him again, trying to stay away from him like the last couple of weeks, is even worse.
Clarke's definitely not convinced that Raven was right, that eight months will make eventually losing him worth it, but she is starting to see that she might get there.
Right, she was going to not think about Bellamy for an hour. That went well.
She opens her eyes, gazing out at the grey November afternoon for a long moment before drying her hands and picking up her book.
She manages to get engrossed in the plot, her thoughts only straying a couple of times over the next half hour. When the water's starting to cool into lukewarm, she pulls the plug and dries off enough so she won't drip all over the floor before stepping into the shower to rinse off.
When she leaves the bathroom, she pulls on her comfiest sweatpants and a too big Oxford sweatshirt that she stole from Wells last time she visited him in England. She finishes the outfit off with a pair of thick, fluffy socks and grabs her phone, deliberately not looking at the screen, before going out into the living space.
She grabs milk from the fridge and the other ingredients from the pantry before putting a pot on the stove and pouring milk into it – it's quicker in the microwave, but the taste just isn't quite the same.
Soon enough, she has a steaming mug of cocoa in her hands and brings it to the couch. The sun had already set by the time she got home, and darkness has wrapped the city in a soft blanket by now, the heavy rain making the lights across the water flicker.
Bastet jumps onto the couch with a purr and curls into a ball pressed against Clarke's thigh. She scratches the cat behind the ears for a moment, before raising the mug to her lips.
Heaven, as always. The recipe is Raven's originally, and according to her, the secret is just a pinch of salt to go along with the cocoa powder, sugar and vanilla extract. Clarke has tried to find a better combination over the years, experimenting with everything from cinnamon to hazelnut syrup, but so far she's been unsuccessful.
She finishes half the mug before finally caving and pulling her phone out of the large front pocket on her sweatshirt, where she stashed it earlier. It's almost 5:45 by now, so realistically, she could be on the subway heading home after an hour and a half shift at the library.
To her surprise and delight, there are several messages from Bellamy, delivered while she was in the bath.
I bet you're having more fun with
the kids than I am with E.A. Wrigley.
Clarke frowns at the odd sentence before moving onto the next text.
That looked much weirder in writing
than it sounded in my head – he
(she? No idea) wrote the book
I'm supposed to read for class.
What I meant to say is that I am
spending the rest of my Sunday
catching up on school work and
I'm bored out of my mind.
And you're still at work.
Hope you don't drown on the
way home ;-)
She smiles as she finishes reading. The last message came in just twenty minutes ago. She taps to write a reply.
I don't think it's hard to have more
fun than reading about, what,
steam engines and the Spinning
Jenny?
Made it to the subway with minor
water damage, but I still have to
get home…
She ignores the swooping feeling in her stomach when the speech bubble pops up immediately.
Glad you survived the treacherous
journey to the subway. At the
moment I'm on cotton mills,
so much fun… Work good?
Yeah, it was fine
She doesn't feel that bad about the response – work was fine, it just wasn't the work she told him she was doing.
Wrigley kicking your butt?
The reply takes longer this time.
I love history, I really do, but this
course is one of those where I
need to keep reminding myself
that I love it. Not my favorite subject,
it's too… modern.
Give me Hannibal's invasion or
the Trojan War any day.
Clarke actually laughs out loud at that.
It takes a real history nerd to have
actual favorite historical events :-P
History buff, thank you very much.
She considers her reply for a moment, debating pointing out the double meaning of the word 'buff'… she has a sneaking suspicion he might fill both criteria, even though she hasn't gotten a good enough look to really make a judgement on the more physical aspect. She wouldn't mind investigating this further, though…
I don't know about that… I kind of
thought most of your Halloween-bulk
came from the football gear ;-)
It takes a while for the speech bubble to appear. Then it disappears… and appears again. When it disappears for the second time, Clarke puts the phone on the table and goes into the kitchen to rinse out her mug and put it in the dishwasher. She hears the ping of an incoming message just as she closes the door to it and does in no way hurry back to the couch.
Well, well, miss Griffin… I'd be
happy to prove you wrong.
She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, relieved that her little innuendo didn't scare him off, and sinks into the couch again, pulling a soft blanket over her legs. The one downside of the huge open space in her apartment is that it's a little tricky to get warm.
Promises, promises…
It's been a long time since she's experienced this easy, teasing banter with underlying sexual tension. They didn't even have text messaging back when she was dating Wells, and she and Niylah didn't really do it much. This is… fun.
How's your week looking?
A sense of anticipation – which is surprisingly similar to the butterflies she felt earlier today – spreads in her stomach as she opens her job app to check her schedule. She has the two Transfers and the homework session tomorrow, a Transfer around noon on Tuesday and one just before midnight, a homework session on Wednesday afternoon, one Transfer on Thursday morning and two in the evening, two storytimes during the weekend, plus a Transfer on Saturday and two on Sunday evening. Friday she doesn't have anything booked, which isn't all that uncommon, but usually only happens a couple of times a month
Work Monday-Wednesday and
Saturday-Sunday, and a thing with
Raven Tuesday evening
When do you get off on
Wednesday? I don't have any
classes that night.
Her shift at the library on Wednesday is from three to five, most kids come straight from school, and she's usually out of there a few minutes after five, since they want to get home too and she doesn't have to stay to help the library staff clean up after them.
Should be home by 5:30 at the
latest. What did you have in mind?
You'll just have to wait and see ;-)
Pick you up at 7?
Clarke's not big on surprises, but she supposes she can make an exception.
Great :-) Can you at least give me
a hint so I know what to wear?
Nothing too fancy… I'm afraid
my budget doesn't stretch to
five star restaurants.
Despite the complete lack of facial expressions and conversational clues offered by body language in a normal conversation face to face, she can almost hear the contrite note in Bellamy's voice.
Good, five star food is the worst!
We'd just have to stop by Emmy
Squared on the way back ;-)
Again, the answer takes a while.
I had to Google what that was…
I did tell you I've barely spent any
time in Brooklyn, right?
The idea that anyone in New York City doesn't know Emmy Squared is mindboggling to Clarke. She's about to say as much when another message pops up.
But at least I know what I need to
live up to ;-)
She huffs.
Yes, my expectations are huge
:-) Home yet?
She checks the time. 6:10. She could be home by now if she was on the subway half an hour ago.
Just walked through the door.
Completely soaked, stupid rain
You better warm up, don't want
you catching a cold. And I should
get back to this book, still have
almost 100 pages left :-(
For a moment, Clarke considers replying with something along the lines off 'wish you were here, the best way to warm up is shared body heat', but in the end, she decides against it. It feels just a tad too forward at this stage.
Is that your nice way of
telling me to stop texting ;-)
Not because I want to… but I
should probably try to focus.
I've been reading the same
sentence over and over for
the past half hour.
She didn't really think he wanted to stop talking to her, but hearing him actually say that he doesn't – or, well, type it – still makes a warm feeling settle in her stomach.
I'll try not to take it personally ;-)
seriously, do your study thing
I have Jessica Jones to catch up on
Really? Have you been living
under a rock? You're
waaaay behind :-P
Clarke rolls her eyes.
I know, shut up and study!
Yes, ma'am. Enjoy the show.
Talk tomorrow?
The warm feeling spreads to the rest of her body.
Sure thing :-)
She does have Jessica Jones to catch up on, she only discovered the show recently and has a bunch of episodes left, so she gets Netflix up on the TV and starts the next one.
She manages to follow the plot well enough to know what's going on, even though her thoughts keep straying. She heats up some leftover Chinese food from yesterday after a couple of hours, and has just decided to finish the current episode and then call it a night when her phone beeps again.
It's 10:47 and she half-expects it to be Raven, who usually scrolls through her Instagram before going to bed and almost always sends some weird post from one of the workout enthusiasts she follows to be able to make fun, but it's not.
OK, I'm having trouble keeping my
eyes open, so I'm calling it a night.
Jessica still keeping you
entertained?
She smiles as she replies.
Got about 10 min left on this
episode, then I'm turning in too
OK. Just wanted to say goodnight :-)
Night :-)
She looks at the screen for a moment longer before closing the message app down and locking the phone.
She can still feel the smile on her face right before she falls asleep.
-100-
When she wakes up the next day – she didn't bother setting an alarm, since she doesn't have a Transfer until half past eleven, which means it's after eight – there's a message from Bellamy waiting.
Morning! Hope you slept well :-)
Have a good day.
It's nothing much, but still a nice start to a grey Monday and it makes a warmth settle in her stomach that counteracts even the rain pouring down outside.
She takes her time with breakfast, making an omelet with some ham and cheese – breakfast is one of few things she can make without setting off the fire alarm – and a peanut butter sandwich, and settles at the bar counter separating the kitchen from the living room with her food. She still has a good view out the large windows, but at the moment, she can barely make out the buildings on Manhattan, the heavy rain almost completely obscuring them.
She sends a reply to Bellamy – Slept very well, thank you :-) hope you did too. Stay dry and have fun at work – and tries not to be too disappointed when there's not an immediate response. He's working, most likely driving, and shouldn't be looking at his phone anyway.
Still, when her phone pings an hour or so later, her stomach does a little swoop.
They text more or less regularly over the next couple of days. Sometimes it's an hour or more before one of them replies – usually Bellamy, while he's driving or in class in the evenings, but Clarke has to keep him waiting while she's at the library – and sometimes they go back and forth in an intense discussion for as much as hours at a time. They talk about everything from hobbies to travel experiences – Bellamy's never been out of the country but dreams about going to Rome or Greece one day, to see the ruins of the ancient societies he loves reading about, something that Clarke makes a mental note of – from favorite foods to favorite movies and TV-shows.
He texts her when he's annoyed because he's stuck in traffic, or when a client is especially ignorant, and she texts him when she spots a couple of guys moving a couch on the subway. Really, it's New York, she shouldn't be surprised.
They always say goodnight in the evening, and there's always a message waiting for Clarke when she wakes up in the morning, since he usually starts work at eight and leaves home early.
By Wednesday, she's already gotten used to this new routine, even though it's only been barely three days.
They've only texted, though, so she frowns when her phone actually rings just moments after she's sent a response to Bellamy's question about favorite concert experience – in reality, it would probably be Queen at Wembley Stadium, but since that was in 1986, she can't exactly say that, so she went with the only one of her top ten that's from the last ten years, Fleetwood Mac in Madison Square Garden in 2014.
The image on the screen makes it clear that it's Raven calling, though, and she quickly answers.
"Hey, Rae."
"Hello, stranger," Raven's voice comes over the line.
"Stranger?" Clarke questions. "We talked on… Sunday."
"Exactly!" Raven exclaims. "When was the last time we went more than two days without talking or texting?"
Clarke opens her mouth to say that she's overreacting, but then she realizes that she's actually right. They usually text a couple of times a day and talk every day or every other day.
"Sorry, I guess I've just been a little busy," she apologizes.
"I would hope so. OK, spill."
Clarke rolls her eyes, picking up on Raven's innuendo without a problem. "Not busy like that, Rae. We haven't even been on a date yet, we've just been… texting."
It's quiet for a long moment. "Oh my God, you're so lame!" Raven then exclaims. "What are you waiting for?"
"It's not that easy, he has work and classes, today's the first evening he's had off since the weekend."
"So you're going out tonight?"
"Yes, Mom, we're going out tonight."
Raven ignores the jab. "When? Where?"
Clarke has to start getting ready if she's going to make her shift at the library, so she puts Raven on speaker and leaves the phone on the nightstand while she opens the closet to find something to wear. "He's picking me up at seven and I don't know. He wanted to surprise me."
"We all know how much you love surprises…"
She grabs a pair of jeans and a sweater – it's not raining today but the temperature's dropped to the low forties.
"Shut up, they can be nice," she says before pulling the sweater over her head to the sound of Raven's laugh.
"I still remember the surprise party Wells threw for you in sixty-eight, I thought you were going to dump him right then and there."
In her defense, she'd just gotten home from a particularly grisly Transfer – an entire family killed in a house fire – so when Wells, Raven and a bunch of their friends had jumped out from behind the couch, she'd just about had a heart attack. That is the main reason she's not too fond of surprises these days, though.
"There were extenuating circumstances and you know it," she grumbles, buttoning her jeans.
"Yeah, yeah. OK, so checklist."
Clarke groans. "Do we have to?"
"It's been, what, five years since you went on an actual date?" More like seven, but she's not going to tell Raven that. "So yes, we have to. I won't let you scare this guy off because you're out of touch with proper dating etiquette."
Clarke pulls her hair into a ponytail and turns the speaker phone off as she leaves the bedroom. "Fine."
"Shaving?"
"I need to shower when I get home from the library, so I'll do it then."
"Nice lingerie?"
She actually did go shopping yesterday. "Check," she just says. No need to tell Raven all the details.
"What are you wearing?"
She puts the phone down for a moment, to pull on her coat, before answering. "He said nothing too fancy, so I figured jeans and that black shirt with the silver buttons." It's one of her favorites.
"No, do the purple top with the low cut and gold details," Raven says. "It really makes your eyes pop."
Clarke rolls her eyes as she locks the door behind her. She doubts Raven's main reason for wanting her to wear that top is that it brings out her eyes. "He's already seen me in your stupid princess dress, I don't really think it matters what I wear."
"That doesn't mean you should just not make an effort," Raven insists.
That's true… and Raven is way better at fashion and coordinating outfits than Clarke is herself.
"Fine, I'll try it on, but I make no promises."
"Good. I have a Transfer at six, but send me a pic of the finished product so I can approve."
Clarke considers refusing, but it's not like Raven will let it go until she agrees.
"Will do. Now I really have to run, my library shift starts in half an hour."
"OK, fine. But I want all the details tomorrow!"
"Yeah, yeah."
She hangs up before Raven can say anything else, just as the elevator doors open. Her phone buzzes a moment later, and she finds a text from Raven.
4got Y I called – Thanksgiving
2moro, when R U coming over?
Right, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, Clarke had nearly forgotten. She and Raven always celebrate together when they can.
Got a Transfer in Battery at 8:30
in the morning, so I thought I'd
come straight over after that
Watch the parade
She watches the speech bubble as the elevator descends.
Gr8! help w food appreciated :-)
Clarke's not really much of an asset in the kitchen, which Raven knows very well, but she sends a thumbs up back to say that she'll at least be there for moral support before putting the phone in her pocket and leaving her building.
She's more than a little distracted during the homework session, which the kids of course notice. Somehow, Charlotte – a bright sophomore at the nearby high school that Clarke's been helping get ready for the pre SAT's during the fall and who is now anxiously waiting for her results – figures out that Clarke has a date. This, of course, means that all the kids – luckily, only about a third of them showed up today since tomorrow's Thanksgiving and they got off early from school – are teasing her by the end of the session.
But before Clarke leaves, Charlotte gives her a big hug and wishes her luck, which sort of makes up for it.
She has about an hour to get ready when she gets home, so she immediately jumps in the shower and yes – she does shave.
Better safe than sorry.
She puts on her new lingerie – a navy blue bra with pretty lace details, and matching panties – and her favorite pair of jeans, before trying on both tops. After scrutinizing herself in her full body mirror, she has to grudgingly agree that Raven's suggestion does look better.
She does a light makeup – she doesn't want to look like she's trying too hard – and braids some of her hair away from her face. She's just topped everything off with a pair of gold hoops and sent off the requested text to Raven when there's a knock on the door.