a/n Thank you for the super positive response to the first chapter of this new story. I'm so excited to be writing these particular versions of these characters again! Please enjoy this chapter of rather fluffy scene-setting before the plot begins in earnest.
Echo knows she shouldn't have done it. She should have realised how much more difficult it would be, sharing a house with Raven, surrounded by all these sickeningly happy couples sharing their homes. For goodness' sake, there's even one happy family sharing a home. But when Monty and Harper chose a sweet blue-painted bungalow, and Emori took John by the hand and dragged him in the direction of a dilapidated former public building of some sort, and Raven turned to her with a slightly shifty look in her eyes and asked if she fancied joining her in the house next door to Clarke and Bellamy, well, she wasn't going to say no, now, was she? She hasn't the strength to say no to anything Raven could possibly ask her, let alone the offer of some parody of domestic bliss.
So it is that, on her first night back on the ground, she finds herself staring at the ceiling and completely failing to sleep while the most formidable and breathtaking and demoralisingly cold-hearted snob she has ever had the misfortune to meet is, no doubt, blissfully oblivious and comfortably asleep in the room next door.
She's not quite sure how she got herself into this position, really. She still finds Raven absolutely infuriating, thank you very much. She never thought she would meet anyone more impossibly private with their emotions than she is herself. And she never thought she would meet anyone more stubborn, more brave, more inured to pain. And somewhere along the line, a sort of grudging respect happened. And then somehow or other friendship grew up.
But then, of course, she started noticing she was beautiful.
That's where it all unravelled, really. And then all it took was one hint too many about how happy their friends were, and did it make her want to try being happy with someone, and, well, here they are, sitting inappropriately close under a blanket then sharing a house infuriatingly platonically and very awkwardly and never, ever, under any circumstances, mentioning anything even vaguely resembling an emotion.
And yet, somehow, she can't bring herself to regret any of it.
…...
Clarke has still not perfected the art of bedtime. She tells herself that she's doing fine, really, and that she mustn't compare herself to Bellamy with all his experience of raising Octavia, but it sounds a little hollow in her mind all the same. It doesn't help, she thinks sourly, that even Madi is better at getting Gus to settle for the night, and she's an eleven-year-old child, for goodness' sake. Tonight, of course, he's particularly excitable, having spent the evening meeting new people and enjoying the impromptu party, and so she finds herself here, a good couple of hours after his usual bedtime, watching him toddle rapidly around the room loudly demanding everything from a snack to a story.
She's terrible at both snacks and stories. They both fall soundly within Bellamy's area of expertise, along with shooting lessons and reading help and convincing surly young boys to allow themselves to be dressed in clean clothes. Come to think of it, she's growing ever more convinced that she has no area of expertise at all in the matter of childrearing. She doesn't want to give up and fetch Bellamy, because he's currently enjoying some quality time reading with Madi, but it seems like it might be unavoidable. She's about to admit defeat when she hears light footsteps outside the door.
"Clarke?" Madi sounds a little surprised. "You're still here?"
"Of course I'm still here." She snaps, uncharacteristically short with the girl. "He won't go to sleep. Keeps asking for snacks and stories, as if I'm any good at snacks and stories. As if I'm any good at any of this, any good at parenting of any kind." She throws her hands up in despair. "I'm going to fetch your father. Can you keep an eye on Gus for a moment?"
"Stay." She implores, hands reaching out, and Clarke finds herself halting at the look in the girl's eyes.
"You think that's a good idea?"
"Yes. I think it's the best idea." Her daughter frowns a little and then continues thoughtfully. "I think you're really good at parenting, you know? You're right, you're not very good at snacks and stories. But you taught me that mothers don't have to be good at snacks and stories. They can be good at plans and decisions. And fathers can be good at snacks and stories. And that's OK too."
She's definitely only crying because she's so damn tired and frustrated, she tells herself as the tears spring to her eyes. She's definitely not feeling at all overwhelmed by that rather exceptional vote of confidence. All the same, she wraps Madi in a firm hug and stands there for a long moment feeling at least a little moved by her daughter's words.
"For what it's worth, Bellamy's pretty great at plans and decisions, too." She says after a while.
"And you can make soup. And the story about when you woke up in the bunker and Bellamy was there is pretty good. Even if it is a bit cheesy." She wrinkles her nose at the thought of her parents falling in love.
"Shall we tell that to Gus now, then?" She suggests.
"You tell it. Let me get my pyjamas on first, though. I want to listen."
Clarke isn't sure whether it is the story that works, or the sight of his big sister in her pyjamas which encourages him to consider this bedtime, but Gus is asleep within minutes of her beginning to narrate a spot of radiation sickness and romance. She trails off into silence, but it seems that Madi is not at all satisfied.
"Go on." The girl insists, sitting cross-legged on her bed. She still shares a room with her brother, despite suggestions that she might want a room of her own now she's all grown up.
"You said it was cheesy." Clarke reminds her affectionately.
"It is. But I still want to listen."
"You already know it. You could probably tell it just as well yourself."
"Once upon a time, two stubborn idiots got locked in a bunker together and fell in love. The end."
They both start giggling at that, and Clarke finds herself sitting on her daughter's bed and pulling her in for a hug. "Go to sleep, Madi. Maybe you can tell that story to our friends tomorrow."
"Don't worry." The girl replies with an impish grin. "I will."
…...
Bellamy is reading a very good book, which he's only read twice before, but all the same he looks up when Clarke walks through the door. Even after all these years he still feels an instinctive need to have his eyes on her the moment she enters the room. He's not sure whether it's because he can't quite drop the habit of worrying about her, or whether it's because he continues to find her pretty stunning, or maybe a bit of both, but either way, he's certainly now lost interest in the words on the page in front of him.
"Kids OK?" He asks cheerfully, swinging his legs off the sofa so she can have a seat.
"Kids OK." She confirms with a smile, as she ignores his gesture and plonks herself in his lap. "Madi's incredible."
"Yes, I think you've mentioned that before. Once or twice." He teases with a grin. "You know it's bad form to have a favourite child."
"I didn't say I had a favourite." She defends herself in between placing warm kisses on his neck. "I'm sure Gus will be incredible too, when he's old enough to speak in full sentences."
"He'll be less cute then." Bellamy points out with a quirk to his lips.
"That is true." She concedes, pulling away to meet his eyes with a frown. "He will be less cute then."
He kisses her absently on the forehead and wonders whether he might be able to read his book around her, somehow, and whether, if he could, it might be the very definition of domestic bliss.
"Perhaps we should have another baby to get round that." She suggests after a while, appearing at least somewhat serious, and he feels his face light up with a smile.
"What happened to children are hard work and we don't need any more of them?" He asks, slightly flummoxed.
"They are hard work. But they're also wonderful." She shrugs. "It's not a good time to think about having another, I suppose. We don't know what might happen when we open that bunker. But... well, what do you think?"
"You're right. It's not the best time to be thinking about it. But I think we should start practising all the same." She giggles as he scoops her up into his arms and carries her into their bedroom, his discarded book lying forgotten on the sofa.
It's funny, he muses later, as they lie in a heap of tangled limbs on their bed and start wondering about sleep, how familiarity has done absolutely nothing to dim the obsession he has with this woman. He still can't get enough of running his fingers through her hair or feeling her lips give way beneath his, any more than he will ever grow bored of her increasingly poorly-hidden heart or her frighteningly fierce approach to every challenge.
As he looks forward to an uncertain future full of people and, knowing their luck, problems, he can only hope that she feels the same way.
a/n Thanks for reading!