Thursday night Bellamy's mom re-appeared. He was doing the dishes from him and Octavia's dinner when he heard the easily distinguishable sound of a key attempting to be put in the lock. When he was younger, he would rush to the door and open it, saving his mom the embarrassment of scraping metal against metal. Now, he kept scrubbing the dishes in a circular motion. Each swipe of the key made him more angry.

Finally, she managed to let herself in. "Hey, Bell."

He determinedly kept scrubbing, albeit more softly. "You've been gone since Friday."

Bellamy didn't turn, but heard her rummaging in her purse. There was an unmistakable clink of glass on glass, and he wondered if the bottles were empty. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her take another swig.

The bottles weren't empty.

"I know. I feel terrible about that. I was upstate with your aunt, she's going through that god awful divorce, you know?"

Bellamy shut off the water. His anger management class, which he attended each Sunday morning, taught him de-escalation techniques. Some of them were stupid, like thinking of a "happy" or "calm" place to transcend reality. But some of them were helpful. His favorite was counting backwards from 10.

10…

"Mom."

9…

"Let's get this straight."

8…

"I don't care where you were or what you were doing."

7…

"I don't even care that you didn't text."

6…

"I've given up on you acting like a mom."

5…

"Or a responsible person."

4…

"Just don't drink in the house."

3…

She looks at him as if she's been slapped.

2…

By now she knows better than to argue or throw a tantrum, or even more embarrassing to them both, try to defend herself.

1…

She knew her time was limited. When Bellamy was graduated and turned 18, he would challenge her for custody or help Octavia emancipate herself, he told her multiple times. Bellamy sighed, feeling the weight of guilt and family problems well beyond his years. His mother wordlessly handed him her purse.

"There are leftovers in the fridge." He said, taking the bag and leaving her in the dim kitchen light alone.

The next day at school it was hard to focus. Bellamy didn't touch an assignment or book. He merely sat at his desk like an abandoned marionette.

Oddly, he felt more calm when his mom was missing. She was easier to put out of his mind and dismiss when not physically present. When she was gone, him and Octavia could laugh and joke around the apartment without walking on eggshells. Their meals were methodically laid out and nothing went missing from the fridge. Most of all, he didn't have to watch the pain on Octavia's face.

Growing up he tried to shelter Octavia from the brunt of his mom's behaviors. He was a charming young boy, and often befriended the neighbors so Octavia would have somewhere to go when his mom stumbled in drunk or worse. Because of this, his vision of his mother tarnished long ago. Also because of this, Octavia still held hope she would change.

"What's up?" Clarke asked him on their way to lunch. Her eyebrows furrowed together and a pinch of concern turned down her mouth.

"Nothing," Bellamy said automatically.

"Bullshit." Clarke said.

Bellamy didn't bother to contradict her. It was interesting, how easily his small world of two (him and Octavia) had stretched to include Clarke. The only explanation he had was it felt like he always had known Clarke, despite their short time as friends. Everything she said and did felt familiar and easy, like a well worn pair of jeans. When they bickered with Octavia for control over the AUX cord, or sat down automatically next to each other in class, nothing felt new. She was as familiar as the back of his hand, and he didn't think twice about including or protecting her.

"My mom came home last night."

Clarke kept her expression neutral, but he could see her eyes trying to carefully pick through her thoughts to the most appropriate reaction; Clarke was methodical and strong. "Did something happen?"

"Not particularly. I just like it better when she's not around, honestly."

The pair snagged a table in the corner of the cafeteria, away from most of the human traffic. "You like it better when you know what to expect." Clarke observed.

Bellamy looked into her blue eyes, wondering what her excuse was for their quick intimacy. He smirked at her, "nothing gets by you, princess."

"I understand that," Clarke nodded, but offered no further explanation. Clarke was almost as cryptic and guarded as he was.

Octavia bounded over to the two and threw her backpack on the table. "Bell."

"O." He said back, slapping his hands on the table for a similar effect.

"I invited Lincoln over for dinner tonight." The way Bellamy's veins throbbed along his neck was comical. Clarke started to laugh, but turned it into a small cough instead.

"Before you get all protective-older-brother, listen. I've been seeing him since summer. Last weekend was the first, and definitely last for a while, time I've drank. He was sober, he doesn't drink, but I felt nervous hanging out in that huge crowd of people. He wanted me to tell you about us for months, but I knew you'd freak out so I hid it. I don't want to keep secrets from you, Bell. I want you to really meet him and… and I want you to like him."

Clarke faded into her chair, realizing this was a private conversation. Although, it was a mark of her status among the Blake siblings that they didn't ask her to leave or walk away from the table. Earlier this week, Clarke grew bold enough to ask Bellamy what he did at anger management classes. After he answered, "manage anger," and she shoved him, he actually did explain the format and strategies. He told her about counting backwards from 10, and wondered if he was doing that right now.

"O-"

"I love him." She said, looking deadly serious. Clarke could tell she meant it by the set stance of her eyebrows and the stiffness of her posture. Octavia was fierce and determined; a family trait.

"You don't know that." Bellamy countered quietly. Clarke wondered suddenly if Bellamy had ever been in love. She never heard of him dating anyone seriously, but he also had no social media or digital footprint. If he had ever fallen in love, there would be no record of it. Was it better that way?

Clarke decided she had never fallen in love. Lexa was exciting and toxic, but it wasn't love. And Finn was never available enough, emotionally or physically, for Clarke to fall in love with him. Other people had come and gone, but nothing ever stuck enough for her to sit as straight and tall as Octavia was now.

"I do." Octavia said simply. "Mom's in. I called Indra and she said she'd cover your shift tonight."

Bellamy glared at her. "O, I need those hours at Dropship."

"Relax, she said you could come in early Saturday. Bring Clarke," she nodded to Clarke, the first time since the beginning of the conversation her presence had been acknowledged, "it can be a double date. I'll see you tonight, I got a ride after school." With that, Octavia spun and left, leaving no room for discussion or argument. She left her implication behind, laying over the two like a thick, wool blanket.

Bellamy ran his hands over his face and through his hair, sucking in a heavy breath.

"I don't have to go," Clarke offered.

Bellamy shook his head and looked at her, "Up to you."

"No it's not," Clarke pointed out. "It's up to you; it's your family."

"It's going to be a disaster," Bellamy promised.

"I like disasters." Clarke said quickly. "I am a disaster," she joked and Bellamy chuckled. "But seriously, whatever you want."

Bellamy turned back front and spoke to the air rather than Clarke's face. "I would like you there," he said at last and turned to look at her. "You help keep me calm."

"Done," she said simply, her cheeks slightly pink. Wells came over and joined the table, putting his tray down next to Clarke. Ever since he drove Clarke home earlier this week, they seemed to have repaired their friendship. Later at rehearsal, she even let Wells sit next to them- the last sign the ice had thawed.

Bellamy knew Wells liked Clarke, and he could sympathize. Each day he spent with her he too grew to care about her both operated under similar emotional and social doctrines; namely trusting few people and opening up to even fewer.

"So Bellamy," Wells said, leaning across Clarke. His arm was sharing her armrest. "What made you audition?"

"Your dad made me," Bellamy said dully, wondering how this information had escaped Wells's knowledge. "It was involvement or expulsion. I thought I would get cast as a tree."

Wells chuckled. Bellamy wondered if Wells was putting on a show of comraderie for Clarke; two could play that game. "Honestly, I thought you would get Danny, man. You're talented."

Wells seemed taken aback. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

Clarke rolled her eyes and Mrs. Green called to her, causing Clarke to propel herself out of her worn auditorium chair.

"Hey, I am sorry for how I acted last week. I know you didn't ask for the part and it was a stupid thing to be upset about."

Clarke wasn't here, so Bellamy supposed Wells's apology was genuine. Bellamy nodded. "I get it. Don't worry, it was more between you and Clarke anyway."

"I know. She's hard to apologize to, harder to get forgiveness from. I messed up this weekend and wasn't there when she needed me."

"I was," Bellamy said cooly.

"I know. Thank you."

There was a pause. Bellamy looked over to the animated conversation between Clarke and Mrs. Green. "She really doesn't need either of us. She can handle herself."

"I guess you're right. But I've been her best friend since kindergarten… and you've been talking to her for two weeks."

Bellamy glowered. "Your point?"

"I don't know you." Wells said.

"I don't know you well either. But I do know that I don't like people who bail on their friends. When I'm in someone's life, it's permanent. However you feel about me doesn't matter, I'm not going anywhere."

Wells eyed Bellamy, whose neck had turned slightly red from annoyance. "You're not the first guy, or girl," (Bellamy heard that rumor back in sophomore year, but didn't know how true it was. He added that to his ever growing list of things he knew and appreciated about Clarke) "to say that to Clarke or about Clarke. You'll notice none of them are still here. I am."

The two young men eyed each other apprehensively, unwilling to relinquish gazes.

"All actors to the stage, please!" Mrs. Green called. "Clarke will be leading you through a light warm up and the group choreography for the dance scene."

So she choreographed too. Jesus. Clarke removed her combat boots and oversized sweater to reveal her leggings and tank top underneath. Bellamy's mouth went dry as he took in her more exposed form.

Rehearsal went as well as could be hoped for when 25 awkward teenagers attempted to do the hand jive. More than once, Bellamy found himself slightly fixated on other body parts than Clarke's feet… Mercifully, the group split back up to review the guy and girl numbers from previous rehearsals so he was able to clear his head.

At the end, Clarke was slightly flushed from the activity and her curly hair was barely contained in the elastic; she was unfairly beautiful.

"Ready for dinner?" Bellamy said in as neutral of a tone as possible.

Clarke nodded. "I was hoping to clean up first."

"We can swing by your place. I'm in no rush to eat with my mom, O and Lincoln."

Clarke laughed. The pair waved goodbye to Wells (who looked slightly put out) and walked to Bellamy's truck.

"What were you and Wells talking about earlier?"

Bellamy clenched his jaw, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. "He apologized." They arrived at the truck and split to enter their respective front seats. Bellamy hoped his answer was enough to quell Clarke's curiosity.

"Did he do an intimidating, protective talk?" Clarke asked.

"He tried," Bellamy grinned. "No wonder you have no friends, princess. Jaha scares them all away."

"Thanks for the hot tip, Mr. Popularity."

"The real key is a flip phone."

Clarke laughed and then looked over at Bellamy through squinted eyes. "He means well, but I don't really need protecting."

"I've noticed. You can play piano, act, sing, dance, paint, draw, sketch and live alone. Anything I've forgotten?"

"Reform campus hooligans."

Bellamy looked over at her from the steering wheel. "You better not be talking about me, princess."

"Oh I'm sorry. Did someone else in this car almost get expelled?" Clarke pretended to look in the backseat. "Nope. I must be talking about you."

Bellamy turned down the familiar road to Clarke's house. "He's trying to protect you from very specific people." Bellamy said lowly.

"What do you mean?"

He paused. "Anyone who could be interested in you." Bellamy looked over to gauge her reaction. He thought back to O calling this dinner a "double date" at lunch.

"Wells is my best friend," she said slowly.

"I understand. He doesn't though."

Clarke sighed. "People have told me since middle school. But he's never said anything or confessed an undying love for me so I ignore it. It's easier. It would hurt to lose him. He was the only one who was there through my parents being arrested, my dad going to jail... He's the only one who knows the full story." Clarke trailed off and looked out the window.

Bellamy felt badly for pushing the issue. Even though he may not be Wells' biggest fan, he could appreciate the role he played in Clarke's life. The truck pulled into Clarke's driveway and then stopped.

"I get it," Bellamy said simply and genuinely.

Clarke reached down to pick up her discarded backpack off the floor. "And anyway, I've already told him that it's different with us."

Bellamy's heart skipped a beat. Us. "What do you mean?" His voice came off less casual than he intended.

Clarke put her bag on. "I explained that you're a good guy. You're not trying to… to… you know."

Bellamy enjoyed seeing Clarke fidget and avoid eye contact. "Not trying to what, princess?"

Clarke looked up at the truck's ceiling. "You're not trying to fuck me and leave me. You're not trying to use me. You're not trying to put a notch in your belt; take your pick."

Clarke made to get out of the truck's cab but Bellamy leaned across the divider and put his hand on her knee. "Clarke." She took her hand off the handle and turned back to him, finally looking at his face. She reminded him of the girl he picked up on the side of the road- vulnerable.

"I'm not a subtle person. I want to make something clear: what Finn did, what other people have done, is wrong. And you don't deserve it. I don't like a lot of people, but I like you. I think you're talented and smart and," Bellamy trailed off. The corners of Clarke's mouth turned up. "And beautiful. I'm here because I like your company. And I feel like we have a lot in common. Whatever happens, or doesn't happen, I'm here."

"I thought you didn't want new friends," Clarke teased lightly.

"Shit, I didn't think I did either." They both laughed. Bellamy's hand was still on her leg and she slid hers down to cover his, not interlocking their fingers but tracing over the faintly bruised knuckles.

"Thanks," she said softly.

Her index finger traced circles on his palm and he cleared his throat before saying, "No problem."

"Wanna come in?" she asked as she finally broke the spell and opened the car's door handle.

"Sure," Bellamy said, pulling the keys out of the ignition. Dinner didn't seem quite so terrible now.