Rental House, Wembley, Polis - December 23rd 2018 - 21:15 CET
Bellamy spins around as Eliza walks down the stairs, a large grin spread across his tan face. A wooden tray sits beside the overstuffed couch with two giant mugs resting on its surface. Steam rises from the hot liquid within and the rich smell of spiced cider laces the air. Eliza tries to smile, but it's weak, barely visible. And his face falls.
"Are you okay?"
She nods, pausing on the last step, "Just tired."
"If you want to go to bed…"
"No," she says quickly. That's the last thing she wants right now. They don't have much time left.
"What do you need?"
Words stick in Eliza's throat at the simple sincerity of his question. Like she could ask for anything and he would endeavor to give it to her. That thought alone brings the tears back to her eyes — the ones she's been fighting off since leaving Madi's room.
"Clarke, what do you need?" He asks again.
She opens her mouth then closes it, head shaking. Finally, she just whispers, "A hug, I think."
Bellamy crosses the room in four lengths of his long stride. His arms wrap around her and he lifts Eliza off the last step to bring her fully against him. Eliza digs her fingers into the back of his flannel shirt, clutching at the fabric as she buries her face in his chest. A muffled sob escapes her throat, burning its way out, breaking between them. His hands stroke with gentle pressure down her back as she crushes herself into him, clinging to his frame as if she might memorize what it feels like to be held. Because Eliza can't remember the last time and she has no idea when the next will be and if she is honest with herself, it's more than that. It's a need to remember every aspect of this man which consumes her, which tightens her arms around his middle until neither one of them can breathe. And it's the certainty that she will forget, that time and duty and obligation will eventually erase every part of him, which steals the tears from her eyes.
"Clarke," he whispers into her hair, pulling back to look at her. But she won't let him, won't let go. "Clarke," he urges her again. And Eliza wishes, not for the first time, that that was her name, that this was her life, that she didn't have to leave.
His hands cup her puffy face, tilting her head back to look at him. His features are blurry, obscured by the water in her eyes. Still, she manages to croak, "I'm fine."
He laughs, the deep rumble reverberating between them, "No, you're not. But nice try."
"I…" she starts, but no words come out. Nothing follows.
"You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready."
Eliza nods, heart squeezing from the sweetness in his voice.
"How about a movie?"
Bellamy leads her over to the couch with his arm still around her shoulders and sets her down before turning to the television. She watches him as he bites his lip in concentration, flipping through the list of movies, watches his brows furrow and then lift as he reads the titles, watches the smile spread across his face when he glances over at her.
"What about this one?"
Eliza forces her eyes to the TV screen, before nodding. "Sure."
He hits play and leans back, his arms stretching along the back of the couch. And before she can second guess herself, Eliza shifts into him. She lays her head against his shoulder and pretends to watch the screen as the movie starts. Instead, she listens to his breathing. She tucks her hands around his waist and smiles when his arms fold over her. At some point, she closes her eyes and maybe it's from the tears, or the stress, or simply because nothing has ever felt this much like home, but Eliza falls asleep, drifts off listening to deep breathing and a flickering pulse.
The Palace, Outside of Wembley, Polis - December 23rd 2018 - 22:30 CET
The sconces along the hall were dimmed hours ago and their soft light sends shadows dancing across Clarke and the queen as they walk side by side. The night has been magical, ethereal almost, but with each step that brings them closer to Eliza's chambers, Clarke begins to feel that strange sensation of waking. Like coming to consciousness slowly until the sharp disappointment of reality sets in. She's somewhere in between, not quite asleep, but desperately holding on to the last vestiges of a perfect dream.
Her footsteps slow and the queen unconsciously matches her pace. Clarke's wants to reach out, to eliminate the space growing between them… but she doesn't know how to start despite all that has happened. Despite the laughter and the clarity which suddenly feel shrouded in a heavy fog. They reach the double-doored entrance to the duchess' chambers and Clarke bites her lip, trying to keep the wavering breath inside her chest.
"I had a lovely evening," Clarke finally manages to say, her voice clear in spite of her rapid heartbeat.
Lexa turns, "Me too. I've… I've learned a lot from you."
"You mean like how to bake gingerbread cookies and shop for toys?"
The queen smiles wryly before her expression softens into something more sincere, "I mean, how to connect with people, how to reach out in a meaningful way. Rather than with some formula I've been taught."
"You're too hard on yourself, Lexa," Clarke insists, stepping closer to the queen. She looks up into those green eyes and says softly, "You have a good heart. Don't give me all the credit just because I saw that."
"But you did see that," Lexa counters. "Most people don't and I… I don't let them."
"I think it helps you to believe that you are tougher than you actually are, but… vulnerability is not a weakness."
Lexa's cheeks hollow out as she swallows visibly, then nods, "You've shown me that."
"I was happy to."
"I hope I live up to your praise."
Clarke shakes her head, smiling, "You're doing just fine."
"With you and your fiery spirit by my side, how could I possibly go wrong?"
Clarke's heart twists in her chest as she observes the open earnestness in the queen's face. She presses her hands together, trying to keep her breathing even. Clarke guesses that this is as much of a goodbye as she can hope for. "I think I should turn in for the evening. Thank you again… for everything, Lexa."
"Wait," the queen's hand stops Clarke, bracing against her elbow. Then it falls away once more. "I wanted to give you something. A wedding present or early christmas gift, whichever you prefer." Lexa reaches into the pocket of her black coat and pulls out a flat red-velvet jewelry box. "I didn't have time to wrap it, but… maybe that's for the best," she adds wryly as she places the box into Clarke's palm.
The blonde's brows furrow as she looks down at the red thing. Her eyes dart up to Lexa, finding the queen waiting expectantly with an almost giddy smile on her face, before they rest once more on the box. She slides the lid open.
"Ridiyo, Koma, Hodnes," Clarke reads aloud as she stares down at the beautiful golden crest which nestles in between velvet folds.
"Truth, Honor, and Love," Lexa repeats the words in English.
Clarke breathes in sharply as tears sting her eyes. "Your grandmother's pendant."
"It seemed only right for you to have it."
"Thank you," she chokes out, one hand coming to her throat. "It's beautiful."
"I…" Lexa steps closer, the movement bringing Clarke's gaze up. The queen stares down at the blonde with such a tender expression that it softens the sharp planes of her face. And when Lexa speaks, she utters the words softly. "I have to admit that I was worried about us. About not knowing you. About whether this would work… but the past few days have been amazing. And… I'm not worried anymore." Clarke blinks back the moisture in her eyes, hands beginning to shake as the queen continues, "I feel like I can talk to you about anything. You're honest to a fault. And… I think… I know that I am in love with you. And it terrifies me. You terrify me. And exhilarate me and I love you. I love you, Eliza."
The name hits Clarke squarely in the chest and like a bullet it rips her open. Breath rushes into her lungs on a shaky inhale and her eyes squeeze shut for a moment, trying to stem the coming tide. She reminds herself that this is not her life. It's not her life. It doesn't belong to her. This woman doesn't belong to her. Not her life. Those three words keep repeating in Clarke's head as she opens her eyes and leans forward. As she presses her lips just once, just briefly, against the queen's mouth, tasting Lexa one last time.
"Goodnight," she presses her cheek against the queen's before pulling away and heading towards her door.
Lexa frowns, following her, "Did I do something wrong? Should I not have said anything?"
"No," Clarke shakes her head, twisting the door handle. "You did everything right. Everything you said… everything."
"I'll see you in the morning, then."
Clarke's breath hitches, "You will see your duchess in the morning."
Those are the last words she says to Lexa, at least not a lie, before Clarke forces herself to walk through and slide the door shut. When it clicks, a short exhale leaves her. Clarke braces herself against the wall, one hand coming to press against the hole opening in her chest. She tries to inhale but the air catches in her throat and then breaks her open. The dam shatters and Clarke covers her mouth against the force of its destruction, holding back her ragged voice as she begins to cry.
Rental House, Wembley, Polis - December 23rd 2018 - 23:00 CET
"Hey, sleepy head. Wake up."
Eliza blinks slowly, confusion sweeping through her. Where is she? A hand rakes slowly through her hair and the comforting touch sends her eyes fluttering closed once more. She feels the hand brush a few locks out of her face.
"Wake up, Clarke."
Eliza starts, eyes opening once more — clearer and more lucid this time. The living room is much darker than before, only a small light in the kitchen and the glowing christmas tree illuminate the space. Eliza becomes aware that the couch beneath her is not very soft or squishy. Then the couch shifts.
She pushes herself up and Bellamy lets out a rough exhale as her hands dig into his diaphragm. She must have dozed off at some point during the movie. He had stretched out along the couch and her body instinctively followed his. She swallows, putting space between them.
"Sorry."
"For falling asleep?" Bellamy chuckles, raking his own hair out of his face. "It doesn't offend me. But I thought that movie was your favorite?"
Eliza shrugs, stretching. "I guess I was more tired than I thought."
"You should probably just go to bed. We have some prep to do for the competition tomorrow anyways."
Her heart stalls, "What time is it?"
"Around ten thirty, I think."
Eliza breathes out, "Not too late then."
She will have to leave soon though. Why had she let herself fall asleep? Eliza wishes that she could rewind the last hour and a half and experience it again. She wonders what dry commentary he might have made or if he would have laughed at the sappy bits, or maybe… maybe he would have cried at the sweet ending.
"Could you—" she starts, glancing over at him. "Could you do something for me?"
"Anything," he grins and then adds quickly, "Within reason, Clarke."
And she feels her lips tug up in response. She's going to miss his teasing. "Could you open the present I got for you?"
"Now?"
"Yeah," she nods, moving to the tree and withdrawing a silver package from beneath the pine boughs. "I want to see you open it."
Bellamy laughs, "You'll see me open it on Christmas, Clarke."
"Right… I just— I guess I want to see you open it now," she finishes lamely. He holds her gaze for a moment before nodding with a shrug of his broad shoulders. His fingers tear at the paper and Eliza adds quickly, her heart racing. "It's nothing fancy. Definitely not as big as your gift, but… I thought you might like it."
The paper falls away to reveal a small, wooden picture frame. The photograph inside is of the three of them on Main Street. Bellamy and Madi have their faces pinched in laughter, but Eliza is not even looking into the camera. Instead, the photographer has captured her staring up at the father-daughter duo with a look of tender adoration on her face.
Bellamy stares at it silently, brows furrowed. And as the quiet stretches out Eliza begins to ramble to fill the dead space. "I know it's not exciting or anything, but I reached out to the reporter and it's a nice photo. I just wanted you to have something to remember me by."
His eyes drag up to hers, "Clarke, I have tons of photos of us."
"Of course," Eliza laughs sharply, heart falling out of her chest. "Of course, you do. I should have thought of something better—"
"No, I love it," Bellamy stands, immediately in her space. "But I don't need a picture to remember you."
"You never know," Eliza whispers, arms hugging herself like she might keep all of the sticky emotions from pouring out.
His voice is adamant, firm, "I do. I know that."
"Okay."
Bellamy frowns at her, "You're acting strange again."
"I know," she breathes in shakily.
"Look," he starts, stepping even closer. So close that every inhale threatens to bring Eliza's chest against his. "I know we've said a million times before that we're just friends. That we're better that way, and every time I've agreed with you. Completely. But for some reason the past few days have been different… and maybe it's just me," he laughs roughly, running a hand through his hair again. "Maybe I'm crazy and reading into it… but I feel like there is something here between us. And, I think you feel it too."
Air flutters desperately, trapped in Eliza's lungs as she stares back at him with wide eyes. He feels it too. This crazy, insane feeling, this electricity between them. He feels all of it. Relief courses through her like a rod of lightning and before she can think better of it, her hands fly up, fingers sifting through his hair and dragging him down, down, down until she can surge up and press her lips against his.
Bellamy inhales sharply against her mouth, stealing the breathe from her lungs. His body stiffens for a moment before the shock drains for him system and his arms wrap around her, hoisting her up. Eliza gasps as her stomach drops from the swift movement. Her legs cross instinctively behind his back as she tilts her head to the side, kissing him hard, pulling him harder against her body.
She moans against Bellamy's mouth when his hands rake down her spine to cup her bum. Eliza arches against him, mouth tearing away from his to fall open, as he pulls her down against him. And she can feel everything, every ridge and sinew, every curve and plane of his body against her own. It's too much. And still, it's not enough.
Her back hits a hard surface and she registers that he's pressed her up against the mantle. One hand lifts to brace herself along the shelf and the other pulls his head towards her again. He groans, a ragged pant into her collarbone as she grinds down on him. Then she drags his head up, capturing his lips once more, savoring every second. And he tastes like sunshine, like warmth, and cinnamon, and butterscotch. Like freedom. Her eyes fall shut as he trails kisses down her throat.
"Clarke."
His voice is a ragged, husky whisper against her skin as he murmurs that name. And it's like a cold shower, like jumping in the arctic sea, like a thousand thin needs all shoved into the same hole in her chest, the one where her heart should be. Eliza reels, crashing back into reality so fast that she cannot breathe.
Air finally breaks into her lungs as she pushes him away, as far away as possible. And she cannot look at him, cannot face the guilt searing in her chest along with a million other emotions. Because who is she? She is engaged. She has a fiance. She has a duty. And she has already stuck a burning iron through Clarke and Bellamy and Madi's life as it is. How could she do this? Bile rises steadily in her throat and her eyes fall on the clock in the kitchen. 23:30. Bellamy must have got the time wrong. A fool's hope. She has to go now. Clarke will be waiting, expecting her life back, expecting Eliza to not have fucking ruined her friendship.
"I'm so sorry," she breathes out, tears starting to fall from her eyes despite her best efforts.
Bellamy moves towards her slowly, hands raised, "Clarke, it's okay—"
Eliza sobs harder, hugging herself. This was such a mistake. How did she think one taste of freedom would ever be enough? How did she imagine she would go back to being caged after this. But she has to. Her fiance is waiting. Clarke is waiting. Her father is waiting. Her country. This country. Her duty. The thing she was raised for. So she draws on every lesson, every year that she was taught to hide, to become everything but herself. Eliza focuses on breathing deeply until her lungs are calm, until her face is blank and the emptiness is only visible inside. She blinks and looks at Bellamy forcing herself to say even as her hearts breaks to pieces just a little more, "We shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done that. I… I think it would be best if we pretend this never happened."
"Clarke, I don't understand," Bellamy steps forward, his voice becoming tighter. "Why are you saying this?"
"I… I need you to not ask me that."
Bellamy's face falls, his expression twisting into a confused sort of desperation. "Clarke, please, let's just talk about this."
Eliza breathes in, meeting his gaze without wavering."I can't."
"Yes, we can. It's us. We can talk about anything. This doesn't change that." He takes a cautious step towards Eliza, but she backs away, her false calm beginning to crumble.
"I need some air," she whispers and turns towards the door. He stands frozen as she walks by him, confusion plainly painted across his features. Eliza counts the steps to the exit, hoping he won't stop her and wishing that he would. His voice breaks through the still air only once, only when she opens the door.
"Please don't leave."
Eliza closes her eyes, resting her head against the wood. Her heart beats a dull, ragged rhythm in her chest, one of resignation. She shakes her head against the door and says without turning, "I'm so sorry. I have to."
Then the duchess steps out into the cold, windless night and walks down the snowy steps, heading back to a life that never really felt like hers. And even though her heart begs for one more glance, she doesn't allow herself. Because if she looks back, Eliza knows that she will never find the strength to leave.
The Palace, Outside of Wembley, Polis - December 23rd 2018 - 00:00 CET
The cab drops Eliza off at the palace gates. The duchess walks with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist and even though it's a clear night, the air is frigid and bites against Eliza's skin. She left so quickly that she forgot her coat— forgot Clarke's coat and now she suffers the consequences. Her teeth begin to chatter as she waits by the wrought iron door. She tries to ignore the stinging in her eyes and the dried tears on her cheeks. But the colder her body becomes the less resolve she has.
A small light bobs in the distance, growing brighter. And just when Eliza thinks her teeth will start to fall out from the clacking, Raven steps into the shallow circle of the lamp-post, a torch in her right hand. Eliza whimpers slightly at the sight of her best friend and when the brunette opens the small door in the gate, she all but throws herself at the woman.
"Hey, hey," Raven's voice is soothing, her arms wrapping firmly around Eliza. "Wait, why aren't you wearing a coat?"
"Forgot it."
"Of course, you did," Raven sighs, but there's only warm exasperation in her voice. Eliza missed that. "Come on."
The brunette keeps one arm wrapped around Eliza's shoulders as they head back towards the castle. The snow seeps into the blonde's white Converse and her feet feel stiff by the time they reach the back entrance. When they step inside, Raven freezes, eyes narrowing on the duchess' face. The brighter interior illuminates the red splotches under Eliza's eyes and Raven asks sternly, "What happened?"
"I don't know," she whispers, turning down the empty corridor.
"Hey, don't walk away."
Eliza twists around to face her best friend, "I made a mistake, okay? This was a mistake."
Raven frowns, "Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? Because I will maim—"
"No, Raven. I hurt everyone. Me. I did this."
"You are not responsible for everyone else, Liza," the brunette states firmly. "Clarke made her choice as much as you made yours."
"And Lexa? Bellamy? We didn't give them a choice." Eliza simply shakes her head and makes her stiff feet carry her towards her bedroom. Had it really only been four days? It felt like five years had past. Or only a few hours. Time was odd like that. She wipes a damp arm across her face, using her t-shirt to dry her eyes before glancing at Raven.
"Do I look like I've been crying?"
Raven arches her eyebrows, "Do you want me to lie to you?"
Eliza snorts and raises a hand to knock on the door, breathing deeply. The sound of footsteps echoes behind the wooden barrier and then the latch whines as the door opens. Clarke stand directly opposite Eliza, her face strangely unreadable as she appraises the duchess. The baker looks infinitely more comfortable in the dusky pink robe since the last time Eliza saw her.
The duchess smiles weakly, "I'm back."
Clarke only frowns and then steps aside. The two women enter and Eliza glances around the ornate bedchamber, her home for the past three months. And as she stares at the brocaded carpet and silk divan, Eliza realizes that she did not miss it, not even once while she was gone. All of the furniture had been there long before she arrived and would be there long after she moved in with Lexa. The thought sends something painful through her stomach and she tries not to think about the pair of soft, brown eyes which flash into her mind.
Eliza swallows, "Did everything go okay after the ball?"
"Yeah," Clarke nods. "More than okay… how about you? Did you get to do everything you wanted?"
"Almost."
Silence stretches between them and it feels taut and uncomfortable. Clarke stares at Eliza, brows furrowed, and Eliza cannot help but feel her guilt rise like some specter between them. No matter what Raven says.
"Thank you… for helping me."
Clarke shrugs, "You're going to help Madi so in a way you are helping me and… and it's been… really wonderful to be here. You're very lucky, Eliza. I hope you know that. Lexa—" Clarke inhales as name leaves her lips. "Lexa is so special."
Eliza closes her eyes, hands clenching and unclenching as she tries to keep those traitorous emotions from ripping out of her. She breathes in and then out, saying smoothly. "You are the lucky one, Clarke. Bellamy and Madi are so caring. They love you so much."
"I know," Clarke replies quietly, then steps forward. "Take care of Lexa, please. She's so much softer than she lets people believe. Don't let her forget that. She needs to be reminded. And—"
"I'll try," Eliza says quickly, moving closer as well. Her eyes fix on Clarke's brilliant blue. And maybe it is a trick of the light, but Eliza thinks she sees tears forming. "Make sure Madi doesn't lose her wildness. Let her be crazy and spontaneous. I know what it feels like to have that diminished and I… I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Remind Bellamy to open up again. He deserves to find someone who loves him… he has so much to give."
Clarke frowns, "Eliza, I don't think you understand what you have here. How much Lexa cares about you—"
"No, Clarke," the duchess swears adamantly. "You don't understand. Bellamy—"
The woman breathes in sharply, eyes widening. "You're in love with him."
"What?"
Clarke laughs, "You're in love with Bellamy."
"I…" Eliza starts, but any words of protest fail her.
Clarke's face falls, realization dawning. "You're in love with Bellamy… but Lexa—"
"I didn't mean for it to happen—"
"How could you?"
"How could I?" Eliza asks indignantly, voice growing louder. "How? Because he's the most incredible person I've ever met. Because he cares about his daughter more than anyone in the world and would do anything for her, even sacrifice his own happiness, his own chance at love to keep her life stable and secure because he has never had that. Maybe because he notices when I'm upset and he doesn't let me twist my way around it. Because he—"
Clarke breathes in sharply, "I love Bellamy. I do. He is my best friend, but you have someone here who is willing to hang the moon for you, Eliza. Lexa bends over backwards to make you happy. She looks at you like… like she's never seen anything more beautiful in the world and then she tells you exactly that. She wants to know your ideas and dreams and help make them a reality. Magnificient. That's what she said to me, she said "you are magnificent—'"
"You're in love with Lexa."
"Yes!" Clarke shouts, throwing her hands wide. "I am. I am in love with your fiance who is desperately in love with you!"
Eliza just shakes her head, vision beginning to blur. Her mind feels like it's caked in mud. This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.
"What do we do?"
"Nothing," Clarke laughs, but the sound is hollow and without humor. "This is your life. And I— I have to think about the competition. There's nothing we can do except stick to the plan."
"Stick to the plan," the words fall flat from Eliza's mouth, tasting like ash against her tongue. "Right."
"Fuck this."
Both Eliza and Clarke twist to look at Raven. The brunette's arms are folded, her expression hard.
"Excuse me?" Clarke huffs, eyes narrowing.
"I said 'fuck this,'" Raven snaps, heated gaze bouncing between the two women. "Your plan is stupid and it should be changed. I'm not going to sit here and watch this bullshit."
"Raven—"
Eliza glares at her friend, "So you think we should just tell everyone we've been lying to them?"
"Yes."
Clarke shakes her head and Eliza snaps, "Wonderful. That would be the fastest way to completely ruin both of our lives."
"Or make them better!"
"Raven…" Clarke tries again, but the brunette just clenches her jaw. She stalks towards the door, wrenching it open.
Raven turns back at the last minute and hisses angrily, "You both are cowards."
The door slams and Clarke jumps back, startled. Eliza sighs, "She'll cool down… eventually."
In the hallway, Raven lets out a frustrated shout. She does not feel like cooling down. She feels incendiary. Those two are systematically ruining both their chances at happiness… for what? Raven will not stand for it. She strides down the hall and whips her cell phone out, punching the first name in her recent calls. After three rings an amused voice drawls from the end:
"I was about to call you. Fancy another round? I'm still lying where you left me and I can be more than ready by the time you—"
"Shut up, Murphy," Raven growls into the phone. "I'm about to tell you the little secret you've been so desperate to know this week… actually, it's better if you see it for yourself. Go to the second room on the fourth floor of the east wing—
"The one with the obnoxious flower drapes?"
"Yes, that one. Go there. Take a long-range camera. You should be able to see into her grace's bedchamber from there."
"Wow, wow, and what exactly do you want me to do with these illicit photographs?"
Raven breathes in, cursing herself for what she is about to say. But after a long exhale, she states concisely, "I want you to show them to the queen."