Logan Square, Chicago, USA - January 1st 2018 - 7:00 PM CST
A loud ping echoes through the elevator as the lift grinds to a halt on the fourth floor. The doors slide open and the woman inside steps through. Her gate is purposeful but light and each determined step brings her closer to the end of the hallway. She raps her knuckles three times on the door to apartment 48, then waits with practiced patience.
"Just a minute!" shouts a deep voice from the other side. A series of footsteps resound dully before the wooden barrier is flung open. Bellamy's hair is mused to one side and his grey-blue shirt pokes out of a daisy patterned apron that is clearly three sizes too small. His floured hands are raised before him like he is desperately trying to not touch anything. A smile spreads across his face.
"You're back," he sighs, pulling the blonde woman inside with his forearms. He shuts the door and then drags the new arrival into a firm hug. "Why didn't you just let yourself in?"
"It's… It's me."
The words are lilting, a distinctly Arkadian cadence, and Eliza extricates herself from his embrace as she speaks them, knowing what his response will be. Sure enough, Bellamy stiffens and then steps back. His eyes flit over her again as if registering her appearance for the first time — the slim jeans, grey sweater, and short tan boots not quite what Clarke would wear.
"Right," he clears his throat, cheeks coloring. His hand scratches at the back of his neck and he shakes his head as if to clear some thought before turning away. "Well, uh… do you want something to drink? Water? Tea?" He glances back at her as he walks towards the kitchen, "Whiskey?"
Eliza opens her mouth when he continues to stare, waiting for an answer. This is… unexpected. She lets out a strange laughing exhale then asks, "You're not going to throw me out?"
Bellamy winces, "I deserve that, I guess."
She steps forward with a shake of her head. But she doesn't really know what to say. As much as she may have planned this, Eliza never actually imagined she would make it past the front door. She clears her throat, "Water is fine, thanks."
He nods, dusting his hands against his apron before removing the article. He fills a glass from the tap and brings it over to her. A muttered 'thanks' leaves her and then the pads of her fingers brush briefly against his. Eliza tries not to notice how quickly he steps away, but her throat tightens. She turns around, pretending to survey the space.
It's a small, clean apartment. A wall of exposed brick stands behind the living room directly across from the functional open-design kitchen. A narrow hallway leads off, no doubt to the bedrooms.
"It's not much," Bellamy mutters gruffly when she faces him again. And Eliza can tell he is uncomfortable with her appraisal. Or maybe he is just uncomfortable with her. "It's probably not very nice compared to what you're used to, but for us—"
"It's perfect," she assures him.
His lips tug slightly as his eyes slide to hers, "It's weird to hear your real voice. And also easier… somehow."
Eliza only nods. A thousand different questions run through her mind: What's weird? What's easier? Are you still angry? Have you forgiven me? She takes a sip of water to wash the words from her throat, to keep herself from blurting them out like vomit over the wood floor. Instead, she smiles and asks casually, "Did you have a good New Yea—"
"ELIZA!" A triumphant shout rings out like a battle cry before Madi runs full-throttle at the woman. She careens into Eliza, wrapping her small hands around the blonde's waist. The duchess chuckles, lifting her glass in a feeble attempt to keep the water from spilling. A few drops land on the child's head and Madi shakes them off like a wet dog.
The cup is slipped from her hand and Eliza glances over to see Bellamy set it down. She smiles appreciatively and then bends down to bundle the little girl into a tight hug.
"I missed you," Madi whispers in her ear.
Eliza grins, "Missed you too, kiddo."
"Things are boring without you."
"Hey now!" Bellamy's indignant tone draws their attention. He leans against the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching them. Madi gives him a look that speaks volumes and Eliza guesses that it might not the first time they've had this particular conversation.
"So," Madi starts, looking back at Eliza. "Are you here to stay?"
"Madi," her father sighs in exasperation. The blonde duchess straightens, opening her mouth to respond. But, no words come out. Bellamy takes that cue, pushing away from the counter. "Alright, squirt—"
"No! Dad, c'mon."
"—can you please go to your room?"
"Dad!"
Bellamy gives his daughter a stern look. She scrunches her face and sighs, turning. Then pauses, "Will Eliza still be here when I get back?"
"I don't know, Madi," Bellamy admits and the resignation in his voice adds gasoline to the anxious fire brewing within Eliza.
The girl scowls and then points at her father, "She better be." He has the grace to look completely affronted by his daughter's command, but Madi stomps down the hallway and slams her door before he can formulate a response.
Eliza's stomach flips when Bellamy turns to face her; she can almost feel the casual ease of earlier fade as she holds his gaze. There is a watchful sort of clarity in his dark eyes, a kind of measuring observation. The muscles in his jaw twitch and she imagines she can see the gears in his head turning. Eliza swallows and crosses to the kitchen island, picking up her water and sipping firmly at its edge. She's not even drinking. She's just stalling, afraid to move beyond this tender truce that now seems to be shattering. His eyebrows begin to rise at the length of her sip.
"Thirsty?"
Eliza blushes and clears her throat. "So, did you have a good New Years?" she asks lightly, turning to set her glass down and pressing her hands against the cool, concrete countertop. Her heart is beating a ragged, thumping rhythm in her chest. She feels like she might throw up, actual vomit this time.
"Really?"
She spins to face him, crossing her arms and nodding once. He holds her gaze a moment longer and then shrugs.
"It was fine."
Eliza bites her cheek, breathing in. She nods, "That's good. Very good. And… emm… did you—"
"Eliza," Bellamy sighs and runs a hand through his hair. She watches as some remnants of flour streak through his brown curls. It's the first time he has actually used her name. Eliza. He just stares at her, "Are we really going to do this?"
"What do you mean?"
He shakes his head, "Are we going to talk about everything except what we should be talking about?"
"I'm very good at avoiding things," Eliza laughs nervously.
"I've noticed."
She smiles weakly and then walks past him to plop down on the couch. "Okay."
Bellamy quirks an eyebrow at her and then moves slowly to join. He sits in the armchair rather than the sofa and the deliberate distance between them is like a weight at the bottom of her stomach. She clears her throat for the third time, hyper-conscious of his gaze lingering on her face. Eliza stares at the coffee table for a moment. Then squares her shoulders and meets his gaze. "I love you," she states simply.
Surprise overwhelms the wariness of his features, though whether he is shocked by the fact or the non sequitur Eliza is unsure. She inhales to steady herself and then continues, "I didn't get the chance to tell you that… the day of the competition, but… I love you, Bellamy. I love Madi. And I— I want you to know that. I want you to know that you were right. I did make a selfish decision. And I didn't think about the consequences…" His brows furrow and she feels that tightening in her chest, in her throat, as she pushes on, "But I'm not sorry. I can't be. I— I am more myself than I have ever been. I am about to live my life for me, not for anyone else, and no matter what happens, if you forgive me or if you," her voice catches, "hate me for the rest of your life, I am grateful that I got to be with you and Madi because… you taught me that lesson. Both of you."
Silence stretches out between them and Eliza watches Bellamy's throat bob as he swallows. His jaw rolls and his eyes fix on the floor between them. He runs a hand through his hair — an action which Eliza is beginning to recognize is a habit. Finally, he sighs.
"I don't hate you, Eliza."
"You don't?"
He grimaces, a pained expression coming over his face. "I'm sorry for how I spoke to you at the competition. I said some really cruel things and… and that's not the person I want to be. Ever."
"I know I hurt you—"
"That's not an excuse," he shakes his head. "Look, you may think you love me, but the truth is we hardly know each other. I'm flattered, really." His eyes meet hers again, sincere, apologetic even, and she tries to shove aside the disappointment pooling in her stomach. "There are things you don't know about me and… they're not pleasant or easy."
Eliza holds his gaze for a beat then shifts closer, perching on the edge of the coffee table so that her knees almost knock against his. Bellamy straightens, confused, but she just smiles softly.
"I know that you love your daughter more than anyone in the world," Eliza admits quietly, gazing at the inch of space dividing their knees. "I know that you are loyal and caring and honest. You are funny in a completely dorky, nerdy sort of way that always makes me laugh." She watches his Adam's apple slide down his throat again. "I know that you have a very close, but often strained relationship with your sister. I know that you take way too much sugar in your coffee and that true to the American stereotype you prefer espresso to tea." She breathes in and finally lets her eyes slide up, falling into his wide, dark ones. "I might not know everything about you, Bellamy Blake, but every part of you I do know, I am in love with. And if you want to tell me something… about your past… you can. You can tell me anything."
He shakes his head, standing. "Eliza—"
"Bellamy," she follows him up.
"I—" he tugs at his hair again. Without thinking, Eliza reaches up and brushes the specks of flour from his dark curls. His eyes lock onto hers. "You don't— You're not Clarke."
"I know."
"No," he shakes his head again, firmly. "Clarke is my best friend— I thought she— I thought it was her. I thought you were her."
It takes a moment for the words to register, for the full impact of what Bellamy is saying to sift through Eliza's mind. It's delayed. Like the physical crash of a tree follows the sound of its cracked hull splitting.
"Oh," Eliza swallows, stepping away from the heat burning in her chest. "You—you're in love with Clarke… I mean, it makes sense! I guess I just thought that it was us, but… I didn't see how you two acted together. Before. I didn't know that you already felt that way for her—" Eliza breathes in sharply, the air wavering in her lungs as another realization hits her. "Oh god, this must be so painful for you. With Lexa. I didn't even realize—"
He closes his eyes briefly, then gives Eliza a pointed look, "I am not in love with Clarke."
"You're not?"
"No, but… she's my best friend. She knows almost everything about me. Would it be easier with Clarke? Yeah, but—"
"I don't—" Eliza starts, brows furrowing. "I'm not sure I understand…"
"Look, Eliza, you may know pieces of me, but that's all they are. Pieces. There are things in my past which I don't like to touch, but… they also make up who I am and I don't know how to let you in, how to let anyone in, without going back there."
Eliza steps forward, "I know certain things are hard to discuss, but—"
His expression hardens, "It's more complicated than that. You can't understand—"
"At least, I'm trying to!"
"Well, maybe you shouldn't."
"What?" She exhales, indignant at the ease with which he shuts down, closes off, becomes impenetrable."What is that supposed to mean? Why can't you just be honest?"
"I have never lied to you."
"Then tell me how you feel!" Eliza shouts, throwing her arms wide, body close to vibrating. "Tell me how you feel… about me. Because, if you say that you don't care, I will leave. So just tell me," Eliza's chest heaves, her voice simmering, heavy. "Tell me how you feel."
"I…" Bellamy opens his mouth, jaw working. "I don't hate you."
She groans in frustration, "That's not an answer, Bellamy. Why can't you just admit it?"
"There's nothing to admit," he says firmly, face shuttering, guarded.
"You— Ugh!" She throws her hands up. Her nerves are completely shot. She has felt her heart plummet and soar and race all in the same span of breath. It's too much.
"Good," he nods. "This is good. You can just be angry with me and—"
"I'm not angry with you, I'm furious!"
He clenches his jaw and nods again and her indignation spikes at his mute silence. Eliza steps forward, bringing her hands up between them. She means to just gesture, at least that's her intention, but his eyes flick down and he encircles her wrists before she can lift them very high. It's not a tight grip. It's gentle but annoyingly effective.
She laughs hollowly, "Why won't you just talk to me?"
"I am talking to you," he sighs.
"No, you're deflecting. There's a difference, Bellamy."
He snorts as she uses his own words against him, "Just leave it be, Eliza. I forgive you. Okay? You can leave and be happy and live your life for you."
"Fuck you," she hisses back, tears stinging her eyes. "I don't want your fucking forgiveness, Bellamy. I want you to talk to me. I want you to tell me how you feel without hiding behind some rubbish excuse. I want you—" she inhales a shaky breath. There was more to that sentence, more to what she was going to say, but she can't remember anymore. Not when his eyes darken, almost pitch black, and the heat of his gaze flicks down to her lips. Eliza sags into him. She doesn't want to fight. She's tired of fighting. His hands loosen, sliding along her arms and over her back. Eliza shivers against him then says quietly, "Just tell me. I don't care what you did."
He stiffens and then steps back, arms falling to his sides. "There's no ghost in my closet if that's what you're thinking—"
"I don't know what to think!"
"I didn't commit a crime or get involved in some shady deal. I just— Fine," he nods sharply, some emotion passing over his tan face. "Fine. If that's what you need to leave, then fine. Just… sit on the couch. I'll be right there."
Eliza frowns, confusion and dread creating a hedge maze inside of her. She forces her feet to carry her, forces her muscles to relax as she sinks into the cushions of the sofa. Eliza listens to the sound of glass clattering in the kitchen, then the soft echo of footsteps against the wood, until a few moments later Bellamy appears in front of her. He sits on the coffee table, mirroring her earlier position, and sets a large glass bottle beside him. Eliza frowns, glancing up.
"Are you going to drink that?"
Bellamy shakes his head, "No, I'm not… but you are welcome to if you want." When she doesn't reach for the alcohol, he picks it up, spinning the label around. His voice drifts from him and even though he is staring at the liquid inside, Eliza knows the words are for her.
"I told you a bit about my dad, but… not everything. He… he was either the best person in the world or the worst. He loved to play games with me and Octavia, board games, make-believe, anything really. He always seemed to have this endless supply of energy… But when he drank," Bellamy sets the bottle back down, "he was violent and mean and left more bruises on all of us than I care to remember. There were good periods. But they were few and far between and— every time," his voice rattles, "I saw my mom with another bruise, it felt like I had failed her. She was always telling me to watch out for Octavia. But who was watching out for her?"
He shakes his head, pausing to compose his face, jaw becoming rigid. But the effort is not complete. At moments, his mouth quivers with an persistence that makes Eliza feel sick. Yet his words are quiet when he continues, "The only thing he ever responded to was violence. He only stopped when he was scared. Afraid that he had done so much damage we would finally leave him or simply afraid of someone else. So… I tried to become bigger and stronger than he was. I tried to match his rage with my own. To be some kind of buffer between him and my mom. I was so angry. All the time. And when I thought he had died, when my mother did die, I just—" he shrugs his massive shoulders, eyes fixed on the floor.
"There was so much rage inside of me that I didn't know what to do with. It got better with time and help. Clarke was there for me, convinced me to see a therapist. And meeting Gina shifted a lot of things, but—" He looks up at Eliza and she can see unshed tears in his eyes. "It's still here. It's always here. Whenever I'm afraid or feel threatened, I have to actively remind myself not to go back there. That is why I shut down at the competition." He picks up the alcohol again and then hands it to her. Eliza takes it silently.
"I don't drink," Bellamy admits. "Not because I'm an alcoholic, but because I am terrified of being like my father. I don't want to hurt you. Or anyone. I made enough mistakes with Gina before she died and I—" he closes his eyes. "I have Madi now and that's enough. She's enough."
The quiet of the living room is only broken by the soft tick of some clock that Eliza cannot see. Bellamy doesn't look up. He waits with stiff shoulders as if he is prepared for her to leave. As if his rigid body could take that blow better than his exposed heart.
Eliza slides onto the floor between his knees as the first few tears fall down his cheeks. She runs her hands along his legs and around his back, dragging him towards her. He lets out a ragged breath but doesn't pull away. His cheek is warm against hers when she finally murmurs, "It's okay if Madi isn't enough. It's okay to want more and it's okay to be afraid. I'm terrified. My heart is literally sliding out my ass half of the time I'm with you," she admits, smiling as he chuckles at her crude expression. "I'm petrified of fucking this up. I don't have nearly enough life experience to form any confident opinion on my own. Unless you ask me about foreign affairs or trade policy. I'm winging almost everything I do and I probably have serious self-esteem issues... But I still want to try, I still want to figure out this crazy world and… I want to do it with you."
Something shifts in Bellamy's eyes as he pulls back to look at her. Some disbelief or hesitation slips away. "Are you sure?"
"I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs. They are almost eye to eye, with her kneeling on the floor and him sitting down. Eliza's breath hitches as he reaches out to brush blonde hair behind her ear. A throbbing hum seems to flicker to life between them, growing stronger the longer she stares into those dark eyes. She clears her throat softly, "I— I've been thinking about buying some real estate here…in Chicago."
"Oh?" he asks, eyes never wavering from her face.
"It's a good investment," she explains.
That hum between them builds until it becomes almost tangible, something she could reach out and touch. His gaze seems to intensify, to hold her captive as he leans forward by fractions, as her breath seeps slowly from her lungs.
"Just KISS her, Dad!" A small shout from the hall rips their gaze away from each other. Madi's head pokes out from the frame, a grin spread across her face. Bellamy groans, dropping his forehead onto Eliza's shoulder, his breath brushing against her collarbone.
"What are the chances that she's been here the whole time?" he whispers into her skin.
Eliza laughs softly, "Very high."
"Maybe she's too young to understand?"
"I think that might be a very risky bet."
"Kiss her!" Madi's whisper-shout comes from the other side of the armchair now. Bellamy tilts his head to the ceiling with an exasperated sigh as Eliza laughs into his chest. Then before the duchess can even catch her breath, he bends down and cups her face between his palms. Bellamy opens his mouth against hers, pressing the heat of his tongue to her bottom lip. She gasps into him, shock and something infinitely sweeter pounding through her system, then she rises up to meet the caress, pressing her mouth, her whole body more fully against him.
"Hey! Wow! Too much!" Madi cries, her voice getting louder until her small hands press at the sides of their faces. "My eyes! It burns. My eyes!"
Eliza sits back on her heels, laughter ripping from her as Madi falls between them. The little kid presses her hands to her own face as if she has suddenly gone blind, her mouth open in pretend agony.
Bellamy snorts and bends over to tickle her armpits which sends the little girl shrieking around the coffee table. Madi stops a safe distance away, her face caught between a wide grin and a suspicious glare. But something else catches her attention and her eyes brighten, "Have you told her?"
"Told her what, squirt?"
"About our idea!"
"Not yet, but—" Bellamy laughs as Madi sprints off down the hallway, shouting about being right back. The tall, dark-haired man turns back to Eliza. "It was actually your idea."
"Really?"
He nods, "But I'll let her tell you. She might bite off my head if I do it first."
Eliza grins, imagining the explosive tirade his little hellion could unleash. Bellamy's expression softens and his hand reaches out again. The duchess swallows thickly as his thumb smooths over her brow.
"I may not know everything about you, Elizabeth Kane," he echoes softly. "But every part I do know, I am in love with."
Her heart explodes out of her ribcage and Eliza catches hold of his hand, turning her lips into his palm to press a soft kiss against the skin there. His chest expands and stills, caught on the inhale. And just as Eliza begins to shift towards him, Madi hollers, sliding back into the room with a large poster board. They both groan softly, sharing a sort of despairing, amused look before turning to the excited kid. Madi grins.
"We're gonna build a restaurant!"
"Not build, squirt," Bellamy chuckles. "Just open."
"That's what I said, right?" Madi scoffs at him and lays the board against the armchair. "Dad will cook and I'll man the cash register."
"I never agreed to that."
"You will! And we're going to get Lincoln, Octavia's boyfriend, to be the manager. Right, Dad? And maybe even find something for Octavia to do."
"Other than scare the customers?" Bellamy snorts.
Madi rolls her eyes at him and then looks at Eliza, "What do you want to do? You can have a job too!"
"Oh," Eliza breathes out, smiling. Her eyes slide back to Bellamy, but he only waits for her response. "Well, are you looking for an investor?"
He is silent for a moment and then says, "Yes, but I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"What do you mean? I've got more money than I can spend," she shrugs and then laughs, giving him a pointed look. "Unless you're afraid of being a kept man?"
Bellamy snorts and leans closer, eyes steady, "Eliza, one day, when you make an honest man out of me, you can spoil me with as much of your exorbitant inheritance as you want… until then I want everything to be clear between us."
"Oh?"
"I don't want your money. I want you."
Warmth radiates from Eliza's chest, spreading into her throat and cheeks as she stares into those brown eyes. They brim with promise, with a sense of hesitant disbelief, with burgeoning hope. Hope. A smile spreads across the duchess' face as she pitches herself into Bellamy's arms and presses her lips to his. He kisses her back, holding her face as if it is infinitely precious to him. And that kiss is like snow in sunshine. Like watching it rain from the shelter of a warm cabin. Like the sweet sense of peace and joy and abundance. It's like finally coming home.