Despite their moment of bonding, Clarke was beginning to think Wednesday couldn't come fast enough. Having Bellamy around was making her edgy, and her edginess was making him even more unpleasant than she suspected he usually was. Because he was her guest, she knew he wasn't doing it on purpose, but his gruffness was starting to chafe on her nerves. She looked at him now, watching as he shoved a particularly large spoonful of corn flakes into his mouth. She bit back a smile. He was a lot easier to be around when his mouth was full.
"Octavia will be here in a couple minutes." She told him, and he nodded while continuing to chew. Octavia hadn't seen much of Bellamy in the past few days, and Clarke had actually had to tell her to stop sending snapchats of her and Lincoln in bed, because every time she went to open the videos Bellamy was in the room. It took about three awkwardly closed videos of moaning before Clarke called Octavia and threatened to block her. Bellamy was probably beginning to think she liked to watch porn on her phone. It was Tuesday now, and Lincoln had finally gone home, so the siblings were going to spend some time together. Clarke was glad for it, even if only because it would get Bellamy out of her hair for a couple of hours. There was a knock on the door and Clarke turned to answer it, shaking her head as Bellamy continued to shove huge mounds of cereal into his mouth.
"Hey." She pulled the door open and practically dragged Octavia into the apartment.
"Hi to you too." Octavia muttered, rubbing her arm where Clarke's hand had been. "What's with you?"
Clarke sighed.
"Your brother is just… getting on my nerves." She admitted. Her mother, the perfect hostess, would have been horrified that she had spoken ill of her guest, but Clarke and Octavia were close enough that tact was discarded almost entirely. Octavia grinned.
"Oh, I know the feeling. Imagine living with him for twenty years." She began to shrug off her coat, but Clarke shook her head.
"No thanks. And don't take your coat off. Go find Bellamy and get him out of my apartment, I need a couple hours to draw. He's been stressing me out since Saturday night and I need some me time." Clarke shoved Octavia down the hall. Her friend looked back at her suspiciously.
"Can't you draw with him here?"
Clarke shook her head.
"No. And besides, he doesn't know I draw, so."
Octavia made a noise of understanding.
"Ah. You know, I thought it was weird when he asked me for the name of the 'local artist' who did the painting in my bedroom." Clarke paused at Octavia's words, glancing into the kitchen to see if Bellamy had heard.
"Did you tell him it was me?" She asked. The brunette shook her head.
"No. I figured if you wanted him to know, he would. Why don't you want him to know?"
Clarke shrugged.
"I don't know it's just… private." Octavia scoffed.
"You're weirdly modest. If I had your talent-"
"If you looked like that and had any kind of artistic talent I don't think we could be friends." Clarke said, resuming her effort to push Octavia towards her brother. Octavia rolled her eyes.
"You're crazy. Bell!" She shouted, as they rounded the corner into the kitchen. She threw her arms around her brother, who patted her halfheartedly on the back.
"What, did you guys spend twenty minutes conspiring in the doorway or something?" He asked suspiciously, eyes darting between the two girls. Clarke shrugged.
"I was just telling Octavia how much you've been getting on my nerves." She told him. His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. It was the first real crack she'd taken at him since he arrived, everything up until now had been almost painfully polite. But having Octavia here made him seem like family, somehow. She smiled. Bellamy frowned, picking up his bowl and loading it into the dishwasher.
"I'll go grab my jacket." He muttered, casting another wary glance over his shoulder as he retreated. Clarke rolled her eyes.
"Well at least you haven't killed each other yet. Or slept together." Octavia mused. Clarke stared at her in horror. Octavia sighed. "It wouldn't be the first time, trust me." Clarke was afraid to ask.
"Oh." She reached out, grabbing Octavia's hand. "And maybe don't mention the whole me and Finn thing. I thought it might make him feel weird tomorrow." Her friend smiled sadly.
"Sure."
Clarke hated that Octavia still looked like that every time Finn's name came up. After she'd found out about Finn and Raven it had been almost a week before Octavia could get her out of bed. It wasn't necessarily the heartbreak, although that had been bad enough, but the embarrassment of having been played like that had made facing the world seem insurmountable. But Octavia had gotten her there, slowly weaning her out of her apartment, and eventually rage had replaced rejection. Clarke had gotten over it, mostly, but her friend would never forgive Finn.
Bellamy appeared again, holding his jacket and an umbrella.
"Does it ever not rain here?" He wondered.
"Every few years there's a dry day in July." Clarke quipped. He glared. She couldn't help it. Now that the first bit of sarcasm had slipped out it seemed there was no going back. Not that she minded. Clarke hated polite for polite's sake. It was something her mother had always practiced, but Clarke favoured honesty over tact. It was one of the reasons her and Octavia got along so well.
"Come on grumpy." Octavia trilled, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Let's leave Clarke to pa-" she stopped herself just in time. "Partake in some quiet time." Clarke rolled her eyes. Nice save, she mouthed. Octavia just shrugged.
It didn't take long after they'd left for Clarke to lose herself in her sketchbook. It had been a busy week at the hospital, and coming home after twelve hour work days to a moody and unpredictable Bellamy had taken it's toll on her. An hour went by before she realized what she was drawing. She suddenly found herself staring at a familiar brick storefront in Yaletown. It had been a First Nations art gallery for years, but recently the proprietor had passed away, and within a few weeks it had been converted into a gallery full of pieces from local artists. Clarke often ducked in when she was in the area, admiring the art and chatting with the staff. The curator was an opinionated woman in her twenties, Anya Trikru, and although her and Clarke had gotten into more than one heated discussion the two of them got along pretty well. Clarke had never mentioned her own work, but she'd been talked into buying a camping scene, one of a site along the Coquihalla River where she used to go with her father. It was beautiful, and nostalgic, and it always made her feel something.
After a little while the rain stopped and she decided to go out for a walk, packing some pencils and her sketchbook, and eventually found herself on a bench in Stanley Park. She passed a few hours there, until the light started to fade and the crowds started to thin, and then she slowly made her way back home. It wasn't until she pushed through her door and heard the sounds of Bellamy and Octavia's laughter that she realized exactly how badly she'd needed a day off. She'd spent all week thinking Bellamy was the problem, that having a guest was stressing her out, that his attitude was wearing her down, but the truth was that she had been miserable long before he arrived.
She hated her job. As she hung her coat by the door and made her way toward the living room it suddenly struck her that the dread she was feeling had nothing to do with the floppy haired writer on her couch. But the thought of going back to the hospital the next day, arguing with patients, spending hours in surgery, it was overwhelming. And now that she could finally admit to herself how little it meant to her, the sixty hour work week in front of her was no longer an option.
"I think I'm quitting my job." She announced, flopping onto the couch beside Octavia. Both siblings stared at her, wide-eyed, as the conversation ground to a halt.
"You're-wait what?" Octavia demanded, instantly focused. Bellamy just looked on in confusion.
"I'm going to leave the program." Clarke said. There was something both liberating and terrifying in saying it out loud. Octavia set her glass of wine down so quickly it almost sloshed over the side.
"Since when?" Her friend wondered.
"Since now."
There was silence for a moment or two, Clarke reveling in the freedom while Octavia gaped like a fish. Bellamy stayed quiet, but his eyes were thoughtful.
"Well." Octavia said. "I'll drink to that."
Clarke grinned, surprised at her relief. It wasn't like she needed Octavia's permission, but having someone, anyone to back up her decision was all she'd really needed.
"I guess I need a drink then." She said, standing. She eyed Bellamy's almost empty beer. "You?" He cleared his throat.
"I-sure." He finished the remaining dregs and handed Clarke the empty bottle. She carried it into the kitchen, mind still reeling a little. This was a big decision, maybe bigger than any she'd made so far. She had gone into medicine because it had meant security, independence. The last thing she wanted was to end up broke and back on her mother's doorstep. But the longer she spent in the surgical internship the more miserable she became, and over the past few months it had become clear her heart wasn't in it anymore. You can still change your mind. The voice in her head sounded unsurprisingly like her mother. But she was sure, for once. She grabbed two beers from the fridge and headed back into the living room.
"So," She said, handing one of the bottles to Bellamy. "What did you two get up to today?" He took it, staring back at her with an intensity that made her a little uncomfortable.
"Did some shopping on Granville when the rain let up, hit a few used bookstores. Grandpa over there spent like two hours in the one on West Pender." Octavia muttered. Bellamy smirked.
"I didn't complain when you spent an hour in that tattoo parlor talking to the guy with the things in his ears."
"Oh my god they're called gauges." Octavia looked horrified. "Just how old are you exactly?" He frowned.
"Are you seriously getting another tattoo?" Clarke asked. Octavia already had more than Clarke could count on her hands, and those were just the ones she'd seen. Octavia shrugged.
"I don't know. Nyko and I were talking designs but we couldn't come up with anything I liked. I was actually going to ask you-" Clarke coughed, cutting her off. Octavia paused, then looked at Bellamy. He looked a little wary, but not any more so than usual.
"Did you guys already eat?" Clarke asked. Octavia shook her head. "Then I'm taking you out for dinner. We're celebrating." She made a noise of yearning. "I've been craving a burger from Murphy's for like a week." Octavia hummed in agreement.
Twenty minutes later they were sitting in the pub, a waitress appearing as they settled in with a pitcher of beer and a few glasses.
"Thanks, Monroe." Clarke smiled at her. The other girl just nodded, placing the pitcher on the table and disappearing without a word.
"Friendly staff." Bellamy commented. Clarke sighed.
"She takes a while to warm up to people."
"Trust me," Octavia murmured, pouring the beer. "If you had to work for Murphy you would look like that too." He cocked his head.
"Murphy?"
"The owner." Clarke said, wondering if maybe Bellamy wasn't as smart as she'd originally thought.
"Yeah, I got that. I just meant… Are you two on a first name basis with the staff at all the bars in the area, or is it just this one?" He smiled cheekily. Clarke was surprised at how approachable it made him look.
"Don't look at me." Octavia said, laughing. "I'm reformed now." Clarke scoffed.
"Oh don't even try that. I still don't remember what happened last weekend."
"I rest my case." Octavia grinned. Clarke rolled her eyes. "Oh." The brunette pulled her phone from a pocket in her jacket. "Actually, I think there are pictures."
Clarke shook her head.
"I think I'm better off not knowing." She muttered.
Bellamy looked intrigued, but stayed quiet.
As the night wore on they steadily made their way through two more pitchers of beer and a couple rounds of shots. By the time Murphy came around to kick everyone out they could barely stand. Still, Bellamy had enough brain power left to close out their tab.
"It's supposed to be my treat." Clarke argued. Her words were a little slurred, but he seemed to get the message all the same. He shook his head, shoving a wad of cash at Monroe.
"No offense, but you're basically unemployed." He said. Clarke got the distinct sense it had been meant to come out kind, but for some reason the image of someone that drunk feeling sorry for her made her instantly defensive.
"I'm not unemployed." She muttered. Both Blakes glanced accusingly at her. "Okay technically." She wobbled a little as they made their way out onto the cobblestones and Bellamy's hand shot out automatically, steadying her. She whacked it away. Octavia giggled. They stumbled along like that, walking in the general direction of her loft until Clarke heard her name from behind them.
"Clarke?" She turned, a little too quickly, and almost toppled over. Once again, Bellamy was there to catch her. This time she let him. As she straightened up the approaching figure came into focus, and she smiled.
"Miller, hey." She said. The bearded boy grinned back at her.
"What a scene." Miller muttered, his big dark eyes scanning the intoxicated group. Octavia looked indignant.
"We're celebrating." She told him. He raised his eyebrows.
"Oh yeah? What's the occasion?"
"I quit my job." Clarke said. Then frowned. "I mean I'm going to." Miller pursed his lips like he was suppressing a smile.
"Really."
Clarke studied his reaction, frowning.
"You don't look surprised." She noted. He shrugged.
"I'm not. You hate your job."
Clarke squinted at him. He was a part of the group of friends she met at the hospital. A pharmaceutical chemist named Jasper had invited her out for drinks after a particularly long shift, and the people he had introduced her to, including Miller, were a mixture of sweet and delinquent. They had all become close in the past year or so, but Clarke had always been guarded. Other than Octavia she doubted there was anyone who truly knew her, baggage and all.
"How did you know that?" She wondered. Clarke wasn't much of a complainer. She hadn't mentioned how much her job had been bringing her down to anyone other than Octavia. Miller grinned.
"Maybe I'm psychic." He said. Clarke scoffed. For the first time, Miller addressed Bellamy. "So, who are you to take my girls out and get them sauced like this?" Bellamy frowned.
"I'm Bellamy. Octavia's brother. How do you all know each other?" He wasn't sober, not by a long shot, but it seemed like the crisp night air was beginning to pull him back to reality.
"I dunno." Miller shrugged again. "A mutual friend introduced us." Bellamy looked suspicious. Miller wasn't being cryptic, their relationship was hard to explain. Octavia had hooked up with him once, after a lot of tequila and a bad breakup. Nothing ever came of it, and Clarke would never have known about it if Octavia hadn't told her. About a month after the Finn disaster Clarke had followed suit, sleeping with Miller on and off for a couple weeks until they decided to stay friends while they still could. No one knew, other than the three of them, and if anything they were closer than before.
"We gotta go." Octavia shouted suddenly, spinning unsteadily on her heel and sprinting in the opposite direction. Bellamy only gaped in surprise for a second before chasing after his sister. Clarke blinked, bewildered, but the sound of retching in the distance quickly explained her friend's abrupt departure.
"I guess I'm going." She said. He fell into step beside her as she resumed their route home.
"You happy, doc?" He asked, face not moving from it's trademark unreadable ambivalence. Clarke shrugged.
"Sure."
All four of them made it back to the loft in one piece, Miller making sure they were all safely inside before taking off. Octavia staggered into bed, Clarke's bed, and Bellamy disappeared followed soon after by the sound of running water. Clarke slid into bed next to Octavia, knowing from bitter experience that her friend would be no worse for the wear the next morning while she suffered her own hangover in solitude. As she lay in bed, listening to the sound of the shower, Clarke suddenly remembered the reason they'd gone out to celebrate in the first place.
"O." Clarke rolled over, facing Octavia and giving her friend a shove.
"What?" Octavia groaned.
"Do you think I'm crazy?"
"Yes."
"Do you think I'm crazy for quitting my job?"
Octavia sighed, opening one eye reluctantly.
"No. I think you know exactly what you're doing. You're going to be great. And I'm going to sleep now." She hit Clarke, hard, and then rolled over and pulled the comforter over her head. Clarke tried to quell the anxious flutters that were starting in her stomach. What was she going to tell her boss? Oh god. What was she going to tell her mother?
