Clarke got back to the loft sometime around 6. She'd stashed all of the party stuff at Octavia's, and was picking up most of the food tomorrow. When she walked in, she heard Bellamy's voice, slightly raised and obviously laced with anger.

"I don't care that it's been-" His voice was broken for a moment by the sound of the fridge door slamming. "Yeah, Katherine, I get it, but-no…there's still a lot of research here. I'll have the next chapter to you by Monday, okay? Fine."

The apartment fell into silence, and Clarke imagined that if he had the ability, he would have hung up manually by slamming the phone into its receiver. There were some things technology had taken away from them, she mused. Apparently hanging up on someone, violently and angrily and loudly, was one of those things. She cleared her throat as she shrugged off her coat, making her way into the kitchen.

He looked up when she came in, startled.

"Everything alright?" It seemed pointless to pretend she hadn't heard. Although you would think she'd have learned her lesson about bothering him after his phone calls. The same thought seemed to cross his mind, his features drawing together.

"Fine." He grunted, draining the last of whatever drink had been sitting on the counter. She kicked herself, mentally, for falling for this again. Whatever stick he'd had up his ass the night before, clearly it was still there.

"I don't know why I asked." She muttered, when his angry eyes followed her to the fridge. He snorted.

"Me neither." His voice was tinged with malice, but for some reason Clarke felt he didn't mean it. It pissed her off all the same.

"Well, I won't ask again." She said angrily, slamming the fridge door shut. She was surprised the thing didn't just fall off after all the abuse it had suffered in the past five minutes. "I'll leave you to sulk now."

She twisted the top off her beer, flinging it into the trash can beside him, then stalked toward the living room. He might be annoying her, but it was her house after all, and she sure as hell wasn't going to let him frighten her off to her bedroom every time they argued. Which, she suspected, was going to be frequently going forward.

She turned on the TV as loud as she could, just out of spite, and an ad came on for one of those fruit basket services. Reminded, again, of the fact that she still had to buy the cranky writer in her kitchen a birthday gift, she downed the entirety of her beer in one go, and closed her eyes.

Monroe had mentioned him being a history buff, which she'd already known about anyways And he was a writer, so she could always get him one of those notebooks he was always carrying around. But that was a pretty cheap gift, and he mostly worked on his laptop when he was writing now.

Then she remembered it. A little too personal, maybe, for how long she'd known him, but she didn't have any other ideas.

.

The next 24 hours came and went, Bellamy being just as sullen as the past 24, though at least he was consistent, and Clarke stayed up all night finishing things for his party.

Octavia picked him up at seven on the dot, and Clarke was close behind them, running around like a madman picking up all the catering. Somehow, the guest list had expanded to something like fifty people, and Clarke had to make some last minute adjustments to make sure everyone would have something to eat.

Her and Octavia had traded vehicles for the evening, which seemed stupid in retrospect, as Clarke strapped a small mountain of food to the back of her friend's Harley. But Bellamy liked to give his sister a hard time about the bike, and Octavia hadn't really wanted to drive around with him on the back complaining and calling it a "donor cycle", so Clarke had lent her the keys to the Charger.

"Don't drive like a crazy person. It's a muscle car, it doesn't take turns like the Harley does." She said, dangling the keys in front of her. Octavia took them with a sigh.

"I've driven a car before, Clarke."

"And don't let Bellamy drive!" She shouted, panicked, as the pair of them disappeared through the front door. He flipped her the bird behind his back, and she felt her fingernails dig into her palm.

But obviously Bellamy didn't know about Clarke's plans for the evening, so she hadn't had a good reason to refuse. Which was why she was now roaring home with a tower of catering boxes and alcohol behind her back. She didn't have her motorcycle license per se, but when Octavia had been going through her rough patch, she'd taught Clarke to ride, and there had been more than one night since then when Clarke was the only one sober enough to get them home, and the bike had been the only vehicle available. Before Raven, the Charger had had some serious transmission issues.

She pulled up in front of her building with no gastronomical casualties, and waddled with the food back up to her place. There was light coming from under her door, and when she set the boxes down to unlock it, the door swung open by itself.

"Hello?" Clarke blinked, shuffling the food inside. She was greeted by a hug from a person she couldn't see over the boxes, and the faint smell of weed. "Jasper?"

He pulled away, poking his head over the stack of catering.

"Hi." He smiled brightly, if a little dreamily. "I haven't seen you in ages." He took some of the load from her arms, and they walked them into the kitchen together.

"I know." She said guiltily, realizing what a poor job she'd done at keeping in touch with her friends from the hospital. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, unconcerned.

"S'fine." He opened one of the boxes, eyeing the bacon-wrapped scallops with interest. She slapped his hand away.

"Those are for later. How did you get into my apartment, anyways?" She wondered. She knew she'd locked the door when she left, and she'd definitely never given Jasper a key.

"I let him in." A voice trailed over from behind her, and Clarke turned to see Raven setting up a ping pong table in the living room. Raven, on the other hand, did have a key. Finn had given it to her to return to Clarke after the break-up, and Clarke had just told her to keep it. Partially as a way to stick it to her ex-fiancé, and partly because she just liked her.

"Aren't we a little old for beer pong?" Clarke mused, starting to unload the food onto trays. Jasper helped, sneaking one of the tiny pizzas into his mouth. She pretended not to notice.

"Listen, when you're as good as I am, you're never too old for beer pong." Raven said, popping a last table joint into place. She walked over to join them in the kitchen, detouring to the front door when the bell rang.

Voices trailed in from the entryway, a lot of them. When Clarke looked up, there were at least twenty more people in her house. She didn't recognize most of them.

"Um." She blinked. One face popped out in the crowd. "Hello."

Monroe smiled at her.

"Hey, everyone this is Clarke. Clarke this is everyone." She made a sweeping gesture, and Clarke appreciated her not introducing each person individually. That was a lot of names, something Clarke wasn't very good with. She nodded in greeting.

"Hey. Did you all come together?" Even in a van, they couldn't have fit. Monroe shrugged.

"Kind of. We met up for drinks ahead of time."

That made more sense than them having taking a school bus, anyways, so Clarke gestured at the fridge.

"Okay, well there's beer and stuff in there." She pointed at the other table Raven had set up. "Bar's over there, and Octavia will text me when they're on they're on their way. Probably in twenty minutes or so."

The crowd spread out, chattering, and Monroe sidled up to the island.

"You need help with anything?"

Clarke shook her head.

"I don't think so. I'm just waiting on the rest of the guests, oh, and if you brought a gift you can put them over there." She nodded at the mail table in the hallway. Monroe walked over, dropping an envelope on top of it. When Clarke glanced back at the table, five minutes later, it was covered in gifts. She rolled her eyes, wondering briefly how someone so moody could be so well liked. Then she remembered his first couple weeks here, and sighed.

People continued to trickle in, Miller and Monty with about a dozen other people. They didn't quite make it to the fifty Clarke was expecting, but they were close. Just as Jasper's girlfriend, Harper, arrived, Clarke got the text she'd been waiting for.

"Okay, guys." She turned the music off, and the very large crowd of people in her loft all turned to stare at her. "They're about three minutes out."

Everyone got in position, which just meant they stood far enough from the hallway that they wouldn't be immediately seen when he opened the door. Clarke stood by the light switch, flicking it off and plunging them all into darkness. Somewhere in the loft, Jasper giggled.

"Now's not really the time." She muttered under her breath, but she was glad it was dark enough that no one could see her own grin. There was something about the energy in the room that was catching. Her heart thumped when she heard the sound of muffled voices, and footsteps, growing closer to the door. She wasn't looking forward to this, she told herself. The excitement was just contagious. But then the door swung open, Bellamy muttering something like I said we could just go for pizza, and Clarke switched the light on, prompting one of the loudest collective shouts of "SURPRISE!" that she'd ever heard.

He stumbled back, eyes almost as wide as his mouth, and Octavia grinned at him from the doorway.

"Happy birthday, big brother." She shouted, poking him in the shoulder. As the shock wore off, Clarke could see him fighting a smile, and then eventually he just gave into it. Then his eyes fell on one of the guests.

"Sterling?"

The tall, brown haired man walked forward, dragging Bellamy into a firm hug. Clarke felt her eyebrows shoot up, having never seen him embrace a person who wasn't his sister before. When they pulled away, Bellamy looked a little shell shocked.

"What are you doing here, man?" He asked, running a hand through his hair. Clarke got the sense it had been a while since the two men had seen each other, but it seemed to be a happy reunion.

"Monroe said you were in town and having a party." Sterling shrugged. "How could I not come?" He beamed, and Bellamy looked over at Monroe, his eyes travelling over the familiar faces in the room, and the unfamiliar ones.

"How did you…" He frowned at the blonde. She pointed to Clarke.

"Clarke invited me. She asked if I knew any of your friends in town." Monroe said, walking toward him and pressing a beer into his hand. "Happy Birthday, Bell." But Bellamy's eyes drifted toward Clarke.

"Thanks." He said absently. Someone turned the music back on, and the earlier chattering resumed, leaving Monroe awkwardly standing next to a Bellamy who was still staring at Clarke.

"Okay." Monroe mumbled uncomfortably. "Well…" And she walked away to talk to one of the other men who'd come with her. Bellamy made his way over to Clarke, raising the beer to his lips. She folded her arms across her chest, still pissed, but not wanting to make a scene.

"You did this?" He asked, gesturing at the party. She nodded, lips pressed together.

"Happy birthday." She said, voice neutral. He blinked at the lack of her usual warmth, though she couldn't really fathom why that would take him by surprise. He was old enough to know that being the birthday boy couldn't miraculously fix all the mistakes that he had made. He hesitated, opening his mouth, and then closing it, before responding.

"Thank you." He said quietly. "For this." He looked so sad in the moment that she was almost tempted to cave and forgive him. Almost.

"Well." She shrugged. "A party of three just seemed sad. Especially when one of the three is someone you don't like."

She wasn't fishing, just annoyed. He frowned.

"Is that what you think?"

"It doesn't really matter what I think." She sighed, the fight going out of her. "It's your birthday, and I don't want to ruin it." Despite how disappointed she was that he'd suddenly shut her out.

"Clarke…" His voice was low, but she suddenly couldn't take it anymore. She'd accepted the new, hostile Bellamy. He made it easier for her to imagine how she'd pick up her life when he was gone. She nodded at Monroe.

"I think she wants to talk to you. I doubt you're a big mingler…" She muttered, giving him an appraising look, "but there are a lot of people here to see you, so."

He understood that she was dismissing him.

"Yeah." He took another swig of his beer. "You're right."

She watched him go, feeling forlorn and a little mean. Octavia sidled up to her, startling Clarke when she spoke.

"What's going on with you two?"

Clarke stared at her.

"What do you mean?"

Octavia narrowed her eyes.

"You're obviously upset about something." She pointed out. Clarke was beginning to resent how easily people could read her.

"You know Bellamy. Your brother's just…" She made a vague gesture. "Hard to get along with."

Octavia snorted.

"You don't even know the half of it."

Clarke didn't argue, just watched Bellamy making the rounds. After a little while, Raven challenged him to a game of beer pong. Clarke sighed, knowing what was coming.

"CLARKE!" Raven shouted, waving her over. "Come on, you're on my team."

It was a thing they'd done, when Clarke and Raven had both been heartbroken over Finn, messy and tragic and looking for a distraction. They'd started gatecrashing college parties, posing as students, and had drunk a fair a few frat boys under the table. They'd also gotten embarrassingly good at beer pong.

Clarke hated her. She really did. But it was Bellamy's birthday.

So she made her way to the table, watching as Bellamy called his friend Sterling over to join them. Both men rolled up their sleeves, faces serious. Clarke didn't find it endearing at all.

Twenty minutes later, Clarke and Raven watched Sterling fidget nervously with the ball. The girls had 7 cups left on their side, while the boys were down to their last. Their game had drawn a fair amount of attention, and Octavia was razzing both sides.

"This is embarrassing." She said sweetly, and Bellamy shot her a murderous look. "Getting owned like this on your birthday, I mean."

Clarke snorted, prompting another angry glare.

"Don't fuck it up." Raven told Sterling, an almost feline grin stretching across her lips. He sighed, but Clarke didn't miss the twinkle in his eyes as he told her to go hell. And neither, apparently, did Raven's roommate. Wick scowled from the corner, and Clarke filed that way for later analysis.

Sterling took the shot, the ball circling the cup once, before flying out. The crowd jeered.

And then it was Clarke's turn. She wasn't nervous, not really, but the truth was she wanted this game to be over. She wasn't sure why Raven had made her do this, not after the conversation they'd had the day before, but she was tired of Bellamy's questioning glances, and Octavia's curious looks, and the way Raven seemed to be determined to get the two of them to make up.

She eyed the remaining cup on the opposing side, flicked her wrist, and watched the ball sail perfectly into it's target. Raven hooted beside her, and Bellamy shook his head in defeat, tilting back the mixture of whiskey and cola. Their friends congratulated them for a few minutes, but eventually Clarke found an opening in which to slip away, retreating to the kitchen. She grabbed another drink, because the one downside to winning a drinking game was the consequential sobriety, and watched the party from the corner.

Bellamy wasn't much of a mingler, but Clarke had been raised to be, so she got to know some of his old coworkers pretty well. They all had stories, things about him, and for the most part no one had a bad thing to say. Somewhere around eleven, Clarke began to suspect that maybe the way Bellamy had been acting had nothing to do with her. And that maybe she should be more concerned than he was.

"Can I ask you something?" Clarke wondered, eyeing Monroe, who had taken up residence on the couch beside her a couple minutes ago. The woman shrugged.

"Shoot."

"When you and Bellamy were together, was he ever distant? Was he ever…mean?"

Monroe turned to look at her.

"Did he tell you about us?" She asked, looking surprised. Clarke shook her head.

"Hardly. He doesn't tell me anything." She felt immediately bad for saying it, thinking about the way he'd let his guard down, telling her all about his parents. "But it's kind of obvious."

Monroe considered that, swirling her glass of ice and Scotch.

"Distant…maybe. Sure. When we first started dating. But mean? Never." It was her turn to look at Clarke, really look, like she was expecting to find something there. "Why? Trouble in paradise?"

It didn't come out bitter, just…sad, maybe. After everything Clarke had seen tonight, it seemed pretty clear there were still feelings there.

"We're not together." She said, sighing when Monroe looked anything but convinced. "Seriously. We're not anything. I'm not even sure we're friends."

Apparently, it was her turn to sound sad. Monroe picked up on that immediately.

"Clarke, what you described…it doesn't really sound like the Bellamy I knew. But what do I know, maybe he's changed."

Clarke didn't think so. She'd gotten exactly what she needed out of the conversation, but it wasn't really what she wanted. Because now she was worried. And now she knew she'd have to take the high road.

Sometime around midnight Lincoln finally showed up.

Bellamy was deep in conversation with Sterling when Octavia pushed the shaven-headed, tattoo covered, sweetheart of a giant toward her brother.

"Bell." She said, and Clarke watched with interest from her perch a few feet away. He looked up. "This is Lincoln. My boyfriend."

Bellamy's face went from polite interest, to absolute intimidation, in something like five seconds flat. It was fascinating. Lincoln held out a hand.

"Nice to meet you, man. Happy birthday."

Bellamy eyed his hand with suspicion, but eventually took it. Even from where she was, Clarke could see the relief on Octavia's face.

"Thanks." Bellamy released Lincoln's hand, then leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Octavia bounced nervously on her feet, but when Bellamy pulled away, the sober look on Lincoln's face was almost ruined by the twitching of his lips.

The party continued, with gifts happening shortly after Bellamy got his face shoved into the cake, and all around it seemed like everyone had a good time. Even the birthday boy. Octavia stayed to help clean up, insisting that her brother enjoy one night of freedom from responsibility. Lincoln stayed too, for reasons Bellamy was obviously choosing to ignore.

So he sat on the couch as they cleaned around him, examining his loot from the night. Clarke watched in amusement as he fiddled with the compass he'd gotten from one of his old coworkers. It had belonged to a general in one of the world wars, or something.

"So." She said, sweeping the cups on her coffee table into an open trash bag. "Get anything good?"

He looked up, apparently surprised that she was talking to him at all.

"Sure." He said slowly, still pretty drunk from the second round of beer pong where he and Wick had teamed up against Raven and Octavia. Unsurprisingly, they'd lost. Again. "Tickets to the Roman Gods exhibit at the Art Gallery, a bunch of books. This." He held up the compass, and she nodded. He hesitated. "I had a good time."

Her earlier conversation with Monroe rang in her ears.

"I'm glad." She murmured. They were both startled out of the moment when Octavia came up behind them, dragging the last of the trash.

"Okay." The younger Blake said, surveying the loft. "I think that's it. If you're okay, we're gonna head home."

Clarke nodded, and Octavia leaned down to kiss her brother on the top of the head.

"See ya tomorrow, old man."

He threw a balled up napkin at her retreating back.

When they were gone, Clarke dumped the last bag by the door. She'd throw them in the dumpster in the morning, she had no desire to wander around in that alley in the middle of the night.

Unable to put it off any longer, Clarke grabbed her gift for Bellamy from her bedroom, carrying it awkwardly back to where he sat on the couch.

"Happy Birthday." She said, as he looked up from his seat. His eyes widened when he saw what she was holding.

"I didn't have time to wrap it," she apologized, "what with everything going on today." That was only half true. Actually, she'd been up all night finishing the painting, and it had been drying all day. He just stared.

The painting was one Clarke had started in the summer, when she was hiking the Grouse Grind with Octavia. The view was one of the best in the city, the mountain looking down on a sprawling Vancouver, lights twinkling in the twilight down below. But Clarke had abandoned it, eventually, because she felt like something was missing. There were a million postcards with exactly the same view, and she'd wanted to do something different. And in her last minute scramble to find a birthday gift for Bellamy, it had come to her.

The painting was cut in half, diagonally, by what looked like a streak of white light, a glare from the sun. One half showed the city with it's million lights on, the streets lined with towers of concrete and glass. The other half was the same city, the same geography, but 200 years earlier. The lights were gone, replaced with shadows, tiny log structures scattered among the forests. It was green, a million more trees still standing, the water curling in around the Quay like an embrace. They were both beautiful, in their own way, light vs shadow, glass vs pine.

When Clarke had started the painting, she'd had Octavia sketched into the corner, her face flush from the hike, staring peacefully down at the city. But Bellamy still didn't know about Clarke's ability, and she'd been too angry at him earlier to want to share that with him now. So she'd turned Octavia's face, marginally, just enough that you couldn't tell who it was. It was enough, she thought, not to give herself away.

But he wasn't saying anything, now. Clarke wondered if maybe he was more drunk than he'd let on.

"It's, um, by the same artist as the one you like." She said lamely, though she had a very distinctive style, and she knew it. He stood up so suddenly she almost tumbled backwards over the table in surprise.

His hands closed around it, and she let go, watching as he studied it intently. After a few minutes he looked back up at her, his face unreadable.

"I…" He set the painting down, running his hand over his chin. "Clarke, this must have cost a fortune."

She shifted uncomfortably.

"I know the, um, owner of the gallery. I got a really good deal. It wasn't extravagant, I swear." Except for the almost 12 uninterrupted hours she'd spent finishing it last night instead of sleeping. He frowned at her, obviously debating whether or not to believe her.

"Why did you do this?" He asked, and Clarke opened her mouth in surprise.

"Do you not like it?"

"Of course I like it." He growled, eyes suddenly blazing. "I love it. It's the best gift anyone has ever gotten me! But it's perfect, and this party was…" He sighed. "I mean, that Murphy kid is kind of a handful, but the party was pretty perfect too. And I've been a fucking asshole the past two days-" She opened her mouth to argue, but he kept going. "-don't even. I know I have. So why would you do this?"

He seemed…angry almost. And Clarke just didn't understand it.

"Because…you're Octavia's brother." She said desperately, because there was no way she was admitting the real reason. That she was pathetically invested in a guy she'd known barely three weeks.

"You do this for all your friend's siblings?"

She had almost forgotten the eerie way he could always see right through her. She gritted her teeth.

"You're also my roommate."

He frowned impassively down at her, and she felt it, that emotional undressing as he broke through all the walls she'd worked so hard to put up the last few days.

"You do this for all of your roommates?" He pressed. She groaned.

"Look. Just say thank you for the painting and the party. I'm not doing this with you."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why not?"

She felt the rage coiling in her stomach, wondering how someone she'd known for such a short time could manage to get under her skin like this.

"Bellamy." She said quietly, seething. "You've made it pretty clear that we're not friends the past few days. And yes, I threw you a party, which O started planning before you started using me as your own personal punching bag, and yes, I got you that painting because I thought you would like to have it. But I'm not doing this now. You got what you wanted, I'm going to stay out of your life."

She took a last glance at the painting, and god she felt stupid now, because he was right, what was she thinking, and practically sprinted to her bedroom to get away from him.

She was too angry to sleep, really, at him and at herself, and at Finn and everyone else who had turned her into this mess of insecurity and deep suspicion and an emptiness that sometimes threatened to hollow her from the inside out. So she lay there, overthinking, until she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced at the time on her phone: just after four in the morning.

Sighing, she climbed out of bed, compiling a list of the harshest possible insults that could be used against someone at four in the morning, and threw open the door.

But she didn't get a change to use any of them, on account of the way Bellamy seized her face the instant the door swung open, crushing his lips to hers in a kiss that effectively drained every coherent thought from her head.