A/N: Hey guys, I'm sorry for the long delay, it's been kind of a stressful few weeks. I tried to make it a little longer, hope you like it. Reviews are always appreciated :)
Clarke sits up, blinking as her head spins. When the room settles, she gets a better look at the woman in front of her. They've met a couple times, at the work dinners and parties that fell on her weekend visits to Bellamy's end of the country. She looks perfect, as always, long blonde hair falling neatly to her waist, big green eyes slightly wide in confusion. And in contrast, Clarke can feel her makeup smudged under her lashes, hair thrown into a tangled knot on the top of her head.
Not that it's a competition.
"Clarke, what are you doing here?" Kaitlyn asks, shifting her weight onto her back foot. She doesn't look angry, or suspicious for that matter, just a little lost. Clarke rubs her eyes, ignoring the black streak that ends up on the back of her hand.
"Bellamy had an accident." She gestures at the broken cabinet in the corner of the room. The blood is gone, as are the broken shards, but the door is still clearly missing most of it's glass. Kaitlyn stares at it, then turns back to her. "He got a little scraped up, didn't want to go to the hospital. So he called me."
"And you…flew in?" The actress scrunches up her nose in confusion.
"Uh, no." Clarke pushes off the couch, standing awkwardly next to her. "I flew in yesterday, did you not-" she's going to ask if Bellamy told her, but the look on Kaitlyn's face is answer enough, and there's no point in rubbing it in. "Um, I was already here."
"Right. Bellamy didn't…" Kaitlyn breaks off with a sigh. "Is he alright? What happened?"
"He was pretty drunk, I guess. He fell into the cabinet and broke the glass, cut up his back a little. He needed a couple stitches, but he'll be fine." She thinks of her decision not to give him painkillers last night because of how much alcohol was in his system. "Grumpy and sore, probably, but fine."
At that, Kaitlyn, lets out a little sigh of relief, glancing toward the bedroom.
"That's good. He's been-well, I don't know how he's been. He won't talk to me about it." Kaitlyn says softly, looking back at Clarke. "I guess you know about Jake."
Clarke just nods.
"You know Bellamy," she replies with a shrug. "He doesn't like to be the one who needs anyone." But he does. He needs someone.
"Yeah." Kaitlyn rubs a tired hand across her face. Clarke suppresses the urge to ask what happened the night before, if Bellamy had been wasted at dinner or if that was something he'd accomplished all by himself after he got home. But it's not her place, so she doesn't. "I told him I wasn't going to be here for the funeral last night. That's probably why, you know-"
She gestures vaguely, but she's clearly referring to Bellamy's belligerent drunkenness.
"You-oh." Clarke blinks. She doesn't ask why, but it turns out she doesn't have to.
"My, um, my dad is sick." Kaitlyn offers, and Clarke wonders why she's sharing that, why she feels the need to explain herself at all. "They think he might not make it through the week, so."
"So you're going to be with him," Clarke realizes. Her face softens. "I get it, trust me."
Kaitlyn just rubs her arm absently.
"It's the worst timing," she murmurs, and she laughs hollowly. "I mean, as if there's a good time, but-like you said. Bellamy needs me."
That's not exactly what Clarke said, but she lets it slide.
"He won't hold it against you." She promises, knowing it's true. Once he comes out of this fog of grief, Bellamy will understand her choice.
"I was there," Kaitlyn continues, as though Clarke hadn't spoken. "At the hospital. Bellamy sat there for hours, like a zombie, just…so still. It's like he wasn't even breathing. And then the doctor came out, and we all knew, I think most of us had known since we got there. And Bellamy just kind of nodded, and then he got up, and he left."
No hospital. Bellamy's words from the night before, his insistence that they not go near a hospital, they suddenly hit her. A wave of sadness follows. She can be so dense sometimes.
"That sounds awful." Clarke offers, not sure what to say, not really sure that Kaitlyn can even hear her. "But I'm sure he was glad you were there. He appreciates stuff like that."
His girlfriend makes a sound like a cross between a snort and a sigh.
"And now I'm abandoning him in his hour of need," she murmurs. As though suddenly remembering who exactly she's talking to, Kaitlyn straightens up, face pulling into a neutral mask. It's one of the reasons Clarke hates being around actors so much. They're infuriatingly good at hiding their emotions, when they want to. "Anyways, thanks for taking care of him. I guess he was too mad at me to call."
Clarke is being dismissed, which, she decides, is entirely fair.
"Not mad," she argues, grabbing her jacket off the top of the couch, and walking over to fetch her suitcase from the hallway outside Bellamy's bedroom. "I think he just really didn't want to go to the hospital." She doesn't mention his pleas, but Kaitlyn's face saddens in understanding.
"Right. Well, it was good to see you, despite the circumstances." Kaitlyn says, and Clarke actually thinks she's being sincere. If she was a little pettier, she'd be annoyed at how hard the actress is to dislike.
"You too," Clarke gives her a wry smile, then heads for the door. In the foyer, she pauses, turning back. "Kaitlyn?" The other blonde, who'd been making her way to the bedroom, glances back. "I'm really sorry about your dad."
For a moment, the two women just look at each other, and the honesty in it leaves them both a little raw. Kaitlyn knows, about Clarke. And Clarke knows Kaitlyn's pain, almost exactly. They're more alike than either would be pleased to admit. But for a second, it's there. Then the actress nods, and her eyes are shining, so Clarke does the decent thing.
She pretends she doesn't notice, and she leaves.
.-.-.-.-.-.
On the sidewalk right outside, Clarke almost runs right into someone. She's about to apologize, and then she looks up and recognizes Eddie.
"Oh." She blinks at him. "It's you."
"I feel like I should really get to be the one who acts surprised to see you," he tells her, his hand on her elbow where he'd caught her as she almost fell. She rolls her eyes.
"You knew I was here," she reminds him. He shrugs.
"I didn't know you were still here." There's something in his tone that annoys her, maybe because it hits a little too close to home, so she frowns at him, realizing she should probably have called an Uber already. She pulls out her phone, dismissing the notification for another eight missed calls, and pulls up the app. He watches over her shoulder. "Where you goin?"
"The airport."
He makes a noise of surprise, and she looks up at him curiously.
"You're leaving?" Why does everything he says sound like an accusation?
"I'm going home."
"Why?"
She sighs in annoyance.
"Because I live there."
Suddenly, he plucks her phone out of her hand.
"Eddie-" She groans, exhausted of him, and in general.
"Are you hungry?"
She is, actually. But he's eyeing her intensely, and because it's him, she's naturally suspicious of any invitations. As though reading her mind, his smile widens.
"Come on, it's just breakfast. You look like you could use some perking up."
Ignoring the fact that he just insulted her, she sighs.
"Yeah, okay. I could eat."
Beaming, he throws an arm over her shoulders.
"Excellent. I know a place where they serve prairie fires with the egg special."
Clarke makes a face, already regretting accepting his invitation.
.-.-.-.-.
"I'm not getting that," she warns Eddie, as he tries to order two specials. Turning to the waitress, she speaks over him. "Can I just get pancakes, please?" The brunette nods, then disappears. From across the table, Eddie watches her disapprovingly.
"You're no fun."
"I'm tired," she mutters, and in that moment she feels it so heavily that she almost puts her head down on the table right there. "If I drink now I'm not going to be awake to catch my flight. And prairie fires are disgusting, anyways," she adds, grimacing.
"They wake me up," he says with a shrug, as though whiskey and Tabasco are a perfectly acceptable substitute for coffee, which is what Clarke, a normal human being, has ordered.
"So, what's the agenda?"
Eddie blinks at her.
"Come on, I know you well enough to know that you want something. Just get on with it."
He looks a little surprised for a moment, something like grudging approval flashing over his features for half a second, then it's gone. He leans forward.
"Are you and Bellamy, you know. Back on?"
She stares at him.
"No." Something about the question feels like a bruising finger poking accusingly into her sternum. "God, of course not."
"Don't 'of course not', me." He retorts, smiling up at their waitress when she drops a coffee in front of Clarke, and a highball glass in front of him. "You flew all the way out here to comfort him, and then stayed overnight at his place."
"I didn't mean to stay overnight," she says wearily. "It took forever to clean him up, and then clean his place up. I just passed out."
His eyebrows draw together, and she explains what happened the night before, including her awkward run-in with Kaitlyn that morning.
"I didn't know that," he says thoughtfully, ten minutes later, swirling the remaining bit of whiskey in his glass. "That Kaitlyn wasn't going to the funeral."
She shrugs, chewing. She didn't realize how hungry she was until they showed up in front of her, hot and covered in syrup.
"It sounds like she didn't even really know until yesterday."
He nods.
"Are you going?" She wonders suddenly.
"Yeah." He stuffs a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "I mean, it does start at the ungodly hour of ten in the morning, but I figure, given the circumstances, I can probably manage it."
He's deflecting, but she sees through it. He cares about Bellamy, a lot. Clarke had wondered, when Bellamy had brought him to the wedding, how close they could be if she'd never met him. But they're obviously more than drinking buddies. And she finds herself happier for it. He can't replace Jake, that's not how this works. But Bellamy has someone, at least. Someone she knows is looking out for him.
"I'm glad he has you," she decides out loud, and he looks up at her, mouth hanging open. It affords her an unappealing view of his half chewed breakfast. "Okay, ew. Chew with your mouth closed."
He snaps his jaw shut, narrowing his eyes at her.
"We were having a nice moment," he complains, chewing as loudly as he can. "And you ruined it."
"I ruined i-" She stops herself. "It's tomorrow, right?"
"The service? Yeah. I guess you'll be back in good ol' Raincouver by then."
"Yeah." She says quietly, suddenly not hungry at all. "I guess."
.-.-.-.-.-.
The next morning, at eight-thirty, she texts Eddie.
I could use a ride.
His only response is the kiss emoji. She's not entirely sure what it means, but feels fairly confident it's a yes.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.
He calls her an hour later.
"I'm on my way. Fairmont, right?"
She doesn't ask how he knows that, just confirms it.
"Alright, meet me out front in ten minutes."
She does, in the black dress she's definitely going to have to get rid of after this, it's always just going to be a funeral dress. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, because it always gets out of control in weather like this.
Toronto is humid, almost always, and this morning it's decided to spritz them all with a misting of rain, so she's been standing outside for all of three minutes and she already feels uncomfortably moist. An ostentatiously sleek sports car pulls up in the pick up lane, and she doesn't even have to look inside to know it's Eddie. She slides into the passenger's seat, noting that it's one of those coup models with only two seats.
"Is Bellamy not going with you?" She asks in surprise, buckling herself in.
"No, Jake's brother picked him up. He-" Something in his voice is heavier than usual. "He's going to be a pallbearer."
"Oh." Clarke turns that thought over in her mind, hating it. She hates this day, hates this city. She's suddenly and inexplicably furious at everything and everyone. Her eyes travel over to take in Eddie's outfit as they pull out onto the freeway. It's more subdued than his usual attire, a black suit with a grey tie. "You look nice." She hears herself say.
She's not sure who between the two of them looks more surprised at the compliment. Eventually he just shrugs.
"So do you. You do the whole buttoned-up and proper thing well, which is of absolutely zero surprise to me."
She rolls her eyes.
.-.-.-.-.
When they get there, Eddie pulls a large black umbrella out of nowhere, and holds it over their heads as they make their way to the front door. A woman stops them there, handing them programs. Jake's face smiling up at them.
"He was a good man, our Jake." She says, lips tight, eyes glassy. Eddie nods, extends his sympathies, and makes to move inside. Clarke, however, is frozen to the spot. He tugs on her arm, gently, but she can't move. Frowning, he gives her a good yank, and this time she stumbles in after him.
"What the hell was that?" He asks, pulling her away from the stream of people heading into the other room. She stares up at him, eyes wide.
"I just-" her voice is shrill, and shaky, and doesn't really sound like her at all. "I realized-"
Jake was a good man. She's heard that, before. At a funeral, before. And she's about to sit through a good two hours of it.
Again.
And she's not totally sure she can.
She opens her mouth to explain, but then she hears her name.
"Clarke?" It's Jake's brother, Aidan. They've only met twice, at Jake's wedding and a later family barbecue, she's honestly surprised he remembers her. But someone else turns at the mention of her name as well. Bellamy, from a few feet away, glances over at them, doing a double take when he sees her.
"Aidan, hi." She forces her voice to even out. This isn't about her. She's had her time to grieve. The people here are drowning in fresh grief, the kind that bleeds and buries people. She has to get over herself. If she really needs to, she can fall apart later. "I'm so sorry," her voice is so low it's almost a whisper, but he just nods, eyes deep with sorrow.
"Thanks. I didn't know you and Bellamy were still together."
Bellamy, already halfway toward them, raises his eyebrows at Clarke behind the man's back.
"We're not." Clarke says, not even bothering to feel awkward. Aidan doesn't care, no one cares. Not today. "But I was in town already, and I wanted to pay my respects, I hope that's okay."
The elder Williams smiles sadly.
"Yeah, of course. Thanks for coming."
She squeezes his arm gently, at the same time a hand appears on her own arm, tugging her away.
"What are you doing here?" Bellamy asks, dragging her into a corner. She looks around for Eddie, but she doesn't see him anywhere.
"Kaitlyn told me she couldn't be here, and I thought you might want me to come." She can't read his face. "Do you want me to leave?" It's an entirely honest question. If he says yes, she'll go, no hard feelings.
He stares at her for a moment.
"I've got Eddie," he says, but it's not a yes or a no.
"I know," she tells him. "He was my ride."
He blinks at that.
"I wasn't sure if Eddie was really the hand holding type," she adds dryly. The corner of his mouth twitches, ever so slightly.
"Okay," he finally says. "Thanks."
He sits up front during the ceremony, with the other pallbearers, Clarke and Eddie sit behind him.
It's not a religious affair, none of the Williams are particularly devout, and Jake would have hated that anyways, so mostly there are anecdotes about him and his life. Bellamy tells one that makes almost everyone cry. He's always been good at speeches.
By the thirtieth time she hears the name Jake mixed in with some sentiment about how loved he was, how missed he'll be, she thinks she might lose her mind. She has one hand resting gently on Bellamy's shoulder, it's the only contact she can really manage sitting in the row behind him, but the other is curled into a fist on her lap, knuckles entirely white, nails cutting painfully into her palm. Eddie looks at her questioningly a few times, but doesn't say anything. When it's time to go outside, to bury him, everyone stands, and the quiet is broken.
"Are you okay?" Eddie asks, leaning in so she can hear him.
"Yeah," she says automatically. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're really pale. And-" His brows draw together as he looks down at her palm. Now that it's finally uncurled, she realizes it feels sticky. She glances down, and sighs when she sees the smears of red oozing from the crescent shaped marks. "That doesn't look good."
"It's fine," she mutters, pulling a wet wipe out of her bag and cleaning the blood away. She drops the tissue in a trash can as they walk outside surprised to see the rain has stopped.
They can't walk with Bellamy, due to the fact that he's carrying the casket, so they walk together instead, a few paces away from everyone. The grass is still wet, and it seeps in through the open tops of her shoes.
"Is it the ex?" Eddie asks, suddenly. She frowns in confusion, thinking he means Bellamy. He seems to realize his mistake, clarifying. "Bellamy told me your ex-fiance died. Is this just reminding you of that?"
Surprised that he knows that, surprised that he remembered, Clarke shakes her head, eyes forward.
"No, it's not Finn." Every once in a while, when she's talking, she catches herself sounding old. As though some weary eighty year-old has taken over her body. "My dad died three years ago. His name was Jake, and I just never really thought about what it would feel like to be here, hearing everyone say his name, and cry, and…miss him." She can feel Eddie's eyes on her. After a moment or two, he whistles quietly.
"This is killing you," he realizes. She winces.
"No, I'm-" She doesn't even have it in her to lie. She just shrugs tiredly. "It doesn't matter. I'm here for Bellamy."
"You are such a martyr," he mutters. "And a fool in love, apparently."
He's beginning to give her a headache, so she glares at him. Surprisingly, it works, and he falls silent. They reach the grave, and watch as he's lowered in, as each pallbearer drops a symbolic handful of soil back in on top of him. The sound of earth hitting polished wood makes her wince. She's always found this particular ritual to be awful. And then it's over, and people are fanning out, in every direction, needing a breather from this inescapable atmosphere of tragedy before the wake.
A hand grips her arm, and she's surprised to see Bellamy suddenly beside her.
"Do you have a minute?" He asks, and she finds it a curious question, considering that she came here for the sole purpose of being her for him, but she nods. Eddie mumbles something about going to take a leak, class act that he is, and Clarke follows Bellamy off to some deserted plot under a tree. He pulls out a cigarette, and she eyes it, but doesn't say anything. "I can literally feel you judging me, Clarke. Knock it off."
She scoffs.
"Calm down, I wasn't judging anybody." He just gives her a look, and she rolls her eyes. More gently, she asks, "You holding up?"
He nods, taking a long drag. His eyes are focused in the distance, something Clarke can't see, or maybe nothing at all.
"I hate funerals," he says.
"Not me," Clarke says sarcastically. "I love them. Can't get enough." It comes out dark, and bitter, and she's too raw to tell if she's being wan, or just being a bitch, but he snorts.
"Why'd you come?" He asks.
"You keep asking me that," she muses. "What do you want me to say?"
"I probably shouldn't answer that," he says quietly, and it's just enough to make her hurt.
"I care about you," she says eventually, in answer to his question. "I nee-wanted to see if you were going to be okay."
"And?" He prompts.
"You will." She reaches up, for the cigarette, and he passes it to her, watching with raised eyebrows as she inhales. Then his expression changes.
"What's that?" He points to her hand. She looks at it, then realizes it's started bleeding again.
"It's nothing." She passes the smoke back to him, then pulls another wipe out of her purse.
"That's not from the other night, is it?" He asks, forehead creasing. It takes her a second to realize what he means.
"Oh, no. How's your back, by the way?"
His eyes narrow, entirely aware that she's changing the subject, but he shrugs.
"I'll live." And then, remembering where they are, he laughs darkly at his own unintentional joke.
"I'm surprised you even remember I was there," she murmurs, watching a white haired woman hobble slowly across the grass a few yards away.
"I don't remember much," he admits. "But I kind of vaguely remember you being there, and hating you, and Kait filled me in when I woke up."
Clarke snorts.
"The hating me part was probably when I was pinning you down to pour rubbing alcohol on your back." He had quite forwardly expressed his feelings about her when that was going on. "You called me some names I should probably hold against you."
His lips quirk.
"Sorry."
She clasps her hands in front of her, shrugging.
"It's fine."
When she looks back at him, she finds him staring at her.
"What?"
"You look weird." He tells her. She huffs.
"Wow, thanks."
"No," He flicks the butt of his cigarette onto the little paved road winding between plots, grinding it out with his foot. "I mean you're really pale, and your shoulders are like-" he raises his own until they almost touch his ears. "Is it Finn?"
"People keep asking me that," she grumbles. "No, it is not Finn. It's not anything." She glances back at the grave, and sees the Williams clan beginning to head inside. "I think that's your cue."
They turn and head back to the parking lot, everyone will be making their way to the restaurant for the wake. As they walk, Bellamy reaches out, grabbing the hand that Clarke hasn't accidentally cut open.
"You probably shouldn't have come," he says, almost to himself. She glances at him in surprise. After almost two minutes have passed, he looks down at her. "But I was hoping you would."
.-.-.-.-.
Bellamy doesn't ride with her and Eddie, who she found lingering uncomfortably on the sidewalk. There are only two seats in Eddie's stupid sports car, but Bellamy insists that he'd promised to go with Aidan anyways.
"Good talk?" Eddie asks, as they pull out of the parking lot.
"He smoked and told me I look weird," she recounts, straightening her skirt where it's ridden up.
"Well, I can definitely see why you like him," Eddie says seriously. She hits him.
"He knows," she says after a while. "Doesn't he?"
Eddie shoots her a look, then sighs.
"I'm not trying to be an asshole." He begins, and that doesn't reassure her at all. "But it's pretty obvious."
She groans.
"That being said," he continues, patting her leg comfortingly. "For some reason he refuses to believe that you are, or have ever really been, in love with him."
"What?" She stares at him. "What do you mean?"
"You've always been so…one foot out the door, I guess," he says lamely. "And Bellamy's kind of insecure about stuff like that, so he just decided that you were never that invested."
"That's stupid," she mutters. "And unfair."
"It's stupid," Eddie agrees, "but it's also fair."
She glares at him.
"Own up to your shit, Griffin." He says cheerfully. "Acceptance is the first step to recovery."
"I hate you," she says, and he chuckles.
"No," he replies, grinning brightly over at her. "You don't."
.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The wake is more of the same. Clarke hovers, feeling awkward and out of place, Eddie drinks, and Bellamy spends most of his time consoling people. Every once in a while he'll retreat to Clarke's corner, and she'll force a slider on him, or a meatball, touch his arm, and then he'll head back out into the fray. She's not sure what her role is, but it seems to mean something to Bellamy, so she sticks it out. Occasionally people approach her.
"How did you know him?" One woman asks, looking not at all forlorn, but like someone looking for gossip.
"He went to school with a close friend," she replies. "I went to his wedding." It's not much, but it's better than saying 'I'm here because he was my ex-boyfriend's best friend, and I'm pathetic'.
The woman nods, looking bored of her, and drifts away. Eventually, Eddie reappears.
"Find any mourning women to take advantage of?" She asks, still a little annoyed from their earlier conversation.
"Rude," he says. "Hey, what's your mechanic friend up to these days?"
"Raven," Clarke retorts, emphasizing her name, "is in the process of buying a garage."
Eddie glances curiously at her.
"Really?"
She nods.
"And I suppose you have nothing to do with that, financially."
Clarke makes a face.
"I'm not talking about this with you."
"You must be doing pretty well for yourself," he observes, "if you can be lending out that kind of cash."
She ignores him.
A few hours later, it's time to go.
"Why don't you take Bellamy home?" She asks Eddie, quietly. "I'll just catch a cab to the hotel, and then they can take me to the airport."
He gives her that appraising look she's beginning to get used to, then shrugs.
"Okay."
Turning to the exhausted brunette, she taps his shoulder. He's talking to some relative Clarke doesn't know or care much about, turning when he feels the contact.
"Eddie's going to take you home," she says gently. He hasn't made any moves to leave, but after all this time, she can read him. He needs to get out of here. His shoulders sag a little, whether it's in relief or defeat she doesn't know, maybe it's both. "I'm going to head to the airport."
He blinks, processing that.
"You're going home."
"Yeah," she smiles sadly. "I think it's probably time." Long overdue, actually.
"Okay," he stands there for a second, just looking at her, and then he leans down, drawing her into one of the tightest hugs she's ever experienced. She melts into it, feeling a little boneless at the familiarity of his arms so secure around her, and presses her face into the crook of his neck. It's too long, probably, and too close, definitely, but she can't find it in herself to care. "Thank you," he whispers into her ear, and it sounds like he might be trying to say something else, too, but she can't be sure. Eventually she draws away.
"Take care of yourself, Bell." She presses a kiss to his cheek. "No more getting so drunk you hurt yourself." That ones an order. He presses his lips together, like maybe he wants to say something. She gives Eddie one last smile. "Lay off the prairie fires. You're going to make yourself sick, one of these days."
"I didn't know you cared," he says, affecting a deep southern drawl, and she smacks him. But she leans in for a quick hug.
"Thank you," she says sincerely. He pats her on the head as she pulls back, which elicits a heavy eye roll.
Then she heads for the door, bidding Aidan goodbye as she passes him. As she shrugs on her coat, she hears her name again, and she glances around to see Bellamy pushing through the still-thick crowd of people.
"Just-" he hesitates, eyes heavy. "Call me when you land."
The words feel like something she can't quite define, like being homesick and restless at the same time.
"I will." She tells him, and then she slides out past the door, shutting it behind her. She's afraid that if she doesn't leave now, she never will.
But she's also afraid that if she leaves now, she can never come back.
