A/N: Just a heads up: starting with this chapter, there will be mentions of drug abuse and childhood trauma. Also, please forgive me if I portray anything regarding them (or anything medical) inaccurately.

"I don't think I realized how much work this was going to be," Clarke sighed, sitting down at the counter while glancing over her grandmother's stuffing recipe.

Bellamy chuckled, coming to glance over her shoulder. "It's not that bad. We just have to make sure we have the cornbread made ahead of time. Your baking expertise does extend to cornbread…right?"

She rolled her eyes, reaching back to smack him lightly on the chest. "Yes, I can make cornbread. If it involves an actual, measurable recipe and specific oven instructions, I'm golden. It's all that…'cook until soft' or 'cook until browned' shit that I can't handle. What is soft? What is brown? Ask Crayola, I'm pretty sure there are like 57 different shades of brown. I'm a science person, Bellamy. I need specifics. Baking is basically like a science experiment. That's why I'm good at it."

"I'm pretty sure 'don't set off the smoke alarm' is a pretty general rule you'd think you'd be able to remember."

Without looking, she reached her hand back to smack him again.

He caught it, giving her fingers a squeeze before releasing it and walking around to the other side of the counter so he was facing her. "Hey…would you be alright if I left for a few hours?"

Clarke glanced up in surprise. Aside from a quick trip to pick up take out, he'd never left her alone in his apartment before, although she guessed circumstances were different, since she was spending a few days with him instead of a few hours.

She took in his outfit, just now noticing that he'd changed out of his comfortable clothes and was now wearing black jeans and a grey V-neck sweater.

"Uh…yeah. That's…fine," Clarke managed, not sure how to respond.

She wanted to ask why he was dressed up. She wanted to ask where he was going at 9 am on Thanksgiving morning.

Instead she asked, "Are you going to be back in time to…" gesturing toward the kitchen, where bags of groceries still sat on the counter.

"Yeah, of course. I should be back by noon."

"Oh. Okay," Clarke replied, feeling slightly awkward.

Bellamy was rarely ever less than forthcoming with her, so his sudden withholding of information felt unnatural. She wanted to ask what was going on, but she didn't want to pry since he apparently had some reason for not telling her.

"Do you…want me to leave?" she asked hesitantly.

"No!" he answered immediately, sighing and rubbing his hand over his face like he did when he was agitated. "…I'm going to visit my mom."

Oh.

"Oh," Clarke said, out loud this time. "Sorry, I…forgot…God, I know that sounds horrible…"

He smiled sadly, shrugging his shoulders. "No, it doesn't. It's not like I talk about her or anything."

"You still go see her once a month?"

He nodded. "And on holidays."

Clarke reached across the counter, placing her hand on his.

Bellamy and Octavia both had a very difficult relationship with their mother, Aurora, who had gotten addicted to drugs shortly after Octavia's birth, leaving Bellamy to raise his younger sister when he was just a child himself. From what Clarke had learned over the years, money was always non-existent, food was often scarce, and their mother had performed virtually the same role as a piece of furniture in their lives most of the time.

When Bellamy was 16 and Octavia 10, Aurora had been high and took a particularly nasty fall down the stairs of the ratty apartment building they'd been living in. She'd badly injured her spine, making walking again virtually impossible, and surgery was out of the question once the doctors realized how badly her chronic drug use had damaged her heart. With no other options available, she'd been put in a state-run facility an hour away, where she could get the round-the-clock care she needed.

Octavia had been sent to live with a cousin a few towns away, and Bellamy had temporarily moved in with Miller and his family, working every spare minute of the day to save money. The only thing that stopped him from dropping out of school was the knowledge that the court system would be less likely to grant him custody of Octavia if he didn't have a high school diploma.

Clarke couldn't even imagine how rough the next few years were on both siblings, and she had to fill in some of the blanks for herself since neither one of them liked to talk about it, but she knew that Bellamy had finally gotten custody of Octavia when he was 19.

Aurora remained at the long-term care facility, and her health continued to decline over the years. The last Clarke had heard, the drugs had also done irreparable damage to her brain, leaving her prone to seizures and what appeared to be early-onset dementia.

"How is she doing? I'm so sorry I haven't asked," Clarke said sincerely, feeling awful that she hadn't inquired sooner.

"Don't be," he insisted. "She's not great. Her seizures have been increasing, her heart is getting weaker, and she's more out of it every time I visit."

Clarke's heart clenched for him. "Do you want me to go with you?" she asked quietly.

His eyes met hers in surprise, but he just shook his head.

"Bell…I will. You don't have to be…embarrassed or whatever. I'm a doctor, remember? I just… Let me be there for you."

"No."

She pulled her hand back, hurt by his dismissal and not sure why he seemed so adamant about it.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he seemed to gather himself. He braced his hands on the counter, looking up at her. "Clarke…you're the best part of my life too," he said, referring to how she'd described him to her mother. "And I want to keep the best part separate from…"

He didn't finish the sentence, but Clarke knew what he was going to say. '…the worst part.'

She wasn't sure whether to feel giddy about his characterization of her as the best part of his life or heartbroken that he'd been put through the emotional wringer since he was a child because of his mother's actions.

She got up, walking around to his side of the counter, immediately wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. "You don't have to, you know," she said quietly against his chest.

His arms circled her back, and she could feel his breath ruffle the top of her hair. "I know."

She stayed where she was, trying to give him as much strength as she could, knowing that what he was about to do wasn't going to be easy on him.

"Will you be here when I get back?" he asked, and it almost sounded like a plea.

"Yes," she promised.

She felt him nod, then take a deep breath before releasing her.

He grabbed his keys, not quite meeting her gaze as he headed for the door. "Be back soon."

"Tell her 'Happy Thanksgiving' from me."

Bellamy nodded, walking out and pulling the door shut behind him.

Clarke stood there for a moment, trying to pull herself together, her heart still breaking for him.

She'd just picked up the recipe for corn bread when her cell phone vibrated.

Bellamy: wait till I get back to start on the pies?

Clarke: afraid I'm going to burn your apt down?

Bellamy: no

Clarke thought about it for a minute, remembering that she and Bellamy had always done that part together. Maybe he just wanted that tradition to continue.

Clarke: okay.

Bellamy: thanks, Princess

Clarke spent the next hour or so baking cornbread, talking to her mom on the phone, scrolling through the television channels, and generally worrying about Bellamy. Just after 10 am, she texted Raven.

Clarke: Might need to borrow some stuff from you? Plates, silverware, serving stuff. I don't think Bellamy has enough.

Raven: Sure. For a small fee.

Clarke: (side eye emoji) First born child? Kidney?

Raven: Jesus Griffin I was going to say a drumstick but I should've known you'd go straight to the weird dramatic medical shit

Clarke snorted, because that giant run-on sentence sounded exactly like Raven when she read it in her head.

Clarke: Punctuation is your friend, Reyes. I could get used to being called Jesus Griffin though.

Raven: Bite. Me.

Clarke: See? Much better.

Raven: Do you want to come see what you need or should I just start chucking stuff off my balcony and hope you're down there?

Clarke: …so I can catch it or so you can kill me with it?

Raven: Either. I'm not particular.

Clarke chuckled, grabbing her keys out of her coat pocket and pulling Bellamy's door shut behind her as she walked out into the hallway.

After a short trip down one elevator, across a chilly courtyard, and back up another elevator, Clarke was knocking on Raven's door.

"That was fast. You were worried about my threat of projectiles, weren't you?" Raven quipped, letting her in.

"You caught me," Clarke laughed, shrugging.

"I thought it was going to take you like 30 minutes to get here, not 30 seconds. Are you and Bellamy already making dinner?"

"Hmm? No, not really. I was over at his place though."

"Huh." Raven said, looking a little too curious for Clarke's liking. "So why didn't he come with you?"

"He's…not home."

Raven's eyebrows rose. "He's not at his apartment…but you are?"

"Yes?"

Raven just continued to stare at her questioningly.

"He went to visit his mom," Clarke said quietly.

"Oh!" Raven's expression softened. "Damn. I always forget…"

"I know. I almost did too."

Raven walked into her kitchen, grabbing two mugs and filling them with coffee, motioning for Clarke to have a seat at her tiny kitchen table before she joined her.

"Have you ever met her?" Raven asked curiously.

"Aurora? No."

"Really? You've been friends with the Blakes for years though, right? Like…really good friends."

"Yeah…I don't know. I offered to go with Bellamy today and I used to offer to go with Octavia all the time…but neither of them wanted me to," Clarke sighed, taking a sip of her coffee, which Raven made so strong it resembled tar. "Of course, Octavia rarely ever goes, so…"

"Really?"

Clarke nodded. "I'm not judging her…I'm not sure I could go at all if I were her. I'm not sure how Bellamy manages to go all the time, truth be told."

"Shit, that's rough."

Clarke just nodded again, taking another sip of her coffee.

Raven let the silence hang in the air for a few seconds before changing the topic. "I'm still not following though. Why did you go to his apartment just as he was leaving?"

Clarke sighed, pursing her lips when she realized that her friend wasn't going to let this go. "I'm staying with Bellamy. I was already there."

"You're…'staying' with him?"

"My mom is in Chicago on a consult for a few days. I get a little creeped out staying at the house by myself…plus we had Friendsgiving to do…so he offered to let me stay with him."

"In his one bedroom apartment?" Raven was starting to smirk and Clarke didn't like it.

"He has a couch," Clarke said defensively.

What? He did.

"And he lets you sleep on said couch?" Raven asked dubiously. Bellamy's chivalry was well known amongst their friends.

"Yes?"

Raven's expression only grew more suspicious. "He lets you sleep on the couch while he sleeps in bed?"

Clarke let out a huff, glancing at the toaster as she quietly admitted, "No."

Raven's expression again morphed into something of a smirk. "Spill, Griffin."

"We usually end up falling asleep on the couch watching TV, okay? It's not a big deal."

"You fall asleep like…for an hour, or for the entire night?"

Clarke could feel a blush rising to her cheeks. "The entire night?"

There was no way Clarke was going to willingly volunteer the information that they'd recently started sharing a bed; she wasn't a glutton for punishment.

"Clarke."

"Raven."

The brunette gave her an exasperated glare. "This is getting ridiculous, you know that, right?"

"I…don't know what you mean."

"You two have been dancing around each other for years. Don't you think it's time to stop the madness?"

Clarke was resolutely shaking her head. "He doesn't…"

Raven snorted. "The hell he doesn't. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. I'm pretty sure the whole 'must protect her at all costs' shtick he does for you surpasses even the one he does for Octavia."

Clarke shrugged. "He's a good friend."

"Clarke, don't give me that bullshit. He's crazy about you and you know it."

"I don't… I can't."

Raven frowned, leaning closer. "Why?"

Clarke stared into the black liquid in her cup, as if it could give her the answers. If only Raven would have served tea instead. "I can't lose him."

Raven reached across the table, putting a comforting hand on Clarke's arm. "You won't!"

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

Clarke shook her head again. "I can't take that chance. I'm just starting to get my life back together and…" she sighed, again glancing to the side. "I know exactly what it feels like to not have him. I can't handle the possibility of that right now."

Raven sat back in her chair, studying Clarke with eyes that seemed to have laser vision. "So, you're just going to keep sleeping with him…platonically…and hosting Thanksgiving dinner with him…platonically…and generally being in love with him…platonically?"

Clarke's gaze flew to meet Raven's at those last few words. "I didn't say anything about…"

Raven cut her off with a mere glance of disapproval through narrowed eyes.

Clarke sighed, giving in. "Yes?"

"This is ridiculous, you know that, right?"

"So you said."

"Yeah, well, the more I think about it, the more ridiculous it becomes."

Clarke shrugged, smiling a little at her friend's exasperation.

"And he's probably too much of a gentleman to make the first move," Raven mused out loud.

Clarke may have had that same thought a time or two herself. "Probably."

Raven made a low noise of disapproval. "What's it going to take for you guys to get your heads out of your asses? A fucking nuclear apocalypse?"

Clarke smirked self-deprecatingly. "Probably not even then."

Raven threw her hands up in defeat, then thunked them down on the table, pushing herself to a standing position.

Clarke grabbed one of her hands insistently. "Raven…don't do anything about this, okay?"

Raven looked down at her, clearly not happy about the request.

"Please? He's…he's too important. I can't…not yet."

Raven studied her for a minute before finally nodding.

Clarke smiled gratefully, her other hand finally relaxing its grip on Raven's poor coffee mug.

"So, how many plates do you need?" Raven asked, heading for the cabinets.

Right around two hours later found Clarke sitting at Bellamy's counter, reading through one of her medical textbooks. Exams were coming up and she always snuck in a few minutes of study time anywhere she could.

Since she'd already made the cornbread, wished her mom a Happy Thanksgiving, and borrowed all the extra dining essentials she needed from Raven, she needed something to distract her from worrying about Bellamy, so she'd pulled out her test prep stuff.

She'd spent the last 20 minutes rereading the same page though, so she wasn't sure how effective her strategy was.

Finally, she heard a key turning in the lock. A few seconds later, Bellamy pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He looked tired, disheartened, and frankly, he looked around five years older than when he'd left just a few hours ago. He just looked…defeated.

His gaze immediately searched for her.

Before she could even process, she was moving across the floor to him, and he to her.

She wrapped her arms firmly around his neck, drawing his body tightly against hers.

His arms were wound around her waist, his breath ruffling the hair behind her ear.

She kept pulling him closer until he finally started to relax some of his weight against her. Eventually, she felt him take what seemed like his first deep breath, his chest expanding against hers.

She moved her hand to the back of his head, letting him know that she didn't want him to move it off her shoulder yet. "How is she?" she asked quietly, even though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

He sighed against her shoulder. "Not great."

"Want to tell me about it?"

He slowly released her, but he only stepped back a few inches as he repeated what the doctors had told him.

Clarke understood the medical terms better than he did, of course, so they spent a few moments discussing her condition.

"It doesn't sound great, does it?" he asked.

Clarke could feel tears coming to her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, grabbing his arm to pull him into another hug.

This time, he leaned against her with little prompting. "Every time I go see her, I get so…" he trailed off, making a frustrated noise.

Clarke could imagine some of the rest of that sentence, '…sad, angry, depressed, frustrated.'

"And I just want to leave and never go back…but then I feel guilty that I don't go more than I already do. It's a vicious cycle," he tried to make it a joke, but failed.

Clarke closed her eyes, her heart literally clenching at how much he was hurting. She turned, pressing a firm kiss into his hair. "Bell…you're a good man."

He made a noise of dissent against her shoulder.

She pulled back, her hands on the sides of his neck to make sure he was looking at her. "You're such a good man," she said adamantly.

His hands clenched on her waist as he just stared down at her, his eyes searching hers a little desperately as if he wanted to believe her, but couldn't.

"I'm not making shit up to make you feel better," she promised, her thumbs unconsciously running along his jawline. "You're the best man I know, Bellamy Blake."

"You need to meet more people," he muttered dryly.

"No, I don't. I have exactly who I'm supposed to in my life."

He studied her for a few seconds before the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "Yeah, me too," he said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "Thanks, Princess."

She'd closed her eyes at the contact, and only opened them when she felt him release her.

"I…uh…think we might have crushed the flowers," he said, his face a little red as he looked on the counter beside her.

Clarke's eyebrows rose. "Flowers?" she asked, turning to follow his gaze.

On the counter was a bouquet of fall flowers, mostly deep reds, purples, and oranges, with some greenery thrown in.

"When did you get flowers?!" she asked, still surprised, mostly because she hadn't even noticed them when he'd come in.

He shrugged, looking more uncomfortable by the second. "I passed a stand on my way home. Thought if we were doing Thanksgiving…might as well do it right, right?"

Clarke practically beamed at him, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek before rooting through his cupboards to find something to put them in.

"Uh, yeah, pretty sure I don't have a vase," he said from behind her.

Clarke turned around as the metaphorical lightbulb went off over her head. She reached in the box she'd brought from Raven's apartment, pulling out an old fashioned ceramic pitcher.

She'd borrowed it with the thought that she could use it to serve lemonade or iced tea or something of the sort, but screw beverages, this was more important.

She quickly unwrapped the bouquet, added water to the pitcher, then arranged the flowers in it.

When she was done, she stepped back to admire her handiwork and then turned to Bellamy with a 'Tada!' only to find that he was watching her, his expression ridiculously fond.

She blinked, remembering what she'd been asking herself a few days before. Had he always looked at her like that?

Apparently, the answer was yes.

She said the only thing that came to mind. "Pie?"

He smiled, his expression becoming even more adoring, if that was possible. "God, yes."