Hello again! Just wanted to let those of you which are reading know that I've caught up with the chapters that are posted over on ao3 so I'll be uploading only once every other day now instead of daily. That way they'll be uploaded and available at the same time. I know not many people are reading this but I once again hope that those of you which are enjoy it! Feel free to drop me a review or a favourite to let me know if you are! Have a great weekend everyone :)

Somewhere along the way of going to college and getting a job, Wick had managed to lose track of all of his old friends. He was a well enough liked guy in high school, same for college. But, despite never moving far from the area he grew up in, many of his friends had moved on. A lot of them had already gotten married and had a kid or two. They didn't have time to be actual friends with people anymore. Now their relationships were maintained through Facebook photos of their six month old vomiting.

In the way that his old friends had been consumed by families or travelling or girlfriends, he'd been absorbed in getting through school and starting his career. Though it had only just started, he knew there wasn't much he could do until he got more experience under his belt. Big companies wanted people with lots of experience. It was hard to find jobs willing to offer an opportunity to gain such experience. Wick knew he was lucky to have the hospital.

So he really didn't mind the overtime he worked. In fact, it was the days off that called attention to the fact that he didn't have much else to do. Sure, there were errands to run and laundry to wash, but there wasn't anyone hanging around to go do stuff with. Every once in a while he'd try and call some of his old buddies, Facebook messaging a couple even in desperation. No one really reciprocated.

So Saturday night when Monty invites him out with Miller and a handful of other people, Wick is quick to agree.

They all meet at a local restaurant and he wears something halfway decent, just for the sake of it. A part of him hopes that someone in this group might just be single and willing to entertain him for a short while. It had been a while since he'd been with anyone. Even longer since he'd dated someone seriously. All that damn time spent focused on his work really left him behind.

He spots Monty first, waving excitedly from across the restaurant, his other arm slung around the back of the booth. They sit in a semi-circle booth, just enough space to fit the group of them. He makes his way over and greets everyone with a smile as he moves to take a seat. "Everyone this is Wick," Monty introduces him.

For whatever reason his first name had never stuck once he was older. He shakes hands with the people across from him. Miller he at least is familiar with. Then he meets Jasper, who's technically spoken with before, and a blonde named Clarke who he partially stands up for in order to meet her hand. Turning his head to meet everyone else he almost falls out of the booth in surprise when no other than Raven Reyes is sitting there, just one person away from him. "What the-" he breathes out with a shake of his head.

"Oh you two know each other?" Monty's voice is so falsely innocent that Wick is half tempted to reach across the table and smack him upside the head for it.

Raven stares him down for a minute before answering Monty. "We've run into each other a time or two." He isn't sure how to take her brushing him off.

It's then that he takes note of the man sitting between him and Raven. He was older, probably about his age, and he had the whole dark and ruggedly handsome thing sort of going for him. Wick tries not to be bothered by how close him and Raven are sitting, or consider the fact that maybe the reason she shrugged him off was because she was on some small form of a date. He also ignores when she whispers something to him and they both laugh or how she picks food off his plate once dinner comes out. (He actually doesn't ignore it at all. But he wishes he could.)

As his insipid inner dialogue and careful observations carry on, everyone else continues to chat, often times talking over each other until nearly the whole table was shouting. Miller makes polite conversation with him as does Jasper, who fades in and out of everyone's banter to throw in his own two cents. Some girl named Octavia shows up next, everyone scrunching in closer to fit her and then a big brunt of a guy, named Lincoln, pulls up a chair to the end of the table (thank goodness).

The whole gathering is pleasant. It's loud and rambunctious without being too obnoxious. Wick notices the ones who nurse drinks, and the ones who steal sips throughout their meals. Octavia keeps eyeing Bellamy's but never has any. Lincoln is for sure old enough to order something but orders refills of sprite throughout the evening instead.

After some time he excuses himself from the table, in need of something a little stronger than an iced tea. He wasn't going to say it was because Raven wouldn't so much as look at him, but it might have been a contributing factor. He goes up to the bar and orders a regular old beer, appreciating the bartender and her low cut top as he waits for it to be made.

"Is the group a little too much to deal with?"

Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that Raven approaches him, they were practically friends. At the very least they were acquaintances. But after ignoring him for half the night he's a tiny bit shocked to find her leaning against the counter as her weight shifts fully to her good leg. "Just a bit," he says, taking his beer from the bartender that'd he been eyeing up until a minute ago.

"Want the run down?" she asks, taking a sip from the straw of her water.

"Please," he answers with a tinge of gratitude to his voice. She sits down on one of the stools so he does the same.

She goes into a diatribe, explaining Monty and Miller's history of almosts, Clarke's recent break up with Lexa that had left her even more reserved and cranky than usual, and Jasper's constant need for attention and approval (which was why he was partially tied to his cell phone, checking every two minutes to see if the girl he liked had texted him back). She explains that Octavia and Lincoln have a heavy history, a story for another night. Not once does she mention the boy who sits next to her.

Wick caves. He gives in to his desperation to know who this guy must be and just asks. "Well what about that one dude, Bellamy? He your boyfriend?" He tries to ask it casually, eyes focused on his near empty beer as his one hand runs through his hair.

When she doesn't immediately answer he has to peak up to catch her expression, expecting it to confirm his question. But then she bursts into quiet little laughs, persistent and steady for a minute before she gathers herself, arms wrapped around her stomach. "Oh god, I'm sorry but that was funny."

"Excuse me for asking a perfectly normal question," he says, trying to hide his smile behind his beer.

She rolls her eyes, still smiling. "Bellamy's essentially my brother. Besides, he and Clarke might as well be dating." At this she shakes her head. "It's seriously a matter of time."

From there they just kind of sit in silence for a bit. "Why aren't you eating anything?" he finally asks, noting for the first time that she'd been the only person at the table not to order anything.

Her eyes flicker to him briefly before she looks away, staring back at the booth of her friends who hadn't yet to even seem to notice their absence. "I ate before I came." That seems to be the end of the conversation as she sinks back to the ground. Her right leg nearly crumples beneath her as it takes the brunt of her weight. Wick reaches out quickly, moving to grab her before she can fall. Her hand latches onto his wrist, her small grip was surprisingly strong as she regains her balance. "I'm fine."

Once he's sure she's steady he pulls his arm away, offering a small smile to try and reassure that he wasn't judging her. Her face hardens as he does so and then she's walking away without another word. He doesn't miss the hesitation before each step.

The night ends well after Wick expected it to. His overnight working self isn't bothered by the two a.m. time stamp on the clock, but others at the table appear to be growing more delirious by the second. Octavia practically has Lincoln carry her from the restaurant, Bellamy watching with furrowed brows but no comment as he waits for Clarke to scoot her way out. Based off the interaction he'd witnessed between them tonight, Wick couldn't argue with Raven's earlier statement. They were the type who just kept orbiting each other until some cosmetic collision forced them together.

Maybe he should suggest Monty attempt to play match maker with those two next time. Although, he couldn't say he was entirely disgruntled with the interaction he'd been tricked into tonight.

Miller had always been a morning guy and had been whining about the time since eleven had hit. Monty kept teasing him for it, but Wick drew the conclusion that one minute longer and Miller might have actually lost it. Outside of the restaurant everyone exchanges hugs and handshakes. Bellamy kisses the top of Octavia's head and shoots eyes to Lincoln but doesn't say anything as the two of them walk off together. Then he and Clarke walk off, followed by Monty, Miller, and Jasper.

Suddenly it's Wick and Raven, standing on the freezing sidewalk at two in the morning as sharp wind blows all around and right through them. Again, she lacks a coat. "None of them ever give you a ride?" he asks, more than a little flabbergasted that she hadn't gone with any of them.

"It's not their fault," she mumbles, clearly interpreting the judgement in his voice. He's about to ask how something like that could not be their fault when she answers for him. "I always say no."

He reflects on the words for a minute before looking up at the light haze of clouds that covered the night sky. "That doesn't mean they should stop asking."

"Stop," she interrupts his thought process from carrying on with his irritation. "Don't judge them." It's not an easy request, but one he concedes to regardless. "I'll see you later, Wick," she tells him which is the promise of a future meeting but also the means of a goodbye.

For a minute he accepts it, too caught off guard to react. "Wait," he says when he comes to his senses; it takes four long strides to catch up to her. "You must know by now that I can't just leave you to walk home like this."

"And you must know by now that I really hate your fucking charity." The words are harsh, coloured in red and blunted with black around the edges.

He takes a step back, knowing when he's unwanted. "Raven, I wasn't trying-"

She holds up her hand to stop him. "I don't need your help." Her shoulders hover too close to her neck, her tiny fists formed and tight, and her stance too still with all of the weight on her poor right leg once again. Then, all at once, everything loosens. Her shoulders drop, one open hand comes up to run down her face, and her left leg accepts some of her weight as her posture relaxes. "Fine. Take me home."

At first he goes to ask questions. It's his predisposition; he wants to know what changed her mind or why she was so angry at the idea in the first place. But he fights his instincts and withdraws instead; worried that otherwise she'll take off. "My truck is this way," he whispers, just barely louder than the wind as it picks up once again. He doesn't open the door for her or help her in, as he otherwise might feel inclined to do, but instead gets himself right in and turns the key. The engine turns over, thankfully, and he turns off the blasting cold air, well aware that it will take several minutes to warm up in the slightest. She buckles her seat belt and he drives toward his old neighbourhood, the one she used to run in, waiting for further directions.

When she offers nothing he decides to ask. "Do you still live in my old neighbourhood?" Her head whips around in surprise at the question, her ponytail a quiet swish in the truck.

"What old neighbourhood?" she questions slowly. "Where did you use to live?" He names the place, a rush of nostalgia forcing its way through him at just the thought. She scoffs as soon as the words leave his mouth. "I've never lived there." Her voice is bitter.

Thankfully she doesn't question why he might think she did. He turns on the heat and a minute later she turns on the radio, making quick work of finding all of his buttons as she tunes through the stations. She settles on some top 40 song and falls back into her seat. "Turn left here," she says after a couple of minutes. He does as he's instructed. "Stop," she says after another mile. He sees no house, or even a turn off for a neighbourhood. He pulls onto the shoulder but doesn't put the car in park.

"There's nothing here," he comments. There wasn't even a damn street light.

"This is close enough," she says in response, moving to unbuckle her seat belt. His hand shoots out to still hers and she pulls away before he's more than grazed her hand.

"Sorry," he mutters. It was a warring matter. Letting her get out and save face like she wanted and not wanting for her to be brutally raped and murdered on the side of the road because of it. "Just let me drive you the rest of the way."

There's a beat of silence before she speaks again. "I don't want-"

"I don't care where the hell you live, okay?" he says to cut her off. "I don't care if you live in a tent in the woods or some mansion or whatever. But I do care if you get run over by a car trying to walk home at two thirty in the morning." His patience is gone. Especially for petty things like saving face because of where you live. He takes his foot off the break and looks over his shoulder before easing back onto the road. "Now which way."

Aside from the radio there's silence for several minutes, so much so that he wonders if she's just going to let him drive forever as punishment. But finally she says, "Turn right," so he does that and then a minute later she adds, "Turn left." They drive for barely a minute longer before she tells him to stop. He does.

"Thank you," he says with a sigh of relief. He only glances at her place, she's made him so damn curious with all her secrecy, but then he looks away. It was a trailer. So what? "Get some sleep."

"You too," she whispers as she releases her seat belt and swings the door open. "And thanks for the ride," she adds over her shoulder just before she pivots herself and drops to the ground below, landing firmly.

He watches her into her place before pulling away.

It might be the most exhausting night out he's ever had. But when he collapses into bed after getting home, he doesn't regret it in the slightest.