Archive of Our Own ^beta

If you ask Clarke, she’d tell you she’s not always this competitive. (And if you ask anyone who knows her, they’d say not only is she competitive, but also a liar, apparently.) But Bellamy Blake brings out the worst in her.

Which is why she’s finally going to crush him to cookie dust in this year’s Gingerbread Competition.

Growing up, Clarke and her family used to win so often that the town dubbed her the Gingerbread Princess by the time she was seven.

Then came the Blakes, and it’s been all out war ever since.

Aurora’s baking skills, Octavia’s building skills, and Bellamy’s skills at being a pain in her ass.

(And, okay, his decorating skills. But she’d never admit to that aloud.)

But this year? Oh, this year she’s going to crush them.

Or, more precisely, him. She really has nothing against Aurora or Octavia, if she could crush just Bellamy she would, but, well, she can’t.

“Jesus, Griffin.” Raven announces as she hauls her first trip of supplies into the (miraculously warm and toasty) town’s inn that traditionally hosts the competition. There’s a few other teams there when she gets into the room they’ll be showing in, and not to sound cocky, but she’s not too worried about them.

The Greens mostly do the competition for giving Jordan something fun to do, Jasper does it with his girlfriend and her dad for what she’s pretty sure is future son-in-law points, and Murphy and Emori do it because Murphy bakes too much shit and this is Emori’s ultimatum. Clarke’s not sure how that works but she doesn’t question it.

The only one who is competitive about it is Murphy, but they’ve literally never beaten her or the Blakes once, so it’s mostly just trash talk.

“I’m winning this year, Reyes, mark my words.” Clarke says as she starts unloading supplies, her setup much more detailed than it was last year, which means she’ll have to be efficient with her time management.

(So keep the trash talk to a minimum.)

“Yeah,” Raven responds, voice slightly off as she eyes Clarke’s box of icing. “You know what? This year, I don’t doubt you.”

Clarke tosses an overstuffed tote bag onto the table. “So you’ve been doubting me all these years? Raven, I’m hurt.”

(A little bantering is fine, though. Keeps her spirits up, or something.)

Raven rolls her eyes, already making her way out, probably to find Sinclair.

But then Madi and Abby burst through the door, and her attention moves from bantering to gingerbread.

It’s game time.

It takes her two hours, several trips to and from the car, overwhelming amounts of icing, and a gumdrop incident for Clarke to realize the Blakes haven’t shown up yet.

Everyone else is here, Clarke realizes, and assembling your creation outside of the inn is against the rules and is means for immediate disqualification.

“Hey, Mads, can you handle this for a sec?” Clarke asks, and she doesn’t even have to set down her icing bag, Madi grabs it immediately, jumping in where Clarke left off without even batting an eyelash.

Clarke smiles briefly at that. She taught that kid well.

She ruffles Madi’s hair gently before walking away from their display, passing the Greens and Jasper and the Vies, finding the Blakes’ empty spot right before Murphy and Emori’s.

The name placement is there, but that’s all. No gingerbread. No supplies. No Aurora or Octavia.

No Bellamy.

“Hey, Murph?” Clarke asks, eyes still on the empty spot. By now Bellamy and Octavia have usually gotten into at least one sibling squabble that Aurora has to diffuse.

She doesn’t get an answer, so she glances over at the couple. Emori is muttering his name to get Murphy’s attention, while the man in question is hunched over his half-finished project. Finally, Emori just huffs and shouts, “John!”

“What?” He finally responds, and Emori gestures towards Clarke, who gives him a smile and a mini wave that is sure to get his hackles rising.

(They haven’t bugged each other enough today.)

Murphy rolls his eyes and turns back around, but she knows he’s listening this time.

“You seen the Blakes yet?” She finally asks, the question that’s been on the tip of her tongue since she looked up from her station and noticed him, them, missing.

“Nah. They had to forfeit.” Murphy answers, way too nonchalant for the way Clarke’s stomach starts twisting in knots at his words, something awful pulling at her gut.

“What? Why?” She asks, probably a little too forcefully.

Emori’s face softens into something slightly somber, but before she can process that, Murphy is answering, finally gaining his full attention as he turns around to face her fully.

He gauges her reaction with his pale arms crossed over his chest, and even though she has no idea what’s going on, she feels stripped down by his gaze, like he’s seeing passed her and observing something she’s not even aware of.

She doesn’t like it.

Murphy blows out a breath and responds with words that make her heart fumble and fall out of her chest, “Something about a medical emergency.”

Clarke’s world stops, and everything melts away.

"Clarke?"

She barely hears her mother's voice, her brain working in overdrive as she rushes back toward their place, toward one of the many bags she brought in with her, icing and candy bags tumbling onto the table as she fumbles for the right one, too frazzled to remember which one is currently holding her personal effects.

"Sweetie, I'll be right back." It's funny, what your brain can do to compartmentalize, what it needs to do when it's running a mile a minute. Her ears register her mother speaking softly to Madi, her body senses another approaching her from behind, but none of it is at the forefront of her mind, like she's in a bubble all on her own, a thin, invisible layer separating her from the rest of the room.

The bubble bursts when Abby touches her arm, gentle and hesitant, but Clarke still whirls around like she'd been touched by a flame, blue eyes wide as she gazes up into her face, the familiar warmth in her mother's expression slowing her down for the first time since Murphy's words had reached her ears.

"Clarke, honey, what happened? You disappeared right when we—"

"Bellamy's in the hospital," Clarke interrupts, and the words falling off her tongue give her urgency again, spinning around to finish what she was doing, bypassing a blue and white tote bag embellished with glitter snowflakes to a smaller purse, finally locating her keys and wallet tucked safely inside.

"What?" Abby responds, shock in her voice evident even from behind Clarke's shoulders, even passed Clarke's thudding heartbeat and shaking hands. "Oh my God, what happened?"

"I don't know," Clarke breathes, lines appearing between her brows as she zips her purse closed with so much force she nearly thinks she broke it. "Something about forfeiting and an emergency, damn Murphy is useless," she huffs under her breath as she swings the leather strap over her shoulder, facing her mom again. "You and Madi will be okay without me for awhile, right?"

"I—" Her mom hesitates, her gaze transforming from surprised to calculating to that same even expression that Clarke inherited. Normally it might get under her skin, the watchful gaze that Clarke has both mastered the art of and loathes being on the receiving end of, but right now she just needs to be sure they'll be alright without her. "Of course," Abby finally answers, and Clarke exhales in relief. "Of course, yes. We'll be fine, go ahead, I'll let Madi know. Call me if there's anything I can do."

Clarke feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards her mother in that moment, so much so she throws her arms around her for a second, nearly bowling them both over. "Thank you, mom," she whispers, and then she's gone, speeding across the hall at lightning speed. "Love you, Madi!"

"Love you, too!" She hears right as she makes it to the main corridors. "Wait, what happened?"

Her mom's voice talking to Madi is the last thing Clarke hears before everything else starts blurring together, just the blur of patterned carpeting and a bright, snowy day shining through the floor to ceiling windows, her heavy breathing as she rushes down the too long passageway.

"Whoa, Clarke, hey, wait up!"

Clarke's frustration finally gets the better of her, skidding to a stop as she hears Raven, whirling around to give her a piece of her mind, and just as she opens her mouth to start a tangent, she catches the way Raven struggles just a little on her leg as she struts up to Clarke, remembers that she hates this kind of weather because of it, and about half of her fight leaves her.

But still, she doesn't stop entirely.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Clarke's voice cuts through before Raven can speak, and she doesn't need to elaborate, whether she'd admit to it or not, only one person can work her up like this.

But usually, he's here to rile her up, not at the hospital.

Raven comes to a stop in front of Clarke, her eyes assessing as she looks Clarke up and down, and she gets that same uncomfortable feeling that she did when Murphy did it, like she's being stripped down, like everyone is looking beneath the surface, like they can all see something she can't. It doesn't help with the already anxious and erratic beating of her heart.

"I wasn't sure you'd want to know," Raven settles on, and it feels like she's choosing her words in particular, but even more, it reminds her that even though Raven and Clarke have known each other since they were kids, Raven's always been closer to Bellamy than she has, ever since the Blakes moved to town. They're alike in that way, Bellamy and Raven, prickly but unquestionably protective and loyal, sometimes to a fault.

It disconcerts her, this assumption that Clarke just wouldn't care. That Bellamy could be seriously injured, and just because they fight sometimes, Clarke wouldn't blink an eye.

Is that what they think of her?

"You don't really think that, do you? That I'm so self-absorbed that I'd enjoy someone else's pain? That I wouldn't help if I could?" She feels raw, as the words tumble off her lips, as the look in Raven's eyes start to dissipate. The both of them, they both know of pain and loss, a wordless connection that has aligned them, an invisible thread that runs between them.

"Of course not," she responds, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her weight onto one leg. "Look, it might not even be that bad, okay? He was shaken up when he called, and I kept trying to get him to tell me what was going on, but I couldn't get it out of him. All I could get from him was that there was an accident and they'd have to pull out of the competition."

"That's it?" Clarke asks, her mind beginning to race again, trying to make what she could out of the information. An accident? His? Someone else?

"That, and that they were headed to Polis General."

Polis General. About half an hour from the inn.

She could do that.

Forty-five minutes and one pit stop later, Clarke is sitting in the middle of the hospital parking lot, staring up at the towering building of white cement and large, glass windows, the main building so vast it surpasses her view from her front seat, disappearing behind the roof of her car. And somehow, after each frenzied moment that has passed since hearing the words from Murphy, this moments feels still, like she's inside a bubble, like life outside her car is still going on around her, but inside she's frozen in the moment.

Everything leading up to this was a choice. Finding Murphy. Learning about Bellamy's absence. Talking to Raven. Rushing out of the building. Leaving every single plan and intention she had for the day. All of these were choice, but sitting here, on the precipice of going inside this hospital, hunting down someone she doesn't even know will be relieved to see her? That feels like more of a choice than any of those other things had.

All those other choices had been made on adrenaline, on fear.

But this was a different type of fear. A fear of the unknown. A fear of helplessness.

Once Clarke goes in there, no matter what she finds, there's no going back.

It's a terrifying thought, but a thought that makes her finally pull her key from the ignition, that convinces her to grab her purse and the white cardboard box sitting in her passenger seat, that finally gets her out of her car.

The wind is chilly, pinching her cheeks almost immediately as she locks her car, but there's a familiar stillness in the air that she senses every time she comes here, from visiting her mom when she was a kid to the last time she saw her dad, it's the one feeling that's never changed.

The perks of having a former surgeon as a mother, and being a former volunteer at this very hospital herself, is that it doesn't take Clarke long to get the answers she needs, lucky enough to bypass most of the frustration of the front desk, a luxury she usually tries not to take advantage of, but when all the worst case scenarios are flying around in her head, she can't even pull herself together to think twice about it.

Maybe later she'll feel guilty about it, but all she can feel as she's jogging down the halls is the thumping beat of her heart banging against her rib cage, adrenaline and anxiety swirling around in the pit of her stomach as one pristine, white hallway ends and blends into another, her knowledge of the hospital, even after years of avoiding these walls, coming back to her in no time at all.

There's soft voices and murmured cries as she gets closer and closer, squeaking shoes on linoleum, beeping monitors and carefully explained instructions to loved ones, a grumbling resident jogging passed her, all things she can remember being acquainted with at one time, all things that pass her by in a blur, that fade away into only faint recognition, second to her pulse in her ears and her feet carrying her forward until they come to a skittering stop in the middle of the hallway.

There, sitting in a broken down chair with scuffed metal legs, there she finds a head of wayward curls pressed back against a white wall, eyelids drawn closed, the curve of a tan neck half-covered by a wrinkled plaid shirt, legs kicked out as though they've long given up on finding comfort out of the unfortunate position.

“Bellamy?”

She thinks not even a single second passes before his head snaps in her direction, and her breath catches in her throat as his deep brown eyes immediately find hers, an expression of pure exhaustion that can only be attributed to hours in a hospital waiting room morphing into that of confusion, or as much as he seems to be capable of, in the moment.

“Princess?”

Her cheeks flush, ducking her head to avoid anyone else’s stares, despite only a few other people being within earshot. At home, in their quaint, quirky town, everyone knows what that nickname means. Here, in this big hospital, almost an hour away? Her traitorous pale skin burns just thinking about what it sounds like.

But then again, they’re in a hospital.

People here have way more to worry about than a stranger’s gossip.

A hospital, it echoes in her head, and Clarke panics all over again.

“Raven said you called from the hospital,” she plows on, not even bothering to keep up with the name game. And even though he's sitting right here, ten feet away from her, tired looking but still, at the very least, safe enough to be capable of speech, her eyes still trail over the length of him, flicking around from his face to his arms to his neck to his legs, everywhere and anywhere.

There's no actual signs that he's injured at all, but Clarke knows that doesn't mean much of anything.

She also technically knows that if he was injured he wouldn't be out here, but her brain hasn't gotten there quite yet.

Her eyes snap back up to his face and she watches him blink, once, twice.

"So you drove half an hour to see me?" He asks after a moment, and something about his tone, befuddled and curious simultaneously, makes knots appear in her stomach. Before she can even begin to think of an answer to that, his eyebrows furrow and he turns in his seat to face her fully, like something's just dawning on him. "Wait, what time is it?" His eyes glance over at a clock on the wall with an ease that tells her he's probably been watching it every five minutes since he got here, and when he looks back at her, the corners of his mouth tug down, frowning. "You should be at the inn right now."

"I should be here," Clarke huffs, a little bit of that frustration and defiance seeping back into her tone as she crosses the bridge that separates them, setting herself firmly in the chair across from him, the metal chain of her purse clanging against the chair, her eyes even on his. Murphy's inquisitive gaze. Raven's unsubtle appraisal. Bellamy's clear confusion at her presence. Like she shouldn't care. Well, she does. Just because they argue half the time, just because he riles her up so much she starts turning red, just because they bring out the stubborn, competitive sides of each other, doesn't mean she doesn't care.

Clarke's always cared.

"Anyway," Clarke plows on, ignoring the way his gaze on her has shifted from surprise to something heavier, her hands brushing against the smooth, white box now settled in her lap, and while her purse had swung and clattered around, the box had been tugged safely in her grasp ever since she grabbed it out of her car seat, still shiny and new, not a scuff or a dent anywhere to be seen. "It was closer to an hour to get here."

He raises a single eyebrow, eyes flicking down at her lap, and Clarke notices almost instantly how just a tiny bit of his exhaustion slips away at that moment, his mind pulled away from ticking clocks and white walls and unanswered questions. "An hour?" He volleys back, watching the way her hands smooth over the box with an interested gaze before he looks back up, and even under the harsh fluorescent lighting and worn out demeanor, she can see the dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose and the scar on his lip. "Must have been some traffic, Princess."

"Almost an hour," she corrects instinctively, unable to let go of their bickering dynamic even now, even when she still has a ball of concern rumbling around in her stomach. She tugs the white box a little closer, spins it around so she can swipe at the sticker keeping it closed with her nail, smiling down when she opens it, the first wash of relief over her since she ran out of the inn. She twirls the box around again so he can see, watches him tip forward slightly to look inside. "I brought cookies."

She expects— well, she's not sure, but he's quiet, eyes running over the finely decorated cookies piled perfectly inside the box for far too long than just to get a look at them.

So she keeps going.

"They're not gingerbread," she adds, quite unhelpfully, as the light-colored cookies decorated with royal icing are very clearly sugar cookies. "I thought about bringing some of mine, but, uh, I didn't want you to think I was trying to gloat, or something, so I stopped by Gaia's on the way here." She still feels a little anxious, and when she stops her explanation (ramble), she notices the way his eyelids flutter at her words, the way his irises seem to turn a warmer shade of brown, the way his expression softens in a way that freaks her out just a little bit more. "That's why it took me a little longer."

She bits down on her lip, nibbling on her lower lip for a second, suddenly very unsure of her presence again. She thought, when she was distracting him, maybe she was helping, but now she's not so sure. "They're not gingerbread, but they're really good, I promise."

Finally, after a moment, he breaks his silence.

"I know," he says gently, so quiet and soft Clarke might have thought she imagined it if she hadn't seen his lips move, and then they curve into the tiniest beginnings of a smile, and Clarke can't deny the way her heart soars at the sight. "They're my mom's favorite."

Clarke lets out a puff of air, her body sagging slightly with the action, and slowly, she closes the box of cookies, making sure it's secure before she moves from her seat, crossing the aisle and settling down next to him, her shoulder brushing against his as she folds herself into the seat next to him, "Bellamy," she says softly, softer than she ever recalls saying it, and she thinks he notices too, his body slumping back into his chair, his head tilting to look at her, "What happened?"

She watches the change, the way his jaw works, the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, the way the warmth in his eyes begins to dissipate as his gaze drifts, and she's overcome with a desire to reach out for him, to let him know he's not alone, a wholly unfamiliar sensation when it comes to Bellamy Blake. Her head knows that's not who they are, not who she is to him, but her heart can't help responding to the lost look on his face, so unlike the cocky, self-assured Bellamy she knows.

"We were on the way to the inn," he starts, quiet as ever, and she shifts closer so she can listen, her heart hammering in her chest. "Mom and O were in one car, and I was driving in the pickup, one minute everything was fine, and then the next—" His eyes close, and she knows he's reliving the memory, knows he must be going over so many what if's in his mind, and this time when her heart gives a tug, she can't hold back, slipping a hand around his arm, leaning against his shoulder and giving a comforting squeeze. It's not until she does it that she second guesses the action, when she feels him tense up, and she's holding her breath, a bundle of nerves and insecurities, until he relaxes again, leans into the weight she offering them. It's not the most comfortable, in two stiff hospital chairs, but it's the only comfort she can give him right now, and she hopes it's enough.

"They said it wasn't that bad, that it could've been worse, that they're taking care of them, but the longer I sit here—"

"The more you worry," Clarke finishes gently. He swallows roughly again, and this time he tilts his head to look at her, and it's startling, how different he looks here. Though she'd never outwardly admit it, he's usually all hard lines and handsome features, but here under the white lights of the waiting room, she's never seen him look more young, more like a lost little kid, and she wishes she could help, she wishes she had an answer that could wash away the lines between his brows and the concern pulling his lips down.

She could sit here and tell him that it'll be okay, that they'll pull through, that the doctors know what they're doing, but these are all the things that Clarke knows firsthand don't help quell the worry and guilt.

"You haven't seen either of them yet?" Clarke asks instead, and maybe she should be trying to distract him, with cookies or bantering or bad jokes, but she also thinks being here alone must have been hard, no one to talk to, no one to offer a shoulder. She knows she's not the ideal person, figures he probably has a whole list of people he would've expected to be with him, a list that doesn't include anyone who's argued with him over the silliest, stupidest things, but she can at least to try to be something for him.

They may argue, but she'd never want this for him.

"No," Bellamy answers, his voice wobbling even on the single syllable.

"You know that's not necessarily a bad thing, right?" Despite their daily relationship, which could probably be described as having an up-and-down trajectory, she can't help but want to reassure him in some way, even if she doesn't have all the information to do so. Maybe it's this side of him, maybe seeing Bellamy Blake so small and unsure is enough to break the spell she finds herself in whenever she's around him, the stubborn, hot-headed demeanor so typical of them washing away into something softer, something with a layer of understanding. It's not new exactly, but different.

He tilts back into his chair, blows out a long breath as he allows the question to settle between them. It allows her time to study him again without him watching her. The unruly state of his hair, no doubt running his fingers through it countless times. The tiredness around his eyes, the stress of the situation darkening his usually warm gaze. The crinkle between his brows that doesn't go away even when he gives her a half-amused smile. It's the kind of thing she probably shouldn't be doing, she realizes when the urge to wipe away the worry across his face becomes a little too large to ignore.

"I guess," he answers, instantly pulling her away from the thought, her stomach twisting uncomfortably as if he could've somehow known where her mind was. When he tilts his head to look at her again, it's her that has to swallow back a lump of anxiety, but he still does it again, gives her that half-amused smile, like he too is surprised she can pull it out of him. "You're good at this, you know? I've been sitting here for God knows how long, feeling helpless and terrified, and then comes in Clarke Griffin, the girl who can kick my ass at pool and who once described me an embarrassment to society for not knowing which nut marzipan was made of, and miraculously, I don't feel so hopeless anymore."

Honestly, she's not sure how to take him complimenting her and reminding her of their possibly insane and definitely ridiculous relationship in one sentence, so she ducks her head, a curtain of blonde hair coming down to hide half of her face with the motion. "Yeah, well, when you put it like that—" She says, light, as she scuffs the toe of her shoe into the white floor, hearing what might actually be a chuckle from him in return.

Sitting here, shoulder to shoulder with Bellamy Blake, trying to bring comfort to him as they stay together in the waiting room, the sound of his half-formed laugh the only reward she needs, it all feels a bit like she's experiencing someone else's life. Realistically, she shouldn't know how to do any of these things, not when they usually have a hard time being in the same room without bickering. That comes naturally, she would've said, but before today, she wouldn't have known this could come naturally too.

Maybe it's just the room, just the building, just their concern for the Blake women connecting them. Maybe tomorrow it'll be like this never even happened.

She can't explain why that thought unsettles her as much as it does.

"I can think of one more thing that could help with that, actually," Clarke says instead, pushing that thought down to inevitably consider later, looking back up to see a hint of intrigue in his eyes, a sparkle there that she never thought she'd miss until she found it gone today.

"Yeah?" He eggs her on, voice something low, another observation she chooses to push aside. "What's that?"

It takes her a moment, to pull her gaze away from his, away from the magnetism she's still trying to ignore, but she does manage, eventually. Enough to brush her fingers over the broken seal of a white and gold sticker, enough to not make too much noise as she makes a choice that she thinks he'll like, enough to pull out a reindeer-shaped cookie from the box in her lap, giving him a lopsided smile as she brandishes it in front of him. "Sugar cookie?"

And there it is again, that flurry of something beneath her chest when his expression softens, when she watches the corner of his mouth twitch as his eyes drop down to study the finely decorated cookie in her hand.

When he reaches for it, his finger brushes hers, and she watches with baited breath as he looks at it. Realistically, there's no reason at all why she holds her breath until he takes a bite, they're the best cookies in the whole state, by both decoration and taste, and he knows it too, but she finds the air leaving her lungs when he finally, and quite indelicately, bites one of the antlers off.

"Well?" He says, after a moment of munching on the cookie and giving her approval for her choice, raising his eyebrows at her pointedly.

"What?" She asks, a touch of defense as she feels a tinge of heat in her cheeks. She's glad to see her cookie pit stop idea appears to have been worth it, to have brought a little bit of his spark back, to bring a little color to the room. But while she's familiar with that dark, imploring gaze and that overwhelming aura that's just a tinge too intriguing, it's this prolonged proximity, mixed with just a hint of something unfamiliar in his gaze, that throws her off. It's different, and she wonders if he even realizes it, wonders if he can feel the axis in the room tilt.

"You gonna have one, too? Or are you just going to leave me hanging?" When the grin that cracks his lips is neither soft nor warm, when it is just wholly Bellamy, she finds her ground again, finds a moment of familiarity amongst the hanging tide.

Oddly, though, the sight of it doesn't crawl under her skin or make want to go on the offense. It's nice. Which is a worrying thought just on it's own, but she can't manage to fight the feeling of comfort in her stomach.

"If you're trying to figure out if I did something weird to them, next time do it before you take your first bite." Her typical humor is met with a tilt of the head that somehow intensifies the dark brows that have risen up his forehead. The standoff is basically one-sided, though. "Alright, fine, you win." She relents with a sigh, digging into the box to find the smallest one of the bunch, a bell-shaped sugar cookie dusted with a pearlescent gold. Almost too beautiful to eat. Almost.

"But we can't eat all of them," Clarke warns as she takes a bite, the baked good melting like butter the moment it hits her tongue, maybe more as a reminder to herself than a caution for him. Probably both. "Some of these are for your mom and sister, so don't go crazy."

Bellamy, incapable as ever at listening to her, immediately sneaks another cookie from the box, a pale blue snowflake this time. "Yes, Princess."

And that's how Clarke spends the next ten minutes sitting shoulder to shoulder with Bellamy Blake in the middle of Polis General, sharing a box of Gaia's finest as a clock ticks away and snow falls outside the window.

"Thanks, Clarke." Bellamy says after a moment. And when he says it, she knows he's not just talking about the cookies. It's about this, right here. And maybe she wasn't the person he expected at his side, and maybe she never thought she'd be either, but she's glad she is. And even more importantly, he's glad she is.

"I think that's the first time you've actually used my name." She ponders aloud, years of Princess and even Griffin rolling around her recollection, but never Clarke.

The smile that crawls up his lips is small but genuine, and it warms her chest to see. "Probably."

This time, she doesn't answer, instead she leans her head onto his shoulder, popping the last bit of cookie into her mouth. And after a moment, he rests his head gently against hers, and for the first time since getting to the hospital, she welcomes the silence that rests between them, not awkward or distraught, but comfortable. She closes her eyes and welcomes the quiet moment for what it is.

A good moment, but one that is shortly interrupted.

“Now there’s something I thought I’d never see.”

"Octavia?" Bellamy exclaims, loud in comparison to their formerly hushes voices, and Clarke barely has time to fathom what's going on, that Octavia is in fact standing a few feet away, looking down at them like they're idiots.

Which, for Octavia, is a pretty good sign, actually. Totally normal behavior.

Bellamy's up and racing across the room before Clarke can even blink, barely able to right herself without losing her balance, the only thing stopping her is the uncomfortable chair arm her elbow is resting on, but when she does gather her bearings, head upright, her heart gives a gentle flip as she watches Bellamy crush Octavia into a big hug. Given the situation, it's probably not the best move. Despite a few scrapes, though, Octavia seems unbothered, rolling her eyes for what Clarke is pretty sure is just for her benefit, like if Clarke sees her going mushy she'll tell everyone back home. Really, though, it just reminds Clarke of how strong Octavia is, how strong they both are.

She's not sure if it's the kind of thing she should be watching, but she smiles softly nonetheless at the siblings, their bond more clear than ever in this moment.

She's never had a brother, but it reminds her of Wells. They may not be what the Blakes are, but there's a piece of him wherever she goes. It's something like that, Clarke thinks, subconsciously twirling the thin necklace around her neck she never takes off, a small, silver chess piece dangling from the dainty chain.

"You're okay?" Bellamy asks his sister, pulling Clarke from her wandering thoughts, apparently the shock wearing off enough for him to let go of his tight embrace to make sure she really was alright. To Octavia's credit, she really does seem fine. A few spots Clarke can see from here, but she doesn't flinch when touched, doesn't shuffle her feet in discomfort. Obviously Clarke's aware there's much more than meets the eye when it comes to injuries, but she's also aware Octavia wouldn't be out here, let alone holding her own against Bellamy's ferocious hugs, if she needed more serious medical attention.

(But Clarke plans to keep an eye out just in case. Old habits and all.)

Octavia frowns, "I thought they were keeping you updated."

"Well, I mean, yeah, but—" Bellamy starts, fumbling over his words in a way he hadn't done at all since she'd been with him. She tilts her head to the side, inspecting the transformation of adrenaline-filled relief back to nerves, scratching the back of his head as he searches for words.

Octavia rolls her eyes. "But you were still freaking out, anyway."

Even though she can barely see his face from this angle, mostly just his back, she can still hear the huff he gives, and she takes a guess it's the same one he makes when he knows someone's got him pegged but he doesn't want to directly admit it.

Clarke can't help but smile.

"I'm fine, Bell. You're such a mother hen," Bellamy makes another noise, this one defiant and a little strangled, and she just knows he's going to start rambling about how this is a totally appropriate time to worry, but Octavia cuts him off before he can get started. "Now, if I tell you that you can go and see mom, will you stop freaking out?"

Bellamy nearly chokes, and even Clarke will admit that makes her straighten up in her chair, her chest feeling just a little bit lighter at the casual mention of Aurora. That must be good, right? Octavia wouldn't be teasing like this if it was bad news.

"What? You've seen her? Is she okay? She's not—"

"That sounds an awful lot like freaking out," Octavia interrupts, brows raised, and in the silence that follows Clarke just knows he's glaring at her. As someone who has been on the receiving end many times, she knows just what it looks like, creasing between his brows, that exact shade of brown in his eyes, nose scrunching up just a little.

"Seriously, Bell, she wants to see you." Octavia adds, in what will undoubtedly win him over immediately, and Clarke can see the way his shoulders fall almost instantly. "She was asking if you were okay. So just help me out and go see her before you both combust with worry."

"I—" Clarke's not sure where the hesitation suddenly comes from, but then he looks over his shoulder, looks at her, and suddenly, with a tug at her heart, she realizes.

And she can't possibly get between mother and son in this moment, she's not a monster, so she moves the box of cookies from her lap and pushes herself up, crossing the bridge of space that separates her from the Blake siblings, coming to a stop at his side, reaching over to give his fingers a comforting squeeze. He looks down at the contact, swallowing visibly as he stares at the place they meet, his skin warm beneath her touch.

It's new, this thing between them, Bellamy looking toward her for anything, let alone comfort or reassurance. Nevertheless, she gives both willingly, easily even.

“Go,” Clarke whispers, giving another squeeze before pulling her hand away to show that she means it, watching his fingers flex in response to the movement, a subconscious reaction to the now empty space. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

His eyes flick over her face, dark and searching in a way that makes her skin tingle, in a way that feels like more than just a doting acquaintance at his side.

“I promise.” She murmurs, sure and steady, leaving no place for his doubts to wander.

His eyes stay on hers for a few moments longer, enough for that feeling in her stomach to start crawling its way back, enough for nerves to tingle beneath her skin. His eyes are soft again, a more vivid shade of brown, and then one side of his mouth pulls up just slightly, so subtle she might have missed it if she wasn't looking.

He turns back to his sister, eyeing her warily. "You sure you're okay?"

“Yes,” Octavia huffs, annoyed in an entirely little sister kind of way. But before she can give him another eye roll, he grabs her shoulders and gives her another hug, not nearly as intense as the first one, and her arms hang awkwardly at her sides as he squeezes her, but still every bit as loving.

"I love you, you know." He murmurs into her shoulder, half hidden by the curtain of her long hair, and still, Clarke feels as though it's a moment she shouldn't be a part of, a moment of vulnerability that isn't meant for her.

"I love you too, big brother." This time, there's no eye roll or deflecting, this time Octavia gives him a firm squeeze, the two of them hidden amongst dark hair and a tangle of limbs. She does pull away eventually, though, batting his shoulder, and when Bellamy pulls back, Clarke senses his anxiety has dropped lower than she's seen it all day, letting his sister's affection allowing his fears to settle some. Octavia glances to her from over his shoulder, just long enough that Clarke can give her a small smile. "Now listen to your princess over there and go."

Clarke blinks, the teasing words hitting her just a moment late as Bellamy huffs, shifting on his feet and crossing his arms like he wants to flick her nose or elbow her in a most brotherly but clearly holding himself back.

"You're a brat," he huffs instead, jutting his chin out childishly, and if they weren't still in the middle of a hospital, Clarke would probably think it was amusing, how quickly the two can revert back into bickering siblings as if they were still kids.

"See you soon, nerd." Octavia responds, shoving him gently in the right direction, telling him the room number as she finally gets him walking.

He stumbles a little under the shove at his shoulder, but after looking back at the two of them, he nods, the tiniest crack of a smile on his lips the last thing Clarke sees of his expression as he finally makes his way down the hallway.

Clarke's not even sure if it's her heartbeat or his she hears in her ears as she watches him go, a completely ridiculous and illogical thought, but one she has either way.

There's a sound of scratching on the linoleum floor and the creaking of a chair, along with a drawn out groan from Octavia that tells her she's crashed into the chair her brother was occupying moments before.

She'll join her in a second, but her eyes don't quite leave Bellamy yet, watching his gait as his figure gets smaller the further away from her he gets.

A noise, something between amused and exasperated, sounds from behind her.

“I give it a week,” Octavia announces unabashedly, followed by what can only be the crunch of a sugar cookie being bitten into.

And as Clarke watches him go, as her heart skips a beat when he glances back at her one more time before disappearing, Clarke can’t even pretend to not know what she’s talking about, the flushed feeling under her skin and longing in her chest say it all.

A couple weeks later, on New Year's Day, everyone is gathered around Clarke's living room, for the first unofficial Blake vs. Griffin Gingerbread Bake-Off. And hopefully the last, given the circumstances. But miraculously, basically everyone has made it. Emori and Murphy. Harper and Monty and little Jordan. Jasper and the Vies. Madi and Abby. And a perfectly healthy Aurora and Octavia. Everyone Clarke could hope for, at least. Oh, and Bellamy, obviously. It wouldn't be a proper competition without him.

And even though they've grown closer over the weeks, he's been particularly mum about their creation. And she can see why now, the cascading display the Blakes brought is truly a sight to behold this year, like something straight out of a storybook. The foldable card tables Clarke had set up for both of their displays barely big enough to contain the creation. This time, being it was only the two of them, and the setup was in her living room, she got to watch him work for the first time, found herself distracted by what his hands could create, from delicate patterns of frosting to perfectly layered structures.

He caught her looking a few times, because of course he did, and the smirk that would curl up his lips and the dark, playful gaze in his mirth-filled eyes would cause a flush to crawl up her neck every time, forcing her to look away and focus back on her own display.

"You ready to lose, Griffin?" Bellamy asks, pulling her out of her thoughts, bumping her shoulder with his own, a large grin sweeping over his face when she looks up at him.

"Not only am I going to kick your ass, Blake, but I call dibs on biting the head off that dragon after I beat you."

Yeah. He made a dragon. Insufferable jackass. (But an admittedly hot and talented insufferable jackass.)

"Whatever you say," Bellamy plays along, looking absolutely and infuriatingly unfazed, leaning down to murmur in her ear just as Raven claps her hands and struts up to the displays, "Princess."

Her cheeks flame hot again, and she doesn't even have to look up at him again to know that cocky smirk is right back on his lips.

"Bite me," she grumbles, a telltale sign that she doesn't have a better comeback.

"Maybe later, they're announcing me as the winner, shh."

She turns again to shoot daggers at him with her eyes, which she can't properly enjoy because one, he's purposely no longer looking at her, and two, Raven is clearing her throat, demanding attention and quieting a room in a way unlike anybody else could manage.

"Alright, before we get into the good stuff, I just wanted to say a few words," Murphy and Jasper start booing from the back like they're the delinquents sitting on the school bleachers heckling an unprepared teacher in some coming-of-age teen movie, but unfortunately for them no one could say Raven has ever been unprepared for anything in her life, so she shoots a look at them and the room is once again silenced in record time. It's a sight to behold, really.

"Anyway," she continues, pointedly, pausing for either dramatic effect or waiting for someone to give her shit again, either is possible. "Aurora, Octavia," Raven says, focusing on the two women standing a couple feet away from Clarke, and instantly she can feel the air in the room change, everyone in the room knowing what this announcement is about. Octavia is just as outgoing and snarky as can be, and whenever someone brings up the accident she just talks about her quote-unquote badass scar. And Aurora? Clarke can only imagine how scary it must have been for her, but the first thing she asked the doctor? Are my kids okay? She's always been loving, kind. But she's seen it more the past couple weeks. Hugging Bellamy and Octavia every time she sees them. Saying I love you whenever she leaves. She even hugged Clarke when she visited to see how the Blake women were doing, Clarke glancing at the women's children anxiously as the two of them gave her a matching set of shit-eating grins. "I would just like to say, on behalf of everyone here, and everyone back at the inn, how thankful we are for your recovery."

Clarke's eyes cut over to them, and she watches as Aurora wraps an arm around her daughter, kissing her temple. And, frankly, it's a testament to the moment that Octavia doesn't pull a face or even scrunch up her nose.

"This event was created as a way to bring the community together, a unity day of sorts, and even though it was created before you guys moved here, I know everyone would agree with me in saying we couldn't imagine it without you." Clarke's gaze slowly drifts from the two women until she finds herself looking up at Bellamy again. The freckles dusting his cheeks like stars. The long, dark lashes that instinctively flutter whenever he hears kind words. The scar at his lip that moves when he smiles. After the last couple weeks, she can't even pretend to disagree with Raven's words. She couldn't imagine this without him. "Your family has become as much a part of this little town as any of us born and raised here. Your heart and soul and kindness have left an imprint on us all, and that is exactly what this event is about. And I hope you know how much you have impacted us all with your passion and generosity. That's why we decided to hold this New Years competition, because you three are important to Arkadia, the town and each of us in it."

It's not often Raven lets her emotions show, but as someone who has witnessed it, Clarke can see it as clear as day, the tiny waver in her voice and the rapid blinking, the way she means every word coming out of her mouth.

"Damn, and I thought Bellamy was the one famous for the crowd-pleasing speeches," Murphy blurts out into the silence that follows Raven's announcement, earning him a few laughs and one watery sniffle.

"Oh, Raven," Aurora chokes out, still holding on tightly to her daughter. Even Octavia looks like she wasn't expecting anything like that, not a smirk or unbothered look in sight.

"We love you, too. From the bottom of our hearts. All of you."

When she looks up again, she finds a pair of brown eyes already looking down at her. For how long, she has no idea, and Bellamy's gaze almost immediately averts back to his mom and his sister the moment their eyes meet, but she still feels blood flood to her cheeks, knows a rosy pink is beginning to bloom across her face.

Raven clears her throat again, this time less to demand attention and more to quell the rising emotion, and Clarke's attention moves to her again, the image of warm brown eyes tinged with a spark of something she's too overwhelmed to name warming her down to her toes.

"Alright, now that that's done, we can move on to what you've all been waiting for," Raven announces to a few whoops and hollers, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips. It makes Clarke's heart flip in appreciation, this excitement, this joy, this is what make these events so special, what makes this town feel like home, more than the four walls of her apartment, this feeling of belonging, of knowing no matter what changes in each of their lives, they'll always have this. She's grown up in this town, but it's more than that, more than people she's known since childhood. It means something to all of them, and that's what connects them, in ways that even after all these years Clarke is just beginning to understand. "Both of our entries you see before you are made from talent and, erm— passion," Clarke can't even fault her for that one, three years ago Bellamy and her got into an hour-long argument over gumdrops. Passion is Raven being outstandingly generous, honestly. "But, as always, we've got a competition to judge, and I think we can all agree no one does competition better than the Blakes and the Griffins."

Clarke rolls her eyes at the laughter that bubbles up in the room, her smile finally breaking through when Bellamy teasingly nudges her shoulder.

"So, after careful consideration, I have come to a decision." Raven continues, and suddenly, it all comes back to Clarke. The excitement buzzing under her skin, the fast pounding of her heart, the urge to bounce on the tips of her toes, all of the emotions that she goes through each time flushing over her all at once.

There is a difference this time, though.

She feels a warm hand against her own, long fingers slipping in between hers, a soft grip steadying her and setting her alight all at once.

She's somehow grateful for Bellamy Blake and eager to kick his cookie-decorating ass.

It's an interesting relationship, to say the least.

"And the award for this year's best gingerbread display goes to... " They wait with baited breath to hear the winner. And wait. Is it just the silence of the room or has it been a little too long of a dramatic pause? "What? Nobody's gonna give me a drum roll?"

"Oh my God!"

"You're killing me over here, Raven," Madi pipes up, and Clarke scrunches up her nose with a fond smile.

"Does she know she's got frosting on her cheek from one of your turrets or—?" Bellamy whispers in her ear, shoulder bumping hers again.

"Shh!" Clarke shushes him, giving his hand a pointed squeeze, and it speaks volumes of his combination excited-anxiousness that he doesn't even try to retaliate.

Finally, they get what can only be described as a thunderous drum roll, so loud Clarke's afraid she won't even hear her own name.

Raven grins, something mischievous and downright feral, and the butterflies in her stomach start fluttering with a vengeance.

"And the award goes to—" Raven starts again, in a much louder and more lavish tone, and Clarke thinks her heart actually does stop for just a moment, and then—

"The Griffins!"

"Aha!" Clarke exclaims, her face morphing into an expression of triumph and joy, raising her arms into the air, just barely dropping Bellamy's hand before tugging his arm out of the socket, "In your face, Blake!" Clarke chants, her hips wiggling in a celebratory dance of sorts, ever the obnoxious winner.

Well, that is until—

"And the Blakes!" Raven's voice booms over the commotion, and suddenly the whole room goes quiet.

"Huh?"

"What the fuck?"

"This is bullshit!" Octavia yells right back, looking like she's about to stage a gingerbread revolt.

Abby tries to shush everyone as she covers Madi's ears, to which both Madi and Clarke roll their eyes. Once this group gets started, there's little to do to hold them back. And mild shushing definitely isn't it.

"Reyes, you better start explaining," Murphy pipes up as Madi drags Abby's hands away, looking up at Raven expectantly, just as the dozen other confused people in the room do.

"Happily," Raven's still grinning like a maniac, and suddenly it's beginning to make a lot more sense. "Not only have both teams outdone themselves, but each team has not only shown great talent and creativity, but for the first time in years, great sportsmanship." Raven explains, and because she's in a room full of competitive fools, they all look at her like she's crazy. She pauses a moment before adding, "And it’s also the only decision that could piss Bellamy and Clarke off at the same time."

"Can she do that?"

"Some people really just wanna watch the world burn, huh?"

"I demand a recount!"

Raven snorts at Octavia's demand, clearly finding her outrage amusing. Maybe she really does just want to watch it all burn, Clarke can't help musing. "There's two of you, O." She deadpans, raising a single arched brow.

"Oh, come on, this is ridiculous!" She twirls around, Aurora barely dodging her long hair as it whirls with her, tucking it back behind her ear and calmly patting her back to try and get her daughter to relax some. "Bell! Do something!"

Clarke's eyes follow the same path as everyone else's in the room, her gaze moving up to the man beside her.

His arms are crossed now, and with his jaw set, the lines of his neck and shoulders make him look like the subject of a statute, picturesque and enigmatic, an aura Clarke knew she would never be able to capture, not with marble and chisel nor paper and pencil.

His chin tilts, the curve of his neck straining with the movement, and when his eyes meet hers, all the breath falls from her lungs, her heart pounding with anticipation, the air around them fraught with a static tension that fells all-consuming.

For a second, he's never looked more like a mystery to her, so still and enigmatic her head nearly spins as she tries to pin him down but then she spots an almost imperceptible smile tilt his lips, so small it's almost not even there at all, like it's there just for her.

Bellamy turns back to Raven and she starts putting it together the moment he shrugs and opens his mouth to say, "Sounds good to me."

There's a palpable silence that covers the room, like everyone is waiting for reality to kick in, like where any option that doesn't involve Clarke going red and Bellamy popping a blood vessel isn't real and they're all just waiting it out.

Somehow, fucking with all their expectations sounds way funner than winning.

(Something Past Clarke would have definitely gone red over, but new year, new her or whatever.)

"You know what? You're right, Raven. It's the holidays. Camaraderie and teamwork is the most important thing." Clarke agrees, in that practical, level-headed voice that never makes an appearance during the gingerbread showdown, second to stubbornness and revenge. Which is still true, technically, the revenge is just aimed differently now. "Like you said, it's about unity." She looks up at Bellamy with the most sickly sweet smile she's capable of, and then, just to be even more obvious and annoying, she leans against him and turns her smile toward Raven. "I would be happy to share the win with the Blakes this year."

While Octavia is still spluttering, Abby and Madi are sharing smiles and lighthearted eye rolls, and Aurora even looks pleased, like she can't imagine a better sight than Clarke and her son joining a united front. (Clarke decides to ponder about that one later.)

Raven frowns, and Clarke can see her devilish scheme unraveling at the seams. Normally, Clarke would feel bad, but considering her scheme was piss off Bellamy and Clarke, she can't really feel guilty about toppling the plan. "You guys suck."

"Love you too, Reyes." Bellamy volleys instantly, with a smile and a wink for an extra layer of sarcastic sweetness, like a cherry on top of the cake. Or frosting on top of the gingerbread dragon. To each their own and all that.

While everyone starts mulling over what just happened — Does that mean they both win? Or neither? Can we eat this shit now or what? Be right back, Jasper owes me fifty bucks. — Bellamy turns to Clarke, uncrossing his arms so he can hold out a hand for her, presumably a victor handshake.

It's kind of weird, sharing a handshake during the competition and not being aggressive and competitive about it.

She hesitantly places her hand in his, like she's expecting a twist, to which he grins like a shark and somehow pulls her into a hug instead, his arms large and firm as they wrap around her and the fabric of his sweater tickling her cheek.

"Good job, princess," Bellamy whispers in her ear, his nose skimming her neck, and the husky tone of his words sends a chill all the way down to her toes.

He pulls back just as quick as he came, with an ease that feels so new and practiced at the same time, like once they allowed themselves to peel away what separated them all these years (stubbornness and pride, mostly), they found it was there all along.

"Alright, are we gonna fight about this or are we gonna eat?" Bellamy announces, and despite the rambling voices that come from every which way, they all know that the way to this group's heart is through food — and especially cookies — so it's really a no brainer when he gets mostly encouraging answers in reply.

She doesn't even realize he still has a hand on her back until he pulls away completely, giving her a quick smile before heading into the kitchen.

"So," Clarke starts as she pads into the kitchen a few minutes later, watching him gathering plates for everyone. It should feel extraordinarily absurd, seeing Bellamy Blake move around her kitchen with ease, like he's been here hundreds of times, like it's his own. But there's no anxiety in her stomach, no urge to kick him out before he messes up her slightly chaotic organization system. Instead she hops onto the counter next to him, content to watch him. "How's it feel to be a loser?"

Okay, and to tease him. Some things don't actually change.

Bellamy rolls his eyes as he grabs for a package of napkins, red and green striped, leftovers from Christmas. “We tied.”

“Yeah, but for you that’s basically losing.” She quips back at him, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“Coming from the girl who gave me the cold shoulder for a month last time,” he mumbles under his breath, and she ignores him.

"Plus, she said my name first, so," Clarke says, the shrug of her shoulders is humbled and nonchalant, but the grin on her lips is anything but.

No matter if they're losing their voices from arguing with each other or sharing cookies under bright white hospital lights, there will always be a layer of push and pull to everything they do. Like the ocean and the moon, sometimes there are calm ripples and sometimes there are crashing waves, no matter the change, the relationship stays strong, constant, unbroken.

Bellamy watches her for a moment, studying her, from the small braid twisting from her temples and disappearing behind her head all the way down to her feet gently banging against the kitchen cabinets as her legs sway.

She notices his attention drifting from his previous task even before he leaves the stack of plates and napkins to step between her legs, a new shade of brown in his eyes as he gazes at her, intense and enticing, like all the most beautiful and dangerous things in the world are.

"So, that's how it's going to be, huh?" He murmurs, moving to rest his hands on either side of her thighs, his thumbs brushing her skin in the most unconvincingly unintentional way possible.

Bellamy Blake has spent years getting under her skin, there's no way he doesn't know what his touch is capable of igniting.

"That's how it's going to be," Clarke affirms, strong and sure despite his proximity, despite the urge to wrap her legs around his waist and keep him there forever.

"And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" He asks, quiet as all, shifting his body so he can move one hand, her eyelids fluttering when his palm slides over her skin, warm to the touch like always, her heart leaping out of her chest at the feel of him, too much and too little all at once.

She wants to melt into him and devour him simultaneously.

"Maybe one thing," Clarke whispers, the thrum of her pulse under his fingers, his skin leaving a trail of fire wherever he touches.

"Like this?" He murmurs, gruff and tender at the same time, his head dipping down, her eyes closing when his lips brush over the spot just below her ear, her heart tripping and tumbling at the feel of him, a ghost of what he could give her, of what she wants.

"Maybe," she manages to breathe, barely holding on to the push and pull.

(She'd rather push and pull him on this countertop, or maybe into her bed, but she has some restraint.)

"How about here?" She can feel the words before she hears them, and when his mouth trails down her throat, her fingers grab the edge of the countertop, knuckles going white with her strength.

Her answer comes in the form of a hum this time, the distraction evident even in the wordless sound, her heartbeat quickening as she feels his lips curve into a smile against her skin.

"Or here?"

His mouth finally, finally finds hers and it's like the paradise of heaven and the sins of hell all wrapped up into one moment of bliss, like Icarus' thirst for the sun, too beautiful to last, too good to stop.

Bellamy Blake kissing Clarke Griffin shouldn't make any sense. And yet, the clock on the wall still ticks away, the Earth still spins, the world goes on as it always had.

Well, almost.

She whines into his mouth, all indifferent pretense gone as she finally does wrap her legs around his waist, her hands sliding over his hair so her fingers can wrap around the strands, and the press of his own fingers against the fabric of her dress over her hips just sends another wave of fire over her.

Truth be told, she wore a dress because it was a special occasion, but she can't feel regretful for the way his jeans feel against her thighs.

She can't feel regretful for that, but—

"Ugh, gross."

Heartbeat still in her ears and cheeks warm, Clarke parts from Bellamy, her hands slowly falling to his shoulders as she turns to see—

Exactly what she was expecting, honestly. Octavia in the threshold, arms crossed, a single, slim eyebrow raised, looking at Clarke like she owes her money. Or like she's an idiot. Some combination of the two.

"Interrupting people is rude, O. Who raised you?" Bellamy replies, surprisingly casual, as his hands loosen from her hips. He doesn't tear away from her like she expected though, like she burned him. His hands fall down to her legs, but he doesn't make any move to pretend like it hadn't happened, like he needs to put as much space as possible between them.

"So is making out where people eat, who raised you?"

Truth be told, the Blake sibling standoffs are kind of terrifying, and with Bellamy's hands still pressed to her legs and his thumbs rubbing gentle patterns into her skin, Clarke feels like she's in the middle of some Wild West duel. But like, in her kitchen.

A few more moments pass, Clarke's stomach in knots, before a small smile tugs at Bellamy's lips, rolling his eyes. "We'll be right out, O."

His hands move from her legs, holding them out so she can take hold of them. Once she does, her smaller hands in his, he helps her hop down off of the counter, a quiet thud as her feet find the floor.

"You better be," Octavia threatens, pointed, though she seems much less terrifying, so Clarke doesn't think she has to sleep with one eye open tonight. "And bring the drinks too, I need to erase that traumatizing sight from my eyes ASAP."

"Drama queen," Bellamy mutters under his breath.

"Heard that," Octavia huffs, ever the stubborn little sister that refuses to let anything go. "You lost me a win so you could go make out with your girlfriend, you owe me like twenty drinks."

Evidently, this tie is going to be a thing for Octavia for a while, probably 'til next year, but Clarke's still stuck on girlfriend.

“Oh, and Clarke?”

Clarke looks up at Bellamy, nerves fluttering at the tone in Octavia's voice. Bellamy just rolls his eyes again, gesturing with a tilt of his head toward his sister. Biting her lip, Clarke turns properly toward Octavia, frissons of anxiety alight underneath her skin. "Yeah?"

“Instead of saying I told you so, how about you bring me some more of Gaia’s cookies when you come over next Saturday and we’ll call it even.”

“I’m coming over next Saturday?” Clarke asks hesitantly, her voice raising just slightly at the end of the sentence.

Octavia’s smirk is nothing short of wicked, her bright green eyes sweeping over Clarke just once.

“You are now.”

Bellamy groans from behind her as he drops his forehead to her shoulder, the arms around her stomach pulling her in closer.

"Now hurry up or I'm sending mom in here, and nobody wants that." And with that, she throws her long hair over her shoulder and turns on her heel, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

Even as Bellamy untangles himself from her and turns back towards his previous task, gathering things for their likely anxious guests, Clarke is still staring at the spot where Octavia disappeared from, cheeks a rosy pink. "She called me your girlfriend."

There's a short silence, nothing but murmurs from the other room, and then he's answering her. "She did," Bellamy says slowly.

Finally, she turns, heart in her throat as she gets a look at him. "You didn't correct her."

This time their eyes meet, his dark amber eyes meeting her stormy blue, and she feels extraordinarily raw under his gaze, no walls or teasing. Just them.

"No," he says, soft, not just in its volume, but in a way that feels real, "I didn't."

It's another long moment of letting things sink in before she breathes out a response, "Oh."

Bellamy's smile is soft when he moves closer, slowly but sure, and her gaze follows him until she's looking up at him. He just looks at her for a moment, gaze completely unguarded, his hand moving to brush a piece of her hair behind her ear. Her eyelids flutter again, and he gives a small laugh, pressing a kiss to her temple, so soft and quick she almost misses it. "How about I stay to clean up and we talk about it?"

"Just talk?" She asks, curious and just a little bit amused as she gets her bearings back.

He winks at her as he picks up the plates and napkins. "I'm a great multi-tasker, princess."

Clarke watches him go just as his sister did, but when he turns the corner, she can't help but duck her head on a smile.

Maybe this tie could be the start of many things she'll share with Bellamy.

(Maybe she's even excited to find out.)

The following year sees the first ever Griffin-Blake team up for the competition, who take home first prize, naturally.

The year after that? Well, they have to forfeit for another medical emergency, but it’s to bring baby Julia Griffin-Blake into the world.

But almost all their friends also forfeit to wait in the waiting room to meet her as soon as possible.

(Well, except for Murphy. He finally wins first prize by default.)