#doctormongoose
Note
Clarke POV for Exiles Among Us?
fun fact whenever I get alt pov requests I try to alternate between doing bellamy and clarke (actually I always try to alternate between bellamy and clarke pov) but I get like five bellamy requests for every one clarke request so sometimes I dig to find clarke ones
well also I remembered I wanted to do this but it is kind of hilarious how unbalanced it is, rock on, bellamy povs
Original series here, and alt pov on AO3!
One of Clarke's dad's favorite stories about her childhood comes from when she was in kindergarten, and the teacher had everyone in the class write and illustrate short books called In the Future. As with most kindergarten activities, it was mostly just a lot of messy writing and incomprehensible drawings, but the teacher had at some point started prompting her because she wasn't coming up with ideas of her own and was just drawing pictures of dogs.
Her father hadn't been there, but the way he tells it, based on Clarke's and the teacher's accounts, was that the teacher first asked Clarke if she thought she'd be married.
"Yes," said Clarke. "I'm going to marry Ariel from The Little Mermaid."
To her credit, the teacher took this in strike. "And will you live on a ship? In a house? On the beach."
Clarke scribbled a lot of blue on the page. "Under the sea. We're going to live with Flounder."
"And how many children will you have?"
It didn't rankle her back then, not yet, but it started to around high school, when her father told her about it. The casual assumption that children were a given.
But in kindergarten, it just seemed straightforward. "We won't have any. Just dolphins."
"No children?" the teacher asked.
"Nope. Dolphins. And fish. Dolphins aren't fish," she'd apparently added. "They're mammals."
"Yes, they are," said the teacher. "But wouldn't it be nice to have a baby?"
Even now, Clarke doesn't understand this impulse people have. She doesn't get why anyone would start a fight with a thirty-year-old about how many children they want, let alone a kindergartner. But apparently that was what bothered her teacher. Not that she was going to marry a fictional character and live under the ocean with dolphins, just that she wouldn't have a human baby with her when she did it.
"No," she said.
"All girls want babies," said a boy sitting next to her, which had been the real trouble. The teacher would have, she assumes, moved on at some point. But other students could be fought.
Which was what ended up happening, Clarke and the boy in a tangle of limbs, Clarke insisting she was never, ever going to have a baby. Ever. Which she continued to do the next day too, as her parents talked to the principal about how violence was not an acceptable way to solve her problems.
She doesn't think she really committed to not having children just because of one kindergarten experience, but it is proof that she's never quite gotten the appeal. And the more people assumed children would just be a natural part of her future, the more obstinate she became about it. If her partner wanted them, she was open to the idea. Ready to negotiate.
But left to her own devices, she's never been interested in children, for their own sake. They don't inherently do anything for her.
And then she falls in love with Bellamy Blake.
*
Even before he gets Octavia, it's obvious that Bellamy loves kids. It's something Clarke assumed would be basically standard, when she started teaching high school, an actual source of stress for her. She likes teaching without having changed her general opinion on motherhood, and she didn't want to feel isolated because of it.
As it turned out, maternal instincts weren't any more of an expectation with teachers than they were with anyone else. So, as usual, her eventual motherhood is taken for granted, and when she protests, she's told she'll change her mind. The only real difference is that when people say she seems so good with children, they have actual grounding beyond the fact that she's female. But Clarke knows how different it is, being a teacher than being a parent, and just because she's good at the first, it doesn't mean she has any interest in the second.
Bellamy's there, once, when Dr. Peters asks her about it, and when Clarke says she's not planning to have any, he says, "Yeah, it's not for everyone," and changes the subject before Dr. Peters can push.
Which isn't, of course, why she falls in love with him, but it is one of the thousand things. Another in the long line of reasons he's her favorite person.
It's a few months after that when he texts and asks if he can come get drunk, and that's when she finds out about his sister.
"I just don't know what to do," he says, sounding lost. "I've tried--fuck, Clarke. I've tried everything. And nothing works, and I just--" He cuts himself off with harsh noise that sounds a lot like a sob. It's alarming for a lot of reasons, not least because she has absolutely no idea what's happening. So she shifts closer, pressing her leg against his, bumping his shoulder.
"If you told me what you were talking about, I might be able to offer some advice."
"My sister," he says. "My responsibility."
Clarke had heard about Octavia before this, of course. She knows that she liked to draw when she was a kid, that Bellamy had to trick her into eating broccoli by telling her that eating something that looked like a tree would make it easier to climb them. She knows he loves his sister with a fierceness that sometimes makes her feel small and alone.
And she knows that she makes him sad, but she doesn't know why.
"What happened?" she asks. "You're drunk, so I can ask now, right? If you come over to get drunk on my couch, I get to ask you uncomfortable questions about your family."
"I left her." His voice is desolate, and he's staring down at his hands as if they're unfamiliar, as if he doesn't recognize or control them. "I didn't want to, but--my father wanted custody of me, and my mother didn't want to fight for it, so I left with him, and I never saw her again. I don't--fuck. I don't know how to find her. My mom won't talk to me, I don't even know what school she's in now, they might not even be in Baltimore anymore." He scrubs his hand over his face, wiping away tears, and Clarke wraps her arms around him and tries to understand, even though it's unfathomable to her.
"How long has it been?" she asks, and that makes him smile.
"That's what you care about?"
His voice is teasing, so she smiles. "I can't help unless I have a full grasp of the situation, Bellamy."
"I was fourteen," he says. "She was six."
"You didn't leave her." He huffs out a bitter laugh, and she squeezes him again, moving closer. "You didn't. You were taken away, okay? You were a kid, and you had to leave. You don't have to blame yourself for that. You couldn't help it."
"It's been eight years, and I haven't found her. I haven't even talked to her." He rubs his face. "What if I never see her again?"
"You will," says Clarke, and his laugh is only a little strained.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Her name is Octavia Blake, come on. You only have so long to wait before you just hit her on a google search."
He laughs again, rests his cheek on her hair. "You're the weirdest kind of comforting, you know that?"
"You're the one who called me," she retorts. "So clearly weird comforting was what you were looking for."
"It was." She can feel his breathing slowing, calming, and she matches her own to it, the two of them just resting on each other for a long minute. "I emailed my mom," he finally says. "I just--I laid everything out. Wells moved out, so I have a nice place with an empty room, a job that pays enough to support me and someone else, some savings in the bank, so--I asked if she'd give me O. I thought--fuck, she just gave me up without a fight, why wouldn't she get rid of another teenager when she got the chance?"
"Bellamy--"
"I know, that's unfair."
"That's not what I was gonna say."
"No?"
"I was going to say I'm sorry." She rubs her hand up and down his side, slow, easy comfort. "What did she say?"
"Nothing. I've emailed her every break I've had since I started college, and she's never fucking replied. I don't know why I thought this time would be different. I don't even know if that email still works, or if she forgot the password, or--"
It's almost too big for Clarke to really think about. She and Bellamy are about the same age, twenty-four, and while it's in some ways easier to think about having a teenager than having a baby, because she deals with teenagers all the time, she still can't really wrap her brain around adopting one. Not only adopting one, but fighting for one, spending years trying to reconnect, to get in touch, to reclaim this one girl.
His sister.
"I promise, you are going to be able to google her," she says, and he laughs.
"Yeah, I probably am." He lets out a long breath. "You want to put on Netflix?"
"Whatever you want, yeah."
"Not quite whatever I want," he says, and she rubs her hand through his hair, gentle.
"Whatever I can do," she corrects, and means it.
"This is good," he he says, settling in closer.
She fumbles a little getting the remote, a little overwhelmed just hearing what it's like for him. She can't imagine feeling how Bellamy does about his sister. But at the same time, she understands some parallel version of it, because she can't imagine feeling the way she does about him and being anywhere but by his side, no matter what.
It's a staggering thought, to feel like you belong with someone. But Clarke has never been more certain.
*
"I thought if I asked if you had pads in front of him, he might actually di--" Clarke cuts herself off, glancing down at the girl next to her and swallowing hard.
It never occurred to her how often she casually references death in conversation, not until she was absolutely terrified of fucking up with Octavia Blake.
So far, she thinks the whole thing is going as well as can be expected. Bellamy seems trapped somewhere between joy and terror, which she saw coming, and Octavia is quiet and wary, but it's impossible for Clarke to believe it's not going to work out for them. Bellamy loves his sister so much, and if Octavia doesn't understand that yet, Clarke is sure she will. It's just so obvious. Now that they're together, it's going to work out. It has to.
So she clears her throat, corrects to, "Pass out," and offers Octavia a somewhat sheepish smile.
Octavia looks like she's trying not to smile herself. She's a lovely girl, her skin paler than her brother's, her face less freckled, eyes lighter. Clarke's brains settles on those differences, can't help it, and wonders how, with all of those, she still manages to look so much like Bellamy.
"Yeah, probably," she agrees, worrying her lip. "Do you think if we brought some back, he'd still pass out?"
"Fifty-fifty," she says, although she's doesn't really think it's true. He's going to be fine.
But making fun of Bellamy is the easy part of this for her. If all she ever had to do with Octavia was tease Bellamy, she'd be in great shape. It's what Raven will probably do, and Bellamy will be happy with that.
It's not enough, though. Octavia is the most important person in Bellamy's world, and he wants her to be happy. Which means Clarke wants her to be happy too. She doesn't want to be a mother, but--she doesn't have to be a mother. She just needs to be there.
There are other ways to be a family.
"Look, I know you don't know me," she says, awkward, as she and Octavia stare at the bright rows of shampoo together. Even when she speaks, Octavia doesn't look up, which is appreciated. It's easier to talk to her without eye contact. "But--if you need anything, you can ask. Anything you can't talk to Bellamy about, or--just absolutely anything at all. I'll give you my number. You can call any time."
Clarke doesn't know her well enough to read her tone when she asks, "Really?"
"He loves you, and he's my best friend. So yeah. Any time."
"Your best friend?"
The dubiousness in that question is unmistakable, but Clarke makes her reply light. "Sad but true."
Octavia worries her lip, letting her fingers skate over a bottle of Pert Plus. Clarke knows what's coming before she says it, and Octavia doesn't disappoint. "I thought you guys were, um. I thought you were his girlfriend."
It's far from the first time someone's assumed that, but Clarke would have assumed that whatever explanation Bellamy gave of her would have included the term best friend. On the other hand, he's been basically a mess since his mother died and he found out he was getting his sister, so it might have slipped his mind to clarify. He might have just called her Clarke with absolutely no qualifiers.
It's easy slack to pick up. "Oh, no," she says, smiling. "Not his girlfriend." Octavia looks dubious, and she feels a flush climbing up her neck. It's tempting to add something else, to try to explain, but protestations will just seem even more suspicious, so she forces herself move on. "Seriously, pads? Tampons? Awkward stuff that Bellamy won't be able to look at?"
Octavia's smiling a little, faint and slightly vague, and Clarke has to stop herself from reaching out, like she would if it were Bellamy. "Not right now. But I might ask you to take me later. Just so Bellamy doesn't have to deal with it," she adds quickly.
"Like I said, any time."
She nods once, decisive. "If we don't bring anything back, he's going to worry," she says. "I should get something."
"But not pads," says Clarke. "Or he'll probably faint. What kind of shampoo do you use? We can pick up some of that, and he'll feel better. He just wants to make sure you're comfortable," she can't help adding.
"I know." Her voice is harsh, but this part Clarke does understand. It's easy for her to think about all the time Bellamy lost; since that drunken night, he's told her a good deal about what it was like for him, these last eight years, what he went through. And through that, she got some ideas about what it would have been like for Octavia too, what it would have been like growing up without someone there for her.
"Yeah, it sounds kind of fake to me too," she tells Octavia. "But you can never have too much shampoo."
Bellamy's still in line when they get back, leaning against the cart, looking like he is putting every single ounce of focus and concentration he has into looking relaxed. Which is, of course, completely ineffective, but also incredibly endearing.
Someday soon, having his sister around is just going to be good for him, and Clarke can't wait. Even with all his odd tension, he looks better, more sure of himself. Happier. Like he's regained something she didn't realize he was missing.
Or maybe she's just romanticizing it. That's a possibility too.
"Shampoo," she tells him, bumping her hip against his. "And conditioner."
"Oh right, girls want both of those," he says. "I still don't know the difference. Why does your hair need conditioning?"
"Because beauty standards are a thing. Don't judge, Bellamy."
"If I'm not judging, I don't have anything else to do. You sure you're good, Octavia?" he adds, turning his attention to his sister. "We probably have time before we get to the checkout."
Octavia rolls her eyes, looking exactly like a petulant teenager for the first time since Clarke has met her. It feels like a good sign, that she's already comfortable enough with him to fall into those unconscious patterns. "Are we never going to get to go to the store again?" she asks. "Do we have to get everything I'm ever going to need right now?"
"Everything you want for the next twenty-four hours," he says, but back of almost immediately. "I mean, we're going to the grocery store tomorrow, so--"
"I want a candy bar," says Clarke, reaching over to grab some peanut butter cups. "Octavia, do you want a candy bar?"
Octavia's mouth tugs up a little. "Can I get M&Ms?"
"Not a bar, but I think I can allow it. Bellamy?"
His own smile is soft, grateful. "Get me a Butterfingers, thanks."
She puts the candy on the conveyor belt, and Bellamy pays for everything without any apparent worry about the total. She's already got a reminder in her phone to ask him about money next week, so she doesn't mention it either. It's not a conversation to have in front of Octavia, anyway.
Clarke helps him with the bags, and Octavia lags behind a little. It's understandable, but so is Bellamy's tension, so she says, "So, dinner. What are we having? You're taking us somewhere nice, right?"
"I don't have to," he says, and seems to only realize how it sounds when she raises her eyebrows. "I mean, uh--you can just go home."
"I still like hanging out with you," she reminds him. "Really, Bellamy. I'm having fun. I want to come."
He clears his throat. "Thanks, though. Really."
"Always," she says, and means it. "But seriously, I want a nice dinner."
"I already got you a candy bar." There's less strain around his eyes already, so she must be doing something right. "Don't be greedy, Clarke."
*
The thing about being an actual parent is that there's usually some kind of preparation period, from what Clarke understands. Even if whatever kid you end up with isn't the result of a planned pregnancy, there's usually some sort of thought or discussion: the decision not to terminate, the decision to foster, the decision to accept some kid into your life.
Clarke knew that Bellamy's mind was always made up, but she hadn't ever thought about his mother dying and his sister coming to him, so she hadn't put much thought into what actual effect Octavia would have on her.
Which, obviously, it's not about her, and she'd feel bad if she'd been obsessing about it. But her focus has always been on supporting Bellamy, and it hadn't occurred to her that she might need support too. That she might have to figure out how she fits into all this.
"I don't see how this is a surprise," Raven says, because support isn't really her thing. "Bellamy got a kid, of course she's your kid too. You knew it was coming."
"I did," Clarke says, with a sigh. "But--not like this."
"Like what?"
"It's hard to explain. You help out, but--"
"But I'm not in love with him."
She inclines her head, granting the point. "Not just that. I don't know what I am, you know? I want to be around all the time, helping him take care of her, but I'm not--" She huffs. "My students all think we're having a secret affair, you're convinced we're going to start dating any day, but I don't even know if I'm supposed to tell him when I think he's fucking up, or how to--"
"Whoa," says Raven. "Okay, yeah. Take a deep breath. What happened? Did you guys have a fight?"
"No, nothing happened. But it's going to."
"What is?"
"She's got a crush," Clarke admits. "On a kid who hangs out in my art room. And I know Bellamy's going to freak out about it, and I want to tell him not to." She rubs her face. "Actually, I don't. I don't want him to find out about it, because it's not a big deal. But it seems like it might be beyond my pay grade."
Raven puts her arm around Clarke's shoulders, squeezes. "You want to tell me about it from the beginning?"
"Seriously, nothing bad has happened. I know Bellamy's--" She smiles a little. "I know how grateful he is that I'm helping him out. But--I'm helping. Every time I do anything, he acts like I'm doing him a huge favor. And I get why, but--I don't want it to be like that. He doesn't expect to get thanked for just--she's been his responsibility his whole life. I get it. But I don't want him to feel like he's alone with all this."
"He knows he's not, Clarke," says Raven. "Trust me."
"Not like he should."
There's a pause, Raven watching her with an expression that makes her slightly nervous. "Look. I know you're gone for him, okay? Wells knows. His sister knows. We all fucking know, except for him. And I get that it's scary, but--"
"I think I need to convince him I'm in this," Clarke admits. "I think that comes first."
Raven looks dubious. "How do you do that?"
"No idea."
"You could just sit him down and tell him you're in love with him and you want to help him raise his sister. I'm pretty sure he thinks about you saying that when he jerks off."
Clarke has to smile. "I'd prefer he just thought about my breasts."
"Okay, you saying that topless," Raven corrects. "You know what I mean."
"I do know what you mean," Clarke agrees. "I'm going to tell him. I really am. But--I don't think it's time."
Raven nods. "But you're good, right? You're happy? This is one of those problems you're happy to have, like how Wells and I are fighting about how big of a wedding we want."
She smiles. "Yeah. It's a great problem to have."
*
As much as Clarke looked forward to breaks as a student, it's nothing compared to how much she loves them as a teacher. Vacations, as a teacher, are the fucking best, and she's even more excited for Thanksgiving, because it's going to be so much time with Bellamy and Octavia, family time.
Honestly, she might crash at their place for the entire break. It's tempting. They probably won't stop her.
She thinks about texting Bellamy before she goes over, but she told him on Friday that she'd see him tomorrow, so she assumes that he's at least theoretically expecting her. And if he and Octavia aren't awake yet, she does know where the spare key is. She can absolutely let herself in and fool around on the Wii until the Blakes drag themselves out of bed.
But, to her surprise, Octavia opens the door promptly, and not only are they awake, but they have company.
Bellamy is the most distracting, of course, because he's in early-morning mode, shirtless in his pajamas, glasses slightly crooked on his face. In an ideal world, she'd just be able to stare at him non-stop, but there are other people around, including students, and she turns her attention to Monty, Jasper, and Harper, who are all gaping at her from the couch. She is, definitely, dressed for leisure, and completely unprofessional.
And showing up at her coworker's door when he's half naked. The coworker everyone thinks she's dating, even. Just because it's vacation doesn't mean it's not awkward.
"You guys are giving me a lot to process here," she finally says, settling her attention on Octavia.
Octavia huffs. "I told him I had friends coming over. I think his brain stops working once vacation starts."
Clarke considers her response, weighing her options carefully. There is, of course, the option of pretending she was coming for legitimate reasons, like because her car broke down and she needs a jump, or he has some paperwork for her, or something.
Or she could just lean into it. This is something she wants to be a regular occurrence in her life, and she has to learn to deal with it sooner or later.
"Yeah, well," she says, giving Octavia a smile, "his brain is always pretty questionable. What are we playing? I want in."
Jasper opens and closes his mouth a couple times before he manages to speak. "Smash Brothers. You can sub in for me, I don't mind."
"Appreciated." She settles on the floor, glances back over her shoulder at Bellamy, who doesn't look much less slackjawed than Jasper, honestly. "And put a shirt on, Bellamy. There are kids here."
"Happy Thanksgiving to you too," he says, but it's enough to get him moving. And, to Clarke's unspeakable relief, when he comes back into the living room, he's still wearing his pajama pants and glasses, so he's decided he can take the day to relax too.
Or relax relative to being Bellamy, which means he takes about thirty seconds to watch the end of the match and then asks, "Did you guys have a plan for lunch?"
"Pizza, probably," says Octavia.
He makes a face. "Pizza?"
"You like pizza. Don't act like you're too good for pizza now."
"I'm not too good for pizza, it's just too early for it."
"It's 12:15, Bellamy," says Clarke. "Just because you slept in doesn't mean it's actually early."
"Fine, I don't want pizza, so if you guys play your cards right, I'll make waffles."
"Is playing our cards right just telling you that we want waffles?" she asks. "Because I'm not willing to put any more effort into it than that."
"I'll say please," says Monty. "And beg, if necessary. I love waffles."
"Yeah, same," says Jasper. "Basically whatever I need to do. We're shameless."
"You're lucky everyone else is picking up your slack," he tells Clarke, pushing himself off the floor and heading into the kitchen. "None of you are allowed to have coffee, though. You're all hyperactive enough already."
Clarke waits until she loses, which doesn't take long, and then hands her controller back to Jasper and goes to check on Bellamy in the kitchen. There's a clear line of sight from the living room, so none of the kids will actually be able to wonder if they're doing anything inappropriate, but she can talk to him in a fairly private way.
"I can take off, if you want," she murmurs.
He frowns. "Take off?"
"If we want to keep the gossip down."
"I think it's a little late for that," he says, apparently without thinking, and the winces. "Not that, uh--I don't care," he settles on. "Octavia lives here now, she's going to have friends over, so am I. I'm not going to try to arrange my life around them not realizing I have personal relationships. And everyone already knows I have one with you."
"Cool. You need help with the waffles?"
He snorts. "Not from you." But then his expression softens a little. "You should have fun with the video games. I'm set in here."
"Division of labor," she agrees. "You do the cooking, I beat teenagers at video games."
"The two most important responsibilities in any household. You should take some coffee too. Just to rub it in their faces."
"And so I don't die of caffeine withdrawal?"
"I wasn't going to say it."
She heads back into the living room and flops back down, listening with half an ear to the comforting sound of Bellamy in the kitchen. Even when he's not doing much, just making coffee or cereal, there's something about his presence there that makes the room feel alive, that makes the house feel like a home.
That might just be him, though.
Once they've eaten, he does come back to socialize too, and he even gets out of his own head, doesn't worry about being the right person for once. Which is always Clarke's favorite, because he is the right person, always. And, even better, he doesn't worry about being her friend, about nudging her shoulder to mess her up and teasing her and smiling at her, and it does feel like the perfect test run for the life she wants.
It even feels like something she can have.
The kids leave at around six, when Jasper's mom comes to give rides home, and Clarke lets herself snuggle into Bellamy's side on the couch. His only response is to raise his arm so she can get closer and then wraps it around her, so that's great too. He smells like detergent and sunshine, and he might actually be perfect.
"Worn out?" he teases.
"Just thinking about all the other things we've done and trying to compare it." Octavia sits down on the floor next to them, and she directs the question to both of them. "So, how bad is this one going to be?"
Bellamy considers. "I was the one who walked into a bunch of students shirtless."
"I was the one who came over to your house while you were shirtless," she shoots back, and he grins.
"You handled it like a champ, though."
She pokes him in the side. "Yeah, I really reined in my incredible lust. It's so hard not jumping you in front of your sister and her three over-invested friends. I deserve a gold star for restraint."
"I was looking really hot," he says, but in a sort of faux-contemplative way that makes her think he doesn't realize how true it is.
"I'm the one who has to witness this, you know," says Octavia, which is a good reminder that they're not alone and she should not be thinking about climbing into Bellamy's lap and tugging off his shirt to demonstrate exactly how hot she finds him. Not that those thoughts are ever that far from her mind, but still. They can wait for her to be alone in the shower. "Why are you even here, Clarke?"
As distractions go, it's not much, but she'll take it. "It's vacation, I'm bored. Hanging out with my favorite siblings."
"Yeah, she basically lives here when we're on break," Bellamy says. "I should have warned you."
"I'm a perk." She pokes him again. "You should order pizza."
He groans, but at least doesn't object to pizza this time. She's honestly been craving it since they brought it up earlier. "Octavia should order pizza, I don't want to move."
"You're the worst adults ever," says Octavia, and Bellamy fumbles his phone out of his pocket and gives it to her.
"We definitely are," Clarke agrees. "But you're stuck with us."
She can feel Bellamy tensing next to her, just slightly, and she snuggles closer. Every day isn't going to be this good. They're going to fight and disagree and Octavia is going to be a handful, once she gets used to them.
But Clarke wants it all. Clarke wants to be a part of it.
"And you're suck with the toppings I want on this pizza," says Octavia, oblivious. "Suck on that."
Bellamy relaxes by degrees, leans into Clarke more heavily, and Clarke lets her eyes drift closed.
"Yeah, yeah," he says. "I'm sucking on it."
*
"We finally had that fight," Clarke tells Raven, flopping down onto her couch and closing her eyes.
"I assume this is about Bellamy because everything in your life is about Bellamy. You're like a walking Bechdel test failure."
"Just around you. I talk to my students about things that aren't Bellamy all the time." She pauses. "But, yeah, this is about Bellamy."
"You seem pretty upbeat for having a fight with him."
"A good fight, I think. It was just kind of us glaring at each other for a minute and then Octavia pointed out it was none of our business. But he told me to butt out and I didn't, so--I think that's good."
"Honestly, I can't believe it took this long for that to happen. If that's all you had to do to get in a fight--"
"He's usually good at this," Clarke says. "I don't disagree with him that often."
"But it's good, right? That you guys disagreed."
"Yeah, I think so. He needed to someone to argue with him, and he needed to know I would."
"So does that mean you're going to tell him you want to marry him now? Or do you have another excuse?"
"No, I'm going to. I just need to psych myself up. So--probably by Christmas."
Raven rolls her eyes. "This is why I bet Wells he was going to make the first move."
"You and Wells bet on my love life and you're making fun of me for not passing the Bechdel test?"
"Come on, when's the last time you saw a black guy and a latina talk about anything in a movie? We're already beating the odds."
Clarke smiles. "Okay, fine. You want to hear dumb student stories? Will that make you feel better?"
"Only if we're done with Bellamy."
"We're never done with Bellamy," she admits. "But we can take a break. I think we're good."
She means it, but she still can't quite relax until she talks to him. His offer of hanging out made it fairly clear he wasn't pissed at her, but she still feels a little at loose ends until she opens the door the next morning and finds him at the door, looking sheepish and a little cold.
Her smile is unavoidable. "Hey. What's up?"
He holds up a bag from the bakery down the street. "I'm an asshole, so I got you cupcakes."
"If you got me cupcakes every time you were an asshole, I'd never be able to eat them all," she points out, stepping out of the way so he can come in. He's untying his shoes, which is a good sign. That means he's probably staying. "Where's Octavia?"
"Library. She's texting me when she's done, so I was just going to hang out here. It's closer than going home," he adds, sounding slightly defensive.
"Yeah, you really want to avoid that extra five minutes in car. You want coffee? Are these breakfast cupcakes?"
"All cupcakes are breakfast cupcakes," he says, which is one of those things he'll only ever say to her, because he wants everyone else to think he's a real adult who believes in the food groups. That's nice too. She's special. "And coffee would be great."
She leads him into the kitchen and doesn't sit yet, just hovers by the table, drumming his fingers on the edge as she gets the coffee going. It's a pretty classic tell of his, and she stays quiet, letting him decide what direction the conversation is taking.
To her relief, it's the one she wants. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was being stupid, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
"I was baiting you," she says, unapologetic. "I pretty sure you'd rather take it out on me than Octavia. Or, god forbid, Lincoln." Fairness compels her to add, "And you weren't even that bad."
"Yeah, but I'm not allowed to thank you for distracting me. So these are officially apology cupcakes, not gratitude cupcakes."
It is honestly kind of adorable, how dedicated he is to her don't thank me rule, which wasn't even supposed to be a rule, really. It was mostly her first attempt to explain to him how she thought she should fit into this, and it obviously didn't work.
But his twisting himself around to figure out ways to thank her without thanking her is great, so she's never going to tell him that. "Don't exploit the loophole, Bellamy."
"Seriously," he says, sobering again. "I really wasn't ready for that."
"Did you guys talk about it?"
"Yeah, some. Just--I don't know. I assumed she wouldn't be thinking about that stuff yet. Not because she's too young. But I figured she'd still be--Mom only just died."
"Yeah. But that can help, too. It's nice to have a distraction. And as distractions go, Lincoln's a good one. He's a good guy. Which I know you know. I'm just going to keep reminding you."
"Yeah, that can't hurt." He lets himself lean against the counter next to her, which is at least getting close to relaxing. "If it makes her happy, I'll drive her to every fucking date, honestly."
She grins. "He has a car, so you don't even have to drive her."
"Let me be a little bit of a control freak, okay?"
The coffee machine switches itself off, and Clarke pours them two mugs and grabs the cupcakes, gently pushing Bellamy to the table to actually sit down before she asks, "Are you going to make him let you pick him up too? And then they sit in the back, but with the middle seat between them?"
"This is the stuff I missed out on growing up in cities. I just took the bus to dates."
"I know all the tricks," she agrees.
"That's, uh--" He looks down at his coffee, worrying his lip. "That's the other thing."
"Do you need me to teach you how to date?" she teases. "Do you not know?"
"Shut up, I'm being serious," he says, like she doesn't know. But--it's a little intimidating. It's a lot of serious for Saturday morning. "Look, I said--I told you I don't need your commentary, and you said I did, and you're right. If you think I'm being an idiot, I want to know. If you think I'm fucking up, tell me. If you've got commentary, I always want to hear it. I don't promise to always remember that I want to hear it, but--I do. And if I forget that again, I'll buy you more cupcakes."
She's going to marry this boy. There's no question. She doesn't care how many strings he has or how many kids he wants. As long as she gets him, she'll be happy. More than happy. "That was probably the nicest speech anyone's ever given me." She nudges his foot under the table. "But the cupcakes don't hurt either."
His laugh sounds more like a release of tension than amusement, and Clarke gets that too. She thinks, finally, that they might actually be completely on the same page. "Well," he says, "I wanted to cover all my bases."
"Yeah," she agrees. "I think we're all set."
*
Christmas still seems like a good time to talk to him, if for no other reason than it's far enough away, she has plenty of time to plan. And it's the kind of time when big gestures are both expected but also kind of safe. She could give him a romantic present and play it off as a joke if he didn't respond well, and while he'd still know, it would give them both the out they need to pretend it's not a thing.
She's already brainstorming ideas when he completely ruins the plan by kissing her.
As ways to ruin her plans go, it's pretty great, even if it takes her a second to figure out what's happening. It's obvious he's stressed and more than a little frazzled, but Clarke's seen him like that a thousand times, and he's never reached up, tangled his hand in her hair, and pressed his mouth against hers before.
For all she's thought about it, she never thought it would happen. Not without warning.
That's about when she realizes it is happening and starts to kiss back, nipping his bottom lip, settling her hand against his jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble under her fingers. He smiles, but only for a second, because she's deepening the kiss, getting the rhythm of it down, and all she can think about is how good it feels, how much she loves him, and how he probably feels the exact same way.
Raven was right; he did make the first move.
When he pulls back, she can't help gaping for a second, but then she sees him, gazing up at her, all adoration, and she feels her own smile taking over her face.
Christmas suddenly seems so far away. She doesn't know how she thought she could wait. She doesn't know how she waited this long in the first place.
"Thanks," he says, voice rough and deliberate. "I appreciate--I appreciate you."
She has to wet her lips to get her voice back, and she sees him track the movement. "Yeah. I'll bring her home after dinner, okay?"
"Cool."
"Good luck with your grades, that really sucks," she says, and he's still watching her, and she can't help leaning in to kiss him herself, just a quick goodbye, assurance that they're good.
Or that's what it's supposed to be. In practice, she hasn't kissed anyone for two years, and she's wanted to kiss Bellamy almost that whole time, so she can't bring herself to pull back.
He's the one who finally manages it, looking a little dazed, like he somehow wasn't expecting her to keep wanting to kiss him. Which is ridiculous, because she's currently biting the corner of the mouth just to keep herself from doing it again.
"Yeah, uh--" he manages, only somewhat regaining his composure. And he still has to clear his throat again. "See you tonight. Raven can work wonders, probably." She can see his throat bob as he swallows. "Eat vegetables, Octavia."
Octavia sounds as smug as anything, so everyone really did see this coming. "Thanks for the tip, Bell." But she's at least nice enough to wait until they're in the car to say, "So, I was going to ask you for advice, but you're probably useless now, right?"
"No, it's fine," she says, bright. "I can carry on normal conversations when I'm thinking about making out with your brother. I do it all the time. Go ahead."
Octavia laughs."Was that him asking you out, by the way?"
"It better be." Honestly, if anyone can overthink this one, it's Bellamy. But--it was his idea. There's no way he doesn't want to. "If he doesn't want to date me after that, I'm going to murder him. And then I'll get you out of foster care, obviously. Don't worry. Me and Raven and Wells will adopt you."
Octavia rolls down the window a little, even though it's freezing out. Clarke's found she always likes a little air to start a car trip, and it's the kind of quirk she likes knowing. These are her people. She gets them. "I wasn't worried. He totally wants to marry you."
It's possible she'll never get tired of people telling her how much Bellamy likes her. "Good."
*
It's four years before he actually asks her, which doesn't bother her in the least. It takes roughly ten minutes after she drops Octavia off that night for them to get their relationship squared away to her satisfaction, and she thinks they both know exactly how serious they are, right from the start. There are bad days, of course, serious disagreements, growing pains with the relationship and with Octavia. But she never doubts them, somehow, snd by the time he proposes, she's sure that there's nothing they can't survive together.
Which is why she says, "One question."
"You're responding to my proposal with a question?" he asks, sounding amused. "I proposed first, you can't do it now and get credit. I got dibs. You missed it."
"Not that," she says. And then she leans in and kisses him, just to get that out of the way before she makes it awkward. "I just--we haven't actually talked about kids."
He frowns, looking confused. "What about kids?"
"I know that's weird, we basically already have a kid. And it's not like--I just thought we should talk about it. Before we--"
He looks completely baffled. "You want to talk about kids." And then, to her shock, he laughs. "Jesus, Clarke, I don't fucking care. Kids, no kids, whatever. I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That's it. That's all." He bumps his nose against hers. "Honestly, if I'm done with fatherhood after this, I'm fine. We can just get a bunch of cats or something. We already raised a teenager."
Clarke laughs, leans up for another kiss. "Okay then, yeah. I'll marry you. Absolutely."
"Cool." He gives her a crooked smile. "You weren't actually worrying I was going to dump you because you didn't want kids for four years, were you? We really could have covered that sooner. Like, the first day."
"Not worrying. Just--it always seemed like you'd be a good dad. Like you should be one. But I figured it wouldn't really be an issue until after Octavia left."
"I guess," he says, sounding dubious. "And, yeah, I'd probably be a good dad. You'd be a good mom too, but who cares? We can be whatever we want. And I want to be with you."
"Sap."
"It's a proposal, I'm supposed to be sappy. Not that your a belated freak out about whether or not we're reproducing wasn't--"
She elbows him, snatching the ring out of his hand to slide onto her finger while she's at it. It fits perfectly, and she's probably not going to wear it regularly until summer, but--she can wear it until Monday, for sure. It looks really nice on her finger.
"Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page," she says.
"I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Does that sound good?"
"Yeah," she says, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "That sounds exactly right."
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My real boyfriend is jealous of my fake boyfriend.
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So your Deaf Peeta Everlark fic is without a doubt the greatest thing I have ever read. However I notice it is now gone. Is there anything I can do to get a copy of it? I will do anything. It was the first fic I ever read and I have been dying since I saw it was deleted.
Thank you so much! Yes, unfortunately it is no longer on any sort of website for public reading right now. I am turning it into an original novel, however! So, there is hope to see it, recreated, again in the future. Thanks so much for the support again, it means more than I can describe.
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Happy Birthday Mama Bear!
Why thank you, Papa Bear!! :P
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doctormongoose replied to your post:doctormongoose replied to your post:so I just had...
I believe Montana just retook the “Meth Capitol” of the United States back recently from Missouri or Kentucky. If not it is in the top 5. That and in winter your windows will freeze inside the panes. On top of literally nothing to do.
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Title: Cigarettes and Sass
Pairing: Megstiel
Rating: General
Prompt: “Someone needs to write a ‘the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear’ AU”
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Castiel thought he was having another nightmare. One of those recurring ones, that he hadn’t had in years, where there was a low buzzing noise that steadily increased until he felt like his eardrums would burst. He would fall to his knees in these dreams with his hands clapped over his ears and he couldn’t shut out the noise, and no matter how hard he tried to scream over it, he was mute. They were weird nightmares. He’d be worried for their return, but as he tossed onto his side in his bed, he realized that the noise encroaching on his dreamscape was coming from reality and not his head.
It took him a few groggy moments to sit up and realize that it was the fire alarm in his apartment building going off. Well, that technically wasn’t good either. Throwing the sheets back and stuffing his feet in his fuzzy green slippers, Castiel shuffled to the front door of his apartment and threw his trench coat on, tossing his wallet inside before making his way out into the hall where people were bustling past, some looking tired and inconvenienced while others looked genuinely worried and panicked.
Outside was even more chaotic than inside. There were police escorting tenants to an area off to the side, blue and red squad lights flashing across the building, and a fire truck came screeching around the corner. The apartment building was fairly small, only sixteen units, and there were about twenty people crowded together outside after the last few came jogging out. People were in various states of dress, rubbing blearily at their eyes, scowling at the inconvenience, scrolling their cell phones.
Most had thrown on jackets over their pajamas, as Castiel had. There was a man wearing only a pair of sleep pants, and looking rather smug about it with his six pack. Another girl was tugging a thin shift over her thighs. Someone had a small pomeranian clutched to their chest. On the periphery of the group, Castiel saw one of his neighbors leaning against the police barrier smoking. He had no idea where she had gotten the cigarette, the woman was only wearing panties and a bra. Black lace panties and a bra that were highly inappropriate to be out in.
He recognized her from a few brief encounters. She was usually loitering outside smoking when he came home from his shift at the antique shop. He had no idea why a smoker would decide to rent in a smoke free building. But it seemed more and more places were going that way, and the rent was good. She smoked strange black cigarettes that were rather fragrant, blowing the smoke out of her mouth always painted red, framed with two small round studs at the corners of her bottom lip.
Castiel had said hello a few times, usually met with an arched eyebrow and smoke blown his way. She had made a vulgar comment once, but after he had scowled and hurried off she never said things like that to him.
Standing out at gods knows what hour of the night in only her underwear, she looked entirely unaffected and uninterested in the proceedings. Castiel couldn’t help but notice that there was an intricate green snake tattoo weaving around one of her thighs. When she shifted and spoke to someone, he saw color across the backs of her shoulders but couldn’t tell what it was in the dim light and with her wavy hair falling loose down her back.
She was impolite and crass and strange. Yet Castiel was intrigued by her. He stayed his distance, watching the proceedings as police talked with the owner of the building and fireman went in search of the source of the alarm. At least it didn’t look like anything was on fire, and he hoped that someone had accidentally tripped the alarm.
Castiel kept glancing over to the woman smoking, concerned it might be chilly out, or for how some of the people regarded her. He noticed a young man start to approach her, but the intimidating glare she seemed to be well practiced with maintained a bubble around her.
When a breeze picked up, Castiel weaved through the crowd and pushed past the protective barrier of her stare. He slipped out of his trench coat and offered it to her.
She stood with that black cigarette dangling out of her lips and her arms crossed under her chest.
“Would you like to borrow my coat?
She shrugged, “It’s not that cold out.”
“Honestly, you couldn’t have thrown on a bathrobe on your way out?”
“Hey, I sleep naked so this was throwing something on. I’d rather not dawdle and, you know, burn to death.”
“Fair point.”
Castiel still held his coat out, arm extending, moving his hand up again to indicate she should take it.
“I don’t know what games you’re playing at Clarence but this whole ‘polite human being’ thing,I’m not buying it.”
“My name is Castiel.”
“Oh yeah.”
“You never gave me your name.”
“Meg.”
“Please, you should cover up.”
“Why? You think my body is something I should be ashamed of? Does it make you nervous?”
“You’ll catch a cold, you’re not even wearing shoes.”
Meg glanced down at her feet, like she’d only just noticed she was barefoot on the cold concrete when he mentioned that, then she had to grab the cigarette from falling out of her mouth when she started laughing.
“What the hell are you wearing on your feet?”
“Slippers.”
“Those are fuzzy abominations. Seriously?”
“They’re warm. “
“You’re fucking weird.”
“Like you’re one to pass judgement.”
She smiled at him, and it made him nervous. “Got a little sass to you huh, I like it.”
Finally she reached out and took his coat, putting her cigarette back in her mouth to shrug into it, but she let it hang open in the front, not bother to close it and tie it with the sash.
“So, Clarence, Cas, what’s your game? You think you can pay your kindness to me and expect something back, you want some kind of favor in return?”
“I’m letting you borrow my coat for five minutes, I hardly see what that could be worth.”
“You remember when you tried to help me carry groceries up to my apartment?”
“Ah, yes that is coming back to me.”
He had seen her with her arms sagging under several heavy canvas bags of groceries, cigarette down to the butt and fumbling with the keys to the common door. Castiel had opened the door for her and offered to help her with her bags. She spit her cigarette onto the sidewalk in front of his feet and narrowed her eyes at him before continuing on her way.
“People aren’t generally nice without wanting something.”
“Well I think that’s a shame.”
Meg shook her head slowly at him. “You lived in the city your whole life or you come from the country? Maybe a different era? Different planet?”
“I was raised in the country actually, on a farm. I come from a very large, very conservative family.”
“Yeah ok, that makes sense. So what’re you doing in the city?”
Castiel had to laugh at himself. He had told this story to a few people who were curious enough to ask, though they were few and far between.
“I was following my dreams.”
Meg didn’t laugh back. She asked quietly, “Yeah?”
For as much as she came off as mocking when he was trying to polite, it seemed that she was completely serious now.
“I wanted to be a dancer.”
She still didn’t laugh, smiled gently, but not unkind.
“Did you make it?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“I twisted my knee.”
“Shit, that sucks.”
Castiel shrugged, he had made peace with unfortunate events a long time ago. “It happens.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Have you always lived in the city?”
“Mhmm.”
“What do you do, for work?”
“I’m a tattoo artist.”
“Oh. Very nice.”
Meg narrowed her eyes at him, considering, her gaze flicking up from his fuzzy green slippers and the blue plaid flannel of his pajama pants to the oversized pink sweater with a kitten decal on it. She pursed her lips, squinting, thinking for a moment before asking earnestly, “Do you have any tattoos?”
“I do.”
“What do you have?”
“Ah, a cluster of birds spread over my upper back, and a line of musical notes across one hip.”
“That’s cool.”
“What are the ones on your back, I didn’t quite see those. But I do like the snake on your thigh.”
“Thanks.”
Meg turned around and shrugged his coat down, lifting her hair up to show off bat wings that spread along the natural contours of her scapula as she rolled them, making the wings move.
“Oh that’s lovely.”
She turned around, pulling the coat back up, flicking the dead butt of her cigarette aside, fingertips painted black.
“You know, you’re not what I expected.”
“A lot of people say that.”
“I bet.”
The police started yelling out to the crowd that the building was cleared, a false alarm. The firemen were getting back into their truck, people slowly filing back into the building. Castiel hung back from the people bottle necking at the door, Meg yawning and fidgeting with his coat.
“Do you know what time it is?”
Castiel reached forward into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a small watch he kept there, hand brushing against her hip through the fabric.
“It’s….. just past four thirty.”
“Jesus.”
He frowned at his watch and slipped it back into the pocket, apologizing to Meg.
“I don’t know if I should try to go to bed, I usually wake up by six anyway.”
“Might as well stay up and have some coffee.”
“I don’t have a coffee pot.”
“Fuck, why not.”
“My gerbil chewed through the cord.”
“Ok, one, why do you have a gerbil, and two, what the hell was it doing on the kitchen counter?”
“Augustine is a very intelligent gerbil.”
“Huh. Can’t be that smart if he’s chewing on cords.”
“Well of course he doesn’t have a concept of human technology.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Almost everyone was back in the building, a few lingering to ask questions of the cops.
“If you want, I’ve got a coffee pot, you could come back to my place and have a cup.”
Castiel regarded her, hands sunk into the pockets of his coat, her eyes fixed on him.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you up, if you have to go back to sleep.”
“Nah, I don’t really sleep much. You should come and show me your tattoos.”
He was fairly certain that was meant as a flirtation. It was often difficult to tell, of course Castiel had trouble de-coding most social interaction. But there was a teasing twist to her lips and she was standing close, close enough she had to look up to look into his eyes.
“I would like that.”
#Megstiel#kriszeth#doctormongoose#so that happened#I don't even know man it's more just a generic converstaional fic#not a whole lot going on
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whenever you re-blog this great prompts and I see the story ideas you put int tags I die a little because I need you to write them. Black Sun rescue mission? What part of my soul must I give you to have that?
ahhh, I’m actually talking to findmyownliberation about it right now. I will be writing it! I just have to type up two fics I finished today and get another fic done then I’ll tackle the Black Sun rescue mission!
#doctormongoose#ask#I'M SO EXCITED ABOUT WRITING THIS STUFF#this time last year I was wishing I had my fanfic muse back#AND NOW IT'S BACK WITH A VENGENCE
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doctormongoose reblogged your post:Lethe: Worth It
I HATE THE IN THE LETHE DOESN’T HAVE A THIRD PART. THIS WAS SO CUTE, FUCK.
I know right?
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doctormongoose replied to your post:Hi! I'm sort of new to the SPN fandom, but I...
I feel horrible that I’m still on the list when I haven’t written in forever
Pssh dude don’t even worry about it
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Sequel to the tortall bellarke au where we get marriage plots cause Abby wants Clarke to marry properly and shenanigans ensue
I had been meaning to do this, yes! First part is here on AO3, and this part is here!
Lord Marcus has been expecting Lady Abigail of Griffinstone to show up on the front lines since he first heard her daughter was assigned here. In all honesty, if it had been legal for ladies to try for their shields when they were growing up, Marcus suspects she'd be a knight herself.
Instead, her daughter is here fighting and she's at home, probably channeling all her worry about her daughter into running her estate, making everyone else she knows miserable with it. Every letter he receives from her, he expects to hear that she's on her way to the front, and every time he doesn't, it's a relief and a disappointment all at once.
Then, on Clarke's first visit to Arcadia after her trip into Scanra, she hands him a letter and says, "I apologize for what I'm bringing down on you."
He raises his eyebrows. "Considering all that you've brought down on me without warning or apology, I can't imagine what it takes to warrant either."
She's quiet, considerate, and then settles on, "I'm engaged to be married. After the war, of course."
"Congratulations," says Marcus, with more wariness than warmth. He can't imagine she's marrying Sir Nathan or Sir Monty, and he can easily imagine part of the reason she argued so passionately for the young man she wanted to make headman was that he'd earned her regard. He hadn't actually realized she wanted to marry him, but he supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Even if she wanted one, he's not sure she could manage a marriage befitting her station. And with so many rumors about her flying around, someone had to hit on something real eventually.
He just wishes it hadn't been this. Not on his watch.
She snorts in a most unladylike manner. "Don't bother. I don't expect you to be happy for me." He opens his mouth to protest, because of course heis happy for her, in a certain sense, and she smiles. "Not in a bad way. But--it's unfair to make you contend with something unrelated to the war. But if I let rumors grow about--" She stands, formal, a soldier again, not a girl talking to a man she's known since childhood. "I know now isn't the ideal time, but this seemed like the best way to deal with an awkward situation. If you have other suggestions, I am of course happy to consider them."
Marcus thinks it over, trying to assess her situation as he would any other knight's, but it's impossible, less because he knows her and more because she's a woman. A man in her place, taking a lover beneath his station, even marrying her, would receive much less scrutiny. And if he didn't marry her, he wouldn't be judged for taking her as a lover and casting her aside. "This will make everyone believe every rumor about you is true," he finally says.
Her smile is wry. "They can't all be true. Some of them contradict each other." But he knows she's thinking about it. She drums her fingers on his desk. "You wouldn't have this conversation with any of the men," she says, as if she's reading his mind. "You wouldn't have to. It's expected for men to take lovers, and none of them would have to bother saying they were planning to marry them, even if they were. But if I'm--I want to marry him. I think it will be worse if I act as if I'm planning to be done with him after the war. The rumors were bad enough before they were true, so even I don't know what's going to happen now that they are, but I'm sorry that it's something you have to deal with."
"I have to deal with," Marcus echoes. As if he's the one inconvenienced by the things she has to put up with. In a way, of course, it's true; once this gets out, he will receive any number of complaints about Clarke's unfitness for duty, how her womanly affection for the man she's planning to wed will keep her from being able to fight and lead.
These were things Marcus himself worried about when she enlisted, but he's come to understand Clarke, as a knight and as a girl of eighteen. He's sure she had no intention of finding a husband when she became a knight, or when she came out here. And she's far more aware of the trials she faces than he is. She's weighed her options and decided this is the best one, and he owes her the courtesy of believing her. He trusts that she's thought this through.
"What are your expectations?" he finally asks.
"I think that my people will be happier with my marrying him," she says. "I've had several warn me about leaving him behind brokenhearted, like nobles do to commoners. And I think--" She pauses. "I'll be honest. I think once my mother realizes I'm serious, she'll do whatever she must to make it a proper marriage. I'm sure there are lands and a title that can be found for him."
"Ah," says Marcus.
"That's not--I don't care," she says, quick, and he believes her. "But my mother does care, and if it's made--proper, then I think the rumors won't be bad for long. No worse than normal." She lets out a breath. She might have rehearsed this part. "It is not ideal, and it's not how I would have chosen to--the timing is bad, and it's inconvenient. But my mother or my brother will certainly come, and at least they'll be helpful to the war."
Marcus gives her a smile, one of his gentler ones. Most of the time, when she comes to him, she's a warrior. And she's still a warrior now, but she feels like a child too. He knows how to give this advice.
"I agree with your conclusions," he says. "And I think any advice I could give you is--impractical." He gives her half a smile. "I assume you're being as discreet as you can be."
"No," she says, and he chokes on a laugh. "If I were being as discreet as I could be, he'd be sleeping somewhere else. But, honestly, that's a level of discretion I'm just not interested in. I'm a good leader and it doesn't interfere with my ability to be a knight, and if anyone has a problem with it, frankly I probably won't be the one who punches them."
He considers, and then says, "So, I'll expect your mother shortly."
Clarke sighs. "We're already setting up a room for her."
*
Bellamy looks up at the sound of the door, smiles as Clarke drops her bag and collapses next to him without comment.
"So, that went well."
"It did, actually. He didn't tell me he thought I was destroying my life, or order me to break it off. He's sending the letter to my mother and is prepared for her to come down here and tell me that I can't marry you." She rolls over, smiles. "Maybe we should just do it now, before she can stop us."
"You don't want to do that," he says. "Besides, we don't have anyone to marry us. So it wouldn't be official anyway." He tugs her against her side. "How long do you think it will be before she arrives?"
"A month, at least. She'll have to set up management for the fief in her absence. That takes time."
"So I can prepare myself."
She leans up to press her mouth against his. "I love you. I've told my mother I'm going to marry you, and I've told my commanding officer. I'm sure the rumors will get worse soon too, so--really, there's nothing she can do."
"You're really great at making me feel better," he says, dry, and her grin turns wicked.
"I really am," she agrees, fingers sliding down his chest. "I can demonstrate."
He grins back. "Don't you have duties to attend to?"
"They'll keep." Her mouth finds his again. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," he says, and lets her distract him from her mother. It's not as if she's coming soon. And it's not as if he can avoid the meeting. Clarke is steadfast in her affections, and he has every intention of staying with her for as long as she'll have him. Meeting her mother is an inevitability, but he doesn't have to think about it today.
So, of course, it's less than a week when Lord Marcus's squire arrives, and he brings bad news with him.
"Did something happen to Arcadia?" Clarke asks, frantic. Since they killed Cage and put an end to the killing devices, the war has started to feel winnable, but it's not over yet, and Jasper is riding as if the entire Scanran army is at his back.
"You're going to wish it did," says Jasper. "Lord Marcus sent me with a message for Lady Clarke. Apparently her lady mother was already on her way. She dines tonight with my lord and will stay in Arcadia, and tomorrow she rides to you."
Bellamy's stomach drops, and when he glances at Clarke, she's gone white.
"Lord Marcus thought you would appreciate the warning."
"I do. Although I'm not convinced it's the best use of a squire in wartime."
"He gave me some reports to bring as well," says Jasper. "And I'm to return tomorrow. But without any other helpful information, I thought I'd go find Monty."
"Go ahead," says Clarke. "We can panic just as well without you here."
"Probably better," Bellamy says, and she snorts out a laugh.
At least he can still make her laugh in times of crisis. It's always been one of his particular skills.
"So, I don't think this is about you."
"No?"
"No, not--if it's about you, it's about rumors that weren't true when she heard them." She pauses. "Well, I assume she heard I was sleeping with a commoner, not that I was in love with one. And I wouldn't have been sleeping with you yet."
He has to smile. "Just in love with me."
"Which is much less exciting, for the rumor mill."
"But more exciting for me." He considers her. "So, if it's not about me, what's she doing here?"
"Honestly? I think the killing devices were probably all that was keeping her from coming out here to start with."
"She wants to come out here?"
"She is a healer. And she worries about me." She pauses. "I also think part of why she wants to come is is that she's concerned about my virtue."
"Which was gone long before I met you," he teases.
"Long before."
"So, what's the plan?"
"I wish she'd gotten the letter," Clarke admits. "I'd rather have her come already knowing about you."
"Do you think Lord Marcus will tell her?"
"I wouldn't, if I were him."
"It's going to be that bad?"
"Yes." He makes a face, and she grins. "But not only that. It's not his business to tell my mother about my personal life. I only warned him as a matter of courtesy. It would be odder if he did tell her."
"As always, I don't understand nobles." He sighs. "So, let's forget about my personal life for a minute. I'm the headman. What do you think her coming means for New Hope?"
"If I'm right about her wanting to come because she's concerned about me, then I think it means good things for our community. She'll want to stay here, and you'll get another healer. A good, dedicated one."
"But a noble one. Is she going to be willing to do what has to be done? Is she going to treat the patients she has, or the patients she wants?"
Clarke smiles and kisses his shoulder. "I will make it clear what her duties are, and if she doesn't fulfill them, I will happily tell her to leave. But Monty should be able to handle her."
"So, cautiously optimistic. And personally I'm just--fucked, right?"
"You're not." She grins. "Not in the bad way. I already told her I'm marrying you, even if the letter didn't get to her. We knew this was coming. Just because she'll be here, it doesn't change anything. I'm still marrying you."
"At least there's that." He considers her. "It's going to be bad?"
"Oh, absolutely. But it's going to be survivable."
"If I can live through killing devices, I can live through your mother."
"Exactly. That's the spirit."
*
Clarke and Monty are the welcoming committee for Lady Abigail when she arrives, because Bellamy and Nate claim to have their own duties. It's true, but they're also cowards.
Not that she wants Bellamy to be present for the first meeting. He will have to meet her mother eventually, but it's just as well if he doesn't have to witness her finding out he exists.
The lady dismounts smoothly and pulls Clarke into a hug, and then eyes her critically. "You lost weight."
"Few people gain weight in a refugee camp," she says. "Glad to see you too. This is Sir Monty, he's our healer. I assume you're planning to work with him."
Abigail's eyebrows raise. "Do you?"
"I wasn't sure why else you'd be coming out here. It's not a good place to visit."
She considers, and then glances at Monty. "Sir Monty, was it?"
"Yes, Lady Abigail."
"It's a pleasure to meet you. I don't want to keep you from your duties, so you shouldn't feel obligated to stay here to welcome me. But as long as I'm here, I'm happy to give you any assistance I can in the infirmary."
"Thank you, my lady."
Clarke smiles at him. "We'll check in later. Thank you." She turns her attention to her mother again. "I'll show you to your accommodations, and we can talk."
They walk in silence for a minute, then her mother says, "So, Marcus warned you."
"His squire had some important documents to bring us," Clarke says, straight-faced, and her mother huffs out a short laugh.
"Of course he did."
"You'll be staying in here," she says, pushing the door open. "It's still new, I apologize. But you should have known better than to expect luxury."
"I did." She turns to her servants. "Thank you, you may leave us."
Clarke crosses her arms. "Time for the family discussion?"
"I've found a husband for you," Lady Abigail says, and Clarke chokes.
"Excuse me?"
"I know you believed that once you became a knight you'd never be able to marry, but--"
"That's not what I believed," she snaps. "I don't need you to find me a husband."
"You do. You must have heard the rumors. If this goes on much longer, there won't be a single man of status even willing to consider you. Now, Lord Finn is--"
"Finn?" Clarke asks. "You want me to marry Finn?"
She doesn't know the young lord particularly well, but she met him at a few midwinters when she was a squire. He was handsome enough, but more directionless and vapid every time she saw him. He had liked her, she supposes, but--he always asked her if she ever wore dresses and danced, and while she has nothing against either, it rankled her.
She's a knight; she wants someone who appreciates that about her, not someone who asks when it will stop.
And she has him.
"Not until after the war, of course, but--"
"I already have a husband in mind," Clarke says. "I wrote to inform you, but you must have passed the letter when you rode in."
Her mother stops short. "Don't tell me you'd rather have a marriage of convenience with Sir Nathan. I've heard about his proclivities, but--his family was only recently elevated, Clarke, he's hardly--"
"Not Sir Nathan. An untitled bastard," Clarke says. There's no point in mincing words; Bellamy knows what he is, and Clarke does too. Her mother could find out without much trouble. "The headman of the camp. A tailor by trade, but I hope we'll be able to find something more suitable for him, after the war ends."
"The headman," Lady Abigail repeats. She lets out a harsh noise. "Marcus mentioned him. I take it he knew?"
"I warned him of the contents of the letter. As a courtesy. I thought you might object."
"Object? Clarke, just because you were caught doing--whatever reason you have for marrying him, it isn't worth it. If he's trying to coerce you--"
"I love him and I wish to marry him," she says. "That's all. The only reason."
"Love," her mother repeats.
"Yes, love. He's--well, I'm sure there's nothing I can say to convince you this is a good idea, but it's not your decision."
Her mother's jaw ticks. "That's what you have to say?"
"What do you want me to say? You have a potential husband for me, and so do I. I'm not marrying yours, and you can't force me to. So I would suggest instead of thinking of what you have to do to make yourself happy with my choice. Because it is my choice, and I've made it."
"A refugee."
"A good man."
"Just because you're a knight doesn't mean--Clarke, you will ruin this family's entire reputation. You will--"
"I am inheriting no lands," she says, even. "Roan will get Griffinstone."
"And what kind of marriage will he make, if you marry--a bastard tailor, Clarke?"
"A bastard tailor." She wets her lips. "I know you're thinking I did this to ruin your life, but I didn't plan on any of this. I wasn't looking for him. I just--found him. And even if I hadn't, I wouldn't ever want to marry some--I'd never make a good marriage."
"There's a good marriage and there's--" She huffs. "A bastard tailor."
"You're free to disown me, if you'd like. Like a gangrenous limb. If you cut me off, maybe others will believe the infection didn't spread. I'll understand."
"You can't be serious."
"I can be, and I am. And, as I said, Bellamy is the headman, so I expect you to respect him for as long as you're here. Whatever your other feelings on my choice of partner, you won't undermine him."
"And does everyone know about your choice of partner?" she asks. "Is it--"
"Many have their suspicions," Clarke admits. "But they had their suspicions long before their suspicions were true. Those in any position to know for sure won't say anything. They know better. And those who aren't sure have always said the only reason I listened to him was his warming my bed." She lets out a breath, resigned, a little guilty. "I am sorry. I know this was never what you wanted for me. But I'm not sorry enough to throw away my happiness."
"Your happiness," her mother repeats. "This boy is your happiness?"
"Not all of it," she says. "I wouldn't give up being a knight for him. But I love him because he wouldn't expect me to. And--" She ducks her head. "Yes. He makes me very happy."
"Of course he makes you happy," she says, harsh. "You're a lady, Clarke. As soon as he realized what he could get from you--"
"That's not what's happening."
"I know you think it's not. Of course you wouldn't. But--Clarke, someone like that could never--"
"So, I can love him, but he can't love me?"
"He's taking advantage of you. It's a good thing I'm here to show you what kind of a person he really is."
"Yes," Clarke agrees, already tired. "I can't wait."
*
Bellamy Blake is in his office, working on figures, completely distracted, so Abby gets to look at him for a minute without his knowing it. She tries to remember what it's like, being eighteen, caught up in possibility. Her husband was a good one, as husbands went. He had treated her kindly, and she'd enjoyed their time together. She'd been sad when he died.
She doesn't think she loved him. It would have been nice, if she had, but she never expected to love her husband. It wasn't a surprise when she didn't.
Bellamy Blake looks like the kind of person an eighteen-year-old girl would fall in love with. And that is what Clarke is. An eighteen-year-old girl who's spent years not indulging in this part of her life, because she's a knight.
Of course someone like him could take advantage of her. He probably took one look at her and came up with his plan.
"Master Blake?"
He looks up, pushes a pair of spectacles that are slipping down his nose back up. He looks confused for a second, but then he seems to realize who she must be and stands hurriedly, drops into a respectable bow.
"My lady. I apologize, I didn't hear you come in."
"Not at all." She makes a show of looking him over again. His clothes are well made, if not expensive, and he has an ink stain on his left sleeve. He looks like he has some Carthaki or Copper Isles blood in him, and even he probably doesn't know where it came from.
A bastard tailor. A refugee. What an opportunity this must be for him.
"Not at all," she says, smooth. "You were busy. I understand."
For another second, he watches her, and then he says, "Clarke thought you'd come see me as soon as she let you go. We went back and forth on whether or not she should be here too, but I guess I convinced her."
"You thought she shouldn't?" she asks, curious.
"I figured you wouldn't mind being impolite to me. My lady," he adds. It doesn't sound as if he's trying to be cute; it sounds like he just forgot.
"She told you to call her Clarke?" she finally asks.
"You're surprised?"
"No." She considers. "How much do you want?"
"I don't know. Clarke told me I should let you buy me off, and then I'd be rich enough that you wouldn't care if she married me, but we decided that probably wouldn't actually work."
"It wouldn't, no."
"If all I wanted was money, I'd be better off marrying her," he points out.
"Not if I disown her. Which she encouraged me to do."
"She'd still be a knight. Not rich, but she could hope to get rewards for noble deeds. I guess in that case, yeah, I'd be better of taking a payoff and leaving her alone. If I wanted money. But I don't."
"She's not here. You can be honest."
"Honestly? I tried to talk myself out of it. You think I thought there was any chance she would ever agree to marry me? I thought the best I could hope for was her--" He seems to think better of whatever he was going to say. "That she might want to have some fun while she was here. Nobles don't marry people like me, my lady. I know that better than you do."
"So you don't expect her to go through with it?" she asks, curious, and he lets out an indelicate snort.
"I do now. She wouldn't say it if she didn't mean it. She wouldn't have told you if she didn't mean it." He shrugs. "I didn't know there were nobles like Clarke. But you're basically exactly what I expected, so at least there's that."
"What do you want, Master Blake?" she finally asks.
"Just Clarke," he says. "I don't have some secret agenda. I care about your daughter, my lady. And before you tell me that if I care about her, I shouldn't marry her, keep in mind I don't care about her status."
"So you'd let her ruin herself?"
"It's not really my decision. She wants to marry me. It's not up to me to decide she doesn't know her own heart or mind. And, in this case, I feel the same way she does. So tell me, what am I supposed to be doing differently, my lady?"
It should be an easy question to answer, but the answer she has is that he shouldn't be marrying her daughter, and he's already said why he will. If he doesn't love her, then appealing to her well-being won't do any good.
If he does love her, it probably won't either.
"I found a husband for her," she finally says. "A good one. A noble."
"Good for you. What did she say when you told her?"
He clearly already knows the answer, and she has no interest in giving it. "I could come up with a reason to have you executed or banished," she says instead.
"You could," he agrees. "You're a noble, my lady. You could do all kinds of terrible things to me. But I don't think you will."
He's right, but the certainty in his voice irks her. Who is he, to be so confident? "And why is that?"
"Because you love your daughter," he says. "And she'd never forgive you."
Even if he's false, even if he's using Clarke, even if she's ruining her life, Abby knows what he's saying is true. If she were to interfere in such a decisive manner while Clarke still believed he loved her, then it would destroy them. And she doesn't want that.
"No, she won't."
"So whatever you want to do to talk her out of it, I'd keep it non-lethal," he says. "If you'd like to follow me, it's almost dinner time. I can take you to the mess."
She watches him as she walks behind him, the breadth of his shoulders, the confidence of his stride. People stop to ask him questions, and he answers each one. Sometimes, he teases; sometimes, he's serious. Sometimes he starts out amused and realizes the concern is genuine.
All the people who speak to him respect him, in a way that she isn't used to being respected. He's one of them who has done well; they trust him as they can't trust nobles.
It's too easy to imagine her daughter falling in love with him, and unfortunately difficult trying to think of how to talk her out of it.
She has some time.
*
"It could have gone worse," Bellamy says.
Clarke smiles. "You're still alive, that's one thing."
She's lying on her bed, apparently writing a letter, but she puts it aside as he falls down next to her.
In theory, no one knows for certain he spends his every night with her. They've done well maintaining the illusion of, if not propriety, than at least no more impropriety than has always existed between them. He goes to her rooms to speak with her sometimes after dinner, but he always leaves at a respectable hour. They're close; they've been close for a long time.
Plenty of people know there is a passage that connects his room to hers, as well as to Monty's and Nate's. They're for servants to use, in theory, but he's sure everyone who knows of them suspects they're also used for lovers.
But he goes to sleep in his own rooms every night and leaves them every morning, and no one can prove where he spends his nights. It's some small level of discretion.
"She did remind me she could have me killed," he says, and she pales. "I think I talked her out of it, but I'd feel better if you did too."
"Great Mother Goddess," she says, rubbing her face. "She said she'd have you killed?"
"I don't think she'd do it," he says. "Just that she wanted to see what I said."
"What did you say?"
"That you'd never forgive her."
"You're right." She curls into his side, nudges her nose under his jaw, and he closes his eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmurs.
"I know, but you don't have to apologize. It's not your fault you were born rich and titled and privileged and--"
She bites his neck. "Don't be an ass. I meant it."
"I know. I did too." He pauses. "She thought I was--I don't know. Seducing you for your money? It's so stupid."
"It's what nobles always think," she says. "And this isn't--a normal situation. Usually when a noble decides they'll have to marry a commoner, it's because some lord has put a child in a serving maid."
"Plenty of people will just leave the serving maid," he says, mild, and he can feel her tense as she remembers such things aren't theoretical for him.
To his surprise, instead of apologizing, she asks, "Was your father a nobleman?"
"Not as far as I know. Why, would it help?"
She props herself up on his chest, eyes alight with what looks like excitement. "Of course! It doesn't have to be true, Bellamy. It just has to be something my mother can make--" Her cheeks flush. "This is going to sound awful."
"No, I'm curious where you're going with this." His thumb strokes her back. "You've never sounded so excited about my not knowing who my father is."
"I still think my mother is most likely to want to find you a title. That's what happened with Lady Anya's husband. He was a commoner, a friend of theirs, and the king awarded him a title for his service, and the lady married him. You haven't served in any way that would justify a title, but--" She huffs, frustrated. "It's all about appearances. If we suddenly found a noble willing to claim you as his son, everyone would know what happened, but they wouldn't have any excuse to say it. You'd be a decent prospect, on paper. Not a great one," she adds, before he can point it out. "But as a lady knight, I can't expect a great one anyway."
"She said she found someone to marry you."
Honestly, he wasn't worried about the prospect of Clarke's other husband. He knew she wasn't marrying him just because she thought she had no other prospects. But the instant, fierce look of annoyance on her face at the mention of the other man is still hugely satisfying.
"Not a good prospect?" he teases.
"The first time I met him, I was fourteen. I was serving at midwinter, and he flirted with me. No one ever had before, and it was flattering. And he was handsome." She grins. "And every year I saw him, I was a year older, and a year less naive. But he wasn't." She kisses him. "If he didn't try to make me give up my shield, he might have been--fine. I never had high expectations for marriage."
"So, you'll tell your mother that I could be a noble? That's your plan?"
"It's good to keep in mind." She pauses. "Unless you don't want me to. If it would be--if you don't want to make up a father, I understand."
"How does it even work?" he asks. He's staring at the ceiling, trying to decide how he feels about the prospect. He doesn't know a thing about his father, except that he wasn't Tortallan, and he mostly knows that from looking at his own skin.
For all he knows, the man was a foreign noble. He can't prove he wasn't.
"I don't know, I've never worried about it." She reaches down to take his hand, stroking her thumb against his wrist. "Your mother was Tortallan?"
"Yeah. No idea what my father was."
"That makes it even easier. Just--say he was a foreign noble. I'm sure my mother could manage a plausible story. A plausible enough one that--" She worries her lip. "All I want is to marry you and for you to not be miserable about it."
The admission takes him totally by surprise. "Why would I be miserable?"
"Because you'd be my husband, and that doesn't just mean being married to me. It means social obligations and events, being--a part of the nobility. And not a respected part." When he doesn't say anything, she sighs, slumps onto his chest. "If I don't get disowned, you'll either have responsibilities as a noble, or you'll be shut out of them. I don't know which is worse. But something like--being given land and a title, or claiming a noble bloodline. It's enough to force them to act like you belong to your face."
"Not much of an improvement," he says, but--it is. He knows it is. Even if everyone knows it's a lie, it's a lie they have to pretend is true. He kisses her hair. "Marrying a noble sounds so good, until you start trying to do it."
"No, it didn't," she says, fond. "You didn't want to marry a noble. It's just an unfortunate consequence of wanting to marry me."
"True." He tugs the blankets up over them. "Tell your mother whatever you think will help most. If you want to try to pass me off as Carthaki royalty, I don't mind."
"Royalty is too conspicuous. Just nobility."
"You're the expert. Just figure it out in the morning, if you don't mind. Some of us want to get some sleep before we have to deal with your mother again."
"I love you too," she says, pressing her lips against his collarbone.
He has to admit, it's a great comfort.
*
"I can't believe you threatened to have him killed," Clarke says.
Her mother doesn't even look up from her correspondence. Clarke assumes she's writing to Roan, presumably because family can be told about horrible scandals before the general public. She's not sure if Roan has ever sided with her mother instead of her and she doubts he'll start now, but she's not going to be the one to point it out.
"I didn't threaten that. I just mentioned that I could. He's very--disrespectful."
"Well, he's going to be your son. It's not as if Roan respects you either."
"Clarke--"
"What?"
Her mother sighs, rubs her face. "I don't think you've thought this through. I'm sure it all feels very romantic, but romance fades, and once it's gone, you'll realize you're married to a man with no prospects or station, and he's gotten everything while you've lost it."
Clarke pauses, trying to figure out what to say. Her mother is wrong, but Clarke's not sure she can ever understand that. "How long do you think this has been going on?"
"Excuse me?"
"I wrote to you about him. I warned my commanding officer, even knowing that it might make him dismiss me for giving into my feminine weaknesses." She closes her eyes and lets out a breath; she wasn't expecting it to go well. She doesn't care so long as her mother gives up on having her marry someone else and doesn't interfere with her marrying Bellamy. That's all she has to accomplish. "You can't possibly believe I'd go to this much trouble if I wasn't sure. If I hadn't thought it through."
It's Lady Abigail's turn to think, and Clarke lets her. She's not unsympathetic; she's been creating problems for her mother for years, and this is another in a long line of them. She doubtless thought that it wouldn't get any worse than Clarke becoming a knight.
"How long has it been going on, then?"
"I started falling in love with him after a week," Clarke admits. "He wrote me a nine-page letter about how horribly I was mismanaging things."
Her mother can't help a snort. "A romance for the ages."
"My kind of romance." She tucks her hair back. "I didn't plan this. And it--I know it's impossible for it to have nothing to do with you. But I'm not willing to sacrifice my own happiness and future just because he wasn't born with a title."
"That's no small thing, Clarke."
"I'm sure it's a problem that could be surmounted."
Her mother's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh?"
"It's up to you, of course. I thought you might rather try to solve that problem than disown me or deal with his being a bastard. I don't care either way." She considers, but it seems like the right time to add, "He doesn't know a thing about his father. You could try to make one up for him, if you think it would help."
"That was your plan?"
She sighs. "There was no plan. It just happened. And I am sorry that it's something you have to deal with."
There's a long pause, and finally her mother says, "He knows nothing about his father?"
"Only that he wasn't Tortallan."
"If we want him to be nobility, Carthak would be best." She nods, more to herself than to Clarke. "I'm not saying I approve. I want to make sure he is what he says he is, before I do anything that might give him power and influence."
Clarke has to bite back on her own smile; Bellamy wears who he is on his sleeve. Her mother might not like him, but she'll find out soon enough how genuine he is.
So really, Clarke has already won.
"Of course," she says. "You're welcome to stay for as long as you like."
*
Lady Abigail returns to Arkadia a month after she left, and Lord Marcus will admit he's very happy to see her again. He'd been hoping her disagreement with her daughter would require a good deal of travel, so she'd pass through more often.
"You knew," she says, by way of polite conversation. "About Clarke and Master Blake."
"I knew. It wasn't my place to--"
"To warn me?"
"No." He regards her. "Would that have helped?"
She huffs. "No. But I would have liked to know anyway."
"By all reports, he's a good man. If not a noble one."
"He seems to be. But he's not what I would have chosen for my daughter."
"Is anything in her life what you would have chosen for her?" he asks, and she does laugh at that.
"No, I suppose it isn't. But I hoped her marriage would be--" She swirls her wine in her cup. "In all honesty? I hoped her distaste for marrying Wells was from a preference for women. Then at least when she grew older, I thought I could talk her into a marriage of convenience. I didn't think she was a romantic."
"I don't think she is either. But it's very hard to marry someone, when you're in love with someone else. There's a very keen sense of what you're missing out on."
Her eyebrows raise, slow, and he holds her gaze. "Is it?" she asks.
"I never managed it."
"No, you did not." She turns away from him, nods. "I'm going to see if a title can be found for him. He doesn't know his father, which is convenient. I'll try to find some noble who won't mind pretending to have a son."
"So you've given up."
"She said if I made her choose, she'd choose him, and I know it's true. And I have no interest in making her. I tried to convince her brother to reason with her, and he sent his congratulations. So, yes. I have given up."
"I'm glad." For a second, he resists the question, but he can't keep it in for long. "He needs a title?"
"Of course he does. His father would be foreign, so that will be easier. Some Carthaki noble no one has heard of."
"A risk, if anyone looks into it."
"I would be asking first."
"Still, I wouldn't be surprised if you found no takers."
Her expression is somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Thank you, Marcus. I hadn't realized how difficult a position my daughter had put me in. I'm so grateful you're here to remind me."
His own mouth twitches. "That wasn't why I was asking. But if you don't have any luck, I myself have no heir."
He's never seen her look so ruffled. Her jaw actually drops. Lady Abigail has the gift of calm in the face of calamity, a family trait she passed on to her daughter. It always feels like an accomplishment, unsettling her.
"You can't be serious," she finally says.
"There isn't much of a family resemblance, I'll admit. But I believe his mother is dead, and I doubt anyone would have the nerve to tell me I don't know my own son. Even if they think I'm lying, who would possibly accuse me of falsifying my own bastard?"
"I can't let you do that for me."
"I do need an heir."
"I can't ask you to entrust--"
"My estate is small. Much smaller than yours, as you know. It couldn't be any more difficult to manage than the camp, and they've done well with that. Obviously, you should pursue other avenues first, but--failing all else, I am willing to claim him."
She opens and closes her mouth, and finally settles on, "You could just propose to me again, you know. You don't have to go to all this trouble."
He smiles. "Romance is in the air, it would seem."
*
"Am I supposed to feel itchy?" Bellamy grumbles.
Clarke rolls her eyes. "Why would you possibly feel itchy?"
"Nobility itches."
"Do you know, my mother thought you were trying to use me to gain status?"
"I remember. For how long?"
"Less than a week. Your obvious hatred of her convinced her you don't like nobles as a rule."
"Just the bad ones." He sighs, all overblown drama. "I guess it could be worse."
"No, of course not. There's no greater torture than being made heir to a noble house so you can marry the woman you love. Truly, I've never heard anything more awful."
He pauses, and she beams at him. "Well, as long as you understand," he says, and leans down to kiss her. "You don't have to marry me now, by the way. I got what I wanted. I'm done with you."
"Mm," she agrees. "That's a shame. We were just getting to the good part."
"Yeah? What's the good part."
She kisses him. "Just this."
"Huh." He finally lets his own smile come out, bright and huge. "Yeah, you're right. That sounds pretty good." He tugs her close. "I guess I could stick around for a while longer."
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Untitled
demeterdefence
earth mother
aliciam72
All that glitters