cari

Kane tapped a fingertip on the desk, thoughtful rather than critical. “This case has put weight on everyone.”

Bellamy didn’t argue. He also didn’t confirm it.

Kane took a moment, eyes lowered to the papers on his desk as if choosing his next words with care. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “I’m not here to tell you to take a vacation or clear your head. I know you’d ignore me anyway.” A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth.

“I just want to make sure you’ve got what you need to keep going.”

Bellamy nodded once, guarded. “I’m fine.”

“That’s usually what people say before they aren’t,” Kane replied, but he kept it light. “Look, I’m not prying. I’m just putting this on the table. If you ever want to talk to someone who isn’t me or Miller… or the inside of your car on the way home, I know people. Good people. Off the record, not the kind of thing that ends up on a performance note.”

Bellamy held his gaze without giving himself away. Kane had a sort of calm that got under your guard before you realized it. If he was taking the time to bring this up, it wasn’t casual.

“You think I need that?” He swallowed.

“I think you deserve it,” Kane said simply. “You deal with the worst parts of this city every day. Most detectives pretend it doesn’t get to them. The honest ones admit it does. The smart ones get support before it knocks them sideways.”

The look in Bellamy’s eyes haunted her—that flicker of pain, of longing for something he couldn’t let himself touch.

Everything had been laid out as clearly and simply as she knew how to make it. But love wasn’t supposed to feel like reaching across an empty room and waiting.

All night she’d tried to rationalize it. Told herself he was afraid of dragging her deeper into the danger that shadowed his life. That he was pushing her away to protect her. It sounded noble at two in the morning, when she was curled on her side staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry. But in the colder light of morning, the excuse felt flimsy. Convenient. Something created to make this easier to swallow.

Maybe he didn’t see her the way she saw him.

Maybe he never had.

The thought hollowed her out.

“You saw what happened last week. What if it had been worse?” Bellamy wasn’t trying to argue, but to justify. It wasn’t ideal, but it was practical. The truth was, he wanted Clarke far away from all of it. A different hospital, a clean slate, out of their reach. But that wasn’t up to him. This was all he had.

If that made him the bad guy, he could live with it.

Raven frowned, shaking her head. 

“I get that, Bellamy. I really do. But I don’t think you’re achieving anything here by pushing her away. What difference does it make?” 

He looked away, flexing his jaw. 

“I’ve seen how you look at her.” Raven’s tone was calm, measured. An attempt to steady him.

Bellamy met her gaze then.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. She could see it in his eyes, the strain of holding himself together. The guilt and exhaustion that came from trying to do the right thing when every part of him wanted the opposite. Whatever he was telling himself, it was costing him.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” he said quietly, his voice edged with betrayal.

“Don’t torture yourself and call it doing the right thing,” she said quietly.

The bartender returned with a glass of wine for Raven. She offered a quick, grateful smile before turning back to Bellamy.

“You’re not doing yourself any favors.” 

“How’s the hand?” Bellamy asked first, his tone careful, like he was testing the air.

Clarke shifted in her seat, resting the braced hand on the table and turning it palm-up, as if really seeing it for the first time all night. The bruising had faded to yellow around her palm now, it was healing just fine.

“Honestly…” She hesitated, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “It’s been nice.”

“Nice?” Bellamy raised a brow in disbelief.

“Yeah. I don’t remember the last time I had a whole week off.”

He chuckled as the waiter set a fresh glass of whiskey in front of him. She watched the way his fingers lingered on the rim before he pulled the drink closer. How he always needed something to do with his hands when the conversation turned personal.

“What? I mean it,” Clarke shrugged. She leaned in a little, half teasing, half trying to close the space between them. 

He gave her a look. 

“It’s been nice to sleep in.” 

Her voice softened on the last words, the joke landing somewhere tender instead of funny. He smiled faintly, but didn’t meet her eyes, and Clarke wondered if maybe that was all they did now. Just circle the things they didn’t want to say, pretending they were fine.

“Bellamy?”

He turned to face her this time. No half-smiles, no evasive glances toward his drink. Just her reflection caught in his dark eyes, and nowhere left for either of them to run.

Clarke’s pulse fluttered. She knew she shouldn’t do this, not here, not after everything tonight. But the words had been pressing against her chest for days now. She could feel it, the invisible walls he kept stacking brick by brick every time they were alone.

She reached across the table, laying her hand on his.

“Are we okay?”

One shot | Bellarke | Season 4x03 fix-it fic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Get some sleep,” Bellamy murmured.

The words drew her back to reality, but she stayed rooted in place. As he began to pull away, her hand found his, holding on.

Two months. That was all they had. Two months.

“Bellamy…” Clarke stood to face him, letting his hand fall though her gaze held on, searching. A flicker of hesitation passed through her but exhaustion dulled her restraint.

Tonight she chose selfishness.

“Stay with me?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s only so much room for survival. If they don’t make time for living, the chance may never come at all.

“So,” she tried, soft but pointed, “how’s the case going?”

Bellamy’s jaw worked, but his eyes stayed down. Avoidant. 

“Busy,” A shrug. “you know.”

Clarke waited, clearly fishing for more, but Bellamy kept his answer clipped, vague. The truth pressed at the back of his throat.

For two days his thoughts had circled the same drain: the two men who cornered her, still faceless, still out there. He’d combed every lead, but they kept slipping through his grip, blurring before he could pin them down. And now there was the body in the warehouse, a new knot in the thread he couldn’t untangle. Proof the danger was bigger than what she’d faced that night.

The harder he tried to make sense of it, the heavier the guilt sat—because beneath every unanswered question was the same truth: she’d been caught in the middle, and he hadn’t stopped it.

Clarke picked at the crust of her slice, voice dipping low, meant only for him. “You want to stay over? Since Octavia’s gone.”

Bellamy’s eyes met hers for a fraction too long before he leaned back, shaking his head like he could will the thought away. 

“Another time. I’ve got things to finish up tonight.” The words came flat, practiced almost.

The ER was a storm. Bellamy shoved through the ambulance bay, flashing his badge at the security posted there, but it barely registered. Inside, chaos pressed in on every side—nurses darting past with clipped instructions, an orderly shoving a gurney at full tilt, babies crying sharp over the intercom’s monotone code calls. The air smelled of antiseptic and sweat, sharp and choking. Fluorescent lights blazed overhead, too bright, bouncing off tile and glass until his vision swam.

His chest constricted, breath catching high in his throat. Every heartbeat landed like a fist against his ribs. His eyes scoured every corner, wild, desperate, searching for her blonde head, her steady figure—anything.

She wasn’t there.

The panic surged hotter, a suffocating swell he couldn’t breathe through. He pushed further inside, pulse roaring in his ears.

“Dr. Griffin—Clarke Griffin—where is she?” Bellamy’s voice came out raw, too sharp, as he caught the attention of a nearby nurse.

The woman blinked, startled, her gaze flicking from the panic blazing in his eyes to the badge hanging heavy on the chain across his chest. “They’re just through there,” she said quickly, motioning toward a curtained-off section of the ER bay.

Bellamy was already moving, the curtain in his sights like the only thing tethering him to air.

He pulled the curtain back.