#assassinregrets

The Guy is showing someone in street clothes how a rowing machine works in front of Clarke’s machine, and she notices him slowly, his features coming into focus as she realizes he’s worth looking at.

He’s got nice arms, that’s the first thing that grabs her attention. Then she sees the curly hair, the freckles, the warm brown of his eyes and the curve of his smile. He’s hot, but also an employee, and as far as Clarke is concerned, that means he’s for looking only. No one wants to get hit on at work.

But when she leaves the stair master to go work on her arms, she sees The Guy behind the front desk, alone and looking a little bored, and she goes over before she can remind herself it’s a bad idea. It’s not like she’s going to be inappropriate. It’s fine.

He straightens and gives her a smile, which is even more to deal with full on. He’s wearing the standard A-to-Z Gym tank top with his name stitched onto the left breast–Bellamy–and his whole upper body looks even better up close and personal.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I wanted to see a schedule?” she says, the words coming out as a question largely because she’s still coming up with them herself. “For classes?”

“Sure. Weekly or monthly?”

“What’s the difference?”

“We have a lot of weekly and bi-weekly programs, but there are also ones that happen every other week or just once a month. So–how regularly you’re coming and how often you want the class to be, pretty much.”

“I’ll look at the weekly.”

He pulls a laminated sheet out from under the counter and slides it over to her. Clarke’s only just met him, but she can tell he’s watching her, interested, like he’s waiting for something.

It doesn’t take her long to find it, but she makes herself keep going, gives it a few seconds before she flicks her eyes up to his. His face is straight, giving nothing away. “You guys have a lot of zumba.”

“Yeah, it’s really popular. We keep having to add new sessions.”

She scans the rest of the schedule, sees the same listing again on Saturday, just like Sunday: 9 am, BOOTY DOCTOR.

“Okay, fine,” she says, eyes flicking back up to Bellamy. “Booty doctor?”

His mouth twitches. “It’s a class.”

“Clearly.”

He cracks with a small huff of laughter. “Yeah, uh–that’s Roan, he’s the owner and founder. I’m pretty sure he decided to open a gym just so he could come up with his own curriculum. He does most of the zumba too, and the kickboxing.”

“So is it a clinic or what? Does he give you feedback on your booty? Honestly, it sounds kind of creepy.”

“It’s, uh–” He opens and shuts his mouth. “Honestly, it’s indescribable. If you can make it in on a weekend, it’s worth it just to see it.”

On the one hand, Clarke’s not sure about doing additional gym stuff just because there’s a cute guy who’s smiling at her and she wants to see more of him. On the other, if she’s going to do something to see more of a cute guy, there are so many worse things she could be doing. At least this is good for her. And Bellamy is telling her to come, which makes it minimally weird. It’s not like she’s stalking him.

“Are the sessions both the same?”

“Yeah. But I work Tuesday to Saturday,” he adds. “So if Saturday works for you, you can report back to me on how it went.”

It’s probably something he’s supposed to say, a way to get people to actually show up. The personal connection people have with trainers, or whatever. If she’s supposed to tell him how it went, she’s more motivated to come in the first place. It’s not personal, and she’s not reading into it.

Still, she smiles. “I could probably swing it. But be honest: is it worth being at the gym at 9 am on a Saturday?”

“Maybe not every week. But at least once, just to say you did it.”

“Can’t argue with that,” she says. “Sign me up.”

*

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Wells grumbles.

“You don’t want to find out what Booty Doctor is? It was in all caps on the schedule. That’s got to mean something.”

“It’s nine am.”

“You always wake up at eight. You say getting up early on Saturday makes you feel productive.”

“Yeah, but I don’t work out this early.” He makes a face. “Booty Doctor? Really?”

“Apparently.”

“This guy from the gym better be really cute,” he grumbles, and Clarke pats him on the shoulder.

“We’ll get coffee after.”

Bellamy’s behind the desk again when they get there, chatting with a cute girl with long brown hair in a tight ponytail. He turns at the sound of the door and smiles, causing a rush of self-consciousness in Clarke’s chest. She’s been thinking about the encounter off and on for the last few days, ever since it happened, but it was probably routine for him. For all she knows, he doesn’t even remember. She might not have made an impression at all.

But he smiles at her as he scans her ID card. “Hey, welcome back. Ready for Booty Doctor?”

“I don’t know, you won’t tell me what it is.”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“So you’re actually kind of preventing me from getting ready for it.”

He smirks. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I’d say this is a bad sales pitch, but I guess you did actually convince me to do it, so–which room?”

She very pointedly doesn’t look at Wells as they go in and set up their mats. It’s decently busy, to her surprise, the space already full of people, mostly women in the twenty to seventy age range, which makes her wonder if “check out Booty Doctor” is a standard sales tactic for Bellamy.

Then again, all of these people can’t possibly be new, so whatever the class is, it’s good enough that they keep coming back. So even if Bellamy is the one bringing people in, whatever Booty Doctor is has to have some continuing appeal.

Possibly sex appeal. Maybe Roan is hot and–

“Okay, yeah, I’d probably wake up at eight on a Saturday to flirt with that guy,” Wells says, sly, and Clarke rolls her eyes.

“You didn’t even talk to him.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt you flirting with him. You seemed to have it under control. Well, as under control as you ever have it.”

Clarke’s about to protest, but the lights in the room dim suddenly, lasers streaming out of a fixture in the ceiling she hadn’t noticed, and some bass-heavy music starts to thump. She and Wells turn their attention to the front of the room, watching as a shirtless man in a white lab coat makes his entrance, waving his arms to encourage the already cheering audience.

“What is happening,” Wells murmurs, and Clarke shrugs, eyes still locked on the makeshift stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the man booms. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses. “Greetings and salutations, happy Saturday. It’s been a long week without you.”

The music cuts out and the lights come up, and in regular lighting with the regular context of an exercise room, the man–the booty doctor, presumably–looks even weirder. Like he’s a character in a fighting video game, wearing a special outfit you have to beat the whole game to unlock.

“For our newcomers, welcome, I’m delighted to see you. I am Roan Iceman, PhD.” He deliberately drops his gaze, looking out at them over the top of his sunglasses with a smirk. If this was a TV show, his teeth would sparkle. With a sound effect. “The booty doctor.”

There’s another huge cheer from the crowd, like they’re at a concert, and Clarke doesn’t even know how Bellamy could have spoiled this for her. Even if he’d told her that there was a shirtless guy in a lab coat coming out to a light show, she wouldn’t have really been prepared. She probably would have thought he was fucking with her.

But in a way, the weirdest part is that after the introduction, the whole thing is pretty normal. Clarke hasn’t done a lot of workout classes, but it’s basically what she would have expected from TV, Roan leading them through a variety of exercise designed to give them better asses. The music selection is good and Roan is energetic and charismatic, and it’s even fun. He’s still wearing his sunglasses and lab coat, but she can live with that. In fact, by the time they’re winding down, she barely even notices them anymore.

Roan guides them through cool-down stretches and then asks, “So, how do we think we’re doing?”

“Not sure!” the crowd calls back, as one. It seems like a weird answer for a call-and-response, but Roan grins.

“Do you think we need to check?”

“Yes!”

He whips off his coat, throws it into the crowd for someone to catch, and turns around, bending over and presenting them with his own (admittedly flawless) ass. His shorts say BOOTY DOCTOR in glittery letters, one word on each cheek, and Clarke’s brain is still trying to catch up with that as the crowd goes wild.

“I hope to see some of you tomorrow!” Roan says, putting his sunglasses back on and waving. “Until next time, may the booty be with you!”

Clarke and Wells file out in silence, too stunned by what they’ve seen to offer commentary. Everyone else is apparently used to it, and they’re surrounded by happy chatter as they leave. No one else realizes Booty Doctor is bizarre and surreal. Maybe there are subliminal messages in the lasers that slowly convince people this is okay.

To her surprise, the first thing Wells says is, “Okay, so I’ll see you at home?”

“What?”

“I’m going to go grab Starbucks and go home.” He rolls his eyes significantly, and Clarke sees Bellamy wiping down some of the weight machines. “See you later.”

She does want to do a postmortem on the whole thing with him later too, but privacy for checking in with Bellamy is appreciated. And, honestly, she wouldn’t want to be Wells, awkwardly hovering, either. He’s too good a wing man to participate in the conversation, so he would have just been awkward.

“I don’t think you could have prepared me for that if you tried,” she tells Bellamy, and he jumps, looks up at her with a surprised grin.

“Yeah, it needs to be seen to be believed.”

“I was wondering why he was wearing the lab coat if the butt was such a focus, so it was nice that he had the big reveal at the end.”

“He said that if he showed his ass right away, there wouldn’t be any reason for people to stay. You have to make them wait for it.”

“Obviously. Does he get the lab coats back, or is that a souvenir for whoever catches it?”

“If you catch it, it’s yours to keep. He has one of those Amazon buttons to buy more of them whenever he needs to.”

“Wow.” She considers, trying to remember her other objections, not wanting the conversation to end yet. There was so much to process, it’s hard to bring it back. Especially when she’s actually pretty worn out. “I also would have expected the booty doctor to be an MD, not a PhD, but I guess I don’t actually know what degree you get to become a booty doctor.”

“Women’s and Gender Studies,” Bellamy supplies, straightfaced. “From Rutgers.”

Her jaw actually drops. “He’s a real doctor?”

“Rich people,” he says, with a shrug. “He got his degree and then decided he wanted to start a gym. I know Dr. Roan Iceman, PhD sounds like a porn name, but he is a real doctor somehow.”

“And a good one,” says a voice, and Clarke turns to see the man himself, still shirtless, still in the same pair of shorts. “If I do say so myself. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Clarke,” she says, offering her hand. Once they’ve shaken, she offers it to Bellamy too. “We haven’t actually introduced ourselves either.”

“Yeah, but my name is on my shirt and your name is on your ID.” He shakes, and then points to his breast. “Bellamy.”

“I thought it might be creepy if I knew that.”

“I sent you into Booty Doctor unprepared, so–”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” says Roan. “What did you think?”

Bellamy looks relaxed and easy, so Clarke figures she can be honest. Assuming she figures out what honesty is; she’s still not actually sure what she witnessed in there. A normal gym class sandwiched between surreal stage shows, maybe.

“It was something,” she says, and Bellamy snorts softly.

“And will you be back tomorrow?”

Bellamy works Tuesday to Saturday, and even leaving that aside, Clarke’s not really sure she could handle two sessions with the booty doctor in a single week. Even one was pushing it.

“Not tomorrow,” she says, smiling. “But next week for sure.”

*

The Saturday Booty Doctor class is easy to slot into her schedule, even if waking up that early is something of a challenge. It’s a decent workout on top of being genuinely fun, and after it’s over Clarke gets to go and report back to Bellamy, who continues to be cute and charming and generally appealing, but also continues to be a paid employee of the gym she attends, which is one of those things that can be hard to navigate. Bellamy is the assistant manager, a kind of jack-of-all-trades who works with clients both individually and in groups, so Clarke has seen him interacting with basically everyone. He’s unfailingly friendly and charming, patient and happy to talk to anyone, and while Clarke can tell herself he smiles at her wider, looks happier to see her, seeks her out more, she second-guesses it every time.

Wells tells her that too, of course, but he’s biased too.

“I’ve definitely seen him checking you out,” he says, as they’re walking home on Thursday.

“Well, I do wear low-cut tank tops to the gym,” she says. “Just because he’s looking, it doesn’t mean he’s interested. I check you out at the gym too.”

He flexes for her, and she whistles appreciatively. But he sobers quickly. “Look, I’m just trying to help. I know you like him.”

“I barely know him,” she protests. “I think he’s hot and I like talking to him. It’s not that deep.”

“It doesn’t have to be that deep,” Wells shoots back. “I’m not telling you to marry the guy, but the requirements to ask someone out are pretty low. I know you haven’t really been into the dating thing since Lexa,” he adds, before she can protest. “I get it. But if you just ask if he wants to get a drink sometime? That’s so safe. He can just say no and it’s done. You can still talk.”

“Isn’t don’t hit on service professionals at work a pretty standard guideline?”

“Asking him if he wants to get a drink and backing off if he says no is probably fine. You don’t have to, but I think he wouldn’t mind. And I think it would be good for you.”

“I’ll think about it,” she says. “But I think he’s just being professional.”

“Well, I think he wants to make out with you. And not just because of how much cleavage your workout shirts show off. And I know that if you didn’t have the he’s working excuse to fall back on, you would have come up with another reason you couldn’t possibly make a move, so I’m not buying it.”

That one hits home. He wasn’t wrong about her lack of interest in dating since Lexa, and part of her is aware that if Bellamy did express overt interest, she’d panic a little. And, okay, she’d probably get over it and go out with him. But she’d panic first.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

He claps her on the shoulder. “And that’s why I’m not going to the Booty Doctor classes with you anymore.”

“Wait, what?”

“If you want to go hang out with the guy, you’re going solo. You can flirt with him without me having to make excuses to take off. And I can have my Saturday mornings back.”

It’s completely reasonable even leaving aside the Bellamy part; Wells doesn’t have to come to her weird fitness class, and he deserves to do whatever he wants during the period from nine to ten on Saturday mornings. She can go to Booty Doctor alone.

Still, on Saturday, when she opens the door to the gym by herself for the first time, she can’t help a surge of nervousness, against all logic and reason. She’s never been here alone before. She’s always had backup.

Bellamy’s not at the desk, to her surprise, but Octavia is, looking half-awake and mildly surly. But when she sees Clarke, she straightens and smiles, just like her brother would.

“Where’s Bellamy?” Clarke asks. She hasn’t gotten close to Octavia like she has Bellamy, but they’re friendly enough.

“Assistant manager duties. I’m sure you’ll see him later.” She gives Clarke an odd smile. “Have fun in class!”

Since it’s Saturday, she just changed at home and can go straight in without hitting the locker room first. With a couple months of classes under her belt, she’s gotten familiar with some of the other participants, even has a group of older women she usually sets up with. As usual, they’re already there, stretching, and Clarke joins them with a round of greetings.

“Where’s Wells?” asks Ingrid, frowning.

“He decided nine is too early for him. I guess the booty isn’t a big enough draw.”

“Now that’s a shame. But the two of you don’t have to do everything together. Once you’ve been together a bit longer–”

Clarke holds up her hand. “We’re still not dating. Best friends.”

“The best relationships start with friendship,” says Diane. “It makes for a solid foundation.”

There’s no real point in fighting them on this, so Clarke just smiles, tries not to think about Wells saying the same stuff about Bellamy. It’s so easy for people on the outside to be sure they know exactly what they’re seeing, to put together their own narratives based on bias.

Clarke herself is, of course, biased toward thinking she doesn’t have a chance. But at least she recognizes it’s a bias.

The lights dim and the show starts up, still bizarre even after a couple months of attendance. She’ll get used to it eventually, but there’s a part of her that can’t help hoping she never will, that the Booty Doctor experience will always be this fucking weird.

She notices the difference right from the start, from the first flash of the white lab coat. Roan is fluid and confident in his movements, and the person taking the stage now is lagging, hesitant. The hair is different, the build, the whole–

She figures it out a split second before the voice booms, “Ladies and gentlemen!” and it’s Bellamy.

Bellamy’s assistant manager duties are being the booty doctor.

The rest of the crowd has noticed something is up by now, although Clarke doesn’t have a good sense of how many know it’s Bellamy versus just not being Roan. Murmurs race through the class, and she whispers, “Sounds like Bellamy,” before anyone else in her vicinity can speak up.

“I’m not Roan,” he confirms, smile crooked, a much less bombastic opening than usual. He recovers with a smooth, “But I am very happy to be here!” that Clarke is sure is a complete and total lie.

The lights come up as usual, and there he is. He’s clean shaven, face free of the usual dusting of stubble, and wearing, well, the traditional garb of the booty doctor: white lab coat, no shirt, tiny shorts that cling and, presumably, say BOOTY DOCTOR in glitter on the ass.

It’s not hot, exactly. Obviously, the all the component parts are hot: Bellamy looks great, the lab coat somehow works on him, his chest is amazing, and the bulge at the front of the shorts is distractingly there. But the full image is mostly just–too much. Which is maybe good; she’s just as glad Bellamy’s booty medicine isn’t a kink for her.

“So, as always welcome to our newcomers,” he says. “And to our regulars, sorry for the change in plans. As you know, I am not the booty doctor.”

He seems to be going for a kind of aww shucks persona that draws on his understandable self-consciousness about the whole situation, and it seems to be working. The crowd cheers, and someone calls, “We still love you!”

He laughs. “Thanks. I’m, uh–Bellamy Blake, I guess I’ll be your booty nurse for the day. Roan came down with something, so he’s going to be out for a few days, but hopefully you’ll be back on schedule next week.”

“Where are your sunglasses?” Clarke calls, and he spares her a glare. She gives him a thumbs up.

“You need a PhD for the sunglasses. Okay, are we ready to work our butts off?”

It hadn’t really occurred to Clarke that she’d never seen Bellamy actually instructing anyone before. Or, well, she’d seen it, but from a distance, watching him help someone figure out how to use weight machines or demonstrating a yoga position. She’s never been in one of his classes or been close enough to really know what he was like, as a fitness instructor. And of course she wouldn’t have expected him to be bad at it, but she wasn’t entirely prepared for how good he is. Not that Roan is bad either, of course–he’s probably the best booty doctor there is–but Bellamy has a completely different energy, less suited to this particular medium, but easy to imagine in other contexts. He must be great one-on-one and with kids, and it almost feels like he’s wasted here in the gym.

Here, especially. He was never meant to be a booty doctor. He’s got his own skill set.

He leads the group through the cool-down exercises and then straightens, smile nervous. He’s been hiding his discomfort pretty well during the actual exercises, but now it’s back, in every inch of his frame as he watches the crowd. “Okay, so, that’s it for me this week–”

Clarke doesn’t protest, but everyone else does, an immediate wave of discontent rolling through the crowd. Someone calls, “Show us the booty!” and Bellamy ducks his head on a laugh.

“Okay, but let’s all keep in mind that I’m not a professional booty doctor, okay? Be nice.”

He makes eye contact with Clarke before he shrugs off the coat and tosses it towards her, and she moves forward as if in slow motion, snatching the coat out of the air like no one else is even there.

As soon as that’s done, the inherent ridiculousness of the situation sinks in and she remembers that she’s holding a cheap, sweaty lab coat that Roan bought in bulk off of Amazon, but whatever. She’s being supportive.

She folds the coat as Bellamy spins to display his own perfect ass to the cheering crowd. When he comes back up, he’s bright red, adorably sheepish. “Thanks again for having me. Let’s all hope Roan is back next week.”

As always, a handful of people want to talk to the instructor, and this time it’s a much larger handful, people presumably wanting to tell Bellamy he did well and thank him for filling in. Clarke doesn’t feel any need to join them, just slips out and heads back to the front desk.

Octavia grins. “How did he do?”

“Surprisingly well. He hated it, but he did fine.”

“And he took the coat off,” she says, jerking her chin to the lab coat in Clarke’s arms. “I thought he was trying to get out of that.”

“You’ve seen the Booty Doctor crowd, they weren’t going to let him get away with not showing off his ass.”

Octavia sighs. “We’ve got Lincoln doing it tomorrow, I’m going to see if I can sneak in to watch at least some. If I say it’s for moral support, he probably won’t notice I just want to check him out.”

“Is Roan okay?” Clarke asks. “How long is he going to be out?”

“Not for as long as he should be,” Octavia says, with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not, like, dying or anything, just a stomach bug. He still tried to come in, but Bell pointed out that the booty doctor projectile vomiting all over his class would really jeopardize his reputation as a medical professional.”

“And if the booty doctor doesn’t have his integrity, he’s got nothing.”

Octavia grins. “You get it. Where’s your boyfriend, by the way?”

“My boyfriend?”

“The guy you always come in with.”

“That’s my best friend,” she says, frowning. “Does everyone here think I’m dating Wells?”

Octavia shrugs. “You guys always come in together, you usually leave together, you seem close. I figured it could go either way, so I was definitely fishing.”

“Single and bisexual,” says Clarke, going for casual. Given Octavia was just talking about going to check out Lincoln, it seems unlikely she’s fishing for herself, but Clarke wouldn’t mind checking Lincoln out either, so they could both be single and bisexual. And there’s always the possibility that she was hoping Wells was single, not Clarke.

Or she could be fishing for her brother. That’s a possibility.

“Wells is too,” she adds, just in case.

Octavia smirks. “Bell too. Big bisexual party.”

“Title of your sex tape,” Bellamy says, absent. He’s pulled on his usual tank top and workout pants, looking more like himself, and Clarke’s stomach flops with fondness. “What are we talking about?”

“How Clarke doesn’t actually have a boyfriend.”

He frowns. “What about Wells?”

“We’ve been best friends since birth,” says Clarke. “And not in that secretly-in-love way. Just regular friends.”

“Oh,” he says. “Good to know. Is he okay? I saw he wasn’t in class.”

“He decided to quit Booty Doctor and get his Saturdays back. He’s going to be so sad he missed this.”

“I just hope no one filmed it.”

“You did a great job,” she says, and his expression softens into relief.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think booty doctor is the right gimmick for you,” she admits. “But you’re a great instructor and everyone had fun.” She holds up the coat. “Did you want this? To remember your big debut?”

“You can just throw it away,” he says, but there’s some lingering tension in his voice that Clarke doesn’t like.

“If you don’t want it, I’m keeping it. I’ve never caught it before.”

He ducks his head. “It’s all yours.”

It’s a moment where Clarke gets to make up her mind, where she can either let this go or try, put some minimal amount of effort in. She likes this guy, likes him as more than just a pretty face and a nice smile, and this won’t be her only chance to make a move, but this is natural, easy. And she can still pull back, if it seems to be going wrong.

But it might go right.

“Did you really think Wells was my boyfriend?”

“I thought he might be.”

“He’s not.”

“And you’re single.”

“Yup. Your sister said you are too.”

“Yeah.” He bites the corner of his mouth. “You know, I get that a lot of people who come to the Booty Doctor class want to check Roan out, but I never got it. Is it actually hot?”

“It’s probably exciting. Why?”

“I don’t know if being the booty doctor is actually something I can use as a pick-up line.”

“You’re not the booty doctor, you’re the booty nurse.”

He cocks his head. “Does that make a difference?”

“In what?”

“Picking people up. Picking you up,” he adds, before she can even start to worry. “Specifically.”

“It’s not a deal breaker,” she says, smile growing on her face. “But it’s not a turn-on or anything.”

“That’s probably good, honestly.” He rubs the back of his neck. “So, uh–are you doing anything tonight? I get off at three, which is kind of early for dates, but–”

She leans up, gives him a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll be back at three.”

A pleased little smile plays on his mouth. “Cool,” he says. “See you then.”

*

“Wasn’t the whole point of going to Booty Doctor to flirt with Bellamy?” Wells asks the next week. He’s awake, but still in his pajamas, and Clarke can admit she’s a little jealous of him for not having to get dressed and leave the house yet.

On the other hand, she’s going to leave the house and see her boyfriend. That’s pretty great.

“And?” she asks, filling up her water bottle.

“And now that you’re dating him, you don’t need excuses to see him anymore. You could just stop going to Booty Doctor and sleep in on Saturdays.”

“But then if Bellamy ever subs in again, I’ll miss it. Wasn’t going to the gym your idea? Shouldn’t you be proud of me for going more? I’m setting a good example.”

Wells snorts. “Shouldn’t you be buying me expensive presents to thank me for getting you to sign up for a gym and helping you get a boyfriend?”

“I probably should.” She kisses him on the forehead as she passes behind the couch. “Thanks, you’re the best. You sure you don’t want to come?”

“Definitely not. But have fun.”

“Always do,” she says, and somehow it’s actually true. She gets to kiss her boyfriend, attend a ridiculous gym class, and she still has time to go home, shower, and get some adult shit done before she picks Bellamy up after work to hang out.