#krizpossible

“What did you do?” asks Jasper, collapsing onto Bellamy’s back with a groan. Honestly, Bellamy didn’t know it was possible for someone to drink so much and still be such a fucking lightweight. “She was hot! I was going to hit on her.”

“I thought you were hitting on Maya,” says O. “Also, if you wanted to hit on her, why were you letting her talk to Bell?”

Jasper frowns. “I can’t tell if the issue is he scared her off or he’s hotter than I am.”

“Honestly, probably both,” says Octavia. “Not that I’m saying my brother is hot. Just that you’re not.”

Jasper oozes into a bar seat of his own and hits himself in the chest. “Ouch. That hurts.”

“I’m telling you this as a friend.”

Bellamy tunes out their chatter, just staring at his beer. He knows he’s bad with new people. He knows he’s kind of a dick. And he hadn’t even really been trying to be nice with Clarke, because he really doesn’t need to get close to any of his coworkers. His extracurricular activities make friendships awkward; if you never get invited out, you don’t have to come up with excuses not to go. And, okay, he still gets invited, but he has a reputation for not going. Everyone just makes fun of him for being a grumpy old man.

It works for him.

But–he kind of liked Clarke. As personality traits go, he knows abrasive asshole is a bad one, and he doesn’t blame anyone for just ditching him. But Clarke was an abrasive asshole right back, and that was fun. It’s the kind of relationship he thinks he could have repaired.

He still kind of wants to repair it.

Fuck, he can’t have a crush. He absolutely can’t. Not on a coworker. Not on anyone who doesn’t know about him.

In that respect, meeting Flame a few hours later should be perfect. He’s always wanted a partner; being a meta, one with the kind of powers he can actually use, always felt like it should lead to the kind of life he always wanted. Friends, allies, comic-book teamups. It was easy to romanticize, when he was a kid.

Once he saw Vector kill a girl, that fantasy died.

But Flame is good. Inexperienced and clearly higher-budget than he is, but with the same kind of priorities he has, and fun to talk to. He should definitely develop a thing for her, because that seems like a much better idea. Getting a crush on someone who knows him as a superhero first is definitely the way to go. It’s the correct order of operations.

It makes so much sense, and Flame is great. Working with her is exactly how he thought it would be, having a partner. He can trust her, rely on her, and talk to her.

And, despite all that, he still wants Clarke.

Maybe his sister’s right. Maybe he is an idiot.

*

“You don’t do any clubs, right?”

Clarke looks up from her desk, wary but not hostile. He thinks he’s actually done a decent job of making up for his shitty first impression. She seems to be one of those people who likes bickering as a display of friendship, like him, and their disagreements have gone from destructive to agreeable.

Plus, all their coworkers seem to have noticed he has a huge thing for her, which he’d ordinarily be upset about, except it means that no one else is trying to hit on her. He’s bad enough at this without competition.

“Not yet,” she says, careful.

He nods. “So you have a lot of free time.”

“Or I have a rich and rewarding life outside of school.”

That gets a grin out of him. She really is awesome.“Yeah, we count that as free time. I need help with the Halloween dance.”

“What about it?”

“Planning, decorating, chaperoning, etc.,” he says, with a wave of his hand. “Call it three nights a week after school for the next two weeks, and then working the dance on Saturday.”

“And there’s no one else you could possibly ask.”

Of course he has other people he can ask. Lincoln will basically always do whatever he asks, because he is laboring under the misapprehension that this will help him out with Octavia, and Miller is secretly a softie who loves helping out. He has all sorts of people who would help him.

But he wants Clarke to do it.

“You can’t put off it off forever,” he tells her, which is actually true. It’s not just his bias. “You have to get involved with extracurriculars at some point. I’m doing you a favor.”

“I think you just don’t want to do the work yourself,” she grumbles.

“I’m not hearing a no, here.”

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone for the rest of the period so I can actually plan, or do we have to start right away?”

“I’ll leave. Just come by my room after school, we can do logistics.”

Even after the mostly positive conversation, he’s half-expecting her to not show up. After all, it’s going to suck. He hates dances, and this is the first big one of the year, which means it’s the worst one. All these optimistic kids who think they’re going to be popular this year show up and have a terrible time, and he feels horribly guilty.

So when Clarke knocks on his door frame after the last bell, it’s honestly a huge relief. Not just because he really wanted someone to help.

He’s using a high-school dance to get close to his crush. Fuck, he wanted to get over this.

“So,” says Clarke. “How does planning a dance work?”

“I’m glad you asked. It sucks.”

She laughs. “Wow. Don’t sugarcoat it for me, Bellamy.”

“I would never.”

“Always good for my daily dose of realism.” She rolls up her sleeves, apparently just for dramatic effect, because they immediately slide back down; it’s stupidly cute. “How specifically does it suck?”

“In all possible ways.” He grabs his to-do list. “Pick your poison.”

“You owe me,” she mutters, but she’s smiling.

“I owe you,” he agrees. “Feel free to collect any time.”

*

The dance goes well, and Clarke starts spending more time with him, which really should make him feel better about his life, but mostly it just makes him feel like he should never say anything about his feelings for her, for fear of destroying the delicate balance they’ve achieved. Which is sad, he knows, but–it’s really been so long since he did anything like this. He doesn’t even know how.

Of course, it’s Octavia who decides to press the issue, a couple weeks before Thanksgiving. “So, what’s the current status of your love life? I feel weird that I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” He frowns. “How do you not know?”

“Okay, well, obviously, there’s Clarke.”

“Obviously.”

“But there’s also Flame, right? And she’s hot. Literally.” She smirks, like she’s very proud of this, and Bellamy obligingly supplies a rim-shot noise. Which seems to be all she wanted. “And she knows what you are,” she adds.

“No, she doesn’t,” he says. “She doesn’t know anything about me, O. Nothing real.” He rubs the back of his neck. “She’s awesome, and I like her, but–”

“But you’re in love with Clarke,” Octavia supplies. “Okay, that’s what I figured. So, have you invited her to our party yet?”

“I figured you were covering invitations,” he says.

“Oh, yeah. For everyone else. But you have to invite Clarke. She’s your girlfriend.”

“She’s not, and I hate you.” He rubs his face. “We don’t have to invite her.”

“If you don’t invite her, she won’t come.”

“Her mom’s coming for Thanksgiving.”

“So, you assassinate her mom and then she comes to our party, right? That’s what I’m getting.”

“Yeah. That’s exactly my plan.”

Even though he puts it off for a few days, asking her isn’t actually that difficult. He thinks that if he gives it another year or so, he might actually manage to try for a real date.

If anyone’s betting on him making a move, he’s going to lose them money. Like, a lot of money. But they can use that money to buy him a drink, when she turns him down.

Thanksgiving isn’t generally one of Bellamy’s favorite holidays. On the day itself, Octavia is moody, because it’s one her dad rarely gets to come home for, and he’s not particularly into celebrating the country’s history of native genocide. Plus, turkey is a total pain.

Still, he’s never going to say no to a break from school, and his and O’s post-Thanksgiving party is a great tradition. Octavia makes a giant vat of mulled spiked cider, and no one cares if he goes off on rants about imperialism. Which is his idea of a good party.

But between not having school (and therefore not seeing Clarke) and not having patrols (and not seeing Flame), he’s bored within a day and doing his grading so that once he’s spending time with the people he actually cares about, he won’t be stressed out.

It’s a nice theory, but he can’t help pulling out his phone and texting Clarke within an hour of waking up on Wednesday. He’s got it bad. He knowshe has it bad. It’s the worst it’s ever been.

Me: How’s your mom?

Clarke: On an awkwardness scale of 1-10, probably like 4.

Me: Is that good? That sounds good.

Clarke: It could be a lot worse.How’s your vacation so far?

Me: I haven’t put on pants, so I’m counting it as a win.

He’s filled with regret basically as soon as he sends the message. It’s not like he’s naked. But he’s in his boxers and a t-shirt on the couch, under an admittedly incredibly embarrassing Superman blanket his sister got him for Christmas last year. It’s an awesome place to be, but–he’d rather Clarke thought he was cool.

Or at least wearing pants. As a bare minimum.

Me: That was probably a weird thing to say.

Clarke: You’re kind of weird. Are you going to put on pants at any point today?

Me: Not if I can help it. I assume you’re doing tourist stuff with your mom.

Clarke: Not if I can help it.

Me: If you need someone to text you with a fake emergency, let me know.I have booze.I’d even put on pants.

Clarke: I appreciate the sacrifice, but I’d never make you put on pants just for me.That’s going too far.Seriously, thanks.I think it’s going to be fine, just stressful.I’d feel worse if I didn’t see her, I guess.

Me: I get it, yeah.I’m pretty sure I’m one of the leading experts on mother issues.

Clarke: Just because Oedipus is dead.

Me: Classical incest reference?Ouch.

Clarke: I know what you’re into.

He stares at the phone for a minute, torn between the hope that she’s actually flirting, somehow and horror that she actually does know what he’s into.

Yeah, he finally replies. Just let me know if you need me.

*

Intellectually, Bellamy knows there is literally no reason to feel like having sex with Flame has any impact on his non-relationship with Clarke. For one, Clarke isn’t interested in him to begin with, and even if she was interested, they’re not dating right now. It’s just–it still makes him feel awkward, guilty and a little itchy. He doesn’t think of himself as one of those people who just has sex, not anymore. Even when he was younger, it was never impulsive like that, never just a spur-of-the-moment decision. Usually, he’d go out with the express purpose of getting laid, and he’d flirt for a while, make sure everyone was on the same page. He’s never just had sex with anyone like that, just because he was overcome with relief and, yeah, okay, lust.

And it was really fucking awesome sex too. Like–possibly the best of his life. And part of him can’t help wondering if he would be better off just trying to make it work with her.

Which he’s really trying to consider, right up until Clarke shows up at the party, wearing a soft blue dress with her hair down, and he loses all ability to think.

Flame’s into someone else, and that doesn’t even matter, because he’s fucking gone.

“This is sad, even for you,” Miller observes. He’s watching Clarke by virtue of watching Monty, and Bellamy is trying not to watch either of them without making it too obvious.

“Like you’re hitting on Monty.”

“Yeah, but I know I should be,” Miller says. “I’ve got a plan. You’re just a dumbass.”

“Wait, what’s your plan? Can I steal it?”

“Yeah, it involves knowing Monty’s into me. Which is a step you’re missing. But Clarke’s into you, so just go ask her to dance and stop monopolizing me. Monty might talk to me if I wasn’t feeling sorry for your dumb ass.”

“If you’re going to ask him to dance, why does he need to talk to you? Can’t you just initiate it?” He rubs his face. “Fuck. You think being a high-school teacher regresses your flirting? Is that why we’re at a party not talking to the people we want to date?”

“No, it’s because you suck and I feel sorry for you.”

“You’re a good friend,” says Bellamy, and Miller claps him on the shoulder.

“I really am,” says Miller. “Hi, Clarke,” he adds.

Clarke bumps her shoulder against his, gives him a smile. “Hi, Miller. Bye, Miller. Hi,” she adds, to Bellamy.

She looks even more beautiful up close, and his smile is helpless.“Hi. Having fun?”

“Yeah. Your sister throws a pretty good party.”

“Not giving me any credit, huh?”

She grins. She’s practically leaning against him, but not quite, warm up all against his side. Maybe Miller’s right, and he does have a chance. It’s something to think about. “None at all,” she says. “I have met you. You went out of your way to invite me and said you wanted me to come, and you didn’t even say hi.”

“I waved,” he says weakly, and she snorts.

“You did. Are you having fun?”

Fun is a strong word, but his mild mental breakdown really isn’t her fault. “Sure. How was your Thanksgiving? Everything okay with your mom?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Not–I’m pretty sure our relationship will be awkward for the rest of our lives, but she’s my mom, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that.” He looks down at his drink, awkward. They’ve had this exact conversation before, and he doesn’t know where else to go with it. Finally, he settles on, “I am, uh. I am glad you came.”

Clarke smiles. “Has your sister made a move on Lincoln yet?”

“Not yet. You could still win.”

“Maybe.”

They lapse into silence for a while, watching the dance floor. It’s always vaguely horrifying to Bellamy that his sister knows enough people to generate a party of this size, and he doesn’t even know half the people out there.

Now would be the time to ask her to dance with him, or to come up with another thing to talk about. Instead, he sips his drink, finds Miller across the room, talking to Monty. At least he doesn’t seem to be doing any better with the whole thing than Bellamy is, despite his mockery.

And then Monty takes Miller’s hand, tugs him gently, and Miller’s smiling and following Monty onto the dance floor. They’re kind of awkward getting set up, neither of them entirely sure where to put their hands, and Bellamy can’t help laughing. It’s cute.

“Okay, yeah,” he tells Clarke. “You were right. I shouldn’t have had faith in Miller.” She doesn’t respond, and he elbows her. “Clarke? You listening?”

She flashes him a smile, but it’s a little off. “Not at all.”

He huffs a laugh, and her smile eases a little. “At least you’re honest.”

“Mostly. What’s up?”

“Monty and Miller are dancing,” he says, jerking his head toward them. “I told you I would have lost the twenty bucks.”

“Octavia’s a safer bet, yeah. I didn’t know dancing was on the agenda,” she adds, sounding a little awkward.

“Octavia always encourages dancing.”

She nods. “So, do you want to?”

“What?”

“Dance.”

He doesn’t actually choke on his cider, but it’s a close call. “With you?”

“You don’t have to,” she says, smug.

“No, no. That’s–” He puts his drink down, offers his hand. “Yeah. Let’s dance.”

*

He spends all of Sunday trying to figure out something to text Clarke and then doing his grading and lesson plans for the end of the week just to avoid thinking about texting Clarke. If nothing else, he figures he’ll get an idea of what to do when he actually sees her on Monday.

So when she doesn’t come in for her planning period like usual, he might panic, just a little. Which–okay, he knows it’s stupid. He knows this entire thing is stupid. And it would be great, if the knowledge that he was being stupid somehow made him stop being stupid.

Mostly, he just can’t stop thinking about what happens if she does want to date him. He’d have to tell her he’s a meta, which isn’t nearly as scary as it should be. After all, her mother is Abigail Griffin. Even if Clarke hates registration, it feels like he should be more worried about telling her he’s Tempest. Not even Miller knows.

But he trusts her.

He’s thinking about how to have any of the five conversations he wants to have with Clarke so hard that he doesn’t hear the door open, and he only becomes aware of her when a book hits him in the shoulder.

“Ow, Jesus, what the hell!” he yelps, and scowls reflexively, even when he sees it’s Clarke. “What was that for?”

“You don’t get to make fun of English teachers when you got your stupid code name from a Shakespeare play,” she snaps, and the bottom drops out of his stomach. How does she know? Why is she pissed? It’s not like secret identities are something it’s impolite to not share. It’s–

She summons a small ball of flame in her hand, a familiar flicker that’s gone almost before he’s registered it. But he’s seen it enough that it’s instantly identifiable.

Flame’s fire always looks a little different to him.

“Holy shit,” he manages, and it should be the perfect movie moment, the one where he sweeps her up and kisses her, and he’s almost there when he remembers Flame was in love with someone else too. And it could be him, but–it could not be, too. Clarke has her own life, outside of school.

God, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if it’s not him.

Her expression is all warm exasperation. “Bellamy,” she says, and then she is kissing him, hot and hard, almost desperate, as if she thinks they’re going to run out of time. Which, fuck, they better not. He’s going to fucking marry her. She’s actually the perfect woman, and she–

Somehow, she knew she was into him.

“How did you,” he starts, but it’s so good he doesn’t really want to talk.

“You never fucking laugh,” she says.

It’s a bizarre enough statement that he actually does manage to pull away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She’s laughing herself, delight all over her face. He’s never seen anything so perfect in his life. “You’re always just, smirking or snorting or whatever! You never laugh.”

“I laugh.”

She pokes him in the chest. “You don’t, because as soon as I heard it, I knew who you were, so there is no possible way you laugh. I recognized you right away.”

It’s a pretty hard statement to dispute, so he just kisses her again. “Jesus, if I’d known that was all I had to do. I’ll laugh all the fucking time.”

“You just had to ask. Hell would have to freeze over,” she says, looking a little insulted. Which, okay, he might have been being a little melodramatic. But he knew he wasn’t a great romantic prospect for anyone who didn’t know about the vigilante thing. “You know I was talking about you too, right? We agreed to not sleep with each other because we want to date each other.”

“Thank fucking god. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really into you, but that was some awesome sex.”

He’s never hooked up at school before, but he thinks they’re about three-quarters of the way there when someone knocks. Clarke checks his clothes, straightening his collar with deft fingers.

He groans. It’s a really good thing he got laid last week, or he’d probably pretend to not be here. “You had to do this at school? I’m going to see you tonight, right? You could have waited.”

She looks away, flushing. “Yeah, but–I wanted it to be you,” she admits, soft, and shoves his chest gently. “Go be an educator.”

Monroe turns bright red at the sight of them, so he’s absolutely never going to live this down. Half his students already think they’re dating because Clarke hangs out here, and being caught in his locked classroom with her is definitely the nail in the coffin.

On other hand, he’s pretty sure it’s going to be a lot better getting teased about her when they actually are dating.

“Oh, um, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Monroe stutters. “I just–”

“It’s fine,” Clarke says smoothly. “Mr. Blake and I were just having a discussion about Shakespeare.”

It’s something he has actually yelled about a lot, at least. Then again, he yells about a lot of things. “I’m just saying, he’s a good writer, but that doesn’t make him a historian.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to you later, Blake.”

He turns his attention back to Monroe, gives her a smile. “Sorry. What’s up?”

He manages to get through advising her about the paper even with most of his brain occupied with Clarke. Clarke is Flame, and Clarke is in love with him too, and he doesn’t have to figure out how to tell her he’s got superpowers and a night job, because she already knows.

Clarke Griffin knows him better than anyone else in the world, and she loves him.

“Thanks for the help, Mr. Blake. Sorry I interrupted you and Ms. Griffin.”