#possibilitydays

Now, how needing a little variety lead to

this

, she's not totally sure. Which, perhaps, is

exactly

how that happened.

She picks up the occasional substitute job at the college, has for years because one of her late husband's old friends is the head of the business program and somehow that plus her general respected-ness means that if one of the nursing professors gets the flu or something, she's high on the list of potential backups. It's comparatively low-stress - nursing students are nothing compared to the bullshit she deals with at the hospital - and honestly, she likes it. Couple of days a semester, bit of extra money, what's not to love?

Right - the asshole who makes her want to walk away from everything. (Also the person who is currently tracing little spirals on her abdomen. Yes, they're one and the same. The world is weird like that.)

In fairness, the first time she set eyes on him was the day he hit her car in the faculty parking lot. And in hindsight, that was probably inevitable because he drives a goddamn tank. Well, okay, not technically a tank, but one of those big boxy SUVs that probably didn't get modified that much when it got okayed for civilian purchase after the military found shinier toys. One of those. Abby, in contrast, has spent her adult life as the owner of a series of sensible midsize sedans in various shades of beige. Completely mundane, but at least visible if people bothered to use their damn rearview mirrors. Which this idiot didn't. Cue a practically destroyed rear bumper that she is very thankful his insurance payed for, a series of apologies, and a small war.

This last bit, she's not sure how it happened, but at some point in the three years since she met him, Marcus Kane has become the most obnoxious irritating person in her life. Not that it was all that much of a challenge, but still. Without fail, every time she's at the college, he finds some reason to get in her way. He teaches fucking government, he has no reason to be anywhere near the nursing building (she checked and confirmed that he's exiled to one of the big humanities buildings that is not an easy walk from her normal territory), and yet he inevitably is. Or else he's in the parking lot and she's worried that this time his abysmal driving is actually going to get her killed (there have been a few near-misses and she almost wonders how he has a damn license). Or he's in the office building, which she inevitably braves because there's a wonderfully functional set of vending machines on the third floor. Circumstances vary; his tendency to pick fights with her does not.

(She really, really should not be doing this. Anyone would be better than him.)

In hindsight, he probably didn't know that those occasional jobs were somehow the one reliable bit of quiet she got, the one space completely removed from a dying husband and a complicated teenage daughter. He probably didn't know she had either of those things. Almost no one did until Jake died and then somehow, even though she wasn't technically official faculty or anything, that community took care of her. They knew her by then, knew her enough that there were casseroles in her freezer for almost six months and floral arrangements and… somehow, somehow, light came out of darkness. Her friends from the hospital helped too, organized, did things that only people who saw a tragedy coming can do. And how did she thank any of them? She shut off completely.

(This is her new beginning, behind a locked door, bodies pulsing. She will feel this for hours, maybe days even. Warmth, wetness, weight, want.)

Nothing changed. Everything changed. She went back to the hospital three days after the funeral and pretended everything was fine. She cried in her bathroom late at night. She barely talked to her daughter. She barely talked to anyone. She was fine.

(A sharp intake of breath as he shifts slightly behind her, digging his fingers into her hips to make this more comfortable for both of them. He nips at the back of her neck, just high enough that she'll have a hell of a time trying to cover it up. Or maybe she won't bother. She's more than allowed to bear signs of affection, even if the explanation is as odd as this one will be.)

Six months ago, he noticed. Six months ago, he stopped being such a dick. Six months ago, she must've screwed up her eye makeup or something because he told her, point-blank yet without any real judgment, that she looked like hell. She wanted to hit him, but somehow she held back, instead just nodded. "I feel worse."

(One of his hands slips up to cup her breast, tracing little patterns again. She's almost annoyed that she can't see his face, the happy vacant look she's almost sure is blossoming in his eyes, but when she kissed him fifteen minutes ago he said he didn't feel right about pinning her to a wall. As if a desk is really that much better.)

He toned it down. Still messed with her, but there was a different weight to it now. She started watching him, wondering, and dammit, wanting. As she tells herself almost constantly, she's not dead yet. She knew this was plausible. Maybe not consciously, but she knew. She knew, months before it happened, that this was exactly where they were headed.

So back to the present moment, back to want and hope and collisions. Everything is angled just so, the pressure is perfect, and when it all washes over her, she closes her eyes and breathes. God it's been a long time (getting herself off, while useful, does not count in the grand scheme of things). She's vaguely aware of him crossing that edge, right behind her in more ways than one, but it doesn't matter. She's wanted to do this, or something like it, for too long. Bad idea, maybe, but still satisfying.

As soon as their bodies are separated, he gives her space to turn towards him and then kisses her. Soft, sweet, everything they definitely aren't. She likes that.

"So where do we go from here?" she asks, stepping away and beginning to dress.

"Does it matter?" he counters.

She rolls her eyes as she re-fastens her bra. "Yeah. It matters. Maybe this is normal for you, but it's not for me and…"

"Can you just calm down for a damn second?"

"I am calm," she hisses. "I am completely calm, whereas you…"

"We made a mistake. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Depends. Do you mean it?"

She has never seen him this quiet for this long. By the time his mouth opens again, they're both fully clothed and, if not as presentable as they were half an hour ago, at least not visibly sex-hazed. It's honestly rather amazing, the fact that actual minutes go by without them at each other's throats, and yet…

"No."

For a moment, she swears she's hearing things, but alright, his lips definitely did move and that definitely did just happen. Maybe that's what freaks her out the most about this, the fact that it could be the beginning of something… god, she doesn't dare use words like "permanent" anymore no matter how satisfying they sound in her head, but at least something real.

"Well then."

"Is that really all you're going to say?"

"I'm being realistic. You won't call me, I won't call you, we'll pretend it never happened, and when it happens again in a few weeks or months, the cycle will repeat. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Don't know yet."

"You're the least indecisive person I know," she hisses. "You know damn well. You just won't tell me."

"But what would be the point?"

It's a good thing he's hot, she can't help thinking. "I don't know, maybe because communication is something functional people do? Oh, right. You're not functional. Forgot that."

The thing about growing up in foster care is that it makes a person

very

resilient. Raven, who was

technically

in and out but far more consistently in than out, is pretty well bulletproof. She was third in her high school class - not that anyone knew that, not that anyone would ever expect that from the girl who pretty much built a moped from scratch and proceeded to have no understanding of local traffic laws, but it still happened and it still made her look damn good on her application. She can, if the situation calls for it, talk her way out of almost anything. She knows how to pick a lock, sew a patch onto a pair of old jeans, and drink enough to be fun yet not enough to do regrettable things. She's fucking Supergirl, and the problem is that she

knows

it.

She tried to get a single room, but either that request got denied or just plain overlooked because instead she ends up with two roommates. One of them is just weird - also cute, impulsive, and kind, but weird is the word that sticks for Octavia. Raven knows better than to ask about the other girl's past, but if she grew up in some kind of cult, nobody would be surprised. Hell, that would probably explain everything. But again, Raven knows better so Raven keeps her trap shut and lets the little pixie do her thing because she's not hurting anyone.

Blondezilla, on the other hand, will probably kill someone before they graduate. Maybe even multiple someones.

During one of Raven's more interesting placements, she somehow ended up friends with this girl who was completely obsessed with Wicked. Raven is not a musical-theater person in the slightest, but she still has every song from that goddamn thing memorized - as she will until she dies, she's pretty sure - and the very moment she sees the blonde chick, "What Is This Feeling" suddenly gets stuck in her head for a solid three hours.

It is, unfortunately, very accurate.

Blondezilla, as Raven takes to calling the girl otherwise known as Clarke Griffin, is type-A and has some sort of unresolved parental issues and possibly mild OCD (but fuck if Raven knows anything about how that works so she's not gonna label). She is a goddamn morning person. She's pre-med. She uses nasty sweet-smelling body spray that infects the entire room. She is everything Raven dislikes wrapped up in one unfairly cute package, and it's not fucking fair.

There are several very tempting methods of retaliation. Most of them involve actual destruction and at least two would probably get her arrested. Because Raven is trying to be a good person, however, she chooses the most benign one - spending as much time with her boyfriend as possible. This is not one of her better life choices.

Finn is… convenient. They've been best friends since they were six - system kids sticking together, it happens - and dating since they were fifteen. They have been each other's first and (at least as far as Raven knows) only everything. Yeah, he's a little irritating, but he's been the most consistent thing in her life for the vast majority of said life and honestly, the familiarity is pretty damn awesome. He's like an extension of herself. But now, all of a sudden, he apparently has an actual social life. She gets it, she does. They're in college and he's majoring in psychology which means most of his classes are on the other side of the damn campus and he needs friends that aren't her. She's just… not used to getting ditched.

What does Raven get out of first semester?

Mostly, an asshole who keeps invading her space in the library, which becomes her primary base of operations because Blondezilla spends way too much time in the dorm room and Raven would actually like to get shit done. Except that the armchair she decides is her second home has apparently been claimed in the past by a tall-dark-and-brooding grad student who thinks he can out-talk her. (He can't, but he's kinda hot when he tries.) She knows nothing about him and she means to keep it that way, but he's still the closest thing to an actual friend she makes in those first few weeks.

(When she finds out he's the pixie's older half-brother - a reveal that takes a surprisingly long amount of time to happen - she isn't as surprised as she probably ought to be. They have the same easy charisma despite being inherently annoying, and it works for them.)

There's another grad student problem too. This one tries to hit on her. This one is in her department and is probably like this towards everyone who has tits, but he makes her smile and she likes that quite a lot. He's one of the most irritating people she's ever had to play nice with, but if by some chance she ever really needs to get laid, he's probably the best option she'll ever have and she'll take it. They're an inevitability of the crash-and-burn-magnificently variety. She's cool with that ending.

But she still has a boyfriend, albeit one who's mostly ignoring her and won't give her a decent explanation as to why. She is, even though said boyfriend is an idiot, still getting fucked on the regular (getting off is another matter, but she has a good vibrator and both of her roommates sleep like the dead so she deals). She's doing well in her classes, she hasn't tried to hurt anyone yet, and her life is pretty awesome for now.

There's one condition - even though her mother lives fifteen minutes from the school (and teaches part-time in addition to working at the hospital, but the list of reasons Abby Griffin is six months from a stress breakdown is a subject for a different time), Clarke moves into the dorms. She wants to

experience

things, start over a bit, especially since her childhood best friend is now on the other side of the country and she can't use him as an emotional crutch. (Not that she ever

means

to, but somewhere along the line that's what Wells became and both of them have made their peace with their dynamic. This may or may not be why, out of all five schools he was accepted into, he picked the furthest-away one. They will never have that conversation.)

Roommates, however, are not something Clarke is sufficiently prepared for.

One of them is basically a fairy princess with questionable people skills. This one is around a lot, except on weekends when she's probably off doing sexual things with randoms. (Or, at least, that's the rumor Clarke hears their third week of freshman year.) This one is fairly quiet, and the only problem she might cause is via an older brother who shows up on a Saturday night looking for her (Clarke is a bad liar but she's pretty sure she pulls it off fine). As long as said older brother stays the hell away - he is equal parts too annoying and too hot for his own good, as far as Clarke is concerned - the fairy princess won't be a problem.

The other one… is.

Raven is tall, loud, and frankly one of the most terrifying people Clarke has ever had to deal with. She's also unfairly gorgeous in a way that makes the other girl's insides flutter, which is a problem neither of them will address for a solid year, and dating someone who for some reason is not allowed in the dorm. Ever.

This, strangely, is how Clarke ends up sleeping with said person.

Of course, she doesn't know that the pretty boy with even prettier eyes is the same person her roommate rants about during the ten minutes every day she's actually in their room. If she did, she would've stayed the hell away, because while Clarke Griffin is a lot of things, she is not a homewrecker. Not consciously, anyways. She's a good person. She's fricking pre-med and might've accidentally volunteered to help organize a food drive and she is ten days into freshman year and she does not need this to go wrong.

So, she doesn't know better. That'll be her defense in three months, when Raven finds out and gets even more terrifying.

And really, she's just trying to figure herself out. She's eighteen, dammit. Whatever social life she might've had in high school got killswitched by family trouble, and her one real friend is having the time of his life in San Francisco of all fricking places without her. She is allowed to make a few mistakes!!

(Their mother is dead as of three months ago. It

looked

enough like a suicide that nobody really considered an alternative explanation. Bellamy is vaguely convinced that she was murdered; Octavia points out that, in general, people who rarely leave their houses and have no friends and oh yeah

inexplicably isolate their teenage daughters

do not get murdered. She tends to win this discussion.)

At eighteen, she has never been around people her own age in anything resembling a social setting. (See aforementioned maternal paranoia - and maybe that's not even an accurate description, but it at least works.) She's passably intelligent, which is to say she was "homeschooled" and given free reign to explore her interests… so long as that did not include leaving the house unsupervised, period. Her SAT scores were acceptable, and her admissions essay explained very clearly the situation she was in and needed out of. She's pretty sure that's why the university is even giving her a chance - because on paper, she's a victim.

In reality, Octavia Blake is not a goddamn victim.

She is questionable impulse control and burning curiosity, a dangerous mix at the best of times. Add in the fact that she really doesn't know how to interact with people, and… yeah. Not a good situation waiting to happen.

Her roommates decide she's weird but harmless, which works out okay on her side. She wants to be friends with them, but the icy blonde doesn't seem to like anyone and the other one is barely ever in the room at all. Blondie is pre-med, Octavia's pretty sure, and the other one is some sort of engineering probably? She doesn't really know beyond that both of them will definitely stay well out of her way. She, for the record, is a communications major… for now. She's not initially sure she likes it, but she can't think of anything better yet.

(Ultimately, she'll stick with Communications. Turns out she's good at that sort of thing.)

The first weekend she's at school, she goes to a party. Alcohol is nice, she decides. Physical affection is nicer. She checks off all her firsts rather quickly and never looks back. She likes attention and apparently she's really good at getting it. Mostly boys, because boys are easier and more numerous, but she kisses a girl the second weekend and likes that too and leaves that door open. She likes pretty people and there are a lot of pretty people running around.

(She has no idea that she's going to fall in love soon or how much that'll change everything. Probably better thataway. She deserves these reckless weeks, deserves to spread her wings and fall a few times and always get back up stronger.)

Somehow, Octavia makes a few friends. There's a boy in her Intro to Computers class (a seemingly unnecessary required course) who pairs with her on projects and is the right combination of bitey and sweet. Through him, she meets the boy he's crushing on, who is unfairly pretty and quiet and maybe the smartest person she's ever met and, for some reason she's not sure she gets, is vaguely scared of her. Then there's another boy, this one in her English class, who picks fights with everyone else and is pretty much a dick - but she's used to people like that, and she needs a reliable guard dog, so she plays nice. She needs people in her life, and these people need her. It's pretty awesome.

(By the time first semester is over, her roommates will be her best friends, but her little flock of lost boys will always matter just as much. They, she will always remind herself, had a choice.)

She gets one of the other girls on her floor to help her put a pink streak in her hair, almost violent against her natural mud-brown. She doesn't bother with piercings - not her style, really - but she starts putting aside money for a tattoo. She learns to smile and keep her mouth shut a little more and let people in.