Saturday Night's Alright (for Fighting)
After a forty-eight hour, surgical resident shift the last thing Clarke needed was her ringing phone waking her up in the middle of the night. It's maybe two am, she doesn't bother checking, for she knows no matter the time she'll have the same level of anger raging through her when the damn device goes off disturbing her peace.
Remind myself to put that thing on silent.
She groans as her arm aimlessly extends out to her nightstand, not wanting to move any other body part. The caller ID spells out Jasper in neat letters and she can't remember a time she hated him more than now.
He better not be drunk dialing me.
"This better be good—" She nearly growls into the phone. "Clarke!" There's a real surge of urgency in the tone of his voice. "Clarke, we can't find Bellamy!" He reveals in mid panic just waiting for her to grow just as anxious as he is.
"Okay, so why the fuck are you calling me?" She doesn't mean to swear, it's not really like her, but she's tried, and the news simply doesn't alarm her. Usually, it was Bellamy who broke away from their group when out clubbing.
"He got in some stupid fight with some guy—it's was bad, he was bleeding—a-anyway he stormed off and we can't find him!"
"Shit, are you joking?" She can barely bring herself to believe it. Sure, Bellamy had a few anger problems in the past but he was always above things like that. "Bellamy in a drunken brawl fight?" She would've killed to see that.
"Okay, okay!" She shoots back, getting up. "Well, why'd you call me?" She demands in question. Was she suddenly responsible for Bellamy's whereabouts?
"For fuck's sake check the apartment!" Jasper shouted into the phone.
"You do realize I'm gonna kill you guys when you get home, yeah?" Clarke climbed out of bed. She threw off the warm comforter she'd managed to cocoon in and walked out into the dark hallway. "Is Octavia still with you? Put her on the phone."
"I can't, she and Lincoln went running after him, but we haven't heard from them." Jasper reveals. "The rest of us stayed behind just in c-case he comes back." He further explains. Clarke notices the slight jumble of his words and realizes he maybe be a bit tipsy.
She searches the apartment in the dark. But there was no trace of him there. "Nothing here, but I'll check across the hall." She exhales into the receiver annoyed. "Where do you guys keep the spare key?" Her eyes wonder around the door frame in search for something out of place.
"Under the goddamn mat where else?" Jasper huffs. "Jeez, and they say you're the smart one, Griffin."
Yeah, he's definitely buzzed.
"Sorry." He quickly catches himself. Clarke rolls her eyes as she struggles with the lock. "So, enlighten me Jas, what exactly happened?—A-And how, spare no details." She was completely ready to be amused by the story. "I-I don't remember… just some guy feeling Octavia up," He explained as Clarke wandered around the boys apartment. Empty. "not backing off, some shit like that."
"Wait, where was Lincoln?" She walks in his bedroom but still nothing.
"He just got there when it all started."
"Gotcha… hey, well no luck here. But listen, I'm sure he's fine," She reasons, locking up the front door and hiding the key under the matt before making her way back across to her apartment. She takes a temporary seat on the couch in front of a window staring down at the street below.
"Damn… well hey, if you see him..."
"You guys will be the first to know." Clarke nods, just about ready to hang up the phone and climb back into the comfort of her warm warm bed, until a figure emerged from the shadows on the street. Her eyes shot to the man analyzing him from afar. From what she could make out, he was about Bellamy's height, definitely had his hair. Could this be him? He was holding what she figured was a bottle wrapped in a paper bag, and walking a bit funny.
"You know what, hold on, I don't think that's necessary." She almost chuckles at the sight of him. "I think I see him. Let me call you back." She hangs up rather quickly, darting out the door hoping to catch him before he gets too far. And six flight of stories later she's at the foot of their apartment building forgetting she was wearing nothing other than an over sized T-shirt and pajama shorts.
She watches as he gazes around at the buildings in confusion. "Bellamy?" She shouts, her teeth shivering in the cold October air. He stops short confused gaze turning to her. "Clarke." A set smile spears across his lips as he pronounces her name then briefly stumbles into the corner of a post.
Clarke can't help but laugh as she rushes to help him.
He's a bit disoriented and she can't tell if that's from the alcohol or the big open gash just above his eyebrow.
"All these buildings look the fucking same." He mumbles as she helps him catch his balance. "Which one is our, again?" He questions dropping the bottle from his hand. It shatters on the concrete making him jump, and once again Clarke can't help but laugh. "Come on, let's get you upstairs and check on that cut, okay?"
Back in her apartment, she sits him on the toilet holding his head still as she examines the wound. "Well, he certainly got you good. What'd he hit you with, a brick?" She jokes debating if he needed stitches or not. The blood was definitely not stopping anytime soon and it concerned her. "Try a beer bottle." He mumbles incoherently, setting off a panic in Clarke's eyes upon the new. She almost questions how he's still conscious at the moment, then remembers his current state of mind and carry's on, not wanting to alarm him.
"Well, I guess the alcohol helped keep infection out." She smiled grimly, grabbing a face towel and wetting it before bringing to the side of his face to clean the blood that had trailed down. She stands before him, and with small gentle strokes, she rid the blood off his face. "What the hell got into you, Bell?" She hadn't expected disappointment to lace her voice, but it did making her question a lot of things.
His eye's met hers for a second revealing a dopey smile. But he doesn't say anything, and neither does she. But it's not awkward, it's never awkward between them. There was always a simple tension rising in the air around them creating heat.
And she hasn't decided if she likes it yet.
"You're going to need stitches." Clarke declares cutting through the noble silence. She places the towel in his hand gesturing to him. "Keep pressure on that for a minute, okay?"
"Got it, Dr. Clarke."
"God, I can't wait to hold this against you when you're sober." She chuckles sending Octavia a quick text. "Who you texting?" He questions tentatively. And when Clarke doesn't provide an immediate answer he decides she must be annoyed with him.
"Your sister, who else?" She shakes her head. "She's worried sick about you." She trails on hoping to get some sort of guilt reaction from him, but Bellamy just slumps against the back of the toilet in a grunt, offering her nothing of the sort.
When they reach the ER it's flooded with patients. Clarke paces around trying to find an on-call medical ordeal to help Bellamy when she runs into a nurse. "Jesus, what happened? Are there any on-call doctors available?"
"Four car pile-up on the highway. Everyone's taken."
"My friend here cut his head open, he needs stitches. Guess I have to deal with that myself, uh?"
"Afraid so, Griffin." The nurse shrugs insouciantly before running off. Clarke takes a moment to think then turns back to Bellamy. She grabs his arm, dragging him behind her to the rows of emergent cots. She knows the hospital inside out for she's spent the better half of her childhood, and now adult life there. "Sit." She instructs opening the curtain around the small area and closing it behind them.
"Don't get me wrong but, aren't you supposed to get a doctor?" Bellamy asks taking a seat on the cot as told. "I am a doctor." She declares, reaching for a suture kit before putting on a pair of gloves.
"So, wanna tell me how this happened exactly?" She takes a super-sized cotton swab and dips it in sterilization fluid before cleaning out the laceration on his forehead. Bellamy winces from the sudden sting but quickly adjusts. "I gotta say, I've always wondered what I'd be like to have you as a doctor." He smirks making Clarke roll her eyes in amusement. She needed to get him sober, quickly. "Well wonder no more, now answer the question." She exhales leaning in closer to focus on her job.
"Some punk just couldn't take a hint, I guess." He explains vaguely, bringing his attention to the intern who walks in.
"Thanks," She acknowledges the intern before turning back to Bellamy. "And for once in your life you just couldn't let Octavia handle it? You know, she's very capable, Bellamy." Clarke begins to explain as she loads the small rounded needle into the scissor-like holder, grabbing the forceps with her other hand.
"Man, there's just no pleasing you girls. I mean, we're dicks if we help and we're dicks if we don't. We can't win." He mumbled sticking true to his level of intoxication. And although Clarke saw his point, she voiced in disagreement for the current situation wasn't as black and white as he made it out to be.
"All I'm saying is she's a big girl and—"
"She also happens to be my little sister and if someone's making her uncomfortable you better believe I'm gonna step in." He defends himself taking on a rather serious tone. Clarke knew the bond between the Blake siblings was strong. Bellamy basically had to raise Octavia after their mother died, in most cases, he was more like a parent to her than anything else. "It's sweet, really. But she should learn to do that for herself." She trails on, examining the state of his wound before grabbing the sutures.
And although he questioned his ability to remember this conversation, he knew she was right. He would have to stop taking care of Octavia sooner or later, she is a grown woman.
"I guess, I need to focus my attention on something else." He exhaled dramatically. Clarke couldn't help but let out a smile as she felt his features relax against the cot for the first time since they've arrived. "Oh yeah? Like what?" She questions, half curious on the inner workings of Bellamy's drunken mind, and half invested in keeping him distracted from the suture she sewing into his head. But he shrugs, somehow managing to keep eye contact even though she's fixated on the delicate movements of her hands.
"Maybe I need a vacation." He reckons, letting his mind race. Clarke's eyebrows shoot up in surprise for the thought of Bellamy lounging on a beach coconut drink in hand is nothing short of ridiculous. "Or maybe… I need a distraction." He corrects, his eyes wandering up and down her figure making it clear he was referring to her.
"Bellamy Blake, are you hitting on me when I have a sharp object at such a close proximity?" Clarke peers down at him with a threatening but amused expression.
But Bellamy just smiles knowing only Clarke would be so bold to point it out.
"You can't honestly tell me you've never thought about it, Princess." He advances, the alcohol deeming the filter in his head ineffective. It was not like him so come on so strongly. Sure they've had their insignificant moments of flirtatious outbursts, but they were nothing short of harmless. Clarke just rolls her eyes and brings her attention back to her job. "Like that night in Montauk, remember that?" Bellamy presses, seeing that his last statement only brought him silence.
"At this point, I'm surprised you remember that." She indicates.
"Oh, how could forget?" He sighs in jubilation, fingers subtly brushing against the slope of her hip. "I thought we agreed to never speak of it again." Clarke with such assertiveness he finds it teasing.
Bellamy, seeing that he was actually getting somewhere, chuckles at her fervent ability to overthink everything and continues on. "You know, I don't I recall that."
"It was implied." She cheekily adds.
"Oh, come on, you have to admit it was a fun night." He exhales running through the memory of it.
"God, you're going to have a trip after I tell you all about this conversation when you're sober." The blond snickers, although some part of her takes what he's talking about into silly consideration.
"Hey, I'm sober!" He defends, his words coming out a slight slur. "Okay, maybe I'm not that sober." He chuckles in realization but is quick to rally back to the subject. "What? Come on, am I wrong?" He found pleasure in the simplicity it took to irritate her, although the real motive was because that burrowed frown on her face was a cute look on her.
"Bellamy." Clarke warns, her close proximity to his him wasn't helping the current topic of conversation. But it wouldn't be long now, she's almost done. All she just wants to do is go home and sleep this night off. But of course, she quickly realizes that she must not only take into consideration that his head was cut open but how it was done so. He's a risk for a concussion. She'd have to watch him for the night. Sleep was out of the question.
Bellamy shrugs. "You said It yourself Princess. I need a distraction."
"Stop fidgeting!" Clarke snaps. The idea of them tangled together that night just eating away at her brain. Sure, she had fun—it was honestly one of the most thrilling nights she'd had in months, especially with another person. And She simply couldn't deny there wasn't something between them—there was. She just couldn't do that to Octavia. He was her best friends brother—forbidden fruit.
"I'm pretty sure you're the one who declared that. I simply told you to give Octavia some room to defend herself—nothing more, Blake." The Blond corrects setting the instruments down on the tray before grabbing the sides of his head to check to see if her work is finished.
"Alright." He shrugs trying hard to not sound so disappointed. "All I'm saying is that the offer's on the table." He points out. And she stops to tie off the end of the stitch before sticking a bandage over the wound. "It's just all a matter of if you're too chicken to take it—"
"You're gonna have to keep an eye on that in case of infection. If there's any discoloration..." She mumbles on suddenly realizing there was no point to her instruction, for the chance he actually remembers or even cares for that matter deemed very little. "and why am I telling a drunk man how to take care of himself?" She rambles to herself, turning away with a deep sigh, disposing of her gloves and quickly wrapping the instruments away.
When she turns back she's taken by complete surprise for Bellamy's now standing, quick to close the space between them with his lips.
And there she is, Clarke Griffin, Ivy League graduate, brilliant promising surgeon, yet again, making another terrible mistake in the myriad of mistakes that is her life, standing in an emergency room at three am in the morning sucking face with no one other than her best friends brother, Bellamy Blake.
He glides his hand along the shape her jawline, guiding the rhythm of their movements in synchronization. Clarke brings her hands to rest on the sides of his shirt, grabbing on to the material with every breath he steals. When he breaks away she surprised to find herself stupidly longing for the warmth of his lips.
"You're my best friends brother." She points out as if it's some sort of traitorous obstacle.
"And you're my sister's best friend. Is this how we're gonna label ourselves?" He grins, pulling that signature smirk of his that makes her want to disintegrate in that very spot but also continue making out with him.
"Damn." Clarke bites her lip in a long agonizing groan as she covers her eyes, shielding her from Bellamy's torturous gaze. How is it that he can somehow manage to turn her on, yet irritate her at the same time? And why does she always want what she can't have?
The moment the front door shuts behind them Bellamy grabs Clarke's arm, spinning her into his embrace rushing to steal another kiss. And before she could realize what's happening she gets lost in his touch letting her mind fantasize about all the things he could do with his hands that were currently rolling themselves into her hips.
Clarke's mind races as she debates the thought process of her questionable actions, yet she doesn't stop. She presses back into him, a hand wrapped around the back of his neck tangled in those ungodly curls, the other running up the inside of his shirt trying to pry it off. "Bellamy." His name slips off her tongue with such an impetuous nature he finds himself surprised in its wake.
"Your room." Bellamy utters against her skin, he's molding hickeys along the racing pulse in her neck. "Y-Yeah." Clarke gasps nearly out of breath fidgeting with the door handle against her back. They stumble when it swings open, but yet still somehow manage to remain intact.
"What should we do?" The question comes out so genuine as if he doesn't already know what they're setting themselves up for, but he does. He just wants to throw her off guard. Becuase it seems the only thing stopping Clarke Griffin from not stopping was the logic presented in her brain that came out her mouth.
"I don't know—" Clarke answers, subconsciously tugging at the bottom of her shirt in a desperate attempt to take it off before Bellamy steals her the words right off her tongue in a blinding haste with another intoxicating embrace.