Work Text:
┇
Clarke really only starts taking the class because Raven tells her Luna is relaxing, soothing even. Whoever managed to calm down Raven past the six month mark — never not antsy or uncomfortable or complaining or threatening Zeke with bodily harm — was a saint in her book. And if there was anything Clarke could use at this point it was relaxation.
She’s always been a planner, enthusiastic about details and hypotheticals and plan B’s. Until it was too late for plan B, in every sense of the word, and Clarke found herself ten weeks pregnant, courtesy of a drunken hook-up in some seedy bar after celebrating her graduation from nursing school. She tracked down the father, Cillian, easily enough but he seemed even less prepared for the news than her, and just waved a wad of cash in her face and told her to never bother him again.
Clarke considered it, for a moment. Not taking the risk, going the safe, familiar route. At that point, the baby was just a clump of cells. Yet, despite knowing that, and believing that, she had still kind of gotten weirdly attached to what an app had told her was a strawberry sized idea of a person. The moment passed, and she used the money to buy herself one of those way too expensive pregnancy pillows she was sure future Clarke would thank herself for and the fancy kind of chocolates as a lousy substitute for the multitude of wine bottles she wanted to down at that point.
For the next two and a half months, she proceeded to freak out. Barely twenty-three, single and pregnant — it was well-deserving of some good old fashioned freaking out.
Luckily, she’s always been a pro at keeping her head cool while freaking out. Pragmatism over existential crisis related doom spiraling, and all. She got everything done in no time. Scheduling doctor visits for the duration of her pregnancy, getting the baby’s room done, stocking the baby’s room full of clothes and diapers and toys, reading all the pregnancy and parenting books she could get her hands on, hoarding decisively uncute maternity clothes and perfecting a birthing plan. Whatever it was, Clarke got it done as fast and efficiently as possible, making sure she wouldn’t be caught off guard again.
Eventually, it backfires. It just leaves her with more time to worry, which eventually starts to manifest itself on her physically. She’s always tired, and there’s this constant sharp pain around her stomach, and she’s swelling everywhere.
It isn’t until her mom sits her down and informs her that, “Clarke, stressing this much could cause you to go into premature labor, or lead to a low birth weight,” she starts to worry about worrying so much. There’s a lot more numbers and acronyms after that, about infant mortality and IUGR and SIDS and adverse neurodevelopmental effects. She hasn’t felt this nauseous sitting at her mother’s kitchen table since she first found out she was pregnant.
So, she tries to relax the textbook way. Tries reading, and knitting, and classical music she hates, and yoga, and disgusting green smoothies, and borrowing her neighbour’s cat to pet it endlessly, and lighting about every candle her last ex left her, and lots, and lots of mindfulness, trying to convince herself that even if she’d been hit by a curveball, that’s just life and it doesn’t mean she has to expect the worst for the next eighteen years.
It works, albeit enough to get her mom to back off with the statistics. That, or the hormonal tears every time she tried to bring it back up.
“Why don’t you sign up for the aquanatal class I took?” Raven suggests, fixing Ace higher onto her hip as she test-tastes the stew on the spoon she’s holding up to her mouth. “I swear I came to a point where I was willing to leave Zeke for her.”
Clarke huffs half a laugh, staring longingly at the spoon from where she’s precariously balanced on top of one of the stools behind the kitchen island. Her baby is now the size of a cantaloupe and her back hurts constantly and she hasn’t been able to put any regular shoes on for days and it’s really just becoming a little bit too much. And God, the hunger? It’s just always there. “You know exercising isn’t really my thing. I bruised my tailbone during yoga just last week.” She rolls her eyes at herself and her terrible balance. “As if I needed more reasons to be perpetually uncomfortable while sitting.”
Her friend shoves a bowl of left-over carrots her way, one of her brows arched knowingly. Clarke immediately starts nibbling on one, even if she hates carrots and thanks to the hormones, irrationally despises anything that’s orange. “Exercise in the water doesn’t count. There’s a lesser net gravitational force.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Clarke opposes dryly, making a face at Ace as he latches his mouth onto a strand of his mother’s hair. “You like that, huh?” She asks, prompting a completely serious but entirely indecipherable babble back her way.
Raven expertly tugs her hair free, swinging her ponytail over onto her other shoulder. “I’m the one working for NASA.”
She huffs, indignant, adjusting a little on the stool, because, again, even sitting is uncomfortable. “You can’t keep pulling the NASA card.”
“What do you think, buddy?” Raven gasps, swaying her son from side to side. “Do you think Auntie Clarke should get over herself and sign up for aquanatal class?” Ace burbles, using his pudgy fist to reach for his mom’s nose, which she dodges and presses a kiss against instead. “Yes, you do, huh?”
It’s still weird to see Raven talk baby. Not even because she swore it was something she’d never be caught alive doing, but also because it softens her in a way Clarke didn’t think was possible. She wonders how motherhood is going to change her, if a year from now she’ll be a completely different person.
Clarke exhales loudly, fixating her gaze on Ace’s bright brown eyes, the little curls flattened on top of his head, the little dimple in his cheek. If the least she can do to prevent her own baby from not fully developing is going swimming once a week, she probably should get over herself. “If Ace says so.”
┇
Clarke can almost see it, the first class. Luna has a modulating, softly spoken voice, and a steadying hand whenever anyone needs one, and explains every exercise they do in detail. Most of them are focused on breathing, which is a little one-dimensional, but she finds they surprisingly clear her brain of any wayward thoughts, keeping her tethered to the here and now instead of the worst case could be’s. The kicker is that the exercises do really help burn off the excess tension in her body, and by the time she finishes the class and gets home, Clarke feels a good kind of tired for the first time in months.
Color her surprised when the following week she’s informed by the mousy lady behind the desk that, “oh, by the way, Luna broke her leg saving a baby turtle from imminent death by monster truck so someone else will be taking over the class for the foreseeable future, have fun.” Clarke’s not even sure it was a baby turtle, or that it was a monster truck, but having met her it seems likely. Either way, she’s blaming pregnancy brain on that.
Now, Clarke doesn’t want to take this as a sign, but after hearing about the Godsent one of a kind magical gift Luna was for weeks on an end, she’s a bit skeptical of taking a class that’s not given by the woman herself. On the other hand, she’s already paid for the full month, and she’s not stingy, but she’s not wasteful either, and she might as well just get some exercise in. It’s not rocket science, after all, and she's sure the new teacher is just as capable.
Yet, after changing into her light blue maternity one-piece that reads ‘save the whales’ because one John Murphy found himself hilarious and Clarke found it surprisingly comfy, upon entering the showers briefly and then waddling towards the pool she finds her stress levels are anything but low.
Not Luna, the new instructor, is handing out the wet-belts they’re supposed to wrap around their bellies to some of the other women, introducing himself to them in person.
Clarke lingers a little behind. The new guy is hot. Like, hot hot. The muscles in his back and arms move enticingly, and his hair, although damp from a shower or whatever class he gave before this, is starting to curl around his ears. His trunks are red, contrasting nicely with his smooth, brown skin. When she gets closer, it’s even worse, because God, that smile? It just doesn’t help, at all.
She’s been turned on by the weirdest things for weeks now, thanks to the hormones raging through her body like a shitstorm twenty-four/seven, nothing satisfactory enough to get the edge off. The other week someone held the door open for her at the grocery store and she swears she almost offered them head in return.
“I’m Bellamy,” he says, holding out one of the wet belts for her, and fuck whatever Raven said, this is a voice. It’s deep and gravelly, going straight to places she doesn’t want it to go. “I’ll be taking over for Luna indefinitely.”
Clarke scrapes her throat, trying to remind herself she’s in a public setting and she’s not a savage. She takes it from him, fingers brushing briefly enough for her to register they’re calloused and warm, and yes, she would like to suck them into her mouth. Which again, she’s totally civilized. She’s in control here, not her body. “Clarke,” she offers, a bit hoarser than necessary, watching his smile grow as soon as she forces herself to send one back his way.
He nods, and then she’s just kind of stupidly standing there with the belt, so she looks to the left and then down, nudging her head towards the pool. Bellamy stifles another smile before she turns on her heels, mumbling something along the lines of ‘nice to meet you’ and hoping she doesn’t entirely look as advertised on her bathing suit when she makes her way into the pool.
Bellamy has a bit of a different approach than Luna. There’s still lots of breathing exercises, but instead of calming ocean sounds, he plays upbeat pop songs and he makes them do a lot more cardio drills. There’s even dumbbells, at one point. They’re plastic, but still — he makes them work for it.
She gets through the class fine enough. It’s intense, and her lungs hurt, but her muscles ache in a good way and the last stretching exercise they do actually helps work out a kink in her back. If anything, it distracts her from the fact the class is given by a regular Greek God.
Right up until the point she’s the last one out of the pool, and he looks up from where he’s putting away the pool noodles, grinning at her as he says, “Good work today, Clarke,” making her glow with pride in an absolutely sickening way, and she’s all the way back to zero.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, quickly slipping into her flip flops and throwing a wave over her shoulder as she makes her way over to the communal showers. For once, she wishes she could influence the temperature of the water as it beats down on her face. Something cold would be nice.
The next few weeks are more or less the same, except his arms are really nice and her frustration keeps building. Clarke is kind of a take charge kind of person usually, predominantly makes the first move when it comes to dating in any other setting, but even for her trying to find a way to casually hit on her instructor while pregnant in a room full of other pregnant women is bordering on too forward. She’d ask Raven for advice, but the humiliation that would come with it is enough to keep her from just realizing this is her life now. Is hooking-up even a thing while pregnant? He’ll probably be weirded out, which will just make taking these classes awkward. And if it’s awkward, she’s going to be stressing. For the next eighteen years she’s just going to have to accept that despite having a child, she’s going to have to settle for being alone.
It doesn’t help that Clarke is kind of the odd one out in class. Most of the women there have formed cliques, talking about their husbands and their planned pregnancies and perfect little lives. She’s pretty sure that if she got out of her own head and tried to make an actual effort, some of these women might actually surprise her, but she still quite can’t bring herself to do it.
Mostly, she kind of just really likes how when she rolls her eyes at their gossipy whispers, and Bellamy catches her gaze, how he bites down a grin like it’s their little secret. It’s very them against the world, except he doesn’t know it and he doesn’t actually prefer her over any of the other participants.
It’s not until after the first few classes that things get complicated.
“Shit,” Clarke blurts out, watching nearly her entire class already in the pool, each of them joined by a partner this time around. Her eyes slide shut briefly, running a hand through her wet hair. “Fucking pregnancy brain.”
Bellamy chuckles quietly from beside her, almost startling her. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to curse around babies.”
She huffs, turning her head to look up at him, arching a brow as she rubs a hand over her belly. “If it truly works through osmosis, then I guess the baby’s fucked already.”
He laughs, a loud, hearty sound, as he uncrosses his arms from his chest and Clarke ignores the thrill of satisfaction running through her body in answer. “Did you forget to bring a partner?” He deducts, easily.
“I don’t have a partner,” she blurts, bitterness seeping into her tone despite herself. Her temper has just been really short, and lately she’s been feeling more lonely than ever. “But I could’ve asked one of my friends, if I hadn’t forgotten.” Clarke groans softly. “I swear, there’s just mush in my skull at this point.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he brushes her off, temporarily looking away from her to greet one of the other mom’s and her wife before directing all his attention back on her. He says it so nonchalantly, like they’ve been friends for years and it’s just something they do. “I can be your partner.”
The double meaning of it makes it even harder to get her voice to come out even, but she manages, with a skeptical raise of her eyebrows in tow, “Really?”
“Really,” he echoes, a small smirk playing on his lips before it dims. He tilts his head lightly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Unless—”
“No, I’d like that,” she cuts him off, maybe a bit too eagerly but he either doesn’t notice or doesn't care, because then he’s back to smiling. And lifting his work shirt over his head. And it should’ve already occurred to her by now she should’ve taken the out and ran with it when she still had the chance.
At first it's not even that bad. There's a bunch of cardio that's supposed to make the couples bond or whatever, and then he teaches everyone's partner to talk the pregnant women in their midst through the breathing excersises themselves. Since she's been listening to him listing the steps for weeks, it's easy enough to pretend he's adressing the whole class and not just her. Later, while she’s floating on her back, one of Bellamy’s hands between her shoulder blades and the other under her knees keeping her steady, she wonders quietly, “So how does someone like you end up giving aquanatal classes?”
"Tilt your hips a little more,” he commands softly, and she does as he says, taking some of the strain off her lower back. Then he explains he started out as one of the swim teachers, and then slowly evolved into lifeguarding during recreational hours and giving all kinds of fitness classes. He filled in for Luna every now and then, even before she broke her leg. And, sort of sheepishly he adds, “None of my co-workers really want to teach this class.”
Clarke snorts, but it’s half-hearted, because even she is really enjoying the tranquility that’s slowly washing over her and comes with floating just above the surface, feeling completely weightless. “Is it all the breathing exercises?”
“Pretty much,” he chuckles, shifting his hand on her back so it’s a little higher, his thumb smoothing over the base of her neck briefly. She’d look at him, but it’s hard to keep her eyes open. “Eventually I just ended up taking a course, getting certified.” He scrapes his throat lightly. “What about you?”
Clarke eyes do spring open now, and she dips her chin to give her bump a pointed look. “That’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?”
There’s an amused glint in his eyes, his lips twitching. “I meant, what do you do?”
“Oh,” she says, feeling her cheeks heat at the sheer audacity she’s been having to act like such an idiot in front of him. “I’m a nurse, but I’ve been mostly leeching off what I have left of my dad’s trust fund these past few months. My mom’s been helping too.” She lifts up a hand, lets the water slip through the cracks in between her fingers. “I’ve been doing some art commissions to earn some extra money on the side.” She swallows, and when she finds the courage to look at him, his gaze is already on hers. “I know that sounds stupid, and that I shouldn’t be wasting what little savings I have, but this whole thing wasn’t really planned, and I’ve been trying to deal with it.”
“Hey, I wasn’t judging,” he tells her, softly, and there’s something in his eyes she wants to keep looking at so she can overanalyze it for weeks to come, but then she’s gasping, moving into a more upright position by grasping onto his shoulder.
Bellamy easily holds on to her, his brows furrowing together with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re kicking,” she explains, voice full of awe, taking his hand in hers to press it to where she’s feeling the baby without thinking about it. She’s been feeling little flutters for a few weeks now, but nothing close to the thumps she’s feeling against her skin at the moment. His hand is on her belly, and her fingers are on top of his, and they’re both sharing this kind of stupid, wondrous laughter with each other to the point where it’s sort of ridiculous.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out quickly, yanking her hand off his as she ignores the eyes of the other mom’s and their partners staring in the back of her head. Clarke pushes herself onto her feet, shooting him an apologetic look as her cheeks burn with shame. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Clarke, it’s fine, truly,” he pushes, apparently not giving a damn about what any of his other class participants think because he puts an affirming hand on her shoulder, giving her a small grin as his eyes soften imperceptibly. “That was — that was really cool.”
She sucks in a stuttering breath, just kind of nodding at him to get this conversation over with so she can figure out the fastest exit strategy possible. Bellamy’s forehead creases a little, but then he also seems to realize where they are and pulls his hand back, directing the rest of the group. “Okay, let’s do some final stretches and then hit the showers, yeah?”
By the grace of God she manages to make it through the last five minutes of the class before she hurries towards the changing rooms. She stands beneath the spray of water for thirty seconds before going to collect her stuff from one of the lockers and getting changed.
Paid or not, she’s never coming back here. That was humiliating on so many levels, and despite the fact she knows it’s stupid and it's not that big of a deal, she still feels tears prick at the back of her eyes.
All this time the one thing she’s been grasping onto is that she is okay, that she will be okay, that she can do this by herself. But… Then she watches Raven with Zeke and Ace, and there’s just a little pang in the middle of her chest. Not anything too sharp or heavy, just a small dull little ache reminding her that yeah, that would be something she wants. But it’s not fair of her to expect that of anyone, especially not a guy she’s barely known for two months and hasn’t even given the slightest inclination he’d even be interested in her.
It’s when she’s making her way over to her car that she hears his voice, and for the first time it fills her with dread. “Clarke, wait up!”
She freezes, gripping her car keys tightly. She just wants to go home and cower in shame privately, is that too much to ask? She doesn’t need his pity. Might as well get it over with. “What’s up?” Clarke answers casually as he closes the last of the distance between them, slightly panting. His curly hair is a mess on top of his head, his shirt definitely haphazardly thrown on along with the jeans he’s wearing.
“Tell me if I was completely misreading the signs, but—” He cuts himself off, eyes raking her face for something she knows he won’t find. She’s a pro at expressionless faces, shutting herself down. She’s actively trying not to feel anything right now, lest she starts crying again. Bellamy seems to brave it anyway, slightly clearing his throat as he wonders, “Uhm, I was wondering if you might want to get coffee with me sometime?”
Her mind is racing a mile a minute, and the very first thing that becomes clear in the messy jumble of thoughts is, “No.”
Bellamy tilts his head back, eyes widening slightly, just a sliver of mortification coating his baritone. “No?”
“I mean,” she corrects herself, motioning at her protruding belly, her little cauliflower sized baby. “I can’t drink coffee.”
His face shutters, his expression unreadable but his voice far from. Expectantly and just a little exasperated, he wonders, “Is that your only issue with my question?”
She frowns at him. “I’m almost six months pregnant.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” he deadpans, and she hates the little flare of warmth in her chest at the small upwards quirk of his lips. His smile is too nice.
“Bellamy,” she chasitizes, turning her head away as she worries her bottom lip. She finds she likes his jokes just a little too much, likes him just a little too much, and it scares her. It’s not just her anymore that she has to think about.
“It doesn’t really bother me,” he tells her, voice soft and so genuine it makes her eyes burn. There’s just a tinge of pleading when he asks, “Does it bother you?”
“I don’t know, Bellamy,” she confesses honestly, her eyes narrowing at nothing as she tucks her strand of hair that’s fallen from her wet bun back behind her ear. “It’s not like we’re talking about a shitty roommate or a cat allergy here. It’s a baby.”
“We can take it slow,” he promises, eager but still gentle enough not to make her want to run into the opposite direction. “I’m not asking to be on the birth certificate or to move in with you, I just want to buy you —” He checks, “a tea?”
Clarke lifts a shoulder, nonchalant. “I’ve been drinking lots of gross, outrageously expensive green smoothies.”
He fails terribly at keeping a straight face. “A gross, outrageously expensive green smoothie it is.”
She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Not in a million years had she expected this would be the outcome of her night, and now that it’s happening she reminds herself not to get lost in the idea of what this could be. Her eyes soften on his, making sure, “You sure about this?”
He lifts his hand up to her face, and for a second she thinks he’s going to chicken out, but then he runs the back of his knuckles over her cheekbone, a fond little smile slipping onto his face as a breath she didn’t know she was holding leaves her body all at once. “As long as I can still drink coffee, we should be fine.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to afford anymore coffee with the way my smoothies are going to bankrupt you.” She catches his hand as it starts to drop back down to his side, squeezing it once, hoping it conveys what she can’t bring herself to say. That this is a risk, and she’s nervous, and scared shitless of being hurt, of losing the little bit of normal she still has left.
He tightens his fingers around her in return, and something in his eyes soothes her worries just enough. He understands. Bellamy’s smile grows into a teasing smirk. “Not even been on the first and you’re already planning the next date, huh?”
Date. That’s fucking crazy. Her stomach flips, and she can’t believe he’s looking at her the way he is when she looks like a drenched rat and is wearing sweats with more than a few undefinable stains and is six months pregnant with someone else’s child. “Even if the first date is a disaster, I won’t be stopping you from sponsoring a poor single mother out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Sure, I can do some charity. Probably could use a tax reduction.”
Clarke smiles, and it feels stupid and dangerous but also exhilirating and promising, and she wants to let go. For once, she just wants to stop thinking and let go.
His eyes dart down to her mouth, briefly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Can I try something?”
All she can do is let out a little hum in agreement, stomach rapidly knotting up with anticipation.
He steps even closer to her, so her belly is almost touching his hips, before he slowly starts to inch his face down towards hers. Bellamy gives her another second to pull away, and when she doesn’t, he softly presses his mouth against hers. For a moment, neither of them move, and their lips are just resting against each other. It doesn’t even really feel like a kiss, it’s more like melting into him, and it’s over entirely too quickly.
“We should do that again sometimes,” Clarke tells him, a little breathless for no good reason as she blinks up at his gentle brown eyes.
“I’m in,” Bellamy says, playfully. “I heard you like gross, outrageously expensive green smoothies and I definitely know a place.”
“Everything for some stress relief,” she responds, dry.
“I can absolutely help with that, too.”
One of her eyebrows quirks up, forcing herself to ignore the excited pitterpatter of her heart. “What happened to taking it slow?”
“I obviously meant I own a blender, Clarke,” he corrects her matter-of-factly and then smirks, running his thumb over her knuckles. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“I haven’t gotten laid in approximately six months.” She rolls her eyes, unfazed. “My mind is permanently stuck in the gutter.”
He presses his mouth into a tight line, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Forward.”
“You like it,” Clarke challenges, jabbing him in the stomach with their joined hands.
“I do,” he agrees, and it’s more gentle than she had expected. “Can I make a confession?”
She tilts her head, sending him a half endeared, half incredulous look. “After what I just unloaded on you I think we’re past the point of asking each other for permission to overshare.”
“I really want to kiss you again,” he breathes, sincere, and her hand tightens around his in response.
She stifles a smile, playfully poking him in the chest with the finger her keychain is dangling from. “I want my smoothie first.”
He isn’t as successful, his eyes gleaming with something she hasn’t seen in anyone’s eyes while looking at her for a long time. “You’re going to be a handful, huh?”
Clarke shrugs cutely. “I have a feeling you’ll be able to handle it just fine.”
┇