A/N: So, here it is! I can't believe this story is actually done. I've never written anything this long before, and to everyone who stuck with me during the infrequent and erratic updates, thank you!

I've loved (and hated) writing this, and your comments have been amazing.

Until we meet again 3

.-.-.-.-.-.

"No, you can just-Bellamy stop wiggling that it's going to fall-" Clarke frowns at him from her perch on the bar stool in her kitchen, watching as he moves furniture around her living room. Moving him in has been a surprisingly long and tedious process, because he's so fucking nostalgic, so everything had to come, but they can't get a bigger place because they have history in this loft, Clarke.

Anyways. He's moved on from positioning his ancient leather recliner at the right angle to the fireplace, not the TV, because Bellamy doesn't really watch TV anymore. Apparently spending a year behind the scenes kind of killed the magic for him. Now he's trying to wedge the newly repaired glass-front cabinet in between two of the six (six!) bookshelves he brought with him. But he keeps rocking it back and forth to get it to fit, and from where Clarke is sitting she can see that it's beginning to tip precariously, so she calls out to him again, a little more sharply this time.

"Bell! Just leave it for now. Lincoln's coming over later, he can help you move that."

She'd do it herself, except for the broken ribs, and bruised spleen and the fact that bending over makes her feel like someone is crushing her head in a metal vice. He sighs, releasing the cabinet with a resentful glare.

"When did I accumulate so much crap?" He wonders, ambling back over to the kitchen. "I used to be poor. I used to have no stuff." He almost sounds wistful, and she rolls her eyes, poking him in the shoulder as he leans against the counter next to her.

"We could just get a bigger place, you know. The market's good right now, I'd get way more than I paid for for this place."

He looks at her, brow furrowed.

"We don't really need it, do we? I mean this is place is fine. I'll just have to get rid of some books or something." He pauses. "Unless that's what you want?"

Her face softens.

"No, not really. I like this loft. It was the first place I ever bought with my own money. And even though money's not really an issue anymore, I don't know," she looks around, shrugging. "It feels like home."

He slings an arm around her, carefully, and hums his agreement against her neck. Everything has been careful the past few days since they got back, gentle. Like he's afraid he'll break her.

But despite the nightmares, and the way she tenses when people come up behind her now, there's no place she feels safer than in his arms.

.-.-.-.-.-.

They weather the media circus the best they can. Clarke finds out who the girl Kolberg dumped in the river is, reaches out to her family. They don't want to talk, much, but agree to let Clarke cover the funeral costs.

There are calls for a while, from journalists and reporters, and Bellamy starts threatening them when he gets tired of it. Eventually, they both change their phone numbers, and the reporters either aren't stupid or brave enough to come to the loft. Not after everything that's happened.

Painting sales go up because of it, and Clarke hates that, asks Anya to vet everyone who wants to buy one in an attempt to avoid selling pieces to people who just want to be close to the tragedy, but that's hard to do, and she has to learn to let it go.

It turns out that the coroner who asked Abbie to ID the body leaked the crime scene photos which later show up in the newspaper and on Entertainment Tonight. He gets fired, for that, and for the fact that it goes against every professional standard law enforcement officers have to force a family member to ID a body that's been mutilated like that. It's one of the things Kane used as leverage to get Bellamy and the others off the hook for breaking and entering. The whole investigation was botched, what were the kids supposed to do? Or something like that.

But months go by, and it passes, as all news stories do. They manage to find their normal, or some version of it.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Are those from Elle's?" Clarke asks, peering over Bellamy's shoulder to inspect the white pastry box in his hands. He looks impassively down at her.

"Maybe."

When she reaches out to lift the lid, he slaps her hand away. Unwinding her arms from his chest, Clarke glares at him. He just stares back at her, unrelenting.

"These are for O's barbecue. We can't go without dessert again, she'll disinvite us."

"You're her only brother, she's not going to disinvite you. Besides, she likes me too much to ban me, and I'm the one who's going to eat all those petit fours."

Bellamy rolls his eyes, grabbing the keys off the kitchen island.

"No dice, Princess. Now let's get a move on, we're going to be late."

The car ride is mostly quiet until Bellamy gets distracted by a swerving driver in front of them and Clarke seizes the opportunity. She pivots in her chair, snatching the box of pastries from the back seat. He glances at her as she flips the box open, and sighs.

"You seriously have no impulse control. You're like a five year-old."

But she's staring into the box, quiet. His eyes, back on the road, flit to her face again.

"What's wrong?"

She just frowns.

"Like half of these are almond."

When she does look back up at him, his eyebrows have lifted.

"Uh, yeah. And?"

"I'm the only one who likes the almond ones." She closes the box, chewing on her lip. Beside her, Bellamy shrugs.

"Yeah, I figured it would keep you away from the pistachio ones. Octavia said if you didn't leave her some this time she was going to stop serving alcohol at family dinners."

"That's an empty threat," Clarke says automatically, because Octavia probably drinks more than the rest of them combined. But she can't stop thinking about these petit fours. It's something so small, that he knows her favourites, that he's willing to indulge her even when he should probably cut her off. She turns to her boyfriend, taking in his artfully freckled profile, and she's suddenly hit with a swell of love so intense it makes her chest ache. "Bellamy, let's get married."

The car lurches a little as he misses third gear, and his head snaps around to stare at her.

"What, like right now?"

"No," she says slowly, obviously. "Right now we have your sister's barbecue. I just-I know you said you wanted to wait for a better time, and that's really noble and all, but I don't want to wait." Her heart pounds, mouth dry. It's not like she's really expecting him to say no, but-

"We could skip the barbecue," he says hoarsely, eyes wide as he stares ahead. "Octavia would-"

"Kill us," Clarke says with a grin. "No way we're bailing on her dinner to get married without telling her. So is that a yes?"

"What?" He looks at her, confused.

"Do you-" she falters for a moment. "Do you want to get married?"

They finally pull up in front of Lincoln and Octavia's place, and he shifts the Charger into park before turning to stare at her.

"Are you proposing?" He asks, cocking his head. "Because I was actually looking forward to doing that. Although I did kind of get the sense we were already engaged."

It's Clarke's turn to raise an eyebrow. She holds her hand up in front of her face, wiggling her fingers.

"That's funny, I never noticed a ring here."

His lips twitch.

"Since when do you care about the jewelry?"

She huffs, mock irritably.

"Fine, Bellamy, I see how it is, I'll just-" She makes to open the door, but Bellamy's hand closes around her wrist before she can get her seatbelt off.

"Clarke." His gaze, when she turns back to meet it, is a mixture of intensity and softness that she really thinks he ought to patent, and she can't help but sigh. "There's nothing I want more than to marry you. And since you have so rudely denied me the opportunity to propose, I think you can probably get the ring out of the glovebox yourself."

She stares at him for a moment, then presses the box of dessert into his lap so she can tug the glove box open. She pulls out the tiny blue box, and flips it open, blinking at the simple cushion cut solitaire that glints back at her. She pries it from the velvet and slides the platinum band onto her finger, relishing it's cool weight there. Bellamy's right, she couldn't care less about the jewelry. But this is so much more, something normal, a declaration that after everything they've been through she actually gets to keep him.

He clears his throat, and Clarke realizes she's been staring at the ring for a while.

"Should I leave you two alone, or-"

Laughing, she leans across the car to kiss him.

"It's beautiful."

He smiles softly back at her, dark eyes bright, then his expression falters.

"I…" He rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Since we're talking about it, I should probably tell you that I don't want to wait either, and when I say that, I mean-"

"Tomorrow." Clarke says, a little breathlessly. She feels it too, that kind of restless anticipation tingling along her nerves like adrenaline. He blinks at her. "If that's not what you meant, that's fine I just-it feels like we've waited a long time already, and Octavia has the weekend off, so she could come too..."

His mouth has fallen slightly open, dark curls hanging low on his forehead in front of his eyes. When he finally speaks, it sounds strained.

"Are you serious? Don't tease me, Princess."

If Clarke had any doubt before, that Bellamy wanted this as much as her, wanted her, the barely contained joy in his eyes now would dismiss it completely. She reaches out, pale fingers impossibly soft on the tanned skin of his face. The ring glints in the late afternoon sunlight, as though announcing itself, it's permanence.

"Tomorrow," she repeats, lips curving around the word, tugging into a smile so wide it almost hurts her cheeks. His own face remains solemn.

"I love you." He says, serious. He says it all the time, but there's something heavy in it now, something painful. She closes her eyes, knowing that feeling, like she will never get enough of him, never tire of loving him, like they have all the time in the world and it still doesn't seem like enough. When she opens her eyes he's still staring at her.

"I love you too," she mumbles, laying her palm against his cheek. They stay like that until his phone chirps, and he sighs at a text from his sister, asking where they are.

"I guess we should go tell her," he says, raising an eyebrow. Clarke snorts.

"This should be interesting."

.-.-.-.-.

"I've got something to tell you." Clarke and Octavia say in unison, then blink at each other. Clarke and Bellamy are barely in the door, having walked straight into the backyard through the side gate, Clarke dropping the box of pastries on the dining table set out on the sun-bleached deck.

"You first." Clarke decides, dropping into one of the wooden patio chairs Lincoln made. Octavia glances at her husband, then shrugs. Beside her, Bellamy tenses.

"Okay, do you guys remember Linc's cousin Daisha?"

They nod.

"She's pregnant."

"Oh." Clarke's mouth drops open. "Isn't she sixteen?"

Lincoln sighs.

"Yeah. She was afraid to tell her mom, so she came to us."

Bellamy frowns.

"That's a pretty big thing to have to deal with as a teenager. Is she doing alright?"

Octavia smiles at him, the soft, sweet smile she reserves for when people she loves reminds them why she loves them.

"She's okay. We've been trying to help her out, you know, make sure she knows her options. And…" She pauses. "She's decided to give the baby up."

"Okay…" Bellamy says slowly, obviously unsure of what that has to do with them. "I mean, that's a responsible decision. It can't be easy, though."

"That's actually where ours news comes in." Octavia glances at Lincoln, who holds out his hand. She takes it, lacing their fingers together and turning back to face Bellamy and Clarke. "We're going to adopt the baby."

Clarke blinks, feeling Bellamy practically vibrate with tension beside her. She sucks in a breath.

"I seriously don't mean this in a condescending way, but…" she stares at her friend. "Are you sure?"

The brunette nods easily, like she was expecting the question.

"Yeah. I mean, we get that we're young, and it's going to be a lot, probably kind of complicated, but the truth is we've been talking about starting a family, and…I don't know. This way Daisha can know where the baby goes, hopefully she'll feel like we can give them a good home, and we get to start a family a little sooner."

"We've talked about it a lot," Lincoln adds. "I know it probably seems like we're just doing this because of the circumstances but we're ready. Or," he smiles knowingly, "-as ready as you can be, anyways."

His eyes, along with Octavia's, drift over to Bellamy. The elder Blake has remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the past few minutes, and even Clarke finds his expression unreadable. She squeezes his hand, both a warning and a reassurance, then smiles widely at the other couple.

"That's great, you guys. I'm really happy for you!" Letting go of Bellamy's hand, she jumps up, throwing her arms around Octavia when the brunette gets to her feet as well. "I think he's just processing," she whispers in the other girl's ear. "Give him a minute."

She moves to hug Lincoln as well, then pulls back, feeling a prickling behind her eyes. It's not like her to get so emotional about things, but she writes it off to a long and hard couple months.

She startles a little when Bellamy stands abruptly behind her, then sees the emotion in his eyes, her lips curling as she realizes why he's been so quiet.

"God," he says gruffly, pulling his sister into what looks like a bone crushing hug. "You're just-you're so grown up. First you get married and now you're having a kid-" he pulls back, setting his hands on her shoulders. "I'm really proud of you, O."

She smiles tearily back at him, pulling him in for another hug.

"Thanks Bell," she sniffles. "That means a lot to me."

When they've all settled back into their chairs, the smell of barbecue wafting in on the light summer breeze, Lincoln slaps his knee.

"Oh, Octavia, we forgot the other thing."

Octavia sits upright in her chair.

"Shit, right." She turns to her brother and Clarke, clasping her hands together. "How would you two feel about being godparents?"

Bellamy chokes on his beer. Clarke pats him sympathetically on the back, turning to the blue eyed brunette eyeing them nervously.

"I think that's Bellamy for we'd be honoured," she says, beaming again. He coughs, then nods at his sister, eyes watering.

"Yeah, of course."

"Great!" Octavia claps her hands together. "Now that all that's settled, what was your news?"

Clarke hesitates.

"I don't want to step on your moment…" she says slowly. Octavia rolls her eyes.

"Shut up. Wait, you're not pregnant too are you?"

Bellamy chokes on his beer again.

"No," Clarke assures both of them hastily. "Not pregnant. Just, um, getting married."

Octavia raises an eyebrow.

"And?"

"What do you mean 'and'?" Clarke asks indignantly. "I gave you a way better reaction than that when you got engaged!"

"Wait, you weren't already engaged?" Lincoln pipes up from his seat, frowning in confusion.

"I mean, sort of," Bellamy admits with a shrug. Clarke smacks his shoulder.

"You're not helping."

He just smirks at her, amused.

"What Clarke was trying to say, before you offended her, is that we're getting married tomorrow."

Octavia's mouth drops open, and her eyes dart between Clarke and Bellamy.

"Seriously?"

Clarke sighs.

"Yeah."

"So is it, like are you doing a city hall thing?"

"Um," Clarke shrugs. "I guess. We just…we want to be married already."

"That's adorable," Octavia coos. "Like, nauseating. But very sweet."

"Mhmm." Bellamy finishes his drink and reaches for another, Lincoln hopping to his feet to check on the grill.

"You want to be our witness?"

Clarke's soon-to-be sister-in-law claps excitedly.

"Hell yes! Wait, do you have a dress? Are you going to do a reception?"

"I think that's my cue to go help Lincoln with the burgers," Bellamy mutters, getting to his feet. He ruffles Octavia's hair affectionately as he walks by. As soon as he's out of earshot, Octavia rounds on Clarke, waiting.

"I think I need another beer if you're going to look at me like that," Clarke says with a sigh. Octavia waves her hand dismissively.

"Tell me everything."

.-.-.-.-.-.

"I'm exhausted," Clarke groans, flopping face first onto the bed. Somewhere to her left, Bellamy chuckles, his phone beeping when he plugs it in to charge.

"This honeymoon is off to a good start," he says wryly, the bed dipping as he sits next to her. She rolls onto her side, propping her head up on her hand to stare at him.

"Did you want one?"

He frowns.

"One what?"

"A honeymoon. This was all so fast I never even thought about going away. But we probably could."

Bellamy just shrugs, looking as tired as she feels. It's been a long day, and it turns out getting married is kind of exhausting, especially when Octavia is involved. The actual ceremony had been relatively quick, as had the paperwork, Clarke wearing a white sundress and Bellamy in slacks and an oxford not quite buttoned all the way. It was casual, and as intimate as it could be considering they were in a court room with a handful of other couples and a judge.

But the real surprise had been when they went back to Octavia's and found the house overflowing with people.

"I hadn't really thought about it either." He yawns. "We can talk about it later, I just want to pass out. I had a feeling O would throw us a party, but that was-"

"A rager," Clarke agrees, scooting a few feet to the side so her new husband can slide under the sheets. "I can't believe Eddie was there. How did she even have time to fly him out?"

Bellamy hits the light, and Clarke tugs off her bra, slipping under the covers and resting her head against his chest.

"What, he didn't tell you?" His voice vibrates against her cheek, and she closes her eyes, soothed by it.

"Tell me what?"

"He's moving out here. He keeps saying he's looking to start a new band, thinks the West Coast music scene is fresher, or something like that. I think he's just moving to be closer to Reyes."

Clarke hums, surprised. She'd noticed the mechanic and the musician acting cozy at the party, and knows Raven has been texting him a lot, but she didn't think it was that serious.

"You know, I think he'd actually be good for her. And Raven won't take any of his shit, so they might make an okay couple," she muses. He doesn't say anything, fingers stroking lightly through her hair.

"Are we really going to spend our wedding night talking about those two?"

Clarke tries to stifle a yawn, but Bellamy's chuckle tells her she doesn't succeed.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "That party was just really long. I didn't even know we knew that many people."

"S'fine. You can fulfill your wifely duties in the morning."

She smacks him, happy warmth spreading through her chest when his laugh rumbles through the bed.

"I thought the novelty of you calling me that would wear off after like the first ten people you introduced me to," she sighs, "-but I still like it."

"Mmm, me too."

"Night, Mr. Griffin"

He laughs again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Night, Mrs. Griffin."

.-.-.-.-.-.

Barely a week later, Clarke is hunched over the toilet bowl, heaving. She's already emptied her stomach of breakfast and dinner from the night before when she hears the front door open. Another wave of nausea rolls through her and she groans, dipping her head back inside the bowl.

"Clarke?"

She wipes at her mouth miserably, just as the bathroom door opens and Bellamy sticks his head in. He takes in the sight of her, curled around the porcelain, and frowns.

"Hey," she says weakly, pulling herself into a sitting position. "How did it go with the publisher?"

"It was fine." He crosses the room to squat in front of her, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead. "You don't feel warm. You looked okay when I left, what happened?" His hands, so strong, are almost painfully soft against her skin when he cups her cheeks, and she feels a little better instantly.

"I don't know. I felt fine all morning and then all of a sudden I-" But the rest of her sentence is lost as she rips away from his hands and retches back into the toilet. Nothing comes out, she doesn't think there's anything left to, and she turns to fix him with a watery stare. "You feel fine, right?"

"Yeah," he says, looking almost guilty for it. "So probably not food poisoning. The flu?"

"I'm not achy or anything," she says tiredly, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes.

"What can I do?" Bellamy asks softly, and she smiles despite the taste of bile in her mouth.

"Distract me. What did your publisher say?"

There's a soft thud, and Clarke opens her eyes to see Bellamy sitting on the floor across from her.

"Uh, good. They agreed to give me another extension. And I got a new editor."

"That's good," she sighs. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Princess." He reaches out to tuck a few stray hairs out of her face. The contact doesn't make her stomach roll, and she suddenly realizes the nausea is completely gone, disappeared as fast as it came on. Something niggles at the back of her mind. "Oh, and O called, apparently Daisha got her due date. Baby's supposed to come in November."

Clarke's breath catches in her throat, mouth falling open.

"What-what did you say?"

He gives her a strange look.

"Daisha's due in November." His eyes widen at the look of shock on her face. "What's wrong?"

"I-oh god." She counts backwards in her head, staring vacantly at a black spot on the tile. How can she possibly have missed this?

"Clarke, you're scaring me."

His voice brings her back, and she exhales shakily, wincing at the concern on his face.

"We-I don't think I have the flu."

"Okay?" His brows knit together in confusion. "So what-wait-" his face goes slack as he makes the connection, mouth dropping open to match her own. "You…you're-"

"Pregnant," she breathes, suddenly terrified. "I don't know, maybe-"

"But-" Bellamy seems to be struggling for words now, a look Clarke can only describe as panic settling over his features. "How?"

"I didn't think-I've been all over the place since the Kolberg thing," she says dazedly, running a hand through her hair. "I've been late a couple of times before and it was nothing. When it happened this time I didn't think anything of it. But-"

"What?"

When Clarke glances over at Bellamy she's startled to see his jaw twitching angrily.

"Bellamy-"

"Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"I would have told you if it had turned out to be something!" She snaps at him, irritated. "It's not like I was keeping secrets, but it was always resolved before I even got around to taking a test."

His face softens.

"I'm sorry, it's not-I'm just surprised."

"Yeah, well me too," she replies, a little shrilly. God, how can this have happened? She's always so careful, has always been, but-

She groans, dropping her face into her hands.

"-e anbts." Her words are muffled against her palms.

"What?"

She looks back up at him, sighing.

"The antibiotics I was taking for that ear infection." She hadn't had any real, lasting damage from the post-Emmy's abduction nightmare, but the swelling in her brain had caused her to have less fluid than usual in her ears, and it had resulted in a minor infection. "They must have messed up my birth control, god I'm so stupid-"

"That was…" Bellamy falls silent, thinking. "Like eight weeks ago. So if you are pregnant, that would make you-"

"Between six and seven weeks, probably." She guesses, thinking back. Her gaze falls on his face, trying desperately to read him. "I'm sorry, I should have known better, I went to med school for fucks sake-"

"Wait-" His hand shoots out, catching her by the wrist. "Clarke, stop."

She blinks at him.

"You can't…god, don't apologize." His voice breaks at the end, and when she shivers he tugs her forward, wrapping her in his arms.

"What are we going to do?" She asks, voice muffled into his shirt. He pulls back to look at her, face wary.

"What do you want to do?"

"I…" she trails off, thinking. "I know we didn't plan this, and we just got married, and the past year has been awful, but-" She bites her lip. "I can't really imagine not keeping it."

Bellamy blows out a breath.

"I-me neither. I think." He gives her a shaky smile, and she returns it. They might not be ready, but-

It's her and Bellamy. There's no one in the world she'd rather do this with. She just hadn't planned on starting so soon.

"Okay," she says quietly, wondering at the clash of joy and fear that's currently warring inside her. "We should get some tests."

"Right." He gets to his feet, extending a hand. She takes it, feeling drained from her morning of puking and the possible baby hanging like a sword above their head.

.-.-.-.

Half an hour later they're staring at three identical pregnancy tests, lined up on the ledge of the bathroom sink.

"One line means…"

He knows. She knows he knows. He read the box. And there's something in his voice that she can't quite make out.

"Not pregnant," she says dully. "I'm not pregnant."

"Oh." He pauses. "That's…good right?" Clarke doesn't know how to answer that. Part of her can't help but feel an acute sense of loss at the news. But the other part…

"Is it awful that I'm relieved?" She wonders, wincing as the words fly off her tongue involuntarily. He catches her shoulders under his arm, spinning her into him for a suffocating hug. She squeezes her eyes shut against the hot sting of tears.

"No," he says firmly. "Look, we just got married, we've barely had any time to enjoy just being together. You know I want kids, but…"

"I kind of want you to myself for a little while," Clarke admits. The words feel almost condemning on her tongue.

"Yeah." He tucks a blonde curl behind her ear, face heartbreakingly tender. "We have time. Later, when we're ready, we can talk about it again."

"Okay." She presses her face into his neck, breathing in his familiar earth and pepper scent.

"I love you, Clarke Griffin." He says, drawing her into a slow kiss that feels melancholy and celebratory all in one. When they break away, she swipes at the tears clinging to her lashes.

"I love you, too. No kids for now, but someday?"

"Someday," he agrees.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Two months later they're actively trying.

A year later Jacob Eridanus Blake is born, becoming instantly beloved by his cousin Aurora.

Bellamy publishes his first full length non-fiction book, Spacewalker: The Archer Collins Story, just before Jake's second birthday. Aurora is the flower girl at Raven and Eddie's wedding, Jake the ring-bearer.

Octavia and Lincoln adopt a pair of twins when Aurora is five, naming them Caelum and Calliope.

Bellamy and Clarke decide that one kid is enough, especially when Jake turns out to have picked up his father's nose for trouble and Clarke's self-righteous attitude. He gets detention for spray-painting a mural of the Flood of Deucalion on a dumpster in eighth grade. Bellamy takes him out for ice cream.

Raven and Eddie adopt dogs, but they babysit often. Eddie teaches Jake how to swear in three different languages. Raven teaches Aurora how to replace a gearbox.

It's a different life than Clarke imagined, but it's perfect. And it all started with an unexpected house guest.