It started out easily enough.

Over the course of the past month, they'd developed a routine without even realizing it. Clarke would add a second mug for him as she brew her coffee; Bellamy would bring leftovers of his sister's brownies; she'd come home and find Bellamy giving Lana her bath and telling her stories of sea creatures and great battles, that soon turned into Clarke asking Bellamy about the progress on his dissertation over a beer or dinner.

It was nice, in a way nothing had felt in a long time.

Her mother worried all the time - did she get enough sleep, how did she handle school and the baby, she got a B, oh my God, did she want her to talk to her professor about it, no big deal, she went to med school with her? And Wells wasn't so much better. He never doubted her, knew better than to do so, but he had this chivalrous thing about him where he would've been ready to drop anything for her if she asked - and Clarke didn't want to be that person. The one who needed help; the one people expected to fail somehow. She knew what most people thought of her choice to keep her baby, and although her mother was supportive, Clarke still knew that deep down she'd have wanted another life for her. And Clarke could understand it, really: what mother would want her twenty-one year-old daughter to raise her baby on her own after her boyfriend died?

Bellamy never looked at her like that, though. If he thought she was too young, or foolish, or whatever, he didn't let on; it was nice to be around someone who didn't look at her like she was strong and tragic at the same time, and who didn't pry. He was friendly without having to be, asked about her day and told her little silly, random things about how Lana did sit on her own for a whole six seconds or how he was pretty sure she giggled the first time he put his glasses on.

(He did look even nerdier with them than what his very self - Bellamy Blake, History major, Disney lover, rebel with a cause - already let on.)

It only seemed natural then, as Bellamy got a bigger role in Clarke's stories about Lana, that Wells would start his campaign about meeting him again. Unity Day was just around the corner when he asked Clarke over lunch, casual, "So is Bellamy going to the pageant?"

"I don't know," she frowned. "I mean, I guess, yeah. Who isn't going, anyway?"

Wells snorted. "Literally anyone ever who doesn't have to go."

"Aw, come on," Clarke couldn't help but laugh. "You love Unity Day. You're just nervous about your speech."

Unity Day was Clarke's favorite holiday, and Wells' too. She remembered being eight or nine and rehearsing with Wells for the pageant - the pride she'd felt upon being chosen for the ceremony, the afternoons they'd spent reading book after book to know everything that needed to be known about Ark, the mixed feeling of excitation and fear she'd felt minutes before entering the stage. It had been a little scary, standing in front of the audience, but she'd found her father in the crowd and met his gaze, warm and encouraging, and everything had gone well. She remembered fragments of it: hiding under a table with Wells to devour sweets during the buffet; punching Wells in the nose as she threw her hands up in the air at the dance; the fireworks in the night sky, the reds and the blues and the golden ones.

This year, though, Wells' father, Thelonius, had asked him to give a speech before the ceremony - his way of introducing Ark to the next generation of Jahas, Wells had been complaining for days despite not knowing how to say no to his father. He didn't share any of Thelonius' ambitions for him, taking his interest in the theory of politics more than in its practice. Growing up in the social circle they'd evolved in, both Clarke and Wells were used to people expecting them to follow their parents' steps, but Wells didn't care much about leading. He'd been working on his speech for a week, and from what Clarke had gathered, he'd deleted more things than he'd kept. "How's your speech going?" she asked him, softer.

Wells bit aggressively in his sandwich before answering. "Still looking for a nice way to say we used to all hate each other but now we're friends and that's cool," he rolled his eyes. "Maybe your nanny could help me with that."

"Wells," she spoke his name in a warning.

"I mean, the guy managed to get two school departments to fund his dissertation, he's got to -"

Clarke raised her hand at him. "Wait, hold on. How do you even know that?" she narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't tell me you've been looking into him."

Wells dared laughing. "Relax, Griffin. You're the one who told me he was double-majoring, remember? All I'm saying is, he's a History major and clearly he's got to be good with words - which I'm not."

Clarke just sighed. "So now your excuse for meeting him is that you need his help? Pathetic."

"I want to meet him because he's taking care of the one person I love most after you," Wells replied, half serious, half smiling. "And at some point even you will have to admit it's weird you don't want me to."

Clarke let out another sigh. "Ugh, fine. If he comes to the pageant you can meet him." Wells' smile grew bigger at her surrender, and Clarke fought the urge to spill her smoothie on top of his head. "Under my strict supervision. You are not allowed to bully him about Lana loving him more than you."

"She does not."

"She kind of does," she sing-sang, and felt herself grin at Wells' indignation. It wasn't true per say that Lana loved Bellamy more, but she'd gone from crying when she was hungry or upset and cooing when she was happy to showing her affection lately, raising her arms at him when she wanted to be picked up and crying when he left at the end of the day. Clarke was convinced she would do the same with Wells if she saw him just as often, but she wasn't going to tell him so.

Wells just glared at her as he finished his sandwich, and then changed the subject.

When she got home, the apartment was empty and quiet, something that didn't happen a lot when you had a five month-old baby.

Bellamy had texted her earlier to say they'd run out of diapers - how was that even possible, did any parent ever run out of diapers? - and that she didn't need to bother stopping by the store after class because he would. Clarke appreciated the thought; classes were tougher on her than she liked to let on, and when she came home she liked nothing better than to get in her comfiest pajamas and spend time with her daughter without caring about anything else. And Bellamy helped a lot with that. He was oddly neat, never leaving a dirty bottle in the sink or a toy laying around, and he was thoughtful beyond his nanny duties. Many a time Clarke had come home, finding herself ranting to him about her Biology TA or the stupid rain of all things, and Bellamy would just make her a cup of tea and listen. A month ago Clarke would have never even just thought of unloading all her problems onto him like that; but Bellamy made her feel like it was okay.

Clarke kicked off her shoes by the door and dropped her bag on the floor and her jacket on a chair, messing with the pristine place Bellamy had left, before going to the kitchen and helping herself with a well-deserved stash of cookies and a glass of milk. It wasn't the scented, hot, bubble bath with a glass of wine she fantasized about, but it was as close as it got. She slumped on the couch and stretched her feet on the coffee table, smiling to herself at the neat pile made of Bellamy's laptop and stash of books and how the TV was stuck on the History Channel as she turned it on.

She ended up dozing off while watching a documentary, and woke up to the sound of someone unlocking the door. Bellamy was back, hands full of grocery bags and Lana strapped to his chest in her babybjörn. "Oh, hey, did I wake you up?" he asked, soft, as he took her in, stray curls falling off her bun and blinking lashes.

Clarke's heart did a stupid little jump at the sight of him. And then she shook her head, berating herself and getting up quickly to go help him, her legs almost tangling together as she did. "Hey," she said back, reaching out to take a bag from him. "How many diaper packs did you get?" she added then, a little surprised at how loaded he was.

"I figured you wouldn't have to worry about it for a while," he just shrugged, giving her an easy smile. "But hey, let me do it. This one's a lot heavier," he chuckled, pointing at a sleeping Lana with his chin.

"I know!" Clarke laughed, unbuckling the strap and taking Lana from him. "She's already outgrown her six months onesies. You chubby munchkin," she cooed in Lana's hair, inhaling her fine baby scent.

She stood there, softly rocking Lana against her, as Bellamy went to the bathroom to put the diapers in the cupboard. "You were running low on lotion too, so I bought some," he said.

Of course he did. "I'm gonna start calling you Mary Poppins, okay?" Clarke told him.

Bellamy grinned. "Only if you can pronounce supercalifragilisticexpialidocious right." She made a face at him, and he smirked.

"No, but really, thank you, Bellamy," she insisted, meeting his gaze. She saw the moment when he was about to shrug before he did, and added, "Don't act like it's nothing. You didn't have to, so, thank you."

She didn't look away, wanting him to get how grateful she was, and after a moment he nodded his head. "It's really nothing, though," he argued. "She's an angel. It's not that hard to be a good nanny with a kid like that."

"Yeah, we'll see if you keep saying that when she starts crawling around and keeps you from studying," Clarke teased him.

"That's what the babybjörn is for," Bellamy countered easily. "Anyway. She took her bottle an hour and a half ago," he started saying as he picked up his bag and things, "and she's been sleeping for the past half hour, I think? You should get some me time for a little while."

Clarke shifted Lana in her arms, holding her head against her shoulder. "You're gonna have to tell me how you do that."

"Can't, it's a nanny thing," Bellamy chuckled as he put on his jacket and slung his bag across his shoulder. "Kids are supposed to be cuties with their nanny and monsters with their parents. It's a thing. You don't want to mess with that."

"Of course not," Clarke agreed with an eye roll. She walked him to the door, when she suddenly remembered. "Oh, by the way. Are you going to the pageant on Thursday?"

Bellamy stopped in his tracks, looking a bit startled when he turned to look at her. "Unity Day? Uh, no, I'm not. Why?"

Clarke's brows furrowed in a frown for a second. "Oh, no reason. I was just wondering if I'd see you there. I mean, the pageant can be kind of boring I guess, but the party and the fireworks are nice."

Bellamy's features softened, and it made her relax in turn. "Yeah, I guess. I haven't gone in years. I'm not - I don't dance. Like, at all. And we have this tradition with Octavia of just hanging out, just the two of us, and watch old movies," he shrugged. "She thinks I don't know she's planned for us to watch Dirty Dancing, but I do," he added with an embellished shudder.

Clarke had to suppress a giggle. She might have not known Bellamy for a long time, but it amused her a lot that he was the kind of guy who would do anything his sister asked - including watching movies most guys usually only watched when they wanted to get a girl in their bed. "Did she ever make you learn the dance?" she asked, feeling a little smug at the way Bellamy's tan skin turned just a little red.

He narrowed his eyes at her for a second. "That's classified." He smiled then, and lifted his hand to the doorknob. "Anyway. See you tomorrow."

She watched him leave, and couldn't help humming the closing song for the rest of the evening.

Finn never liked Unity Day.

He always said it was about rewriting history, trying to pretend their ancestors were good people who always saw the good in uniting over destroying. Clarke didn't see it like that; she wasn't naïve, she knew that war had happened before Ark was funded, that blood had flooded before peace was hardly won. But she liked the sentiment behind Unity Day; the idea that, if only for a day, people from all horizons gathered and celebrated without caring what neighborhood they were from or what school they attended.

She attended the pageant with her mother and Marcus, dolled up like the etiquette required when you were the daughter of the Chief of Surgery and both your parents were part of the City Council. But Clarke didn't do it for the appearances; it just felt nice to trade her sweatpants and loose, stained shirts for a nice dress for a day.

She was happily surprised to see that most people seemed genuine as they came to see her and gush over Lana. Clarke didn't know what she was expecting exactly, but it wasn't that. She was ready for the weird, pitiful looks (have you seen Abigail's daughter, I'd heard she'd gotten pregnant, but I didn't think...) because Ark was a small town where everybody knew everybody, and girls like Clarke weren't supposed to get pregnant out of wedlock, even less while still being in school. And maybe it was only thanks to her mother's support, that strong aura she had about her that told people she wouldn't let anyone speak ill of her daughter, that everybody seemed so happy for her - Clarke didn't care much. She wasn't ashamed of her daughter, and there was no way Lana wouldn't attend Wells' speech.

Lana ended sleeping soundly through it all; Clarke, on her part, loved it as much as she knew she would. It was heartfelt in a way his father's speeches never were; Clarke had grown up around Thelonius and she liked him enough, but she never liked politics or trusted politicians much. Wells, because he was so adamant on not being a leader, inherently possessed all the qualities of a good one. He was eloquent and charismatic, while also being empathetic; he didn't glorify their ancestors' goodwill like history books did, but emphasized how they'd learned from their mistakes to build a better society. In that moment Clarke was reminded of why she loved Unity Day so much. It wasn't about rewriting history like Finn believed, but the hope that came despite the abundance of violence.

She was beaming when Wells joined her in the crowd after the loud round of applause he got. His cheeks were flushed as he ducked between people clapping him on the back, and he froze as he saw the look on her face. "Oh my God," he said, "please don't tell me these are tears."

Clarke clearly wiped at her eyes. "Shut up," she chided him. "You were great, by the way."

"Oh my God, you're crying. For real."

Her mother took her defense, squeezing Wells' shoulder. "That was a great speech, Wells. Very moving."

Marcus nodded his head, but Clarke saw him give a wink to Wells, the traitor. "You're so embarrassing me," Wells all but whined as he slung his arm over her shoulders. "At least Lana's not crying," he chuckled, peeking into the stroller where the baby still slept peacefully.

"I got everything on camera," Clarke teased him, but then went quiet as the children chosen for the pageant started filling the stage.

The ceremony was nice as it always was. She and Wells spent a good part of the day talking with people their parents introduced them to; doctors from the medical board, journalists, other Councilmen, and Clarke made an effort to smile and seem interested in the conversations. But what she was really looking forward was the party; a night where she could forget about school and responsibilities and just have fun.

And have fun she did. Her mom was taking care of Lana until the next morning, and Clarke had forgotten just how much of a party girl she used to be - something that Wells was hell-bent on reminding her. She danced with him until her head started spinning, but instead of taking a break she switched partners, letting a boy she remembered from high school twirl her as Wells started dancing with a girl who looked a lot like one of the nannies she'd interviewed.

It felt good, and liberating, to have no care in the world, to let herself have fun without worrying or feeling bad. She laughed as two boys initiated a robot dance, so loud that it turned into a pig snort that someone teased her about.

"You're so classy, Griffin."

Clarke's head snapped at the voice. She'd recognize it anywhere, despite the slight buzz she'd gotten from drinking too much cheap champagne. "Oh my God, Raven!" she exclaimed, loud and happy, as she came face to face with her friend she hadn't seen in five months. "I didn't - you didn't tell me you were coming."

Raven shrugged one shoulder. "I didn't know that I was coming," she said nonchalantly, and then Clarke didn't know if she made the first step or if Raven did but they were hugging each other fiercely. "God, I've missed you," Raven breathed out in her ear.

"Me too," Clarke choked out, feeling tears well up in her eyes for the second time that night. But she shook her head, refusing to let them fall as she just hugged Raven tighter.

Eventually they separated, their arms still loosely holding onto each other, and Clarke took a minute to take her friend in. Raven looked good; better than she had the last time they'd seen each other, at the hospital right after Lana was born, and definitely more at peace than she ever had since Finn died.

It would always hang over them, Clarke reckoned; Finn was too big of a part in their life to ever stop haunting them. But for the first time in over a year, thinking of him and seeing Raven didn't hurt, didn't feel like someone was digging a knife in her heart and twisting it. They hadn't talked, really talked, in forever, but that could wait. "Wanna dance?" Clarke offered, letting her hand drop from Raven's arm to her wrist.

Raven just laughed, before she started following the boys doing the robot, and that's how Wells found them both minutes later and joined them.

Raven Rayes was her soulmate, plain and simple.

Clarke loved her like she loved Lana or Wells or her mom, with a certainty and a strength that even months being apart couldn't break. Her friendship with Raven was no ordinary story. Raven had dated Finn for years before they eventually realized they loved each other more as family than anything else, and then Finn had started flirting with her and Clarke had surprised herself by enjoying it - and then everything was a mess in her head because she didn't want to hurt Raven, was sure there was a page in the book that said ex-boyfriends were out of reach. Raven had just come to her one day, told her she was an idiot for worrying so much, and that if she was holding back on Finn for her sake then she would be a frustrated idiot.

Raven Reyes was simply the best.

It felt almost surreal, having her back in her life again after all the months they'd spent apart. Finn's death had taken its toll on Raven; she hadn't focused on school much, and the only reason why she hadn't been kicked out of Zero-G Mech was because Sinclair, the Chief Engineer, believed in her potential. "He said he wanted me to give everything I have this year," Raven told her. "He wants me to get a degree in engineering. Even got me a TA."

Clarke shifted on the bed, from her position on her back to her side. Raven was lying on her back, looking at the ceiling, and Lana was curled between the two of them. "That's awesome, Raven!"

Raven snorted, before tilting her head to Clarke. "Yeah, that's because you haven't met him. Remember Kyle Wick?"

The name rang a bell, but Clarke couldn't place him. Until she did, and she had to bite her lip not to grin. "The guy who worked in my dad's department and who annoyed the hell out of you during your internship there?"

Raven glared at her. "Don't act like you don't remember all too well," she groaned. "Well, now he works with Sinclair - he's his assistant. And apparently he's a TA at Mount Weather, too, so of course Sinclair said he'd be my TA."

Clarke tried not to rile her up, but she couldn't help it. "Come on, he can't be that bad. I mean, I've only met him once, I think, but he didn't seem to be a bad guy."

"He isn't," Raven shook her head. "But he's so annoying. Thinks he's so funny and smart, but he's not."

"Sounds like your type," Clarke chuckled. But then Raven's eyes widened almost comically, and Clarke's mouth opened in a perfectly shaped O. "Oh my God, you had a crush on him! That's why he annoyed so much!"

"Did not!"

"You so did!" Clarke laughed, and it wasn't that funny except it totally was because Raven could be a five year-old when she wanted, or when she didn't want to deal with something like her feelings.

"I hate you," Raven muttered under her breath, turning on her side too and focusing her gaze on Lana as she lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "Luckily the munchkin won't get her social skills from you because they're abysmal."

Clarke schooled her features, at least trying to look apologetic. "Okay, I'm serious now. So you had a crush on him, like, five years ago? Then what? It's in the past. It's not like he was aware of -" Clarke closed her mouth with an audible pop when Raven glared at her again. "He knew?"

Raven sighed. "There might have been a little incident."

"Define incident."

Raven groaned, flopping on her back and covering her eyes with one arm. "I may have tried to kiss him. Oh my God, close your mouth," she mumbled, motioning at Clarke's face with her free hand. "I can feel you judging me. Stop."

Clarke reached out, trying to move Raven's arm from her face. "I'm not judging, I swear. It's just a lot to process. Why am I only finding out about this now?" she asked. "You could have told me back then."

Raven looked at her from beneath her arm and then moved it, propping herself on her elbows. "I was embarrassed, okay? I tried to kiss him and he was like, wow, okay, you're a kid, this is not happening. And he was right, you know? I was just seventeen, and he was twenty-three, and I don't know, he was hot, okay?"

Clarke just nodded her head. Because she was a mom now didn't mean she'd forgotten what it was to be a twenty-one year-old girl, or a seventeen year-old one for that matter; and back then, being hot was a good reason enough to want to make-out with someone. "And there's a good chance he only got hotter, and now you're gonna have to spend time alone with him and it's too much."

Raven stared at her, before blowing at a lost piece of curl falling off her ponytail. "Thanks, Captain Obvious." She rolled her eyes before she turned her attention back to Lana. "Your mommy is the worst, munchkin," she fake-whispered as she pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Am not," Clarke protested as she reached for Lana's stuffed rabbit and handed it to Raven for her to play with. "It's been five years though. He might not even remember you. Have you even come across him since then?"

Raven shook her head. "Not really. I mean, he's been working with Sinclair for a year now, but I didn't really see him or anything."

"Then there's probably no reason to worry," Clarke said. "Besides, you're not seventeen anymore. You can kiss him all you want now."

Raven didn't bother replying; instead she gave her leg a kick, and demanded that she make her breakfast.

They spent three days in Clarke's apartment, just the two of them and Lana, talking like they hadn't done in months.

Best Unity Day week-end ever.

Monday came and Raven had to rub at her eyes real hard when she woke up to find Clarke making coffee while some hot guy she definitely knew was giving Lana her bottle.

to be continued