"A misty morning does not signify a cloudy day."

That was the text she had woken up to; her best friend Octavia Blake got a little heavy with her ancient proverbs, especially when she was, ahem, wasted.

Clarke groaned and covered her head with a pillow as her alarm clock buzzed like an angry beehive. Her hand groped around the nightstand, finally slamming the 'off' button. She pulled the pillow off her face and winced as the sunlight shining into her bedroom burned her tired eyes.

She yawned and sat up on the edge of her bed, rubbing her eyes. Clarke set one foot down on the floor and found that it was unpleasantly cold. She grimaced and stood up, quickly hopping over to her closet. Trying her best to ignore the throbbing in her skull, the telltale sign of a hangover headache, she dressed in a blue pair of scrubs and slipped into her hideous orthopedic shoes. She glanced in the mirror and was shocked by what she saw.

A dark purple bruise darkened the skin on her left cheek, right below her eye. She stared at it, completely unbelieving. The stereotypical hangover phrase passed over her lips.

"What happened last night?"

For all she knew, she and Octavia had gotten into a fistfight. Or maybe she just tripped and fell on the pavement when walking from the club to her car.

Clarke gently prodded the sensitive skin, wincing as a dull pain radiated across her cheek. She sighed and went about putting her hair into a tight bun, and then hiding the bruise with the most full-coverage concealer she owned.

She plodded into the kitchen of her small single-story house. Grabbing a bottle of high-strength aspirin, she poured a glass of ice water and downed two pills. Clarke yanked open the fridge and pulled a Tupperware filled with the leftovers from yesterday's breakfast. She and Octavia had made pancakes before they left for work, and Clarke had misread the directions on the box and made enough pancakes for twenty people, not two. So Octavia had taken some home, and left the rest with Clarke.

She threw them on a plate and set it in the microwave to heat up. While she waited, she rinsed and chopped an apple. She put them on the plate as she took it out of the microwave and ate her breakfast while walking around the kitchen.

Clarke put her plate in the sink, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door for her eight-hour shift at the hospital.

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After a hard day of work, which had been filled with bloody accidents, impatient and uninformed parents, creepy colleagues, and a demanding surgeon, all Clarke wanted to do was go home, shower, order some takeout, and watch DareDevil on NetFlix.

Of course, things seldom turn out the way she'd like.

When she exited the hospital's parking garage, she noticed dark, angry clouds looming above. She sighed and pulled onto the main roadway.

Next thing she knew, her car engine was sputtering out as she pulled to the curb and put her blinkers on. Clarke practically screamed in frustration before exiting her car. She was in a quiet, nondescript residential neighborhood, one she drove through everyday on her way to work. She lifted up the hood and coughed in surprise as a plume of smoke blew in her face.

Great. Her engine was smoking.

She slammed the hood shut, and went back to the driver side door to grab her phone and call for Octavia to come get her.

"AREYOUKIDDINGME?" Clarke's unbelieving shriek pierced the air as she discovered that she had locked herself out of her car. The keys dangled mockingly from the ignition.

Right on cue, it began to pour.

Clarke yanked the hood of her coat over her head and marched up the sidewalk, seething, as she looked for a bus stop or a telephone booth.

There were none, because the road was a side street and a dead end. She ran a hand through her hair as she wiped the rain off her face, smearing her artfully applied makeup and revealing her bruise.

She figured she might as well walk to a convenience store, find a pay phone, and ask Octavia to come get her. One problem: She had absolutely no clue where she was.

Wait, scratch that. As she peered through the raindrops, she vaguely recognized a small green house with gray shutters. Clarke flooded with relief when she realized it was Octavia's older brother's, Bellamy, house.

She trudged up the sidewalk to the door, trying to figure out how to swallow her pride and ask for help. Bellamy knew just how to press her buttons, a talent he had had since they were teenagers. He knew just what to do to tick her off, and Clarke prayed that he wouldn't turn her down just to get a rise out of her.

She sloshed through the puddles on the cement steps and rang the doorbell. Above her, the clouds thickened and the rain intensified with a loud crash of thunder and a slash of lightening slicing through the sky. She rang the bell again impatiently.

"Hold on, I'm coming!" She heard his voice from inside the house, and his footsteps as he neared the door. He opened it, and looked down at Clarke with a mixture of shock, humor, and pity.

She shifted her weight before speaking. "Uh, hey, Bellamy. I know you probably don't remember me but-" She stopped. This was beginning to sound like the start of a one-night-stander's monologue. "I'm Clarke Griffin, Octavia's friend. My car broke down and I uh, well, I locked myself out and I was wondering if I could use your phone?" The words came out in a rush, and she hoped he had understood at least half of it.

Realization dawned on him after a moment. "Oh, yeah! Clarke! The girl who dated a guy when he was married. Now I remember."

Clarke pursed her lips as she stared up at him. Just like Bellamy to remember her worst moments. "Can I use your phone or not?"

"Yeah, sure." He moved out of the way so she could get in. The warm air enveloped her immediately as she entered and she resisted an urge to sigh. "By the way, Princess, what happened to your face?"

She rolled her eyes at his old nickname as she shrugged off her soaking-wet coat. "I have no clue."

He chuckled. "The phone's in the kitchen and if you want," He gestured to her clothes. "I think I may have some of Octavia's clothes here if you want to change."

"Sure, that'd be great." She headed to the kitchen, wringing her hair out as she went. She picked up the phone and dialed Octavia's number.

"Hello?" A perky voice asked. Clarke sighed and braced herself for her friend's enthusiastic attitude.

"Hey, O, it's Clarke. My car broke down and I'm at Bellamy's-"

She cut her off. "Bellamy? Like my brother, Bellamy? Like the Bellamy you've had a crush on since tenth grade?" Her voice cracked with excitement.

"Shut up!" Clarke hissed, glancing around to see if Bellamy had heard. "Anyway, can you come get me?"

"Nope." Came her smug reply.

Clarke's eyes widened. "What? Why?"

"I'm with Lincoln. I'm meeting his parents today, remember?"
"You have got to be kidding me," She smacked her hand to her forehead.

Octavia laughed sympathetically. "Look, I'll come get you as soon as I'm done. Around ten, maybe?"

"Ten?" Clarke asked in disbelief. She looked up at the clock. It read 7:30. "What am I supposed to do for two and a half hours?"

"I have a few ideas..."

"Screw you." Clarke said, and hung up.

She ran her hands through her wet hair as Bellamy entered the room. "Here are the clothes," He tossed a pair of jeans and a sweater at her. "She leaves some here every time she visits."

Clarke laughed as she caught the clothes. "Is there somewhere I could change?"

He pointed to the bathroom down the hall. She began to walk that way as he asked, "What did Octavia say?"

She grimaced as she turned around. "She's meeting Lincoln's parents today, so she won't be able to get me until ten. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine," He shrugged. "as long as you don't mind watching DareDevil."

"You're kidding. That's my favorite show!"

He smirked and she grinned back.

Maybe this wouldn't be the worst two and a half hours of her life after all.

A/N: Aha! So I've finally expanded past OUAT fanfiction! Success!

ANYWAY, just so you know, I haven't seen anything past season one so don't expect anything past that.