It was nine thirty-five on a Monday morning when Bellamy Blake got a call from Clarke Griffin.

He was greeted by a cough, sniffle and "I'm sick!"

"Well I would offer to look up your symptoms on WebMD but it seems all that knowledge from the half of your pre-med course you actually did take have helped you work it out yourself," he said, smiling cockily, he was pretty proud of that little burn.

"Ha, ha!" she coughed out in a dull, unamused monotone. "Well I'm sure that brilliant fully completed history degree you got there will really come in handy when I get all the good articles and you end up writing, yet again, about Mrs. Smith across the road's terrible disdain for modern technology. I'd love to see you put yet another spin on that one," she grumbled back.

Being sick may have made her sniffly but it in no way deminished her ability to completely and utterly destroy him.

"Ouch, did you call for any reason other than to make me feel bad about all my life decisions up until this point?" he asked, tapping his pen on the desk.

"Not all, I did like that one decision you made last week when you got me a coffee on Thursday morning, that one was nice," she said in joking contemplativeness.

"It was buy one get one free, Clarke."

"Okay, well whatever. I'm calling because I kind of need you to cover my Person of Interest interview for me today?" she asked reluctantly. He could practically see her wincing on the other end.

"Claaaarke-" he groaned, tipping his head back in his seat, but he didn't get a chance to launch into a full grumble-rant. She knew the tell-tale signs by now, and how to avoid at all costs.

"Look, I know this isn't ideal I get it you have a life too surprisingly enough, but you're the only one I trust to do this. Please Bellamy," she whined, a sound made ten times more unbearable than usual with her croaky throat.

He sighed loudly so he knew she could hear it. "Are you sure there's no-one else?" he asked, strained.

He knew there was nobody else in this office she was willing to even contemplate giving such a responsibility to. She trusted him and him alone, they were a set, the 'wonder twins' as their Editor-in-Chief Marcus Kane liked to say.

"Oh, yeah, and allow our resident "Cheech and Chong" impersonators Jasper and Monty double-team the youngest CEO in the history of the city?" she exclaimed incredulously. "Seriously! Think about it! There's a reason the two of them have been banned from doing a Person of Interest interview ever again, even individually!"

It was a funny image, and he did let out a few chuckles while playing out the scenario in his head. They were talking about the same two guys that had asked the Mayor if he had got divorced because of his apparent gay affair with the Seahawks coach on the grounds that 'the people wanted to know'. THE MAYOR! They were lucky he thought it was a joke about their friendship and didn't truly understand quite what they were getting at. The idea of letting them talk to a professional businessman at all after the bollocking they received was enough to make even Roan smile slightly.

"Okay, but are you really sure it has to be me? There's really nobody else?" he asks, biting his lip.

"Nobody but you Bell, it has to be you, you're the only one I can count on," she said and he didn't even try to hide the beam on his face (of course, if she could see him, it would have been more of a small contemplative grin because of course he didn't care whether she depended on him alone or not).

"Besides," she started, "it could get all 50 Shades you know, young CEO, she's attractive too. Oooh, but wait you have to be okay with bondage because otherwise it could be a deal-breaker," she chuckled lightly which came out as more of a crackle through his shitty phone.

"Ha ha!" he replied monotonously like she had done.

"I'm serious!" she giggled, "you could meet the Christina Grey to your Andrew Steele."

"Well I'm glad the tapes of my kinky interview with your sex-fiend CEO will bring you great pleasure to listen back on."

"So is that a yes?!" she squealed and he moved the phone away from his ear.

"That's a yes Griffin, I'll have the tapes on your desk tomorrow morning," he sighed, smile still prominent.

"Gosh! Thank you so much! You're a life saver!" The relieved grin was pretty much audible.

"Oh, and Clarke," he started, smug smile now slapped across his face, "I would have done it as soon as you asked. It's just nice to know that I'm 'the only one you trust' and 'the only one you can count on'."

"You bastard!" she laugh coughed.

"So you leave your big profile in my apparently extremely dependable hands and then call me a bastard? That's not very polite."

"I'm hanging up now!"

"See you tomorrow Griffin."

"Later Blake."

Around four hours and ten episodes of The Office later, there was a knock on Clarke's door. She groaned as she pushed herself up from her sofa and pulled her duvet tighter around her shoulders.

"I swear to god if you're trying to sell me more cookies this isn't going to end well!" she shouts, unbolting the door.

There, in her doorway, holding a red container and a tape recorder was none other than Bellamy Blake.

"Sorry, I think girl scouting ended last week, but can I interest you in a tape recording of a particularly saucy interview I just partook in?" he grins.

She groans, rubbing her eyes. Yup, he was still there. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You're sick so… I brought you soup! My mum always made me leek and potato soup when I was ill, and I always made it for Octavia. Guaranteed recovery within a day, the Blakes swear by it," he keeps flashing her that winning smile.

"You brought me soup?!" She chuckles slightly in disbelief and there's a smile on her face, the kind that only comes with the overwhelming surge of appreciation when those you care about care for you. And it doesn't go unnoticed by Bellamy.

"Well, the soup and the interview, I thought you'd want to review this footage immediately," he grinned like he was telling a joke she wasn't supposed to understand just yet, "oh, and also, the soup's cone cold. Turns out I don't actually own a flask."

He holds out what he brought her and instead of taking them she widens her door, "Well since you went to all this effort to get this to me, you should get to enjoy the miracle soup too. The stove's in the kitchen, I trust you can reheat it yourself? I'm simply too ill," she grins, coughing for dramatic effect. He half-sighs through his smile as he steps through her doorframe and over to her kitchen.

"Of course, I'd never want to put you out of your way Princess."

She turns on the cooker for him and hops onto one of the barstools around the surface in the middle of her kitchen.

"Well… you were right," he says, pouring the soup into a pan.

"Hmmmnn, I usually am but about so many things, you're going to have to be more specific," she says, tracing spirals on the counter top.

"The CEO," he says, like he really doesn't want to have to elaborate.

"Still lost here Cryptic Christopher, if you hadn't noticed I'm slightly ill and my brain isn't working at it's usual capacity."

"She hit on me," he says with a slightly embarrassed chuckle of disbelief. He had his back to her so she just had to imagine the blush on his cheeks (it wasn't difficult).

Clarke's so stunned her head snaps up and she actually has a coughing fit, "No way!"

"I know," he said, scratching his neck with his free non-stirring hand.

"Well, what did she say? What did you say? Was she nice? Is there a future? Shall I start the wedding plans?" she questions, bewildered with a touch of… something.

"I'm not giving you any spoilers, you just gotta listen to the tapes," he teased.

"Oh, Blake, come on you can't do that to me!" Now it's her turn to grumble.

"Oh, Griffin, yes I can," he mocks. "All I'm saying is… there's a higher comedic value if you listen to it without any prior knowledge."

"Oh God, that bad?"

"No spoilers!"

"I can't wait!" she grins, the grip of the something gone.

"Careful with that," he almost scolds, pointing at the spoon full of soup in her hand once he'd served it up into two bowls, "you gotta blow on it before you put it on your mouth, it's too hot otherwise."

"That's what she said," she states proudly and bursts into laughter.

He gives her a disbelieving smile which makes her laugh even more. "You… are two years old. Are you sure this cold hasn't got serious neurological repercussions?"

"Sorry, it's The Office, I've been rewatching it all day. There was nothing else to do."

The disbelieving grin intensifies.

"So you mean to tell me that while I've been slaving away doing all your dirty work like a bitchboy, you've been sat on your ass watching Michael Scott make an idiot out of himself over and over again."

"Maybe?" she says, more like a guilty rhetorical question, stirring her soup.

"Well that is just not acceptable, which Jim prank are we on now?" Bellamy asks, looking over at the screen and picking up his bowl to move to the sofa.

She follows him, filling him in on where she's at and bringing the pan of soup to the coffee table.

It feels natural. Her and him, him and her. Sat in the middle of her beaten leather sofa reciting iconic lines, eating magical soup, comparing the characters to their own unbelievable colleagues (Miller was a definite Stanley). It's comfortable, like they should have been doing this all along, and when Wells slams the front door shut as he gets home from work and she wakes up with her head on his shoulder and his hand resting loosely round her shoulder it doesn't feel uncomfortable at all. Which is saying something because Bellamy Blake is possibly the most awkward person she's ever met.

And after he leaves when he sees the time she feels a little better than before.

But we'll credit that to Blake's miracle soup.