"It's only temporary," Bellamy murmured, eying the mop in front of him.

Across from him, Miller, his new boss, let out a snort. "Keep telling yourself that."

Bellamy's fist clenched, the urge to punch Miller in the face shooting through him. But he needed this damn job, no matter how much he wanted to run out of the frigid building, no matter how much he needed a break from reality, if only for a moment. He ground his teeth and walked around Miller. Octavia was at home, depending on him, relying on him to keep his fists to himself and his sanity in check.

"Start with the hockey locker rooms," Miller called after him. "They stink the worst, but the stuck up princesses in the figure skating room are worse. Trust me."

Bellamy tossed a nod over his shoulder and navigated the mop and bucket toward the door labeled Locker Room 2: Arkadia Hockey Teams A and B. He had plenty of experience with this room, having spent hours during his formative years lacing up his skates here. He shoved the door open, the decisive clang giving him some satisfaction. There was no point in thinking about the past. His life had been dumped upside down and he couldn't even panic. He had to keep it together, for Octavia, for his mom.

His eyes stung and he shook his head, grabbing the mop and grinding it into the rubber floor. Bellamy was done crying. He'd had two nights and that was all he was going to get. They needed to eat and Bellamy couldn't afford a breakdown on the first day of this stupid job.

The sounds of hockey pucks bombarding the boards echoed into the dank room, reminding him of the feel of a stick his hand and the slice of his blades across the ice. He'd thought maybe he'd play in high school, but the reality of his station in life had quickly been imposed upon him. His mom couldn't afford to pay for the travel team and while rec league was great, it wasn't going to get him onto even the middle school team. He scrubbed harder at the floor, trying to erase the memories.

Two hours later and the entire waiting area was scrubbed to perfection. The hockey teams had exited both rinks and now the nauseating strains of endless classical music were echoing through the building. Why couldn't figure skaters at least skate to interesting music? If he had to hear Swan fucking Lake one more time, he might actually walk out.

He glanced over at Miller sitting at the front desk taking payments from mothers in absurd fur coats that made them look like fashion disasters. Not that he knew much about it. Octavia had never complained about the paltry clothes they got from Goodwill. In any case, the tailoring business their mom ran gave her plenty of chances to add her own personal touches.

Bellamy sighed, eyeing the last room on his list, the figure skating locker room. There were glass windows into the room lined with picture perfect maroon lockers that had bright pink and lime green locks dangling from them. The back of the room housed several stalls with dizzyingly sparkly dresses hanging from monogramed hangers. He rolled his eyes. Bellamy was not about to be intimidated by some stupid girls and their excessive amounts of rhinestones.

In any case, only one girl occupied the room, brilliant blue earbuds stuck securely under a wild blonde ponytail. Better now than later when the hoards got off the current freestyle session. He started moping as far away from her as possible, hoping she'd disappear before he reached her bench. Her skates were already off, covered with the ridiculously fluffy purple soakers that were all the rage, or so he gathered from the plethora of them occupying the locker room.

He finished the first row of lockers and peered around the corner. She was still there. Her wild hair pulled out of the hair tie as she moved through a series of steps to an inaudible beat. Lovely. She had her eyes closed and her face was set in deep concentration.

Bellamy sloshed the mop in the bucket loudly, hoping to disturb her. No such luck. Well, he wasn't going to wait around all day for this ice princess. He pushed the mop down the aisle, water spraying as he moved past her.

Her eyes shot open as the spray connected with her tights-clad ankles. Their blue was intense, boring into him, holding him captive until she opened her mouth.

"What the hell are you doing? Can't you see I'm doing a run through?" Her eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"Just doing my job, Princess," he growled, turning away from her. He didn't have the energy for this bullshit.

Her hand clamped down on his shoulder, forcing him to face her again. Her face was determined, her brow creasing as she stared him down. "No. Who are you? I know everyone here and I've never seen you before."

"What?" he groused. "You own the place or something?"

Her eyes burned brighter. "As a matter of fact, yes. My parents do own this place."

His disdainful retort died in his throat. God fucking damn it. Of course, he had to go pick a fight with the one and only Clarke Griffin, Ice Princess extraordinaire. He didn't remember much of her, just images of blonde hair bouncing as she hopped on the ice after the rec games he'd attended in elementary school. He knew about her, knew about the partnership between the Griffins and the Jahas. Bellamy fucking worked for them. He'd known he was going to run into the golden boy, Wells Jaha, but he'd forgotten about Clarke entirely. He and Wells were cool anyway. When he'd dropped out of the rec leagues in middle school, Wells had bothered to comment that the older boys missed him when they ran into each other at Stop and Shop, a kindness Bellamy would not forget.

But Clarke, he'd forgotten she even existed. He stared down at her. She was taller now, clearly a budding woman. Dates swirled through his brain. She ought to be about 18 now, probably a senior at Arkadia High. He swallowed, suddenly unsure what to say. He was still pissed as hell at her holier than thou attitude, but he couldn't exactly insult his boss' daughter.

Bellamy opted for giving her his most disinterested stare. "Sorry, Princess. Bellamy Blake, janitor, at your service."

She crossed her arms, huffing and sending his gaze in the absolute wrong direction. He cleared his throat and motioned vaguely at the rest of the aisle. "Care to let me do my job?"

It was her turn to look put out. Her cheeks flushed a dark red as she hurriedly gathered her skates, tossing them in a blue duffle that he definitely did not notice matched her eyes. She jammed her feet into pink sneakers with rhinestones down the sides. Glancing back up at him with a flustered glare, she snapped, "Stay out of my way."

"No fucking problem, Princess," he hollered after her, his irritation rising above his common sense. She didn't respond, merely slammed the door behind her, leaving Bellamy scowling at the empty room.

Great. Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic. His first day and he already was making all the wrong decisions. He sank back against the locker bank, his head connecting with a dull thud. What the hell was he doing?

Octavia was on the couch when he walked into their one bedroom shit of an apartment. Their mom had left them the house, but he'd sold it within a week. He hated that it had come to that, but he didn't have enough income to feed them for the next few months, no matter how many hours he worked, or how many classes he dropped. So he'd sold the house, gotten the cheapest place he could find in a decent part of town and kept his part time tuition payments on time. He knew, as much as it sucked now, that degree was the only thing standing between them and hell.

She glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing as they took in his tense posture. "So I guess this wouldn't be a good time to tell you I got suspended?"

He sighed, raking a hand through his dark curls. "What the heck did you do, O?"

She shrugged, her slim shoulders reminding him that he needed that paycheck no matter the abuse he'd endure. "Emma Cantor called mom a cheap whore, so I punched her." She flexed her fingers, bringing his attention to the dried blood and bruises swelling across her knuckles. "Broke the bitch's nose."

He didn't know whether to be pissed or proud. Octavia getting suspended was definitely not on the list of positives, but he couldn't blame her. He'd have done worse. Not that he would punch 16 year old Emma I'm going to be Prom Queen Cantor, but he'd had enough interactions with her to understand Octavia's rage. He settled on grunting as he opened the fridge and popped open a PBR. "How long?"

"Only two days." She snorted as she pushed off the couch, wrapping her oversized sweater closer around her. "They thought it was extenuating circumstances. What with mom hardly being cold in the grave."

Bellamy looked sharply at her. They hadn't talked about it much since the funeral, each trying to be strong for the other he suspected. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Octavia rolled her eyes.

"You can say it, big brother. Whatever it is."

Bellamy took a large swig of his PBR. "Are you okay?"

She stared at him, her eyes gleaming and her jaw clenching. "Not particularly, but wallowing isn't going to solve anything. Anyway, it feels better to punch Emma Cantor than cry."

He couldn't exactly disagree, but he also couldn't help but think this wasn't the path he wanted for Octavia. He set his beer down on the counter and pulled her close to him, savoring the warmth of her small frame. He pressed a kiss to her temple and pulled away. "Okay, but you can talk to me, if you need."

"That street goes both ways, big brother," she murmured, retreating toward the bedroom. "I'm going to go do that English essay that was due today. Don't stay up too late."

Bellamy sighed, bringing the beer back to his lips. He had no idea what to do for her. Hell, he had no idea what to for himself either. He eyed the couch, contemplating another night of tossing and turning. He definitely needed another beer.