Two Bottles of Whisky, Part 1 (Bellarke)

Wednesday, 1:32 pm (Facebook)

Bellamy Blake: Cancelled all my plans this weekend, cleared my schedule to spend time with my sister only to be informed she's 'busy'. This sucks. Going to be a long weekend...anyone doing anything?

4:01 pm

Clarke found his second Facebook page by chance; and what she would much later call a divine intervention. She'd added a person she'd met through a slight meeting on Facebook, only because they asked her. She wouldn't usually have gone out of her way to find the singular person she'd had a five-second conversation with at a very awkward party of a person she worked with, much less recalled anything but an unfortunately large nose on their face. Yet, she must have made a very good impression for this person had taken the time to track her down and ask her to be a 'friend' and Clarke couldn't resist.

She wondered if they had any other mutual friends?

This was how Clarke came to find it; scrolling through the nameless and faceless people of this person's page when she noticed a strikingly and uncomfortably familiar face a third of the way to the bottom.

Her boyfriend's name was Fisher Abernathy. This guy's name was Finn Collins.

So it had to be impossible, she figured, that in the state of New York existed two people that looked exactly the same because she was damn sure Fisher was an only child.

One look at the face in the tiny square on the left of the webpage made her stomach churn; one of his names was a lie. Fisher and Finn were the exact same person. More upsetting, there was a girl he had thrown his arm around in his profile picture that looked more than a little behind overly-friendly.

"Cousins?" Clarke whispered out loud, weakly, pained. It very well could be; they had the same silky black hair, same brooding dark eyes, similar white-toothed smiles that stretched from ear to ear. If she just closed the page, deleted her history, and forgot she ever came across this Finn Collins, perhaps she could convince herself this was true.

Yet Clarke was better than that.

She scrolled to find his status of dating.

Engaged to Raven Reyes.

Clarke stared at it for the longest time, uncomprehending. She clicked on the blue name of the girl, and it brought her to another page, this time with just the girl in the profile picture, but unmistakably the same girl.

That's perhaps when it all hit Clarke...she was the other woman. She, who gained the title of 'Miss Goody-Two-Shoes' when she graduated high school in the yearbook, could be breaking up a soon-to-be marriage. Lord, she felt awful, even if she only just found out.

She closed her laptop for a very long time, bile rising in her throat and eyes burning with tears.

6:22 pm (Text)

Message sent from Clarke to (recently changed) Big Fucking Asshole: Consider us done, 'Finn Collins'

It freed her, sending the message, but as soon as she did, the worst feeling in the world rose up her body. She looked at her suitcase, already packed, sitting by the door anxiously. She looked at the boxes almost completely filled and duct-taped, she looked at her sleeping bag she'd begun using last night as her bed, and she wondered how and why and seriously?

She'd thought Fish-Finn's hesitance to move across the country with her was merely the dislike of change. It was understandable, he'd grown up here his whole life. But now it was painfully clear it was because he had another woman here that he was tied to much more deeply.

And was he ever going to tell her? They were leaving in two days, goddamit! Or supposed to be leaving. She imagined it playing out now, he'd just never show up to the platform. Leave her wondering, getting on that train forever, why? At least now she knew. And she had to be grateful for the recently added friend; without her, she'd never have known.

It still brought her back to her original problem though. She'd paid for the tickets in an effort to sway him to be more comfortable, and now she might be out of that money. A quick search online for the company's website stated that all cancellations less than a week before intended leave date would result in a loss of that money.

She called Finn's number, ready to demand he pay her (it was the freaking least he could do, wasn't it?) but found the line disconnected.

She called the service number for the train. She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but she was going to do something about this.

After half-an-hour of waiting, and making a very strong martini for herself in the meantime, she was connected to a person.

"Hi, so...I see you can't get refunds for trips less than a week before I leave?" Clarke began, flopping down on some couch cushions missing the couch (currently in storage), leaning against the wall.

"That's right, when are you leaving?" The person asked. Clarke bit her lip, trying to keep back tears.

"Friday..." She whispered, "I mean, can I get any money back?" She asked, ranking her fingers through her hair.

"I'm sorry, by this point, that's too late." The person sounded truly sympathetic. A person all the way who knows behind a computer screen dealing with people like her that have already read the website and knew the answer.

"Oh, well..." Clarke sighed, and felt her words gush out, "I mean, that sucks. It really sucks, you know? I guess you don't- but my second ticket was for my ex-boyfriend who I just found out today has a different name and is getting married in a month. Don't think I was ever going to know, and now I'm down a traveling part and the fare." She shook her head angrily, even thought the person couldn't see her.

There was a pregnant pause.

"Well..." The worker's reply was hesitant, almost soft.

"Yes?" Clarke straightened, clearing her head, zoning in on her words.

"We don't do this anymore, but it was never written out of the books or the computer systems. If you can find someone to switch out for this guy by midnight, I mean, at least you wouldn't be alone. Maybe they'll even pay for you."

Clarke looked at the clock. Five hours until midnight by this point.

"I can do that." She said confidently, nodding. She had plenty of friends.

"Okay. When you call back, ask for my name- Jan, and I'll fix it for you. I really am sorry." She finished awkwardly, and Clarke shrugged, making a small grunt.

"Wasn't your poor choice in men." Clarke reminded herself dejectedly, and hung up.

Immediately, Clarke went through her head with people she could take. She treid Wells first, even though she was pretty sure he had work this weekend (He did). Next was Octavia-even though she was half-way across the country, but even hopping on mid-trip would have been totally worth it, but she was apparently going away on a wild weekend adventure with her new boyfriend Lincoln, but promised to punch 'Fisher' the next time she was in the Big Apple. In the next couple hours, Clarke called almost everyone she could think of. People from high school. Her mother. That one person that had led her to the friend that led her to Finn. She even went as far as to call her ex-girlfriend Lexa, and found herself a bit relieved when she said she was busy, but at that point, she would have been glad for the company all the same. It was useless, but then again, who at this age just randomly had a free schedule for the weekend when asked two days before it?

No one, apparently.

Clarke logged back into Facebook, angrily wanting to look at his real profile picture again, because she was clearly in a self-destruct mood, but the first post at the top of the page. She clasp her hands together, resting them almost to her nose, leaning forward to nearly touch the screen with her nose.

Bellamy Blake needed something to do this weekend. How utterly convenient.

She finished off her martini, and then took a shot of tequila just for good measure, and stalked across the hall of her apartment to the numbered door right across from hers.

10:38 pm

Someone was knocking on his door at ten. It wasn't Miller, he'd checked- his best friend was currently on the grave-yard shift at his job, otherwise they'd probably be drinking and watching sports right now, like they used to during the week.

He really hoped it was Octavia with a really good apology for promising this weekend she'd be free and then dropping the ball on him, yet again, for a new and equally scary looking boyfriend as all the others she'd had. As if she could magically appear at his doorstep all the way from North Dakota. Bellamy still hoped.

"But this one I can feel is true, true love, Bell." She'd told him over the phone. He'd been too upset to even respond to that, and had angrily slammed his phone down. It wasn't so much that her flakiness upset him, he knew it, but it was more he'd turned down the chance to go on his high-school's yearly trip as a chaperone to Rome for this, because Octavia had planning it for almost a year. To think, he could be wandering through the forum right now, staring at the colosseum, taking selfies next to incredible statues...it infuriated him.

So he was really quite surprised, although he should have been so much, when Clarke Griffin was the person behind the knocking.

"Lock yourself out again?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That was one time." Clarke snapped, rolling her eyes, "And you should probably give me that key back now." She added, holding out her hand.

"Why? Got a new beau you need to give it to?" He asked, and her flinch was visible and concerning to Bellamy. But instead of explaining it, she scowled deeper, holding out her palm impatiently.

"You just won't have a need for it anymore." She said vaguely, and Bellamy cautiously retrieved the second-key she'd been given from his key rack. Once she had it, he expected her to turn around and leave, but instead, she fidgeted awkwardly in his doorway.

"I actually am here with a proposition for you." She began, nearly dropping the key in her nervousness.

"Uh..." Bellamy felt his body shut down for a second, "I get sex to make you forget but-,"

"No!" Clarke's face turned red, "Not sex...no." She shook her head, and Bellamy relaxed a bit, "I saw on Facebook you have nothing to do this weekend."

Bellamy really could not predict where this was heading. A thousand different ideas flashed through his mind, most of them sexy still, but he tried to keep himself out of the gutter. It wasn't working. Clarke had always been pretty.

"Well, here it is. I'm going on a train on Friday, takes just about the whole weekend, and I'm suddenly without a partner. If I can find someone to switch it out for by midnight, I don't loose anything. If not, then I loose the money I spent on it. I mean, I just don't want to be alone the whole time either. I'm even willing to pay for a plane ticket back here, since it was one-way originally."

"Who was the ticket originally for?" That was about all Bellamy could think about from her whole speech.

Her jaw tightened, and twitched. "Never mind that. It's not important."

Bellamy may have been wrong, but he was almost sure she'd been dating a guy named Fisher. He pretended to have gotten a message, covertly looking on Facebook, but found her relationship status empty. He scrutinized her; had he been imagining it? Was it a bad break-up? Mutual break-up?

"I even have whisky, I don't know if that will sway you." Clarke added suddenly, and Bellamy blinked back at her.

"That's a lot to consider," He thought about, chewing his lip, "Especially since I don't...we aren't..." He stopped before digging himself into a hole, "Can I have time to think?"

Clarke checked her watch.

"Well, you have to give me an answer by midnight. Or I guess if you don't, I know." She shrugged, "You know where to find me if you decide, or just Facebook me with your info and all." She waved nonchalantly, turning around, "I'll let you consider it."

As soon as she was gone, one thought from her whole 'proposition' popped into his brain.

One-way.

Was Clarke...moving?

The signs had been there, and perhaps he just hadn't wanted to see it. He had noticed she'd been bringing empty brown cardboard boxes into the apartment and then taking them back out, sealed and heavy-looking. He'd told himself it was spring-cleaning...in February. Or she was being conscious about how many things she owned, that whole 'cleanse of body and life' he'd heard some people talk about, mostly female co-workers. She had been working crazy hours the past couple days, he thought she was just trying to save some cash. Most likely her job squeezing out the best of her they could before she went (he was sure she was a wonderful employee).

Suddenly, the place where her second key had been seemed so much emptier.

It wasn't only that she was an ideal neighbor, because she certainty was. She never threw loud obnoxious parties, he doubted she'd ever broken any rules or done something illegal and likely wasn't about to start with her apartment, and she was considerate of everyone in the building, like how she baked Christmas cookies and put them in front of everyone's doors on Christmas Eve last year. It was so much more than that...Clarke was...frankly, she was a bright ray of sunshine in an otherwise musty and loud building.

She never seemed afraid to talk to people on the elevator. She seemed genuinely interested in Bellamy's job everyday, not just faux interest to keep an otherwise awkward ride bearable. Like seriously wanted to know about his life and such; which, let's be honest, the only other people excited about a teacher's life was another teacher. She rarely talked about herself, but never shyed away if he asked her. She waved to everyone, and knew the names of basically everyone in the building...Bellamy maybe knew three people other than Clarke. She also seemed to know what the did, their kids, where their favorite bagel shop was, it was the odd intimate things like that he was always surprised about.

And being neighbors at the end of the building, right across the hall from each other, they were enclosed in their own little world, not much like they spent a ton of time together. There was the aforementioned time she got locked out, simply locked out (not like in her towel or something like pornos always showed) and that's when she decided to give him her second key, because before last month, their schedules were pretty similar.

They'd both shared a couple take-out meals, sitting in the halls of the building and talking after either of them had a particularly hard day, and Bellamy did wish it happened more often. He once asked her for a cup of sugar (cliched, right?) when he was trying to make cake for his mom, and almost burned the complex down, so Clarke stepped in and saved it.

Other than that...?

Bellamy swiped his phone from the table.

10:50 pm (Text)

Message sent from Bellamy to Miller: Dude, Clarke just asked me on a weekend train ride with her. I think she's moving...should I say yes?

Less than a minute later, his phone vibrated. Shouldn't Miller be working? He'd sent that less as an actual question, more as a way to keep himself grounded. Yet he was quite interested to see his friend's answer.

10:51 (Text)

Message sent from Miller to Bellamy: Uhh, the hot blonde from across the hall? That one? Because if so, what are you doing texting me for?

Bellamy gave a slight smirk and a chuckle at the text, and opened his phone's FB app.

At the apartment, Clarke paced around for a bit, and took another shot. Had she seriously just asked Bellamy on a weekend trip with her? What if he took it the wrong way? What if he was a real jerk outside of what they had here (Doubtful, he was a freshman History teacher, and you had to have some sense of a liking for children to do that, something not even Clarke had)? What if this all just blew up in her face?

Her laptop dinged, signaling she'd gotten a message on Facebook. She paced another circle before checking. He replied; that was good, right? Or was he too nice of a guy to let her down without ever answering her, and this was really bad he'd decided so quickly?

10:53 (Facebook Message)

Bellamy: Hey, so, I guess I'm in...nothing much else to do this weekend. Where are we going, exactly, that might be nice to know. Here's all the rest of my information, by the way, just reply if you need anything else.

Clarke almost laughed and cried at the same time. She'd never even told him where they were going, she realized in agreement. But he'd said yes, and now she wasn't going to be alone with the awful thoughts of her cheating ex-boyfriend. As she called back the company, she balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could type back.

Clarke: California! Sorry I never said anything. Trip takes about 3 and half a day, by the way.

Bellamy: Nearly 4 days? I just checked, usually it only takes about a three. What should I pack?

Clarke: I choose a longer train-ride...the 'scenic views' it was called. Thought it sounded cool. We might be looping up around the USA. Stopping at the occasional sight-seeing place. Not sure, thought. I already bought you a plane ticket back Tuesday. Thank god for extended school weekends, right? Unfortunate about the leak, but better for me. Uhh, bring clothes (obvious, I hope) and stuff to do...books and stuff. I don't know if I could keep you occupied for four whole days.

As soon as she sent the message she was acutely aware of how sexual her last sentence sounded, but dismissed the thought as soon as she was connected to Jan and scrolled back up to read off Bellamy's information to her. She also realized that she'd rambled a ton, and that he hadn't actually told her about the leak and closing (she'd read it in the papers), and hoped it wouldn't seem weird she knew it.

The switch was done without a hitch, much to her relief. By the time she was done, there was a new message from Bellamy, and it was nearly midnight.

Bellamy: Guess I'm up for anything, better than sitting here until school is re-opened.

Clarke: Awesome! We leave on Friday at around 4:30. See you then!

Bellamy didn't answer her, but he was already going on this trip with her, so Clarke wasn't upset. Besides, she was pretty tired.

All of Thursday and Friday morning she didn't see him. Her life was busy, trying to tie up loose ends at work as well as gather all her things to be put in storage until her mother could drive down what she hadn't labeled as a necessary item to live with. They had texted each other, though, at the end of Thursday to agree to meet in the hall at 3:30 to give them enough time to grab at taxi and drive there. She was perfectly on time, and just as she had already guessed, he opened his door five minutes late.

"Geeze, Princess. Are you bringing everything but the kitchen sink to Cali?" He questioned, looking at her large suitcase, her larger than average sized 'carry on', and her huge purse slung over her back, plus a pillow tied to the top of her suitcase.

"Well," Clarke felt her cheeks flush, "Try squishing your whole life into the allotted weight for the train compartments. It's not easy, so you have to get creative." She defended.

"You're not from around here, how'd you get it all here the first time around?" He asked, recalling she'd arrived about a year ago, nearly down to the same day (a day earlier) than he had.

"My mom and I drove. But she's tied up in her job, and I can do it myself for now, you know? I'm an adult now."

"You weren't before?" Bellamy raised an eyebrow, "You were what, 26?"

"Yeah," Clarke seemed slightly surprised he knew, "But I'm much more of an adult now." She said simply, and it was left at that.

They took their taxi, arrived, checked in, and got to the platform all with ten minutes to spare before the doors opened.

"So..." Bellamy coughed as the got on, and Clarke shoved her large suitcase up with the others, "Where are our seats?"

"You mean compartment." Clarke gave a smirk over her shoulder, and Bellamy's eyes widened and he paused, staring at her. She laughed at his expression, "It's bunk-beds, Blake. Don't worry. Right now it's just chairs. Come on." She motioned.

The compartment was tiny, painfully so. It brought back harsh memories of Bellamy's dorm room experience in college, something he was not looking to relieve ever, as he ducked underneath the door. His legs and Clarke's were squished up against each other, two seats on either end of the small space, and a window.

"Harry Potter lied." He chuckled, "I was expecting spacious leg-room."

"You and me both." Clarke was looking around almost nervously. Not for the first time in the past couple days, he wondered who the second ticket had been for. Maybe her mom? Maybe things at her mother's work had gotten really busy? Yet Clarke seemed glad about her not coming yet, and when she'd offered him this trip that night, the speak of the second ticket owner had been tense. Bellamy stared at her...what an enigma.

"You're looking at me odd." She said, and Bellamy averted his eyes.

As the train lurched forward from the station, Bellamy coughed. "You said something about whisky?"

8:00 pm (Friday)

"I spy...something...tall. It's erm, leafy-,"

Clarke kicked his shin half-playfully, "I swear to God if the answer is tree again, I will kick you harder." She rolled her eyes.

"But Clarke," Bellamy feigned innocence, just to annoy her, "What kind of tree is it?"

Clarke rolled her eyes once again. They'd both decided to save the whisky until later, but now she was sort of regretting it. There was only so much one could 'spy' on a rapidly moving train.

"Let's play something else." Clarke said.

"Okay, how about question game." Bellamy said, raising an eyebrow. Clarke's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What's that?"

"Exactly what it sounds. I ask you a question, you answer." He said, "For example- who was the other ticket for?"

Clarke sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes narrowed, "Sorry, Clarke Griffin is currently unavailable to answer such contents." She said, deadpanned. Bellamy frowned. Whatever it was, and he was now beginning to be sure it was a bad break-up, she wasn't ready to talk. But he still had other questions, but Clarke cut in.

"My turn, right?" She asked, and he opened to stop her, but she continued, "What is...your favorite ice-cream."

Bellamy gave a sharp bark of laughter.

"Seriously? That's your question?" He leaned back, grinning. She was too adorable sometimes.

"Are they supposed to be deep, soul-searching questions?" Clarke asked back, "Now, answer the question."

"Okay, okay. I don't like ice-cream."

Clarke guffawed, "Seriously, Bellamy."

"I don't. Too cold for me." He said, shrugging. Clarke stared at him in horror.

"I don't know if I can trust a weirdo that doesn't like ice-cream. That's not natural!" She sputtered.

"I'm unusual. My turn- are you a virgin?"

"Bellamy!"

"What? Just because you ask your cute, innocent little questions doesn't mean I'm going to ask the same type." He said, "Unless, you're chicken."

"You're just insufferable." Clarke snapped back, "And no. But if you want to know how many or who, that's locked up too." She said.

"Little Miss Perfect...not so perfect?" Bellamy raised an eyebrow at her. He honestly hadn't been expecting her to answer so freely...or say she wasn't. Not that it was unlikely, totally likely, since she was good-looking, a nice person, and maybe she was some sort of kinky person in the bedroom.

Clarke giggled a bit, "I'm just a perfectionist and like to follow laws, I'm not a nun, Bellamy. I went through college and some adult life like everyone else. I would ask you the same back, but I'm pretty sure I've seen you take a couple girls into your room." She said. Bellamy held back a flinch. He didn't want Clarke to think he was some insensitive womanizer; he was far from it. But he swallowed and answered cheekily, because what could he really say in his defense? Clarke had seen him with multiple women.

"So if I told you I was just watching movies with them and knitting you wouldn't believe me?" He asked.

"Who knits on dates?" Clarke frowned.

"Maybe I do." Bellamy poked her leg, "I make the best scarves."

"I officially believe nothing you've said." Clarke informed him. Bellamy's tone changed, surprising her.

"I actually do know how to knit. My mom was a seamstress and all- she taught me how to sew and knit things when I was younger. Pretty handy when I tear my shirts and all, don't have to pay someone to do it."

Clarke thought about it for a moment, before chuckling.

"What?" He asked, worried she was going to tease him. He didn't tell many people that, mostly because it wasn't 'manly'.

"Someone like me would be perfect for someone like you, hypothetically." She seemed caught up in her thoughts, not at all stating something between them seriously, "I mean, I'm shit at housemaking stuff. Other than being clean and knowing how to heal someone, I can't cook or sew or anything." She said.

"So many imperfections." Bellamy clicked his tongue, "Who would have known you're actually faulty underneath all that perfection?"

Clarke gave him a sad smile, and he felt bad. NOt that he'd messed up, but just because it was so clear something was bugging her, but because she seemed also unwilling to let him help in anyway he could. Their joking question game had gone into deeper territory, Bellamy could sense the shift.

"Why are you moving to California?" He asked softly, and half-expected Clarke to declare this question locked away too.

"Got done with residency last year. My mom wanted me close to her. I wasn't thrilled about New York, but I got a great job offer and decided to try it. I hate it there." She scrunched up nose, "I need fresh air, the sea, the sun...concrete jungle, the say. It's stifling. Besides, I don't really like the cold."

"No one likes the cold. Anyone who says they like the cold is either lying or should be locked in in the nut house." Bellamy added, and was glad to see her smile.

"I guess that's about it then. California seemed like a good place. Got another good offer, it's warm. My mom's not thrilled about me living so far away, but you have to flee the nest at sometime." She said.

"Flee? Sounds..." Bellamy struggled for the right word, "Almost...not right." He frowned, and Clarke shrugged.

"My mom can be a little...overbearing. She means best, but sometimes her 'best' makes choices I wouldn't make. My turn, anyway. What were the plans you cancelled that you were so upset about?" She asked.

"I never cancelled, I just denied it. I was asked to be a chaperone on a trip to Rome, and I chose not to go because Tavia had been so excited about this trip here for weeks. I mean, Rome, Clarke!" Bellamy sighed, his frustrations rolling in again.

"I'm sure you'll get there one day." She said, "Hopefully."

"Teachers don't make great money, you know." He laughed, "Doctors don't understand that." He meant it in no way as a jab at their difference in class and salary, because he was honestly happy where he was, but Clarke seemed upset at his comment.

"One day, I'll buy you a ticket there. To thank you for coming here with me. It's been exciting, right?" She asked sarcastically.

"We've had a great question game, and a thrilling round of I Spy. It's not that bad. Don't think you need to buy me a ticket. I like just getting to know you better." He said honestly.

"A little late, though, me moving and all." Clarke looked down, and he saw a blush creep across her cheeks.

"The weekend is still young, Clarke. We have lots of time a head of us."

9:28 pm

"We're going to be late for our dinner reservations, Bellamy. Put the book down."

Bellamy glanced up, surprised.

"Dinner reservations? On a train?" He winced, "I think the nicest thing I have is a button-down shirt...and it might be a Hawaiian one." He said, then his face frowned, "You should have told me."

"It's not the Titanic, Bellamy. It's a train. No fancy formal attire needed." She said, tapping her foot impatiently at the door.

"Oh." He scratched his head, "Then why do we have 'reservations'. Can't we just eat whenever?" He questioned.

"Well, if you want to try the snack bar, hope they have a dinner menu, I suppose. But I mean, they have to feed the entire train, so obviously switching out the dinners is needed."

Bellamy grunted. "Think it's going to be better than airplane food?"

"I've heard mixed things." Clarke said, strolling ahead, "Well, come on! We don't want to loose our table."

Bellamy rolled his eyes. Obviously, if their names were down, it was unlikely they were going to lose their table. Yet when they finally found the ill-direction dining car at 9:41 (for a dinner 'reservation' at 9:30) they worker looked at them with a mixture of unbounded annoyance.

"You are late." She said, her voice staccato and crisp.

"Trains are a confusing place. One would think that something that's thin and horizontal would be easy but- she walked away." Bellamy had begun to joke, but the worker had spun in the middle with a huff leaving him hanging, "Well then." He sucked in his cheeks, offended.

Clarke patted his arm. "Don't take it too personally. I've heard that most train workers are," She lowered her voice, glancing at family with children not far away, "Bitches."

"Well, I can very well imagine." Bellamy guffawed as they stood awkwardly in the door of the train hall, and his stomach growled looking at the salads and soups patrons were trying to figure out how to eat on a moving vehicle, "I mean, at least flight attendants sometimes get to go to cool places. Other countries. Trains can't really...if you start in the US, you're either going to Alaska- which is cold and dark, Canada- which is too nice for me, or Mexico- where you have a good chance of getting shot."

Clarke laughed but cut off as the worker returned with a cross expression.

"Our tables are filled."

"What?" Clarke frowned, checking her card, "I mean, we have reservations. You can't just give it to someone else!" She objected, and the lady gave her a hard 'don't tempt me' look, but refused to answer.

"We had to put you at the end, here." She said, and led them down to the very end of the cart. While most of the other tables were at least spacious enough to fit a family comfortably, this one was cramped and had a table cloth hastily thrown over it. Bellamy and Clarke exchanged looks.

"Across from each other?" He asked, and she nodded, holding back a blush. Yet that didn't go as planned because they had just gotten situated when another couple came bustling down, also extremely 'late' and was placed by them. This forced Bellamy to have to go back to Clarke's side, his legs pressed against hers, shoulder to shoulder. At first, he was miffed, but the couple seated next to them were so gregarious and adorable it was hard to stay mad.

"These workers get so flustered!" The woman laughed, a wise old age and her husband chuckled in agreement, taking his glasses off to clean them. They were the sort of springy elderly couple that people envied; they were off to see the world, had an easy going personally, and still bantered with each other like they were first married in such a playful way.

"We couldn't find the compartment." Clarke said when questioned why they got stuck at the 'reject table' as their new friend called it. She and Clarke seemed to hit it off quite quickly, while the man was a bit more withdrawn, quiet.

"Oh, I suppose that's better than us. We were down at the bar and lost track of time." She waved her hand.

"Is there anything good down there?" Bellamy asked.

"Not really, but it passes the time." She winked. She was also unassuming. Bellamy expected the question of his and Clarke's relationship to occur at least once, but it never cropped up, and she never seemed curious to poke into their lives. He was grateful about that.

They laughed at the worker's puckered faces when they ordered food, and soon she was sharing her stories of other worse train rides she'd had, keeping them entertained and far from the fact their body heat was close and personal at the moment.

Dinner passed uneventfully, for as dramatic as their entrance had been. With desert, when Clarke asked for some red wine to complement her choice in sweets. This newer worker, younger but seemingly still as cranky, had taken to looking solely at Bellamy, and looked at her irritably when she asked.

"Are you 21?" She questioned flatly.

"Yes, 26 actually." Clarke sighed, "I have a young face, so they say." She laughed a bit, but the worker's face was stony.

"Are you sure?"

"Obviously I know how old I am." Clarke scowled, handing her ID over, which the worker held away like it was disgusting.

"Looks like a fake." The person said, unconvinced. Clarke was about to launch into a fully-heated argument with her when Bellamy grabbed it back.

"Well, I'll take the bottle of what she wanted too, actually." He said, a hand holding her steady. She locked her jaw in frustration, especially when the the woman nodded.

"Aren't you going to ask him if he's 21?" Clarke asked with a twinge of bitterness.

"Oh, no. He looks old enough." She said, winking, and Clarke resisted the urge to gag. The older couple also agreed to share the bottle, and Clarke just about had it when the woman only brought out three glasses.

"Well, we can share." Bellamy shrugged, unconcerned, "Unless you have cooties."

"Grow up, this isn't third grade." Clarke said, taking a long sip.

"That's exactly what someone with cooties would say." Bellamy teased. Sharing was a bit inconvenient, but altogether not as bad as she thought. Things would have been much better if the worker had stopped saying covertly sexual things to Bellamy and treating him like some sort of god. Clarke was so disgusted, and angry for the strangest reason, that she left to go to the bathroom half-way through one of these times.

When she returned, she sat on the end, especially so the lady had to work harder to oogle him. She felt it as a small triumph when she came back with their desserts and her eyes hardened at the change of seats.

This was perhaps, Clarke would look back, a bad choice for later consequences. The train jostled them about, and most times their glasses were heavy enough to stay put, but often moved inches away from where you set it. The old man's cup was right near Clarke, almost at the edge, just almost out of his grasp.

"Oh, I'll get it." Clarke said at the same time he reached for it, and the train went over a bump, causing him to jerk it toward her in a way she hadn't expected. The rouge color spilled from the glass like a shower, falling directly into her lap and then bouncing to the ground with a shattering sound.

There was a collective silence, before Bellamy gave a low whistle.

"Bad day to wear white." He said weakly, and Clarke just stared at her soiled clothes, glaring at him with a lidded frown.

"What did you do?" The fury of the worker was unmatched, and she was directing at at Clarke.

"I didn't do anything!" Clarke shot back, "It fell."

"Oh, really? I saw you reach for it. I don't even think you should be having wine." The lady sneered, "You're going to clean this up."

"The hell I'm not!" Clarke stood, "I didn't purposely knock a red drink onto my white dress, you know!"

"It was my mistake, actually." The man spoke up, the loudest he'd been all dinner, "Not her fault at all." The lady looked irked that Clarke was removed, but still frowned.

"Hardly my mess to clean." She muttered, stalking away.

"Bitch!" Clarke hissed after her.

"I'm going to find some towels." The old man stood, "I'm sorry, Clarke."

"It really wasn't even your fault. Total accident." Clarke calmed, sighing as she stood to let some of it drip out.

"I'll get towels too." Bellamy agreed, and he and the man went on a wild adventure to find even some wash rags. In the end, he managed to woo yet another worker into giving him a roll of brown paper towel, but he didn't like doing it. He remembered how upset Clarke had seemed about the other time, and thought maybe this should be kept a secret.

When he returned, Clarke seemed to be in a much better mood, her head in the middle of the table, talking quietly with the woman in hushed voices. She was slipped something, although Bellamy couldn't quite tell what it was. When he asked, Clarke waved her hand to dismiss it and told him it was her contact information for later. He didn't understand immediate girl connections, and didn't question.

All four of them helped to clean up the broken glass and wine on the ground, for it was no one's fault, and Bellamy took the plate with Clarke's dessert (he didn't care if he could or not, he was right pissed) back to their room. Clarke went into the communal bathroom area to wash off, asking Bellamy to grab her pajamas out of her suitcase-it was nearly bed-time anyway.

It took a bit; she'd packed a lot even in her small bag, and when he returned, he expected to find the door closed and leave it there, but turned the corner to see Clarke letting the water run over her shirt, standing in just her bra and a pair of leggings.

"Woah!" He turned around, "Clarke!"

"Everyone else who uses this is at dinner." Clarke said, "Besides, it's just a bra." She said very matter-o-factly.

"Just a...Christ, Clarke." Bellamy felt his whole face redden, "Aren't you even a little embarrassed? I mean, there's just no layer after that between me and breasts and I'm rambling..."

When she didn't answer, he turned to see a weird mixed emotion filter across her face. It was angry, it was dejected, but it was wholly sad and lost.

"Clarke..." He whispered, feeling awful for unknown reasons, "You...I didn't...are you okay?"

"No, not really." Clarke shut off the water, taking her pajamas from him. She mechanically put it on, sighing. She balled her wet clothes into a bag, "I don't know if I can fix this when we get there. I hope, it was one of my favorite dresses."

"I could buy you a new dress." Bellamy offered weakly, following her into their tiny room, which now had two beds. He wasn't sure why he offered, but she seemed so sad that he hated seeing her this way, "Do you want to talk about why you're not okay?"

"No, not really." She answered again, "I'll take top."

"So...go to bed?" He said. She nodded.

"I'm pretty tired, you know. Not much else to do."

"So no whisky tonight?" Bellamy asked, and it took her a long moment to answer as he crawled into the tiny and very cramped bed. But when she did, he could have almost sworn there was a smile underneath her reply.

"Tomorrow, Bellamy. I did promise you that."