The Slowest Burn - Bellarke

Bellarke modern AU- Treehouse

*inspo by bellamykomskaikru on tumblr*
*Clarke is still mourning her fathers death when she finds unexpected life in the place he'd built when she was a girl*
*TW; mentions of domestic violence, suicide and family death*
***

Clarke stared out the window of her kitchen as she waited for the water to boil. It was raining, the steam from the kettle filling the room with welcome warmth.

It seemed as though, everyday since her father died, it had rained.

In reality that wasn't true. If it had rained for 2 months she'd be dealing with the end times. It certainly wasn't the apocalypse, but with her mom holed up in her room 24 hours a day it might as well have been.

She couldn't help but stare, somewhat longingly at the treehouse her father had built her, almost 10 years ago now. She remembered them drawing plans together, her architect father humouring the drawings of a 7 year old. She remembered the day he had finished the slide, and his warm arms waiting for her at the bottom.

Clarke couldn't help herself, she moved to open the sliding door, intending to move outside into the treehouse. The whistle of the kettle stopped her, as she turned back to the stove though, she could have sworn she was something moving.

For one brief, stupid moment she'd hoped it had been her father, that he had been playing a prank on her this whole time, that he would come out and yell surprise, that he would hold her while she cried.

She knew that was stupid, as she turned the stove off and moved toward the door again she could feel her hairs standing on end.

As quietly as she could, assisted by the sound of the storm brewing, she moved up the ladder of the treehouse, pressing open the door gently.

Clarke gasped, there was a girl, no older than 15 with long raven hair curled up in a sleeping bag, completely naive to the goings-on around her.

"I'm sorry." A gravelly male voice spoke.

Clarke whipped her head around. A boy about her age stood in front of her, his arms raised in surrender, his head ducked to avoid colliding with the ceiling.

"What are you doing here?" She tried to keep her voice stern.

"We just needed a place to stay. It's raining and I didn't want my sister to catch a cold, please." He explained, moving toward her.

Clarke took a step back.

"Where's your home? Maybe I can get you back there?" She offered, compelled by the boy's story.

He ran his hand through his wet curly hair with a sigh.

"We can't go home."

There was a rustling from the corner of the room, the young girl was sitting up now, staring at Clarke with wide eyes. She looked as though she may burst into tears.

"It's okay, Octavia. You're okay." He told her, his voice remarkably gently. Clarke felt her heart ache.

"Please don't make us go back." The young girl's voice tugged at something deep within Clarke.

"Why not?" She asked gently, kneeling down to look at the girl. She was beautiful, like a porcelain doll, her deep blue eyes filled with anguish.