Archive of our own
By: wanderinglilly
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Clarke Griffin meets Bellamy Blake when he shows up with a turtle during her shift at the pet store.
She's in the last hour of her shift, not even at the front of the store, but rather checking up on the puppies, because she loves puppies and it serves as practice for her upcoming degree as a veterinarian.
But anyway, she hears the doorbell ring, and when she reaches the counter, there's a dark-skinned, curly haired man holding a baby turtle in a recipient half-filled with water. Huh, Clarke thinks, cute.
"How can I help you?" she asks, peeking over the recipient's edge to look at the turtle. It's swimming about in the water, looking like the world's most content turtle.
"I found this little guy abandoned in a pond near my building." He explains, smiling fondly at the turtle. There are freckles all over his cheeks, which makes the sight even more unfair. Clarke almost isn't a little annoyed that he showed up nearly at her shift's end. He looks up and coughs, the smile a little more forced. "Anyway, I was wondering if there are some tanks you could show me for him? I'm planning on keeping him."
Clarke nods, walking around the counter and signaling for him to follow. When they get there, he starts asking lots of questions, like which one she thinks would be most comfortable for his turtle, or if the one he's taking is too big. Clarke answers good-naturedly, because he's either very concerned with the suitableness of the terrarium, or his fake-earnest look is really good. Somehow, Clarke's inclined to believe the first option.
Twenty minutes later, he leaves with a moderately sized tank, a water filter and a bunch of adornments, amongst which stands a tiny castle. "You're going to be the king." He tells the turtle as they leave the store, and Clarke can't help but be charmed.
Next time is noon of the next day, and he's wearing jeans and a plaid shirt that look very good on him.Clarke, she tells herself, do not ogle your clients. There's a backpack on his shoulder that makes Clarke wonder if he's a college student.
"Hey again" he greets, walking over to where she's sorting dog leashes. "I left yesterday and didn't even buy food for Timmy, do you happen to have turtle food?" he asks, scratching at the back of his neck with evident embarrassment.
In response, Clarke hums, standing up to walk over the respective aisle, when she picks up on the turtle's name. "Timmy?" she asks, curious.
"It's actually Timeous." He clarifies. Clarke stops to turn around and watch him. "My sister called me a nerd and refused to call him that, so she nicknamed him Timmy."
"You named your pet turtle after the narrator of a cosmogonic dialogue?" she asks in utter disbelief. He shrugs, nodding, and Clarke can't believe it: there is no such thing as an attractive nerd.
Well, her brain provides, there's Raven.
And it's a fair point. "Dude," she says anyway, staring at him. "And your sister let you get away with it? Do you realize the emotional damage you've caused Timmy? All the other turtles are going to laugh at him every time he introduces himself."
She sounds unbelievably stupid, but he smiles a little bit more with every passing word, and yeah, Clarke's willing to sound stupid if he's going to smile at her like that. "He'll introduce himself as Timmy." He replies. "And I was on my way back from the pet shelter when she found out. The registration was already finished." He explains, pulling forth his backpack to extract a paper from a folder. It's an adoption certificate, with the word "dog" crossed out and replaced by "turtle" in messy handwriting. At the very bottom stand two signatures, one Monty Green, apparently the shelter manager, and Bellamy Blake, whom she assumes is the man standing before her.
Effectively, the turtle's name is Timeous.
"You heartless man." Clarke says, giving back the document. Bellamy puts it back in his bag, then gestures for her to keep walking, but makes no comment other than his ever-present smile. She takes him to the food, and then she has to leave him because a lady comes in looking for a dog-shampoo. When she comes back, he's carrying three different brands of turtle food.
Clarke does the natural thing and snorts. Taking two of the containers from him, she starts explaining why the brand in his hands is the best choice, and how it will benefit his turtle's health. He soaks up her words like a kid in school, and Clarke likes the way his brown eyes stay focused on her face, showing genuine interest in what she's saying.
"Thanks. For real," he tells her when she's checking out his purchase, "I'd have taken all of those and fed Timmy all of them until he was so fat he exploded."
"Remember to compliment his diet with fruits and vegetables." Clarke says, offering him a smile with his turtle food bag.
"Hey" he tells her, tucking his chin in his neck and looking away, "Would you mind if I came over if I have questions about taking care of Timmy?" he asks. Clarke is pleasantly surprised.
"I don't actually know that much about turtles." She admits, clasping her hands behind her back. "But sure, I'll help if I can." At that, Bellamy looks up, smiling, then leaves with a cheerful countenance.
After that, he pretty much starts visiting the shop every day.
Some days he asks about turtle care, some others about the terrarium, even going so far as buying another figurine for it (this time a small cannon, to compliment the castle) and considers an expansion. He tells her about Timmy's adventures (he ate an entire strawberry by himself, Clarke, by himself!) and shows her pictures of the turtle, him, and him and the turtle.
Some others he shows up with an already answered question, and sticks around to help her stack whatever merchandise they're running low of. That's how she learns he's a college student majoring in History, twenty-four to her twenty-one, and had never been interested in animals until he found Timmy in that pond, where he thinks a family that no longer wanted him dropped the turtle off.
In exchange, Clarke tells him about being a vet student, and how her mom was so disappointed to find out she's not going to be the kind of doctor she wanted her to. "But she's a neurosurgeon," she tells him cheerfully, sorting out bags of store-brand dog food, "So she's perpetually disappointed by everyone. No one can compare."
Bellamy looks at her then, and seriously tells her he thinks she's very accomplished, and she totally does not blush. It's just the dumb work uniform. It's too hot.
At some point they exchange numbers, and he mostly uses that knowledge to text her funny pictures of Timmy the turtle, until he calls her one Saturday when she's at her apartment baking dog-shaped cookies for her faculty's fundraiser, sounding panicked.
"Clarke," he says when she picks up, juggling the freshly-baked cookie tray in one hand and the phone in the other. "Timmy's not eating, and his mouth won't close, and he's swimming sideways, and I don't know –is he dying? Be honest with me."
Clarke tells him to calm down, breathe, and tell her if anything changed in Timmy's surroundings recently. "Well," Bellamy replies, a little bit calmer but also sounding like he might break down at any moment "The thermostat stopped working a few days ago, and we didn't have air conditioning during the week but I don't see how that-"
"Bellamy." She interrupts, placating. "The change in temperature might have caused a respiratory problem. Bring him over to my apartment and I'll see what I can do."
She gives him the address, and Bellamy shows up looking distressed, Timmy held in a portable tank with both his hands. She takes the turtle from him, tells him to go sit down and throws him a beer can that he nearly drops. When she examines Timmy, she finds that it is a respiratory problem, but a just beginning one that can be treated without medication.
"He'll be fine." She assures, setting a kettle half-full with water on the stove. "he just needs to warm up a little and he'll feel better in no time."
"Really?" Bellamy asks, looking over to her, hopeful. When she nods, he puts the beer can on the coffee table and stomps over to her, snaking an arm around her waist and kissing her firmly on the mouth. She responds immediately, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt to yank him down to her, probing his mouth with her tongue until the realization that breathing and kissing is possible but bothersome hits them both with full force. "Thanks." He tells her between breaths, his forehead on hers.
"Are you really that grateful or did you just want to do that?" she asks, amused. She's playing with the ends of his hair, which makes him hum appreciatively, and stroke her waist in retaliation.
"Honestly? Both." He admits, stealing a short kiss before going to turn off the kettle. Clarke watches him take Timmy out of the tank, fill it with boiling water, then temper it with cold water until it's warm but not too much so. He really was concerned, Clarke thinks, and it's the most adorable thing ever.
"Were you ever going to ask me out if Timmy hadn't gotten sick?" she asks him when he puts the turtle back in its tank, the small animal visibly relaxing once in contact with the warm water. Bellamy throws a fond glance its way.
"We were working up the courage." He tells her, scratching at Timmy's shell. "But since we're on it, would you like to have dinner at me and Timmy's?" he offers with a smirk. Clarke kisses it right off his face.
"Sure, but no more showing up at work using Timmy as an excuse."
"No promises."