Niytavia + 19. I’m gonna take care of you okay
Part one of a longer story (post 4x04 rewrite), one which I am too tired to finish right now. Keep an eye out kids.
There’s a horse and rider coming towards her outpost through the darkening woods at a pace that makes Niylah reach for her sword, fingers white knuckling the grip as she slips behind a tree and waits. The beating of hooves cuts through the fluttering sounds of wings and small animals digging around in the underbrush, and Niylah covers her mouth to silence her own breathing. Whatever it is, it’s coming fast, and threat or not, Niylah knows better than to be unprepared for the worst.
The horse gallops right past her and stops within feet of her front door, snorting and pacing. No rider disembarks, but Niylah can see a slumped shape on the horse’s back. Injured, more than likely. She slips out from behind her tree, sword still gripped in her hand, and approaches the horse. He snorts and kicks out when he sees her approach, jostling the form on his back. It moans, and then coughs, but doesn’t dismount or even move.
“Easy. Easy. Who’s with you, hmm?”
The furs on the horse’s back are wet with blood, and Niylah’s hand comes away soaked in it when she rests it on his withers to calm the creature. The horse doesn’t seem to be in any pain, and she can’t see obvious wounds on him in the flickering light of the torches. The rider, then.
Whoever’s on the back of the horse is breathing, but hasn’t moved or spoken. Niylah makes her way around the horse’s head and towards the rider. Damp, tangled black hair, completely obscuring the face,leather chaps. A shirt she recognizes, one that used to be hers. She sucks a sharp breath in through her teeth and then brushes some of the clumped hair away from the rider’s face.
“Okteivia?”
The girl is waxy pale and soaked in her own blood, river water, and vomit. She doesn’t stir when Niylah cups her face, or presses her fingers to her throat. There’s a pulse, barely, a slow throbbing irregularity beneath her shaking fingers. Octavia’s breaths are stilted and wheezy, and when Niylah goes to shift her off the horse, Octavia coughs up a foul mouthful of phlegm and river water. Niylah stabilizes her wobbling neck as she spits up the remnants of her fit, then presses the back of her hand to the girl’s forehead. She’s cold to the touch, almost hypothermic, a slight shiver running through her spine. Niylah needs to get her at least slightly responsive, off the horse, and in the house. Then they can figure out where the blood is coming from, stop it, and get her warmed up.
Briefly, as Niylah begins to shake Octavia’s shoulder, she considers climbing up on the horse behind her and just riding to Arkadia, but then Octavia begins to moan in her sleep and fight for breath, and Niylah decides against it. She’s not sure they have that sort of time to waste.
Octavia startles into a faint consciousness as Niylah eases her slumped body down and against her, instinctively thrashing and fighting the grip on her. Niylah grunts as she takes a flailing punch to the kidneys, tightening her hold on Octavia and taking slow steps towards her home. The horse follows, nervous, whickering against Octavia’s heavy head as she puts up a decent fight, given her state.
“Okteivia. Okteivia- ouch! Hold still.”
Octavia moans, garbled, and then spits another mouthful of blood and mucus out onto the pine needles. They’re almost to the house. Niylah attempts to soothe her and keep her moving, humming tunelessly, struggling against both the dead weight and the bursts of strength. She manages to loosely tie up the horse, and then flinches when Octavia bites at her.
“You stop it. You’re acting like a child.”
Octavia oozes blood onto the floor, stumbling and staggering and then going back to lett Niylah drag her. She’s confused, disoriented, delirious. She barely makes it to the bed before her eyes are rolling back into her head and she’s going limp against the cushions. Niylah sighs, torn between relief that Octavia is calmer and fear that she’s dropped dead. A quick check of her pulse reveals that she’s not dead, but pretty damn close. Her heart is failing in her chest, guttering like an old candle flame. Niylah tugs out her knife.
The blood. She needs to stop it, if she can even find the source of it. The top goes first, slit up the front seams and carefully removed from Octavia’s torso, and then the pants, slipped down her legs. The girl is beaten, bruises outlining her ribs, her spine, and coating her corded muscles. Other than some swelling in an ankle and a knee, there’s nothing concerning on her legs. There’s a stab wound, straight through her torso, and despite the fact that she can’t have much blood left to lose, a steady stream of it leaks from both sides of the wound. Niylah folds her lip down into her mouth and bites down on it nervously, staring the injury down. The fastest way to stop the bleeding is to cauterize the wound, but if whatever went through her damaged an organ, or caused an infection, she can’t fix that. She sends up a prayer to the old gods, the ones her mother prayed to every morning, and stokes the fire.
The knife heats in the fire while Niylah digs around, finding the latest jar of moonshine Monty had given her. She soaks a cloth in the stuff, grimacing at the smell, and rubs a hand down Octavia’s near translucent cheek.
“This is going to hurt. I’m so sorry.”
The girl wakes up as Niylah disinfects the exit wound, sponging blood off the skin surrounding the puncture before pressing the thick cloth straight to it. Octavia lets out a hoarse scream and tries to drag herself off the bed, tears bursting from her swollen eyes.
“It’s almost over. Almost over, easy- there we go. There we go.”
Octavia gasps and coughs, her eyes rolling in her skull. Niylah has no idea if the girl even realizes who’s with her, or if Octavia even knows this is happening. The pain is registering, but nothing else seems to be getting through to her.
“Take a couple sips of this. Get it down. You’re gonna want it.”
Octavia gulps the moonshine, not seeming to notice the taste and then letting her eyes close. Even just being indoors, out of the wind and out of that wet top, and laying down has made her a little stronger, and Niylah squeezes her limp hand. Her fingers feel like ice, and they’re red with exposure. The knife is white hot in the coals, and Niylah gives Octavia’s fingers one last squeeze before grabbing it up and heading back towards Octavia’s side.
“Good. Brace yourself.”
She doesn’t give her a countdown, just presses the knife to her belly like a brand, laying half her weight into the blade and half into Octavia’s chest to keep her on the bed. Octavia gags, on the pain and on the scent of burning flesh filling the air, and then Niylah pulls the knife off and places the moonshine soaked cloth on the burn. The knife goes back into the flames. Niylah forces herself to breathe, to try to avoid being sick over the sizzling sound of Octavia’s skin and the scent of hot copper and charring flesh. On the bed, Octavia moans and then sobs. Her face is taut with pain when Niylah turns to look at her, and doesn’t relax when she traces a finger down the bridge of Octavia’s nose.
“One more. Then I have a good salve for burns, and we can warm you up.”
Octavia nods, her eyes opening. They’re foggy from the pain and blood loss, full of tears, and bloodshot, but she’s seeing Niylah, really seeing her, and she’s making connections. The hypothermia is clearing. Good. The knife is ready again.
“Can you turn yourself?”
Octavia can barely twitch a finger. Her head wobbles, her hips twitch, and then she’s breathing hard, her head shaking. Niylah eases a hand under her neck and one under her thighs, gently rotating her onto her side and giving her a second to catch her breath. Octavia shakes, the sudden change in position upsetting her lungs and forcing a series of brutal coughs out of her. Niylah keeps her steady, wiping the mess she brings up away from her face. Octavia pants, but shifts herself the rest of the way onto her belly. Niylah brushes her long hair away from the mess of blood on her back.
“Moonshine.”
A strangled scream. Octavia digs her face into the furs, now soaked in her blood.
“Knife. Deep breath on three, one, two, three-”
The scream isn’t strangled, this time. Octavia lets out a sound that sounds animal and otherworldly, and then howls her pain into the furs as Niylah disinfects the burn on her back and then her own hands.
“You’re alright. It’s over, it’s over.”
To her credit, Octavia is still clinging to consciousness when Niylah comes back with water to heat over the fire, tea bags, salve, and bandages. She smiles weakly, an expression that turns into a grimace within seconds, and then melts into the soothing touch Niylah strokes down her sweaty, scratched cheek.
“You need a bath, but I’ll need to take a few trips to the well. Let me put this on your burns, hmm? Will you be alright alone?”
“Y-yeah.”
Octavia’s voice is raspy and weak, the aftereffects of screaming. She’s shivering and filthy and definitely in shock, but there’s no new blood collecting on Niylah’s bed, so that’s one less thing to worry about. She smooths salve on Octavia’s fresh burns, grimacing when it makes her whine and jerk.
“Here. Take a drink.”
“Moonshine?”
“Water. Nice try.”
Octavia cracks a half smile, her eyelids fluttering. Niylah coaxes some water down her throat before she falls asleep, drawing a fur up over her mostly bare body. Octavia sighs, the shock still protecting her from feeling the worst of her pain.
“Rest. I’ll be back soon.”
Octavia frets in her sleep through the night. She’s clean, bandaged, dressed warmly, but Niylah has nothing for the pain and very little for any infection besides tea and the burn salve. Niylah keeps herself awake reading, curled up on the mattress next to Octavia. Through the night, Octavia’s breathing grows labored, and fever sweat begins to stand out on her slick, translucent skin.
“Okteivia. Wake up, strikon.”
The poor thing shudders beneath the blankets, tucking her head low into her chest. Niylah shakes her shoulder carefully, worried that she’ll cause her pain if she jostles her too much.
“Okteivia, you’re very sick. Wake up.”
Octavia’s green eyes blink open slow and heavy, and she immediately scrunches her nose and begins to cough miserably. Niylah pushes her hair away from her face, tucking the clumped strands behind Octavia’s ear. Octavia grimaces and swallows heavily, unfocused and exhausted. She raises a trembling hand to her chest and rubs at it, taking a wheezing breath in and then beginning to cough again.
“I’m going to shift you to sitting. It should help your lungs open up.”
Octavia’s muscles are soft, her body limp and pliable, and Niylah has to hold her up while she finishes clearing her abused lungs. Octavia sags into her body, feverish skin sticking to Niylah’s.
“I- fuck.”
“You need anything?”
Octavia tenses, like she wants Niylah to stop touching her. Niylah goes to lay her down on the bed but Octavia grimaces and clings to her, resting her head in the crook of Niylah’s neck. On instinct, Niylah begins to rub the back of Octavia’s neck.
“Water?”
“Here.”
She can reach it without dislodging Octavia, and she presses the lip of her metal cup to Octavia’s chapped lips. Octavia shudders, gulping the water and then sagging even farther into Niylah’s arms.
“Hurts.”
“Your stomach?”
“Y-it-Niylah-”
The girl coughs again, doubling over and clutching at her injured belly. Niylah props her up against the frame of the bed to unwrap her bandages. There’s no sign of infection, but the burn is red and angry, blistering beneath the greasy smear of salve. Niylah clicks her tongue and redoes the bandages as Octavia moans in pain, her eyelids fluttering.
“You’re feverish. I think there’s an infection in your lungs. You should stay sitting up, if it doesn’t hurt too bad.”
“Too bad. To-too bad.”
“Stay on your side then. Come on. Down we go.”
Octavia gasps and trembles as Niylah eases her down and then whimpers, coughing into a loose fist. Her energy is fading faster than it came. Niylah gets some more water into her.
Through the day, Octavia gets worse. She coughs so hard she throws up, curling in Niylah’s lap with an exhausted sob. Her eyes are glassy bright, her skin scorching.
“D’ya see that?”
“See what?”
Octavia gestures vaguely, shaking with chills and the exertion of her last bout of vomiting. Niylah follows her wavering finger to a patch of blank wall, tucking the girl’s face against her chest.
“There’s nothing there, strikon.”
“S’a, um, s’a monster.”
“A monster?”
Octavia nods, knotting her hand into Niylah’s top. Her spine shakes with coughs, and she spits thick brown mucus into the waiting basin. If this keeps up, they’re going to have to take the trek to Arkadia to get her treatment, and the idea of putting Octavia onto a horse in this state is rather nerve wracking.
“Okay. I see it, Okteivia.”
“Is it- is it- don’t let it-”
“It can’t hurt you. You’re alright.”
“Mmkay.”
Octavia falls asleep, still mumbling about monsters in the walls. Niylah pads her forehead and neck with cold cloths, sponging her face clean of fever sweat. The fever doesn’t budge, and Octavia’s delirium becomes more pronounced with every moment of wakefulness.
Niylah deposits her on the bed gently, swinging her long legs up onto the mattress and going to tack up the horse. He nickers softly from the stall behind the barn, letting Niylah stroke his velvet muzzle.
“She’s alright. Sick, but we’re going to get her safely to help, you and me.”
Octavia is staring hazily at her ceiling when Niylah comes back for her, the horse tacked and ready and and a bag slung over a shoulder.
“Come on, Okteivia.”
“Hurts.”
“I know.”
The girl lets Niylah shift her limp form up and against Niylah’s side, her head bobbing on her neck. Coughs tear from her chest on the short trek to her horse, but she settles once she’s on his back. Niylah checks the bag she’d packed. Clothes, what little medicine she has, water, and the radio. It hasn’t gone off, but Clarke had been so insistent. The volume setting is on loud. On the horse, Octavia whimpers a little, low in the back of her throat.
“You’re alright.”
“Helios…Helios…”
“Is this Helios?”
Octavia nods, slumping back against Niylah’s chest with a soft sigh and a thick, bone rattling cough.
Niylah strokes her forehead, gathers Helios’ reins in her fist, and heads for Arkadia.
Octavia is mostly still against her, in and out of sleep and too weak to really move or talk when she is awake. The sky is gunmetal grey and oppressive, bearing down on Helios as he takes them towards Clarke and healing. Octavia coughs and shifts, her head falling against Niylah’s beating heart.
“You holding on for me, Okteivia?”
“Thirsty.”
“You can drink soon, when we get there.”
“There was- I was-”
Octavia breaks off and begins to hack and cough, vomiting onto the blurring ground beneath her. Niylah rubs her cramping stomach, murmuring quietly into Octavia’s sweaty hair as she chokes and gags.
“You’re alright. Easy.”
“Tired.”
“Go back to sleep.”
The sky gets darker with every stride of the horse, and thunder cracks through the sky right as the radio crackles and sparks in her bag.
“Niylah? NIYLAH! Come in.”
“I-I’m here.”
“You need cover. Now, like right now. It’s black rain. Bellamy just radioed me from Arkadia. People have already been badly injured.”
“We’re headed to Arkadia- Clarke, where are you??”
“Not important. Take shelter. NOW!”
There’s the mouth of a cave, and they reach it just as the rain begins to fall. Helios whinnies in a panic as Niylah leads him into the cave, helping a delirious and disoriented Octavia down from his back and getting her farther into the cave. The horse paces, but stays under the shelter.
Octavia wakes up as thunder cracks again, her eyes wild and her body stiff. She fights against Niylah’s grip in a panic, beginning to howl, screaming for someone she doesn’t know. She shakes, heavy, hard. Niylah rocks her back and forth, cupping the back of her head in an effort to keep it from knocking her teeth out.
“Lincoln, Lincoln, NO- please, please-”
‘Hush, Okteivia. Hush.”
She screams herself to sleep. Niylah rocks her, staring out into the rain and praying it lets up soon.
It stays until morning. Niylah is exhausted, she’d only slept for a few hours that night, too worried about Octavia’s state to get any rest. Octavia is still unconscious, face slack and flushed with fever. She folds into Niylah’s arms on the horse, barely even breathing.
“We’re so close. Don’t leave me now.”
The gates to Arkadia are open, but the place looks deserted, a burnt husk of what it once was. Men with guns meet her the second she crosses the perimeter, staring pointedly at her. She raises her arms slowly, holding still so Octavia doesn’t fall forward.
“You’re clear. Dismount. Tell your passenger to as well.”
She has to drag Octavia from the horse, the girl limp with fever. Her heart is beating so fast in her hollow chest that it feels to Niylah like a hummingbird. She presses the side of her head to Octavia’s.
“Wake up, strikon. We’re home.”
Octavia just moans, coughing. Niylah rubs her chest for her, knowing it’s sore.
“What’s goin-Octavia?”
Marcus Kane is suddenly running towards them, his arms out, grabbing Octavia’s body from her and cradling the girl to his chest.
“We thought-Azgeda said she was dead! Where did you find her? Is she injured? Is she-”
Octavia is less than thrilled that someone who isn’t Niylah is touching her, and she thrashes in Kane’s arms until he hands her back to the other woman. Niylah cradles her, stroking her sweaty hair.
“She needs a doctor. And she found me. Rode up the other night nearly dead, stab wound in her belly. The infection is in her lungs, I think. She’s coughing up brown fluid. Hush, Okteivia.”
Because Octavia is moaning, coughing and gagging and trying to sit on the dirty ground. Kane takes her into his arms again, and he and Niylah run into the Ark and down a hallway. She’s mostly lost, confused as Kane whips around a corner and settles Octavia into a cot.
“Someone get me Bellamy on the radio. Now.”
Niylah loses track of the conversation, too busy mopping up sweat from Octavia’s hollow cheeks. The girl coughs and splutters, gasping on air miserably.
“KANE! I need medical supplies, and fast. Oxygen. Now.”
Someone skids in with a tank and a mask and she straps it to Octavia’s face, hand out for the IV line. Clarke had shown her this, the last time she was in Arkadia, and she prays she can remember how to do it. There are fluids in the bag, and she hangs them on a protruding piece of metal and slips the needle into a vein after more than a few tries. She gets blood return, unclamps the tubing, and lets fluid run into Octavia’s desperately needy body, thankful she remembered how to do that.
“See? I told you I would take care of you.”
Octavia blinks up at her through cloudy eyes, her fingers twitching. Niylah takes them, squeezing tightly.
Now they just have to wait for a real doctor to show up.
