10 MINUTE FIC Bellamy watches Clarke paint (I meant to sent this a week ago and forgot, sorry ❤️)
I hope you like it, don’t know if this is what you were thinking of and tbh it changed from my original thoughts but here you go! <3
Your Heart Is Your Masterpiece
(AO3)
Bellamy knows Clarke can paint. She does it all the time, especially after settling back into Arkadia when peace finally wins out. She draws happy memories, usually—Jasper and Monty sitting by the fire, laughing as they share a high five; a sunset as it falls over the forest with every color that ever existed on display; her new room in Arkadia, filled with her things and a few of Bellamy’s.
At least, it’s the happy memories she shows him; there are dozens of pages he hasn’t seen, and the nightmares that send him into her room almost every night have to go somewhere.
He’s seen her drawings plenty of times, but he’s never seen her while she’s done her art, besides a rough sketch of him she did once for fun. (She called it rough when she handed it over, at least, but it’s one of the best drawings Bellamy has ever seen, and the bright, almost loving way she had drawn him makes his heart ache. It rests in his drawer, folded carefully so it won’t get ruined when he’s not looking at it.) She doesn’t even talk about it much unless he asks, which is maybe why he’s so surprised when she suddenly drops the deck of cards they’d been playing with and asks, “Do you know anything about art?”
Bellamy frowns and tilts his head a little. “Besides that my best friend has enough talent for the both of us? Not much.”
“Oh. Okay.” She pauses, seemingly waiting on a good transition to whatever she wants to say, then just blurts out, “Can you help me with something?”
“Of course,” he says, surprised she feels the need to ask at all. “What do you need?”
“I need to you to—well, it’s sort of a long story, but I need you to start coming to the art room every day during our break instead of my room,” Clarke says hurriedly.
He frowns, bemused. “Um, okay. Why’s that?”
“I’ll tell you when you get there, okay? Starting tomorrow.” And then she picks up the deck and continues shuffling, as if nothing happened.
When he comes into the art room the next day – which, by the way, is really only set up for Clarke, because Abby and Kane have a massive soft spot for their daughter – his first impression is she must want him to help her clean, because the place is a mess. Half-finished art projects are everywhere, and the once plain walls and floor are covered in long, sloppy paint strokes from when Clarke couldn’t care enough to test out color patterns and matches on a normal surface. Bottles, palettes, pencils, and other art tools he can’t name are strewn about in a haphazard mess no one could possibly sort through.
Except Clarke, apparently; she’s sifting through the materials like she knows exactly where everything is when she notices his entrance. She smiles, a little shyly, and wipes her dirty hands on her shirt (he’s realizing more and more why she steals all his shirts; hers must all be paint-stained). “Hey, Bellamy. I was worried you had forgotten.”
That’s a sure sign she’s nervous about something; Bellamy’s five minutes early. Plus, she keeps shifting her gaze and fiddling with her hands like she’s unable to sit still. “No, didn’t forget,” he says slowly. “What do you need again? I don’t think you specified before.”
“Oh! Yeah,” Clarke says, wringing her hands together. “I’ve been given a new assignment by my mom. She wants me to…record-keep, for lack of a better term.”
“Okay. How does that tie into the art room?”
“She thinks it would be beneficial for future generations if they had visual memories of our time on top of stories. So….” She gestures vaguely to the space around them.
“You’ve been commissioned to paint our history,” Bellamy finishes, piecing it together—except one thing. “But then why do you need me?”
Clarke tries to hide it, but his words make her flinch a little bit. “Well, for one thing, between the two of us we nearly cover the basics of what’s happened since we were brought down to Earth. And….” She swallows. “I thought maybe it would help. To have you here.”
Bellamy takes a long moment to respond, trying to process everything she’s said. It feels a little like wading through molasses. “You mean….”
“It’s just, obviously not all of these memories are happy,” Clarke rushes to say, not letting him finish (which he doesn’t mind, because he didn’t know where he was going with his sentence). “And it’s difficult, sometimes, to go back to those and express what they felt like. But I think—maybe if you’re there with me, it won’t be so hard.”
“Oh,” he murmurs, a little awe-struck. His heart aches in a good way. “That’s—thank you, Clarke.”
“For what?” Clarke asks, straightening.
“For thinking of me like that.”
She softens, and his heart melts a little more. “Of course, Bellamy.” Then she gets a determined glint in her eye. “Well, we have a lot of history to get through, right? Let’s get started.”
They pull out a fresh canvas (he’s amazed it’s able to stay untouched in this room) and set it up on an easel, then decorate a palette with a variety of vibrant, earthy colors. This painting is of their first moment out of the dropship, which isn’t quite so sad of a moment besides in the nostalgic remembrance of back when their lives were simple. They were so young then—but also so far apart, and Bellamy thinks that trade-off is more than enough for him.
Clarke paints the scene with an almost unrealistic amount of color and vibrancy and life, but it’s accurate to how they felt stepping out of that dropship after a whole life in space, so Bellamy just smiles and nods whenever she asks if she’s getting it right.
That one is done by the time the break ends, but the next few take much longer—these ones are intricate paintings, full of people and regrets and darkness. At first Bellamy just sits beside her, a constant presence, then he sets his hand on her back. She flinches, and he nearly pulls away, but then her muscles relax against his hand and she keeps painting without further comment. He leaves his hand there and suggests details when needed, trying not to think too much about how warm her skin is through her shirt.
Little by little, they move through their history, reliving moments they’ve both avoided often. They both express the hallucinations they experienced back when they were first working together – Clarke looks like she’s going to cry the whole time she paints his; he’d never told her the story, and even though she must’ve understood what he felt like back then, it still seems to break her heart – and the carnage of the battle against the grounders. Their reunion is a happy picture in a sea of blood and fear and confusion, as is their conversation by the fire that night. (Bellamy secretly thinks about asking if he can keep the painting, but it’s etched in his memory enough he knows he doesn’t need to.)
On and on they go, with Bellamy tracing patterns on Clarke’s back to give her stability and sometimes forcing her to take a break when the memories become so stark and real she can’t even hold the brush still. She’s takes weeks to finish the moments when Finn and Lexa died, and the number of times he has to calm her down in the middle of the night increases exponentially in that time. I’m still here, I’m still here, he tells her over and over again, holding tightly onto her as she shakes against his shoulder. Not everyone’s gone.
When they’re not thinking about art, Bellamy also senses a shift. They find even more excuses to do work together, and Bellamy realizes after a while they’ve developed the habit of needing to be touching in some way, whether it’s interlocked fingers or brushing shoulders. He thinks about Clarke almost all the time when they’re apart, and sometimes when they’re together he wonders what it would be like to run his fingers through her hair, or kiss her. These are the thoughts that make him flush bright red; before, when they were at war with one thing or another, he didn’t find controlling those thoughts so difficult, but now they intrude constantly, maybe because now he has a chance at a future with her. He could grow old with her.
A long, long time later, Clarke finishes the last painting; Bellamy watches with unconcealed awe the intricacy of her strokes, the emotion she manages to convey. She does her typical scribbly signature in the bottom corner, then leans against Bellamy’s side with a huge sigh. “It’s done.”
“For now; in a year they’ll probably ask you to keep going,” he reminds her, smiling as he wraps an arm around her waist easily.
“Thanks for doing it with me,” she says, craning her head to look at him. Her breath fans across his face, and he’s struck dumb for a moment at how close they are.
“Thanks for being there for everything else,” he replies, squeezing her side reassuringly.
She nods, slowly, then pauses. Bellamy can only stare, transfixed by the bright specks of color in her blue eyes, and the slight parting of her lips, and the way she seems just as transfixed by him as he is by her. There’s a long moment of silence where their breaths intermingle, faces mere inches apart, and he feels himself nearly falling apart with the urge, the want, the longing….
She kisses him.
He sinks against her touch immediately, shifting so he can wrap his other arm around her waist as she secures his face in her hands. His own hands, shaking, press against her back and draw her closer, closer than they’ve ever been. Clarke murmurs his name against his mouth; it feels like a declaration in itself but he feels the need to confirm it anyway.
“I love you,” he whispers, drawing away just barely to rest his forehead against hers. His breathing is hitched.
She smiles and runs her thumbs across his cheeks; they come away wet. “I love you, too.”
The next year, Clarke does in fact get asked to draw the most important moments of the year. She gives Abby the most important ones—a renewal of their treaty with Azgeda, a new medicinal discovery, an important visit from Luna. But when he comes to give her a present for the ‘anniversary of when we figured our lives out,’ as he so fondly called it, she gives him two paintings that are just for him. One, of their first kiss, his hands clutching at her waist and her forehead brushing his; the other, of the two of them standing side-by-side, shoulders and hands brushing like they always are.
He would’ve given her an award for the best present ever, except when he pulls out his present she cries, and she gets to wear it everywhere and show it off to everyone in sight, so, yeah. He’s basically already the best husband ever.
And he has their whole lives to become even better.
join the celebration (keep in mind i’m more busy now so longer wait)
For the fanfic writers ask: multiples of 5 For question 50: which fic are you most proud of? (That might be a question already, I didn't read them all TBH)
YOU’RE THE BEST THANKS
5. since how long do you write? since i could physically write. literally. i’ve been making stories up since kindergarten
10. how do you do your researches? google search a lot of the time, lol, maybe check out some books or something if i need to
15. hardest verse to write um i’m taking this as universe. kay. honestly universes i make up myself (so fantasy/scifi/dystopian/etc even though i love writing them) because because there’s SO MUCH TO MAKE UP and there’s so much opportunity for mistakes
20. favorite character to write of the characters i’ve made up, Echo Breach or Joah Ander (MY BABIES KDLFSKD I LOVE THEM), otherwise probably Bellamy he’s my bb
25.favorite line you’ve ever written FRICK UM. i dunno one specific line but a couple I like are “as if he still can’t believe it; as if each time is the first time, and he gets to fall in love with her all over again” and “The uneven beat of her heart that came only for him.” :)
30.hardest part of writing several things, haha. motivation at times, especially during writers block, and sPEAKING OF. also it’s very hard to shut up the inner critic
35.single story or multi-part story? BOOOOOOOOOOTH
40. which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series ooooooh um well a lot of what i write is already haha XD so probably my wip novel just so i can see my bad-a babes being great
45. share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet uhhhhhh i haven’t published a lot of stories, lol, and the one big one is CONSTANTLY changing its background/plot so just know i’m writing a novel (which i’ve mentioned a lot already lol) that’s dystopian and involves dream worlds ;)
50. (open q) which fic are you most proud of? OH BOY. um well i’ve really enjoyed several, surprisingly, but i think the one i’m most proud of is We Can’t Leave Us Behind. it’s one of the only fics i can read through without constantly going “oh you need to fix that” “oh that was bad” and all that. i can just read it and…enjoy it. and i dunno i just like the idea of it and how i wrote it and stuff :)
For the dialogue prompt: bellarke and 13 (ps this is forgivenessishardforus; this is my main blog)
This took me a while, mostly because it got a little out of hand, to be honest. I enjoyed writing it though, and I hope you like the angst!
(AO3) (Send me a prompt!)
I’m Not Going Anywhere
Four months.
That was how longthey had until the world ended. Four months. Sixteen weeks. One hundredtwenty-two days. And Clarke felt like she was wasting all of them.
It wasn’t for lackof trying; she toiled over the problem with every waking moment, theorizing onwhere the livable four percent could be, working out plans, helping Ravenfiddle with ideas and machines, reaching out to other clans. But two months(eight weeks, sixty-one days, countless minutes) had gone by, and nothing hadhappened. No progress. No plan. And little hope.
Bellamy told herotherwise, often, but she knew it was more to comfort than assure. Still, shetook his comfort whenever she could get it; it seemed to be the only thing thatgot through to her anymore.
Clarke slipped intothe med bay early, before dawn had stretched out and woken the camp with itslong, soft fingers. She hadn’t even slept yet, not that sleep was a comfort(there were demons on the backs of her eyelids, more than she realized). Almostreflexively, she checked over the supplies, making sure it was all where itneeded to be and making a mental note of what was low in stock. The med bay wascrammed to bursting point – people’s bodies had been severely neglected whiletheir minds were in ALIE’s control and it wasn’t erased when the City of Lightwas – but there was nothing Clarke could do for them at the moment except letthem rest, so she slipped out and continued her run.
Firewood: plentiful.Weapons: safely stowed, ready for use. Ammunition: a little low, but latelyneed was low as well. Food storage: technically up to standards, but more wouldbe better (better safe than starving). Water storage: low. Clarke bit her lipand sunk onto one hip as she pondered this. It made her so nervous to have sucha dwindling supply of water stashed safely inside camp. They hadn’t done muchgathering yet, thanks to protests who said there were plenty of water resourcesnearby and it would only waste energy, and it could have disastrousconsequences later on. Black rain willcome first. There will be no drinkable water. Precancerous lesions will form.ALIE’s voice haunted her.
When the rest of thecamp rose, Clarke was looking over old maps of the world and trying to think ofwhere the livable areas could be. They had already discussed it often, and Clarkehad gone to Raven countless times, but so far they only had guesses,speculations. It bothered Clarke almost as much as the water problem.
It was Bellamy whofound her. She wasn’t surprised; he always seemed to know where he was, likethere was a magnet drawing him to her. (She felt that way herself, sometimes,especially when he was away.) “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” shesaid distractedly, still searching the papers.
He looked over hershoulder, inspecting the maps himself for a moment; she could feel his breath onher ear. “You know what would really help with this?” he said.
Clarke breathed outa sigh. “What?”
Bellamy leaned away;she felt, strangely, a little colder. “Food. Come on, we’ll need breakfast ifwe want to get through the day.”
She turned to facehim. “Actually, I’m not really—”
“Did it sound like aquestion to you?” he asked. “Because I didn’t phrase it like one. Nowseriously, I know you keep skipping meals, and the last thing anyone needs isone of our leaders to die because she, a doctor, wasn’t keeping up on herhealth.”
Clarke thought aboutarguing for a moment, then realized he was right and quietly followed him outto the cafeteria. They sat with Raven and Monty, who were the only ones alreadyup, and slowly picked at their food. It tasted grainy and didn’t fill Clarke’sstomach quite right (she couldn’t tell if her nausea was from wrong food orlack of food anymore, only that it had been there for almost a week now), butshe ate it anyway, because she knew she needed to and her friends would put upa fight if she didn’t. When they finished, there was a few minutes of smalltalk meant mostly for stalling; they’d soon be whisked away for more importantthings than friends.
It was Clarke whogot taken away first, unsurprisingly; one of the patients was acting up and shewas needed. She would live in med bay nowadays, if there wasn’t the impendingdoom hanging over everyone’s heads. There was always something wrong downthere, always someone who was getting worse or a treatment that wasn’t working;always an extra set of hands needed. There was no resentment or frustration inher for that – she was helping people when she worked, she was doing something – but there was always acold, hollow ache in the root of her chest when she was called upon; thepresaging of an end. Sometimes, when things got bad, she could feel her backprickling, like someone was trying to burn a mark into her skin. My back’s not big enough.
Clarke had justfinished up and was heading down the corridor, thinking to go back to the mapsfor a few moments, when she heard the screaming.
She was sprintingbefore she even realized it, but she couldn’t get there fast enough, not witheveryone else determined to get there first. The shrieks were coming fromoutside, and horrid thoughts turned to cannonballs that flung themselves acrossher chest, trying to break through her ribcage. Is it Grounders? Have they broken the treaty? Has a new threat come?Are they being taken? Slaughtered?
Just before the massof spectators got to the entrance, they were stopped by a separate mob ofpeople – the ones who had been screaming – running inside. At first Clarkecouldn’t see what was wrong with the people blocking her view, but then therewas a gap and she saw. Their skin looked like it was smoking, and their clothes had singes and holes, and when shelooked outside, Clarke saw the reason for it all—the fat drops falling from thesky, encompassing the world in night even though the day had just begun.
Black rain will come first.
Even as her heartstopped with the realization, with the full weight of what this meant, her brain clicked into overdriveand she started calling out orders, quieting the screams and mumbles as bestshe could, and getting the injured to med bay. She was forced to keep them allstanding between tables with how full the place was already. They were likesardines in a can—or lambs readying for the slaughter. There’s not enough to help all these people, she thought, butpushed the thought away. She couldn’t think that, not now.
Chaos was everywhere,in every form—moans of pain like shattered glass in people’s mouths; scufflesand scrapes and bumps echoing off the bodies; a slow tearing in her heart likeshe was carefully being pulled in half. And yet she worked through it. Thesepeople needed her help and she wasn’t going to be distracted, so she plantedher feet, a rock in the rushing river, and went to the first patient.
“How long were youout there?”
The woman was atleast twenty years older than Clarke, yet she looked at her like an elder. It madeClarke feel equal parts proud and terrified. “Not long. As soon as the dropsstarted falling, we were all running to get inside.”
Clarke nodded,grateful. She didn’t like the idea of someone being out there for long. Thereweren’t many burns on the woman’s skin, but they each needed treatment, soClarke put ointment on them and wrapped them (using sparing amounts ofeverything), then moved on to the next person. It was like clockwork—quickglance over their injuries, ask for length of the exposure and how they felt,clean and bandage, repeat. She moved quickly, knowing the faster she bandagedthem, the faster they would be out; they couldn’t afford to have this manypeople in med bay for long.
Around five minutesafter the first patients had entered, another wave came. This one was smaller,composed of twelve sentries, and the room seemed to be pushed back by a wavewhen they entered. They looked…well, they looked awful. Holes in the armorand vests and clothing, patches of burns on their bodies, seared and blackenedhairs, and the sort of look in their eyes that made Clarke even more gratefulthan before that she had not had to experience the black rain firsthand.
Finishing thebandage she’d been putting on the current patient, Clarke said, “You’re allset,” and went to the group quickly, feeling her heartbeat rising precariouslyinto her throat.
“What happened?”Abby asked, getting to them first.
“On patrol—when itcame,” Miller said, his breathing hitched. “Thankfully we weren’t far away, sowe just ran for it, but—still takes time. To get back to camp.”
Both of the Griffinsnodded, frowning. “Well,” Clarke said, “come on, we need to get you all patchedup.” She took Miller first, leading him slightly to the side, just in front ofthe doors (there wasn’t much space in here), and started cleaning the woundsshe could get at before helping him slip off his vest and shirt so she couldmake sure there was nothing else to heal. There were a number on his back andneck, which she worked with as best she could, but they were running out ofointment.
To avoid Milerasking about anything she didn’t want to answer, she said, “No offense to youat all when I say this, but I’m eternally grateful Bellamy wasn’t on patroltoday.”
Miller stiffenedunder her hands as she finished up his back; she couldn’t see his face, but shecould almost imagine how it looked. “Clarke. He was.”
Clarke’s fingers tightenedaround the damp cloth and water dripped down Miller’s back like rain, or tears.“What?”
“He was on the patrol,Clarke,” Miller said, turning to face her. He looked so sad.
For a momentClarke’s hand remained hovering in the air, then it fell limply at her side.“No,” she said, but it was a whisper of a hope. “No, he told me yesterday hewasn’t leaving. He was supposed to stay back and help with planning.”
Miller sighed; itwas a heavy sigh, the sort that could push her into the ground. “One of theboys wasn’t feeling great and Bellamy volunteered to go for him.”
Of course he would, Clarke thought, almost bitterly. Then she feltthe fear flood back in, and words tumbled out of her mouth. “But if he wentout…where is he? Why isn’t he in the med bay?”
Jaw locking, Milleraverted her gaze slightly. “He went back.”
She stared at him,unwilling to comprehend. “What do you mean, he went back?”
“Someone had fallenand he wouldn’t leave them behind. He said he would be right there….” Hisvoice trailed off, too open-ended for Clarke. Too many words remained unspoken,too many thoughts pushing into her brain.
“Miller,” she said,almost gasping. Why wasn’t any air going into her lungs? She felt like she washeaving. “Tell me came back.”
His eyes wereglossy, glittering, when they met hers. Like stars, before they burned to dust.“I’m sorry, Clarke.”
Clarke took a stumblingstep backwards. Four months. Four months until the world ended, but hers hadjust shattered.
The air was still asClarke stood at the edge of the entrance, leaning over the precipice into thefog of black rain still pouring down like tar and acid. She could feel that tugshe’d felt before, that magnet pulling her to Bellamy. If she went out now,she’d find him, she knew she would. All she had to do was take a step….
“Clarke?”
Breathing in deeplythrough her nose to compose herself, Clarke turned and saw her mother five feetaway, looking deeply concerned. “Yes?”
“You’re needed inmedical again, sweetie,” Abby said—softly, like she was avoiding breaking badnews. Far too late for that, isn’t it.
“He’s out there,”Clarke murmured, voice as trembling and hollow as her bones.
“Clarke, honey,”Abby said, reaching out a hand. Instinctively, she flinched away from thetouch, then felt the familiar burn of shame. She didn’t want to be upset at hermother.
But that was theproblem, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to feel anything at all.
“You can’t go out there, Clarke, you knowthat,” Abby said, stronger now. “Not with the rain. It won’t do any good toeither of you. We just have to wait.”
“For what? Him to die?” Clarke spat. She sounded – felt –equal parts furious and helpless. Abby was—she hated this, but Abby was right. It would be silly, nonsensical, togo after him now. But what if he was dying out there? What if he was scared andalone? How could she just leave him like that?
“Oh, Clarke,” Abbysaid, and suddenly Clarke was in her arms, shaking and fighting back tears. Itwas comforting, but it also reminded her too much of distant memories—guardswith expressionless faces, Jaha’s cold voice, her dad’s final smile before theyblasted him into the abyss. Abby’s arms around Clarke as she broke down, unableto stand or think or breathe.
Lips were near herear. “We’re going to get him back, okay, Clarke? Bellamy’s a tough one and youknow that. We all know it. The moment the rain stops, we’ll find him, and we’llbring him home.”
She let the wordssink into her, slipping between the cracks into her bones, a constant rhythm toreplace the echoing emptiness of her heart. Bringhim home. Bring him home to me. Then, without feeling much better, shefollowed her mother to the med bay and got back to work.
Several hours later,when the world was nearly black and everyone had fallen asleep, Clarke was atthe entrance again, a thick jacket tucked around her and a ragged, snug beanieover her hair. She had waited impatiently for a long time, first in Bellamy’sroom as if he would apparate to her, then going to listen to the pitter-patterof the rain and the soft hisses the grass made, when it had finally come to ahalt. Her mother’s promise echoed dully in her head. The moment the rain stops, we’ll find him, and we’ll bring him home.
She leaped into thedarkness.
It was about fiveseconds later when she realized how little of a plan she had; she had no lightsource, no record of where he would be (although she knew the approximatelocation the patrol had been when the rain hit), and no way to defend herselfif hostiles came. Despite this, she kept going; she wasn’t going to turn herback on Bellamy, and she wasn’t going to lose him. Not now, not ever. She treadsoftly and used what light she could to direct herself, occasionally callingout his name softly (she was worried what would happen if spies or hostiles inthe area heard her best friend’s name being called in the middle of the night).
As she slowed totake a moment of rest, she heard the soft yet distinct sound of muffledfootsteps nearby. “Bellamy?” she called, a little louder than she perhapsshould’ve. Then the noises got louder, without a response, and she felt aflicker of fear. She stepped with careful precision in the opposite directionof the noise, which was coming from her right, and forced her breathing to beslow and imperceptible. Oh, how she wished she had brought a weapon of somesort….
A figure appeared inher periphery and, startled, she stumbled back a step, turning to face it. Atfirst she couldn’t make out any features, but then they stepped forward and shecould see a strong jawline, chocolate brown eyes, a mop of messy dark curls,and she felt her heart beat again.
“Clarke?” Bellamy asked, even moresurprised than she was. “How—”
He didn’t finish,because by that point Clarke had flung herself into his arms, scrabbling topull him closer as she heaved out in relief. He secured her within the embrace,breathing hard, as she cradled the back of his head in her hand and breathed inhis scent deeply and buzzed with the fact he was alive.
Alive and hurt, she remembered a moment later.Within the heavy breathing and clutching arms, Bellamy was wincing in pain.
She pulled away,still awestruck by him and his presence, and said, “How hurt are you? Were youout for long before you found shelter? Why didn’t—”
“Clarke,” he saidurgently, completely ignoring her questions, “what are you doing here?”
Clarke blinked, alittle taken aback. “Coming for you.”
“In the middle ofthe night, when the rain could start up again at any moment? And without anylight or weapons, I see.” Even in the dim light, she could see his frustrationand disapproval, like shadows dipping in and out of his face.
“Oh, like youwouldn’t have done the same,” she argued, because he would. He had.
“You could’ve gottenyourself killed, Clarke,” he hissed.Then, unexpectedly, his face softened and his fingers brushed over her cheekssearchingly. “You didn’t get hurt at least, right?”
Clarke had thedistinct desire to close her eyes and lean into his touch. “No, I’m fine.” Shecould feel the dried cuts on his palms and grabbed his wrists, gently pullingthem from her face. “But you clearly aren’tfine, so we need to get back to camp. Where’s the person you went back for?”
Bellamy swallowed. “Hewas running and not watching where he was going – not that you could see inthat black haze – and I tried to catch up or stop him, but….” His eyes wouldn’tmeet hers. He seemed ashamed. “The cliff edge found him before I did.”
It took a fewmoments for Clarke to find any words, stunned into silence. Then she grabbedhis hand and squeezed until he looked at her. “You did what you could. Now let’sgo home.”
For once, he didn’targue, and they headed back at a much quicker pace—Bellamy had a gun slungaround his back and besides, it was hard to fear anything with him at her side.They crept through the hallways and into the med bay, which was a little lesspacked but still crammed past the limit. Clarke led him into a back corner,where they would be less worried about waking someone up, got a light, andstudied him properly for the first time.
In some ways, it wasbetter than Clarke expected, considering he could’ve been dead. But mostly, itwas just worse than she hoped. His whole body seemed to be bruised and cut andburned, not to mention his hair and his clothes. She physically ached at thesight of him in such pain, especially when he seemed determined to bear theburden like it was nothing. If she could’ve healed him with her touch, shewould’ve held onto him and never let go, never let anyone or anything hurt himagain.
But that was justwishing. Bellamy was hurting now, andit was up to her to fix him.
She cleaned him upas carefully as she could, pretending each dab of ointment and graze of a clothwas a brushstroke on the canvas that was Bellamy Blake. A swish across hisface, over the scars on his cheekbones. Inward spirals in his palms, burntblack and endless. Meaningless patterns over his arms, redrawn and retraceduntil they become something else entirely—a masterpiece.
It wasn’t untilshe’d finished when Clarke realized Bellamy had kept his gaze on her the wholetime. This fact made her feel warm, but she wasn’t sure what kind it was yet.Right now, it felt like the sort of warmth that made her insides tingle andflutter, the sort that made her brain fuzzy. The sort that made her wish theywere closer.
“Um.” Bellamyswallowed. “Should I…I should be going to my room now. Right?”
Clarke scowled, andthe warmth dissipated into exasperation. “Your room? Bellamy, you need to stayhere, in the med bay.”
Bellamy’s eyebrowsfurrowed. “Why? You’ve already bandaged me up, and everyone else who came incontact with the rain has gone elsewhere.”
“Yes, well, most ofthem were in the rain for all of ten seconds, and the longest were fiveminutes. Who knows how much longeryou were stuck out there, being overly selfless as usual. We don’t know whatthis rain does yet, and I’d rather have you here when – if – somethinghappens.”
He bristled, thoughshe wasn’t sure why. “But—”
“You’re stayinghere, where you’re safest,” Clarke said with her strongest voice, pointing afinger at him firmly to add to her point. “End of discussion.”
It took a fewmoments in a stare down, but Bellamy eventually softened and caved to her will.“All right, Clarke. But as soon as I’m cleared, I’m out, okay? The space isneeded.”
Clarke nodded,though she felt almost angry, or frustrated, or something. What was with himsometimes? Did it come naturally to him, the utter selflessness that extendedto all parts of him and every aspect of his life? Did he even notice how incredibly rare it was to bethat generous, that kind, that good without thought? How was it he could detectthe slightest problem with her and have the charity to offer himself for someoneelse, but he couldn’t even see how much she cared about him?
Clarke tucked thethoughts away, forcibly, and took Bellamy to a bed a little farther away fromeveryone (or as far as he could get), one she had forced Abby to keep openduring the chaos of the day. “Get some rest,” she said as he shifted onto hisback. “You deserve it.”
She turned to go,but his hand grabbed hers, calloused and warm and gentle. Quietly, she facedhim. “Thank you,” he whispered, and in the near-dark of the nighttime med bay,his dark eyes seemed to reflect every ounce of light the room had to offer;stars sparkling in his eyes, hovering over the constellations of freckles onhis cheeks. “For coming after me. I didn’t say it before, and I should’ve.”
A soft smile foundits way across her features, and she squeezed his hand, like a heartbeatagainst her fingers. “I’ll always come for you, Bellamy,” she whispered. “I’llsee you in the morning.”
“See you in themorning,” he echoed, and he was watching her like there was nothing else hewanted to look at ever again, even when she had slipped his hand from hers andwalked away.
It wasn’t her ownroom Clarke went to that night. Even if she had wanted to be in that still-unfamiliarspace, she couldn’t have; when Abby mentioned there were simply not enough bedsfor the night, she had offered up her room as a place to keep a few more achingpeople.
No, Clarke wentsomewhere she would feel safe.
His touch seemed tobe on everything in the room as soon as she entered, from the tidiness to theway the whole place seemed soft and welcoming to the book still opened on hischair. She smiled faintly at this sight and closed the door behind her, headingto the bed. There were no clothes she had to change into, but she knew therewould be no chance of sleeping if she stayed in the thick, heavy, chafingclothes she’d adopted on her search for Bellamy, so she took a risk and dugthrough his drawers. Quickly she found a smaller shirt that would somewhat fither (actually, it went halfway to her knees, but it was the best she had) andsettled to just wear that for the night.
When she slippedunder his covers and rested her face against the pillow, Clarke breathed indeeply. The scents she associated with him – wood smoke and gun powder andsweat and pine – were strong and everywhere, even on the shirt. She wondered if(hoped) the smell would cling to her skin the way his touch did sometimes, orhis words, like he was slowly seeping into her bones.
For the first timein maybe a long time, she fell asleep quickly.
Clarke woke to herlegs tangled in the blanket, dots of perspiration on her forehead. Herheartbeat was crawling up her throat. Sharp, bitter-tasting memories like bilefilled her mind, of Bellamy burned and bleeding and not breathing. Weakly, sheburied her face into his pillow, drawing in long breaths to fill herself withhis scent and remind herself he was still here, he was alive, it was just adream. Just a nightmare.
That didn’t stop herfrom running to the med bay the moment she got her own clothes on, though.
It was earlier thanshe’d realized, which meant most everyone was still sleeping, but Bellamy – ofcourse – was awake and sitting up. He caught her gaze the moment she came in,and his eyes seemed to light up a little. It made her warm, like she was stilltucked in his blankets.
Swallowing down anywayward thoughts, Clarke picked her way over to him and looked over his face,keeping her expression as doctor-like as she could. “What’s hurting?”
He shrugged. “Everything,but I’ve had worse.”
Translation: everything hurts bad enough I don’t want you to know aboutit. “Well, I can’t do much right now, since the bandages haven’t been onlong enough, but I wanted to check in on you anyway.” She paused, placed a handas gently as she could right above his knee. “Do you want food?”
Bellamy swallowedhard, seeming distracted for a moment, before nodding stiffly. “Yeah, that’d begood. I’ll come with you to get some.”
“No, you won’t,”Clarke said, patting his leg, “because you are hurt and I am not. I’ll get itfor you. If you want, though, I can bring it back here and eat by you so you’renot alone.”
“That’d be nice,” herelented softly, catching her gaze, then added, “but I still want to go withyou. It’s stuffy in here.”
“Better get used toit,” Clarke shrugged, forcing herself to swallow a smile. Then she turned togo. But, of course, she could hear him following right after her like a puppy,so she turned and started to say, “Bellamy, really,you need to—”
She didn’t finish,because at that moment Bellamy collapsed, crumpling like a forgotten marionettepuppet and hitting the ground hard. Immediately she was down on her kneesbeside him. An ache shot up her legs at the point of impact, which she ignored.“Bellamy. Bellamy.” Her voice wasdesperate and too loud, too sharp, but she couldn’t even think about it. Shegrabbed at his shoulder, shaking him, and he shifted, starting to force himselfup onto his elbows, and then his hands. His arms were shaking, like they werestraining under his weight.
“Bellamy?” Clarkewhispered, voice trembling, and he started to lift his head when a horriblehacking sound from somewhere down his throat and he coughed up something redand sticky. Blood.
He looked at her atlast, and her heart split in half. Bellamy was terrified. “I’ll go lay down.”
Despite everything,Clarke nearly snorted. She touched her hands to his face briefly, completelyuncaring to the blood there because she just had to make sure he was there,then strenuously got him to his feet and back onto the bed. His breathing washeavy and shallow.
“Bellamy, what didyou do?” she murmured after a fewmoments, not sure what she was supposed to say, or do, or think.
He managed a smalllift of his shoulders. “I attract bad luck, apparently.”
She frowned andsquatted beside him, stroking hair away from his face. “Well, then I’m going tofind that bad luck and kick it in the face. I’ll figure out what’s wrong andI’ll fix it, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, buthe looked too afraid, too unsure.
“I’m going to fixyou, Bellamy,” she said firmly. She wanted so bad to hold him, to kiss hisforehead, something. But she didn’tknow what was wrong yet, and there was no point in putting herself at greaterrisk of being contagious. “I promise.”
With thatdeclaration, she checked all his vitals for signs of a problem, being extremelycareful not to hurt him further and having to occasionally stop as he hackedand shook (which wasn’t doing wonders for her already fragile calm). There wereno visible markers of anything wrong, or at least nothing that wasn’t wrongbefore, but she knew how much could be wrong internally. Hemoptysis usuallymeant infections, problems in the lungs, or cancer, all of which could be toomuch for them to handle properly.
Eventually, shedecided she had done enough (well, okay, Bellamytold her she had done enough, and then practically forced her to stop fawningover him, but same thing), and brought a stool to his bedside. It was probablyunsafe to leave now, she figured, and there was no way she could leave himanyway, so she tucked her arms and head against his side, closed her eyes, andlet the relieving rhythm of his heartbeat slow hers so she could pretend, for afew moments, nothing was wrong at all.
It wasn’t until anhour later when she could do anything but lay there, semi-asleep, withBellamy’s hand running over her hair in soft, repetitive motions. Then Abbycame in, and a flurry of questions were thrown at Clarke, most of which shecouldn’t answer. All she knew was Bellamy had gotten sick, maybe from the rainor something he stumbled upon in the woods. Any ideas of diagnosis, treatment,contagion, or anything else important were fat question marks hanging overeveryone’s heads.
Clarke heldBellamy’s hand the whole time they talked, sensing he needed her comfort just asmuch as she needed his.
“For now everyone’sgoing to have to stay in this room, since we don’t know if it’s contagious ornot,” Abby said, her words slightly muffled by the mask she’d put over herface, just in case. “Your job is to watch over everyone, do what you can but becareful. Don’t let it spread if it doesn’t need to. And you,” she said, turning her gaze to Bellamy. Clarke could feel himstiffen and squeezed his hand. “Your job is to rest and take it easy and getbetter. Fair enough?”
The two nodded andAbby left, closing the doors behind her firmly. Clarke felt bad for her mom;she and Marcus already had so much on their plate, and now they were down twoleaders and one doctor, a possibly contagious sickness had come into the area,and all the terrible effects the black rain could have—ruining food and watersupplies, causing diseases, preventing them from leaving when/if they neededto. But she couldn’t seem to wish she was anywhere but in the med bay, watchingover Bellamy.
For hours all Clarkedid was replace bandages, monitor fevers, check herself for any symptoms, watchover Bellamy (whose exhaustion had finally gotten the best of him), repeat. Itwas comforting—no, that wasn’t the right word. It was numbing, and at the moment,it was all Clarke wanted to feel.
Bellamy’s healthrose and fall as the days went on, and Clarke found herself unable to careabout anything unless it connected to him. He was still coughing up blood onoccasion, and he refused to eat or drink much. It made her ache watching him soweak; made her feel so helpless when he shook and heaved and she could nothingbut be by his side until it ended. “It’s enough,” he kept telling her after sheexpressed her frustration. “Being here is enough.”
She wouldn’t tellhim so, but it didn’t feel like enough. Not after all he’d done for her. Notwhen there had to be something shecould do that wouldn’t fade hours later.
When the night came,Abby came to take Clarke away, per usual. Also per usual, Clarke argued. “Whatif he has a seizure or something in the middle of the night, or he’s coughingup too much blood, or he needs something?”
“He was fine thelast four days, now come on,” Abby said, a little impatient.
He hasn’t been this bad inthe last four days, Clarke thought, but she didn’t say it aloud; didn’tlike what accepting his downfall could mean. Instead, she clenched her jaw andturned to Bellamy. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine? I am more than okaystaying here tonight.”
Bellamy nodded. Sheknew he would, but she always asked anyway. “Can I have a minute then, Mom?”The words were for Abby, but she kept her gaze on Bellamy.
Abby sighed, but theuse of ‘mom’ had apparently touched her. “Bellamy, have her out in ten minutes,okay? I need to sleep.”
“Yes, ma’am,” hesaid, like he were a boy getting told his girlfriend’s curfew.
Girlfriend.
Clarke blinked andsat back down in the stool. “Did you want to talk about anything inparticular,” Bellamy asked, “or were you just stalling?”
She hummed inresponse and rested her head on her hand, keeping her elbow propped up on the bedjust inches from his skin. “Tell me a story.”
One of his eyebrowsrose precariously. “What sort of story?”
“I don’t know. You’rethe history nerd, not me. Tell me about mythology.”
He smiled andsnorted a little, the closest thing she’d ever seen to a laugh. Oh, how shewished he would laugh for real. “You think I can summarize even onemythological story in less than ten minutes?”
“No,” she agreed,“but you can finish it later.” She collapsed her face into her arms andmumbled, “Just give me a bedtime story. Like you did with Octavia.”
Near her arms, shefelt his chest stiffen slightly, then he relented. “All right. A bedtime story.”His chest rumbled with the gravel of his voice; the sensation of it, so nearher face, tingled across her body. “It starts nine years after the Trojan war, whenthe Greek army sacks one of Troy’s allied towns, Chryse. During this, theycapture Chryseis and Briseis, these two maidens….”
The ten minutesended too quickly, with Bellamy shaking Clarke to make sure she was awake (asif she could fall asleep this close to him) and softly sending her off. Shewent grudgingly, only when he reminded her, “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. Seeyou tomorrow.”
Her mom hadn’twaited, as she supposed, so she went right to Bellamy’s room, which had gottenconsiderably messier since she’d moved in. Clothes littered the floor, drawershung open, and a number of random papers had been strewn over the chair. Sherummaged through his stuff until she found her favorite shirt of his – the oldblue one from their drop ship days, faded and worn and holey in a few placesand much too thin to wear in public – put it on with some boy shorts she hadcollected, and collapsed into bed. It didn’t smell quite like Bellamy anymore,but she had the real scent still clinging to her so she didn’t mind. She shuther eyes and pulled the blanket tight around her, letting herself fantasize forjust a moment of strong arms around her waist and a freckled face tucked intothe back of her neck before she fell asleep.
Clarke woke the nextday a little later than usual, probably because for the first time she hadn’thad a nightmare about Bellamy, but she took it as a blessing. (After all, whenwas the last time she’d gotten more than a few hours of sleep at night?) Shelanguidly got into new clothes, made a half-attempt to fix her hair beforegiving up and putting it half-up, and went to fix the sheets (for once), to seethey were already made. Blinking, she stared at it a moment, then realized shemust’ve done it when she’d first gotten out of bed. I really need to focus better, she thought absently, and trod tothe med bay.
Bellamy was awakewhen she got there – he was always awake, and she was getting worried he wasn’tsleeping at all, despite what he told her – and smiled brightly. She gave him onein return and plopped onto her stool. “How are you feeling?”
“Actually, a lotbetter,” he said, like he was surprised about it. “I actually slept lastnight.”
Tucking hisaccidental confession away for later, Clarke breathed out in relief and said,“That’s good.” She touched his hand briefly, then gasped in shock at how coldit was.
“What is it?”Bellamy asked, seeming immediately nervous.
“Your hand is freezing,” she said, and he actuallysmiled a little. She took this reaction as a good sign and picked up his hand,holding it between hers. “Goodness, Bellamy, did you keep it on ice orsomething?”
“Maybe my hands arejust naturally cold, Clarke,” he suggested with a half eyebrow raise.
“Nah, there’sdefinitely something off about this one,” she said, trying to soundauthoritative to no avail, and rubbed it between her hands like she waskindling a fire. She definitely felt sparks, at least, but those were probablymore from having his skin on hers, and the way he was looking at her, like shewas the only thing he knew how to see. “Maybe—”
She was interruptedby Abby, who had come rushing in. Without preamble, she blurted, “There’s nomore water to gather.”
Clarke froze, andshe would’ve dropped Bellamy’s hand if he hadn’t squeezed hers tightly. “What?”she said, barely a murmur.
“The rest of thewater is tainted permanently, and we only have maybe a few weeks’ worth in ourstores. We need to go, now, andprepare for…whatever’s next.”
Clarke swallowedhard and looked at Bellamy, whose eyes were wide. It made her heart hurt.Turning back to her mom, she said, “Give me one minute.”
Abby scowled.“Clarke, we don’t have time—”
“One minute,” Clarke growled, and with ahuff and some muttered comments about stubborn children, Abby stormed out.
Once her mother wasout of sight, Bellamy sat up and she didn’t stop him, even though he wassupposed to stay laying down as much as possible. They looked at each other fora long moment, hands still loosely clasped, when Clarke murmured, “It’s myfault. I didn’t press the matter hard enough.”
“Hey,” Bellamy scolded,frowning, and stood, which forced her to take a step backwards. To hersurprise, he drew her to him, folding her against his chest with a handcradling her head and the other an anchor on her back. Against her hair, hemurmured softly, “You did what you could.”
“There’s always moreto do,” she replied into the crook of his neck, sighing heavily.
His lips seemed tolinger on her hair for just a moment, then he pulled back and rubbed her arms.“We’ll get through this,” he said firmly, willing her with his eyes to believehim.
And she did. It wasstupid to, maybe, but watching him, all she could think was how much shebelieved in him. How much she trusted him. How much she loved him.
Without eventhinking about it, her hands went to his face, framing his cheekbones, hisjawline, like they were made of glass. Bellamy froze, eyelashes fluttering insurprise, but didn’t pull away, and she was grateful. “I don’t want to loseyou,” she murmured, testing how the words felt so close to his face.
“I’m not goinganywhere,” he said in reply, his fingers very lightly on her sides.
Clarke pulled hisface down to hers and rested their foreheads together. I hope you’re right, she thought. I love you too much to let you go. Tentatively, she tilted her faceso that her lips barely brushed his, and when she felt Bellamy lean in oninstinct, she let herself go. Lifting onto her toes, she kissed him.
Her fingers graspedhis face determinedly, yet as gently as she could manage. His hands made slowcircles on her back as if telling her, I’mhere, I’m here, I’m here. She held on for a few moments, then pulled away,knowing they needed to leave. Just as she was going to say this, though,Bellamy started coughing again.
“Oh, not this,” shegroaned, and tried to get him to sit down. Bellamy, however, had becomecompletely unresponsive, and his coughing was getting worse. He bent over,hacking up blood and shaking. “Bellamy.Bellamy, please, just help me get you laid down,” she said, doing her best tomask the panic.
His legs gave waybeneath him and he crumpled. A half-strangled gasp escaped Clarke and she wentto his side, desperately trying to pull him up or calm him down or something. The only thing she was ableto do, though, was roll him over so he was lying face-up, and that was almostworse than before. Red splotched his face and his eyes were shimmering anddark, full of betrayal as if she’d done this.
And she had, Clarkerealized. She had been so focused on loving him she hadn’t protected him. Itwas because she loved him this washappening. The panic built in her chest, black and cold and enveloping, and shechoked out, “Bellamy, stay with me,” because she didn’t know what else to do.
It was there, withher hands gripping his shoulders, slick with blood, and tears slipping from hiseyes before burning on his fevered cheeks, and the sickening silence of theearly morning, the start of a new day, when Bellamy Blake died.
Clarke felt her bodyburst, and there was so much pain that she felt nothing, and she was nothing,and then, as she crumpled beside him, there was nothing. Only silence.
“Clarke.” A femininevoice called to her gently. “Clarke, open your eyes.”
Clarke moanedfitfully, too overcome with pain to do anything. She doubted she could moveever again.
“You need to get upand go to med bay,” the voice – Abby – murmured soothingly, and Clarke felt ahand on her back.
I am in med bay, Clarke wanted to mumble, but she realized,suddenly, she wasn’t. There was a pillow under her head and blankets pooledfitfully around her body, like she’d been thrashing. But how was she….
She sprangupwards—nearly hitting her mother, but she didn’t care at the moment. “Bellamy.He—”
Abby sighed. “Wouldyou quit worrying so much? He’s fine;better than yesterday, actually, which hopefully means you won’t kill me fordragging you away from him for today.”
Clarke’s heartactually beat for what seemed like the first time and she brought her knees upto her chest, burying her face there and breathing out in something like a sob.It was a dream. But this dream…this nightmare was too real. It clung to herskin, left shivers across her spine. She almost expected to feel Bellamy’sblood on her fingers, hear the awful hacking and choking as he died. And onething stuck out more than everything else, something with truth noconsciousness could erase.
It was because I love him.
“What have I done?”she whimpered, feeling the sobs start to rack her body.
Abby rubbed her shoulderbladeswith smooth, slow motions. Clarke remembered the way Bellamy’s hands had felton her back, how his lips had felt against hers, before it had all burned down.Because I love him.
“Clarke,” Abbymurmured. “It was just a dream, okay? None of it was real. Whatever you saw,whatever happened, it was just in your head.”
Numbly, Clarkenodded, trying her hardest to believe it, but it was so hard. On the backs ofher eyelids she could see the haunted way Bellamy’s eyes had glazed over, allthe life and love and warmth draining out of them like they’d never been there.The blankets against her nose no longer carried his scent either, like even thereal world was trying to tell her Bellamy was fading.
“Now we need you toget up, Clarke,” Abby said. “Bellamy is still here, and he still needs yourhelp.”
That got Clarkemoving. She was a danger to Bellamy, yes, but she couldn’t let her feelingsstop her from helping him. No matter what it cost her, she had to be there for him. Slowly, she nodded and unfoldedherself, then slid off the bed and stood, a little wobbly on her feet. “I’llsee you soon, okay?” Abby said, touching her hand to Clarke’s cheek. “I loveyou.”
“I love you, too,”Clarke said automatically, and immediately felt the words like shards of glassshifting in her sternum, pressing into her heart.
When her mom left,Clarke quickly changed and slogged out the door, realizing she couldn’t go seeBellamy yet and make sure he really was okay. There were a number of meetingsand plans they had to prioritize, before they ran out of water. (That was theother thing somewhat true from Clarke’s dream—they were running out of waterresources, and would be forced to make an exodus to find more soon if somethingwasn’t figured out.) It would take all day, which meant her normal goodnightminutes with Bellamy would be her only minutes with him. Raven was there, too,at least, and both her powerful presence and offhanded, snarky comments made ita little more worthwhile.
“Now, one of thebiggest issues we’ll face with the water supply besides drinking and farming,assuming the soil is still holding,” Abby said slowly as she looked around theroom, “is medical issues. We have a number of patients who still require lotsof attention—” Clarke felt her hands tighten into fists involuntarily on thetable, and several people looked at her as if in pity— “and we need to decidehow much we can delegate to them.”
“Not too much,” aman Clarke didn’t recognize said gruffly. “If we expend too much of ourresources on the sick and injured and they don’t even pull through, it will bewasted. The strong are priority.”
“Shut up.” Clarke didn’t even realizeshe’d started to speak until the command tore from her throat like a growl. Thewhole room turned to her, and she could tell by the look in Abby’s eyes itwould be wise to back down, but she was far beyond caring. “I know you haven’tbeen on Earth for as long as the kids you threw down on a whim, but we learnedsomething down here. To survive, you don’t take anyone for granted. Every life matters.”
“But some more thanothers,” the man argued, “when we’re at war.”
Clarke straightened,trying her very hardest not to spit at him. Heknows nothing of war. “Do you have family in that med bay?”
He blinked. “Well,no.”
“And if you did,would you consider their lives less than others?”
The man shrunk downvisibly. “I suppose not.”
“Then I suppose,” Clarke said, not evenbothering to conceal the venom in her tone, “you should keep your mouth shut,or you can join my family in the ward.”
“Clarke,” Abby saidfrom across the room, scolding. But the look Clarke gave her was fierce anddefiant, and she couldn’t even think to be sorry. Anyone who said the lives ofthe sick didn’t matter – especially when it was Bellamy among those sick –deserved no apologies from her.
The meetingcontinued awkwardly after that, and Raven leaned over to Clarke. “You’re onone, today, Griffin,” she said, grinning. “I’m loving it.”
Despite the angerand worry building up in Clarke like hot coals, she smiled. “You’re going tohave to up your game, Reyes.”
Raven snorted. “I’mjust getting started.”
After that, themeetings were (somewhat) bearable, but that didn’t stop Clarke from sprintingout as soon as she was released. Her feet carried her almost thoughtlesslythrough the corridors, into the med bay, and straight into the arms of Bellamy,who had started to sit up when he saw her barreling towards him. He was nearlythrown back with the force of her, and she knew she was probably hurting thewounds that hadn’t left when the new sickness arrived, but she let herself notcare for just one moment because his breath was on her ear and his arms were movingto hold her and it meant he was alive.
“What’s this for?”he murmured, low and warm and grating.
“Nothing.” Sheswallowed and forced herself to pull away. “Nothing, really. I just…nice toknow you’re okay.”
“What, you can’tcheck in on me for twelve hours and suddenly I’m Schrodinger’s cat? Maybealive, maybe dead?”
Clarke swallowed andshrugged, trying to act natural even though she could almost see him dyingagain, right here, in her arms. “Nightmares. You know.”
He frowned, featuressoftening. “Yeah. I know.” He paused, then added, “Whatever it was, it wasn’treal, so don’t beat yourself up over anything, okay? I’m still here, and I’mnot going anywhere.”
Clarke didn’t replyand instead settled herself onto the stool. “So, where were we with that Iliadstory? Something with Achilles and a plan?”
He gave her a look,as if to say, I know you’re changing thesubject, but said, “Yes, he just agreed to Nestor’s plan about puttingPatroclus in as a decoy.” He continued with the story, but Clarke could tell hehadn’t put her unease behind him. She hadn’t either, but she was trying, at least; trying to just listento the story of a friend, a patient, and think of it – him – as nothing more.
Surprisingly, Abbynever came to get Clarke, so they wordlessly agreed to stay together a littlelonger. Clarke sat up beside him on the bed and told him about how the meetingshad gone, and how there would be a group leaving soon to the nearest Groundervillage (he seemed upset he wouldn’t be on it, but less so when she said shewas staying too), and then, hesitantly, about the discussion on water supply.
Bellamy’s jaw tighteneda little at this and he murmured, “That guy probably never dealt with injuredpeople beyond a paper cut before he came here. Serves him right.” Then his gazewent to Clarke. “It is true we need to ration out our supplies, though. Thepeople going through dehydration will get the larger share, probably, and thepeople with cuts and burns and such will need more just for their wounds, whichmeans they might have to cut down on general water consumption.”
Clarke pursed herlips. “What about you?”
He took suddeninterest in her forehead. “I’ll be fine without, since I’m doing better thanbefore.”
“No, you deservewater as much as any other patient. More so, maybe, because you’re beat up andsick at the same time. Plus….” She glanced down then forced herself to catchhis eye again. “You’re more important than the rest of them.”
Bellamy frowned andlooked at her properly again. “No I’m not.”
“Yes you are,” she argued. “You’re one of ourleaders, the most skilled and trained in combat, you know how things work andwhat we can do.”
“There are plenty ofpeople who can do that,” he said, sighing. “If it comes to it.”
“Not to me!” Clarke burst before she eventhought about it, and Bellamy blinked, taken aback. Breathing out, she saidmore calmly, “I need you, Bellamy.Not just some filler. You, and nobodyelse.”
There was a momentof silence where Bellamy just stared, as if unsure how to respond or react. Shecouldn’t blame him. “I don’t care if you never do anything useful again in yourlife,” she whispered. “You just…you can’t die.” But of course he could die,she had seen it happen time and time again on the backs of her eyes. He coulddie just like her father, and Wells, and Finn, and Lexa. Of course he coulddie, because she loved him. But how can Istop?
She swallowed andspoke again, her voice breaking. “Pleasedon’t die.”
Bellamy’s facesoftened and he reached out, fingers brushing her cheek and tucking aside alock of hair. “I won’t.”
“You can’t know thatfor sure,” Clarke whispered, and she was shaking against his palm.
“No,” he admitted,“but I’m not going anywhere if I can help it.” He leaned forward, pressing hislips to her forehead softly. Clarke couldn’t bear to push him away, no matterwhat might happen, so she just gripped his free arm and closed her eyes,letting his nearness wash over her. After a moment, his lips moved against herskin. “I would miss you too much.”
Clarke dared to letherself dream. “I would miss you, too.”
They stayed likethat for a few seconds, her hand on his arm and his lips on her forehead andtheir hearts thudding in their chests, before Bellamy carefully pulled away,running his thumb over her cheek briefly before dropping his hand. “You needsleep.”
A strange, uselesspanic flared up in Clarke’s heart, and she shook her head. “Can’t I stay here?”
“You need real sleep, and you can’t do that on astool,” Bellamy pointed out.
“There are a fewextra beds,” Clarke argued. “I could use one of them.”
“Clarke—”
“Please, Bellamy,” she begged. “I can’tstay in your room anymore. All I get is nightmares and I can’t even check onyou when they come and I just—”
“Wait,” Bellamysaid, stopping her short. He looked utterly confused. “My room?”
Clarke flushedunwillingly. “Um—yeah. My room got taken over by patients.” And I needed to be near you, somehow,she thought, but she didn’t say it. Seeing he was about to say something, sheblundered on, “Come on, it can just be for one night, and I’m closer to all mypatients, not just you. Please?”
He sighed. “I can’tstop you, can I?” But she caught the corners of his mouth lifting into a smallsmile.
“No, you can’t,” sheagreed, and hopped off the table before he could decide otherwise. She took oneof the extra beds (a number of people were just being kept in their rooms iftheir only symptoms were that of dehydration or small cuts, because everyonewas starting to suffer those now) and dragged it right next to Bellamy’s. Helaid down on his back slowly and she followed suit, slipping under the sheetswithout caring about the fact she was still in her normal clothes. Being byBellamy would be enough to help her sleep.
There was a minuteof charged silence as Clarke tried her best to not keep glancing at Bellamy.She knew it was a terrible idea to even be nearhim, when she brought only death and horror to people as good as him, but rightnow she couldn’t find the strength to be anywhere else. They only had a fewmonths left anyway, at most. If Bellamy pulled through and they figured outsomething with the water and the reactors, then she would figure something out.She’d learn how to keep him safe from her. But for now, she just wanted to benear him, and know he was there.
Without eventhinking about it, Clarke reached her hand out in the small space between theirbeds. She held it there for a few moments, cursing the fact she was shaking,before she felt large, coarse fingers slip between hers. Surprised and gratefulin equal measure, she turned her head and saw Bellamy looking at her withsomething in his eyes that made her miss his lips on her forehead.
“I’m right here,Clarke,” he whispered, squeezing her hand. He was warm and soft and kind andshe loved him. It scared her, but she did. She loved Bellamy Blake, and she wasstarting to think maybe he loved her, too.
“Don’t leave me,”she murmured, her voice barely even a sound.
“Never will,” hereplied, and as Clarke drifted off like that, with their hands intertwined andhis face in her mind, she let herself believe it, even for a moment.
“Light, but she should have been angry at him, thinking he knew what was best for her better than she did” this is what I dislike about Gawyn so much. He consistently professes love and trust, and consistently disregards what others say/feel/think
Yeah, Gawyn is frustrating like that. Especially because he’s clearly trying to do the right thing and help those he cares about but then he has a sort of fucked-up view of how to do go about it. (Though he’s hardly alone in that, actually...)
But what irritates me more about that particular bit was how it’s brushed off by Egwene because it’s True Love so that makes this cute and romantic and whatever. Firstly because wow no, hello uncomfortable implications. But also because it feels kind of out of character for Egwene (much like her non-reaction to finding herself in chains in Gawyn’s dream weirds me out because um this is Egwene, you know, the girl who was collared and tortured by the Seanchan and woke up screaming from nightmares about it months later).
She thinks ‘she should have been angry with him’ and yes, she should be, and that’s the sort of thing Egwene would be angry about. She decides to join the group leaving Emond’s Field knowing it will be dangerous, and so help anyone who tries to stop her or tell her to stay behind. Her whole dynamic with Nynaeve, across the first...five books, really, is that of shifting power, of her trying to assert her own place and her own will and decisions, rather than just listening to her village Wisdom. And then she refuses to follow directions - even orders - from the Wise Ones, when those orders are very clearly for her own good, because she thinks she can and needs to be doing more.
Is she always right, in her decisions or the way she goes about them? Probably not. She’s young and stubborn and determined and eager, and she throws herself fully into everything she does, but she can also be deceitful and hypocritical, and yeah she makes some mistakes or missteps along the way. But the point is that she does not just sit back and let others tell her what’s best for her. She pushes back against that - she’s making her own place in the world, and also being written towards a position of authority and leadership.
So to then have her just smiling indulgently while listening to someone tell her what she should be doing, thinking he knows best? Come on. The ‘she knew she should have been angry’ almost makes it worse in some ways because it’s like saying outright that yeah this isn’t how Egwene would normally behave or think but hey it’s True Love and he’s the Man For Her and so it’s okay to push aside one of her defining character traits!
Which goes back to the Love Makes It Okay (to do things that are of dubious okayness).
Am I maybe reading too much into one line? Quite possibly. And I don’t think that was the intent, exactly - I think it really is just trying to show that Gawyn has some misguided notions, but also that he and Egwene are in blissful early love. But...well, I really like Egwene as a character (in large part because of her flaws and missteps, because they stem from the same traits as some of her great strengths and abilities, and there’s a complexity and also a huge potential for growth there) and I feel like this is doing her a disservice.
Which brings me to the second part of your comment...
(Also Egwene’s a very strong character who doesn’t need a love interest at all and who I think would do just as well if not better alone, but that could be the bitter single in me talking)
I honestly could not agree more. And sure, maybe it’s just bitter aromantic me who gets a bit tired of always romance all the time in fantasy, but...yeah. Egwene doesn’t need a romance subplot. Especially not this one.
Independence and a place for herself in everything is something she fights for from the very beginning. Yes she has been caught up in something bigger now, and has a duty and role that she knows she needs to fulfil, but even then she’s not passive about it. She’s trying to be proactive, and pushing to do as much as she can.
And then Suddenly True Love comes along and literally just pulls her in while she’s drifting in the dreamscape (and also chains her to a pillar, no I am not going to get over that). Yes you could argue that it fits with her stated trait of throwing herself wholeheartedly into whatever she does, but it’s just not at all necessary and also feels counter, again, to how she’s established. As a girl who from the beginning wants to find her own way, who rejects the trappings of small village life because it’s not for her, who fights to assert herself against/next to someone who used to have authority over her. She’s her own person and that’s really important to her.
Plus, she starts off with basically this childhood betrothal to Rand, and then comes to realise that actually she loves him, but as a brother. And then she has all these other friendships that she builds, and that too is a strong aspect of her character. (I joke about Egwene al’Vere: Sister to All Randland, but she really kind of is).
And it sets such a perfect foundation for a character who realises that actually, these friendships and other relationships - not to mention her own path and her own place in everything - are what she really wants, rather than storybook love. (It even works nicely as a foil to Nynaeve coming to realise that she does want that).
Yes, you can be strong and independent and still fall in love, and that’s completely okay. But you don’t have to, you can have a complete and fulfilling life without romance, and Egwene would be such a perfect example of that.
sammasterpiece replied to your post: Wheel of Time liveblogging: Lord of Ch...
I think (and I could be wrong, I don’t remember the exact passage) that Faile was kept from training with the sword more because she was second in line to the throne and had to learn politics/not put herself in danger, and less because she’s a girl
I was hoping you were right, so I went back to the actual quote, and while she did say that she was kept home because her older brothers died and she therefore had to learn to manage the estate...
“Girls are not taught the sword, or war, in Saldaea, but father had named an old soldier from his first command as my footman, and Eran was always more than happy to teach me to use knives and fight with my hands.” --TSR ch 41
Which then, what with the women riding to war with the men, makes no bloody sense.
