A/N: Hey guys! I'm just trying out a Bellarke fic that was inspired by the book After the Dancing Days. I'm going a different direction with Clarke's personality so I would love to hear feedback about that. Also as a disclaimer- I have zero medical experience so this fic is not going to be 100% accurate or perfect in any way. I'm sorry if that bothers any of you. I'm really just testing the waters with this to see how people respond before I continue. Anyway... thanks for reading!

Chapter 1

I'm trying to wear less black. Mom says I look good in blue; says it'll help the men warm up to me. Not the kind of men you're thinking of- the single, successful ones she's been begging me to date- no, she's talking about the soldiers. My mom is a doctor at St. Jaha's, a hospital for soldiers who come home from the war missing pieces of their bodies or minds, sometimes both. I "volunteer" there. If volunteering means agreeing to go after one of mom's breakdowns about how "your father would want this" and "it's the best way we can give back". Give back what? Hasn't the war taken enough of our time and energy? I supposed those arguments would hold up against a rational person, but you haven't met Abby Griffin. She doesn't get it though. Patching up those soldiers won't bring back dad.

Yet, here I am. I'm wearing a light blue button up, borrowed from my mom's closet, over grey leggings. "At least it's less depressing than black," my mom said when I got into the car. The bench I'm sitting on is cold, black metal. The man next to me is named Miller. He's missing his legs and arms, so I'm reading to him Grimm's fairytales. Because what better way to cheer up a man who will never walk or touch the girl he loves again by telling him what really happened in Cinderella?
"I'm tired, Clarke. Wheel me back in?" Miller's eyes have been closed the entire time I've been here. I doubt he even listens to the stories anymore, but pretends to for my benefit. Which makes me angry because hey, man I'm here to make you feel better, not the other way around. That's how it is with most of the men here. They tolerate me, but you could say my bedside manner is somewhat lacking.
I dropped out of medical school when my father died. Something about losing a parent takes away a piece of you. I think the piece I lost was motivation. The second semester I failed over half my classes, I drove home from school and never went back. My mom let me move back in with her once she found out I hadn't left my apartment in over a week.
I hate myself for falling this low.
After I wheel Miller back to his room and help him into bed, I go to find my mom. I'm starting to get a headache and I'm hoping that's a good enough excuse for her to let me leave early. I spot her in the hallway talking to one of the nurses. She sees me before I can say anything.
"Oh good! Here you are, Clarke. I have a job for you."
I try not to groan.
"One of the patients on level 4 needs his bandages changed. Room 400."
Level 4. Those are the burn victims. I cringe. "Mom, I..."
She smiles at me. "You can handle it, Clarke. If you need help just ask one of the nurses." Then she turns and walks down the hall.
This is the first time I've worked with a burn victim. I'm not sure what to expect. I find room 400 and knock on the already open door. The man in the bed looks up at me. Both his arms are bandaged from shoulder to fingertip. His left leg is bandaged around the thigh and his right leg is covered to the ankle. He turns to look at me and I see that the skin on the left side of his face is blistered and raw from the collar of his hospital gown to his hairline. I also see brown eyes under a mop of curly dark hair. He's smirking at me even though the left corner of his mouth droops. I realize he's young, maybe a couple years older than I am. And he's handsome. Very handsome.
"You should see what's under the gown," he says and I can feel the heat spread over my cheeks.
"I'm here to change your bandages. I'm Clarke," I say, trying to stop the blush his comment caused. I walk over to the bed and check his chart.
"Bellamy." His voice is rough and sounds like it's scraping his throat. "You're not a nurse." He eyes my outfit.
"No. But my mom is a doctor here and I'm helping her out with some patients."
"I see. She's making you do the dirty work."
I raise an eyebrow. "Dirty work?"
Bellamy stares straight ahead. "Take off those bandages and see for yourself. Never had the same nurse twice."
I glance down at his arms and legs, covered in gauze. My hands clench into fists for a second as I steel myself for the task ahead of me. Then I slowly begin peeling away the cloth from his leg. At first it's not so bad, the skin is pink and shiny, but it looks like any burn I've gotten being careless with the oven or a lighter. Then I get to his arms. The flesh is red and raw. The bandages come off bloody in places where his skin has been burned to the bone. My stomach churns uncomfortably and I can feel my palms beginning to sweat. This is why I wasn't cut out for medical school, I'm too squeamish. His other arm is just as bad. After I've removed the bandages, he's painful to look at. All that burnt, red skin. How Bellamy isn't screaming from the pain is beyond me. I steal a look in his direction. There are tears in his eyes are his teeth are clamped together. "Told you it was bad." His voice is strained.
"I've seen worse." My voice is too weak to be convincing. Bellamy lets out a harsh laugh. "You're a terrible liar."
Bellamy is silent while I coat his skin in an antiseptic and cover his wounds in fresh bandages. I guess he's in too much pain to speak. And I'm trying too hard to not throw up to attempt conversation. When I'm done I write the date and time on his chart so the next nurse knows when to change his bandages.
"Well, Bellamy. You're all set. Can I get you anything else?" I stand at the foot of the bed.
He stares at me. "Are you shitting me?"
I take a step back from the hostility in his voice. "Excuse me?"
"Can you get me anything else? Do you think this is a fucking restaurant? I'm sorry sir, we're fresh out of new skin but can I get you anything else while you slowly die?"
"I-"
Bellamy cuts me off. "Actually yes. You can do something for me. Next time have the Doc send in a real nurse. At least they have the decency to not ask stupid questions." He turns his face away from me and glares out the window.
My face burns with anger. "No wonder you've never had the same nurse twice," I say, hoping my words sting as much as his do. I turn and leave without waiting to see his reaction.