Crossroads

Chapter one

I heard him before I saw him.

"Octavia," his deep, gravelly voice was saying, the same voice I'd heard over the radio, and deep down, thought I'd never hear in reality again. I turned quickly, but then stopped when I saw his face. Hidden behind a curtain in the medic room, he couldn't see me.

It was a good thing too.

Half of his face was obscured under the thick beige cap he wore, but the other, visible half, was covered by a black-and-blue bruise which bloomed over the bridge of his nose and down to his bloody and twisted mouth.

I felt my own hand touch my hand and trace what I was seeing. Whatever it was that I was feeling, looking at Bellamy's battered face, wondering how close it'd been that he had come to dying in that mountain, did not feel good. It felt like an overpowering of anger, of relief... of guilt.

I had felt too much guilt these past few days. I pushed it down, along with whatever emotions Bellamy was stirring in my chest. No time.

"Clarke!"

Any further internal monologues were brought to an abrupt end when a figure called my name and hurtled into me, bringing us both off kilter. I staggered, and then found myself looking into a pair of very dark eyes - Jasper's. His grin was so wide it cut his whole face in half, and he looked years younger with his hair grown out and his clean shirt.

"We thought, I thought-" he mumbled, burying his head in my shoulder. I squeezed my friend back with every ounce of strength I'd saved. We probably would have stayed like that for a very long time if Octavia hadn't caught me roughly by the shoulder and shook us apart.

"Hey!" I said, but there was panic in her eyes.

"It's Bellamy, he's collapsed and there's a huge gash, your mother's busy and-"

She didn't need to say another word. I put an arm on Jasper's shoulder, and told him I'd talk to him later, when we could all be together. His eyes darkened on the words 'all together' but I didn't think much of it. He ducked his head and then leapt at poor Octavia.

I rushed into the clearing, my kit in hand. In a crowd of people in the centre, Bellamy was lying on the ground, his head supported by Wick, the engineer. I steeled myself and swiftly knelt down beside Wick, putting my ear to Bellamy's mouth. His breathing was laboured.

"Let's get him inside," I ordered and shouldered my way through the crowd, Wick and another man carrying Bellamy behind me.

They lay him down on a bed in the medic room, and immediately I was by his side.

I took his cap off, but instead of the thick, curly hair that I expected to see come bouncing back, it was all slicked to his forehead with blood, with more under and around his nose. I shone a torch on his pupils, and let out a sigh of relief when they dilated, though he still wasn't conscious.

There was no shame in me when I tore open his protective vest and then shirt, to reveal a scarlet slit that extended across his abdomen. With dark humour, I told myself how disappointing it was that I had no time to admire his toned chest. One thing at a time, Clarke. I had to act fast, otherwise there was a real danger the wound could become infected, and that would lead to a whole new treasure chest of problems.

I grabbed a cloth and wet it before cleaning away the blood from around the wound. As soon as I cleared away the encrusted mess and exposed the pink, tender skin stretching away from it, more blood pooled out of the gash. I couldn't staunch the bleeding then, no matter how hard I pressed down with the cloth. Bellamy's blood soaked through and began to stain my hands, as quickly as his skin took on a deathly pallor and the veins became visible on his neck.

I felt sick. My hands were stained with the blood of one of my closest friends, one I depended upon more than I could ever express. It wasn't the first time either. As I looked down at them, I saw Finn's blood. His lolling head. The look of satisfaction in Lexa's eyes and then Raven's piercing scream.

Murderer.

"No, no, no," I muttered desperately, shaking them. Bellamy began to convulse on the table and the continuous stream of blood wouldn't stop, but I kept on pressing, even when Bellamy whimpered uncharacteristically and I knew it was hurting him. I couldn't help it; I didn't want him to die. But he would, he would, he would-

"He's lost a lot of blood - we need two pints of it, now."

Never in my life had I been so glad to hear my mother's cool, collected voice. She brought in two nurses, and told one to staunch the blood with a wrap and the other to collect the blood.

I was still shaking and pressing down on Bellamy's abdomen with the drenched cloth. My mother came over and gently but firmly gripped my arm.

"Clarke, honey, you're hurting him. Let go, wash your hands and let me take care of Bellamy. I'm not letting anyone else in to see him."

I nodded listlessly and allowed myself to be taken away to the makeshift sink by my mother. The water ran red and my hands were soon clean, but I couldn't banish the image in my mind, that they would always be dripping with someone's blood. Be it Finn or Bellamy's.

Bellamy. I cleared my mind and turned towards my main source of attention, berating myself for forgetting his condition. The nurses and my mother had admittedly done a much better job than I, as Bellamy's shirt was now completely removed and a long, winding bandage covered the gash, though the blood was still seeping through.

The younger nurse noticed my frown.

"That'll need changing quite regularly," she affirmed, "But I've given him some Tranexamic acid to speed up the clotting." I nodded in reply. She didn't look very old, but she seemed to know what she was doing. My mother had hooked Bellamy up to the blood transfuse machine, and I watched the creaky old thing as it administered fresh blood into a pipe extending into his neck.

I saw my mother approach me a little concernedly, as though she thought I would start tearing out my hair in wild chunks or something. I gave a fleeting smile instead.

"I know how important he is to you," she smiled, looking back at the boy, whose colour had started to improve already, and who was no longer having terrifying convulsions.

I was unwilling to delve any further than this, and I was quite surprised by my mother's cloying tone, as she'd never really taken to Bellamy at all before. Then the look in her eyes became apparent. It was the same look she used to have when she stared at my father.

Oh no no no.

I parted my lips and shook my head minutely at her. Did you not see what happened with Finn? my head screamed, but in reply I merely hardened my gaze and brushed past her. A sigh followed my departure but I ignored it.

Bellamy's face was still a canvas of red, blue and black, but at least his breathing had stabilised and I could see his eyes fluttering under the lids.

The younger nurse handed me a bowl of steaming water and a fresh cloth, and I smiled gratefully. My mother stood off to the side, making me wish she wouldn't watch me so intently.

Lightly now, I squeezed out the damp cloth and began to wipe Bellamy's face. There was something soothing in the motion of clearing away the blood and grime, and mechanically rinsing out the cloth. It was something I had really become quite accustomed to in the last few months.

The water needed changing several times, but at last his nose and forehead were clear, only leaving the bruise and its snaking tendrils of blue. Even with that he looked as attractive as usual, something which I had to mentally shake myself for noticing.

My favourite part was now to wash his hair, even if I was unwilling to admit it.

I took a towel, some water and a little soap and set to work. The dark curls shone coppery in the overhead light, and when I'd finished rinsing, and dried them gently with a towel, they fluffed up. I let out a little laugh, imaging Bellamy's indignation and outrage if he were to see how cloud-like his hair was now.

"Having fun at my expense, Princess?" was exactly what I'd been waiting to hear, followed by a deep, shuddering groan, which wasn't. Bellamy's voice was rough and broken, but the familiar humour was there.

I stood over him, trying my best to look intimidating.

"Did I not say not to get yourself killed?" I demanded, a little more high-pitched than I'd anticipated. Bellamy too, as he winced.

"That's a double negative, Princess, I'm way too tired to understand that," he teased, but then looked serious, keeping his arms flat by his sides while the nurses bustled about, changing the bandage and checking the transfusion.

"You were the one who sent me in there," he reminded, but then stopped when he saw the visible look of pain flash across my face,

"Not that it wasn't necessary, but there was a risk."

The way he said it so matter-of-fact made me hurt even more. I bit my lip and put my hand on his forehead; I hadn't done anything so bold since our hug.

His warm eyes regarded me with a strange flicker of emotion that was impossible to identify, especially since it disappeared in an instant and was replaced with by the usual blankness.

"Been checking me out, have we?" He motioned an arm down the length of his exposed body, right to his trousers, which of course, I'd left on.

"Didn't get time to finish?" he continued, but stopped when I groaned and flicked his forehead with my free hand.

"Stop with the rhetorical questions, Bell," I pleaded, and the older nurse frowned at me when Bellamy laughed in response. Then he paused, mid-laugh.

"What did you call me?"

"Uh... Bell?" I repeated unsurely. His mouth twisted slightly. There was some palpable tension and then an awkward silence. The older nurse took her chance.

"This young man needs plenty of rest and no distractions," she said, looking directly at me. I stared her down defiantly. My mother finally spoke up, coming over from the corner.

"Clarke, he's your patient; your responsibility." I frowned at her forwardness

"Why...?" I began, but she interrupted,

"You need to focus your mind on one thing at a time."

I dipped my head in agreement; she was right, after all.

The nurses instructed Bellamy to sleep, and so did my mother. He rolled his eyes at their departing backs. I didn't want to proposition him, but there was an issue I'd pushed to the back of my mind as soon as he'd collapsed. I brought it up now.

"Bellamy, I saw Jasper and Monty, and Harper, and some others of our people. Where are the rest of the forty-seven?"

His jaw tightened, and the strain around his eyes put years on him.

"Clarke, they're still there," he said harshly, "...In the mountain."

I hope you guys like my first attempt at a The 100 fic, and that the characters aren't OOC. Please review so that I know you guys want me to continue this or not :)