2. Wounded

The world is shifting around him. Bellamy drifts back into consciousness slowly at first, becoming aware of his surroundings gradually. First, there's the rumbling sound of the storm outside, then there are the flickering lights inside the lab. They're unsteady, they blink off at times, but the lab still has power, something he's thankful for even in his hazy state of consciousness. His head is still spinning as he starts to recall the exact circumstances that caused him to be here. They made it to the lab, he was exposed to the radiation, it was hell, but then she was there. He remembers Clarke's hands on his arm, the slight pain of the needle and the sting of the serum as it entered his system, he remembers her voice, blurry in his feverish memories, but still light, and hopeful, promising that they'll live.

When he finally opens his eyes, he realizes that his head is still laying on her lap, her right hand has fallen to the side, but her left one is still resting on his chest. She's shaking, he realizes, that's actually what woke him up.

He's happy to realize that some of his strength is coming back when he sits up to get a better look at her with no effort. Clarke seems to be sleeping, laying back on the wall, but her sleep is not easy. She's shaking and tossing her head around, and her skin, the visible patches that remain untouched by the burns, is covered in sweat. He carefully cups the good side of her face with one hand and tilts it to the side to get a better look at her injuries and winces at the thought of how much that must hurt. He immediately notices that she's abnormally cold to the touch and grows more concerned as he tries to examine her wounds without actually touching her. Maybe if he had paid more attention in earth skills class, he'd have some idea on how to treat injuries like these, but he didn't, so there's nothing he can do.

She's obviously cold, so he looks around scanning the room for something to help her warm up. The entire main level of the lab is as mess after the rushed loading of the rocket, but he manages to find a microfiber thermal blanket and practically runs back to her, kneeling next to her again and wrapping the blanket around her shoulders to help her preserve heat.

"Clarke" he shakes her softly. "Clarke, what's wrong?"

Unlike him, Clarke jerks awake violently at that, backing up in a defensive position and reaching for her belt, used to the handgun or knife that usually reside there. She's hurt, and her more primal defensive instincts are apparently coming to the surface.

"It's ok," Bellamy rises both of his hands to show her that she's not in danger.

Clarke looks around in confusion for a moment. He can see her taking in the lab, the mess that immediately surrounds them, the sound of the apocalyptic storm outside. Finally, her eyes land on his, and relief doesn't even cover the feeling that shines in her eyes as she sees that he looks fine.

"We're ok, you're ok," Bellamy says soothingly, approaching her slowly.

"It hurts…" Clarke breathes out. She chokes out in pain right before she starts coughing, which soon turns into a nasty show of her spitting out blood as the blisters inside her mouth burst with the effort.

"Stop doing that," Bellamy says. He's next to her now, and he's got one hand on her back and is holding her good hand. Her skin is icy against his worried frown deepens at her touch. "You're hurting yourself, Clarke. Breathe easy."

The pain in her eyes when she looks up at him breaks his heart, but she seems to listen to him and tries to relax her breathing. She leans back a little, letting the left side of her body rest on his chest lightly and takes a couple of deep breaths, overwhelmed by the searing pain of the burns, the scary rumble of the storm outside and the warmth of Bellamy's embrace. She decides to focus on the last one for a moment to distract herself from the pain, and it works a little because she feels the fluttering of joy in her heart at the fact that he's still alive, warm and strong next to her.

"It worked, didn't it?" she mutters. "The nightblood… It worked, you're alive."

"It will take more than a bit of fire and radiation to wipe us out, Clarke" she can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks, and she relaxes onto him. The weight of the pain from her injuries is too much, and she feels herself starting to dwindle, she wants to go back to sleep so badly, and he's so warm… all she wants is to just lie there and sleep in his arms.

"No, no, no" Bellamy whispers, trying to hold her up. "Something is wrong with you, and I need your help if I'm going to be able to make it better" he gently shakes her, trying to keep her awake.

"What's wrong?" she whispers faintly.

"You're freezing. And… you're covered in sweat. Clarke, how do I help?"

It hurts to breathe, it hurts to talk and all she wants is for him to hold her and let her sleep, but Bellamy won't let her. He's insisting, and he shakes her back into consciousness every time she drifts away and keeps pushing every time she wants to let go.

"You need to tell me what to do, Clarke" he pleads. He's no expert, but something is definitely wrong with her, and he needs her help to figure out what it is.

"It's fine…" she smiles "The nightblood worked, you're alive."

"Clarke, it's you I'm worried about. You need to tell me what to do!"

"What's wrong?"

"Your skin is freezing, you're sweating, shaking. It… it looks like you're dehydrated or something."

"Yes…" she nods, "Am I bleeding out?"

She almost laughs when she says it, and Bellamy feels anger starting to simmer inside him. He hates that she's not taking her own well being serious enough to make an effort to come up with a solution.

"Clarke, there's something wrong with you!" he ends up yelling at her. "Snap out of it, I want to help you, but for that, I need you to help me do that."

That seems to do it. Clarke closes her eyes for a long moment and takes a deep breath through her nose. When her eyes meet Bellamy's again, she looks more awake, more focused.

"I'm sorry," she says. "The human body has some interesting ways to respond to physical pain…" she sighs. "My skin is cold, I'm sweating, shaking…" she's listing each of the symptoms diligently and frowns in concentration for a moment. "How bad are the burns?"

"What do you mean how bad?"

"How much of my skin's surface is injured? How deep are the burns?"

Bellamy breathes out with relief when he hears that she's now more focused and does his best to help her. He takes a good look at her, even tilting his head to get another angle. There's just not sugarcoating it, half of her face looks practically melted off. It doesn't just stop there, it's on her neck, on her shoulder, and probably under the fabric of her shirt. The one spot on her right over her jawline, exactly where the helmet cracked, is the nastiest. There's a patch of blackened skin, charred under the heat, looking more like an overcooked piece of meat than human skin.

"The right side of your face looks bad" he finally says "And it goes down your neck towards your shoulder, your right hand is also red and there's a couple of blisters," he says the last bit holding her hand up to her face so she can see it.

She nods, judging by the pain she feels when he bends her arm, she can bet that it's her entire right arm that is compromised and she bites back a string of curses.

"How deep?"

"How do I tell?"

"Is it red? Are there blisters? Can you see white or black patches or charred skin?" she asks, and she hates to be her own patient, but she swallows her frustration.

"There's… there's a blackened patch of skin on the right side of your face. It… honestly, it looks nasty. Then there are blisters, all over. Can't you feel it?"

"Oh, believe me, Bellamy; I can…" she glares at him and he gives her an apologetic look.

"It's… it's just burns. As long as we keep them from infection, you should be ok, right?" he's practically begging her to tell him she'll be ok.

Clarke smiles trying to reassure him as she weighs her options. She could tell him how dangerous the extent of her injuries actually is, or she could just tell him she'll be ok and pray for the best. But she scratches out the second option quickly, she couldn't lie to him, and she needs him if she's going to survive, so she takes a deep breath and takes a second to come up with a treatment plan before looping him in.

"It's not that easy…" she finally says. "I mean, it is, usually, when burns are minor. But this is a lot of skin we're talking about. The burns are probably messing up with my thermoregulation already, that's why I'm so cold. And all the fluid buildup and swelling on those blisters is bound to make me dehydrated…"

Bellamy's expression grows more and more worried as she speaks, especially when she closes her eyes obviously trying to bite back the pain. It's evident that even something as simple as speaking makes her injuries sting with pain.

"Dehydration is also to blame for my brain not being at its sharpest…" she sighs. "When it comes to burn victims, priorities are to keep them warm and hydrated. But first you need to debride and dress the burns."

Bellamy nods with a deep frown, because he's seen her do that before, and it doesn't look pretty. She's closed her eyes again, and her head is laying back heavily onto the wall. She looks exhausted. For a minute, he tries to think back to the last time any of them had a full night of sleep, and the memory just doesn't come to mind.

"Don't look at me like I'm going to die," she mildly teases him, and he's amazed at her ability to read him without even looking at him.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Clarke."

His voice is stern and charged with so many feelings that it almost makes Clarke shiver. They can still hear the death wave raging outside, wiping out the world as they know it. His promise is one he very likely won't be able to keep, but there's something in his voice, something in the way he holds her good hand between his that makes her feel safe. For some reason, she believes him.

"What are you doing here? Why did you stay, Bellamy?" she whispers quietly, blue eyes locking with his dark ones.

He looks down for a minute, that little crease taking over his forehead as he sinks into his thoughts. She can actually see each of the layers of his carefully erected emotional walls get stripped down one by one, and it's so intense, that she almost forgets about the pain for a moment. When he finally looks up at her, his eyes are bright and deep with the complexity of all his feelings for her. She's mesmerized by it.

"I wasn't going to leave you behind," he says it as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, with that deep and calming voice of his.

Clarke nods slowly, letting the words sink. It's not the first time that she's amazed by his loyalty, by how reliable he is, by his unconditional support, by the sheer goodness of his heart. Sometimes she still wonders why she's the one person he's chosen to share all of that with.

"Good," she smiles. "Because I need you."

She says it lightly, clearly referring to the fact that she needs his help with those injuries, and probably to how they'll really need each other's help if they'll really survive for five years before they can get their people back. And he gets that message straight away. But she's also saying something else, and he hears that too. She's said it before, he knows. In the midst of the chaos that their lives have been since they've reached the ground, there has been only one fact they could rely on to be true. They need each other. There is no reason for the end of the world to change that.

"How do we do this?" Bellamy says, blinking away the intensity of the moment.

Although she hasn't had time to explore it completely, Clarke has spent more time in the lab than he has, so she concludes that the best place for him to tend to her injuries would be down on the third level of the lab, where Becca kept a fully functioning operating room and what looked like a 21st century state of the art individual intensive care unit. She was a neuroscientist, after all. Clarke could only hope that the experiments that had taken place in that room had been carried out on willing subjects. Abby has taken much of the supplies, including any anaesthesia and pain medication, but there's still some surgical tools and even some antibiotic to use. As unreliable as 100-year-old medicine may be, she prefers to take her chances with old antibiotics over nothing.

Clarke resists at first when Bellamy insists on carrying her downstairs, but she's so cold, and in so much pain, that she eventually drops it and lets him have his way. He's extremely careful not to touch the right side of her body as he first helps her to her feet and then picks her up and helps her to wrap her good arm around his neck to remain steady

"I think it did work," Clarke says, resting her face on Bellamy's shoulder. "The nightblood serum" she clarifies after a beat.

"I feel normal, so I think it did… you saved my life, again."

"I guess I owed you that after I pointed a gun at you and threatened to kill you like 24 hours ago…"

"You wouldn't have," he says with certainty, as they make their way down the white stairs towards the third level.

"No, I wouldn't have…" Clarke confesses in the faintest of whispers, more to herself than him.

And it's true. She couldn't do it because, even when she thought she was saving her people and securing a future for humanity, none of it would have mattered if he was dead. Sacrificing Bellamy's life was the one line she just couldn't bring herself to cross, even if it meant risking the fate of the human race.

The words seem to lift a weight Bellamy didn't know was pressing on his heart. There is no questioning the integrity of her intentions. Everything Clarke did, she did for her people, and Bellamy has always admired that. Her strength, her determination, her ability to make impossible choices. He admires that in her, yes, but on the back of his mind, he's always known that trusting Clarke with his life meant that there could be a time when she'd have to choose between his life and her duty as a leader. He doesn't want to think about what that says about him, but something warms stirs in him when she confesses, in as many words as she has, that she would choose him, just as he would her.

When they finally get to their destination, Clarke is happy to find that, aside from some instruments that were knocked from their shelves, everything still looks fine. It's far from ideal because her mother has taken as much of the supplies as she could for their time in the bunker, but it's a lot better than many of the sanitary conditions in which she's had to tend to wounds during her time on the ground.

"What now?" Bellamy says, looking confused on the face of all that medical equipment.

"We need to find some surgical instruments, something to dress the wound and, if we're lucky, some antibiotic solution. We'll also need to get some warm water to soak my shirt before you can cut it off."

"We don't need to do anything" he clarifies, as he puts her down on the bed. "Just point to where I can find the stuff and I'll get it."

Once again, she wants to fight him at first, but she lets it go, knowing that it's best for her injuries if she actually stays as still as possible. They're both incredibly happy to find that not only does the small sink towards the side of the room still has running water, but it also has hot running water.

"There must be an underground stream this place is connected to, and she must have built one hell of a reliable generator for it to withstand two freaking nuclear apocalypses," Bellamy says in surprise as he carries the water towards her.

"Thanks, Becca" Clarke laughs a little.

It takes a couple of tries, but as Clarke carefully soaks the parts of her shirt that have stuck to the burns, Bellamy eventually finds all the instruments they need. He's placed a chair next to her bed and every item Clarke has requested is carefully laid out in front of them.

"How do we do this?" he asks, looking for guidance.

"Listen, Bellamy" she's dead serious as she speaks now, waiting for his eyes to meet hers before goes on. "The burns are deep. It will hurt. A lot. If I ask you to stop, please don't. It's already been hours and if we don't take care of this there will be an infection, potentially a deadly one. Promise me you will finish the job, even if I'm begging you to stop."

His expression is conflicted as he nods in agreement. There are few things Bellamy Blake hates more than the sound of Clarke in pain, and he's definitely not looking forward to this, but he'll do anything in his power to save her life, just as she would for him.

"I need you to say it," she insists.

"Fine. I promise. Now tell me what to do."

When she first asks him to use the restraints to bind her to the bed, he refuses. It's only when she starts doing it herself, obviously hurting her hand in the process, that he agrees to follow her instructions and fastens the straps to bind her to the bed. He thinks that's going to be one of the hardest parts, but nothing prepares him for the torture that are her screams.

Before he begins, Clarke takes her time to explain the function of each of the tools. She teaches him how to differentiate dead tissue from healthy tissue and how he'll have to cut out all the dead one, emphasizing the fact that, even if it looks like he's hurting her, he needs to get it all. She explains how he'll have to cut off her shirt and peel it away from the burnt skin it has stuck to first. She gives him instructions on how to use forceps, scalpel and scissors to cut off the dead pieces of her skin. There are also instructions on how to soak the bandages in antibiotic solution and dress the wounds, and she even spends some time instructing him on aftercare. As soon as the dressings have dried on her skin, he'll have to peel them off, taking whatever dead or loose tissue that remains with them and then dress the wounds again, then repeat. He jokes about her being paranoid when she makes him repeat after her every step of the process, but she doesn't say anything about that.

Bellamy understands her insistence on drilling him on the instructions when he begins to cut and peel off her shirt. She tries to hide it as best as she can at first, cursing through gritted teeth, closing her eyes as tight as they'll go and tensing her body, but as soon as the injuries are completely exposed and he starts to scrape off and cut away the dead and charred skin, he's on his own.

It's torture. Hours upon hours of it. Tears start running down her face some ten minutes into the process, and eventually, she starts screaming as he methodically follows her instructions. At some point, she starts begging for it to stop, and he feels like he's going to be sick. He keeps going, though, just as promised, wishing that she just passed out from the pain. Her screams are sharp and piercing, and it's so damn difficult to concentrate, but Bellamy pushes through it and only focuses on his task, taking off piece by piece of her burnt skin and doing his best to block out the sounds of her agony.

Saying that she remains conscious during the whole process is inaccurate, to say the least. There's a whole new state of consciousness, she discovers, when the body is subject to such extremes of physical pain for a long period of time. She's awake, yes. She's self-aware, partially. It's like she's in this in-between state where she's not really conscious of how much and how loudly she's screaming, or what she's saying, or how much harder she's making Bellamy's job as she tries to squirm away from the tools, fighting against the restraints that keep her on the bed. It's fucking torture, the twisted, soul-crushing kind. However, there's a sliver of actual consciousness at the back of her mind. She tries as hard as she can to disappear into herself, finding refuge in that tiny bit of herself that knows Bellamy's doing this out of love, that he's taking care of her, that this is what it takes for her to live. She repeats those facts in her mind until she practically becomes them. It's all there is outside the pain, so she holds on to that, and she takes all the pain in.

It feels like a lifetime has passed when he's finally washing off the skin with a clean piece of cloth and warm water. His hands are feathery soft as he applies the antibiotic soaked dressing to her arm, shoulder, neck and face. He hasn't said a word since she started screaming. He hasn't even been able to look into her eyes. The first thing he does is taking off the restraints. He's disgusted by the whole thing, having to spend hours making her suffer, and the guilt threatens to consume him.

Clarke's breathing is laboured and uneven and it takes her a long moment to bring herself to open her eyes and look at him. She's still in pain, of course, but it's a dull sort of pain, nothing compared to the feeling of her skin being cut off piece by little piece.

"Is it over?" Clarke whispers, her eyes still closed.

"It's over" he reassures her and takes a seat next to her, unsure of what to do or say.

"You did good, Bellamy. It's done now. It's ok."

"How could you ask me to hurt you like that?" he snarls.

His question is irrational, but she gets it. It's messed up with him, the hours pain and screaming. She can almost see the darkness in his eyes, all the memories of having to force pain upon his loved ones and all the self-hatred that has come with it. She hates herself for having to put him through all of that.

"You didn't hurt me" she promises. "It had to be done. You understand that, don't you?"

"I hate that," he grumbles.

She knows. And she does too. She hates all the things they've done using that same justification. Terrible things, painful things, the stuff of nightmares.

"Maybe now we get our chance to do things differently," she speaks carefully, searching for his eyes as she does.

"Maybe…"

"I'm sorry you had to do that…" Clarke's hand finds his as she speaks. "I need you to understand that it really had to be done. It would have gotten infected. I would have been dead within three days."

"You were screaming. I… I'm sorry."

"Please don't feel bad about it…"

Clarke hates to see him in pain as much as he hates hurting her, so she needs him to believe that what she's saying is true, even if he had to do a horrible thing to save her.

"At least tell me you're feeling better," he almost begs.

"I am," Clarke nods. "Thank you."

"You should get some sleep, Clarke."

"You too. There's a small living space on the lowest level. It's nothing compared to the mansion on the other side of the island, and nowhere near as fancy as the bunker Murphy told us about, but Raven said it was built exactly for this type of situation."

"Lead the way, Princess."

Bellamy helps her off the bed and, together, they go further down into the building, until they reach the sixth level. There, they find a password protected door that truly looks like it could survive the apocalypse. Clarke types in the password and the lock opens. At this point, they're not surprised to find that lights turn on as they get through the door. It's small, but it looks safe. There's a desk with a smaller version of the computer upstairs, a glass table and chairs, a big leather couch in front of a flat-screen TV and two doors leading to the bathroom and bedroom respectively.

"I'll try to find something to wear," Clarke says, gesturing towards the room and looking down at her shirt, half destroyed after Bellamy cut off the sleeve that was sticking to her burnt skin. "I bet there's hot water here too, maybe you can actually get a warm shower."

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea," Bellamy nods after considering it for a minute. "We can search this place for supplies and work out an inventory of that tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Clarke echoes.

Bellamy quickly disappears into the bathroom, but Clarke remains there for a long moment, still savouring the word in her lips. Tomorrow. There will be a tomorrow, one in which they will be alive and together. Against all odds, they've made it past the end of the world.