Hi! So here's chapter 7, I know last one was a little dark but heads up Bellamy's not out of the woods yet. This is all from Clarke's perspective and I really tried to get a good angle on her here and I hope you can see this in how she decides to act and make decisions. As always I could really use some reviews/feedback so I know what you guys think idea-wise. Thanks so much again for all your support! Side note: How did you like Wednesday's episode? All of Bellamy's scenes where gut-wrenching for me I was so scared for him! Here's to praying for Bellarke in the second half of the finale! (But they might just hold off on that until next season or later but I would be so sad if they didn't do it now honestly, I really can't wait that long)
Clarke
I watch him with a hawk like fervor, my eyebrows knit together permanently and my lips glued in a thin line of worry. His sleeping face is ash grey, sweat gathers at his brows. I have been waiting for his fever to break for the past two days. In the short moments that he has woken up his words have been distorted and uncomprehendable, his eyes glazed over and unfocused. His insiscion site looks clean but each day I can see his strength draining as his condition continues to plummet.
I am startled out of my vigil by a tap on the shoulder. I jump from the mat I have been kneeling on for the last several hours. Octavia stands over me her face gaunt and exhausted. She bends to wordlessly wipe the sweat from her brothers forehead with a wet cloth and to ease him into a more comfortable position, alll the while her face is grave and emotionless.
I keep my eyes carefully trained on Bellamy, searching for signs of what I fear the most. His incision site, freshly bandaged is beginning to pool with blood once again, his infection has worsened in the last few hours. I have been feverishly applying clean doses of pure alcohol to the wound, constantly replacing blood soaked bandages, keeping him well hydrated, and regulating his temperature. Yet painful worry hangs over my head constantly, weighing down more and more on my shoulders as horrifying questions begin to cloud my mind, infiltrating into my subconscious like a disease. What if Bellamy keeps getting worse? What if I can't save him? What would I do if I loose him? I have retreated into myself several times, pushing myself through increasingly unbearable situations in my head, usually ending with heavy tears streaming down my cheeks, onto Bellamy's gaunt face as I plead desperately with his motionless form to hang on for me. Whispering, please please please, over and over again like a chant, knowing full well he can't hear me.'
Octavia has startled me from one of these excruciating cycles of worry, after making Bellamy as comfortable as she can she puts both her hands on my shoulders and looks me squarely in the eyes, her once bright and energetic blue eyes, dulled by the pain and agony of watching her brother suffer. I will never understand their bond; siblings have not existed in generations and their dynamic is largely unknown to me, their love is unlike a friend, or a parent, or a lover; it is a mutual protectiveness, they rely on each other, challenge each other, both simultaneously hating and loving one another in a way I will never comprehend. They can push the other to the brink and yet pull them to safety at the same time, risk everything to keep each other safe and push the other away like a stranger the next second. I have realized that they totally rely on each other, for both emotional strength and almost a physical support. Their mother is dead, they are the only family for each other. I can see that what Bellamy is going through on a physical level, Octavia is experiencing the same heart-wrenching pain on an emotional plane. Seeing her big brother, her protector, friend, and provider, lost to her is crushing her so much I can almost see her fading away.
"Clarke," She chokes out weakly. I bite my lip strongly, anticipating a heart-breaking plead for me to save her brother, however the reality is so much harder to take, "Go, I can watch him for a little while, you need to rest, to eat. You can't just pour yourself out onto Bellamy, that doesn't help him, or your baby. You have to stay strong for him, and if not just for that for his baby." She takes a painful breath of air, "That baby is a part of him, and so are you Clarke. You are family. You have to protect my brother's baby."
The desperation I hear in her voice, her arms clinging to me for support, I feel her losing control, reaching for support in me that I cannot quite identify, yet recognize as family. We are family. We must be strong for Bellamy. I rise and pull her into a tight embrace and whisper," I promise to do that Octavia, but I know that I can save him."
She pulls away, her eyes streaming with doubtful, yet longingly hopeful tears. I hand her the wet cloth I have been clutching tightly in my hands for the last several hours and allow her to wipe away her tears and I re affirm myself, "Trust me, I can save Bellamy."
Clarke
I leave Octavia alone with her brother, seeking a moment of respite as I collect my thoughts and mentally prepare for what I am planning to do. Octavia's faith in me, her seeking of comfort has filled me with a new found confidence and I am spinning with the almost gleeful hope sprung from this idea that may just be crazy enough to work. I let the sun dazzle me, warming my cheeks and soaking into my system.
A mixture of Mud and blood and tears cake my face, I have not slept for three days, my every moment dominated by Bellamy, keeping him breathing. The attack was actually much smaller scale than it seemed, it was a raid. We lost supplies and we where shaken up but in all it had only been a small party of grounders. A warning. We are not welcome. We are not safe. To them, we are the invaders; a menacing threat. What they do not understand is that this is our home too, we fought for it and now we are claiming it, not for just us but for the survival of our legacy. I place my hands gently over my shirt, feeling the curve, evident through the thin fabric of my baby. I look around, straggling people wordlessly scavenge through the meager supplies we have left that the grounders did not destroy, their faces tight with defeat and fear. Bellamy is their leader, they have put their ultimate trust in him and in myself. They are willing to fight and die for him, because they have the upmost respect in him as a leader. With him on the verge of death, they are lost. I am lost. I see them looking to me as Octavia had, desperation shining in their eyes, willing for me to lead them on my own. But I can't do this by myself, this society only functions with both me and Bellamy in command. I can find reason and strength in him just as he brings out leadership in me. We will not survive without him.
Just as the weight of this immense responsibility settles on my shoulders, my heart fluttering with the inkling of panic, I feel it. Under the palm of my hand, a slight nudge, a small thump, a tiny tap that fills me with both surprise and joy. The feeling of my baby kick for the first time fills me with renewed strength and purpose. For my baby, for Bellamy's baby, I can do this. I will save him. I am capable and I know for certain that I have the strength to push forward. I cradle my arms around where I felt the kick, new tears springing to my eyes, washing away the grit of my suffering, and I croon softly, "I promise I am going to save your dad, don't worry."
I charge back into the tent, kneeling next to Bellamy's motionless form, and peel the fresh bandages from his side, already turned crimson with his blood. The skin around his wound is sallow and pale, the wound itself is a dangerous color, resembling nothing of the healthy healing expected of it. I ask Octavia to pass me the knife that had been embedded in his side. Dumbfounded she silently passes it to me, gingerly holding two fingers around the hilt of the menacing weapon that had threatened to take her brother. I careful examine the jagged edges of the blade, my eyes searching for any trace of what could be causing this deadly reaction, anything to disprove an infection I know I cannot cure. With a gasp, I find the culprit.
Glittering nonchalantly at the tip of the blade is a speck of golden dust, catching the drifting rays of late afternoon sunlight filtering through the patchwork tent. "Get Raven in here." I demand, my lips pulled tightly together.
In a flash Octavia has disappeared, returning in a heartbeat with Raven close at her heels.
Wordlessly I hold the knife up at her eye level, my face grim as I wait for her verdict.
She nods back at me, her eyes flickering to Bellamy, lying on the ground.
With her confirmation, I do not hesitate to get to action, in a second, a scalpel is clenched in my right fist, running it along the original incision site, unhealthy blood spilling out like a waterfall. I hear Octavia scream as she lunges forward, I do not look up from my work as Raven holds her back carefully explaining my motivation for this to her. When I hear her breathing normalize I know we are all on the same face. Without having to look up, I know that in her eyes, is reflected the same grim hope that is currently written on my face.
On the knife I found traces of a copper isotope, and with a heavy heart I realized almost immediately that Bellamy was suffering from the effects of blood poisoning. He will need a blood transfusion and being a half of the only pair of siblings in the world may have saved him from sure death at the hands of either blood loss or heavy metal poisoning. By replacing his contaminated blood with Octavia's there is a strong chance he will recover, and we will not loose him. Octavia, now armed with this information, clenches her teeth and I can hear her gasp as the knife she slashes through her forearm breaks her skin. Raven collects about three pints in our sole IV bag, complete with a lifesaving needle drip. Once his wound has been drained I carefully stitch him up, resealing his gauze wrap and feeding the IV tube through his arm.
We wait. In silence, we stand around him, our eyes trained carefully on his slack features. Searching for any, tiny signs of recovery, that our rash actions somehow manifested itself in a positive change. An affirmation that we have saved him, not caused his final undoing. I brush my fingers lightly through his hair, pleading over and over in my mind that he will stir; show some sign of awakening, of coming back to me. In my head I scream, "Bel' come back, I need you so badly. I am fighting for you. For our baby. We need you. The baby kicked. I can't experience this alone, I need you here by my side. Please stay."
Octavia clasps her hands tightly around his left hand, her knuckles whitening where the strength of her clasped hands is tightest. Her jaw is clenched tightly and I have to check to make sure she is breathing as her eyes focus unwaveringly on Bellamy's face. Raven is stationed at the door, her shoulders tense and expectant, her eyes flickering from Bellamy to the door. After almost four hours of almost no movement, fear creeps into my heart as I allow a singular salty tear to roll down my face, landing with a small plip on Bellamy's face. With that small ripple, there is a slow thaw. I see his eye twitch as he struggles to force his eyes open. A feeling of the most spectacular joy crashes through my body as I cry, "Bellamy? Bellamy, wake up." I excitedly brush the hair from his face as his unfocused eyes find mine, and he tries for a smile.
"Hey Princess" He croaks. I am only able to stammer in joy, kissing his face, relieve washing through my veins, spreading euphoria like wildfire.
